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I was Mad at God

When our first adoption match failed, I was mad. Really, really mad at God.

It’s not that I think I’m some entitled person who should never have any hardship. But God had specifically spoken to both Chris and I that we were to pursue that match. Even when our very wise Adoption Consultant cautioned us against it, we didn’t feel released to back out.

So I was angry. Because God made me walk down a path that He knew would end in pain. I didn’t have a road-map for that kind of God. It’s not a side of Him that is usually talked about on Sunday mornings. He’s scary.

In 2 Samuel 6:1-9, David was bringing the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem. He was doing it to honor the Lord. As they were traveling and worshiping, the Ark almost tipped, so one guy put his hand up to steady it. And God killed him. For doing what seemed like the right thing.

It says David was angry with the Lord. And it says David feared the Lord. I think he was angry and afraid because he didn’t have parameters for that kind of God.

Because God is beyond us.

He does things in a way we never would. His methods of being good are different than our ideas of goodness. But He IS good.

At the end, that was the only place I could land. God’s goodness was different than mine, but I had to trust that He is good. Reading the Psalms that David wrote, I think that’s where he always landed too.

A month and a half after the first mom decided to parent her baby, we found out about another situation. A situation where all the pieces fell into perfect order.

We were matched with an expectant mom who was due in only a few weeks. We loved her from the moment we talked with her on the phone. She was steadfast and committed to her adoption plan. We all became like family.

When the baby was born, she included us in every step of the process. We were amazed at how beautiful the experience was and were so honored to share it with her.

After 5 days, papers were signed and Enoch Irvin Warrior Davis was our son.

None of that beautiful story would have been ours if the first match had happened according to the plan.

I can’t necessarily say it all makes sense, even now. But I am convinced that God’s goodness led us to where we are today. The path was twisted, hard and confusing, but I can rest that He led us.

And that’s all I really need to know.

Our little warrior:

enoch1   enoch2  enoch3   enoch4

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The Davis’s Do Derby. Kind of.

In Louisville, Derby just IS.

For two weeks, Louisville lives, eats and doesn’t sleep for Derby. The excitement is infectious.

Even at school, the kids design their own racing silks and Derby hats. They have “Derby Activities” where everyone goes outside and participates in relay races.

My heart wants to jump into the celebration full throttle, but so many of the events aren’t kid-friendly. Not really.

Everything gets kicked off two weeks prior to Derby with Thunder Over Louisville, the largest fireworks show in the nation. “That’s kid-friendly,” you say. This year, they were expecting 800,000 people. Taking kids into that crowd? Not friendly at all.

But we watched the top of Thunder over our back fence. So that’s kind of participation.

And then there are other events that aren’t parent friendly. The weekend before Derby, there is a hot air balloon race. Every year, I say, “We have to go see the hot air balloons launch.” And every year it’s at 7:00 AM on a Saturday morning. So you can imagine how that works out.

On the Thursday before Derby is the Pegasus Parade. This is kind of my go-to “do something for Derby.”

Last year was a disaster. Leah had to use the restroom so bad she thought she would die. And a giant balloon got stuck in some wires, so the parade was stalled for 30 to 45 minutes. We ended up leaving without seeing much parade.

But THIS year. This year would be better, I determined. I made everyone use the bathroom before we went. A guy let us into his saved seating, so we were right up front. I was pretty convinced the parade officials had warned everyone to avoid power lines with balloons. All good.

No. Leah decided her ear hurt so bad that she would die. Isaiah was bored and we were wasting his “play time.” And the parade kept getting stuck. Apparently that’s just how they don’t roll.

I was trying to be all cheery and enjoyful. But really, it was kind of boring just staring at the people across the street from us for long periods of time.

We ended up leaving after an hour and a half (I’m guessing there was still and hour and a half of parade to come). But not before we saw the Cards enter triumphantly and witnessed these rather disturbing sites:

pegasus parade

photo(12)

 

Today is The Oaks, when they run the fillies. Most Louisville people skip the Derby and do Oaks. In fact, the kids have off of school today. So my son is spending his Oaks day by building the Kentucky Derby out of Legos. One way or another, we’re doing Derby.

lego KY Derby

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Leah: On Adoption

I was telling Leah how much I liked her and how glad I was she was in our family. Then I asked, “Are you glad you’re in our family?”

She said, “Yes, because if I wasn’t in our family, then I wouldn’t get to adopt babies with you.”

Then she said, “Because, then, what if the family I was in loved Jesus, but God didn’t tell them to adopt? That would be sad… Then I’d want YOU to adopt me.”

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Under Your Skin

In case you missed it, we’re adopting! And our family is open to babies of any ethnicity. So on the way to school the other morning, I asked the kids what they would do if something mean was said about our babies having a different skin color than them.

Leah said indignantly, “I’d just tell them, ‘You be nice to OUR FAMILY.”

Doing a little positive reinforcement, I said, “Does skin color make us different or are we all the same on the inside?”

Isaiah piped up and said, “No. We’re different. Because of behavior.”

Inside, I started to freak out a little, thinking he had absorbed some wrong concept about certain races having certain behaviors. But before I pulled the car over for an emergency intervention, I asked him to clarify what he meant.

He explained that some people were naughty or mean on the inside and others were kind and nice. And that was what made us different. We are different on the inside.

Somehow, he turned a conversation about ethnicity into a conversation about people.

It made my original question feel childish. Like:

“Are we really talking about what people look like on the outside? That’s so last year.”

His answer seemed 100% bigger and truer than what I had asked. He completely bypassed “do looks matter” and went after what makes us… us. Our hearts.

And Isaiah is right. Who cares how your outsides look? What is your heart like?

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Unicorns and Birthdays and Drawing in Frosting

Leah is our little free bird. She doesn’t make a lot of sense, but she doesn’t have to. The more random she is, the more joy she seems to bring.

I mean, one of the teachers at her school has nicknamed her “Prancing Pony.”

So when it comes to her birthdays, nothing she suggests is a surprise. She usually sticks to the pretty standard princess type themes. But when I inquire about what kind of birthday cake she wants, that is where it goes off of the beaten path.

Last birthday she asked for a flamingo.

This year when we talked about her cake, she said she wanted “That horse with a thing on its head.”

Now, a unicorn wouldn’t be so “out there” for some kids. But I’ve never heard Leah even mention one before (anymore than she’d been into flamingos the previous year).

Isaiah and I discussed whether I could pull it off or not. He said, “Well, if you can do a flamingo, I think you can do a unicorn.” Which made sense.

See, I’m not a cake decorator. At all. In fact, I’ve had some cake disasters. See here. And here. But I can draw ok. So I just thought of it as drawing in frosting.

Here’s the final result:

I wonder what she’ll ask for next year.

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1st Grade Soap Opera

Yesterday, Leah got in the car after her first day of 1st grade and announced:

“Mommy, guess what! There’s two boys in my class that are in love with me. And I LIKE them!”

At the end of last year, one of the little guys in her class (Brent) wanted to be her boyfriend. Apparently he was back this year, still on his mission. But a new guy was on the scene. His name was Jaybren. His goal was to get married and then have babies and then go on dates.

Brent wanted to get things settled, so he demanded to know which of them Leah liked better. She wisely told him “both.”

Today, on the car ride home, I got the latest update:

“Guess what, Mommy! I saw Jaybren and he’s still my boyfriend. But we don’t want to tell Brent because he’ll get mad if he finds out I picked Jaybren.”

Isaiah interjected, “Yeah, they’d probably start wrestling if they got the chance.”

Leah continued her story:

“You know, me and Jaybren have been acting like a grown up boyfriend and girlfriend. Because we smile at each other we we sit by each other and we run laps [in gym] together. And I really want to marry him and he loves Jesus.”

My girl is already a woman of wisdom. She made sure both guys loved Jesus and then picked the one that wanted to settle down and have babies. Not the one who just wanted a girlfriend. There’s a lesson in here, gentlemen. Commitment wins every time.

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Beaches

I’ve never been a beach person.

I mean, the sand finding its way into unmentionable places, and the walking around almost naked, and the so. much. hot. sun. Not a fan.

I’m not talking about West Coast beaches. Those are my fav. They’re majestic and rocky and glorious. And the water is made out of ice cubes. So you just look at those beaches. Look and don’t touch. Perfect.

But my brother-in-law and his fiancee are getting married on a Florida beach this weekend, so I’m getting acquainted with beaches.

I bought a swimsuit a few years ago. I’ve worn it a couple of times to places like hotel swimming pools in an effort to break myself into the almost nakedness. Louisville has done a pretty good job of breaking me into being HOT ALL THE TIME.

And the kids barely remember the California beaches, so I was tentatively excited about this vacation.

You know? I think I like the beach. Still not loving the sun. But the waves have my heart.

Except when it comes to the kids.

Isaiah knows no water fear. His favorite ocean pass time is to throw himself into a wave and go limp with his face under the water. LIKE HE’S DEAD. I can’t handle it.

Leah is kind of afraid of the water, so she heads into it a little and then freaks out because she needs to be rescued. And she gets salt and sand in her eyes every two minutes.

Both of them have this weird ability to do the opposite of what Chris and I are doing. When we sit down at the edge of the water to let the waves gently caress our toes, they head out into the deep and do the floppy dead fish thing. When we decide to play in the waves, they go make sandcastle on the shore.

So yes, I like the beach. I just don’t think I like the beach with kids.

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Never Alone. No, Never.

My kids are done with school for the summer.

The little Davises are the best. They’re cute and cuddly and funny. But they’re also loud, and whiny, and fighty-with-each-other.

And I’m an introvert.

I mean, I like people, but I like them in controlled doses, separated by healthy intervals of being left alone. And kids are like people times 200.

The movies they watch sing the same song every 5 minutes. Loudly. And they watch them on constant repeat, while they bounce on the couch and invade each other’s space, resulting in vociferous complaining.

And when that gets dull, they run upstairs and play soccer. In the house. Until someone falls down the stairs. Loudly.

Every 30 minutes, they demand snack. And lunch. And snack.

And they want to do stuff:

“Mommy! Can we go to the park!!!” (At 9AM, when I’m in my PJ’s.)
“Can we go to Anabelle’s house?” (Sure, kids. We’ll just invite ourselves over. When it’s still 9AM and I’m still in my PJ’s.)
“Let’s go to the splash park!” (It’s 65 degrees out and all the swimsuits are in the laundry.)
“Are we going somewhere tonight? We NEVER go anywhere.” (Lies.)
“Let’s go ride bikes! Let’s draw chalk! Can I get the play-doh out? I want to paint! Let’s get the trains out of the very back of the closet! Can we have ice cream?”

I’m a little out of my introvert comfort zone.

But I’m adapting. Because I can go in my room, fold laundry, and watch a movie on my laptop with ear-buds in. It almost feels like I’m alone. Almost.

Until someone pokes their head in and asks for a popsicle.

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Leah Hearts Terry Virgo

Leah was cleaning off the coffee table for me and discovered a copy of Terry Virgo’s No Well-Worn Paths, with his picture on the cover.

She exclaimed, “Ah! I love this guy! Is he real?”

“Yes, that’s Terry Virgo,” I explained.

“I knew it! That’s why I love him,” she replied with great satisfaction.

(I’m pretty sure that, besides hearing Chris and I mention the name, she has no idea who Terry Virgo even is.)

There was a long pause. Then Leah blurted out, “Did he die?”

I assured her that he was alive and well.

She breathed a sigh of relief, “Good! I hope he never dies. If he dies, I’ll cry. For real.”

I guess Terry Virgo has a REALLY likable face.

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The Santa Claus Conspiracy

Once a week, I volunteer in my son’s 2nd grade class at school. Most of the time, the kids just read with me. However, once in a while they end up sharing their own stories.

Last week, one of the little girls told me she recently heard jingle bells. So she looked out of her mailbox slot and saw Santa and his reindeer flying. “Maybe,” she said, “he was practicing.”

But he did drop off some packages at her house on his practice run, and they are still there.

She explained that sometimes Santa lies a little bit and writes, “From Mom and Dad” on gifts, because he doesn’t want kids to think the packages are from him. But they really are.

I have never, ever heard this theory before and find it very intriguing. It’s not parents who try to convince their children to believe in Santa. Rather, it is Santa who wants children to believe in their parents. Interesting.

This smart little girl also firmly believes in the tooth fairy and has a plan to save up 3 teeth to trick the fairy out of $3 all at once.

 

(If you’re curious about why my kids think about Santa, read The Truth About Santa and Spider Man)

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