Holding on to Hope

Hello friends! This is an Easter skit I wrote two years ago for church. Yup, hard to do but worth it. This year I will do it again for both services, but I think it will be even harder. For this year I find myself in a familiar scenario; with an empty room, waiting for a baby girl. There is a crib on one side and ironically on the other side is a desk. I'm waiting on a system full of needy children while my file sits on a desk somewhere, and my e-mails are unanswered, my crib and my arms sit empty. As time goes by it is harder and harder to trust that my plan will work out, but nothing slaps me in the face harder than my own words written two years ago. I hope you enjoy Easter with your loved ones, those of you with new babies will squeeze them tighter, those of you on couches will find peace and health, and those of you waiting on God or having a hard time believing will just give it their all. He did.

The Empty Room
(Chair in center, box marked “baby’s room”, pink things laying about. Darbi folds baby items and places them in box as she talks to God.)
This isn’t supposed to be my life. It’s not supposed to be anyone’s. After you go through a pregnancy and experience all of the excitement and the miracle of it all you’re supposed to spend a few days in the hospital and come home with a baby.
Why this God? Why me? Why did our little girl have to die? And without a reason? I just don’t understand! I’ve waited my whole life to become a mom and now just weeks away from taking her home with me, she dies. I’ve followed you forever. I’ve read my Bible, I’ve gone to church, I’ve even helped old ladies find what they’re looking for in the grocery store when other people don’t have time to help. You’d think I’d get some kind of extra credit for that or something. And then this happens. I just don’t know where you are. (Sit down)
I mean, I know you’re with me, I know I wouldn’t be able to be standing here if you weren’t. But since you have the power to perform miracles, why couldn’t you save baby Hope? Maybe you’re just too busy. Maybe you’re too far away. Maybe you just don’t understand. (Pause)
You have a Son. What if He…well he also died. A terrible, brutal, pre-planned death that you could have stopped. (Pause) But you didn’t. And you allowed your son to die so that I could live. I guess when I think about it that way it’s hard to expect you to have done something for me that you didn’t even do for yourself. You went through the worst of the worst…watching your son suffer and die WITH THE POWER TO STOP IT…for…me.
Until now I thought becoming a Christian meant signing up for the easy life, but clearly it’s not. I just have so many questions and wish so badly I could get you a cel phone that nobody else could use (and of course it would be Verizon so we’d have unlimited minutes and free texting). But after making it through these last few weeks holding our daughter, saying goodbye, having her funeral, and now packing up her nursery, through the pain I also feel a sense of strength. If you helped me get through this, you can help me get through anything, and I never want to know what life without you is like.
God, I’m sitting in this empty room that was so full of expectation for the life of baby Hope. The sleepless nights, the diaper changes, the lullabies, the books we’d read in this very chair, and for now it’s all on hold. What I want you to know is I’m not giving up on you. If this room is filled with 10 babies some day or a desk with a whole different plan all together down the road, I trust you- but you know I’ll throw another tantrum if you go with the desk option, right? We can do this. I mean, I planned for the room to be filled with baby Hope, but now it’s just full of another kind of hope. And for today, that’s okay. (Sing “It is well with my soul” & put animals & toys in box). AND SCENE =-)

Would you like fries with that?

Guess what? The cat got vaccinated, I passed my CPR test, now we wait for the phone call, we have our home study and we are foster parents!!! Crazy huh?

I am opening my heart yet again to one of lifes biggest blessings and greatest heartaches with the end result of adopting a baby. I've learned that when you're ready to expand your family there really is no option that is the "easy way". There is love involved, therefore the potential to be hurt is also there. Whether it's a pregnancy, a long wait for an international adoption with all of the unknowns, or the route we're going. But this one just feels right to us. In fact the more we learn about foster care, the more we feel ourselves being involved in it long term. The part that makes me nervous is that I am a girl who rarely gets what I've ordered, but I've learned to love onions. Let me explain.

The boys and me...yes I'm a horrible mom for not serving them whole grain organic meals three times a day with all food groups of the pyramid represented. Usually I do. But also we go to McDonalds. Especially when Mike is at work. He's much more health consious than I am...I mean than the boys are. Every time we get the same thing. Three cheeseburgers with NO ONIONS, a small fry to share and water to drink. We use the drive through because while I will let my children digest the chemicals compacted into the cheeseburgers, those playlands gross me out like nothing else. Go figure.

Now, McDonalds seems to really have their heads in the game. Having two lanes that empty into one in the magic drive through, a computerized screen that shows you your order so that they don't mess it up, a robot that does the drinks automatically, even an automatic machine for what they like to call "coffee". What they aren't quite ahead on however is getting my "double checked for accuracy" order right. Onions, almost every time. Yep, it's on the screen NO ONIONS. It's on my recipt NO ONIONS. It's on the order sheet taped to the burgers NO ONIONS. I take a bite...ONIONS. But by this time I'm almost home and they know that since I spent $4 TOTAL on the bill, I am not going to put the effort into driving back to their establishment and requesting a new one or causing a scene. That's why I was in their drive through in the first place...I HAVE NO EFFORT TO GIVE!!

Another Guy I place my order with a lot is God. "Please keep my husband safe," "Please keep my kids healthy," "Please heal Audrey," "Please be with our baby wherever she is," the list goes on and on. Sometimes He gets it right and sometimes He doesn't give me what I ordered. He took my mom away at an early age. He took my first born before she took her first breath. These were both things I certainly did not order. And with each new life change I could kick and scream and demand a new option, getting me nowhere, or I could chill out and learn to like onions. I am a different person because of my suffering. I have a bleeding heart that can reach out to people that I didn't have before I faced what God had on my menu. I have an aunt who is my mom now and that has brought such joy and fun and laughter to my life. How many other people get to be their own cousin? Not many. You're jealous a little bit, aren't you? And I love my kids so, so much BECAUSE their journey here was not easy. A huge reminder not to take such things for granted.

So as we wait for this next baby I look at the pink and brown pack and play I have set up in my room. I pray at night for the baby/ies that will sleep there for however long they will be with us and for the situation they are in right now. The paperwork had me fill in a space for me to place my order and I wrote down "girl under 18 months" knowing full well that almost guarantees me a little black boy over 18 months. That's just how God works. And that's who I see sleeping in my pink pack and play. But you know what? I'm going to teach him to like pink...and I'm going to teach him to like onions.

Please join me on this journey. I can't do it without you!

Get off your buns!

So here's the deal. I was at church Sunday and while listening to the sermon (in between getting gum, making sure my phone was off, asking Mike what we were having for lunch, going to the bathroom, drawing daisies around the border of my program and wondering, "Was I with Lora when she bought Pastor Matthew that shirt? I think I was. Looks new. Looks nice. Was on the rack outside of the nail place. Mike can never fit into a shirt from the big and tall man's store.") I was struck, right between the eyes. Yep, the sermon applied. I HATE IT WHEN IT APPLIES! And I was probably going to cry. I HATE IT WHEN I CRY!!
You see, there has been this huge part of me, or part of us I should say, that we have been handling "the Johnson way". AKA not handling. Mike and I have felt so called to foster parenting and were so gung ho to bring that ministry into our lives, into our home, into our church, and were so on fire for it, and just like many things in life we've let the paperwork give us an excuse to let days, weeks, months go by without making progress in the direction we feel we need to be going in.
All I've had to do for a month now is schedule a first-aid / CPR class and get my cat vaccinated and we'll be pretty much ready to go. But when I get up in the morning and there's laundry to do and dishes to clean and girlfriends to play with...day by day it doesn't get done making me farther and farther away from finishing my goal.
Meanwhile our state (every state) is bursting at the seams for places to put children whose families are not safe for them to be with. These are the children my heart aches for. Bad. And I am not going to let paperwork stand in the way of God using our family to reach out to these children in whatever capacity He wants us to.
So folks, on Sunday I took a stand. No more popcorn and WifeSwap until my paperwork gets done. Friday Gus will get her shots and February 25th I'll become CPR/First Aid/ HIV certified. Nothing else is going to come between what my awesome God has planned for the next chapter of the Johnson household. Hang on tight...it's going to be quite a ride.

Tonight my child sleeps, in a womb or a home.

Are they scared, are they healthy? Sad or alone?

Please Jesus, hold them until my arms can,

and remind me that they too are safe in your plan.

I just wrote this little prayer thinking also of my precious friend Autumn and her Ethiopian baby coming SOON. I love you guys!

Mothers of children beware! Our words can come out anywhere!

I have enjoyed volunteering in Blake's classroom so much. Kindergartners are so fun. Every Wednesday I come home with at least one good story from the day. Blake's teacher is so used to them that she doesn't even laugh anymore. Here are my favorites, and of course the best is saved for last.

Me: "Tanner, what's your middle name?"

Tanner: "Tanner Jones."

Me: "No, that's your last name. Your middle name is between that. Tanner something Jones."

Tanner: "No, I don't have one. "

Me: "Oh, okay."

2 minutes of silence pass. Then he looks at me and says, "Oh I know what it is. When my mom gets mad at me she calls me Tanner Ashton Jones. Is that it?"

Me: "Yep."

Another day Blake's teacher was reading a story to the class about different ways people travel around the world. She was talking about Egypt and how people use Camels there. One little boy raised his hand and with confidence said, "Camels are what they use to make cigarettes." Not quite.

Then there's Blake's buddy Andy (pictured above with Blake). He is a riot. He's the kid who is always saying stories with such excitement, but at the time when he's not supposed to be telling stories, so he's often told to be quiet. Last week after the Inauguration, Blake's teacher asked the class if any of the students had seen any of it on TV. Most of the kids raised their hands. She asked, "Raise your hand if you saw how happy people were to get a new president." The kids could hardly sit in their chairs, they were raising their hands so high.
"Now raise your hand if you saw some people crying tears of joy because they were extra glad that they had a new president. Did anyone see that?" Well, Andy was practically doing back flips because he wanted to talk so badly.
"Ms. Harley," he said as he got out of his chair and stood at attention, "The people who were the happiest were the black people because they never thought they'd see the day that our country would finally be led by a black president! That's what my mom said!" He was so proud.
"That's mostly true Andy," She said. Another girl McKenna was raising her hand very high as well.
"McKenna," Ms. Harley called.

She too stood at attention. "My mom told ME that Mrs. Obama looked pregnant in her dress!"

Ms. Harley didn't even crack a smile. She just patiently explained that was the design of the gown and that she didn't think the Obamas planned to have more children. I, on the other hand, had both hands over my mouth to keep from spitting out the big drink of coffee I had just taken.

It was then I learned that no longer are my words at home safe at home. Anything I say can and will be used against me in the classroom without warning. And I think, no, I KNOW I have already blown it, so the best I can do is pray for Blake to have short term memory problems. Aye, yie, yie!

A house full of guys...I'm the only one who can find the Ketchup.

It all started in the beginning of our marriage. I tried to ignore it, but it's too ugly to hide. I didn't tell our counselor, in fear of digging up an issue we'd never be able to solve. And now the worst has happened. He's passed this horrible trait on to our children. Ladies, I need your help, your strength, your support. Or am I alone? Is it only my husband and sons who have "I-can't-see-what's-right-in-front-of-my-face" disease?

Here was the first sign: "Wife, we are out of ketchup." I hear him say from the kitchen. We were having hot dogs that night and the thought of having hot dogs without ketchup...that'd be like me paying full price for cereal...NOT GONNA HAPPEN.

I replied lovingly, "Husband, I KNOW we have ketchup. Last week we had like 5 bottles that were 1/3 full." He opened the fridge to look again.

"Nope!"

I came over to the fridge and knew what I would find. Not one, but two bottles of ketchup in less than .5 seconds.

And it only gets worse, thus the reason for the post:

The boys' bedroom is upstairs. They go through clothes like crazy and I hate doing laundry which is a very dangerous combination. I get their laundry washed, and folded, but then usually it sits in laundry baskets in their room. Since we use our downstairs for life and company and very rarely use the upstairs, I very rarely make it a priority to get their laundry put away.

Last week Blake was getting his outfits from the laundry baskets. There were three of them. He came downstairs and said, "MOM! I don't have any underwear! And I have to wear Tyler's pants again!" He's short, so it works. The underwear thing I didn't buy however, so I went upstairs and got him a pair in the allotted .5 seconds I had bet myself in my head.

The next day when Mike was getting them dressed, he said, "Wife, Blake has no pants, and he still has no underwear."

I asked, "Did you look in all of the laundry baskets?"

"Yes," he said, "there's none in there."

You might want to sit down for this because this is the point at which our family "hit the bottom" and it may be inappropriate for some viewers. When Mike took Blake to school and Tyler took his nap, I headed up the stairs to finally face the 3 baskets of laundry I had ignored for some time. While I sat and sorted and refolded, do you know what I found? THIRTY TWO pairs of underwear friends. Thirty two. And, sure, they are tiny and I can see how some of them can get hidden in-between the pants and shirts and all, but SERIOUSLY.

Please tell me there is hope for my husband. Please tell me that in his future he will be able to find stuff. And my boys...I want them to have ALL of his traits except this one but it appears that it is too late. I'm afraid.
Thirty two.

This message was paid for by the Campaign to raise money for the Darbi Johnson School for Husbands and Children Who Can't Find Stuff.

Who will?

I think life is always going to be this way. Tougher than I thought. It's as if the first 25 years or so were seemingly carefree, but as soon as I was introduced to suffering, my heart is drawn to it, and I refuse to let anyone else feel pain. Friends, family, strangers, it doesn't matter. If I sense suffering, most common sense leaves the building and a combination of drama and heart take over. This, while being called a "good quality" by some, has driven others (coughMIKEcough) crazy.

Example: While enjoying a vacation in Hawaii last month, it was hard to not notice the YOUNG prostitutes hitting on my husband right in front of my eyes. Upon research in my hotel we found that often these girls, marked by their clear high-heeled shoes, are young students trying to make ends meet. The vulturous pimps will watch for them in front of designer stores in malls and look for pretty girls who look like they wish they could afford said items. They will hit on these girls and become their "boyfriends", getting them used to a high-dollar lifestyle. Later, the girl is raped by said boyfriend. The pimp throws a wad of cash at the abused and says, "You just did your first trick. Welcome to your new job." And just like that, they're trapped. And the cops let it happen as long as they stay in their part of town and don't cause major trouble. So, welcome to Hawaii! Have a nice time!

These girls looked the age of the youth group girls I work with. And they picked up their man (usually 3 times their age, 3 times their weight) in the front of our hotel and walked him down the side, then reappeared 20 minutes later to gather seconds, then thirds, all while reporting for duty to some scuz bucket on a cel-phone past 3am (that's when I stopped watching).

Most people would say, "Gosh that's sad, but there's nothing we can really do about it in 7 days, so let's enjoy our romantic, once in a lifetime vacation."

Not me. I was on the balcony at 3am, figuring out an escape plan. I figured with our savings I could get a cheap charter bus, or at least an Airporter and that could hold at least 20. I'd just pull up right there in front of the Denny's with my megaphone and say, "Lot's of hot guys in here girls! You'll DEFINITELY want to come with me!" (wink, wink) They'd pour in, I'd slam the doors shut and yell, "Drive, Miguel, DRIVE!" I would call Mike, Miguel if we were ever on a get-away mission, to protect his identity. Then while Mike drove, I would give the girls sweatshirts, jeans and Crocs (ugly as sin, but SO much more comfortable than those high heels they're forced to wear all night on pavement). I would start to tell them that there is a much better plan for there life and that I can help them get out of the life they are in if they choose it.

Twenty years later I would get letters from them... with pictures of their children... and the veterinarian practice they just opened up... called Darbaria. (This is the part where my brother said to me "You're in a bus, on an island...the furthest you could take them was 20 miles away. Did you think about that?") And instantly, my Oprah moment is over.

But I truly did feel like I COULD CHANGE THE HOOKERS in Waikiki. And I feel like I WILL HAVE THE PERFECT THING TO SAY to take my brother's addiction away. And I feel like I NEED TO KEEP ADOPTING until all of the babies are saved. And I feel like I NEED TO MAKE MY FRIENDS FEEL BETTER while their baby has cancer. And I feel like I NEED TO HELP MY OTHER FRIEND take charge of her brain cancer. And I feel like I NEED TO BE THE PERFECT MOM. And I feel like I...I....I....because if I don't, who will?

If you could see what I see...

I'm at the end of my rope.
I don't have any more to give to him.
I'm angry and don't care one minute, and then crying my eyes out the next.
I'm going to the doctor tomorrow to find out if the pain in my chest is an ulcer. I need to send him the bill.
It's a journey unlike the ones we've been through before. Death...we're pros. We know all the stages, which order, who to call when, etc.
But an addiction that won't go away is seemingly worse. And with each step, different feelings that hurt, different emotions that I don't know where to place.
My brother is older than me. He's supposed to have his life together and be telling ME what to do, how to live, how to deal with the pressures of life that he's already experienced. Instead I am the "big sister" and not in any of the fun ways.
In this role, I've seen the monseter his addiction has made him become, his choices he continues to make, and the fall out from it all.
But as his little sister, I see the hero, the comedian, the best friend, the musician, the role model...all of the things that I thought he was and can still become if only he would grasp the hand of God and choose the plan He has for his life.
Once again I am faced with the realization that I am SO glad I am not God. How many times has He seen a life that would be better for us...if only we would reach out for His hand? And knowing how many He is in charge of, I can't imagine how many ulcers He has...and then simultaneously heals.
I can't be angry with a God who is also watching my brother and waiting...patiently...for him to give up on a life of misery and surrender, but I just can't bear the roller coaster anymore.
So God, I pray once again, for your peace, which passes all understanding, and that you would please let my brother see....what I see.....what YOU see.....the beauty deep within himself that is waiting to come out. Help him to want Your plan for his life.
His plan is too much for any of us to bear.