.From Jim's Journal.

I was organizing our documents yesterday, and I found these excerpts from Jim's journal. They were written during our very first trip to Ethiopia in January 2011. I had never read this before, but it brought everything back and solidified our heart's desire to spend our lives for the King and His Kingdom in the country buried in our soul. (yes, this is shared with permission.)

.First morning in Ethiopia.

Wow, what a stark contrast already. I woke through the night to the sounds of Timkat, the most important festival in Ethiopian culture. It is the remembrance of Jesus’ baptism. All night there were horns droning a low, almost eerie rhythm. People chanted… all to celebrate the occasion John passed His authority to Jesus… on a day when Ethiopia begins the process of passing Jamesy’s authority to me.

When we woke this morning I smelled the scent I have been desperate for… one I had only gotten a brief waft of from the fabric on Jo’s prized package. It smells like a camp fire… but more than that, like dirt. This morning I stepped into the shower with the water running and I could smell it in the water… the earth. It is certainly a more basic way of life here… but it is my hope to discover that Christ permeated poverty… for the earth is Yours.

One of the great symbols of the American dream is the white picket fence… here in Ethiopia, they have their own version of that… It is scrap metal, all rusted out, but sufficient to mark out your plod of soil. What a stark contrast, beautifully painted picket fences versus tattered ugly scrap metal (or did I get that backwards?)

As we drove in last night I tried to see all I could. Homeless men and women were everywhere. What gripped me particularly was seeing a woman carrying her child at 11:15 at night, I was thinking “where are they going to settle down? What street corner or back alley was to be their bed tonight?"

.Wednesday in Ethiopia.

Today was our official “Meetcha Day.” Picture this: we go out to lunch at a nice Italian restaurant that features Ethiopian art; a queasy stomach from nerves, but managed to eat my filet mignon; beautiful art, didn’t buy but wanted to; my first Coke in 2 years, it was awesome; and a nagging sense of the unknown. 

About 15 minutes after lunch we arrived at the transition home.

Cue the “This is one of the top 5 moments in my life” sound effect.

Walking into the journey I wanted to be a learner, not full of expectations - like he will wrap his arms around me and call me “daddy.” Learn I did. I learned that adoption, like surgery, involves pain before healing can come. When we were given Jamesy, he wept… he cried tears of fear, tears of loss, of the unexpected and certainly unknown. He sensed that in this moment, his world was changing forever… and while for me that was a very exciting thing, for him… it was plain frightening. I knew, like a surgeon knows, that after the pain, there is healing, and after the healing, you are whole. He sensed that he was in for change; all he knew was going to leave him. He is losing the opportunity to grow up in his homeland, beautiful Ethiopia; he is losing his culture, its values, its distinction... for what? For something more valuable than all that: Family. Oh, I will try my best, and probably fail, to foster his sense of culture, many of its values, certainly its beauty and distinction.

One other thing I am learning… “it’s fun to share.” If you did not know this about me, I am a complete germ-a-phoebe. I was not initially sure how I would respond to my son, but as time went on in the early stages of the adoption process and paper-chasing, I knew that I loved him and that none of that mattered. Today, a very compassionate, loving nanny came to me with her hands stretched out, full of popcorn. (A real treat in Ethiopia.) I said, “no thanks.” I thought she certainly would enjoy it, plus she handles many sick kids daily, plus it is a developing country and I did not see it prepared, plus… then she said, “it’s fun to share” to which three other nannies looked at me and said, it’s fun to share.” So, I sheepishly took two kernels out of her hands and she passed the rest on to Tiffany. Phew… but it wasn’t over. She was back with a plate-full for me. So, I sat down and ate… every piece, even ones that fell on the floor that nannies walk on and babies drool all over all day. And you know what? It’s fun to share.

Many other mixed feeling I am processing at the moment, but I will leave it at that. Seriously, one of the best days of my life!!

.Jesus in Poverty.

One of the things I was hopeful to see was how the Gospel existed in poverty. What did it mean to its people? What is He to them? On Wednesday, I got my first glimpse. While sitting with the nannies in the room full of babies, I was asked whether Jamesy would grow up to know and understand Christ. 

What a powerful, humbling question. 

Powerful because it showed how much these people cared for each child. Humbling because I am not sure I would have ever heard that question posed in that kind of setting in the States. And when I said "yes", I was greeted with huge cheers and several expressions of “Praise the Lord” and “God is good.”

 As the conversation continued its winding road that follows me, even to Ethiopia, the nannies discovered I was a Pastor. They were thrilled. They promptly brought me infant after infant, expressing to me ways in which I could pray for that child. One girl in particular was of great concern to them. Her mother and father died, and her adoptive parents had already come for court. Apparently, it did not go well. The little girl cried every day for five days. So, I took her in my arms. I told her she was loved. I held her tight, kissed her cheeks, and prayed: Oh God, she has already experienced such great loss. May your hand of healing be in her heart. May she bond with her new family and know you love. May she be twice adopted, once to her forever family and once to You. I realized somewhere in the mix that that room was full of more pain than my 30 years had known. That child alone had experienced more loss than I can fathom. How sheltered I have been. And yet, one thing is the same: The power of Christ.

Jesus is here in Ethiopia. Ethiopians and Americans share struggles on the government, social, moral and economic levels. Their burden is poverty, ours wealth… and yet, the Gospel prevails. Praise the Lord, God is good.

.To My Son.

Jamesy, I was looking at pictures of the day we met. You wept. There were tears as big as raindrops rolling down your face. It made me think: there is One that will come who will wipe every tear from every eye. He has promised not to leave you fatherless. He cares for you. He desperately wants to make you whole. While I am not Him, I want to be like Him for you. I care more deeply for you than I ever thought possible for another human. I have a love for you so intense it overshadows my deepest fears and insecurities. Jamesy, I love you and it is my life’s mission to show you, along with your brother and sister, the love of the Father. I am a poor reflection, but I am desperate to be more accurate. I have found you in distress, and I am desperate to care for you!

.Drawn in by the Rhythm.

As a special gift, we bought Jamesy a recordable book. Hopefully he will enjoy it while we are away. But in the meantime… It’s so funny how, no matter what, we expect kids to respond a certain way to a gift, and no matter what, they don’t respond the way we’d hoped. Jamesy looked at the book, we turned it to the page with our voices; he shut it… and began to bang away. And, yes, he was right- it made an excellent drum. I tapped out pattern after pattern to his delight… and when I looked up, every baby in the room was either crawling to me or dancing along. It was uncanny. The craziest part was that I am certain they understood the rhythm much better than I.

.Oh, My God.

 I saw hell today. Live and in person. It was not as I thought… I thought I would look on the streets and see lame and crippled men, women, and children and gasp at the reality of their life without Christ. I did see them, but it was not them that moved me. It was him [Habi]… and right now I am angry. Not bitter- motivated. He is maybe 13, legal to be adopted, but too old for an orphanage. His chances of adoption: 0%. He faces the impossible task of growing up on the streets of Ethiopia, begging, crying out for help… and my initial response? “Don’t look at him. His words to Tiff, (I want to go to America with you and be your son) are mere manipulation.” 

Sick? Me too. Who am I?

It’s been said that you cannot deny the plight of the orphan when one is sitting in your lap. Well, you cannot deny the travesty that is this young boy’s future. He is on a path to hopeless poverty; capped by an eternity apart from the only One Who can show him true love. Oh my God… when will I wake to Your call for my life (all of our lives). I feel the weight of Matthew 25 pressing on me.

The truth? I was nervous to give him food, which I had, and money, which I had, because I feared for my safety. {gag} Doesn’t sound like Luke 9 or 14, or a host of other calls on my life. Thankfully, he came back to our car and Tiff was able to give him food and gum, etc. In return, he gave her a simple bracelet. I honestly think she would sooner lose her engagement ring than that bracelet. Me too.

.I Don’t Know How.

Comfort zones… mine, his. His, in a room with 12 or 13 other infants cooing, playing, sleeping, crying. Mine, in a place full of excess, plush surroundings, fear of the unknown, greed, self-righteousness. How do I shatter my comfort zone while simultaneously leading him out of his? How do I love him deeply enough this week so that he knows that when I leave him, I am leaving only to prepare a place for him? That even though I must go to a place where I am unseen, my words will ring true to him… “I love you… I will be back… this is the only way.” What do I say???

I am not God, but oh do I better understand His challenge… How do I do it? I am insufficient, He is all sufficient.

Adoption, like redemption is messy, painful and hard to understand… but, on both counts, so worth it! Oh that I may see You today as I long for my son to see me. May I trust You as I grope for him to trust me. May I rest in Your Words the way I am desperate for him to rest in mine… but I don’t know how, please help me Lord.

.Cheap Help.

I finally got to go on my walk. I have been nagging Tiffany to walk downtown with me for days and she finally said yes.

Before coming to Addis Abba we were warned on several occasions not to give anything to the beggars – not to speak to them or look them in the eye. We were informed that it was not safe, that we would be mobbed. So, for fear I did not. Then, the Spirit of God hit me like a ton of bricks… what are you doing, Jim?

So as we walked I began responding to the Spirit and ignoring the warnings and pulling money out of my pocket, one birr at a time. I was not mobbed, I was thanked. I was not endangered, I was blessed. Time after time looking into the eyes of people who had hope for the day… One birr at a time.

And the cost you ask? One birr is roughly six cents. Hope at the cost of six cents. Wow. I am exasperated of the sentiment that those living in America just cannot squeeze it into their budget to help the poor and needy of our world. It has got to stop. At least in my heart!

Jim, never forget that man, lying on the blanket, holding his hands out with his lone leg curled beneath him.

.Comfort.

So attachment and bonding has been trickier than I imagined. Even after all of the reading and research, I thought it would be relatively easy, but it has not been. Don’t get me wrong, I knew it was possible there could be struggles… I just didn’t think with my son. Tiffany and I looked at each other after the first day and said our attachment time will be at least six weeks!

Today was a good day. Jamesy looked both Tiffany and I right in the face! We had heard from many people who took pictures and loved on them that he must have lack of sight because he did not look them in the face.We have learned he lacks much more trust than he does sight. He is coming along though, every kiss, every bottle, and every spoon of pasta screams, “I love you and I will not leave you as an orphan.” Even if he never attaches to us, we are forever attached to him!

God, may you show Jamesy that he can rest in my arms, that I will always be here to comfort him. 

.When Stories Collide.

Her story began so much differently than mine. As a girl, she would carefully cut out pictures of children from across the world who lived in a world so different from her own. She hung them on her bedroom wall and would daydream about mommying them. I, on the other hand, never thought about children around the world. I dreamed of mommying blue eyed, blond haired children that I would carry in my womb for 9 months. Although I always knew I wanted to be a mommy, my eyes just didn't see as far as hers....yet.

They always knew they would adopt, but were just uncertain of God's timing as to when they would adopt. However, we never even talked about adopting or orphans, we never thought about it. Adoption wasn't on our radar.

Then one day our stories collided.

There were many loosely connected ties between our lives. I knew who she was. Jim had worked closely with one of her sisters, and we attended church with that sister when we were first married. Another sister was in Jim's class in college. I grew up with her cousins, went to school and church with them, and I even attended the same church as her grandparents all through childhood. (It's the same church Jim is the associate pastor of now.) Her aunt and uncle were my youth leaders for a bit during my teen years, and I even went on a missions trip to Quebec with them. I knew all this when I first found her blog, but that is not what kept me coming back. It was the photographs and the heart words that accompanied them. It was the art, and the baring of her soul that captivated me. I wanted to know her.

She was the reason I first picked up a Nikon. I do not even think she knows this. Her photos were the reason I opted to buy a Nikon over a Canon when I purchased my first dslr. She was even kind enough, prior to my dslr days, to look over my attempts at photography and give me pointers. Turn off your flash. That was to this date, the best ever advice I have ever received regarding photography, and it came from her.

Last January, she wrote a post that struck a cord so deeply inside of me that it changed the course of my life forever. It changed the course of a sweet baby boy, an ocean away living in Ethiopia, forever. And the ripple hasn't stop yet. Every few weeks I hear how our story, that never would have been without her story, has impacted several other families and orphans whose lives have been and will be changed forever.

On January 18, 2010, our stories collided, when she decided to bare her soul and lay her story out for others to see. Last night we chatted on the phone, and I learned how close she came to not sharing her story, to keep it hidden from her blog. Now I know my God is sovereign, and that would not have happened, because it was God's plan for our stories to collide. But my human mind quickly went to the what ifs. I can barely wrap my mind around the fact that I could still be living my life completely blind to the plight of the orphan, completely unaffected by adoption, and Jamesy....we would never have known him. Never have been blessed with the privilege to cry for him, to love him, to grieve for all he has lost. Never been a part of God's plan to tie our heart to an orphan boy across the world and be witness to the amazing way God imbeds love for a child we have never met into our hearts.

We've all been given a story. I believe it is one of the most precious gifts that God has given us. It's not always easy, or comfortable to share our story, but I think God is glorified in the honest baring of our souls - the unleashing of the story that He has written for each of us. I believe that God entrusts us with our story and expects us to steward it well. For some - it won't be written, but for all it must be told. The biggest testimony to our faith and to the glorious working of God's hands in our life is our story.

We must tell our story. Only God knows who He plans to have our story collide with, but it will collide. For we are all part of a grand story, the ultimate story that He is writing. So tell, tell your story - steward it well.

And may heaven burst with the people that God allows your story to collide with, and the ripple effect that He orchestrates from the simple telling - the telling of what is yours alone, entrusted to you by God - the telling of your story.

“He has made His wonderful works to be REMEMBERED …” (Psalm 111:4).

“They refused to obey, and they were not mindful of Your wonders that You did among them.” (Nehemiah 9:17).

“They shall speak of the glory of Your kingdom, and talk of Your power, to make known to the sons of men His mighty acts, and the glorious majesty of His kingdom.” (Psalm 145:11-12)

“Oh, give thanks to the Lord! Call upon His name. Make known His deeds among the peoples! Sing to Him … Talk of all His wondrous works! … Remember His marvelous works which He has done, His wonders and the judgments of His mouth …” (1 Chronicles 16:8-12)

“Men shall speak of the might of Your awesome acts, and I will declare Your greatness. They shall utter the memory of Your great goodness.” (Psalm 145:6-7)

“I will speak of Your testimonies also before kings, and will not be ashamed.” (Psalm 119:46)

.He Knows.

My fingers stroked the screen wishing they were stroking the curves of his cheeks or the curly q's of hair on his head. I saw his face again today, seven times in seven different ways. He was in the arms of a woman who has been such an encouragement to us on our journey. Her heart beats for Ethiopia and the lost babies there. Babies who know no daddy defender or mommy kisses. Babies who are starving not only for food but for the love of a family. And she met my son. She not only met him, but she snuggled him, stroked him, inspected him head to toe, kissed him, and whispered in his ear about us. And while this was a priceless, beautiful gift, and my heart soared at first as I poured over every word and examined every inch of every photo, soon I hit a wall of despair harder than ever before.

Hot tears burned my eyes and left a singed trail on my cheeks, sobs coursed through my body, and the ache was intensified 100%. In that moment I grew angry. I ran to my bedroom, leaving my children playing on the living room floor, and I screamed and cried at the top of my lungs to the One who I thought had turned a deaf ear, and a blind eye to my despair.

God, why don't you care? Don't you see how much I hurt? How this hurt is turning physical? I gasped, choking and sputtering on bitter tears as they flowed from my aching, weary eyes.

Why aren't You following my plan? Why have you chosen to keep Jamesy in Ethiopia longer? Why can't we celebrate his birthday and have him home for Christmas? Why? I screamed. Surely the neighbors even heard my cries.

You just don't understand my pain! I sobbed.

And then, unexplainably, my heart heard Him. In a brief moment of vivid clarity, I knew that I was screaming to the only One who really does understand my pain. My tears continued to flow as the Holy Spirit brought to mind the anguish God must have felt as He watched His tiny, infant Son being swaddled by the hands of an inexperienced teenage girl and the rough carpenter hands of her husband. How it must have caused him pain to watch His beloved Son being lowered into a dirty, cold manger when He Himself could have given Him the plushest coziest of cribs. How God's heart must have shattered into pieces at every painful snapshot of His growing boy, knowing full well, He could not bring Jesus home yet.

My heart soared with the knowing that God not only knows this pain, but He knows it first hand. He has experienced intense pain and longing for His son ten fold what I am experiencing, and He experiences my pain with me. He knows this pain. He loves me. He hurts with me. But He sees the big picture, and the beautiful redemption that is being painted for our family. He knows that it will be worth this pain, this agony, this heart ache.

It still hurts. It is still suffocating and even debilitating at times. But He cares and He knows, and He can handle this....and my despair.

.The Last Thread.

All four of us tumbled into our chilly van watching the cloud puffs swirl around our noses as we sucked in the brisk air and blew it out all warmed up. It was early morning, and we were all together minus one. That is how I feel all of the time, as if we are minus one. Truth be told I have felt this even from as far back as the first months after Scotty was born, as if we were not whole yet. I am so curious whether our family will feel complete when Jamesy is here, or will I still feel as if we are minus one and will God lead us back for one more?

We drove stopping for gas at the outskirts of our town, and then continued on the almost 90 minute drive to our destination. At one point I glanced back at Scotty and saw his sweet head, with that mop of blonde hair, limp against his seat, lashes lounging on his cheeks, breath coming out warm against his thumb which was securely tucked between his pursed lips. I smiled at his sweetness, and the clutch he had on his best loved bear and blankie. Security. My heart tumbled as I looked forward to turning around in my van and seeing my newest boy there tucked beside his siblings. Secure. Cadi rested her head on her seat, holding her blankie to her nose and breathing in the sweet, familiar scent as she listened to Adventures in Odyssey play from the cd player in the front.

I would glance at times at Jim as he drove, and then rest my own head against my now warmed seat. This trip seemed monumental. We had taken so many like this in the past months, but this was the last of its kind. The city came into view, so much different then our small hometown. I watched the people out my window appreciating God's unique brush strokes evident in the differences of each one. Jim slowed to a stop, squeezing between two vehicles, and he filled the meter with coins, appeasing it while our van took up space.

The building was so unassuming, modest, invisible by most I am sure, but for us it was our lifeline to bringing Jamesy home. Upon walking through the glass door I was quickly reassured in my forewarning Cadi of being frisked for weapons. She did well, standing like a little soldier, and Scotty followed suit. The office was small and unpretentious, much like the building. For such an important moment for us, I expected something more pompous.

In God's graciousness, we were there no more than 10 minutes. The officer was so kind, as was the lady who pressed each of our fingers onto the machine that captured our final set of prints. The officer took pity on Cadi's curiosity, and with a smile took Cadi's hand and walked her back in the room where Jim was getting printed, so that she could watch the process. God has blessed us with the kindest of people throughout this whole journey. The woman who pressed each of my warm fingers on the machine smiled kindly at me asking from where we were adopting. Ethiopia I grinned as my heart flip flopped over the country from where my son was born. She smiled at me, and her brown eyes danced as she said I just printed a woman who was on her seventeenth adoption.

Wow I breathed, trying to imagine being blessed seventeen times by adoption. Trying to fathom doing this process seventeen times.

It was over before we really knew it had begun. It was so simple, but it was the last thread needed to be approved to bring Jamesy into the US. We have nothing left to do, but wait. This wait is so much harder than anything we have done up until this point. So much harder than a home inspection, invasive questions into our personal life, blood draws, immunizations, depleting our bank accounts, curious questions, and mountains of paperwork.

The waiting is torture, but my heart knows it will all be erased, much like the pain of physical childbirth is erased moments after the delivery. And when I am cheek to cheek with my brown eyed boy, and he is secure, here in his home, where he belongs, the wait will seem like only a moment. Surely, my heart will forget the pain as I nuzzle his neck and sway to the rhythm of our new life.

Until that day....

.The Lifter of my Head.

I wonder how many times had I stood there before? Stood in the exact same place. Surely the carpet must be worn with the imprints of my feet. It is in this same place that I have experienced worship for decades - even before I was tall enough to see over the pew ahead of me.

The piano sang out its tune, the trumpet danced, and three hundred voices wafted to the throne room of heaven. Nothing was really different about this Sunday or the worship, but as the music reached its crescendo the words my lips were curving around hit me brand new.

Thou Oh Lord are a shield about me, You're my glory, You're the lifter of my head.

I wonder how many times have I sung those words?

Today was different in that the words settled around me like a warm blanket stealing away a winter chill, and my mind flashed to moments in the past few weeks and even months.

The moments that I thought emotionally I could not bear even getting out of bed, and then His grace washed over me and He lifted my head as I began a new day.

The moments when I thought surely I would suffocate from enduring even one more day away from Jamesy, and then His peace settled in like a deep, gasping breath of oxygen and He lifted my head.

The moments I could not bear to answer one more question about why we have not received a court date, and then my words came out filtered through His patience and He lifted my head.

The moments that the hot tears, and violent sobs could have surely pulled me into a deep pit of darkness, had it not been His promises of Scripture, and His gentle hand as He lifted my head.

The moments my heart was crushed and bruised from being misunderstood in this pursuit to my son, and He comforted me with people who did understand and in that moment He lifted my head.

The music swirled around me, the moment marched on, as all moments must, but my heart soared at the reminder that God - the Creator of the universe, the Almighty One, the Author and Finisher of life, the Alpha, the Omega, notices me. He not only notices my despair, my pain, but He replaces it with hope and strength.

Once again, my Defender, reached out His strong hand, tucked it under my chin and lifted my head, so that I could turn my eyes back where they belong - on Him.

But you, O LORD, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head. ~Psalm 3:3

If I had known I would have been terrified. I can see now why He keeps things hidden from us until we absolutely need to know.

The LORD our God has secrets known to no one. We are not accountable for them, but we and our children are accountable forever for all that he has revealed to us, so that we may obey all the terms of these instructions. Deuteronomy 29:29

If I had known on this day last year, as my life become thirty, where He would walk me in the 365 days and the 525,600 minutes that were book end by these birthdays, I would have trembled in fear, in disbelief, and I would have told Him NO.

It's walking by a mirror that shows me I'm older, that reminds me where I have been - especially this year. I don't like the new number, no not at all. It is an even harder number to swallow than last year, and I suppose they all will be - each year choking me a bit more and a bit more. But it is through these older eyes that I now truly see, and though the calendar has to keep changing I am learning that it is okay, I am changing to.

Between now and then I have felt the pulling and the pinching, the bending, my Potter has had to take me through. And just when I think I can not take this anymore, it hurts too much I can see Him gently lift His foot to slow the wheel, and He spins my life slowly centering me, only to once again gain speed in order to grow me. All the while He is sponging me with His Word, His truth, gently it seeps into my life, and the drips soften the hidden, hard places. He is an artist, taking His time with me. While it is frightening to be on that wheel, it is comforting to have His hands constant on me. Warm and gentle, large and strong, His hands round out every edge, every corner making me into something beautiful. It's messy and hard, for us both.

The Potter has worked long and hard this year, at times I resisted His touch, but I am starting to see a little bit of what He sees. And that I believe is the secret to growing older, to aging in grace. So maybe I will embrace this new number and throw off the old. I will fix my eyes on the Potter and let Him have His way, and what I will look like next year at this time is hidden from me for now. The hurts, the pains, the joys, the memories, the way He will ask me to bend is not for me to know at this time, and I am okay with that.

I know this much is true that His hands have never left me, never stopped moving over my life, drawing me in, and I know they have so much work left to do before His beauty can thoroughly be exposed in me.

I wait expectantly for that which I do not yet know. Because I know the One who knows.

.Happy New Year.

Wow. Christmas came and went. And now I sit here as the first day of this new year, 2010 yawns to a close. Time is so fleeting. The older I get, the faster it goes. I can remember how time nearly stood still for what seemed like forever when I was a child, and now that I am an adult with two children it is just whirling by. I am looking forward to what God has in store for our family in 2010. I think He has some huge plans. And I am scared. And I am excited.
I have kind of hit a dry spot with my blogging. I need to give my blog a makeover, but enjoy the Christmas music, the snow, and all, for a few more moments. {grin} Too much going on - too much living and busyness and family togetherness and stuff, but I wanted to quickly share an idea that I heard of a few months ago that I am so excited to try this new year.
I think in my last post I mentioned how I was a list maker, and I liked organizing things in my own handwriting, and how I had a deep love for pen and paper. Well, I love journaling, too, as you can probably guess. However, my journal entries seem to be getting sparser, and I really wanted to remedy that. As much as I love blogging - there is just something about writing things down in my own handwriting - not sitting and typing on a sterile keyboard.
I have lists all over in a very unorganized way in my house - a to-do list on my island, a grocery list on my fridge, a calendar with appointments on my wall, a menu by my computer, a housecleaning schedule on my fridge or in a drawer, etc. A mess of lists, a big, unorganized scatterbrained mess. And then I have my beloved journal that gets neglected lately. All of these things are essential for me. I need them, or at least it seems I do. I do operate my day much more efficiently off of a to do list, a menu, a calendar, and such. But not only is it scatterbrained and unorganized, it is not creative either.
Enter: The Homemaking Visual Journal.

This was my Christmas gift to myself, along with some felt tip pens. It is just a blank book with heavy weight pages - nothing fancy and pretty inexpensive. I glued this pocket (it came off of an old calendar) to the front.

This journal will be home to my to do list, my cleaning schedule (found on the inside of the front cover in a plastic sleeve - in case I change the schedule!) my menus, new recipes I want to try, prayer requests, praises, memorable quotes my children say, memories, photos, decorating ideas, new recipes to try, my calendar, etc.
It is perfect. It is creative, yet practical, and I am so excited about it. It currently sits on my island, and I think that will be its home. It will be handy there, for phone messages, a quick look at my day ahead, and maybe even it will catch some of Cadi's drawings.



I started my journal like I start all journals - just done more creatively - a quick overview of where I am in my life right now.



I then went on to write some of my hopes, dreams, and prayers for this new year.



Then I started right in on menu planning for this coming week and a to-do list for my weekend.



I also started filling out January's calendar.

Maybe this gives a fun idea to some other journalers out there. I am excited to see how this evolves, and I may share a few more pages here and there on my blog.
(This is not an original idea of mine, I got the concept from another woman, and as soon as I remember her website, I will share it!)

Here are a few quick photos from our Christmas break. I do not want to overwhelm this post with photos, so I only pulled a couple.



My boy {finally} took four steps! Do you know how hard it is to take a photo while helping/watching an almost 18 month old walk?! HARD.



I found Cadi like this on our bed one morning after I finished my shower. She was tuckered out from the past few days.




This was Christmas morning. Yes, my children are eating leftover cookies from "Santa's" plate. It was Christmas, after all! How cute is Scotty?! We always read the Christmas story and pray to focus on the meaning of Christmas before opening any gifts. (Cadi really was as exhausted as she looked! She went to bed too late on Christmas Eve.)



If you come to our home on most days this is how you will find my children. It's a good thing that Scotty is so laid back!



My children opening their Christmas Eve jammies.

I trust you are looking forward to the new year. Maybe this is the year Christ will return? Maybe this is the year my daughter will accept Jesus as her Savior?
What WILL 2010 hold?