Let Go & Love Your Neighbor

The month is quickly coming to a close, and I have to say… it’s been real weird guys. I have uncharacteristically had to rely on others this month. I have said no to things I would generally say yes to, and I have said yes to things I would typically deprive myself of. It’s been a little disorienting, but also really freeing, growing and challenging.

The other strange thing about #AdamsActs this year is that I feel like I have shared a lot less about my brother. The reality of tragic and unexpected death is that there are no new memories. The stories and experiences that I had with Adam are finite. I do not get to make new memories with my big brother. I will never see him wrestle with my kids when they’re supposed to be getting ready for bed. I will never see him fall in love, have a wedding and maybe children. I won’t get to celebrate his big promotion at work, or make him do one of those really muddy 5k things with me. There is simply no more time with him.

For a lot of years, I held my memories so close to me, unwilling to share what little I had of him with anyone else. Eventually, I allowed myself to put these memories out into the world, and something unimaginable happened. As I began to open my hand and release these pieces of Adam that I had held so tightly, I started getting new pieces of him back. As I wrote about my memories of Adam, others started sharing their memories of him with me. It was as if God whispered right to my heart, “There is more than you know. If you just let go, I will show you.”

Every year since then, I have gotten to know new sides of my brother - attributes and actions that I would never have known about had I not been willing to let go. I learned that a shy girl once had a crush on my brother and she really wanted to dance with him at the school dance. He was dancing with some friends but when she left, disappointed, he went after her into the hallway and there he asked that shy girl to dance. Just the two of them, alone in the hallways slow dancing without any music.

I learned that he intervened when some big, punk kid was picking on a little nerd, my scrawny brother put the bully in a complicated wrestling hold and held him there until an adult arrived. I learned that he spoke up about racial inequity. We lived in white suburbia. IN THE 90’s. And Adam was speaking out about racism? Long before being woke was a thing, my big brother was WOKE. My brother was an advocate for marginalized people. I would not have known this if I hadn’t let go.

This year, I was given the gift of discovering yet another impressive layer to my brother. I will not share all of the details, as they are not mine to tell. Suffice it to say that as a young girl was in a precarious situation where she was unable to protect herself and was vulnerable to an assault, Adam served as her protector. The phrase that stood out to me was this:

“As the vultures were circling, Adam didn’t leave her side.”

I learned this about my brother in the middle of the Ford-Kavanaugh hearing, at the height of the #MeToo movement, when thousands of women were finally choosing to break the silence about their own experiences with rape, abuse and sexual assault.

To me, Adam was just my big brother and my own personal super hero. I knew he would protect me if he could. I knew that he was the second best wrestler in his weight class in the state of Michigan, he was a brilliant mind, an excellent athlete, a bit of a comedian and a leader. I didn’t want to let go of that image of him.

I didn’t want to share those pieces with anyone because part of me felt that it might weaken or cheapen the power of those memories. Releasing that singular perspective of Adam has, on the contrary, allowed me to know who he was in a much fuller way. Now I know him to be all of those things, and also a warrior for social justice, an advocate for women, a protector of the vulnerable.

During a week in which we are being inundated with news stories of hate and violence in our country, I am choosing to, once again, let go. I will not hold so tightly to these memories. I choose to release them and share them with you in hopes that it serves as a reminder that there are good boys out there. Boys who are being raised to love their neighbor - REGARDLESS of who that neighbor is. There are boys and girls in this country who are fearlessly standing in the gap for the sake of defending vulnerable and marginalized people groups. There are people who will see racial and socioeconomic disparity and will refuse to look the other way. There are Christians in our country who take God’s command to love others seriously. They care for the poor, the sick, the oppressed. Some of us even care regardless of your race, religion, sexual orientation or political affiliation. Some of us just plain love our neighbors no matter what, because God told us to.

Letting go of my childish image of Adam has allowed me to gain a picture of the man he was becoming. I believe that he was going to be the kind of man who understood that Jesus gave two primary commands - to love him, and to love others. The more I become acquainted with how my brother operated in the world, the more convinced I am that he understood the true essence of the gospel and the command to love.

For the next two days of October, I want to challenge all of us to be intentional about overtly loving one another. I don’t really care who your neighbors are, just love them. For ten years I lived across the street from an old man who often told me to get an abortion when I was pregnant and more disturbingly, also Disney-frenched me on the mouth once. It was real old and gross guys, but I loved him anyways! I don’t care who your colleagues are, who your in-laws are, who your neighbor plans to vote for in a few days… just love the junk out of them. Love them regardless of their lifestyle choices.

If God didn’t add any qualifying statements to loving others, then why should we?

Days 25 & 26 - Resilience

Perhaps softened by the forced reflection that comes with loss and trauma, I have a particular fondness for people who have come from hard places, or gone through hard things. All my favorite people have heaps of baggage. Today, I got to spend a bit of time with a group of kids who fit that description. I was invited to return to speak with students at The Avalon School which is part of Villa of Hope. The Avalon School is a specialized day school for kids who have a variety of psycho-social, emotional and/or behavioral needs.

Y’all, these are my people.

Strength and resilience don’t come from never having been broken. Strength and resilience come from the slow, healing process after brokenness or trauma. After I spoke, there was a brief question and answer time, which is always my favorite portion of any speaking event. No question is off-limits, and being open to discuss anything gives others an opportunity to share some of their own story. I am always amazed at how transparent people are willing to be with me. It is such a sacred privilege to carry someone else’s story, and I do not take that for granted.

Some kids opened up about their traumas for the first time since being at this school. My heart was overflowing and my mind was blown. What was supposed to be my act of kindness quickly became a gift to me, primarily due to their brave willingness to let me in, and then on top of that, they went and surprised me with a gift and these beautiful flowers.

This is my dream job. I get to connect with hurting people for a living. To offer hope, to share faith, to ask questions, to listen and encourage… what an unbelievable gift.

For yesterday’s #AdamsActs, I treated Jay to a donut after his audiology appointment even though he literally did a terrible job there. Don’t get me wrong, I think he legitimately tried his best. But, man… his best is hovering juuuuust above the worst in history. Hahaha… the child cannot sit still. He cannot be quiet. He cannot stop himself from verbalizing a running commentary of every single thought that pops into his brain. It’s like living with a James Joyce novel playing in fast motion in the background at all times. Except all the words are adorably mispronounced.

At one point, he gives the audiologist a huge grin like this:

Then as soon as she walks out, immediately looks over his shoulder at me, gives me these skeptical “get a load of this lady” side-eyes and says “I don’t think this is very useful. Is she really talking about beef?”

Clearly he couldn’t hear anything she was saying without his hearing aids. He will be getting an FM system at school - which basically means his teacher will wear a microphone that will beam her voice directly into his hearing aids. It will probably help him learn and pay attention, but he is not thrilled. The idea of kids having to pass around a microphone so that he can hear what they are saying, isn’t exactly ideal for a kid who just wants to fit in. JK he doesn’t care about fitting in. All he wants to do is lie under a cardboard box and pretend to rebuild an engine. Without anyone talking directly into his ear canal. This will be something that will require his own form of strength and resilience, and he has to deal with hearing loss for the rest of his life because he was essentially overdosed with antibiotics at birth… sooooo, he gets a donut alright?

After that, some of us on the church staff brought lunch to all the teachers at a local public school. It was a lot of Panera. The teachers were really excited and I think they felt supported, appreciated and recognized for the work they do - which was our goal. While this was technically a part of my job, I added a little personal flare of kindness by loudly and spontaneously complimenting people like someone who has no filter - or basically, like myself.

Thanks to all who have reached out since my last post. (Catch up HERE if you missed it.) From the messages I have been receiving, it appears that some of the feelings I expressed hit a sensitive nerve with a lot of you. Thank you for trusting me with your stories and your feelings. If I could, I would buy each and every single one of you a fancy spider donut.

Even if you did a really bad job today and all you were able to accomplish was lying under a cardboard box.

Days 23 & 24 - Two Innocence Projects

Since many of you lovelies have been reaching out to ask for updates on my health shenanigans, I figured I would post a quick update along with my acts of kindness for the past couple of days. The short update is: I still don’t know. The longer story is that it takes quite a while to get into specialists, and even longer to schedule tests, etc. I have discovered that even if your case is marked as “urgent” many openings are last minute cancellations that you find out about right as you are, let’s say, about to drive into Canada. You know how that goes.

I was finally able to get into my appointment on Monday. I like the doctor quite a lot and she ordered several more tests, the most important being in December. So… that should be a nice, long wait until then. In the meantime I have lost a little over 15 pounds in the past three weeks. No bueno, friends, no bueno. The weight loss, general weakness and malabsorption has me feeling all kinds of exhausted, dizzy and lightheaded. I am eating, but still not absorbing nutrients for some reason that I won’t find out until December. It’ll be like a little Christmas present.

Merry Christmas! You’re malnourished!

Okay, so let all that serve to lower any bar you may have set for my kindness. Low bar, people… mama needs a real low bar. For Day 23 I made a donation to The Innocence Project in honor of my friend Andrew’s birthday. The Innocence Project is a non-profit organization that works to exonerate wrongly convicted people through the use of DNA. They are also committed to reforming the criminal justice system to prevent wrongful conviction in the first place.

As a mom of two black boys, I am aware of the statistics. The reality is that my black children are statistically more likely to be wrongly convicted of a crime than my white children. Minorities are more likely in general to be arrested as juveniles and tend to be handed down harsher and longer penalties for crimes committed as compared to white kids for the same offense. Research has found that white Americans are more likely to misidentify a black suspect in a murder investigation. Maybe there is a part of me that still resents the injustice of my brother’s privileged, white murderer remaining in jail for about a year and a half, while some innocent black children are wrongfully convicted and sentenced to life in prison for crimes they did not commit, and this is due to racial bias.

For Day 24, I said “no” a bunch of times. I know this doesn’t sound very kind. But, guys, I’m not going to lie, I am pretty sick at this point. I have, historically, said yes to virtually everything that is asked of me. When someone calls to talk, I listen. When somebody needs advice, I am the go-to person. If you are hurting, if you and your spouse are fighting, if your kid keeps peeing in the wrong places in the house, if you had another miscarriage, or another negative pregnancy test, whatever it is... I go in. I love going in. It’s one of the few things that I actually really love about myself. I don’t shy away from a mess. I prance right into it with the confidence of someone who believes they can actually make a difference.

Still. I need to not. I needed to say no to a few requests. A couple speaking things, hosting community group every week at my house (which is a bigger undertaking than it sounds when you are too weak and pathetic to push a whole entire vacuum at the moment), and a few other small things. It was a sort of kindness to myself. I have needed to learn to say “no” for a while now, but it is challenging when I so dearly love to say “yes” to my people. But, this year I have been working on loving and accepting myself, and I have striven to possess self-compassion, self-concern, and self-awareness. This process started here, in my tiny closet.

And this is a picture of me.

I was five years old in this picture. At this point in my life, I was not broken. I was not in any sort of bondage - to fear or shame or hurt. I was just small and innocent, still untouched and not yet wounded.

This summer, I decided to hang this little girl in my closet as a reminder of who I once was, and as a reminder that somewhere deep inside of me that little, innocent girl still exists. And someone needs to love her and to protect her. Someone needs to think she is beautiful. Someone needs to exonerate her from the offenses I have accused her of for so many years.  I suppose this was my own version of an innocence project.

So, when I go to my closet each morning to get dressed… I don’t get dressed for other people. I’m not trying to make people think I am attractive. I am not choosing clothes for attention. I get dressed for her. I make choices that make her feel beautiful. I have discovered that she loves dresses and bold patterns, big hair and bright lipstick. My inner-child is totally an 80’s girl, an “absolute queen” as I’ve been told. And I love that about her.

Doing this felt silly at first, but it is also, quite possibly, the first step I have actively taken to love myself. This led to other self-care steps - like finally getting my teeth fixed after horrendous pregnancies with the world’s most selfish fetuses, just sucking the life right out of me and my teeth. I have been less critical of myself, and therefore less critical of others. I have been gentler with myself, and therefore gentler with others. I have been more understanding of myself, and therefore more understanding of others. And today, giving myself permission to say “no” to multiple requests and stepping back from extra responsibilities for a while was one more thing I did to be kind, caring and protective toward myself. I have to believe that, ultimately, this will allow me to continue walking into the mess of other people’s lives, but when I do, I will be stronger, I will be healthier, my hair will be big and fabulous, and I will be able push a vacuum all by myself.

Day 22: Haggard Moms Unite

Recently, I showed up to my friend’s house with two pints of good gelato and a tiny little house plant. It was adorable, with sweet, little, yellow flowers. She had texted me earlier that day in a special kind of panic that is reserved for women who are actively parenting kids with trauma issues. When the door opened, I said, “I brought you something to eat. And also something to kill.” Now, technically this was right before October, so it doesn’t really count as one of my #AdamsActs but I can’t think of a more RANDOM act of kindness than bringing somebody something to kill.

If you are closely acquainted with any foster parents, then this gesture needs no further explanation. If, however, you do not have the good fortune of knowing anyone who is resolutely withstanding the US foster care system in order to love, care for, protect and advocate for children who are separated from their birthfamily… then I shall explain.

Parenting kids with trauma is not for the faint of heart. Whether that trauma happened in utero via drug or alcohol exposure, or was the result of abuse, negligence or neglect, a traumatized child requires a level of care that is simply beyond typical human capacity. The traumatized child will fight against any semblance of love. The traumatized child will use whatever they can to push you away, out of a misguided but understandable attempt at self-protection, they will fight, sabotage and control whatever they can, however they can. They will force themselves to throw up, they will rage, they will destroy your belongings - and sadly, they will destroy their own belongings. They may physically attack, they may put all the bodily fluids in all the places, and then also on your one nice dress. And also probably on your toothbrush. The traumatized child is not a bad child, he is a terrified child.

Kids like this will likely be placed in one foster family after another. People will give up on these kids. The message that these kids are unlovable will be sent and resent over and over until the child turns 18 and ages out of the system. Then these kids are, statistically speaking, very likely to become incarcerated, homeless and/or pregnant before being equipped to parent. They are more likely to abuse drugs and have children who also end up in the system.

These kids deserve better. They deserve parents that will stuff their feelings with gelato and kill a houseplant instead of harming the child. These kids need parents who will not give up, communities who invest in them and offer opportunities and compassion. And these foster parents deserve our support.

It sounds like a no-brainer, right? Who would give up on a child just because they are having a hard time? Well, the answer is a lot of people. When my son was at his lowest point in his battle with attachment disorder and our family in complete crisis, countless people told me that we should put him in a group home or consider “undoing” his adoption. This is when I realized how few people really understand adoption. No matter how long he was in my family, there were still people that failed to understand that he is my SON. Forever. He’s just mine, always. And I was going to fight to the death for him.

For Day 22, I checked in with multiple friends who are fighting for their kids. Sadly, most of these mamas feel like they are fighting WITH their kids, FOR their kids. I spent a couple hours on the phone throughout the day talking with different friends about parenting and attachment strategies, therapeutic approaches that actually work, and practical tips to repair their relationships for when they lose their ever loving minds - like that one time that I threw all the bananas or publicly wrote through this mental breakdown. More than anything, we talked about hope, and faith and about having self-compassion. In a moment when some really vulnerable moms are doing jobs that no one person is capable of doing, it is a kindness to listen, to encourage, to commiserate, and to remind them that there is a God standing beside them that shares burdens and carries our load… a God that happens to be quite fond of the lost, the least and the littlest among us.

Day 20 & 21 - Scared, Imperfect, Vulnerable = Connected.

During the month of October, this strange and beautiful phenomenon occurs. For 31 vulnerable and exhausting days, I open up my heart to all of you. My imperfect, ragged heart is splayed vulnerably before you, and when it is, something quite magical happens.

You open up your hearts right back.

Every time I muster the courage to be speak frankly about deep and personal wounds from my past, my inbox is flooded with stories of your deep and personal wounds. When I release the fear of judgement (however temporarily that may be) and force myself to speak candidly about my insecurities, you speak candidly with me about your insecurities.

When I confess, some of you confess. When I express shame, many of you express shame. When I push past the criticism and the nay-sayers and I choose to behave bravely even when I feel small and weak and exposed… so many of you are there, also being brave, and maybe also feeling small, weak, and a bit exposed.

This is the power of vulnerability, that when I share my tattered and timeworn stories of loss, you respond with your own. Vulnerability creates room for other people to be themselves, to express themselves, to breathe, to be real, to be universal, to exist next to someone else who understands. Vulnerability tells us that none of us, not even one, is really ever alone. We cannot possibly be alone when at the end of the day, we are all the flippin’ same.

For Day 20, Jay and I made a small donation to a hospice home near us called Sunset House. Our neighborhood block party was on Saturday and as a group we continue to raise money for this worthwhile cause. I also made a donation (and by donation I mean I bought myself a candy bar) for my little neighbor’s fundraiser to go to Washington, D.C. It was a huge sacrifice, but I live to serve, so.

Day 21, I made a donation to Foodlink while checking out at the grocery store, and more importantly, I tried to express appreciation and admiration today whenever I felt it. I sincerely thanked my volunteers for all they did at church today, I brought cake (and lots of jokes and banter) to the staff at the movie theater where we rent space to have our church services and I went all the way out to my car because a little girl wanted a something I had already packed up. These were all simple, small things that I would do any day of any month all year long. Still, I think that we underestimate the cumulative impact of simple acts decency.

Extending grace and decency to others in a world that can easily feel hyper-combative and cruel, is another way to remind people that we are all the same. We are all small. We are all weak, frightened and exposed in one way or another. But, we are also all these glorious creatures who are profoundly loved by the one who created us. We are capable, tenacious and brave. I know this because you are all my precious darlings, and when I tell you my deep dark secrets, you tell me yours. You hold me with your words, you comfort me with your encouragement, you honor and humble me with your mirrored vulnerability. And when you share your own scary truths, whispered back to me, however hesitantly, but still so so beautifully... it is a revolutionary act of love.

Days 17 - 19: Catching Up on Kindness!

Well, I am maaaaaad behind on posting and I have been driving all day, so I will keep this brief! I have been toying with the idea of shifting away from blogging and moving toward podcasting and/or video blogging. The jury is out, but I am too haggard to even consider putting my face on camera at the moment. So, let’s consider this a micro-blog for tonight.

I went home to celebrate the life of a family friend, Earl Dean. He was the wonderful father of my friend Heather. As many of you already saw on Facebook Live, I stayed with my mom and interview her about #AdamsActs. She is out of control, so enjoy that little video if you haven’t already checked it out, and here’s a taste of how extra she can be.

I shared that my act of kindness on the trip there was handing out $5 gift cards to Tim Horton’s to the Canadian border patrol. Canadians cannot get enough of Tim Horton’s and their garbage coffee. The American side would not accept my gifts because apparently they cannot get enough of following arbitrary rules that forbid them from enjoying life and kindness.

For Day 18, I wrote out a bunch of cards for Heather and on the envelope I noted specific days that she may open them. When someone passes away - especially someone as involved in 
Heather’s life as her dad was - there will be many moments where she will feel his absence so keenly it can feel unbearable. I tried to anticipate what some of those moments might be, like Father’s Day, or her birthday, or when her dad’s flower garden starts to break through the thawing spring ground. Those will be moments that she needs a reminder that she is loved and thought of, and certainly not alone.

For Day 19, I filled up my mom’s car with gas and I spoke at Fellowship of Christian Athletes for my bro Joe. I was spazzy and unprepared, and I busted in on all my fave coaches/teachers right in the middle of their classes, announcements and observations. Sorry, not sorry! They’ve met me, so they weren’t terribly surprised especially considering I have the exact same maturity level as I did when I was playing volleyball (poorly) in high school.

Me and Tracey Wilson - principal, former coach, friend and #AdamsActs extraordinaire! I was lucky enough to be there when a couple of kids were receiving gift cards for getting caught being kind to others at school! It was such an honor to meet these kind kids and peer pressure them into reading my blog.

After spazzing myself around the high school like a total crazy, my niece treated me to breakfast, which was very sweet seeing that she is a broke college kid. I tried to encourage and affirm her life choices - which are wise and brave - so it was easily done.

After that, I went to the cemetery and left a penny on Adam’s headstone, because it’s a thing some of us do. There is always a penny there. I spent some time sitting in the grass, thinking of Adam and wishing I could talk to him. When I tried, all that came out was “hey buddy.” and then so many projectile tears. I wanted him there, in real life, to talk to me and to be on my team. I need his advice right now, and I need to feel like he understands me and hears me. I want him to be here, standing beside me and holding my hand when I feel scared to make big changes in my life.

I sat by his headstone and thought about the three words that my parents chose to be engraved there forever.

I was particularly focused on peacemaker. I love that it doesn’t say peacekeeper, but peaceMAKER. It is a lot easier to be a keeper of peace - especially false peace - than it is to be brave enough to be honest and work toward creating TRUE peace. To be a peacemaker, you have to identify problems, you have to speak hard truths, and you have to be willing to create something new. This is who I am striving to be. Not a keeper of an illusion of peace, but a maker of true, authentic peace.

I suppose that even though my big brother is not here to hold my hand and give me advice, he is still teaching me and today it felt like he was on my team.

Day 14 & 15: Walk of Shame

We are halfway through October and I have yet to do anything noteworthy or epic. Rather, I am continually extending small, intentional acts of kindness. Sometimes I beat myself up about doing only little things, but I won’t do that this time. I’ve had enough beating myself up for a while. I have often written about grief triggers, and how the smallest thing can bring a tidal wave of grief and memories flooding back. And so it is with kindness. When I started doing #AdamsActs several years ago, it was just me and a handful of friends. Now, over 10,000 readers later, there is a tidal wave of kindness flooding communities all over the world. Perhaps there is no such thing as a small act of kindness, if it reflects a big, generous heart.

For Day 14, I treated some of my faves to go see a movie. They more than deserved for it to be my treat, since I moped around like Eeyore the whole night without explanation. We saw A Star is Born - which absolutely wrecked me… speaking of triggers. Addiction, shame, suicide, Lady Gaga gettin’ nakey buns. It was a lot. But, also, really well done and left me with lots of feelings to grapple with. Mostly, shame. Which I have wrestled with to varying degrees for as long as I can remember.

Which brings me to Day 15. I always try to keep items in my car for when I see homeless people. My go-to are boxes of Nutri-grain bars because they are soft. (Harder foods like apples or carrots are difficult to chew if you don’t have access to dental care/all your teeth.) Today, when I saw a homeless woman I planned to hand the cereal bars out the window like I normally do, but today felt different.

Today, I recognized my own lifelong battle with shame reflected back at me through this woman’s face. So, instead of driving by and handing her supplies, I threw my car into park right on 104 and I got out and went to her. I gave her some snacks, but more importantly I looked her directly in her face and told her that she was loved and that she was okay. And then I hugged her like a mama. I held on tight and for a long time. Too long some might say. But, we both had tears in our eyes when we let go. She did not thank me for the food. She did however yell after me just as I was getting in the car,

“Lady! Thank you for the hug.”

The Language of Grief

As a mom, I have this really terrible habit of not correcting my kids when they adorably mispronounce words. If they think that sloppy joe’s are called sloppy jokes, why on earth would I correct that? If they happen to reason that multiple items of clothing are called clothes, so a single item of clothing is called “clo” then who am I to question their logic? I absolutely love when they get it wrong. Jay just learned at school about how dangerous and unhealthy it is to “smoke ciggaracists.” He is combining cigarettes and racism… two of the heavy hitters on the forbidden list in our home.

I could not correct him. Because I love it. I love when they take a guess, and stick to it, even when they are way off. So, I happily absorb their mispronounced words into my everyday vocabulary. Underwear will forever be bundies in my eyes, grown ups will always be grownies, and lasagna will be allabazoonya until the day I die. It’s just how it goes.

I think grief is similar. As a kid, grieving the loss of my brother and my parents divorce within the same year, I developed my own sort of language in a way. I told myself certain things to make sense of my family falling apart. I created ideas, however misconceived, to explain what was happening around me. These ideas, like mispronounced words, became absorbed into my language so to speak, and I find myself, even now, discovering how these words and notions have shaped me.

Some of this language is really unhealthy. For instance, I spent the majority of my life thinking that it should have been me who died that night. I was convinced of this because I admired Adam so much that I believed he would have lived a far more remarkable life than I ever could. Every B on my report card was a reminder of Adam’s straight A’s, every day after my 18th birthday felt like an affront to his memory, another day I didn’t deserve because I outlived someone who would have excelled in ways that I never would. I blamed myself for his death for a very long time. I realize how ludicrous this is now, as an adult, but as a young girl I believed that if I had only been better behaved maybe God wouldn’t have taken my family apart. I grappled with regret - the one time I told Adam that I hated him, the time I went skiing with friends instead of staying home and celebrating Adam’s very last birthday ever, and simply not telling him that he was my hero. The weight of shame for not being better, the weight of regret for not doing more, became the language of grief that I spoke to myself day after day for so many years.

But, there is another, more beautiful, side to this grief language. The side that isn’t filled with mispronounced words or complex regrets… the other dialect to this grief language is compassion. A true empath, I feel everything around me. Speaking the language of grief from such a young age has allowed me to stand in as a translator when other people couldn’t find the words to express their loss. Speaking the language of grief has allowed me to hear and understand others’ pain, sometimes before they understand it themselves. Speaking this language of mangled hearts and torn up dreams has allowed me to sit with others and simply understand.

I have had the privilege of walking beside many people in their most heart-wrenching times. For Day 12, I gave a donation to a foundation that is near to my heart because I was allowed into someone else’s grief journey. Our friend’s Pat and Megan had two beautiful twin girls who had TTTS (Twin to Twin Transfusion Syndrome) which is a rare condition that can occur when identical twins share a placenta. Their little girls, Zoey and Morgan were born very prematurely and fought so hard for their precious little lives. After only three months on earth, sweet Zoey passed away, leaving behind her precious twin sister and two incredible parents who would continue to remember and celebrate and honor her short life in so many beautiful ways. I also promised Pat (on Day 13) that I would not book any speaking events on the first weekend of December (which is generally a very busy time of year for me with speaking.) I solemnly swore that I would instead be at their Christmas Tree fundraiser they do each year in memory of Zoey.

If you live in the Rochester area, you should really consider getting your Christmas tree from them. The trees are beautiful, and the proceeds go to help other kids who are fighting for their lives. Plus, they make it super fun and festive for kids. Plus, there’s hot chocolate. And snacks. And other food. Just come, okay?

In addition to making promises, for Day 13 I spent time just thinking of, praying for and reaching out to a few people who are going through their own times of grief. Today was a day of loss and heartache for three different families I love. We are supporting them in whatever ways we are able, but even after speaking this grief language for most of my life, I still find that I have no adequate words when someone I love is in pain. So, instead, I will just sit in the hurt with them, and let them know that they are not alone. Sometimes grief is a complex language that screams mispronunciations in your head, and sometimes it’s compassion that simply demands silence.

Days 10 & 11: Sprinkles.Tom

Fam, can I just give it to ya straight today? I am maaaaaad tired. I have officially lost more than 10% of my body weight in less than two weeks. I feel so ridiculously exhausted, so I am going to keep tonight super brief. For Day 10 I brought a bowl of apples to work. I recently started a new job working for my church and I love all my colleagues with an everlasting love. So, I brought a bowl of produce. Then someone else brought in apples and oranges and brownies. #overachiever

For day 11, I wanted to win the snack show-down, so I bought cupcakes for my daughter Marlie and her teammates to enjoy after their tennis match. I played a lot of sports growing up. I was okay at sports, but I was almost never in the spotlight during a game. But, you know when I shined? Afterwards, when we all got a snack. Alright, I don’t know if I shined necessarily, but... I did get a snack. And that was a win. In terms of snacks, I was an undefeated athlete.

Today, everyone was a winner. Except Tom, because I gave his cupcake away to some random kid I didn’t know. Happy #AdamsActs everyone!

*My 15 year old daughter, Annalee titled this post for me as her act of kindness. “Sprinkles dot Tom” was her best idea. Pray for her.

Day 9: No I Won't Shut Up About Kindness

When my brother’s life was taken away from him on that crisp fall night, I was in the 6th grade. I still remember my mom, my oldest sister, Kristin, and her fiance, Joe, coming home from the hospital to tell us that Adam was gone. “We lost him.” That is how my mother told us.

“We lost him.”

I remember my mom motioning for Joe to hide Adam’s wrestling gear that was piled on the floor…. As if that would be the thing to put us over the edge. His wrestling uniform was there on the floor because that year, I decided to dress up as my brother for Halloween. Afterall, he was my real, live superhero. I wore his wrestling singlet, his warm-ups, shoes and had his headgear hanging from the waist of the warm-ups… just like the real wrestlers. I remember that moment so vividly. My mom, in the deepest grief of her life, still trying to protect us. Trying to eliminate any factor that might make our pain more acute. That was probably the first act of kindness that was done in response to Adam’s death.

After Adam died, my friendships changed a lot. I had a really hard time opening up and talking to my friends about everything I was feeling. I find this amusing and ironic now, considering the fact that this week alone I have opened up to about 10,000 people about my feelings. But, it was harder then. My friends were children. They did not know how to comfort me. They didn’t understand grief. Only last year did I learn from one friend how Adam’s death impacted the rest of her childhood. She was traumatized. Her family was very close with ours, and they were all traumatized. Adam’s death changed how people parented their kids, it changed how late their kids could stay out, and whether or not they could go places. His death shaped our community, in ways I did not realize at the time.

Even though so many peripheral people were impacted, I still felt alone in my grief. I felt small and lost and alone. We lost him, my mother had said, but I think what really happened was that we all got lost. But there were moments of connection. When my friend Sarah Doane sat and played Mall Madness with me for hours while my mom wept with my aunts and uncles. She let me shut it all out and pretend to still be a kid. That was an act of kindness. Sarah’s mom, Michal, let us sleep over at each other’s houses on school nights sometimes when I was really sad. That wasn’t something she would normally allow, but making an exception was an act of kindness.

At the funeral home, one of Adam’s classmates, Tom Streng, sat next to me for so long watching old videos of Adam. The video just kept looping and looping. He sat with me the whole time, as an act of kindness.

That same night, I remember someone coming over to me and saying that a bouquet of flowers had been delivered for me. ME. I was in 6th grade. I had never been given a flower before, let alone had a bouquet delivered especially for me. Sure enough, there was a simple vase filled with yellow roses. They were from a boy in my class, Bobby Packer, who had confessed his undying love to me on the regular for about 3 years straight leading up to this. I still remember my mom telling me that red roses mean love, but yellow roses mean friendship. On one of the hardest days of my life, Bobby extended what I needed most - a sign of friendship, and act of kindness.

This is why we do acts of kindness in October. Because small, generous, thoughtful acts of care and concern are healing, buoying and uplifting. They are meaningful, they are memorable. They help tether lost people to the hope of being found again. From the moment that Adam died, the people around me have been performing small, but meaningful acts of kindness and that has made some very tragic times just a bit more survivable. God has placed people in my life to love me and support me and to walk through this process with me long before they were adults, long before they knew how to support someone in their grief.

In his kindness, God has sweetly and gently brought me through the darkest times in my life, and he has done so by bringing me friends and strangers who weren’t afraid to be there, even when it was uncomfortable. Friends like Chrisann Hanson, who called me La and wrote AP17 on her shoes with me. Friends, coaches, teachers, neighbors… people who stepped outside of themselves and extended kindness to our family when we were just re-learning how to put one foot in front of the other.

So. That’s why. For every person who has asked why we are all out there blabbing about what kindnesses we do. This is why. Because kindness can make a real, lasting impact on people’s lives. And I think that is worth sharing and celebrating.

My beautiful friend, Sue Delgatti, has continually showered my family with kindness over the past few years. She has been one of the most active participants in October and Sue is no stranger to loss and heartache. She has overcome a world of challenges… and here’s what she sent me today, completely unsolicited:

I love participating in this movement because I believe in kindness! I believe it can make a difference. I believe it helps me be a better person. I believe that God wants us to use great sadness and brokenness for good and I believe it helps us heal. Participating brings me this odd sense of joy and takes my eyes off me. I’m encouraging you all to try it because I’m pretty sure you’ll like the way it makes you feel. Kindness IS contagious and I think you will be surprised at how it becomes part of your life and the joy that it brings. So.... jump on into #AdamsActs and #catchthekindness! Make someone smile, be an encourager!!! As is often said- “be the change you want to see in world”

Sue basically sent me a commercial for #AdamsActs. Just a little plug out of the blue in case someone needed it. This is kindness people. When you are so in tune with the needs of the people around you that you meet those needs before they even realize they had the need. Because what Sue doesn’t know, is that today I was fielding a little bit of criticism about publicizing kindness. This happens every year, but more and more as the blog gets bigger. Tomorrow I will address some of this - and probably the state of the nation as a whole - but mama needed to cool off first. What I needed was a reminder that what we are doing matters, that it pleases God because we are loving his children. In the same way that so many of you loved on that lost little child after her brother was taken away so suddenly. Kindness gives birth to more kindness. That is as noble a goal to pursue as any, and definitely one worth sharing.

Day 8: Chemo Care Drive

I can’t believe that we are officially starting week 2 of #AdamsActs!! It’s been a strange month for me so far, to say the least. I am still feeling quite dizzy and out of it, and I am down about ten pounds. Despite having been called a fat cow multiple times in the hospital, I actually don’t have a lot of extra weight to spare at the moment… so ten pounds is a bit rough. I am still not cleared to drive, so I thought now would be a good time to kick off my plan for the rest of October.

In the past couple of years, I have collected items for various causes. One year I collected snack items for gift baskets which were then given to an organization called David’s Refuge. DR provides respite for parents and caregivers of children with special needs, long-term medical or terminal illness. The following year we did a blanket drive for homeless shelters. This year, I will be collecting items for people who are going through chemotherapy.

I will keep a bin on my front step where you can drop items off at your convenience (if you live in the Rochester area.) For those readers who live elsewhere, you can send me a private message for my address if you would like to mail items to be part of our drive. As in past years, anyone who is not a pervert is welcome to participate. I mean, I can’t just have pervs comin’ and going’ from the house willy nilly.

Here are some items that I would recommend:

• Comfortable socks/slippers

• Beanie, hat, head wrap or scarf made of soft fabric

• Wrap, soft blanket or shawl

• Travel pillow

• Snacks

• Travel size toiletries (toothpaste, mouthwash, hand sanitizer, lotion for sensitive skin, etc.)

• Moisturizer (anything with calendula)

• Gum, mints and crystallized ginger (to combat nausea)

• Magazines, crossword puzzles, books

• Journal

• Paper organizer (to keep records and prescriptions in order)

• Reusable water bottles

• Chapstick

• Peppermint or ginger tea

• Headphones

• Sleep mask

• Earplugs

• Nail polish (nobody going through chemo recommended this, but I don’t think anyone should ever go through hard things without an excellent base, color and top coat. If you need brand suggestions, I will happily oblige.)

• Gift cards (I-Tunes, gas cards, grocery stores, restaurants and activities near hospital.) Even if these aren’t used right away, it gives the patient something fun to look forward to when they are feeling up to it!

• Blank stationary or note cards

• Subscriptions - Netflix, Amazon Prime, Audible, Hulu, etc. can help pass time.

Housecleaning and meal delivery services are also amazing gifts, but I am not about to be organizing stuff. I will just collect and distribute, because I know my limits. Still, I think a collection of these small, but essential items can go a long way to encourage people and alleviate some of the financial strain of battling cancer. None of these “extras” are covered by insurance, even though many of these items, like nail polish, are necessary for survival.

Quick instructions if you come to my house - you should know a few quick things.

• There could be upwards of 100 children from the neighborhood scattered about the yard at any given time. They will almost definitely be wearing bicycle helmets, backwards and for no apparent reason. Whether they are actually riding their bicycles or not - the helmets will be incorrectly, unsafely and precariously dangling from their heads. 100% of the time. (Below are photos of my actual children. Please pray for their future.)

• We have a small and poorly trained puppy who is super chill and lovely, until someone brings lotions to our house for cancer patients. Then she becomes an “excitable greeter.” Just, push through it. She is harmless and adorable. I am better at training people than pets apparently.

Happy Day #8 everyone. I hope to hear from many of you about partnering together to encourage men, women and children who have a long, hard fight in front of them.

Day 6: Fat Cows, Camels and Compliments

On Wednesday night I was at church volunteering to watch some kids when I started feeling unwell. More accurately, I started feeling worse. I have not been feeling great for over a year now, and the past couple of weeks have been particularly rough. By Wednesday, I was feeling weak and dizzy. As Jonathan mentioned in the public flogging over my poor hydration habits, I assumed that I might just be dehydrated. I began feeling a little faint, so I sat down until I felt okay to drive home. I only live five minutes from church, but still, I had my three youngest kiddos with me so I didn’t want to risk anything.

I drove home from church, went in the front door and that’s really all I remember. At some point I passed out near my front door and the kids found me there on the floor a short while after. I do not know how long I was out for. The kids were incredible and able to figure out how to use Siri to get help. I was pretty proud. I woke up to London, my 8-year-old , saying “I’m going to get Scout (our puppy), it’s the only thing that will work!” It was so sad. And also adorable. Because to a little girl, there is no problem that an adorable puppy cannot solve.

I decided to go into the Emergency Room just to be safe. Long story short, I was admitted to the observation unit - lots and lots of tests were run, heart rates and blood sugar were erratic, weight has been lost, heads have been aching and the short answer is… we don’t know. There are still some test results we are waiting on, but for the most part they have ruled out anything too sinister. It sounds like they are leaning toward this being some sort of malabsorption issue from something like Celiac or Crohn’s.  A compromised ability to absorb nutrients would definitely explain why my legs are the size and shape of golf tees. So, this seems reasonable to me. Still, more tests are required to confirm.

In the meantime, I was sent home from the hospital yesterday afternoon with a heart monitor to definitively rule out cardiac issues. I am not allowed to work or drive until I am cleared by a doctor. They did say I can still do laundry, so… awesome.

I have been really overwhelmed by those of you who have reached out for updates and well-wishes. I appreciate it so much. I don’t think I have ever spent so much time on my phone before, so we can add carpal tunnel to my list of possible diagnoses. In all seriousness though I was amazed to sit back and watch #AdamsActs just explode before my eyes, knowing that it literally had nothing to do with me. You guys, are amazing.

I have been trying very hard not to get down on myself or feel like I’ve let ya down. Seeing everything you guys are doing to spread kindness, positivity and love has been such an encouragement to me that it has helped keep me in good spirits. I thought about doubling up acts of kindness to catch up, but I am releasing myself from that because I am wearing a heart monitor as we speak and I don’t need that kinda pressure.

For Day 6, I will tell you the highlight reel of my stay in the hospital. I had planned to extend kindness during my stay… but oh boysies. Here’s how it went down. I was put in a “room” with a curtain separating me from an older, unstable gentleman who burned his feet up from walking too much. It was actually quite sad, but also he kept swearing at me and accusing me of stealing his sunglasses, so I feel like it’s ok for me to get a good story out of the abuse, if nothing else.

I knew it was going to be a long night when he got started on the Communists and the Russians. I have to admit, I didn’t see all the smoking coming though. Yep. That’s right. This man perpetually yelled “Nurse! Nurse! I gotta go number two!” As it turns out, “Number Two” is very much code for “Smoking in the Hospital Bathroom.” Every time he came back in the room the nurse would yell at him and apologize to me… and eventually I got my very own bottle of air freshener!

Once the nurses put a stop to Operation Numero Dos, he very boldly lit those Camel Straights right there in the room. The security guards were not thrilled. They wrestled the cigs away from this guy, and I was definitely to blame… seeing as I was “the fat cow who stole his best sunglasses.”

Not only was I a fat cow, I was a number of other filthy names that have become memories I’d prefer to treasure privately. My favorite name, however I will share with you. Every time he demanded that I - a patient hooked up to an IV and all the monitors - get up and get him some Tylenol he would call me Hunny Bunny. When I told him that I was unable to provide any medicine at this time, he would scream at me and call me Nurse Ratchet. I have a bit of video of this as evidence that I am not being dramatic, but I cannot include it because, ya know HIPPA or whatever.

So, that was night number one in the hospital. Super restful. No wonder my heart rate was going bananas! What were its options!? The second night was not much better because the observation unit just means that all of us fat cows are appropriately placed in curtained stalls. We are strategically situated to ensure that every time someone moans or talks about their bile, we can all weigh in.

I promise though, I was doing my absolute best to extend kindness whenever possible. I spent hours patiently talking with Mr.Russia. I told him politely that I preferred “cow” to the other c-word he was throwing around. I listened to him talk about literally every thought he had, as he had it. And I didn’t once lose my temper. Or sleep.

I was also intentional about trying to be as kind a patient as possible. Of course, I always strive to be polite and kind, but when you are bed-ridden and the only opportunity to extend kindness is toward the people taking care of you… ya run short on ideas. It did give me the chance to live out one of my life mottos which is to never just think a compliment, say it instead.

So, that is what I did. I liked this nurse’s glasses, and I appreciated that nurse’s sense of humor. I found something attractive or admirable or pleasant about every single person I came in contact with. Let me tell you, it helped. For them, I think it is encouraging to be appreciated or recognized in any small way while working in such a hectic environment. And it helped me. I felt uplifted every time I was able to make someone else feel good.

I think my brother would have liked Russia. He would have sat with him a while, got to know him. He would have had a good laugh at his shenanigans, and he would have had compassion. So, while the past few days probably won’t make it onto my top ten list of best ever weeks… I appreciated the opportunity to live out some deeply held values: to listen to lonely people, to see and appreciate people, to be generous with encouragement, to love the people that the world says are “unlovable” and to laugh at inappropriate things.

Day 5: Conversations instead of casseroles.

Hi #adamsacts Fam— Brandi Ebersole here, a good friend of Lara. I have the honor of people saying “we’re a lot alike”. Usually when we hang out together our passive husbands, roll their eyes as we get overly passionate or obnoxiously loud together.

We’ll it’s my turn to be up to bat …guest posting. Not paling in comparison.

Here to let you know, she’s still in the hospital

— WAITING.

And this is where you too, can step in. We all need to be going HARD on our acts of kindness in her absence and PRAYING. Because in my eyes, this is just evil against good… but we’ll leave that kind of writing to George Lucas

#maytheforcebewithlara  

Anyway the funny thing about Lara is she is actually outrageously kind-- EVERYDAY. It’s not just this month. I can visit her from out of town and there is always a neighbor or a church friend stopping in to return a clean casserole dish or something borrowed from her. I know many of you know, this Lara. The one who will pick-up your call even if she’s wrangling her kids in her van. Stopping to give you all the advice and her whole heart. Asking you, the hard questions and always tells you the truth.
     My first vivid memory of Lara was many years ago. We were at her in-law’s house. She was telling me a bit about her brother, Adam and family history. A lot of chaos was going on. But after being kind and vulnerable about her own experience, she asked me a raw question…  Do you ever want to meet your birth-family? (adult adoptee here). I was shocked, but felt safe and answered “Yes”.

This small question has changed the trajectory of a lot in my life.

 See that’s Lara and that’s kindness. Sharing your own story, giving-room for others to share theirs. I have had the honor of knowing and gleaming from Lara’s kindness for over 10 years now. She’s been with me when I got married, adopted my first kid, found-out I was birthing another kid and most important has NOT let me shy away from my experience or has not stopped pointing me to the good-Lord for the answers.

      So my challenge to you today--

How can you be vulnerable with someone else, so they too can feel SEEN and KNOWN?

Maybe it’s not the casserole, but the conversation.

Substitute Teacher

You know when you walked into Science class in 8th grade and knew right away there was a substitute teacher? No one was sitting in their seats, your friends were eating their lunch pudding packs at 9:30am. No rules… Well, If you’re reading this and already getting the sense that this isn’t your favorite blogger on earth writing to you, it’s because I (Lara’s brother-in-law) have been asked to sub in for the moment.

About an hour ago, Lara found herself waking up on her living room floor with their three youngest kids hovering over her… “Mommy you passed out”. Well, it was a little more insane than that. Jaylen, their youngest, was screaming and is officially scarred for life at the thought of Mommy falling to the floor. Harper grabbed Lara’s phone to call Daddy, and didn’t know the passcode to unlock it. Thankfully he had enough wit to mutter out “Hey Siri… Call ‘Tom My Lover.’” Of course, that’s how every husband is and should be saved in the phone. But everyone can breathe. I just got off the phone with Lara. Her and Tom are at the hospital waiting for results on a few tests, but she sounded ok.

Don’t worry, I’ve already shamed her for not drinking enough water ever in her life; as I believe if they did a full body/organ scan they’d come to find all of her organs are shriveled to raisin size. That’s enough shaming my sister-in-law in the hospital. This is a time and month for good deeds. We can all pray for Lara as she’s hopefully hearing very soon of what may be going on.

As the sub for today, I do have one assignment for class today… on behalf of #AdamsActs, give even greater than yesterday! I think that’d make Lara’s day.

Until next time she passes out…

Jonathan