Will I still adopt?

Lately, especially after posting the love story, I’ve gotten two questions fairly equally: 

When is he coming?

Are you still going to adopt?

I’m always surprised by the 2^nd question.  Sometimes my face contorts into this awful “WT…” expression before I can sweetly smile and mutter, “Of course!” As a good Southern girl, I never say “I’m recycling S@#& for fun!” or “The whole ‘recycle for adoption’ project was a whim!” If you have asked me these questions, please do not feel badly! I appreciate a continued conversation and you choosing to be part of this journey. However, I felt like I should clarify the intent behind the adoption process AND make sure you know that your diligent saving of recyclables is not in vain and I do not now plan to spend that money on something else.

Adoption has never been a backup plan for me “in case I’m single forever.”  It was not a choice made out of necessity. When I made a decision to make plans for adoption as a single, I was very intentional. There were still ways that I could have a baby biologically. There was still hope of marriage. But, for me, it was my plan all along and I felt the prompting to start building the foundation in obedience to a dream I’ve carried since childhood and to the move of the Spirit. Some child in need out there is my first choice [even if life means it comes into my home 2^nd] despite my own personal circumstances and desires.

I love children. I must, right, I work with them HOURS upon HOURS per week. It never gets old [well, ok sometimes one needs a mini Starbucks break] but my heart is with children, children who often experience some type of brokenness. I’ve always wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember.  My heart has always broken for ones that got a rougher plight in life. Lately, I’ve found more courage to deviate from the norm and own what I feel in saying that my ovaries don’t dance and become restless when I hold a baby. There’s a mother’s instinct in me that becomes excited and awakened.  But, I don’t initially dream of the big belly, late night feedings, a child with my nose/eyes/hair, etc. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I don’t think of or want those things. Let me tell you though, NOTHING shakes my soul and the mother inside me like seeing a child in foster care. The emotions well up and I’m fully aware that THIS is a definite stop on my journey to motherhood as God wrote it for me. There is no denying it. It is literally a physiological response. I love seeing mommies with their babies and toddlers. It always makes me smile to watch the unique ways mothers bond. I passed by a room at work and saw a young mother interacting with a child that she that she is in the process of adopting and I just stopped in my tracks. Tears quickly came as I stood there [which later developed into full blown ugly cry of happiness]. This moment was sacred so much that I felt intrusive. It was a rare sight of Heaven meeting Earth. It was witnessing a small step in a path of redemption—two lives filled with heartache and brokenness meshing into 1 family to put the pieces together in a beautiful and unique way. Even now, tears pour just remembering this site and the tangible feeling of love. This makes my world go ‘round in a different way than seeing the aisles of “stuff” at Babies R Us. All of us as women are different. There’s not one right feeling for everyone but we each know our own “right.”  Definitely, the situation with Luba, “the boy” starring in the post, has opened a door to certain kids that could be welcomed into a home and parented “better” than others. 

So, an emphatic YES is the answer to that 2^nd question!

The follow-up question when I give that yes is: 

Don’t you want to have your own?

I’ve answered this a couple times just this week. My answer is always “But when I do adopt, they will be my own.” Adoption is a new ballgame to most people so they don’t know the rules and terminology so all of us on the journey must practice grace. All of these people who have asked are the sweetest, most concerned friends, friends that will be there to help in any way possible. I know this. I learned myself when I started this journey lingo that I never knew existed. I learned ways to offend families unknowingly out of good intent. We’ve all been there (including me) but we learn together and we continually practice grace. My friend, April Diaz, wrote an honest post on what it feels like to get that question. Check it out HERE. 

If it works out [can you hear that “tick tock?”], I would love a biological child as well, for a lot of reasons. I’d love to see what he or she would look like, if “she” would have crazy hair for poofs, etc. [Dear Jesus, please give him or her Luba's laidbackness or just maybe a "bit" of it because I can only survive one ME]

So, those are my answers. Remember how this society celebrates sameness? It makes it hard to come out and say “I feel different from the rest and it is OK!” I have that courage, and I hope that you do too. Maybe you don’t even want children. Know that, that is OK too.

Be bold,

Danielle 

Party of 1: "how to"

For those of you that know me, you know I am not afraid to eat alone, or do coffee alone, or watch a movie alone. For this reason alone, I’m on a pedestal, high up, with some supernatural form of courage running through my veins. Well, my friend, this too can be you. Actually, many have asked me how I got brave enough to do things like this on my own so I thought I’d share it.

I wish I could say that it came easily or out of my own desire, but it didn’t. It really came out of necessity and the decision to prioritize myself in the right pecking order, as #1. Having been single for a long time, there have been opportunities I would have missed out on had I sat at home lamenting over the friends who were unavailable because they had other plans or didn’t want to go. I work hard, REALLY hard. I rise early. I covet my early morning quiet time focusing on nothing more than what’s running through my head, soul and heart. I refuse to interrupt those thoughts with mundane tasks when they are flowing because they are important to me as well as my emotional and spiritual health. Often I would much rather go have breakfast somewhere so that I do not have to divide my attention and cook for myself. Because I work hard, I do not feel badly about this minor expense at all. Since I’m awake when many are sleeping in, then I go alone. I’ve grown to covet these times way more than anything else and now I would rarely include another person in these intimate moments. I love the stillness of morning and all the sounds and smells it brings. It is sacred. At this point in my progression in independence, you will find me at any time lined up at the bar at Mimi’s with all the other “older” men and women who just no longer “give a [insert favorite expletive here].” 

I thought of some easy steps to get you to eating alone and loving it! Note that this is not necessarily for the “single” but also for the “married with kids and need a break” or “married and need alone time” individual as well.

Firstly, change the way you see yourself. Need some help? Visit one of my previous posts on this HERE. YOU, beloved, are important. If you are not seeing yourself as your most prized possession, then you are missing out. Once you see yourself the way you should, then you won’t care about what others think. Worrying about what others think is actually the biggest deterrent to many going women going places alone. Sad. Decide you will do this, for yourself, your sanity, for the sake of others who benefit from you emotional health. I’m not married or married with kids yet, but I know that when I am there, I will long for “alone time.” I know I will want some time to hear the clatter of dishes or hums of computers of bloggers at a coffee shop rather than Bubble Guppies, Barney, Mickey, and various other characters shows I do not yet understand. 

Know that others really don’t think of you as often as you think! This one statement has changed my perspective in a lot of circumstances when I became worried about what others are thinking, would think, etc. What a narcissistic point of view—thinking that others are really paying attention to what I’m doing and spending their precious moments discussing it? Pfffft.  If they do discuss something, I’m sure it’s a few minutes and then they move on to something more exciting. If for some reason, they do discuss my party of 1 and dwell on it, I can smile knowing that they are having the best conversation of their day.  

Once you have your mind in check: Stake out the place you want to go. Begin with a place that is frequented by travelers. Maybe by the airport? You are usually safe at one of the spots because there will be other “parties of 1.” I always suggest starting with drinking alone at a bar first to ease in. Do not confuse this with “drinking alone on a daily basis.” This scenario lends itself to many opportunities…..or including “chickening out” should that happen [NO!].  You can saunter in and scope out the bar for available seats in which you would feel comfortable by telling the hostess something like “I’m checking to see if my friend is at the bar” or “I may just grab a drink at the bar before meeting my friend for dinner.” Now, you have a lot of options. If you can’t find a seat, then you can either leave “Oh I didn’t see her/him so I’ll head out” or “I didn’t see a spot open so can I grab a drink at a table?”  If you get seated, then you can use a disclaimer or not. You can also then “decide” to grab a snack since you’re there “wasting time” anyway. Congratulations -you’ve just taken a giant step to earning your pair of cojones. 

Still scared? Take a prop.  Bring your iPad or laptop. Bring a book. Bring your ladies bible study homework. Open an academic textbook [who cares if you last opened it before graduation 7 years ago?] Lay it on the table. Suddenly, there’s a purpose to sitting alone.

It’s time: party of 1 for breakfast/lunch/dinner. For beginners, I always recommend breakfast since its less busy and “people you’d worry are looking at you” are most likely still sleeping. People roll out of bed to go to breakfast. They don’t generally look cute. No judgment here friends. Breakfast is golden.  Listen to the sounds and enjoy them. Your food suddenly tastes so different when your other senses shut down.

So, do this for yourself. Oh, and let me know how it goes.

Buddy up, even, and have another friend who is “becoming more courageous” sit alone at another table nearby or at the other end of the bar.

Side note: singles, you may get yourself some quiet time AND a date…just saying. 

Be fierce,

Danielle

A love story.....

Allow me to tell you a love story. Pull up a chair. Grab a glass of wine. I’m not sure how long it will be. But, this I promise you. As usual, I won’t bore you with just a feel-good happy ending story. Instead, I’ll expose the painful process that makes it beautiful. Beauty can be found in ashes. I know this.

This story started so long ago, long before I was even privy to the introduction. And it is still being written.  But I’ll let you glance into the pages.

This story begins with a little blonde haired, freckle-faced girl born and raised in Mississippi. She was raised in the church with a firm foundation in Jesus. She was born into a good and respectable family. She loved well and was well loved.  As the years went by, she dreamed of her future family, and husband, as many young girls do. Early on she dreamed of a family that rivaled a Benetton ad in terms of children—the seed was planted early on for adoption. She prayed for “tall, dark and handsome.” Years passed on and formidable years were spent dating, studying, and hanging out with friends. Somewhere in there, prejudices crept in. Her family raised her to judge a person by his or her character and not by highest education level or skin color. Still, she did. During those crucial years, instances and painful life experiences caused the prejudices to grab hold and fear soon ensued. For her, it was Black men. Of course, there were “exceptions” and those who were befriended but the generalities remained. Coincidentally during this time, she stopped attending church due to disbelief in the legalism and the whole “system” of religion.  

Fast forward through years of “spinning wheels” while living, learning, dating, etc. After a strong need for community and further spiritual development, she found a church that fit her needs and wants. It was in this church that she was moved to take a risk and go on missions in 2006. One trip led to another and in 2007, she took a big step and signed up to lead a team to South Africa. Never had she had this desire due to silly associations with the past. Africa had become the “origin” of pain and discomfort and she had sworn she would never step foot on that continent. However, she was obedient to the nudge and went. She instantly fell in love with the country and the people. She learned about Apartheid and heard the stories from all racial groups from an “outsider” perspective. So much of the struggles and triumphs stemming from recent integration reminded her of her upbringing in the South. In hearing stories of discrimination of Colored and Black groups, she began to see herself. As if she was looking in the mirror only to find guilt, ignorance, and shame looking back. 

She came back. She went back in 2008. She fell deeper in love with the country and the people.

She came back. She went back in 2009. She fell deeper in love with the country and the people. But this time, she fell in love with a boy. She began to see a friend there that she had met in 2007 and seen again in 2008 a little differently. Late nights she spent asking questions, hearing answers and perspectives that she never imagined, and digging deeper to find herself and discover what went wrong in her own outlooks.

She came back. It was only when back that she realized her true feelings and he, his. She dove deeper from afar but kept it safe to herself.

She went back in 2010 with another team but stayed an extra week to seek spiritual restoration and solitude. She was able to see the boy off and on and continue conversations. 

In the beginning of 2011, she went back independently to South Africa to spend more time with the boy. They wanted to be together but there were so many logistics between them, as they were worlds away. Logistics intruded far more than the ocean and miles themselves. She lost vision and gave up. She let too many opinions take her vision off what she felt and knew to be true.

The rest of 2011 and most of 2012 were dark. She felt a despair and regret that was unimaginable. She had not necessarily made decisions regarding what she felt was best for her. Instead, fear and distrust had crept in. She had doubted how big her God is and felt that she was not in alignment with where she was supposed to be. She yearned for reconciliation. Days were dark. She knew the highs of temporary “band-aids” she found to place over her wounds that kept the pain at bay for a bit. She knew the lows over another disappointment. She knew the feeling and pain of fresh hot tears that were uncontrollable. Friends knew her unpredictable emotional state.  

Although it was still sensitive, she felt the nudge to go back to South Africa although she probably would spend little to no time with the boy. But that was okay. Her first priority had always been to serve and the people that she would love while there. However, she expected the sting of familiarity without reconciliation. As months of preparation continued, changes happened with logistics. She needed a ride from the airport that would allow her to feel safe at almost midnight miles from home. She would need rides across town on weekends when she would be there.  She was forced to swallow any pride and ask the boy. He agreed to help. Worry set in. What if he didn’t show up? What if it was awkward?  She knew there were conversations that needed to be had regarding what had already happened. The word “closure” already evoked such a physiological response that it was unbearable. 

The plane ride to South Africa in November 2012 was full of emotions. What started out as excitement morphed to fear and regret as the hours passed, especially between Amsterdam and Cape Town. Waiting for the baggage was spent halved between dreading the situation on the other side and looking forward to what was on the other side. 

The boy was there, as he said he would be, on time, smile included and quick to help.

They hung out most every night after her serving activities were completed. They laughed. They continued conversations that began in 2009. He challenged her to think beyond her capacity. She felt that no time had passed. She felt as if “this” had always been. They sat in silence and just enjoyed being in the same spot in a very big world. They had dinners. The boy took her wine tasting [her love language]. They spent time with her friend Candice who came for one of the weeks. They roamed around Cape Town. They did not, however, have that closure conversation.

She came back. But, she won’t be going back this year because he will be coming here instead. A visa application and wedding planning are in the works. 

Their story is beautiful and perhaps  one of the single best love stories of all time.  It’s a beautiful story because it is not just about a boy and a girl. It’s also about a God that they both share who riddled their story with themes of reconciliation, sacrifice, forgiveness, redemption, mercy, grace, abundance, courage, and 2^nd chances. It is beautiful because we practice what He first showed to us. Hindsight can be breathtaking. Beauty from ashes. 

Even through the disappointment, she believed. Her God heard her questions. He saw her tears. He cried with her. But, he knew the timing would be best served later to fulfill a purpose together. Only He knew the plans he had for not just her, but for the both of them together. 

For still the vision awaits its appointed time;
    it hastens to the end—it will not lie.
If it seems slow, wait for it;
    it will surely come; it will not delay.

Habakkuk 2:3

Oh, and “tall dark & handsome?” Touché, God, touché.

 Cape Point: a place in South Africa where the two oceans {Indian & Atlantic} meet

Loving the single in your life....

So, this blog has been on my heart longer than any other. It stems from a range of emotions, most of which have been pain and disappointment. Looking at my journal, it dates back to November when I finally put thoughts onto paper, thoughts that have been swirling for many months prior. 

So many times I wanted to write, but I worried about what my married friends would think. Shame crept in. Guilt for being "needy" eclipsed my heart. Should I say these things? Am I selfish? As I listen to more and more single women at various stages, I know I have one thing that many lack…the balls courage to say it.

This world celebrates sameness. I feel it in my own relationships and struggles. The homosexual community feels it. The single moms feel it. The single dads feel it. The interracial families feel it. The 40-something single feels it. We all know how best to react to "sames" and “marrieds” or “marrieds with children.” Single is cool until you hit ~35, the time when safely most of your friends are married, many of which have kids. You are too old for the church’s single adults group. You can’t join your friends in their couples small group. You yearn for companionship when friends are on “date nights.” You want to push yourself forward to keep up when you really may feel like slowing down. The simple truth: no one knows what to do with you.  Everyone is celebrating sameness while you are wondering where “different” fits in neatly. it bubbles up everywhere from not being able to wear a certain dress because you have noone around to zip it up to not wanting to hang out with a group of friends because you will be the only single trying to navigate the conversations on partnerships, kids, etc. Nothing is wrong with you. You know this is where God wants or needs you to be right now, but you know that others [in church and out] don’t know how to respond.  I’ve been there. I’ve been there for sooooo long—WAY WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY longer than I ever imagined. While I am not there for much longer in that "phase" [blog post to explain that coming soon], I stand with you. My heart is with you. I will speak for you. I KNOW this is one reason why I was single for so long. My heart aches for you. Most importantly, I see you and I celebrate you. You are courageous and bold. Not many could walk so triumphantly in your shoes.

I hope I can speak for some of my sisters in this post.  Women who are happy but single, women who are sad but single, women who are courageous to WAIT and are therefore single, women who have a higher purpose to serve God first and are single, women who are divorced and single, women who have made mistakes but trudge on single, women who defy “sameness” whether they wish to or not. Women who have no desire for marriage and/or kids and are single.

Being in this “often awkward” phase has made me look at a lot of things differently, friendship included. I’ve come to classify friends as “willing to see me on Friday/Saturday” a.k.a. true friends and “those who don’t.” I’ve actually let a lot of “see you on the weeknights” friends go. Right or wrong, I’m not sure. Nothing has been more hurtful than a married friend that has only agreed to hang out on weeknights because she spends weekends with family. Well, guess what?!?! Just because I’m single does not mean that I don’t also have equally important things to do. When you never offer me weekends, I hear “your life is less than mine so let’s work out the schedule according to what is convenient for me and my family.” Yeah, I get it that many responsibilities come with families but I have several friends that prioritize friendships and nurture those on weekends when it is mutually beneficial. Friends are gifts. I think it’s healthy and please hold me to that when I have a family. 

Despite roles and children and spouses, we are all essentially women. Why can’t we come together and connect as who we are? The rest is adornment and roles and obligations. They do not take the place of who we are. We nurture one another. We support one another. We need one another.

I was thinking of ways for others to love the single woman in your life. These are things that I wish had happened to me more and some things that have been placed on my  heart from observations and divine conversations:

• Send a Mother's Day card to the single mom. There's no "Dad" to orchestrate Mother's Day celebrations. Elaborate on her superhero-ism. Imagine YOU doing all that you do with no help from your husband, family, etc. The way you dread that business trip your husband goes on because it leaves all the work to YOU? She does this everyday. She has no choice. She doesn't complain.
• Listen to your single friend drag on about all the bad dates she has been on without telling her she is too picky or giving advice. We are our own worst critics....but sometimes we just need an ear. We don't have a boyfriend or husband to listen [or pretend to listen] so we could use you and a glass bottle of wine. 
• Invite a single to have lunch with you after church. Insist, even. Even if we decline, we are so thankful that someone "saw" us. We regularly go unnoticed but too often avoided. 
• Have your S.O./husband do something that "men" do like an oil change. Let me tell you. I HATE getting my oil changed. Because I'm short on time, I go to those quickie places that try to sell my everything under the sun. I can be bitchy forthright but they still overpower me each time trying to sell me into replacing every kind of filter I have never heard of. Each time, I lie. Yep, I lie. You heard that Jesus. LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE. I always add a "Let me write that down and have my husband/father/boyfriend/brother check that" along with my look of concern. I hate it. The one thing I cherish most about a future marriage? The man getting the oil change. Period. Ask her if anything needs to be done at her house and offer your man. You can drink wine and listen while he changes that hard-to-reach lightbulb.
• Another no-man's land? Weddings. It soooo sucks to be one of the last few singles at a wedding. There's no more torture than this. [note to self in wedding planning....] For the love of Moses, have your man/date bring back a drink for y'all AND the single. We have to watch love marry, sit among love at the table during dinner, watch love slow dance...just get us another drink to survive.  
• Invite the single over for dinner. Just because we do not yet have our own marriage, that does not mean we can't appreciate and learn from yours. So many dreams I have for my marriage and family I have learned from watching successful friends.

These are just a few ideas that came to mind. I'm sure you can think of many more, better ones. Think of one thing you'd hate to do on your own without your husband's help and then consider that the single does this all the time, or has to pay for it. 

I know sometimes you are tired of hearing the same date #1 story time after time after time. But, listen anyway. Listen with the same love we showed you as you described your bloody areolas and your home remedies of laying frozen pea bags on your boobs for comfort. Despite the stage, condition, woes, we are all women, right? We are all trying to navigate womanhood as best we can? Let's be an ear and shoulder for one another.

Single gals? Comment below if you have additional ways you want to be loved.

[Marrieds, when I'm married, I'll make an argument for loving the married too but I ain't got that material yet....] 

Let's just do "woman" better.

With one foot in single and one foot in married,

Danielle