Something That Strikes Me

I Read a Few Blogs, Faithfully

It is neat to see other large families, who love the Lord and have a heart for adoption.  The one thing that sort of puts a bee in my bonnet is the fact that the life that they live seems perfect.

Everyone loves each other.

Everyone gets along.

There are no outbursts.

School is always completed with a smile.

House is spotless.

They like to sit around and sing Kumbaya while roasting marshmellows.

Though some of the children have special needs (aka RAD, learning disabilities, FAS, etc), they are miraculously symptom and behavior free because they were “loved” enough.

Scripture Flows Freely

There is no need for discipline.

There are no fights.

All the meals are homemade.

There is no shortage of money.

They have a built-in activity center in their backyards.

Blah to the blah to the blah.

These Things Stress Me Out

Yet I keep coming back to reading them because….well, I don’t know 🙂

That is clearly not my life.  My mom tells me that there are times when my life seems perfect because I am always baking, cooking, or organizing.

Let me tell you something, people, I am medicated.  My stress relief is organizing things.  I love it. It makes me happy.  When things are out of place, I can go all sorts of OCD on you.  I love to bake and create.  It is my thing.

Big Daddy used to joke and say over the course of our marriage (almost 20 years), he has never had the same thing twice.  This is my escape.  Some people read, take long baths, go for walks, or just yell….me, I organize, bake, eat my cheese, drink my coke, and take my pill.

Realm of Perfection

I never want to come across as having a life that is within the realm of perfection.  My house is dirty….like my foot sticks to the floor in the kitchen because someone didn’t do their chores.  I pick up more dog crap, in one day, then most people do in a lifetime because my little Lola doesn’t like to go in the snow.


Life as it Happens

I have piles upon piles of clean clothes in my bedroom because I *hate* to hang them up, so Big Daddy and I just sift through the pile.  My bed is never made up.  My boys’ room smells like feet and sweat.  That birthday cake that I made…Peach was supposed to decorate it and when she walked into the kitchen, I lost all sense of propriety and bit her head off.

Seriously people….that is sad.

I am a recovering yeller.

Big Daddy and I argue…not a lot and most are just being silent, but still that body language is there.

My kid’s fight.

RAD sucks.

Learning disabilities suck.

How It Happens

My dining room table is COVERED with school stuff (as is the floor around the table, the kitchen table, the bar, and one spot in the living room).

I hide in my bedroom every Sunday because in the words of my youngest son “you are done parenting today.”

There are occasions when I “suit up” with my 2 girlfriends just so I can sit with someone and talk adult talk.

Reading?  What’s that?

There is dust 5 inches thick on any given day.

I love to bake.  I love to cook, but I do not have everyone in the kitchen helping me.  It stresses me out.

There are days when I can’t find my cell phone (or it is dead or not turned on), so the likelihood of me answering a text is zero.  There is nothing I have against you, I’m not mad…I just am not attached at the hip to it.

My life is filled with therapy, doctors appointments, dogs, school, laughter, and tears.


I sang Kumbaya in the car today….it frightened the children 🙂

My backyard is full of cat poop, the smell of a horse, hoses strung from here to high heaven, toys, trash, leftover food, and shoes.  Our outside activities consist of a couple of bikes, the driveway, and some sidewalk chalk.

I struggle with depression.

I have trust issues.

My life is not perfect.

I don’t want it to be.

The desire to reflect the Jesus that lives in me is real.

My life is like a hardcore mama to a lot of kids.

I Will Never Pretend

I will never pretend, on this blog or in life, that I (or my family) is perfect.  Realism is my jam.  Writing about the good and the bad will always happen on this blog.  God gets the glory because He sustains me.  Striving to be that Proverbs 31 woman, though I will never be that woman this side of heaven.

I want to love my Lord with all my heart and soul.

Respect my husband.

Love my children.

Be debt free.

Live within my means.

Teach my girls how to be Godly wives and mothers.  Just as I want my husband to teach my boys to be Godly husbands and fathers.

I want to shout out loud and proud I LOVE CATS.  Really I do. 50, in the house, would be okay, if Big Daddy said okay.

So, if you see that I’m putting on a face that simply doesn’t line up with the above…call me on it.  I may cry, but I will do it privately 🙂


Let’s Just Say that Someone is Interested in Your Daughter

Let’s Just Say that Someone is Interested in Your Daughter.

He comes for dinner.  An unexpected guest.  He is a hugger…this you did not know.  Large, strange man hugging you.


With great wonder, he comments on how *wonderful* and *large* your home is.  Then, there is a moment of “ma’am, may I please speak to you.”

You sit so he can speak.

In a previous conversation, you asked questions such as:  “What was the last book of the Bible you read?”

Answer:  Psalm 91

“What is your favorite verse?”

Answer:  Uhhhhh….the first one.

“Have you read the book of Habakkuk?”

Answer:  It is in the Old Testament, right?  If it is short, I will go home and read it.

“If I searched your name on google, what would I find?”

Answer:  “Ah, nothing ma’am…I just watch Godtube.

Then the truth comes out…..

He walks into your home and hands you a manila envelope.

He states that he wants to be honest and hands you his arrest record.

You must give the boy props for coming clean.  Hold no grudges, everyone can change.

“What are your intentions with my daughter?”

Answer:  I don’t want to have sex until I’m married.

**choke back the vomit, ask for a coke and possibly a valium**

“No, we are not talking about sex.  What are you wanting from knowing my daughter?”

Answer:  Oh, ma’am, they tell me in AA that I can’t be in a relationship until I have been sober for a year.

“You are an alcoholic.  Okay.  You are in recovery.  Good for you.  How long have you been sober?”

Answer:  Not a year.

Conversation over.

Supper eaten.

Boy exits….after another hug and a surprise photo op because he wants the “memory” of being here.


Is it *just* my life?

There was more to the conversation.  So.  Much.  More.

Related Posts:

Who Needs Snow and a Sled

There are Days Though

Happy 13th Boo

Sweet 16


Black and White

Black and White.  When my son came home from Ethiopia, after a long long LONG separation from us….it was clear to him that he “looked” different than the people that lived in this house and community.  We are all pasty white and he is black and beautiful.

What a strange feeling for him.

Leaving his country, his language, sights, sounds, and foods behind to come to America and be surrounded by white people.  Some people were nice about it and some people were not nice about his skin color.  To some people, there was a difference.  He was “less” than others because of the color of his skin.  They made it evident by the looks and the sideways comments.

Holding Hands

One day, my sweet son and I were cuddled up watching a movie and we were holding hands.  He was matching up his hand to mine and we were comparing how much bigger my hand was than his.  As we were playing, he looked at me and said: “look, mama, we are the same…our hands match.”  I just smiled and said “they sure do.  Our hands match, our eyes match, our hearts match, we have *so* much that matches….you look just like me!”

Remember that though someone may look different to you, whether it is race, disability, man or woman….please know that we are ALL created in the image of Jesus.  We are loved without abandon by our God.

Sometimes it is best to stop and think before opening your mouth.

These two pictures…two of my favorites….show no difference between my precious son and me.  It shows love.  Unconditional love.

Black and White

Black and White

Life or Something Like It

Fat Girls and Field Mice

Fat Girls and Field Mice.  Let’s just pretend you are a fly on the wall.

Here I am, heading to bed when I think to myself.  I say “self, you need to get one of those little loves notes from your love notebook.  Then, you need to put it in Big Daddy’s lunchbox to give him a thrill.”  So, after I had already been upstairs and snuggled in bed, about midnight, I decided that I should do this.

Trying to be Sneaky

So, I grab a note and head downstairs being very quiet because.  Ya know, I think Big Daddy can hear me from across the house, up the stairs, with three fans on and the bedroom door shut.  I’m trying to be very very sneaky.  Once in the kitchen, I realized that his lunchbox was in the pantry.  I open the pantry door and what should run over my feet but a mouse.  The mouse and I had a conversation, but she had already set up home and had her apron on…there was no negotiating.

Things I do not do

Now….I’m a woman that can do a lot of things.  There are three things I do not do….1) get in boats 2) touch dead, raw chickens and 3) mice.

So, what does this fat girl do?

She grabs her boobs and jumps up and down squealing like a 12 yr old school girl.  Then, I freeze.  I stand there in silence wondering if the warmth I’m feeling is the fireplace or pee running down my legs….it was the fireplace 🙂  I tiptoe into the dining room and get the big dog bed and oh so quietly scootch it to the pantry door to prevent the said mouse from escaping.

Next, I run upstairs

I’m not so quiet as I stand in front of Big Daddy jumping up and down and squealing that there is a mouse, the size of Montana, in the pantry….very very close to my coke.  He must, HE MUST go and do something about it.  My nerves are getting the best of me and there is sweat in inappropriate places and onset of gas that could rival any sonic boom.

He *finally* gets up, fussing the whole time, and ambles (think John Wayne) towards the kitchen.  He ever so slowly (Big Daddy doesn’t get in a hurry….ever) goes into the laundry room to get glue traps and his intention is to put it down and capture the mouse.

Being the supportive wife that I am.

I stand, on the chair, in the dining room yelling supportive statements like “I love you.  You are wonderful.  Thank you.  This mouse is huge.  It will eat your feet.  Focus!  Focus!  It’s gonna get out!  I’ll get a cat and we can throw it in there”  I got several dirty loving looks from him.  It was a moment.

Go Get a Cat

Apparently, the glue trap method was not working so he tells me to get a cat.  I love cats.  I do.  We’ve had upward 20 cats in the last year.  I stand outside (in my drawers…freezing) and yell for them and Martha comes running up.  I grab her and toss her from the dining room to the kitchen where Big Daddy was standing guard.  He throws Martha into the pantry and shuts the door.

Funniest Thing Ever

I must say, I did snicker a bit when he cracked the door open because he was afraid that the cat could not see in the dark to catch the mouse.  He was trying to help poor Martha.  Every time he cracked the door open, though, Martha would dodge out. I could feel her screaming “SANCTUARY.”  She *wanted* outside.  After failed attempts with Martha, I finally granted her wish and let her out.

Poor Starr

About that time, Starr ran up.  She isn’t the nicest of all cats, but I thought her tenacity and her hatefulness would do the job.  Alas, the same scene continued to play out. Open the door, toss Starr in.  Close the door, crack the door because of pity, Starr escapes.  It was something to behold.

The Last Attempt

The last attempt (while I’m still standing in the chair being supportive), he throws the cat in, one last time.  I’m wondering if the cat is going to do her job.  Yet, before the thought continued out of my head, here comes the mouse.  It is scurrying out of the pantry while Big Daddy is doing a jig.  Honestly, I’m surprised the next county didn’t hear the screams coming out of my mouth.  I’m *really* surprised that I didn’t break my chair because big girls do not need to be jumping on the furniture.  Starr goes one way and the mouse goes the other way.

It Went from Wence It Came

The mouse heads back from where it came…under my cabinet.  The cat flies out the door, fur flying.  Big Daddy proceeds to yell at me for screaming and “scaring the mouse.”  I mean, seriously…*I* scared the mouse.  He fusses at me until he is back in bed.

Didn’t Meet My Goal

I told him “my goal was to be all seductive and cool and put a love note in your bag.  I’m thinking you are just gonna have to deal with granny panties.  Also, hair long enough to braid on my legs cause I am not doing that again.”  As I finally calm down and get relaxed, I hear him say “you know, mice can climb stairs and squeeze under doors.  She may end up in bed with us.”  Needless to say, I dreamt of field mice and told my husband that he was rotten.

The mouse is still out there…somewhere…beyond the cabinets…just waiting….just waiting.  In a week, Big Daddy and I have been outsmarted by a pig and a mouse.  Is it just me and my life or do other people experience this trauma?

Where are my nephews and their homemade blowdarts when you need them?  *Sigh*
Life or Something Like It

Those STUPID Pigs

Those STUPID Pigs.  I posted, yesterday, about the dog issue.  Well, the dog wasn’t the issue, it was the telling me while I’m still sleeping that there is a ginormous dog in my laundry room who needs my assistance.  Praising God for his family coming to get him.  I know that he is happy to be home.  Sweet dog.

Pig Drop

At about 4, maybe a little after, my friend called and said: “I’m heading your way with pigs.”  Yes, you heard that right.  We found a person who had 3 – 25 lb. pigs for sale at a great price.  This is how we maintain our freezer and our grocery bill.  We raise/slaughter a pig every year.  Last year, we didn’t raise a pig BUT we called our local butcher and they had contacts.  We ended up buying a pig from a local farmer.  This year, we bought one to raise.

Those STUPID Pigs

My friend had wanted me to go with her, but alas, I was taking a nap LOL and I didn’t know that she was ready to go.  She was impatient.  She ended up meeting the lady at a half way point.

This was the conversation between my friend and the lady we bought the pigs from:

Lady:  What will you be driving?

Friend:  A black tahoe.

Those STUPID Pigs

Lady:  A tahoe?

Friend:  Yes.

Lady:  What will you be carrying them in?

Friend:  A pet taxi.

Those STUPID Pigs

Lady:  A pet taxi…for like pets?

Friend:  Yes, it is also what I haul my birds in.

Lady:  Well, alright then.

**insert “you might be a redneck” comment**

So, short (4’11” on a good day)  friend puts the pigs in the pet taxi, in the back of the tahoe and Pam calls and says, “I have the pigs come help.”  We keep the pigs across the road, at another friend’s house….so off I go to help.  I wasn’t expecting to do much so I had on a pair of jogging pants, t shirt, and fuzzy boats with a sweater.

Little did I know…

My friend backs down to the pig sty, where there are currently 3 ENORMOUS pigs waiting for their day of reckoning.  We aren’t supposed to open the fence and the muck is pretty high.  As my friend begins to sling this pig into the sty…I yell “Pigs are cannibals.”  About that time, little pig almost drowns in the mud because he went face first…he slipped.  Next, little pig #2 (still in the pet taxi) decides she wants freedom and knocks the pet taxi to the ground and escapes.  She doesn’t go far, but still….have *you* ever tried to catch a pig?  The next thing we do will be a moment for the ages.

We stand there in silence.

Not moving…waiting to see how big piggies handle little piggie.  It wasn’t pretty.  My friends (J and Pam) had brought their daughter M and all you heard was little pig screaming, big pigs trying to eat little pig, and M crying “making them stop hurting the baby pig.”

None of us could move fast enough.

Pam wedges the gate open enough to get in…but just like little piggie drowning in the muck, she sank…the muck was up to her knees.  She couldn’t move.  J was on the other side of the pen, with a kids little bitty shovel beating the big pigs in the face trying to get them to stop eating the little pig.

Pam, still in the muck, holds a child’s rake and attempts to rake her way to the none mucky end to help save the pig.  I take over the child’s shovel and stand en guard to beat the big pig’s snouts.  J makes a daring rescue of the injured piggy.  We put piggy #1 in with piggy #3 (who is in another carrier and shaking in the corner).  M, the sweet 11 yr old girl, is in the front seat crying.  We get her calmed down, I spray down the pig and check the wound (yes, I’m qualified).  It is simply a scrape.

Headed Home Covered in Pig Crap

We head home, covered in pig crap from head to toe.  Head.  To.  Toe.  People.  We smell.  My cute fuzzy boots are ruined.  Pam and I go to my house to clean up and change clothes.  J heads to his house to shower and change.  He heads back to my house, watches 9 kids, while Pam and I head to Walmart and the Co-Op to get meds and betadine.  Once home, we realize we left 9 kids here and there were 11 when we came home.

My neighbor, Melissa, had come home (pigs live at her house), dropped her girls off for my older girls to watch…she, Big Daddy, and J were back over trying to rig up a place for the little pigs.  Our goal was to put them in the unused (for now) turkey pen.

Are you lost yet?

Pam and I walk over, unwillingly, and about that time pig #2 had escaped again.  We got the 2 pigs in the turkey pen and 4 of us went tromping through the fields, woods, dried up creek, and beyond to catch this pig.  Now, my husband is not a small man…J is.  It is something, by the light of the moon, to see J fly through the air to capture a pig and hot on his heels comes Big Daddy, flying right behind him.  The scene was comical….from afar.  There were injuries and none of the injuries belonged to the pig.

About this time, Pam…country girl…yanked up her too long pants (I’m 5’6″ and she is 4’11”..the pants were mine) and she scaled the barbed wire fence…much like a female version of Spiderman.  Off she goes.  In the distance, I hear the drill, where Melissa is constructing a door and a pig squealing…..

We ended up giving up.

We all sat around, in the dark, covered in pig crap….defeated.

5 grown adults were outsmarted by one little piggy.

This morning, I get up.  I walk over to Melissa’s.  Then, I hear a sound.  I look up and there is that stupid pig.  I run home, call J..dash to get him and we fought a good fight.  We ran, leaped, jump, laughed, and peed….in the end…the pig was captured.

Bacon.  Bacon sounds *really* good right now.

Soon….my little piggy pretty…..soon, we will eat you.


Cheesy Chicken Lasagna

This is my Cheesy Chicken Lasagna recipe.

Cheesy Chicken Lasagna

3 1/2 c. cooked, shredded chicken

2 – 12 oz. cans evaporated milk

1 packet ranch mix



No boil lasagna noodles


In saucepan, heat milk, cooked chicken, and ranch packet.  Boil for 3 minutes (stir to prevent burning) and then simmer for 25 minutes.

In 13×9 greased dish, spread a small spoonful on the bottom of the dish.  Layer noodles, chicken mixture, mozzarella, cheddar.  Continue to layer and end with cheeses.  Bake, uncovered, at 350 for 45 minutes.  Cover with aluminum and cook for another 15 minutes until cheese is gooey.  Let sit for about 5 minutes before serving.

Then, you can slap yo mama 🙂  This recipe is so good and so simple.

Casseroles, Cooking

Pork Chop Hashbrown Casserole

Here is my Pork Chop Hashbrown Casserole.  I love one pot meals…though, with this, I made green bean casserole and corn 🙂

Pork-Chop Hashbrown Casserole

8 Pork Chops

1 can cream mushroom


8 oz. sour cream


1 bag hashbrown (I actually shredded up 8 potatoes because that is what I had).

Preheat oven to 350.  In greased 13×9 pan, place hashbrown, sour cream, cream of mushroom soup, and seasoning.  Stir in the dish.  Spread cheddar cheese on top.  Next, work in your 8 chops.  Cover and bake for 45 minutes and then uncover and bake until cheese is nice and gooey.


Enjoy 🙂.  You can use bone-in chops or boneless chops.  It doesn’t really matter.   You might notice in my recipes that I do not have exact measurements.  Like you will see above “seasoning” with no XXX teaspoons.  I don’t do this to irritate people.  Honestly, I just don’t measure things.

As a rule of thumb, season on the lighter side.  You can always add more but you can’t talk the salt/pepper/garlic out of something.  I have cooked for so long that the only time I use exact measurements is when I bake.  That is sort of a “have to” type thing.

Related Posts:

Simple Injera

Chocolate Brownies with Blueberries and Spinach

Picky Eaters

Once a Month Cooking


Simple Injera

I don’t have time to make 3-day Injera, so here is my Simple Injera that Jude just loves!  Truly, I wish I had the time and resources to make the real thing.  I remember Jude double fisting injera and Doro Wat when he was in the orphanage.  One day, maybe. However, I do have Ethiopian connections.  My sweet friend would make and send me some if I asked.  For now, this is what I have come up with.

Simple Injera

3 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup buckwheat flour
2 Tb. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
4 cups club soda
1 cup white or rice vinegar
Oil for pan


In a large bowl, mix both flours, salt, and baking soda together. Whisk in the club soda until smooth. Then add the vinegar and whisk.

Heat a large skillet over medium heat. Pour oil on a paper towel and wipe the skillet with the oiled paper towel.

Using a scoop, pour batter into the skillet creating a 6-inch circle. Carefully swirl the pan around to thin out the batter until it measures 8-9 inches across.

Cook for 1 minute, then using a large spatula, flip the Injera over and cook another minute. Remove from the skillet and stack on a plate.

Repeat with remaining batter. The Injera will seem slightly crisp in the pan, but will soften immediately when placed on the plate.

Once finished cooking it. Cut the circles in half with a pizza cutter, roll into tubes and stack. Keep warm until ready to serve.

Serve the Doro Wat and Injera together, tearing a piece off and using it to pick up the Doro Wat.


Falsehoods and Truth of Adoption

Falsehoods and Truth of Adoption.

Let me start off by saying that ADOPTION is a beautiful thing!  It has been a desire of mine since I was a child and the Lord saw fit to bring this desire to fruition.  Yet there are some Falsehoods and Truth of Adoption.

There are several things that people do not tell you about adoption that I wish I had known, way back when…but it still would not have turned me against adding to my family through our domestic and international adoption.  I just believe that I would have been better prepared.

You will automatically love this child.

I wish this were true but there are times when that connection is just not there and love is a CHOICE and not a FEELING.  There are times when adoptive mamas go through post-adoption depression just like mamas who give birth can struggle with postpartum depression.  It is tough.  If you feel like you are struggling or wanting to sleep all the time.  Maybe your emotions are all over the place or you are struggling with loving this child.  Please, seek help.  There is no shame in talking to a doctor or a therapist.  There is no shame if you need medication to get through this emotional hump.  You are still a good mama.  Relax.  Breathe.  Trust the Lord.  Ask for help.

It will be an easy transition into your family.

Any adoptive parent will tell you that this is a lie lie lie.  I will say that it was much easier with Little Man then it was with Gigi and Catfish.  There is a honeymoon period.  It can last for days (or hours) or months.  When it is over, it is over….that is when real bonding begins.

You have to be rich to adopt.

With the help of friends, family, yard sales, craft shows, grants….you can adopt.  You do not have to be rich.  In the case of foster care adoption, there is no cost to adopt a child from the foster system and the need is great!

You will love this child(ren) differently because this child “did not come from your body.

Again, it does not take birthing a baby to be a mom.  It takes the next lifetime to be a mom.  I love ALL of my kids DIFFERENTLY.  It is a fact that I do not love them the same.  Yet, I do not love one more than another.  I just love them differently whether they are grown under the heart or in it.

It is easy to adopt

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…..uhm….no.  International, domestic, private, family, foster care….adoption is A LOT of hard work.  A lot of dedication, a lot of paperwork, a lot of tears, and a lot of emotions.  Those who tell you differently are on medication.

All children in foster care have some kind of physical, mental or emotional handicap; that’s why
they are classified as “special needs.”

Special needs can include several different types of kids.  Children who are of a different race are special needs.  Children over 3 are special needs.  Sibling groups are special needs.  Boys can be considered special needs just because they are boys.  There can be mental or physical needs, as well….but my son, adopted at the age of 4 was special needs because he was black, a boy, and over the age of 2.  He is perfectly fine.  My other 2 children are considered special needs because they are a sibling group.  There are additional needs from those 2 kids, but by in far, they are just fine.

Natural parents do not care about the babies they surrender to adoption

My son’s mother loves him.  My children’s mother loves them.  They love in their own way.  They were relinquished for different reasons.  Both mom’s wanted a better life for their children.

The infant does not experience her separation from her mother

There are implicit memories (from birth to 3) and explicit memories (from 3 on).  Whether a child can verbalize or physically remember or not, they will always have those memories.  That loss and grief will always be there.  Regardless of age.

The adoptive family will be the only family the adoptive child will know

Uhm, again…no….These kids will always wonder where they came from and what their story was.  Do all you can to find out for their benefit…even the hard stuff.

Your identity is tied to the adoptive family and not your past

An adoptive child’s identity is founded in their heritage and their past.  They adapt and learn new ways, but their past is a huge part of who they are.

Adoptive families make up for a child’s loss

Again, that loss and grief will always be present.  It should be talked about and openness needs to be encouraged.  A child should never be afraid to talk to a parent about their hurts, fears, and confusion.  It does not mean they do not love you.  They just want to know.

The adoptive child never thinks about their biological family

Yes, they do…all the time.  They just very well may be afraid to verbalize for fear of hurting their adoptive parents.

You should sugarcoat the truth to make it easier on the adopted child

Nope.  This information should be sought after if you can.  It should be delivered in 100% truth as the child can understand and their complete past, what you know, should be completely told to a child by the age of 12.

Adoption damages a child

I don’t believe it does.  My children, though here for different circumstances by their biological families, know they are loved and they are safe.  They also know that their families loved them the only way that that could.

Adoption means waiting years for a child

I was waiting for a year for 2 of my children.  It took 2 years for my other child.  It all depends on what you are open too.  The more open you are to a child of God, the sooner it could be a reality.  If you are tied down to a newborn, blonde hair, blue-eyed little girl…your wait time will be longer.

Children must be placed with same race families in order to thrive

We are a trans-racial family.  Our family tries to keep his heritage alive by listening to music, reading books, having pictures, things from his country.  Also, we try to get together with fellow adoptive families from Ethiopia.  We do the best we can knowing full well that we can never replace a first-hand experience he would have had had he stayed with his biological family.

Single people or people over 40 cannot adopt

Not true and not true 🙂  Age does not matter.  I say if the Lord is calling you…be obedient.  You won’t be sorry.

James 1:27  Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world.

Matthew 18:5 “And anyone who welcomes a little child like this on my behalf is welcoming me.

Falsehoods and Truth of Adoption


Falsehoods and Truth of Adoptionh

If you have any questions or comments, please feel free to ask and I will address them.

Life or Something Like It


Here is our Milestone.  Dear Precious One,

What a blessing you are.  What a beautiful child of God that I have had the privilege to raise.  You have far exceeded all dreams that I could have ever had with your grace, love, forgiveness, and beauty.

When you were a newborn, I held you close to me and I began to cry.  Daddy walked into the room and saw me crying and he asked me what was wrong.  Through my tears, I said “She is so small and so beautiful.  I am going to blink, one day and she will be 10 years old.  I will blink again and she will be driving.  Then, I will blink again and she will be 18 and graduating high school….then she will leave and begin her life.”  He laughed and told me to take it one day at a time, that it won’t go by so fast.






I blinked.

Look at the beauty you have become.  18 yrs old and a graduate of high school.  You may be too big for my lap, but you are never too big for my arms.  I simply adore you.  I praise God every day that He allowed us to be your parents and to have the privilege of raising you.

May you continue to always follow the narrow path and be a city on the hill!

Milestone Milestone Milestone