blurry and clear

the past six months have been a bit of a blur.  i know i have recorded all kinds of specific stories and detailed anecdotes in this blog.  i realize there have been great moments of clarity and intense times of gratitude.  but tonight feels different.   there was something about today.  perhaps it has been the past couple of weeks...but it finally just caught up with me.  bella is here.


she was funny today.  chattering away in the backseat of my SUV.  some of it distinguishable language and some of it not. this afternoon she sat on the steps of the front staircase cutting pink paper with safety scissors.  she made a mess.  a huge mess.  she grabbed my hand earlier this morning and said, "mommy, come on..."  she wanted to show me her water cup was on the counter and too high to reach.  she needed me and she knew where to find me.  today she chased her 13 year old brother around the kitchen table screaming like a banshee and laughing like a little clown.  she pulled her sister's hair and stuck her fingers in my coffee mug.  she whined for a snack before dinner and pouted when told no. she laid on the floor and colored almost an entire page purple.   she held my hand tightly on the way into the gym. she blew kisses to a lady at carpool.  today i found her in her room rocking a baby doll and singing softly.  as i was changing her tonight she took hold of my hair and wrapped it around her fist, repeating, "mommy. mommy. mommy." this evening she climbed up on her stool and brushed her teeth while wearing pink footie pjs with monkeys.   at bedtime she blessed everyone in our family and when she was done she added, all on her own, "fuffy" to the list.  fuffy is a favorite stuffed dog, new to her collection, but apparently important.   tonight i walked back into her room when she was soundly sleeping.  tonight i tucked around her the blanket she had kicked off.  tonight i stood at the foot of her bed and felt warm tears roll down my cheeks.  tonight i just wanted to lay down on the floor next to her bed and weep with the beautiful normalcy of this remarkable gift.  mind you, i don't often lay on the floor near the beds of my children.  it would completely disturb some of them if they caught me.  but it was just that kind of moment.  it was that kind of overwhelming.


i suppose i was a little raw walking back into her room tonight.  earlier i had been sitting in the middle of a pile of her adoption paperwork.  we are starting the process to have her adoption finalized in a US court.  not entirely necessary, but a good idea just the same.  we haven't felt any urgency to do so...but i know it is time to take care of this housekeeping detail.  so tonight i pulled out all of those heavy folders full of paper.  papers which i've had absolutely no desire to revisit since our trip to china last july.  nonetheless, there i was wading through a pool of both english and chinese documents.  i couldn't believe all these papers added up to our bella.  i couldn't make sense of how this enormous stack of words was the trail leading to the little girl asleep in a pink and brown room upstairs.   i remember a year ago feeling like this very paperwork might bury me.  i remember my complete frustration with the repetition of details and senseless minutia.   had  i only known...  had i only known what was waiting for us.  had i only known the beauty of this child we now tuck into bed each night.  had i only known the joy of her sleepy head on my shoulder.   had i only known the sideways look she gives me when she's being funny.  had i only known the indescribable blessing for our entire family.   had i known a year ago i would have completed this paperwork and ten million more documents eagerly.  willingly.  happily.  joyfully.  how thankful i am that God lead us through...pulled us through...and sometimes even pushed us through it all.   when we were tired or discouraged or flat out fed up....He kept us moving forward.


the blurriness of these past six months does feel crazy though.  one moment it seems like she's been with us forever.  a moment later i am astounded and can't believe she's really here.  it's like i can't make up my mind.  i suppose, for that matter,  no one is really asking me to.  it is both.  it is unreal and it is so very real.  it is utterly amazing and it is believably normal.  it is extraordinary and it is ordinary.  it is both.  it just is.  somethings in life are like that.  bella is one of them.


and so tonight i only wanted to write and record a moment.  a moment too full really to explain well. a moment too private probably to share.  a moment to which i must add words knowing otherwise this fragile and tired mind of mine would soon forget.   a moment which i pray i will remember years from now when she sasses me or disobeys or offends.  a moment which God wrapped up for me on this unassuming january night.  a gift which He encouraged me to open and peer inside...to see a glimpse of His immeasurable love and His astounding grace.    and whether blurry or clear...i couldn't help but see it.

wrinkles

today bella learned a new word:  wrinkle.  like any young child learning language, bella loves to point at all of the body parts and name them with confidence - sometimes with gusto!  we have pretty much covered all of the basics. she's got the eyes, nose, teeth, ears, head, hair thing down pat.  in quiet moments when i am holding her she loves to move her fingers across my face and identify each feature.  she is so proud of herself.  today as she was running her fingers from my cheek to my mouth she came across a little indentation.  i'd like to repeat the adjective, little.  i felt her fingers stop.  she looked up at me with wide eyes and asked, "that mama?"  i sighed and answered weakly, "umm...yeah, that.  well, that is called a wrinkle, bella."  her smart fingers moved to the other side of my mouth. she sort of gasped.  how delightful, mommy had two of them...one on each side!  brilliant!   the deal with bella, though, is that when she gets something...she really gets it.  it sticks.  and just like those wrinkles are stuck on either side of my mouth...this word is now deeply implanted in her vocabulary. she has continued to impress me, over and over again, today with her new word.  i have heard it a half a dozen times or so already.  wrinkle. wrinkle. wrinkle. wrinkle. except really it sounds more like, winkle. winkle. winkle. winkle. 


well, okay.  yes, mommy has a wrinkle...or two.   believe it or not, i've also noticed.   i am not  completely despondent over this realization.  in fact, i am attempting to look on the bright side.  these two wrinkles are merely a couple of laugh lines.   they are not battle wounds, they are not worry lines, they are not traces of anxiety or evidence of a hard, harsh life.  but nonetheless, i am not entirely pleased when i apply my make up each morning.  i am not always thrilled at the end of the day when i scrub my face clean and scrutinize it in my mirror. i am completely aware these lines grow deeper by the day and i also know they will soon be joined by other similar friends already beginning to set up camp.
 
i am not all that fond of wrinkles on my body or,  for that matter, wrinkles anywhere.    i don't much like them.  i don't like them in my clothes, my pie crusts or in my plans.  i definitely don't like them on my face.  but wrinkles just happen to be something we get.   they happen to come with the territory of living.  there is no such thing as a wrinkle free life.  trust me, i've tried...i've looked...i've imagined.  i can get up on any given morning with the best intentions and the most fabulous plan for my day.  but chances are, it will end up looking a little differently than my original blueprint and dreamt up ideal.  why is this so hard for me to accept.  at 42 years of age,  i have lived long enough to see not only wrinkles near my mouth, but to see them daily in my doings.   as much as i know this is how life works, i still seem to be thrown off.  i still cock my head and wonder what in the world just happened.  i wouldn't argue terribly with you if you accused me of having a few control issues.  i am sure i have a bit of that in me. i don't have to control all things...but i definitely have my list of what i want to be in charge of.  my mom, who never curses, does swear she knew this about me by 18 months of age when she  was already having knock-down-drag-out battles with me over my clothes.  18 months.  yes.  believe it. i can remember one war over a pair of red corduroy pants at about age 10.  it is amazing we both survived.   i just wanted my way.  that was it.  that was all.  was it so much to ask at age 10?  we want that often, don't we.  we just want our way - (insert emphatic stamp of foot)!  my problem, or so i've been told, is that i usually think my way is the best way.  and that is part of the reason why i have such a hard time with wrinkles.  they are usually not part of my grand and (i'd like to think) most eloquent plan.


motherhood has taught me a lot about wrinkles.  it has also, i might write, added a few.  i didn't get that right from the start.  it took me a while.   when i was pregnant with our oldest, emily, i would sit in her nursery and rock in anticipation.  anticipation of the Perfect Life we would have as parents.   i dreamed and dreamed and dreamed.  i dreamed about soft skin and warm baths and tiny fingers.  i dreamed about tea parties and ballet slippers and bike rides.  i imagined her happily cooing and merrily murmuring underneath the beatrix potter mobile  hanging above her pillow.  i pictured her sleeping soundly in the white, wooden crib awaiting her tiny self.  and you know what happened:  all of that.  all of that has taken place at some point or another with emily or one of the other four children.  there have been many wonderful mother~child moments.  we have shared pages of life right out of a storybook.  BUT we've also had our wrinkles.  i had never thought to dream of those though.  i didn't really imagine them or plan for them or even expect them.  but they came, and boy, do they continue to come!  we've spilled tea at the parties, lost many ballet slippers, and had a few bike rides end with skinned knees and bruised egos.  emily didn't always sleep soundly.  when i was trying to encourage her to sleep through the night, i can remember sitting in the hallway outside of her nursery while she cried and cried and cried.   i sat in that hallway and cried and cried and cried too.  somehow, i had never pictured a night spent like that.   i remember putting emily under that sweet beatrix potter mobile only to have her whimper in fear of the spinning, pastel colored animals.   sometimes things just don't go as planned.  it was 15 years ago this month that i sat waiting in that rocker for the birth of our first child.   she has been with us all these years and we've added a few others along the way.  with each one i have learned, over and over again, to expect wrinkles.  don't get me wrong.  i still sit and dream for my children.  i have grand dreams about their futures and big desires for their lives...but i am learning to embrace the wrinkles along the way.  none of us escape.  we are all prey to the pesky, unwanted, and often untimely occurrence of bumps in the road.  truly, i am beginning to understand we are better for them.  they teach us something we'd never get from wrinkle-free living.  we learn how to persevere.  we learn patience.   we learn about the need to give and accept grace.  wrinkles have taught me how to be resourceful and flexible and, sometimes, just how to be thankful.


sometimes it is easy to believe when you begin to follow Christ all of a sudden life becomes rosy and perfect and wrinkle-free.  not so.  when Christ promised New and Abundant Life He wasn't promising things to be easier...or smoother...or kinder.  but He did promise them to be better.  better in His terms, not ours. key point.  those wrinkles which come along, well, He even uses those to shape us and grow us and refine us.  honestly, think about it:  what would we be like if everything just always went our way.  what would be like if all we touched turned gold and all we sought we found? it sounds kind of lovely, i know.  but let's face it,  we'd be spoiled. we'd feel entitled.  we'd probably be obnoxious.   no, sometimes following Christ means hard stuff.  it means alienation.  it means rejection. it can even mean persecution.  think back to the martyrs...talk about some major wrinkles. geezsh!  and yet they were set before us to show God's amazing grace and constant faithfulness even in a Plan B world.  many of them wouldn't have chosen the path they walked, except they were certain God was on it.  He was ahead of them.  behind them.  alongside them.   He even carried them.   the path wasn't smooth or easy for them...it isn't always smooth and easy for us...but if the God of the universe walks with you, it is, indeed, the right path.


i don't know.  i am pretty sure i would have been terrible at the martyr thing.  my daughter runs her fingertips across a wrinkle on my face and i have to immediately dash to the closest mirror and check its size.  has it grown deeper? more pronounced? more obvious?  should i buy a cream? a gel? call a specialist?   yikes - what's an aging woman to do!  but when the panic has ceased and the calm returns (as much as it can), i am able to look back into that truth-telling mirror and know my life might not be wrinkle-free, but because of Him, i am free.    my skin might not ever be perfect, but He loves me perfectly, wrinkles and all.

i'll be home for christmas

"i'll be home for christmas, you can count on me. 

 please have snow and mistletoe and pesents on the tree." 

i don't remember my exact age, but i remember being quite young when i first understood what this song was really saying.  i don't remember exactly where i was when i figured it out, but i can recall the sense of wistfulness and the touch of sadness it brought - even in my happy youth.  the thought that this singer would be home, but only in his dreams, seemed just not good enough.  it wasn't right.  it wasn't how it was supposed to be - at least not at christmas.  last year was sort of like that for our family.  even though bella knew nothing about us...nothing about snow and mistletoe ...nothing about home.  we knew enough about her and already loved her enough to have dreams of her home for christmas. but that was last year.

every christmas eve, since the children were babies, i have had the pleasure of surprising them with new pajamas.  even now, after all these years, they still act somewhat surprised.  it is the role they play. i aid this a bit when i pretend there just may not have been enough time to accomplish the pajama purchase errand.  it is a joke with the older kids, but connor, age 7, takes it all very seriously and, this year, asked me no less than 17 times if i had remembered the pjs.   he is like that.  funny how much tiny traditions mean to our children.  christmas eve pajamas is definitely one of them.
 in addition to the pjs, they also get a special ornament the night before christmas.  the ornament is usually a token connected to something specific in their past year.  my attempt is to capture a little piece of them - something tangible. a little memory of who they are or what they've done and hang it on the christmas tree year after year.  i suppose our tree is becoming a sort of 3D photo album...a type of family gallery.   with five children it is certainly becoming quite full with these special momentos.  i'll move out furniture and buy more trees before i'll give up this tradition, however.


okay, back to the pajama party.  one of my favorite parts about this evening is placing the pjs in the kids'  hands and then watching them race up the stairs or head for the nearest bathroom to shed church clothes for their comfy pjs.   there is energy.  excitement.  enthusiasm.   on most regular nights my children are not quite so eager to don pajamas.  sometimes they are downright resistant, knowing bedtime is soon to follow.  but not on christmas eve.  this year, even my two teenagers were quick to skip up the stairs whooping and hollering as they went.  it was a delightful sight for any mother.  i love nothing more than the parade of their re-entrance, modeling their new night clothes as they come. now just imagine bella in the mix. bella who had never experienced even the tiniest bit of christmas. ever.  there she was, this year, sitting with her two brothers and two sisters impatiently reaching toward me for her own new jammies, joyfully yelling, "mine!"  she had little idea about what was going on.  but she knew Something Certainly Was.  she was right there with them dancing around in tiny circles, hopping up and down with two year old glee.   you'd have thought i presented her with a pony as she carefully opened up the little package of pjs. utter and complete delight at nothing more than tops and bottoms with santa claus print.


it was well after 11 pm before we could usher this christmas bound crew into their beds.  another christmas eve tradition, started years ago by our oldest,  is the children all sleeping together in the same room.  and so away they went....all five of them.  covers and pillows and nightlights and favorite stuffed sleeping friends...all of them piled into one room.  it wasn't the fastest "put down" we've had...but i have to tell you it was probably the best.  all of them dreaming of christmas morning. all of them together. all of them home.  i am sure they had all kinds of colorful christmas visions dancing through their heads.  but the dancing vision for me was right there in that crowded little room.  yes, i was excited about christmas morning.  who isn't?  yes, i couldn't wait to see their expressions and hear their exclamations.  but i didn't need the morning to have a perfect sense of contentment.  i didn't need santa or 8 tiny reindeer to land on my roof this night.  i didn't need tinsel or lights or brightly wrapped packages under a tree.  for me, my present came when i walked back into that warm room, laden with five sleeping children.  there wasn't hardly a place for me to step.  but i stood there and took it all in.  i leaned against the doorway in a pool of dim hallway light and listened to the sighs and soft murmurs and dreams of my kids.  i stood there and felt the overwhelming joy of a true christmas miracle.  bella was home for christmas.  and it was so much better than any dream.

merry first christmas bella...

Pray Mama, Pray!

bella is teaching the mcnatt family a little something new about prayer.  you don't believe me? you think i'm stretching? exaggerating? at the very least,  elaborating.   i've been known before to stretch, exaggerate and elaborate.  in a writer's world, this is called literary license.   it makes things sometimes more interesting to read, but truth be told, it is wrong.  i have worked very hard in my adult years to keep this tendency on a tight leash.  i even tried to anaylyze this need to tell the Big Story and i think i can trace it back to my upbringing (but, of course).   you see, i come from a pretty good size family.  and when you grow up with multiple siblings you kind of learn to compete for attention...to speak dramatically...to speak efficiently...loudly.  and i guarantee you'll learn how to eat quickly.  otherwise the listening ears will have moved on and you can bet that last chicken leg or  donut will be long gone.   these are survival skills i owe all to my childhood.  i have since learned how to slow down when speaking.  i have learned how to chew my food thoroughly and completely and, i hope, politely.  and now as a woman in her forties it is probably a good thing if that last donut is snatched up by another quicker hand.   i never realized how funny our family was until i went away to college.  growing up i kind of thought everyone's dinner tables were loud and chaotic and competitive. it was my friend, patti, who first opened my eyes to our quirkiness.  she had come home from school with me one weekend and had the opportunity to dine with the seaman's.  i remember her kind of sitting back and taking it all in.  we all talked at once.  boisterously.  sometimes food would fly out of a mouth.  we ate as if we had missed many previous meals.  everyone talked, but no one really listened. and the dinner?  well, that was over within 8 minutes.   okay.  so maybe i do exaggerate.  i have to say, though, my parents did their very best.  it wasn't that they didn't try to instill good manners and good communication skills.  i know they addressed these things with us.  i give them a lot of credit. now with my own dinner table and five kids, i can clearly appreciate the daily challenge.  we have threatened etiquette school, duct tape and solitary confinement.  somedays, however,  the dinner-time-din hovers just around shrill.   not too long ago i heard rick proclaim, "there's to be no singing at the dinner table!"  now, i would have denied that phrase EVER being declared in MY kitchen.  we both remember growing up when our parents said the same thing to us. and i was outraged.  how could a parent EVER prohibit a blossoming child from singing sweetly....at any time.  it is a thing of beauty.  it is a thing of delight.  it is a gift.   but now as a mother i kind of get it.   timing is everything.  and  the dinner table is not the place for singing.  sweetly or not.


wow.  that last paragraph was quite the exceptional rabbit trail, even for me!   okay, so lately, bella has been teaching the mcnatt family about prayer.  i know... crazy!  for heaven's sake, she just got here and i am pretty certain there wasn't a lot of praying going on in her orphanage back in china.   but one of the first things bella began to copy in our home was that we would bow our heads, close our eyes and fold our hands to pray before meals.  immediately she began to consistently do the same thing.  now it has turned into any time food enters the scene bella directs everyone in the room to fold their hands and pray.  i am talking any time. any place.  any food:  granola bars in the car, cheez-its on the couch, peanut butter out of the jar....it doesn't much matter...she gives you The Point and The Little Grunt and The "Pray!" and you know there is no other option but to bow your head and thank Jesus for His provision.  we are all completely tickled with this.  it is unbelievable.  she is relentless. passionate. committed.  there is no arguing with her.  she will not rest (or eat) until we have all shown ample gratitude.  just this morning we were at the market getting (yet) another load of groceries.  it was nearing noon and to hold her over, i ripped into a bag of apricots.  as we were cruising through the frozen food aisle, she brought her hands together to pray and began to point vehemently at me.  i knew what she wanted me to do, but was sort of bent on finding buttermilk waffles and didn't really feel the need to stop and thank Jesus for our bag of dried fruit.  but oh no!  bella would not settle for my whispered "later bella."  oh no!  she started The Point.  she began The Grunt.  it escalated quickly into a loud, "Pray Mama, Pray!"  she kept attempting to grab my hands off of the cart and direct them together in prayer. we were beginning to make a scene.  i had no other choice but to pull my cart over by a freezer and bow my head....a little whispered prayer was said and i closed with an a-men.  now the other thing you need to know is how bella loves to raise her hands high in the air at the end of the prayer and yell "A-MEN!"  furthermore, she really likes it when we all yell it with her.  so, yes...that is exactly what occurred somewhere between the bag of apricots and the buttermilk waffles earlier today.    i am not sure what this is all about.  but i have to at least believe God is equally amused.   we've always been a family which has taken time to bless our food. this is nothing new.  maybe when we are gobbling down chic-fil-a in the back seat of my SUV on the way to soccer practice we might not always pause and give thanks.  but pretty much any time we are gathered around our table it is what we do. what we have always done.  but bella brings something new to it all.  i have a feeling we were starting to  just go through the dinnertime motions...reciting the dinnertime mantra.  we were thankful, yes.  we knew every morsel came from God, yes.  we even made up our own prayers, yes.  but lately i am not sure we have been really thinking about our words.  with bella pointing and grunting and even adamantly demanding, "Pray!"  our dinnertime, or lunchtime or snacktime prayers are suddenly much more a focus...much more pronounced.    does she know this Jesus to whom she demands we pray.   no, not really.  she's hearing more and more about Him.   but, i am pretty sure it isn't Him to whom she is committed.  i think right now she just loves the routine of it all.  i can tell she likes to do the same things over and over.  but the fact that we are talking about praying  is kind of cool.  we know God has big plans for this little girl. we just know that.  He saved her.  He literally is giving her new life.  we are just sure there is something really special up His sleeve for her little life.   i suppose as her mother i am touched by this little thing she does because it is our first evidence of her getting to know Jesus.  my prayer for this little peanut is that she will learn more of His love for her. that  she will grow closer to His heart.  that she will understand further His rescue of her.  we pray these things for our children, don't we?   i want bella and all of my children to have their needs met...it also makes me happy to see a lot of their wants met....but ultimately my desire is for them to WANT Jesus and to see Him as the only answer for their NEED.  there is nothing quite like the prayers of little children.  in these past 14 years of parenting i have heard thousands of my kids' prayers. there have been many times when i have heard them praying sweetly and my eyes have filled with tears.  i have been, at times, overwhelmed with the honest simplicity of their words and their hearts.  but, let's face it,  sometimes we rush right through without really thinking....without really listening.   it is the end of a long day.  we are tired.  we just want to crawl into our own beds.  with rick traveling a lot, i am often on my own with the bedtime thing.  and with five kids to be tucked in, this can sometimes take (it seems) an entire evening.  the older ones certainly don't need what the younger ones do...but they still need me to be available.  accessible.  they need me to sit on their beds and listen.  or maybe they want to sit on my bed and talk.  regardless, i want to have the time and energy to carve out just a few minutes for each of them.  if i could have asked for one additional thing in my parenting,  it would be more time.  more time and more opportunity.  it always seems to be not enough.  but isn't it funny how God knows just what we need.  He didn't bring us more hours in the evening or easier bedtimes.  He didn't bring me a nanny or a new and improved night time routine,  He brought us bella. He brought us another little one to be tucked in at night.  another one in need of bedtime story or a sip of water or a tummy tickle.  He brought us another child's prayers to hear.   He brought us bella... who after just a few months in our family is stopping her mommy in the grocery store and reminding her to pray...even over a bag of apricots.    God knows what we need.  He knows exactly what we need.  and He hears our prayers.  all of them.

the perfect christmas photo

as i sit down to compose this year’s Christmas letter i am not sure we will have a picture to include. WHAT? is that possible? is that even permissible? at this point in early december one hasn’t been taken and i can’t see one being orchestrated in the near future. mind you, i had plans. my photo genius brother-in-law was coming to georgia for thanksgiving last week and i had pictured all seven of us in coordinated outfits with a backdrop of gorgeous fall leaves. except, we got the flu. and then it rained. even if i could have propped us all up indoors, bella was so sick she had wiped a patch raw from her nose to cheek. i couldn’t very well include our newest family member with a red nose and a redder slash across her face. so i set my sights on this next weekend. but alas, that is now out of the question as well. last night after climbing into my bed in the wee hours of morning, bella promptly fell right back out, smacking the nightstand on her way down. she woke with an impressive shiner. nope, can’t photograph that one either! oh good grief! i spent this morning sad about bella's eye and arguing a bit with God. “but this is a BIG year God. this is the year we adopted. this is the year of bringing home bella. this is the year we went from six to seven. i was planning on the perfect photo declaring all of this to our friends and family. i had a vision. i had a dream. i had outfits already selected!” perhaps you are not quite so extreme. i, however, have come to terms with the fact that i am a complete sucker for those norman-rockwellian-scenes. i will go to great lengths for the Picture Perfect...great lengths to recreate charming vignettes of idealism. but, let’s face it, this is not life. none of us live this way. even those of us who might pretend, we still get the flu, have runny noses, and wake up on rainy days with shiners. there is something about Christmas though which evokes in us a stronger than normal desire to capture beauty and comfort and joy. i have always loved the song Silent Night. i used it over and over again as a lullaby for my children. and when i nursed newborn babies at 3am it was silent and it certainly seemed at times even holy. but now with five children running amuck there is absolutely nothing silent about our home….and it goes without saying, we are quite far from holy. i head to bed most nights stepping over someone’s dirty underwear or for that matter, clean, makes no difference. from my own bed, i often find it necessary to scrape off a few crumbs from the children and a lot of laundry - dumped there in hopes it would magically make it to drawers. i grew up on daily doses of The Brady Bunch and always liked the part at the end of the show when Carol and Mike would sit in bed – he always in a clean robe and she in a lovely blue gown – and they would lightly discuss the day’s events and their silly, six children. now i realize rick and i have one less child, but regardless, this is just not Reality TV my friends. i don't believe i ever saw a pile of mismatched socks on the corner of their well appointed bedding. i believe that even back at the age of nine, i was set up for grave disappointment. we know this isn’t how it really works. i don’t wear lovely gowns and we are often too tired to prattle on about our five darling mischief makers. our pillows are not plumped and pristine…they are often, in fact, missing – absconded and used somewhere in the house for a fort or something. our sheets are not smooth or heavily starched and folded. oftentimes i find buried in them some little person’s random sock or a candy wrapper. (just for the record, we don’t actually allow our children to climb in our bed and eat candy - i have no idea how this all happens). anyway, i know you get what i am saying. our lives are messy and full of all sorts of unholy things. we can’t always capture The Perfect because the truth is we are living knee deep in The Imperfect. I have right now on my refrigerator door the verse, "every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." (~ james 1:17). i am not, for one minute, going to suggest altering any of God’s wording in the Bible. i am only saying i believe we might need to rethink the word “perfect.” i am the one who messes up this verse. my version of perfect often gets in the way of the truly good gifts. the noses which run and the sheets with the crumbs….well THESE are good and perfect gifts. They Are! i don’t always see them as such. but that’s my issue. well, actually, i’d still like to blame it on the Brady Family. i know, however, it is my imperfect and unholy heart which isn’t always able to grasp the goodness of the mess around me. as a mother and as a wife and and as a woman i have hopes to improve on my own heart’s imperfections. and trust me, my hope has little to do with myself. i, alone, am utterly hopeless. i know it is a process. there is a refinement needed…which is sometimes painful and hot, but all the time necessary. and so today i look ahead to this season of beauty and though we have no beautiful photo and no card ordered and no immediate plans of accomplishing this task….we have hope. we have Great Hope that in all our imperfections we have a God who loves us enough to give us Great Gifts. gifts which might not make it to the glossy pages of House Beautiful, but which He brings to the tables and hallways and bedrooms of our own dirty homes. and so tonight, though i will not climb into bed wearing a lovely blue gown, i will climb into it wearing a heart closer to Him and holding a hope which is beautiful because of Him. the mcnatt family may or may not be photographed this year. but Christmas has nothing to do with our family photo. the only picture needed is of that perfect babe in bethlehem lying in an imperfect manger.

not always thankful

tonight i sat down to write a post about thankfulness.  i began to type with plans to tell you how thankful i am today for doctors and medicine and 24  hour pharmacies.  the fact that it happens to be the very week of our thanksgiving holiday only  increases the pressure to express great and enormous amounts of gratitude.   but i have to tell you, i am just not feeling it right now.  i am just not feeling all that thankful.  THERE.  i said it.  i am sorry if that is inappropriate... or shocking...or at the very least incredibly disappointing.  i am sorry.   i had no premeditated plans to deliver such a lowly admission.   i was, in fact, raised to be better behaved.  i can remember my grandmother telling me (more than once), "if you can't say something nice, then don't say anything at all." i have even heard myself firing that same old adage at one or more of my own children.  i suppose there are times when it is better to not share every thought.  every emotion.  it might have been better for me to put down my laptop and pick up some fall leaves and a hot glue gun for thursday's centerpiece.  perhaps that would be more holiday worthy.  it would have at least been more productive.  but, for some strange reason, i am feeling the need to expand on this thought of unthankfulness.  or at least i am feeling the need to explain myself.


last week i came down with the flu.  okay...so absolutely no fun.  i felt really miserable, but knew i'd get better and be back on my feet before too long.  i had my eye on the fact that this week i would have a houseful of company. i knew i had time to recover, to grocery shop, to pull out the china and even to get clean sheets on the beds.  it was inconvenient, but it was not crushing.  it was only the flu.  and it had nothing to do with swine.  i was determined to not let it get the best of me.  determined.  but then bella came down with it.  i heard the first cough come rattling from her little lungs thursday afternoon and i just knew all my determination and inner fortitude would be lost. totally useless.  each day i saw her grow sicker and weaker and more and more pitiful.  by sunday afternoon i detected a wheezing in her chest, actually, more of a squeaking.  i described it over the phone to our doctor, "it sounds like a rusty gate hinge in need of oiling."  "hmm....," she replied.  i had the feeling she didn't get that kind of description often.  after some considerable back and forth we came to the conclusion i would need to take bella to an after hours clinic.   i bundled her up, left my husband in charge of the other 5 kids (my niece is also in town) and headed off to the clinic.  i drove away from home feeling certain we'd be back before sundown.  i asked rick to take over the chili preparation and was almost confident i could ask him to set a place at the table for me as well.  we'd be right back.  what was i thinking? bella is our fifth child and though it has been a long time since we've had to see a doctor on a weekend...it surely hasn't been that long.  when i walked through the door of the facility i was greeted by a clipboard and a sign informing me the wait time was at 90 minutes.   with my rose colored glasses firmly in place, i acknowledged that number and quickly told myself they must be overestimating.  surely a wait time couldn't possibly be 90 minutes.  surely.  and then i turned the corner.  just around a bend the waiting room sprawled out in front of me.  i could barely take in what i was seeing.  sick children and tired parents absolutely everywhere.   there were only a few seats to be found and so i opted to stand right there at the door and wait.  you probably don't even have to have a child to realize you cannot possibly stand in a doorway with a sick child for 90 minutes.   i won't go into detail about the horrors of my waiting room experience, but i have to tell you they were wrong about the 90 minutes.  it was a full 130 minutes before we were actually in a room ready to see a doctor.  they had underestimated. grossly.


at this point i was thankful.  i was thankful to finally be in my own 6x6 cubicle with my sick bella.  i was glad to take a break from shielding her from other sick kids and the onslaught of their germs.  but then in came ms. nasty nurse.  she was tired and overworked and had probably less than 3 minutes to retrieve bella's vitals and be on her way to the next 100 patients.  she grabbed bella's foot and wrapped a pulse monitor around her big toe.  the numbers jumped around in the low to mid 90s.  "what's her pulsox normally?" she snapped at me.  "um..i don't know." i replied.  wrong answer.  "WHAT?  you don't know???? you don't know????"  i was certain her next words would be, "are you kidding me?  what kind of mother are you?"    though she didn't finish with those exact words,  her eyes and voice and body language were clear.  no.  i didn't know.    i immediately felt ashamed.  i felt unqualified.  i felt like a loser mom.  i always knew i was in over my head adopting a congential heart baby.  i always knew this was bigger than my non-medical brain could handle.  i have always acknowledged my disinterest and inadequacy for medical matters.  i am the mom dumping her purse at the playground in hopes of finding a bandaid or at least a not too badly used tissue.  i am not the mom who regularly replaces the hand sanitizer bottles on her children's backpacks.  i am not the mom who at a moment's notice can provide tylenol or visine or even cough drops.  in fact, if you ever have to borrow some visine from me, you may want to check the expiration date prior to using.  i am really not that woman.   i have tried. i have made vows to improve.  i have made resolutions to be better.  recently i sat up one night and reorganized my meager medicine cabinet.  i even started a list of items i probably needed to purchase in hopes of rounding it all out - making it more official.   i bought an extra supply of cough drops (sugar free) and the kids ate through them before the week's end.   i purchased bandaids in bulk and one afternoon bella opened the box and decorated a cabinet door.   lately i have attempted to be better about making sure everyone was taking their vitamins at breakfast.   but if i was being brutally honest here, i would admit i don't like the look of those ugly pill bottles on my countertops and so i put them away after a couple of days and then completely forgot about them until the next wave of guilt assaulted me.   i digress. 


anyway, here i was in a room draped in my sick daughter and my guilt over not knowing her normal pulsox number.  and i am feeling pretty close to the edge.  i may not know her pulsox number, but i know where she is most ticklish.  i know the sound of her laugh.  i know the texture of her hair.   i may not have an ample supply of bandaids in my purse, but i have a lot of love for my bella.  i have an enormous supply of protection for this sweaty little girl clinging tightly to my torso.  i know for a fact i would trade places with her in an instant. i know for a fact i would battle beyond exhaustion if it meant making her better.  i also know for a fact i could take this so called nurse down to the ground if she handled my child abruptly one more time.  the nurse left the room as hurried and frenzied as she had entered.
within that same hour the doctor told me she thought perhaps she should admit bella to the hospital for further care and, what's more, she was going to have her transported by ambulance.   i sat there listening to her words and felt the tears well up.  any trace of my Capable Mother Image was officially shattered.   i called rick and could barely get out the words, "they want to admit her into the hospital."  he kept telling me to calm down.  i couldn't.   i finally hung up the phone and waited for our next step.  in that waiting period though i discovered a little treasure.  i found hidden underneath all the layers of my love for bella this thing that was raw and pure and powerful.  it was the fact that this little girl from china... this little girl whom i have only known for a handful of months was my daughter.  she was as much my daughter as if i had dreamt her up, carried her 9 months in my womb and bore her in a painfully long birth.  there was absolutely no difference.  i guess i would have told you this a week ago or a month ago.  but i guess i didn't have the emotion or the experience or the essence to really understand it myself. but now i knew.  i knew without a shadow of a doubt that a parent could love an adopted child as much as she could love a child formed from her own flesh and blood.  i could tell you that though bella looked nothing like me, she was as much mine as if she had my very own eyes...smile...nose...chin. 
as it turned out the doctor retracted her original plan.  we spoke with their cardiologist and our cardiologist and came to an agreement that bella could be treated and released.   it meant a long night sitting in this small box of a room and still a longer night finding an open pharmacy and waiting for the appropriate medicines to be mixed.  i didn't walk back into my house until after 11pm.  the chili had been put away and the dishes had been done.  the five children were all in bed and i couldn't find my rose colored glasses anywhere.  i wasn't especially thankful for this clinic or the nurse or the indecisiveness of this doctor.  i just wasn't.   i hated seeing bella so sick.  but on this monday night before thanksgiving i know i must give thanks.  i didn't feel like it last night.  i still don't quite feel like it tonight.   right now i am a mother who has a daughter who is sick. sometimes it is hard to be thankful.  i know it could be worse.  i know she will get through this.  i know i have a ridiculous amount for which to be thankful.  but i am just being honest here....there are days when we just don't feel it.  and i believe very much that in heaven is a God who would rather hear from our honest hearts than listen to us pretend.  i think He is okay when mothers and fathers cry out to Him and tell Him they are not okay with what is happening.  sometimes we aren't.  somedays we just aren't feeling all that thankful.   i know the verse about giving thanks In All Things...i know that verse.  chances are you know it too.  and, for the record, i happen to agree with it 100%.  and i know it is exactly what we are to do.  but i also believe God understood it wouldn't be easy.  i think He knows this is a process at times for His children.  He knows we are frail and sinful and scared. and He knew we wouldn't always be very forthcoming in our thanksgiving.  what is amazing, however, is that even in all of this He can give us raw and pure and powerful moments.  He gave me a moment while sitting in that examining room.  He allowed me to see the depth of my love for this little bitty girl.   and this is how i know i serve an authentic God.  He doesn't tell me i can't feel frustration or anger or even ingratitude....but He quietly and firmly redirects my faulty eyes to see the gift He has waiting for me in the midst of it.  and for this i am forever thankful.  completely thankful.

blue squiggles

she colored on a piece of ordinary construction paper.  a blue squiggly line.  that was it.  just a blue squiggle.  but she stopped and looked up at me.  i was busy doing something busy moms do.  sorting . arranging. wiping.  honestly, as i write this,  i can't even remember.  but i nodded at her and said, "yes, bella-boo...that's good."  then she added another little squiggle.  well not even a full squiggle, just barely a squig.  she stopped.  her crayon poised midair.  she looked up at me again with a small grunt and pointed to her drawing. "oh honey, yes...that is so nice...so pretty.  good girl."  another squiggle.  another look. another pat of affirmation.  


but it wasn't enough.  she quietly put down her blue crayon and reached across the island countertop grabbing my busy hands.  in her own tiny hands she held mine and began to put them together. together. apart.  together. apart.   yes, she was making me clap.  i couldn't believe it.  my little bella was making me clap my hands for her picture.  for her.  apparently my affirming words were not enough.  she wanted applause.  she wanted a standing ovation. she requested a grand celebration.  a parade of pomp and circumstance.  she wanted my full blown, foot stomping, whistle blowing, thigh slapping applause for her blue squiggles.


isn't that what we all want sometimes?  isn't that what we sometimes require? just a little applause?


i feel some days like i've known bella forever.  the truth is though we have only been home a mere 3 months. that is practically nothing.  but it is everything.  bella already has her handprints all over our home...all over our hearts.   this little girl lived two years in an orphanage of 3000.  and after just 3 months in a family of seven she rules with ease...she beckons with confidence...she directs with determination.  it seems impossible knowing her first two years were spent abandoned and orphaned.   this seems hardly recognizable.  


a month or so ago, i had a conversation with a woman at my daughter's volleyball game.  she had been watching bella and me play below the bleachers.   we started chatting and she began asking me questions about bella.  she was blown away when i told her we had only just brought her home from china this summer.  her response was, "she's so comfortable with you. it looks like she's been yours forever."  of course her observation made me glow.  positively beam.  


the truth is it does feel like that most days.  but then i see these orphan moments.  these little glimpses of how much she needs my praise, my affirmation, my affection.  like with the blue squiggles.  i stumble across one of these encounters with bella and i just want to weep.  i see the neediness in her dark eyes.  i can see her longing for my attention.   i don't want to read too much into all of this, but i can't help wonder about what is going through bella's mind.  does she know she's here for good?  does she understand we love her... unconditionally? no matter what.  does she understand she is ours and we are hers... forever?   i worry about that sometimes.  when i have to leave her with a sitter or in the church nursery or in her bed...does she ever question my return.  does she ever question my love.  my applause.  


just a couple of weeks ago we heard a sermon at church.  it was about how much we choose to live as orphans.  how we just can't seem to grasp the deep love of our  God.  so often we live our lives as if something is missing....and we are just waiting.   i don't care who we are or how together we look...we were born with this great void.  this great hole.  and we spend our lives trying to fill it.  we will fill it busy-ness, homes, cars, prestige, fame, money, children...heck, we will fill it with shoes and exercise and even banana bread.   it is a huge hole.  a gaping, enormous crater in the center of our souls and we are born with the innate desire to fill it up.  kind of like dogs burying a bone.  why do they do that? they just do.  it is how they are created.  to bury.  we are created to fill.   when that hole feels empty we run around doing what we do quickly trying to stuff it full of ...well, stuff.  we scramble for old things and new things and bad things and even really good things.  and we cram it all down into this hole and then we sit back and we wait for that sense of wonderFULL.  that sense of plentiFULL.  and it comes. oh, how it comes...and it can be downright beautiFULL.  but then the moment changes and it is gone.  quickly.  wiped out. and we are empty again.  and we realize none of it was enough.  none of it was sufficient.  and we begin our cycle again of searching and filling and cramming and stuffing.   


but just like bella with her blue squiggles we are looking up.    we are looking up and waiting for applause.  we so often are waiting to feel like we are FULL.  like we are complete.  like we are daughters and sons of the King.  we forget how little this has to do with us...with our insufficient attempts.   we think there is something magical and mystical...and so we search and we pick things up and we look them over carefully and we wonder ....will this be The Thing?


and so bella took my hands.  she clapped them together.  when i realized what was actually taking place i stopped and switched around our hands.  my hands now held hers.  mine were on the outside and hers the inside. and i looked at her and at her beautiful blue squiggles and i began to clap for her.  and cheer for her.  and tell her how proud i was of her simple picture.  and immediately i saw contentment creep across her face.  her mom was proud of her and her mom was in control.  and it was enough.   not because she filled her picture with beautiful blue squiggles...but because she removed her orphan  outfit and she saw herself as my daughter.  she is not orphaned.  she belongs.  she is filled not because of anything she does or deserves, but because she is mine.  ours.  His.   


how much more so with my heavenly Father. there is nothing i can do to deserve His love...there is no blue squiggle perfect enough...but He loves me anyway.  He loves me despite what i do or don't do or can't do.  i am no longer orphaned. i am His daughter.   and it is enough.  

green belly buttons and bologna

yesterday bella sported a green belly button (an encounter with a not so magic marker).  today, she was covered in stickers.  i mean it. covered.  head to toe kind of covered. that's our bella.  each day she is into something and up to something.   in the past week i have found her naked in the fridge eating a slice of bologna and on the island counter, clothed, but with a carton of ice cream and a big spoon.  (clearly a girl after my own heart).  we'd probably all be a little better off if we'd give into the whims of eating bologna naked and ice cream perched on countertops.  okay, perhaps we should nix the naked thing.  anyway, we are enjoying bella to the hilt.  her laughter is like sparkly bubbles floating around our home each day.   her antics and escapades are delightful topics of discussion each evening.   we all want to hear or tell the latest buzz on bella.  this afternoon as i watched her approach me be-decked in tiny stickers i could only think to myself, "how did we get so lucky?"  i know it has nothing to do with luck and everything to do with God...but still i must ask, how. how. how.  nothing about our family deserves a little girl like this.  nothing.  we weren't especially good this year.  we weren't especially faithful or friendly or fabulous.  we just weren't.  in fact, only a few weeks before leaving for china i had this mini panic attack thinking about how much Stuff we had to work on before we could add bella to the mix.  we had so much Stuff  in our lives i couldn't see straight.  it was everywhere.  i was stepping on it...wading through it...pushing it to the side...getting tangled up in it.  i couldn't breath somedays as i became more and more aware of our issues and problems and messy lives.  so, in typical jody fashion,  i sat down one morning and made this long list for our family.  under each family member's name i began to jot down a few areas in need of work.  oh my. the list grew longer with each stroke of my pen.  i am not sure this was exactly a healthy exercise just weeks before heading to china.  i'd like to tell you my husband's list was the longest, but no, it was mine.  i had the most Stuff to work on.  and i new the Stuff really well... i also knew it wasn't going away easily.  i began my desperate attempts to fix it all.  quickly.  time was short and the list was long.   i had six of us to fix.   my mission: to tidy us all up and straighten us all out before bella's arrival.   so, in my own power and by my own might i began to  address all the Stuff. oh my.  how depressing.  it immediately became Really Clear i was in way over my head.   i had no magic wand to wave and no tricky fingers to snap.   there was no genie in a lamp to be found.   if i had one, he would have been long gone or buried in the clutter of our home anyway.   i was forced to stop.  this wasn't an exercise in productivity, this was  a display of futility.   i looked at that list and i realized it would be better off tucked away in a drawer than it was clutched in my control-needy hand.  and so, i put the list away.   it is often good to go eyeball to eyeball with our issues.   this is at times healthy.  but there are also times when we need to set down our Stuff and leave it alone for a while.  bella was coming whether we were all polished up and pristine...or not.   she wasn't in need of a magazine layout life...she was in need of a family. and guess what?  when bella arrived, she came with her own Stuff.  she fit right in.  she, too, is  a messy little thing and we love her all the more for it.   i'll add her to our Family-Fix-It-List....when i get to it....but for the mean time we are just delighting in the whirlwind of dust she kicks up.   bella is now here and our Stuff is still here.   yes,  some of it has gone away on its own, but most of it is still around.  it may be hiding under beds or in closets...but for the most part,  we are still in need of fixing.    funny how the monotonous issues of life can fade a bit,  when God gives us a little taste of His miraculous ways.  God is working on us.  we are His constant workmanship.  He has us.  He holds us.  He is busy forming, fixing and refining us and He knows all about our green belly buttons, our bologna eating and our long lists of Stuff.

"for we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, 

which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them."  ~ ephesians 2:10

bella's baptism day