I knew it. I knew this would happen: put together my blog site (kind of) and then try to think of things to write about and then, I would sit there and stare at all the poetry and musings I have ever written and gotten onto my computer and come up with _________.
This is why I never ever tried to blog in all the years people have been asking me to share the experiences that our family encounters. I just don’t have the discipline to sit and stare at my computer every day. Frankly, I don’t have time! I don’t know if I will be able to keep up with myself. My writing comes in fits and spurts. So I might write 7 pieces of poetry and 3 pieces of prose in a week and then I can’t find anything to write about for 3 months. This is a problem for a blogger.
Another reason I didn’t blog before now, is because I was terrified. Putting my craft out there makes me want to run away and pee my pants. I often squeeze my eyes shut tight, heart racing in my chest and I hit “send” or “post” as fast as I can. I have a mini panic attack. I mentioned “heavy stuff”…well, the last thing someone needs when they are down or hurting or muddling through is for others to criticize or tell you that what you have experienced is false. Or just in your head. The comments sections can be so brutal. Who needs that?
I also didn’t blog because when the blogging craze began, people who were blogging about their counter culture experiences and getting flack for it from the dominant culture (i.e. friends, family, acquaintances), they griped about the flack. I didn’t want to do that, even though I felt the same frustrations and misunderstandings just as deeply. Blogging culture has evolved quite a bit since then!
So what exactly is counter culture in my life?
I studied social justice in India when Layla (my oldest daughter) was just 2 years old. It was my experiences with the poorest of the poor mothers and their children that rocked my world. It was there that I understood my mission was to find ways to support women and children in my own community. Ten years later, I am still on this same path.
We decided to adopt a little boy from Liberia. My son chose his pen-name to be that of his biological father: Eddie. As a result, we are now a multi-racial family. I am a white mom who never experienced the vulgarity and brutality of racist words & attitudes until he came into my life. And now, what you say to hurt him, hurts me. It hurts all of us.
And we are a foster family. Sue (or “Thue” according to our 2 year old with a thweet little lithp) has been in our family since we picked her up from the hospital when she was two days old. I thought she would be with us 3 months at the most. And now, we are on the brink of adoption! She is not the only child placed in our care from the foster system, we have had 2 others. But this is a world only other foster parents or social workers really see or understand.
Beyond that, all three of the kids have special needs. Layla has given me permission to share some of our experiences dealing with her diagnosed mental health issues. Just finding someone who would give her the medical attention she desperately needed took 4 years. Eddie has epilepsy and intellectual disabilities (formerly known as mental retardation). Getting him properly diagnosed took a scant 7 years. Sue has developmental delays and when she is no longer a ward of the state, I will be able to discuss her history more freely.
And in all of this, one thing sustains me (besides coffee and generous amounts of sugar): FAITH. I don’t know how else to do life except by completely leaning on Jesus.