Angels Watching Over Me

Yesterday I received two parcels from my uncle. The boxes contained items from my Grandmother’s which had been divided and sorted on my behalf. In the boxes was art that Grandma Julie had done. She used to scratch on metal to make pictures. The metal would be painted black, and then she would scratch the picture, add colour, and scratch some more. She had explained to me once that there are many hours that go into making one of these pieces. She was also known for her art and it had sold for quite a bit. But beyond them being of value monetarily, they are distinctly my Grandmother. I had some of her pictures hanging on my wall that she had given to me when she was alive. Now I have added to that collection and have three more pictures added to the walls in my house. There was one in particular that I am absolutely thrilled to have received. It is a picture of a Guardian Angel watching over two children crossing a bridge in a storm. This has particular meaning for me because I had the original picture from when I was in Sunday School. When Grandma saw it hanging on my wall, she asked if she could get a photocopy so she could draw it. She took a black and white copy and turned it into a colourful masterpiece.


Another trinket that came was a Rubik’s Cube on a keychain. It came to us solved. My son picked it up, and now it is randomized. I don’t know how to solve a Rubik’s Cube, so now I am looking for some instructions. Not that I think I’ll ever be able to follow them, but maybe the boy who is far too smart for me will figure it out.

Paper

Today I was able to help my son’s grade 3/4 class make paper. I have never made paper before. I have seen homemade paper and think it is cool. The kids did a great job. But I was tired when we were done. Nine-year olds definitely have more energy than I do.

For Valentine’s Day, I helped my kids make their Valentine’s Day cards. We have mounds of construction paper, piles of stickers and glitter glue to last forever. I knew my daughter would love to make the cards. Bruce knew our son would not. So I made quite a few of them, but both kids helped. The day before their Valentine’s Day parties at school, I kept my daughter up to finish her cards. As it was getting later I was becoming more insistent that she just get the names written on the cards and do the extra decorations in the morning if she had time. While we were working, my daughter scraped the back of her leg on something at the table. She was whining about it hurting, but it wasn’t bleeding so I told her to just keep writing. Afterward I told Bruce I felt like an athletic trainer. “Just keep going through the pain! The pain doesn’t matter!”

My son had opted to wait until morning to work on his cards. He is slow at the best of times. To get him to finish his Valentine’s cards was almost torturous. I was after him the same way as I was for his sister. Crack the whip! Get the work done! When I’m under pressure, I become very task oriented and not very relationship oriented. By the time we were done, he was quite upset with me. But he finished.

After today, I said wouldn’t it be great if we didn’t just make our own Valentine’s Day cards, we could make the paper, too. Bruce thinks I’m crazy. I think it’ll be fun.

I have been meaning to read “7 Habits of Highly Effective People” by Stephen Covey for a long time. It was one of my text books in Bible College. I still haven’t made it through the whole book. (not even half-way, if I’m completely honest) But I have read about how the people we love, like our children, behave the way we treat them. If I believe my son is a misbehaved brat and tell him that every day, he will act like a misbehaved brat. It’s the power of words combined with self-fulfilling prophecy. (I'm not sure Covey terms it that way - that's my interpretation)

I’m seeing some of the results of that with my kids. I’m afraid I have categorized them, and they know it. We have branded our son as the intellect who is exceptionally good with numbers, reading and spelling. And we have called our daughter girly, princess and “the artist.” Ever since she was little she has loved to paint or draw or create crafts. We even had to have a little talk about the difference between “art” and “vandalism.” We went over the definitions:

Art is when you draw on your own stuff
Vandalism is when you draw on other people’s stuff

She has begun calling herself an artist. And she is really talented – for a 6-year old. She comes up with ideas I never would have dreamed of. In the process, however, I think we have failed to communicate to her that she is good in other areas as well. She has picked up on reading really well lately, but she still doesn’t like to read that much. I read her stories, which she enjoys. But she doesn’t call herself a reader. That makes me sad, because I know she is capable. We just haven’t encouraged her in that area as much as we did with her brother.

Once again, I am reminded of how I am constantly affecting my children through my words, actions and beliefs. Lord have mercy on me and on them.

Adoption

My life has been heavily influenced by adoption. My mom was adopted in 1954 when closed adoptions were the only option available to mothers who wanted to place their children. When I was 3 my mom and birth father divorced. My mom remarried when I was 6 and shortly after that my step-dad adopted me. He is my Dad. When I was in my early 20s I had a son and placed him for adoption with an open adoption.

Therefore, I have been involved with adoption in a variety of ways.

Attitudes toward adoption have changed since my mom was adopted. But not as much as I would hope. My grandma seemed to have the attitude that since my mom’s birth mother placed my mom for adoption, she must have been a bad person. I think that is why it was so hard for my grandmother when I decided to place my son for adoption. All these ideas she had about what my mom’s birth mom had to be like were being challenged. She never thought I was a bad person. I was a good kid (mostly). I was smart. I seemed to have enough sense to do well. So why would I choose to give away my baby? She couldn’t see that it wasn’t about me. It was about my child. I knew that I would most likely be a single parent. I saw the single parents around me who were struggling. A 16-year old with no education had been struggling with raising her daughter. A 20-year old working on her nursing degree was struggling. My dad who had a fairly secure job was struggling. I couldn’t physically or emotionally be two people.

But it still felt like I had to fight to defend my right to place my son for adoption. It appeared to me then, and still seems to be the case now, that the options for unplanned pregnancies were as follows:

1. Parent.
2. If you can’t parent, abort.
3. If you can’t parent and won’t abort, then as a last resort you could consider adoption.

Maybe I’m wrong. But I don’t think so. Even my doctor when I found out about my pregnancy first suggested abortion, and then after the baby was born came and said, “You know there are programs to help you financially if you decide to keep your baby.” She was communicating to me that abortion or parenting should be considered before adoption.

Why are we so opposed to the thought of someone else raising a child? Our child? I spoke with a friend once about it, and she had a friend tell her that she’d rather kill her baby than give it to someone else. Are we that selfish?

Don’t get me wrong. I still think women should be able to choose. I don’t want to go back to the days when women were ostracised because they were pregnant before being married. Where girls were forced to give up their babies before they even saw them. Where all ties are expected to be severed never to cross paths again.

Open adoption has been wonderful for me, and I assume it is better for my son. I haven’t lived each day wondering if he is okay. I was able to walk through the grief of letting go with the confidence of knowing he is okay. I didn’t have this huge cloud of unknowing hanging over me. And I never want him to grow up wondering about this huge void in his life that is typical of children who are adopted. I don’t’ want him to have to question if he was loved at all times in his life. He most definitely was.

I just don’t think we give women who are in one of the most difficult times in their lives (raging hormones during an unplanned pregnancy) the tools to adequately make informed decisions about what they are going to do. Of course, there are some women who aren’t in a very good frame of mind to hear all the options. It’s like panic sets in, and you start being reactive instead of proactive.

If I had not made a decision before my pregnancy that I would never get an abortion out of convenience, I most likely would have seriously considered it longer than I did. Oh, yes, I thought about it. On the surface it appeared to be the “easy” way out. No one would have to know. My life wouldn’t have to change. The reality is, it wouldn’t have been the easy way out. It would have changed me forever.

The information on all the available options needs to get to women in crisis with unplanned pregnancies. They need to be given the tools to make informed decisions, without being coerced in one direction or another. Unfortunately, I’m not sure it will ever happen. We all have our opinions and worldviews. Even those helping girls with unplanned pregnancies most likely have preconceived ideas of what they think would be best for these women. Obviously, even I do. I would strongly recommend parenting or adoption over abortion.

Ultimately, we need to realize that a woman in an unplanned pregnancy needs to make the choice. And she needs to own her choice. The only person she is guaranteed to wake up to every morning is herself. And if she can’t look at herself in the mirror and live with her choice, that would be a shame.

Communication

Have you ever taken communications classes? I have. In those classes, a point that was stressed was that communication is important and occurs at all times, both verbally and non-verbally. In the last few days, the importance of quality communication has come up in a variety of discussions I have had with different groups of people.

Initially, I was involved in a discussion about the use of terminology – particularly as it relates to religious or theological discussions. The choice of words used determines the understanding by the persons involved in the discussion. Conflict in the conversation was that most people use inaccurate words to describe truths. In particular, we were discussing the differences between Western and Eastern thought in Christendom. The disagreement over the use of "East" and "West" to distinguish between Orthodox (Eastern) and Catholic/Protestant (Western) thought was that to separate by geographical location is not completely accurate. The argument was that there have been Orthodox theologians who were not physically located in the East. The one side said that the Western theologian was arguing Eastern thought of Christianity. The other side said that is too inaccurate a description.

The argument for using East and West was that it is commonly understood terminology and, therefore, can be more easily communicated through conversation with others from a variety of religious backgrounds. And it not considered offensive. The other side of the argument was that accuracy is more important than interpretation.

If I were to take the argument into an area that I am more familiar with, I can see the point of both sides. However, reality is that sometimes words/phrases/terminology is used to describe a thought without it necessarily being accurate. Here is my soapbox example:

Pro Life vs. Pro Choice

Now you have a concept in your head of what I am talking about. Pro Life is against abortion and euthanasia. Pro Choice is for legalized abortion. What if I said I disagree with the choices of the words used to express each opinion? For example, I consider myself very much Pro-Choice. I absolutely think that women in unplanned pregnancies need to be able to make informed decisions about ALL the options they have -- parenting, adoption and abortion. There are severe consequences in every choice a woman makes from the moment she discovers she is pregnant to the end result of that pregnancy which will affect her for the rest of her life. However, I am totally against abortion. It is the killing of life. Killing someone made in the Image of God. Typically, Pro Life advocates are viewed as being against choice. I also had someone comment that it appears that those who wear the label Pro Life also seem to have no qualms of performing torture and introducing policies which raise abortion rates by causing people to feel as though they have no personal/financial security. In my opinion, a more accurate description should really be Pro Abortion or Anti Abortion. However, I don’t imagine the current terminology is going to change anytime soon.

I tried to make that point in the discussion, but sometimes I feel as though my analogies must not be communicated clearly as I got the "deer-in-the-headlights" look from the people around me. Charlie once said something on Numb3rs that really struck me -- not that I am saying I am that incredibly intelligent. He said, "Sometimes it’s so hard because I have these ideas in my head, and I have no way to communicate them to you."

I know maybe it was a discussion of comparing apples to oranges – but as far as I can see, it’s all fruit.

The Power of Words

A while ago I had read my friend’s blog and she mentioned the power of words. As I read about the power of words, I acknowledged its truth intellectually. That statement has come back to me as I had a discussion with Bruce last night.

After I post an entry (or sometimes before I post), I have Bruce look it over and give his opinion. Typically he tells me he thinks it’s good to which I say, “Are you sure?” and he says, “Yes, I’m sure.” Last night he expanded on his response. He commented that I am very hard on myself in my writing. I had never thought of my writing as being hard on myself. I thought of it more as being realistic. I am full of flaws. I also relate more closely to seeing the glass as half empty rather than seeing it as half full. Although, surprisingly, when speaking with others I tend to try to always point out the good characteristics in other people – especially if the conversation is becoming very negative. And (in non-Orthodox circles) I've been told I have the gift of Encouragement.

I took a counselling class in Bible College. It was very enlightening. One of the lessons I pulled away from that course was that it takes seven positive words to overcome one negative word. I tried telling my son about that, but he wouldn’t believe me. I'm hoping one day he will understand. There is power in words. Our teacher said we have all heard the rhyme

Sticks and stones may break by bones
But names will never hurt me!

which is completely false. Words do hurt. Words can bring life. Words can kill.

Am I killing myself? I don’t think so. But it is definitely easier to articulate all the horrible things about me than to list the wonderful things. Maybe I’ll have to do an “I’m-so-great-and-this-is-why!” post.

Or, maybe not.

Success?

A friend of mine mentioned that when she was younger she dreamed of being a housewife. I never really dreamed of the housewife part, but I always wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. There were many other professional things I would think about. I thought of being an optometrist. I wanted to go to Oxford University after watching Rob Lowe in Oxford Blues. It had always been assumed I would go to university after high school since I got such good grades.

It’s funny how life doesn’t always turn out the way others plan it for you. Or the way I had envisioned, for that matter.

Being in the Orthodox Church, the lingo is that we are all on a journey. And in the process of finding a new building for our community, our priest has repeatedly reminded us that the process (the journey) is more important than the project. Sometimes I find he is much wiser than I initially gave him credit for.

I feel as though my journey has taken a fairly wandering path. I went to Bible College instead of University. Many people there thought that I was destined for great things. I know my grandparents always thought I would be educated and successful. I’m not sure I’ve met their expectations.

The world defines us by the job we do, or the education we have. I’m still working on my definition of success. Sometimes I buy into the world’s definition. By that definition, I am a real estate legal assistant. I don’t have an actual degree in anything. I have my high school Diploma. I have a Diploma of Christian Ministries from a college that doesn’t exist anymore. I have a Legal Administrative Assistant Diploma from a business college. But what do those diplomas mean, really? It means I had parents who kept me in school until I graduated. It means I struggled through classes on my faith trying to figure out who I was and what I believed. It means I am good at office work. But does any of it really define me?

I have wants and dreams. Some realistic. Others not quite so. I haven’t listed them in a while. Let’s see what they would look like today.

Adelle’s Wants/Dreams List (in random order):

Become a lawyer
Travel to many places including Ireland, Israel and Australia
Be a foster mom
Have children who grow up to be confident, independent and loving
Speak to groups of people
Be the kind of person that shows Christ to others
Write stories
Act/Perform on stage
Be an ideal weight and feel healthy
Not have PKD (Polycystic Kidney Disease)

Some of what I want I am unable to express in words. When I first began to truly follow Christ, I wanted so much. I wanted to have the heart of David, the wisdom of Solomon, and to see God as Moses did. And I wanted the gift of prophecy. I know. A little lot arrogant. I’ve had others say to me that I was expecting far too much. And it’s not as though I think I will achieve all any of those things. But I thought it couldn’t hurt to ask. And, really, those are still the things I am drawn to. But as I get older, I’m also a little afraid that I would be any of those things. When I catch glimpses of the heart of God, I weep uncontrollably. When I spout words of wisdom, I fear that I will be proud and think it is of my own doing. And to see God - well, there is a song that brings me to tears at that thought. A couple songs, actually. One is “I Can Only Imagine” by Mercy Me

and the other is “Better is One Day” by Matt Redman


So, by definition am I successful? I don’t know. But I am on a journey.

Grad '89

It has been 20 years since I graduated. This is a fact I probably would have overlooked if I didn’t already know about a reunion for our graduating class coming up in May. Tickets have to be bought by the end of February, and while Bruce and I have discussed going, there is a part of me that wonders why I should. I have fond memories of Junior High in BC. But my last two years of high school in Saskatchewan don’t particularly bring the warm fuzzies to my heart or cause me to wish I could go back to that time in my life. I am content where I am and have no desire to jump into the tangled mess of teenage hormones and insecurities.

I realize that we have all grown up. Most of us have probably changed quite a bit. I mean, admittedly, while we all thought we are amazingly smart at that age, we really had no working brain cells. Going to the reunion would most likely mean being embarrassed by how few people I’d really remember. It was a graduating class of 300. I was incredibly insecure and self-focused. I’m glad I came out of the high school years remembering my name, let alone anything else.

People change. We grow up. Life moves on. The past is the past.

I had someone strongly suggest that I make sure I go. Twenty years is a long time. Maybe I’ll be like my husband when we went to his reunion last summer. He’s looking around for all the young people and realized that he needed to start looking for the greying, balding, middle-aged guys instead. Some people may say I’m still young. I’m fairly sure going to a 20-year reunion will confirm to me that I am most definitely getting old.

Addicted to Food

I’m addicted to food. Not the kind of addicted where you need it to live. No. The addicted where I need to eat just because I want to eat. I eat when the clock tells me to eat. I eat when I feel depressed. I eat when I feel tired. I eat when I’m with people. I eat just about everything in sight.

I’m not always that addicted. I know I have the self-control to quit stuffing my face with every delicacy put in front of me. But more often than not, I choose to allow my tastebuds to experience the thrill of the exciting texture and tastes of …. FOOD!

We have been struggling with behaviour issues with our son. So we made a radical move and eliminated all the candy in our house. We tried to say we got rid of the sugar in our house, but our son (who is too smart for me) says, "No, we didn’t!" and hauls out the big Tupperware container of white sugar from the pantry. So, yes, he’s right. We didn’t get rid of all sugar. But we did bag up and ship out all the candy in the hope to reduce the consumption of processed sugar in our house. That and the consequence of gaining or losing computer time has proven to motivate our son in a remarkable way. His behaviour has been spot-on for quite a while now. He can be quite the gentleman when he chooses to be.

The place we delivered all this candy was to my workplace. I filled a candy dish and have it at the reception area for the clients – the wrapped candy. The unwrapped candy is in a dish by my desk. That includes Jelly Belly jelly beans, Hickory Farms mints, etc. Don’t worry. I have the dish behind my computer screen, so I don’t see it and munch on the candy all the time. But I still do occasionally.

The candy is not the reason I realized I’m addicted to eating. No. Yesterday when I woke up I wasn’t hungry. Bruce made this great breakfast of deluxe hashbrowns -- hashbrowns with bacon, green pepper, onions, etc. I piled them high on my plate with a couple of fried eggs. Delicious. However, I couldn’t finish what I took (keeping in mind I took quite a bit). That’s not the point, though. The point is that I didn’t need any of it. I wasn’t hungry, and I ate anyway.

Okay, so, I decided I wasn’t going to eat again until I was hungry. Our church has bought a new building and we have been helping with cleaning and painting. Yesterday was Family Day (a stat holiday), and a perfect opportunity for a work-bee. We showed up just as lunch was being made. I pitched in and helped cut up apples, wash lettuce, and generally get lunch ready. Our son had a play date to go to before everyone was served lunch, so I fed him and offered to take him to his friend's house thinking I would just skip lunch. I was still quite full from breakfast and had made that promise to myself not to eat until I was hungry. All was well. That is, until I got back and the food was out and people were eating. What do I do? I grab a plate and get a burger. Wait a minute! I’m not hungry! (she says as she shovels the food in her mouth)

Well, when you fall down, you just pick yourself up again. Okay, now really. I won’t eat again until I’m hungry. If I’m not hungry at supper, I won’t have anything. That was a nice thought, but that is all it ended up being. We were invited to friends’ for supper. Lasagna with Caesar salad and blueberry crisp for dessert. Once again my tastebuds won out over my stomach, and I had a very generous helping of supper. The word "Glutton" comes to mind.

Bruce and I have made a bet with each other. Who can lose 20 pounds the fastest? I only have another 25 pounds to lose.

I’m glad Lent is right around the corner.

A New Hunt?

I’m a sucker for punishment.

Those who have been around us know that we went through the gruelling ordeal of trying to sell our house last Fall. It all began when we were looking at open houses and saw a house that began taking us down the road from thoughts of renovating to thoughts of buying another house and moving. It seemed to make sense. The cost would be about the same; however, the stress of renovations would last much longer than the process of moving to a new house. Or so we thought.

We had impeccable timing. Well, atrocious may be more accurate.

We found the house we wanted. Put the offer in. The vendor accepted the offer. We listed our house. Yay! Well on our way to owning a new-to-us home. Like I said, though. Timing is everything.

Right after we listed our house an election was called and the stock market crashed. We kept extending the condition of the sale of our house, brought down our asking price -- twice. Still no bites. Finally in December, after trying to live with two small children in a show home, we decided to call it quits. Even though it seemed to us that the house we wanted was going to be ours, the stress was too much. We gave up. I hate December at the best of times. Bruce has been off his meds, and I didn’t want him on them again. Christmas was right around the corner with family coming for the holidays. Not a good time to be trying to keep our house clean to show others. I discovered through the process that I don’t like to live in a fish bowl.

So our discussions turned back to renovating this house. At least we wouldn’t have to try to sell our house.

Here’s where the sucker comes in. I still keep my eyes open on For Sale signs. We gave our realtor a break, but somewhere in the back of my mind I keep thinking that our house is out there somewhere. So tonight, while we were visiting with friends, the topic came up because they have a neighbour selling. Then they told us a house around the corner was also up for sale, and another one across the street is going to be listed soon. It is a nice neighbourhood. They would be good neighbours. One of the houses had caught my eye as I was browsing the MLS site a while ago. And I’d pointed it out to Bruce as we drove past last week.

Now I’m not sure if I’m excited or fearful, but we are going to call our realtor to take a look at this house. A part of me wants to fall in love with it. A part of me wants it to be all wrong so we don’t have to do anything.

When will I ever learn?

Entry from work

I thought I was coming out of a funk and was doing much better emotionally. Then I was hit today with a co-worker accusing me of being unapproachable and disrespectful. And not only was I confronted with it, but felt as though I had been blindsided with this information.

I walked away from the meeting unsure of what to do next. I wanted to cry (and did a little). I was thinking, "You want unapproachable. I can give you unapproachable!" And then realized that attitude IS disrespectful, and I’d be exactly what I was being accused of.

It brought back feelings of hurt from being accused last summer. I had a family member say I am manipulative, lazy and irresponsible. I’m still trying to recover from those accusations. I’m not sure the relationship will ever be the same. Not that I really want it the same. But at least before I had no animosity toward the family member. I just couldn’t figure out what I had done to cause such hostility towards me. Once I realized what it was, I was overwhelmed. It wasn’t even anything I knew how to correct as I don’t see myself that way.

As is the case here. I don’t know how to correct a behaviour that I don’t see myself as. I had never thought I was being disrespectful. I’m quite aware that I come across tactless sometimes, and think that I end up overcorrecting sometimes to try to make up for it. Apparently not well enough. I’m still a moronic idiot who is socially unaware.

And then I wonder why my son is struggling so much in school. He doesn’t get the social cues of his behaviour toward others. He isn’t accepting responsibility for his actions. He desperately wants others to like him and can’t figure out why he doesn’t have many friends.

Our roles for charisma suck.