Happy Birfday Unt Annie!

"The best birthdays of all are those that haven't arrived yet."--Author Unknown

Tim with an ice cream cake at a "combined" birthday party

Yesterday, we had the true privilege of celebrating dear "Unt" Annie's birthday.  Aunt Annie is Tim's sister, making her my sister-in-law.  We just call each other sisters, though.

Aunt Annie, serving on Thanksgiving in her home

I don't know why we tend to wait until after a person has passed into the next life to speak of how we truly feel.  The papers are full of Obits and Eulogies recapping a soul's existence here on this planet.

So, in a small attempt to not let this life pass without acknowledging what is noble and lovely, let me tell you about "Unt" Annie by referencing Titus 2.

She is reverent in the way she lives.  

She honors her husband by her actions and by what she speaks of him, even when he is not present.  Aunt Annie does this because she loves the Lord her God.  

Uncle Bob, Fedor, and Tim on a Sunday afternoon at The Hernandez Estate

She is not a slanderer.  

She is definitely not addicted to much (or any) wine.

She teaches me what is good through her life choices.  

These 16 kids are from 3 families!  GG is the proud beauty in the middle.

She values people as much as God does.  She considers her children a reward, as the Scriptures teach.

She practices pure and faultless religion. 

December 1, 2011--Adoption Day

She ministers to her family and to those in her church through service--the type of service that leaves you sweaty and needing a shower.

She stores up treasures in heaven.

She is devoted to leaving a Godly legacy.

She encourages me to love my husband and my children.

Tim and little Kevin

She actively and deliberately submits to her husband.  I know--I bristle at that word too and at the idea of submitting to my husband.  Aunt Annie is not super-human-woman, so don't get discouraged and think that you just can't be Biblical too.  Also, do NOT confuse this with weak, frail, fake, un-opinionated-ness that is passed off as meekness and submission in some circles.  

This is hard stuff.  I am talking about a Godly bending of the will to the one that God has placed as the leader of the family.  Just ask her about the milk and ice cream incident.:)

She is self-controlled, pure, and DEFINITELY busy at home--not by default, either.  Definitely purposeful in the affairs of her husband, children, and home.

Ang with Elijah, Lydia, Judah, and baby Priscilla

I can closely watch her life (one of the many perks of being family) and I see her choosing to say "No" to ungodliness and worldly passions. 

Breakfast after a sleepover at Aunt Annie's

She encourages us and humbly rebukes PRN.  (as needed) 

She is kind.

She is SO VERY kind to us and our children.  She counts it no trouble to invite 4 more over to join her brood of 7 at the drop of a hat--even in the midst of caring for a very ill husband and her own 7 children.  

Kevin, Judah, and Stella in Ang's backyard

She opens her home up to us every week and doesn't keep score of when we break, scuff, and dirty her things.

She honors her parents.

She visibly, tangibly loves others, therefore, she REALLY does love Jesus.  She doesn't just provide lip service.

She fears the Lord and seeks Him with her entire being.

She is one of my dearest friends.

I greatly value her opinion and input in my life.

And she is quite lovely.  

Aunt Annie and Priscilla

Happy Birthday, Aunt Annie!  May you have many more "best birthdays."

You are loved and we are blessed by your life, Annie.

Love,

bunbunbunbunbun 

It's More Common Than You Think

Uuuuugh...

I hate receiving the quarterly newsletter from Diakon in the mail.   

This year it came with, “The Home Decorator’s Collection” magazine, of which I have been thumbing through, feeding my discontented wants.  “The Voice of The Martyr” quarterly also came too.   

Double rats!

A few things struck me as I read through the cover story of a medically fragile child that had recently been adopted and died.

The first thing was how hollow my faith is compared to my convictions. 

This adoptive mother with her son is not the richest person in the world (I’m pretty sure), does not have more time than I do, or is magically less busy than me.  And she didn’t enjoy her medically fragile son any less than I enjoy my children simply because he wasn’t a “normal” child.   

She was pictured in her sweatshirt, holding her son’s head in her lap—his eyes shut, smiling, with his trachea tubing visible.  The article tells of how her specific dreams of having a son were fulfilled in him—reading to him, singing to him, and watching sports with him, even right up to the day that he passed away. 

It was one of those articles that hurt to read. 

I pressed on, squirming inside as disgust in myself mounted.  

John 16:33 has been tattooed on my mind lately, “Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows.” 

The second thing that struck me while reading her well-written story was how much of my life is spent trying to avoid sorrows and trials. 

Why on earth did this woman adopt this child that was medically fragile? 

Why did she choose many sorrows in adopting a child that would pass away quickly? 

Better question is:  Why haven’t I?  

Why haven't I, as a Jesus-following, Scripture-believing and acting individual? 

Am I not called to care for orphans in some way? 

Am I not commanded to be generous and think of others better than I do myself? 

Am I not called to die every day to my wants and desires? 

Aren’t I supposed to be a living sacrifice?

I know God is working those things out in me.   

But I wonder what I can do now—today. 

After Tim and I were up for our annual review as permanency parents, our agency decided it would be best for us to try this again when we had…uh hum…more adequate accommodations.  That greatly disappointed us.  We worked at our certification like it was a full time job.  Our family worked hard too, watching our children in order for us to go to these seemingly endless trainings.

Okay. So what are we called to now?

We can pray to God on behalf of the orphans in the United States.  Some statistics have them at over 400,000 in the United States alone.  Millions world-wide. 

Pray for their protection.   

Pray for their forever families.  

Pray for God to stir the hearts of His people to care for the least of these.    

Just PRAY.  

Period.

The third thing that I was struck with as I looked through the Diakon quarterly newsletter was the photos of finalized adoptions.   

It looked amazingly similar to what God, my heavenly Father had done for me. 

 “So you have not received a spirit that makes you fearful slaves.  Instead, you received God’s Spirit when he adopted you as his own children.  Now we call him, “Abba, Father.”  (Romans 8:15)

“God sent Jesus to buy freedom for us, who were slaves to the law, so that he could adopt us as his very own children.”  (Galatians 4:5)

“God decided in advance to adopt us into his own family by bringing us to himself through Jesus Christ. This is what he wanted to do, and it gave him great pleasure.”  (Ephesians 1:5)

Those photos looked eerily familiar to me. 

It looked like me, when I asked Jesus to save me from myself and bring me into His family. 

I imagined Jesus standing next to me, with His arm around me, saying, 

“This is MY child.  She is in MY family now.”

So, maybe adoption isn’t too unfamiliar of a concept for us to grasp. 

Apparently, it’s not for me.

I pray that it isn’t for you as well.

 

The Good Stuff

I forgot what good listenin' country music is. 

I’m talking about the older stuff, say around the time we still listened to the radio in West Virginia—usually driving home in “Big Red” with our luggage wrapped in black garbage bags to keep it from the possibility of getting wet. 
True hillbilly style.

 Good stuff. 

We were married in 2002, so around the time Kenny Chesney was throwing out hits.

 

I recently heard a song that we used to listen to called, “The Good Stuff,” by Kenny Chesney. 

A newlywed man got into a big fight with his wife and headed to the bar for some good stuff—whiskey.

The bar tender told him that he couldn’t find it there. 

Falling in love, getting married, and, “…Eating burnt suppers the whole first year—asking for seconds to keep her from tearin’ up…that’s the good stuff.” 

I’ll spare you most of the details of our sticky-sweet love story, (and to keep anyone from throwing up in their mouth) but I think if we could have snorted each other up that short courtship, we would have. 

Getting married, being together in a tiny apartment, sleeping in a full-sized bed with a 315lb lineman—that’s the good stuff.  

I wish that this life could be filled with ONLY the good stuff.

It's what much of my talk to God is about.

Thank you for the good stuff.

And keep it coming.

The bar keep goes on to speak about his wife, “.. .I spent five years in the bar when the cancer took her from me.”

Definitely not good.

Tearing tendons, dealing with career disappointments, miscarrying, sicknesses, lost jobs—bad stuff.

Overwhelming at worst.

Manageable at best.

 

While there is an array of bad stuff, 

in my life it has generally served a few different purposes.

One of those being to give clearer perspective on just how good our everyday happenings REALLY are. 

 

Drinking coffee in the mornings with Tim.

Hugging and kissing the kids throughout the day.

Nursing the baby.

Teaching the kids about life through ours.

Watching the kids interact with their grandparents, cousins, and friends throughout the week.

And making love with my husband.

Good stuff.

   The bar keeper recounts his memories over a glass of milk with the young man and tells him that he’s,

“Been sober for three years now because the one thing stronger than the whiskey was the sight of her holding my baby girl—the way she adored that string of pearls I gave her the day that our youngest boy, Earl, married his high school love. And it's a new tee-shirt saying: 'I'm a Grandpa'. Being right there as our time got small. And holding her hand, when the Good Lord called her up.
Yeah, man, 

that's the good stuff."

Hopefully the good stuff is there and you can identify it too.  
Whatever is good, think on these things.

Meat Sweats

It started with 3 racks of smoked ribs crusted with BBQ sauce.   

You heard me.
T-H-R-E-E.  

This was part of what Tim ate in celebration of Independence Day about a month back.  By all accounts, he should weigh 450lbs, but he doesn’t.  He's 235.  He works hard to stay around there.

His physique is more like that of a tight end, due largely in part to his obsession with extreme physical activity. 

Three racks of ribs wasn’t a big deal for him to eat—we were used to his high caloric intake, and most of those calories once had parents.  Delicious parents.
Let me clarify here.  I am not describing overeating—it's honest hunger, like back in his college football days when he would eat a few appetizers, two entrees, and still not be satisfied as others looked on mortified at the amount he could consume.
It was simple supply and demand in his case—and still is.
Mothers and wives of linemen won’t pass judgment on this story too harshly because this too is their familiar life—waiting for the feeds to be over.

Needless to say, Tim felt sick that Fourth of July.  Recounting that day, he said it was somewhere between the 2^nd and 3^rd racks of ribs.  And he SHOULD HAVE felt sick—common sense tells us that no one should consume that much pig in one sitting.  His belly gurgles fell on deaf ears.   

His family lovingly dubbed it, “The Meat Sweats.”  A few others began diagnosing themselves with this faux disease as well, and it was left at that.
"You got 'The Meat Sweats."
Plain and simple.

Weeks later, “The Meat Sweats” was still rearing its ugly head.  A voice of reason (Aunt Carol Brown--a registered nurse) stated that perhaps this fake diagnosis was no longer a good reason to ignore what was looking like a real problem.
Never trust a diagnosis from the Van Nordstrom Clinic (Seinfeld reference).
The cause of his symptoms ranges from gastritis all the way to stomach cancer (probable, but highly unlikely).

Here are a few phrases that I have NEVER EVER heard Tim say in all our years of marriage:

--“Do you want the rest of this bagel?  There’s no way I can finish it.”

--“This oatmeal is soo good with soy milk!” 

--“I’m so full from those veggies.”

--“I’ll have the vegetarian burrito—as plain as it comes.”

--“Can I have a take home box for the rest of this meal?”

--"Spread that peanut butter REAL t-h-i-n."
--"Make sure there's no meat in it."

This IS serious.   

I guess it’s just what happens when you reach your thirties.
And have a baby--your fourth.
And lose your job--in the same week.

You’re more susceptible to stress and the consequences of nutritional dysfunction.
And most importantly, you can’t finish your bagel.

Here’s praying that his EGD (Esophagogastroduodenoscopy) turns up a case of the “Meat Sweats.”

     

FORGET ME

Recently at a toddler shower for my two new nephews (T., age 2 and S. age 1) I heard an incredible story about their foster mom named Carolyn.  Carolyn is one of the "good guys," caring for foster children until they find a permanent home.  She is a respite-- a safe place where children can come and heal and receive love.  A place where they know what it is like to be part of a loving family with a mother and father.  She counts it no trouble at all to special order shampoo for their hair. 

Carolyn isn't just a nice person full of "niceness"--Carolyn is a follower of Christ.  She has this amazing ability to put into action what she reads from her Bible and what she says she believes--her faith. 

Carolyn cared for these two boys ever since the oldest was 4 months old and the youngest came to her right after he was born.  She has her own kids--a lot of them.  She is involved with her church family.  She homeschools and is already genuinely busy.  A few weeks ago, her nephew was killed overseas for being a Christ follower.  The press will never say it like that, but what's important here is that there seems to be this thread of pure Christianity running through their entire family. 

The more I heard about Carolyn, the more I thought, "Wow, she IS a Christ follower."  Then I heard Ang, my sister-in-law, give the private details surrounding Carolyn's last day with my two little nephews.  As Carolyn and her other children were bringing my nephews to Angs home, she asked Carolyn if she would please stay a part of the boys lives and come to family birthday parties and such events.  Now here is where it gets interesting.  Carolyn said that she shouldn't be around the boys for at least a year...enough time for them to "forget her."

FORGET HER?!

Why on earth would someone be okay with being forgotten?  Why would someone who's given so much time and money and energy be really okay with being forgotten?  It doesn't make sense--even in Christian circles.  We want to be remembered for the things we do--our ministries, the work our lives are filled with.  We want to be honored--and truthfully, I want to be honored.  We like it when our sacrifices are pointed out in the here and now.  And here is this woman, Carolyn, who doesn't mind being nameless and forgotten--because she knows that the King will remember.

How beautiful!  How lovely!  How good!  I can't stop thinking about her story. 

She welcomed those children knowing that one day she would become nothing more than another face to them.

She stayed up numerous hours caring for and nurturing them throughout infancy.  She's read countless stories to them.  All for what? 

To be forgotten.

"Then the King will say, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—YOU DID IT TO ME."--Matthew 25:40 

That is why she is okay with being forgotten.

Because the King will not forget what she has done to Him.

May I learn to be okay with being forgotten.

May I learn to be okay with being unknown.

I just had to share this story with anyone who would take a few minutes and read it.  I have never met Carolyn.  I have only heard of her.  She is so beautiful!

Little Annie

As a young and naive mother, I assumed that L&D would always go smoothly--that it would always be something that I could control--even "order up," so to speak.  I became overly concerned with avoiding any physical pain associated with childbirth.  Never thought twice about the epidural the moment my cramps became contractions.  I still don't.  

My assumptions were changed when I had to have an emergency Caesarian last year from complications with an infection with our third little guy--Titus.  Understandably, with this delivery, I had many concerns with attempting a VBAC, especially with only putting 6 months between pregnancies. 

God provided us with one of the best and safest L&D's thus far--VBAC's are possible and I am so grateful to God for allowing me to be one of the successful statistics. 

We graciously welcome little "Annie"-- Angeline Donna Brown, born June 1st at 9:11pm, weighing 8 lbs. 13 ozs., 20.5" long. She is another little arrow in our quiver, named after "Aunt Annie" Hernandez. 

We are honored to be managers of yet another little life.

Thank you to you all for your prayers and concerns.  How cute is she?!

I Thought EVERYONE Blogged...

Seems like EVERYONE and their sister now-of-days blogs...not that I haven't enjoyed reading many blogs--please don't get me wrong.  It just seems so trendy and that ANYONE with a thought that can type also has a blog--although some shouldn't--this always goes without saying.
Anyway, the reason that I started this is because I want a discount.  Really.
Accountable Kids gives you a 50% off your start up order for blogging about them (in a very specific way--rules are on their website) once you begin using it.  They will also give you a 10% discount for giving them a shout-out on Facebook.
So, what it really boils down to is 60% savings on a system that Tim and I think will greatly benefit our family.  If so inclined, check out the website.  We'll keep you posted, if you're still there...
http://www.accountablekids.com/default.aspx