The Eye of the Storm

On Sept 6th, after our three-week stay in Newfoundland, Derick and I landed in Halifax, excited to spend the weekend with my sister and her fiancé.

I am an anxious flyer, so I was thankful to finally be on the ground again and to have had a "turbulence-free" flight to boot. Noting this to Derick, he leaned in, looked me in the eyes and—with a wry sense of humor—said, "You do realize hurricane Dorian is expected to hit the east coast tomorrow, particularly Halifax, and you are glad to be here on the ground, uh?"

In my defense, I hadn't given much thought about the hurricane heading our way. It's not that I was oblivious to its destructive path throughout the Bahamas and the U.S., at that moment, I was just glad to be off the plane and not yet ready to comprehend the dangers that Dorian might pose—one fear at a time, please! 

Upon arriving at the baggage carousel, however, I was no longer thankful to be on the ground. My sister had confirmed the brutal facts: We'd indeed be taking a direct hit from hurricane Dorian early Saturday a.m., with forecasted wind speeds ranging from 120 to 150 km an hour (yikes!). 

And true to form, the torrential rain and blustering winds struck us with a vengeance the next morning, and in its wake, widespread power outages impacted the region. 

Fortunately (as the storm raged on outside), a generator afforded us a sense of normalcy, a means to have breaking news updates as well as coffee and food and lighting.

While Dorian appeared to pause shortly after lunch, we were left wide-eyed, frozen, by the stillness of nature's rage. I am not sure who blurted out, "I believe we are in the eye of the storm!" Nevertheless, this turbulence-free zone filled the air not only with calm energy but an eerie yet peaceful feeling as well. I mean, even the trees seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Regrettably, though, the brevity of nature's rest soon gave way to pounding winds from the opposite direction—casting us into uncertainty once more.

Hours had passed since the stillness in the eye when, from the living room vantage point, my eyes caught sight of the dusk sky peering through the kitchen window. Its shadowy outline lured me into taking a closer look. And as I stood there (pretty much on tippy-toes, to get the full view of the outside) and watched the treetops fiercely sway back-and-forth against the darkening backdrop, a wave of panic gripped me.

You see, during the day, I was somewhat comforted by the fact that my "hawk-eyes" could take in every detail of the storm's rage around me. But knowing that it'd soon lurk in the dark, knowing that it'd soon hammer us with hidden fury, caused anxiety and fear and a pang of uncertainty to flood my body. Yet, I knew I had no control over the results of Dorian. So I did the only thing I knew to do: I prayed.  

Thankfully, we all survived that horrifying night unharmed. And although for several days nearly a million people were without power throughout the Maritimes, there were no human casualties. There was, however, significant infrastructure damage, and many of the areas majestic trees had succumbed to Dorian's wrath.

I liken Dorian to life storms. Many of you reading this have weathered them. Many of you have suffered significant losses in their aftermath. And yet, you have found a way to rise above. Not unscathed, not without being changed and shaped differently, no doubt. And rightly so. Your life was serene, and then—in the blink of an eye—you were tossed into a raging storm, battered and broken and uprooted from the life you once knew.

I can relate to storm damage in my life, as well. 

I was twenty-eight years old when my fifty-six-year-old mother suddenly died. In an instant, without any warning, she was gone. One day I had a mother, and the next day I was motherless. In its wake, this tragic event triggered a slow-moving grief hurricane, where the winds of pain came at me in many directions, where I went through life searching for the serenity of the eye.

The backstory is: Although I went into survival mode for my, then, four-year-old daughter and five-month-old son, it took years to work through my grief. The truth is, it wasn't until I found Christ in the eye of yet another storm, over a decade ago, was I able to find true peace and calmness of spirit. And even though I still succumb to fear, I've come to the realization that (unlike the trees), if we survive the fall, our life isn't over. We can choose to rise again. We can choose to embrace the lesson's grief offers. We can choose to become generators of light for others, even though the gaping hole in our heart is irreplaceable. 

With the Christmas season fast approaching, many will be stressed and lonely and sad this year—loss of traditions, an empty seat at the table, financial difficulty, illnesses, loss of hope...have trapped them inside one of life's storms.

Christ draws us ALL to the eye of the storm, a place of rest and calmness and peace. But for those who are burdened by circumstances, generators of light may need to come alongside them. Perhaps you/we can be that light this year? 

Adoption

In all its beauty and inevitable struggles, in all its changes and transformation, I marvel at how the seasons of life mirror the seasons of nature.

And on a personal level, I can relate to the cyclical seasons of change because I, too, have traveled through many dormant seasons in my lifetime, only to be blessed with new beginnings, leading me into a season of growth before reaping the benefits of life's harvest once again.

Spring (especially) reminds me of how nature has a way of letting us know that the season of dormancy is over. Similar to the stroke of an artist brush, a new painting begins to appear: Birds return busying themselves building nests. Trees and plants burst into bloom. And the spirit of humankind perks up in anticipation of the seasons ahead.

So, what does the cycle of life/nature have to do with adoption?

Well, whenever I've reflected on a child wounded by abandonment, stuck in the system of adoption, not knowing whether a permanent placement would happen, I've imagined how tough life must have been for them, how fragile and dormant their growth must have seemed.

On the other hand, I've pondered what it must have felt like when a family finally reached out and offered a "forever" home to that child: Did it feel like the four seasons combined? Was it with mixed emotions that they left the dormant season behind, yet wantonly looked forward to a new life, with a chance to grow and thrive and reap the harvest of love in a family that had chosen them?

Surprisingly, some of my answers have come through the eyes of an eight-year-old boy named Joshua.

Joshua entered foster care when he was just five years old, removed from his biological parents, and placed in the system. While he was fortunate enough to be blessed with great foster parents, he knew it wasn't his "forever" home. He continued to wait in anticipation for the day he'd belong and be loved in a family that he would call his own.

 I am happy to announce that the season of dormancy and waiting for Joshua is finally over. He is now part of our family—the Rice-Sawyer clan! Our daughter and her wife have adopted him. We now have a new grandson, and Thatcher has an older brother.

It's been a few months since Joshua entered into the growing season with his new family. Right from the onset Derick and I were eager to show him (something that his brother Thatcher already knew) the unfailing love of his nana and pap, and we had the opportunity to do just that when he visited our home this July.

Of course, we wondered if we could earn this little boy's trust in such a short time, being that his life had been burdensome for the first eight years, especially the first five.

A couple of days into Joshua's visit, however, I overheard him say to his moms, "I am comfortable here at Nana and Pap's house." And "comfortable" became more and more evident as the days went on. Watching him blossom was/is a remarkable depiction of what love and trust and nurturing and stability can do in a child's life. Needless to say, he learned quickly that—in our family—no matter what season of life we may find ourselves in, our harvest of love is never-ending.

While the details of Joshua's past must remain private, it isn't hard to see the hand of God at work in our adoption story.

There are inspirational biblical accounts on adoption as well, and through God's artistry of purpose, He shows us how adoption has played (and is still playing) a vital role in His love for humanity.

For instance, if Jochebed hadn't put Moses in a basket and sent him gently down a river, he'd have been killed by the leader of the royal family that adopted him. But, instead, he grew up to be an essential leader of God's plan to bring the Israelites out of Egypt.

Most importantly: How would the world have looked had Joseph not stepped up to the plate and adopted Jesus? Mary might have been stoned to death, but God had other plans, and together they raised a Son that changed the course of history.

As Christians, we, too, are offered a new life through the sacrifice of Christ. Not unlike an adoption of sorts, with new possibilities and hope for the future, at the end of our Earthly journey, Christ also promises us a "forever" home.

Thanksgiving is just around the corner. What are you most thankful for this year?

I know for me personally, there are a few things that come to mind, but as a family, Derick and I are incredibly thankful for adoption and the role we get to play in our boys' lives. It has enlivened our purpose beyond measure—to say the least.

With regards to the future, perhaps our grandsons will grow up and become leaders for God. Perhaps they will show the world just how blessed they are to have been adopted by two loving mommas and be part of the solution that ends the fear and stigma that still, to this day, surrounds gay adoption. One can only hope, right?

Reawakening Our Core Being

"Authenticity is a collection of choices that we have to make every day. It's about the choice to show up and be real. The choice to be honest. The choice to let our true selves be seen." ― Brené Brown

The authenticity Brené Brown speaks about in the above quote is all about choices, and these choices (for me) wasn't attainable until I came into an understanding of who I was, the knowing and the unknowing parts, in search of my core being.

So many of us go through life without being aware our true self is overshadowed by our wounded self, and it can send a false notion that we need "fixing," that something must be wrong with us, that we are broken in some way.

Why?

Because somewhere—along life's path—the need to express and feel and be in touch with our emotions was, in some way, conditioned out of us by traumatic events, especially if these events stemmed from childhood.

Subconsciously, negative defense mechanisms can develop and become part of our personality, but in reality, it isn't the way we heal. Instead, we lose touch with our core being. Our inner growth is stifled. And our own passions and creativity are shielded.

While many factors contribute to the development of negative defense mechanisms, one of the ones I'd locked away from my childhood was the effects of being bullied.

I am the second oldest girl of fourteen siblings. We were known as one of the poorest families in our small community. There were times we barely had enough money for food, let alone brand-name clothing or footwear. Suffice it to say, I didn't fit the "norm"—especially at school—and often fell prey to ridicule and bullying.

In the tender and formative years of my life, my brain had already wired itself to be a certain way: I suffered from low self-esteem, I was an underachiever in school, and I'd trust issues. But being the strong-willed kid that I was, I grew a thick skin and moved on with life. (Or so I thought.)

The ramifications from my bullies by no means left me unscathed in adulthood. For years, the sting of their words continued to play havoc on my self-esteem, shaping the way I saw the world, myself, and my relationships. The "thick skin" of my youth had now become impenetrable, not just from the outside but from the inside as well. So, if I wasn't allowing others in or allowing my inner core to be seen, how could I possibly be authentic?

Around my mid-forties, I began to question the pathway of my existence. On the surface, I was blessed with a great life, but there was a longing in my soul—a gnawing ache that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

I'd no idea how God would mysteriously move in my life when my daughter presented me with the book "The Purpose Driven Life: What On Earth Am I Here For," by Rick Warren. In fact, it was so life-altering, it became the springboard that eventually led me to Christ.

Amazingly enough, through God's love and forgiveness, the walls that once shielded me ultimately became the doorway back to the authenticity of my core being. And, in turn, life has handed me a gift: The sensitivity toward those who are bullied and ridiculed and discriminated against. The deepest and truest parts of who I am today.

The hurts we endure become like dark clouds that move in and out of our lives, clouds that (at times) become so heavy they rain tears of sadness upon us. But as we begin to slowly process and let go of those dark places, rays of sunshine will pierce through, offering us hands of hope for the future; a future where our truest self has reawakened and is no longer fearful of being seen.

There’s Two Sides to Every Coin

"I'm gay." Words that shattered our dreams and shook us to the core—words powerful enough to burst our daughter's closet wide open and yet words distressing enough to send Derick and me into the closet.

That was over a decade ago, now. Since then society, including many Christians, have softened their outlook toward homosexuality. And while acceptance still generates division among churches, families, and communities, in many aspects, our approach with one another is more respectful today.

Over the years Derick and I'd heard and read both inspiring and heartwrenching stories about youth coming out, about how their parents had reacted. Not all parents went into the closet as we did. Not all dealt with faith issues from a Christian perspective like our family had. Some LGBTQ were estranged and homeless, some had suicidal thoughts, and unfortunately, some ended their life.

While stories influence us and make us feel less alone, they empower us to share our story as well.

So after much reflection, I share a fragment of our families narrative—not to debate who's right or wrong—but to speak openly and honestly about our once "secret" homophobia, and to reveal how the fault lines of our beliefs had severe consequences in the way we handled our daughter's coming out.

You see, we held an oversimplified view on homosexuality, formulated by pieces of information we'd gathered from the secular world as well as the Christian world. So we had no reason to believe otherwise: that it was merely a result of a dysfunctional society, or worse, sin and abomination in the eyes of God.

But our world soon stopped on its axis when we saw the face of it in our own home. We questioned: How could our daughter be a lesbian? We'd raised her in a loving home. And more so, how could she be an abomination? On the contrary, her spirit exuded beauty, even in the midst of struggle. We wondered what our friends and families would think, what our church would think, what the future held for her/us now? And could she be both gay and Christian?

This new reality plopped us smack dab in the middle of the homosexuality debate, bombarding us with questions and opinions that we were ill-equipped to handle. To say we needed a more in-depth understanding of this issue was an understatement, yet our simplified view remained intact, at least for a while. So we aimed to pray the gay away. We attempted to threaten the gay away. We even bargained with God. However, God changed nothing—except our heart, an awakening that, ultimately, altered our stance.

Inside the "changing" walls of our closet, we grieved our losses, but the homophobic mindset had dissipated. In fact, we found ourselves on the opposite side of the coin, where homophobic slurs were now like daggers through our heart. Therefore, around most of our friends, especially in our church and workplace environment, we avoided the topic of homosexuality, which, in some sense, caused us to live a double life until it finally took its toll on us. Ironically, the painful and humbling experience gave us a brief understanding of what our daughter had endured.

In retrospect when she came out, Derick and I had each other to lean on. Whereas for years she felt compelled to hide in a closet of fear and loneliness, trapped inside a fake identity. As parents, we shoulder some guilt for her ordeal. Consequently, the homophobic undertones of our actions and words hadn't created a safe space for our child to come out.  But to save herself, to be innately at peace with who she was and is, even at the risk of losing her family, she burst out of her closet, anyway. After all, if you can’t be yourself, at some point, it not only becomes a mental impairment for helping others but puts the individual in an unhealthy state of being as well. (At least that was the case for our daughter and, to a lesser extent, for us, too.)

While we don't pretend to have all the answers on this delicate topic, through tears and disagreements, we are thankful that our family found forgiveness and acceptance and unconditional love on the flip side. It has transformed us, no doubt. So much so that we are not only advocates for LGBTQ rights but for ALL who are marginalized.

Whatever side of the coin we find ourselves on, though, we must treat one another with love and respect. Also, if your child has come out, I implore you to keep the lines of communication open. Because while it brings much freedom for them, the exposure to discrimination and stigma will be at the forefront of their lives, as such, they will need their family more than ever.

A wise man once said: "Be humble. Stay humble. Never think you are better than the person sitting next to you because everyone has something to offer that you can't." Such great advice to keep in mind when debating this evolving issue, isn't it?