The Ordinary Ride that Turned Extraordinary

The other morning, we were in merging in traffic on the freeway in Charlotte, which as usual, is under construction, and as usual, there was someone who failed to let me in. Obviously, I made it, but not without some teeth grinding and growling. 

After all, it was 8:30 and I was on my first cup of java with cream, no sugar. Sarah was in tow. We were on the way to school, and for some reason, I was not feeling my normal chipper self. Maybe it was the traffic. Maybe it was the fact that we were late again, our gold standard. It doesn't usually bother me though. It does, however, bother most others I've learned the hard way.

I am not a morning person- meaning I do not have an easy time hopping out of bed. Once up however, I'm "annoyingly cheery," an ex once told me. This morning was not really different from most mornings, only I was deflated. And I was letting things bother me that shouldn't. Ie. traffic, running out of peanut butter- things like that. To me, those are silly things that have no business influencing one's mood. 

Here I sat, gripping the wheel as if strangling wet clothes, letting all the wrinkles dance across my forehead while furrowing my brow, and not singing along with my favorite song on the radio. It was a self-inflicted misery. And I was the only one to blame. 

What happened next changed everything. 

I looked over to my right, and what I saw brought me to tears of joy. There was a teenage girl leaning her head against the window in the car she was riding in. Removed from the conversation in the front seat, she had soft red hair, with skin like ivory. She looked me dead in the eyes, and smiled a gentle smile- at me! Not at someone else. Not in response to what may have been playing through her ear buds, but she smiled directly at me. 

That's all I needed, and it just about melted my heart. That smile felt different- like a Godsend, like an angel had just smiled at me. In that singular moment, which probably lasted about 3 seconds, I felt loved. I felt worthy, noticed, appreciated, and relieved. I wasn't alone. Life wasn't that bad. And all it took was one small act of kindness.  (And it was from a teenager of all people!!!! They do have feelings! Gasp!)

She didn't pause to think whether or not she should smile at me. She didn't look the other way, pretending that she hadn't looked dead at me. There was no ignoring. Just a plain smile. And she will never know how her smile, her random act of kindness, improved me in that fleeting moment. 

Sure, we get that feeling from babies, and small children who are being dragged around by their rushing parents. Sometimes we might get an unprompted smile from someone across the room, someone in passing on the street, but not like that. 

That was intentional. 

Living intentionally is the only way to be grounded, to become your greatest you. I believe that we influence our moods, and we choose happiness, and it starts as small as a smile. 

 Because sometimes, that's all it takes. 

Empathy makes it challenging to smile when someone you know is sad, but that's what we need sometimes. It takes a special person to be able to do that. Those people are rare, and when you find one like that, you better cherish that relationship. 

Through broken hearts and tears, I've learned that there are some people who we are better off without, and others that I didn't value enough. It's funny how something as simple as a smile can drive thoughts like these. I'm so glad I had that moment. 

If I didn't ever feel sadness, I wouldn't value joy. 

My close friend, Charity tells me all the time, "You have to embrace the darkness. Without it you'd never know the light." She's right. 

I have never experienced a smile with impact like that before, and I thought I would share it. Who did you smile at today? I'd love to hear some responses to this. Have you ever experienced a moment like that? Tell us about it. 

Biology Means Nothing

It was a Thursday, about 1pm, another sunny day, and the phone rang. I looked at the number staring at me on the screen. It said Wayne.

I answered it with a questioning, Hello?

I'm not sure why I answered like that when I knew perfectly who it was. I had his number saved, treasured, just as he had mine. I wonder if my number was saved to his phone or scribbled down on a piece of rogue paper floating atop a stack of papers on his desk.

I sensed on the first call that he was in his office with his door closed, perhaps leaning back on a leather swivel chair that his kids had once spun around and around and around in, as children would, like the chair that I now own, that was once Dad's office chair. It sits in my den, completely out of place, and rivaling Charity's chair. I call it Charity's because she loves it and nestles in it when she visits.

It's comforting to sit in, for reasons other than the obvious. It reminds me of Dad, of the way he would lean back with his fingers locked together over his chest, legs crossed, while telling one of his jokes. It reminds me of the way he would give me that same goofy grin, when I would roll my eyes, shaking my head, yet smiling. I miss his jokes now. I miss him and his advice, and dare I say, lack thereof.

I dropped the broom, and plopped down on the green couch. This couch has seen it all, and doesn't utter a word.

Hello Brooke. This is Wayne. Do you remember me? He said in a non threatening way, his voice so assuring though I sensed difficulty to follow.

Of course I do, Wayne. I called you first! Thank you for calling me back. How are you?

Well Brooke, I don't have good news. I really wish I did.

My heart dropped, and my breathing slowed. I knew what he was going to say, but I let him spit it out first.

When I spoke to my wife (Colette's older sister) about your call, she was very angry. She even mentioned the word harassment. She said that you had tried to contact Colette before, and that it was very upsetting to Colette, that she had been very worried about it. My wife mentioned taking legal action if you contacted her again. I'm so sorry Brooke.

Skipping through my mind were thoughts of desolation and anger. Who the hell does she think she is? What a bitch. Clearly, we are nothing alike- my aunt and I. I'm caring. She's obviously not.

My wife doesn't want to tell Colette that you reached out to me. She thinks it will bother her too much, that she is going through a lot right now. She doesn't think she could handle it. So she doesn't want to tell her that I spoke to you. I'm sorry Brooke. I know this is not what you wanted to hear. My wife was angry that the adoption agency helped you find her.

They didn't help me find her. I had search angels that did that. Did they not think that this day would ever come? 

Silence. On both ends.

Then came the water works. I let it all out.

It's harassment to want to know my birth mother? To want to know where I came from? I wrote to her, poured out my heart to her, and she never even had the common decency to respond. You mean she got my letters and just never responded? 

My mind was screaming, COWARD! Like a dog with her tail between her legs.

But you always feel sorry for that dog.  You don't know what that dog went through, Maybe she was beaten, neglected, unloved, left alone and hurt. The dog only bit in self defense for what the dog thought it needed to be defensive against. The dog had a lot of problems.

She could have at least just let me know that she wasn't interested instead of letting me think that she wasn't receiving my invitations. She was just leaving me with a sliver of hope. How could a mother be so cruel? I have a daughter, and I know what that love feels like, and I could never in a million years treat her like that. We must be VERY VERY different. 

No. No. No. She's such a nice lady Brooke.  You would like her so much. (Is he for real? I'm thinking.) They're such good Christians.

He said the term, "good Christians" a host of times, each time making me throw up in my mouth a little more.

I feel like I'm stuck in the middle, but I see both sides, he said with empathy. I wish I had better news for you Brooke.

After some more silence, interrupted by my sobs, I forced out through the enormous mass in my throat that I understood, and I can't blame him for anything. That I was sorry I even called him. I now regretted it.

I can't make her love me. I can't force myself on anyone. 

Love doesn't demand. Love is understanding, patient, kind. (I felt like a talking Bible.) I guess our timing isn't right. 

Here I was sitting alone in my house hearing what I had formerly perceived would have been one of the most painful revealings of my life, and instead I was starting to feel relieved. I felt a warmness that covered me, and I felt God whispering to me that it would be OK. That He loved me, and that was all I needed.

I was washed with the blood of Jesus.

In that exact moment of immense isolation, rejection, desperation, and sadness, I felt His warmth covering me. I felt His presence like never before. He whispered to me...

Don't worry. You are my child. I'm with you. 

I paused. I smiled, and I let Wayne do some talking.

Wayne has a comforting Southern drawl. His voice reminds me of someone I knew once, but can't pinpoint now.

He went on to gently lecture that Colette is not my family. I know that would come across callous, even cold to some. But I knew what he meant. And he was right. Colette is not my family. She didn't raise me. She just gave birth to me, and I should be grateful for that fact.

But in reality, it was God who gave birth to me. She was just the vessel He used, and I have to be grateful for her for having me, for taking the instructions to give birth, for not aborting me, for not doing what I have done.

I would have a 15 year old right now. She chose life, while I didn't. She was better than I was.

So can I be mad at her? She gave me a chance. She gave me options. She made sure that I was well taken care of, that I would be loved, and I have been.

My parents are my parents. Mom and Dad raised me. Mom and Dad took care of me. Mom and Dad loved me. It was they who gave me everything I needed to succeed in life. And I took it freely. Still do.

So essentially, biology means nothing. This is probably nothing new to many people. I have friends who have parents who still don't know what love is. I have friends' with siblings they can't trust, who they wouldn't ask for help. People all across the world have family members who abuse them, who mistreat them, who neglect them, who don't care enough, or even at all. I am blessed to have family that does care.

I've heard that rejection is God's best protection. And I'm fine with that.

Our timing wasn't right. And I'm fine with it.
She isn't ready for me. And I'm fine with it.
She might never be ready for me. I have nothing left to be, but fine with it.

My conversation with Wayne went on for about thirty minutes. He told me that his wife wasn't very understanding of his relationship with his adopted daughter. He said that his daughter had done some things to him, that in his wife's eyes,  were unforgivable. She couldn't understand why he continued to have a relationship with her, why he continued to love her. And what he said to me, was exactly what I expected any adoptive parent would say.

Brooke, I love my daughter. When I signed those papers to adopt her, I made a commitment to the agency, to God, and to my daughter to love her no matter what she does. I made that commitment to her, and I will not stop loving her because she does some things that I'm not pleased with. Just like our Father in Heaven still loves us when we screw things up, she knows that I will always love her, and I want her to think that for as long as we both live.

But my wife doesn't have the same opinion as me, he said sadly.

What he had just said to me resonated in the darkest places. I don't know if it's a special love that God gives out to people who are adopted and people who adopt, but I saw that man's heart clear as day right through the phone. I heard the love in his voice. I saw a love that people don't get to see very often, and we are lucky if we do. I felt it. And even if that was the only experience I will ever have with that family, I can say that I am proud to have known Wayne, even if for just an hour.

When we hung up, I did ask him if he could get the name of my birth father, and while the words were falling out of my mouth, with both contentment and disdain, I knew that my request would not be fulfilled by Colette. I told him that even if Colette had made the decision not to engage with me, that it should be the birth father's decision as to whether or not he would like to have a relationship with me. He said he would ask, but he felt that the answer would probably be no.

I am OK with that.

Occasionally, I have feelings of anxiousness mixed with curiosity about this situation. I have to take the thoughts that come to my mind captive. I interrogate them asking questions like: Who are you from? What good will this bring? What is your motivation?
I'm reminded of this passage from the Bible in 2 Corinthians 2:10.

We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.

Taking our thoughts captive, and making them obedient to Christ is the best defense we could wish for. And it's right there. We have it in our possession, living inside of us.

Wayne told me that he would never get rid of my phone number, and offered up a future conversation any time if I wanted to talk.

I hope that this brings you closure, Brooke, was his last offering to me.

Thank you Wayne. I appreciate you. You have done more than most would have done if put in your shoes, and I see the goodness in you. Maybe we'll meet one day. Maybe we won't. Goodbye.

Goodbye Brooke. Take care.

We both hung up. Only this time, I waited for him to hang up first, and politely, I believe, he was waiting on me to hang up.

That was that.

I was still crying, but I knew that it wouldn't last forever. I was going to allow myself to feel sad for that day only. And I have kept my promise to myself.

Later that afternoon, I popped in to visit my close friend who knows my heart, and she sat on the front porch with me and we cried together.

That was that. The end of another sunny day, and there will be many more where that came from.

Unraveling my Yellow Tape: Adoptive parents are clear indicators of human gra...

Unraveling my Yellow Tape: Adoptive parents are clear indicators of human gra...: I'm compelled to disclose some more of this story since I have kinda just left things hanging for the past year or so and let me tell y...

Adoptive parents are clear indicators of human grace

I'm compelled to disclose some more of this story since I have kinda just left things hanging for the past year or so and let me tell you why. I went to my high school reunion last night- 20th to be exact, and I saw an old, and I mean old friend, Shannon. HAHA on old. We are clearly the same rotten age, and holding on tightly to our thirties as if dangling from a cliff overlooking the ocean on a James Bond flick from 1978. Actually, if I remember correctly, she is one year older than me, so she is clearly hanging on much tighter than me.

Anyway, she told me she read my entire blog, and I was shocked. I have no idea who reads this, unless you tell me, like she did. Moreover, I don't write this for the readership, although it's always nice to be complimented. It makes it seem more worthwhile, escaping the obvious reality that writing allows me to process all of this unfolding of truth (and lies).

I feel honored that anyone reads this, and my hopes are to write a book entailing the quest. I want somehow to incorporate the Godly perspective in all of this. Not sure how that will happen, but faithful that God will lead the way, if I just begin the typing.

A lot of the time, I don't really know where it all comes from when I write. I don't speak eloquently. I'm not over the top intelligent, probably just average Jill based on my life choices. That's to be held for the second book. How NOT to Live Your Life by Buga Fairley. So I'll maintain that God uses me for this. I'm sure that someone is getting something out of it.

Back to the quest. I am not even sure where I left off, so I'll just tell you what's happened recently. Approximately six weeks ago I felt brave one day. But let me preface this with it started with me lying on the green couch wailing out to God that I didn't understand why this woman wouldn't talk to me. I laid there alone, sun beaming in directly at me through the naked window, cradling the phone and scolding it's power at the same time.

I had effectively, on a whim, decided that I would call my birth uncle (by marriage), who is a complete stranger to me.

The uncle has a name. It's Wayne. He is married to my birth mother's older sister, who is 8 years older. He was easily located because he owns a business and let's face it, Google makes everything easier. What did we ever do without it? Bing doesn't hold a candle, but that's beside the point.

It apparently was his cell phone, because the voice mail didn't mention the company name. I left a message.

Hello Wayne. My name is Brooke Fairley and I'm calling on a personal note. Please call me back when you have some time. I almost hung up without giving him my number. Choke it up to nervous jitters.

I hung up and decided that he would probably not call me back.

I laid on the green couch and cried. What had I just done? All the rules of adoptee to birth mother engagement say that this is the absolute wrong approach. They tell us that this sort of thing only pisses people off. Because of the shame brought onto the mothers and the high degree of privacy they maintain to achieve throughout the years, this abrupt calling of near relatives before ever speaking to the birth mother is a big no-no. The crippling fear of being found out has these mothers in knots. They go on for their whole lives, some of them, thinking that one day they will be found. Paralyzed by the very thought.

 I did it anyway.

You see, these women, went to undeniable lengths to hide their pregnancies. They couldn't face the harsh public eye. If subjected to it, they would be shunned and could lose everything.

That was the mentality.

The devil is a liar. He is out to steal, kill, and destroy. He stole the baby from the mothers. He killed any chance at happiness after having a baby for these mothers. And that asshole destroyed any chance of a relationship. I believe that the cruelty of the times was a direct result of his terrible doings. He instilled the fear, produced the anxiety, and discouraged mothers from keeping their babies by fueling the fires in the public eye.

God's answer was adoption. He gave the parents who could not have children the opportunity to be parents. Who knows if maybe God had previously decided to not allow those parents to have children. And through his loving grace gave them a second chance, answered their prayers, gave them children to love. It's my opinion that parents who adopt are the most loving of all. They take in a child that didn't come from their own womb, and love that child as if she were their own blood. They make an agreement with God (and with an agency likely) to take care of the child for the rest of their lives. That means unconditional love.

The Bible tells us that we are all adopted by God. Ephesians 1:5 says, 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.

I believe that adoption is the ultimate gift and lesson at the same time. Parents make a commitment to God and adoptees know what it feels like to be loved by people who weren't forced by law to love them. To be taken care of by these selfless people is the greatest gift. It is the ultimate gift of grace and it's human grace, which is something we don't see enough of.

So I waited on the couch, crying out to God in another moment of misunderstanding. I was letting the better part of me sink, and the questioning part of me rise and demand answers. So in my temporary insanity, I thought it would be OK to make that call that I knew in my heart was the wrong thing to do. And I had to live with myself.

You see, love doesn't make demands. And I was demanding that this woman confront me from all angles. I had now sunken to new lows by attempting to allow someone who may or may not have known about my birth, in on our little secret.

That was dangerous. But what did I have to lose? I guess, my integrity. The devil doesn't want us to have it. And I let him win that battle. Regretably so.

As the light was beaming on my face and I was holding the phone still against my chest, it rang. It was Wayne. The call went like this.

Hello, this is Wayne. I am returning your call. 
Yes. Hello Wayne. Thank you for calling me back. Um... (long pause). This is a little awkward for me, and it probably will be for you. Are you available to talk for a little bit?
Yes. Sure. (sounding curious though puzzled)
Your sister in law, Colette, is my birth mother. In 1976 she had a baby, and gave her up for adoption. That's me. I'm the baby.

to be continued....

Tomorrow is the day that we've all been waiting for

For my birthday, which is Thursday, and I'm not telling you how old I am, but with a little digging in my blog you could very easily find out if you cared enough, I am going to mail a card to my birth mother. It's not going to be something long and drawn out. It won't be a tear jerker like my previous letters. Nope. Instead,  it will be something short and sweet and to the point. It will more resemble an invitation than anything else. It's time.

You should have seen me at Harris Teeter last night trying to find an appropriate card. It was like watching nursing home residents in their wheelchairs argue about who jumped who in line at 4:30 when the white clothed people ring the cowbell. Some of them hit with their canes, others with their stuffed animals. Either way, it's pretty freaking funny. As you can imagine, there wasn't much to choose from. Had it been cheese that I was looking for, I would have had a much rougher time deciding. There's this nifty, but not thrifty, gift shop here in Charlotte, that has an incredible array of paper products and fun gift ideas that would have sufficiently done the job (thanks Paper Skyscraper for not being in Mint Hill), but as it were, I was there, in Mint Hill, where I loathingly reside, and as I tell people routinely, Mint Hill just doesn't have much to choose from (in anything, men included). There were two cards that I had to choose from. Both were tinging on the side of cheesy and both were altogether pretty lame. One of them made mention of faith, courage, and strength- three of my favorite attributes in people and aliens. The other, had the words inside, "you are thought of more often than you think." I was leaning towards that one, but it had a picture of a cheesy telephone drawn on it, and it looked like something you could pick up at the stab-n-grab on the way to the beach. I decided against it. I got the semi-cheesy one that mentioned courage. I liked what it said. And I had no choice. I would probably go to Paper Skyscraper this afternoon had I not taken the bus today. Taking the bus is economical, but not practical when you are a single mom. Oh well. I refuse to let my lack of a proper card hold me back from finally sending the card. In fact, I think I will just go straight to Walgreens when I get to my car and buy a new card there since they might have a better selection. I'm going to look really silly and really chintzy returning a Hallmark card to Harris Teeter. Who cares? I'm sure I've looked much worse. Just ask anyone I know. I've toppled the charts on looking stupid. I am a hall of famer.

So this is what my note will say verbatim:

For my birthday this year, I wanted to give something precious away, and since I already lost my virginity, I thought I would invite you to join in my life. I think we've been separated long enough. Don't you? I am ready now. I hope you are too. But if you are not, I will hunt you down and kill your family.

OK, no. That's not what it will say verbatim. But it sounded pretty damn funny. Instead I think I will say this:

For my birthday this year, I decided I would send out the best invitation ever to only one person. We have been separated long enough. I'm ready to invite you into my life. I hope you are ready to join. It will only cost you $500/Mo. with no down payment payable in equal installments by the 5th of the month.

OK, no again. But that would be so funny. It will be short and you get the gist. I don't plan on letting her off the hook so easily by telling her that I forgive her for letting me go, even though I'm not mad or hurt. She doesn't need to know everything yet. I also don't plan on telling her about Sarah, but I will include a picture of us together. I think a picture says a thousand words and a few cuss words in the mix in braille if you throw up a bird, which I don't intend on doing. But that would be kinda funny too. I'm beginning to see a pattern here. White couch here I come.

Lastly, and on a more sincere note, I would like to say that I welcome a relationship with my birth mother, and despite having made a mockery of my life and of adoption in general, by writing a blog for my peers and the world to see and gawk at, I truly do care about the outcome. I did this for one main reason- to document my search for other adoptees who are in limbo and in search themselves and feel isolated in that they don't have many peers who can relate to their situation, nor understand, and it has ultimately become a creative outlet for me to express my feelings without cussing someone out, which is never good.

I will post a video of myself dropping the letter in the mailbox at work tomorrow, provided I can get someone to video it. My timing might be off by one day because I don't know how long it will take for the letter to get from Crown Town to J-Vegas, but we shall see. It's been almost 36 years, she can wait one more day. Crap, I ended up telling you anyway. I can't keep a secret to save my life.

Change your Lens dude.

How I wish there was a Starbucks in my neighborhood. No, actually, let's make it in my house, and on my nightstand right this second. Don't you wish you could just think something up, and it would happen? Some people say that you can. They call it the the law of reciprocity, which in essence, really means, that what you exert comes back to you. I don't know if I believe all that crap, but one thing is for certain. The people that you surround yourself with will undoubtedly change your outcomes if you let them. We will obviously have many outcomes in our lives because nothing stays the same, nothing is permanent, and life is a constant motion.

I learned this lesson the hard way in many cases, especially recently. I happen to be very trusting person, thus probably naive to the world and its many inhabitants. There are those who want to bring process improvement, who are driven by matters of the heart, who are not hesitant to help, and not thinking in terms of dollar signs, but genuinely want to help one another. And you have those who want to save the world, but who want and expect to get rich doing so, and instead of climbing the mountain with a walking stick, they climb over people instead, squashing them like ants on a sidewalk. And there are those who don't care period. They don't genuinely care about themselves, others, or anything for that matter. In their twisted mind they are "helping, " but the truth of the matter is, they are doing just the opposite. They are making matters worse. I wouldn't say that there are 3 types of people in the world because I'm not a fan of stereotyping. But I would say that people are often mislead. We are guilty of doing it, and we are victims of it.

I believe that setbacks are just lessons learned. Some happen to be more biting than others, but they are all the same whether we want to believe it or not. We should all try to constantly clean our lenses, and if you want to think in terms of the bigger picture, one could say that we all need to be viewing our setbacks as welcomed times for us to grow and learn and morph. It's all in your outlook. No problem is too big. None is worse than another. It's all relevant, and it's real, and you are always capable of fixing whatever it is that plagues you just by cleaning your lens. And while you might not be able to change the actual outcome or actually put the broken pieces back together because maybe some are missing, maybe some are cracked, you are able and capable of changing the way you let the brokeness affect you as a whole. You can choose to be aware of your surroundings or  be self aware.


Now I know you are thinking, "Brooke, that's bullshit. A 4 year old daughter who has Spinibifida is not comparable to your pipes in your house being shaken up a little. A terminally ill mother of 6 young children is nowhere near the likes of a car breaking down or a missed school bus, or a computer virus that shuts down your website." And while you might be thinking that they are not related, not in the same category of pain, same lines of stress, or in comparison by any means, they are all relative, and all manageable.

How we deal with stressors in our lives that have potential to rip away layers of our very beings is most important. The way we react can often lead to our outcomes, and the people we involve ourselves with can interfere with healthy reactions regularly. This is a very sensitive topic for many people in the world today. Whiners and nay sayers will tell you over and over again that it can't be done, that there is no way, that you are naive in your thinking. And you will start believing their lies. So before you get entangled with people who don't think positively, and don't clean their lenses often, politely remove yourself from their realm. It's OK to withdraw. Your services have been rendered long enough. And some people you can never change. But you can always, always change yourself.

I have peace in my heart because I know that God is working on me and for me. You can always know that God is working in your behalf even when you don't see it. Often times you won't. And often times you will not understand your adversity. But if you embrace your adversity, you will grow in ways that you would have never thought possible especially,  "in that situation." But always know that He is working on your behalf- the silent partner. I owe it to God. Without him, nothing is possible.

Final Thought

A couple days ago a co-worker of mine, who I consider to be a real friend, because we meet at the mind quite frequently, and our hearts seem to be in sync also, told me something that resonated in me. She said that God can't fix your heart if you don't give him all the pieces. I think that says it all for now. I love our "smoke breaks" (Neither of us smoke. Smoking is yucky.)

secrets? I have none.

I always wonder what kind of impact I will make on the world. Doesn't everyone?
Do we not all wonder what we'll turn out as, some of us secretively, some of us blatantly obviously, and for some of us, it's hard to believe that we even think of others even while we're sitting on the toilet and have nothing else to think about.
It's never my intention to make my name known, but it is on the contrary, to share ideas and I'll admit, maybe to show to people that I have known at some point in my life, that I have changed. I am not who I once was.
I hope you aren't either, unless you were a saint.
Life is journey, and you can't truly grow unless you learn from your mistakes and use them as stepping stones. I accidentally typed stoners.
That was funny and quirky.
That is the richness of life- the quirky moments, the small things, the times where you think no one notices you, and they do.
I hate to sound preachy, arbitrary even, but I mean it when I say that life is rich- even when rain is predicted. It's full when we see empty. It's beauty in the mire. We fail to see the simple abundance of goodness when we are surrounded with it because we find ourselves consumed with earthly desires.
We think we all need to be rich, to be heard, to be known, to be understood by all. Truthfully, and by God, we all won't achieve that, and realistically, we won't understand why. But as soon as we can understand that the small things are what make up life, we will begin to reap the benefits of a deeper understanding. You don't have to be rich and famous to impact the world.
The impact of goodness doesn't have a number attached to it. It's not quantitative. Thank God it's not.
My Mom asked me the other day as I was walking up the stairs at her house, and at such a perfectly appropriate time, if I didn't feel that writing a blog for everyone to see (those few who take active interest), was exploitative (not her word), even invasive of my privacy. I'm sure it wasn't my privacy that she was most concerned about.
So, with respect for her, I'll not speak of her unless something really juicy happens from now on.
I don't want to put a strain on our relationship.
But here's the deal: I enjoy the ability to be frank in writing. It's such a release. I honestly think everyone in the world should find their voice through writing.
Most people can't speak out loud. They refrain from confronting situations that propose honesty in its purest form.
We all are guilty of it.
We won't talk about what happens in the virtual world.
We use computers and computer programs to hide and to make avatars of who we would really like to be.
In fact, I believe, and I spoke with a long time friend about this just yesterday, that we don't even choose communication anymore.
We choose to text instead of talk. We choose to email instead of calling. We choose to evite instead of taking the time to buy stamps.
We are constantly taking short cuts. Why?
How have we gotten so far removed from others that we take short cuts in our personal lives? We don't have relationships anymore. We barely even see each other face to face. We hide in our little "me bubbles", and I hate that.
My mom rarely talks to anyone outside of her bubble. And that's OK for her. It's what some people do. It's normal.
I don't want to be normal.
I don't want to be in the bubble. I would give anything to have my mom's open mindedness, her understanding, her wisdom. One day I will. What price will I have to pay to get it, I wonder? That's unimportant.
What it's like to have those qualities...that's what I'm after.
I am not at that point yet in my life where I can be comfortable with who I am without making a statement. It's who I am right now. It's probably what I will be for a while. I was born to be that person. The loud one. The constant advocate. The debater.
But when it all comes down to the nitty gritty, I'm about everyone else. It's not about me. It's about you.
It's about what you stand for, and how I can help you. You should see the trails of thoughts inside my brain, riding the waves like it's the hundred year storm and you are Bodhi in Australia and Keanu Reeves is waiting to lock you wrists together at the shore.
Mom, if I write about you, please don't be upset with me. That's all I can really say because I write about what I am about. And if you are a part of my life, you can most likely assume that you will be in some story that I will write. That goes for everyone.
Sarah, my four year old, has told me on a few occasions that I embarrass her. I told her to get used to it. That's mean isn't it?
No, I told her this: Sarah, the things that are important for you are important to me. And the things that are important to me, are important to my family, and the things that are important to my friends are important to their family, and that's how the world goes around. Whether you want to admit it or not, people care. Get used to it. I care. I love you, or I wouldn't tell anyone the funny little things you say.
Her response: Mom, let's just keep some things a secret.
What can I say to that but, "I love you, and you're awesome. Don't let anyone EVER tell you different. I know, and I'm your mom."
That is exactly what I said.
That was what I meant.

I am so psyched about Christmas. Yaaaaaay! It's the world's chance to be what God intended us to be- in unison.

Are you excited for the right reasons? Are you going to stop not believing?

A few tips after a few thoughts

While riding the express bus home from work tonight, while trying to decipher where exactly we were in relation to my car's park and ride lot and in between fleeting sick thoughts of a horrible crash where the bus crashed over the guard rail and we landed in the creek 100 feet under the highway we were cruising over at only about 55, bodies flung everywhere, and gross depictions of sharp objects nailing bodies to their seats, I was also imagining something positive. Hard to believe, right?
I was thinking about starting a charity. It's always been something I've wanted to do, but never worked on. In thinking of this, I started thinking about this blog I've been wasting time on.
I realized that all of this fluff-n-stuff aka blog that I've been writing is boring. I'm getting bored talking about it, and I'm getting bored typing it. Who in the world cares about one nobody in the world who happens to write about her life? What makes anything that I write about interesting enough to lure readers back more than once? I wonder.
I wonder if it's the fact that I've somehow made you feel like you know what's going on in my twisted little world? Is it because you are nosey? Is it because it's interesting? Is it that I need some form of validation? I am not psychologist, but I should have gone into Sociology.
My good friend actually told me that the other day- that he should have studied sociology. I asked him what he would have done with that degree over his current Philosophy papers, an answer which had little to no impression on me because I can't even remember it now.
Point proven. What does a Sociologist really do? Study why people do the things they do? Study people? Regardless, it doesn't take a degree in sociology to know how the world operates and to understand people.
It does however require the ability to pay attention.
Back to the point.
I was talking about a charity. I was tumbling around in my mind all of the needs that stem from the lack of one simple act in this world- caring. Do we care about others enough?
I constantly hear the age old argument- if there is a God, why does he let all the bad things in the world happen? You know the normal atrosities are usually brought up- famine, homelessness, senseless murder, as if any killing has real value or purpose, child molestation, rape. The reply I think of immediately in this argument, is why do people let those things happen?
We are the ones who inhabit the Earth. We are the ones who should not let those things happen. We take little precaution, until things are irreparable. There can be no one other than ourselves to blame for the wrath of an uncaring world.
We don't care enough.
So instead of talking about my life tonight, I wanted to give out a tip.
If you are looking for your birthparent, the first thing for you to do is register on this website:
#1 www.whentheboughbreaks.net
If you know someone who is looking let them know. That is the first step to take. Somehow they have a lot of records. They have people who search for you for FREE. People who do this for free are PRICELESS. You can't put a dollar sign on people who care this much.

#2 Register on www.isrr.net
That is a nationwide registry for adoptees and birth relatives.

#3 Get some counseling, or write a blog. That was meant to be funny.