Santa.

I read parenting blogs from time to time. I shouldn't because they just make me mad. I am not angry that parents want to share their opinions, heck I do that too. I am angry because no matter what blog you read there is only one right way to raise a kid, the way this particular parent is doing it. I don't believe that's true, I think there are many "right" ways to raise a kid. Mostly it has to do with the decisions you make for your family, are they healthy, do they work for you? If so great, if not well you can always make new decisions, I know we have to reevaluate from time to time.

I am not setting out to write another blog post justifying why I am right in my (our) parenting choices. I fear that may be exactly what I do. Christmas time is upon us, we call it Advent in the church. It's only December 3 and the posts for and against the Elf on a Shelf have popped up, followed by the ones about Santa. They kind of make my skin crawl, how can these Christmas traditions be SO polarizing?

First I will come clean, Santa comes to our house, last year Garfleshnickle the elf joined us for the month of December. I am well on my way to being an ordained teaching elder, so you guessed it, we talk a whole lot about Jesus too. You should also know that I grew up with Santa, so did my husband. I'm in seminary, so clearly Jesus is still important to me. My hubby may not be in seminary but I assure you he follows Jesus.

Christmas morning was magical in my house as a child. The glittering tree lights, the anticipation of what would be in the wrapped packages, and cookies were allowed for breakfast. It was also one of those special days for us when we didn't think about anyone being sick, we were just a family. We weren't a family with a pediatric cancer patient, we weren't a family with a terminally ill dad or Pop Pop (grandpa), we weren't a family eating government surplus peanut butter; no on Christmas morning the worrying took a back seat. For that one day, we were kids, there was hope in the midst of those less than ideal circumstances. The first year my father was sick, folks from his work showed up with huge bags of presents so that on Christmas morning my mom would have something to give us. I learned so much about the spirit of St. Nicholas that year. Santa Clause is more than just a guy in a red suit who employs elves and flying reindeer. There is something about that moment, that day, that has stuck with me, that has made Santa forever "real" to me. I see in the Santa story a narrative about generosity, the depth of goodness in people, and the change one person can make in the life of another.

Thus far, our daughter hasn't had to eat surplus peanut butter, no one in her life is terminally ill, and since she doesn't have a sibling we aren't living with a pediatric cancer patient. Then again all those things were true for me at 4 years old too, but by 7 my story changed. I want her to experience the wonder, the magic, the anticipation, while she is little. I know I only get a few years of her being this open to it, 5 years from now the world will have started to teach her to question things, to appreciate the "real" things and brush off childish things.  Remembering those Christmas celebrations, gave me hope in the darkest days, that things would be OK. Even now I remember them with great joy, I tear up remembering my dad's coworkers showing up with the presents because now as a mom, I can understand what that must have felt like to my mom. Perhaps relief, perhaps joy, or perhaps love. I don't know what beliefs were held by my dad's coworkers, but looking back, those bags seem a whole lot like an expression of God's love, or perhaps love for the neighbor.

So I am not worried about Santa and Jesus coexisting in our house. I am not worried about the day when little L figures out that Santa is more about a spirit of giving than a man in a red suit. I am not worried about her never trusting what we say again, actually I hope at some point she questions everything we have ever told her because it means she is learning to think critically for herself. (I know I will regret that statement in about 10 years.) I am not worried about her not understanding the "true meaning of Christmas", she has that birth narrative down. I will spare you all of my thoughts about how Santa actually can be a tool to explain the anticipation and hope of Advent.

Here is what I am asking of you, if you don't "do" Santa in your house, could you try hard not to spill the beans to my kid? We only get to experience this excitement and wonder for a few short years. I won't try to convince your child Santa is real, you don't tell mine he isn't, fair enough? Both beliefs are OK and we can live together with both.

Now, for what I am worried about. No matter who your family's presents come from on Christmas morning, parents or Santa, there is something that is bothering me. The toys, the clothes, the electronics, it doesn't matter if you have the 1 gift limit or if your tree is barely visible from the stacks of presents surrounding it. All Advent we will anticipate the coming of a savior, a savior who breaks free the chains of bondage, a savior who brings peace, a savior who brings hope for a better world, a savior who will call us to love with God's love. We will celebrate the birth with gifts that represent God's gift to us. The problem lies in the oppression and unjust treatment of the people who have made our gifts. How can we celebrate Jesus birth with piles of things that were likely made by people who are subject to unjust labor practices? Is there a child somewhere that is suffering, so that on Christmas morning my beloved child can have a new toy? My stomach turns at the answer, because I know that likely the answer is yes. Is it just that children around the world will go hungry on Christmas day, while my kid gets to play with her brand new toys, wearing her brand new clothes, her well fed belly in our warm home? It is not just.

I am guilty of contributing to this injustice.

This Advent, this Christmas, I will not wrestle with the idea of Santa Clause or the Elf on the Shelf. I will wrestle with how we can work as a family, as a church, as a society, to make Christmas day and everyday one that brings justice to the way in which we consume. Know this is a deep struggle for me, I just told you about the joy of Christmas morning. I have to find a way to teach my child about the injustice in the world while preserving her innocence. The damage is done for this year, my shopping is nearing completion, Christmas morning will be just like it always has. How do I change that next year? Can I preserve the magic and seek justice? There are no easy answers and I suspect I will wrestle with this for a long time.

Today I am grateful for the space to process this. I am grateful for my healthy little girl. I am grateful for my dad's coworkers who showed us God's love over 25 years ago. 

May you be blessed this Christmas with a little magic and a heart that seeks justice. 

I Can't Just Cry Anymore

On December 14, 2012, it was my nephew's birthday. I was done with the Fall semester and L and I were out running some Christmas errands. I was happy almost giddy, buying gifts, the semester's pressure behind me. Between stops I heard a blip on the radio about Newtown. We went into Barnes and Noble and as L played at a toy on display I stood behind her and looked up what happened on my phone. Standing there in public I began to cry, I started to feel unsafe. I drove us home and waited for L to go to bed and then watched the news. I won 't expose her to it, not yet, I want to teach her all the beautiful things of the world first, so when she sees the overwhelming pain of the world she can know that there is hope and beauty to be found in the same world.  I cried for days and then I slowly resumed my normal life.

Before that I watched super storm Sandy rip up my home town from 700 miles away and after I watch the horror of the Boston marathon bombing. I watch and I cry and I write and I pray. Then Saturday I heard the verdict, well read it on Facebook. I hadn't followed the Trayvon Martin case closely. I remembered the outrage I felt when Trayvon was killed. I remember watching it all unfold and I remember the lump in my throat that comes every time injustice rears its miserable, life sucking, ugly ass head. It was the same lump that came late Saturday night and again Sunday morning.

This week I have the great privilege of being at the Samuel Proctor Institute at the Children's Defence Fund's Haley Farm. Let me tell you there is no better place to be the days after such a heart breaking verdict. This week I am sharing life not only with amazing classmates and a favorite seminary professor, I am learning from Ottis Moss Jr, Jim Lawson, Marian Wright Edelman. These are the people that Martin Luther King Jr was changing the world with. MLK has always been inspiring and essentially I somehow have found myself hanging out with his friends the day after the law, the courts failed a black boy who was shot dead. Let us take comfort in the humanness of the law and knowing that the human word will never be the last word.

I am not here by accident, God brought me here. I don't say that lightly, God brought me here. God brought me here so I could be reminded I have a loud and passionate voice, that needs to do more than just cry itself to sleep after each tragedy, each injustice, each natural disaster. God created me with a deep love of children. God created me with a heart for equality, especially in education and opportunities for education. God allowed me to have empathy for the poor, the suffering. God has called me to ministry, likely with children. God gave me a thirst for justice. God let all my little worlds collide right here in TN.

As I sat listening today, I had enough, I had enough of just crying, weeping, wailing, for our children.  I can not longer respond only with tears and prayers. It's time to take action. It's time to raise this voice that God gave me. So what am I going to do? I have no idea, I just know that the God who created me, the God who brought me here, is moving in me and I am taking notice. I am noticing the radical gospel is the only gospel that speaks to me.

Today I am grateful for these tender days, for finding my voice, for the law not being the end all be all.

July 13, 2013

The day that I realized the civil rights movement isn't over. I'm embarrassed it took me this long. I cried. I cried because a young boy is dead. I cried because there is no comfort for his mother. My heart broke for my friends who have black children. Last night they didn't go to sleep feeling like their kids could be safe. They went to bed with the reality that their child could be targeted for the color of their skin, something not one of us has chosen. I realized that there is even more injustice in the world than I recognized. I learned that I too have been blind to my own privilege.

Let those of us with a voices that gets default privilege use those voices to fight, to change, to bring God's dream for the world to a reality.

Moms, Moms-to-be, Babies and Bodies

Is it just me, or are we in a season of pregnancy? It seems I can't sign into a social media site with out a pregnancy announcement. One day about 3 weeks ago, there were 3 in the same day. Both near and far it seems like fertility is in the air and pregnant bellies are popping up all over the place. Perhaps part of it is that I am noticing it more because Paul and I have reached a point where we would both like a second child. Paul was ready for another shortly after L was born, I wasn't so convinced that I wanted to go through delivery again, her birth was, lets just say traumatic. It took me a long time to become OK with having another biological child, I swore for years that any more would be adopted.

If you have been following along here for awhile you know that it isn't easy for me to conceive a child and if I do conceive, my risk of miscarriage is high well into the second trimester. When L was conceived we were a combination of excited and scared, I had conceived with no intervention which was to be celebrated, the risks were still high. I had an amazing OB who assured me that getting pregnant was the hard part and I would be fine. This relaxed me a lot and we had a very uneventful pregnancy, other than a chicken pox scare and a heart monitor issue around week 35. I was a little down at the beginning but once I felt like the baby was here to stay I felt better.  We waited a long time to tell more than very close friends and family because we were nervous. I personally don't often talk about the struggle to get pregnant in a deep way, I just say it's hard for us and leave it there. It feels personal and I don't want to tell you all about my ovaries unless, A. You ask and B. We are fairly close.

L's birth was traumatic for me to say the least even if routine for the hospital staff. I didn't get to hold her until she was a few hours old because I was shaking so badly I had to stay in c-section recovery for much longer than normal. I had labored for 24 hours with out progressing, opted for the c-section because I was bone tired. I was terrified of the c-section to begin with and then they missed the right spot in my spine several times for my spinal block which set the nerves in my left leg on fire, I could still probably trace their tree like structure on my thigh. I was hysterical crying, my husband just outside the door was freaking out because I don't cry often. It was disappointing, a little traumatic and it turns out L was stuck in my oddly turned pelvis. I had nightmares for almost a year where I would wake up drenched in sweat. A side effect of my spinal block was that from time to time my spine would get all tingly.

Breastfeeding, didn't go much better. Try as I might L only latched once in 6 months of breast feeding, I never produced enough milk so I had to constantly formula supplement. I spent six months with my little hand pump "milking" myself as my very comical younger brother put it. It didn't amount to much but I felt that I was trying and that was what mattered. That's when unhelpful comments started, you need to just stick with it, try harder or just give up my  kids had formula and they are ok. Then when I finally got up the nerve to talk about my nightmares the response was at least you have a healthy baby or my personal favorite it's a good thing you didn't try home birth like you wanted to you would have been a statistic. Then one day desperate and in tears I googled away at my keyboard during nap time. I learned a few things, first of all it's normal to have some signs of trauma even after the "best"of births. Second, that c-section moms sometimes have a harder time getting their milk in and on top of that women with my hormone condition often have a very difficult time with breastfeeding. After 8 months feeling like a failure at motherhood from the start and a wimp because I was so upset about my birth process, blaming my body and essentially myself, I learned that I was in fact... normal.

So now maybe you can see why I have been a little hesitant about the second. Paul and I haven't been preventing pregnancy for a long time, we aren't exactly trying but we aren't exactly stopping it either. We just recently talked about actually trying. You know what happened, all those feelings of betrayal about my body came back. Now back to all that fertility that is surrounding me in both the virtual world and in the "real" world.

First let me say, whether it is your first or tenth pregnancy I am happy for you. I just want to take a moment to talk about this. Today I was researching VBAC births, vaginal birth after cesarean. I read that most unhelpful comment, just have a c-section a healthy baby is all that matters. It mad me mad, it made me want to scream. All this birth, breastfeeding, parenting stuff, is so personal and as women we should be supporting each other even when we make different decisions.

Someone said to me recently well you know when you are "that" pregnant everything bothers you, remember? I just shook my head, I don't remember because after my initial worry, I was mostly just grateful. I didn't find pregnancy to burdensome at any point. So let's not assume we all have the same experience and I will continue to be gracious when you tell how miserable you are.

Next, I think it's fantastic that you are still breast feeding your four year old, I don't know that I would have done that until four, but if it works for you great! Just remember when you are standing with your megaphone on the corner yelling (maybe that is a slight exaggeration) about how wonderful breastfeeding is, some of us have boobies that don't make enough milk. Those boobies are attached to full human beings with feelings and even though you don't mean it sometimes it feels like you are rubbing your engorged, milk filled boobies in our faces.

Your giving birth in a pool in your living room? Awesome! It's a birth center for you? Fantastic! You are going with a scheduled c-section? Good for You!. Natural birth in the hospital with hypnosis, Bradley method etc etc? Great! Hospital birth with as many drugs as they can give you as soon as they can give them to you? Wonderful! If you are about to have a baby, you go girl! I will support you in any decision you make (even when I disagree). I promise I won't belittle you, make you feel like less because your birth process is different than mine was (or will be). Now can you promise me to start considering that a pool on the living room floor isn't safe for some of us? That some of us can't afford birthing centers? Or that perhaps our partners get a little sick at the site of blood so they need to be in a place where they can keep their eyes focused on ours?

You are shocked at a pregnancy you weren't planning? I get that. Perhaps you should think twice before complaining because someone might be silently wishing they could be pregnant and would give their right leg to have peed on a stick and gotten a positive. Same goes when you are walking through a store with your kids and loosing patience, there is a woman a few aisles over that has been praying for a baby for months or years and wishes you could see how blessed you are. Motherhood is stressful, we all loose patience but try to be grateful even in those chaotic and mortifying moments.

We need to stick together, lift each other up. Raising our kids isn't about out doing the lady next door. It isn't about touting about how you are making only best decisions, do any of us make a decision we don't feel is best? Your kid goes to daycare, cool. Mine doesn't, also cool. Public School, Private School, Home School? Great you know what works for your family! Guess what, we have chosen not to use spanking in our family, if you do or did it's your decision, don't ever tell me I should hit my kid. You share a bed with all 3 of your kids? Wow, I am impressed! Your kids sleep through the night in their own beds? Also impressed! I made my own baby food, you didn't? It's fine with me!

A last thought on fertility, when we do open up about it there are some unhelpful things to say, for me personally, well you need to loose weight, not helpful, I know I am a big girl, its part of my disorder and my constant battle with my body. You can find lists of other things that aren't helpful to say, just google. When Paul and I talk about adoption, saying things like "You might get a crazy one, like that lady on that show..." NOT HELPFUL. Well at least you got to have one, also not helpful. Don't even get me started on the way some moms talk to women who don't have children by choice or circumstance.

Here is what I think we can do... let's encourage each other, pray for one another, set our differences aside and walk this road together, motherhood/parenthood is hard and we need each other. Let's remember when we make our big announcements that we aren't all in the same place. If and when we conceive our second baby and we make the big announcement, I will be mindful that not everyone celebrates a pregnancy like I do, that someone may have lost a baby recently, that someone might be desperate to have a baby, that someone might not be able to afford some of the things I can. Most of all I will try to support you in your journey as a parent or a hopeful parent.

Today I am grateful for my child and those amazing people who support the choices we have made in raising her! The ones who say you are doing a good job when she throws a fit, the ones that say I am proud of you, the ones who give you a knowing smile.

May you be blessed with wonderful support systems, by the journey of watching children grow and allowing yourself to grow into the form of parenting that works for you.

Moving Up?

I had to attend a Presbytery meeting tonight at "home" or what ever you want to call this place that I am, because while I feel it will always be home, it isn't quite home anymore. I was moving from inquirer to candidate in the ordination process, which I did manage to do, but we will get to that. We got a bit turned around on our way and I was worried about being lost and flustered, I mean I did dream that I got lost gave up and went swimming instead and we were very close to the water tonight. We made it with time to eat and ample time to settle into our pew for the long night of Presbytery ahead. As I sat in worship, I reflected upon how many parts of my life were represented in that room. There was the row full of women from various stages of my life in the church and of course my mentor/pastor, who we have no word for in our language to describe that relationship. There was a woman behind me who I think was in the throws of dementia or the like, she was muttering to herself and her caretaker would say shhhhh, just go to sleep. I believe it may have been a daughter caring for her mom but I am not sure. I do know the woman whose words I could not make out most of worship, I could understand clearly when we would say Amen, she would echo AMEN. It was really beautiful, Amen, familiar and enough for if even a moment to allow her some recognition. It reminded me of the depth of ministry but also of where I have come from. It reminded me of afternoons spent in nursing homes, with muttering residents all around, never really understood, longing to be heard.

A teenage boy rushed in and sat next to me, I shared my bulletin with him as if he were one of the kids I had known for years, and there with a stranger, I was reminded of all the kids and families I have loved and been privileged to serve so far. The small church building with a congregation who knows what it means to struggle reminded me of the church where I serve now, the resilience in both congregations is amazing. It reminds me of where I can and have found my strength in times that feel impossible. There was a commissioning for Triennium, which reminded me of two of my dear friends from seminary who are going to work there. The music was played by a Latin praise band, it reminded me of one of my favorite professors and his last sermon at my current institution of learning. It also reminded me of some good times we have spent celebrating life with friends. The church was there with all it's brokenness... reminding me that in accepting this call, I am at least partially accepting the call to help heal some of that brokenness. In those moments of worship I was grateful for all the people along the way who have cheered me on, ran a mile with me, or just plain told me when I was being stubborn.

As I reflected upon what I would say when it was my turn to talk about myself, something I really dislike doing (I know hard to believe if you read this blog since it's all I write about), I thought about how pivotal relationships are in my faith journey. From my parents, to teachers, friends, guides and even a few "precious teachers" as Barbara Brown Taylor put it her graduation address for this year's graduates.

Maybe it was because I wrote a paper on the relationality of faith and the Trinitarian God. It hit me, that is why I don't like talking about my faith journey, writing statements of faith or anything of the sort because they become all about me and on a good day about me and God and most of the journey has been about me yes, but in relationship to the people around me. I am rarely going it alone and at every key point there was someone there with me. As I thought more what I really wanted to say was something about all the amazing people I have met along the way. I didn't want to talk about me, I wanted to tell about how people shaped me, taught me things. When to talk about "my faith journey" it sounds so well, self centered, and really can I really proclaim Christ and be focused all on me?

I'll leave it there for my grand reflection. As far as what I said, I couldn't tell you I was slightly nervous and feeling unprepared. I am not sure it's ever the sort of thing you are prepared for. When I finished I felt I could have done better.  I didn't come out of the night completely unscathed but I did make it to the next step in the ordination process and I suppose that is what counts. The funny thing is I told my husband last night that I was worried that I would cry because I have been a bit more emotional since the semester ended and I have time to have feelings, I didn't, but I feel like I could and it is certainly not for the reasons I anticipated. For as much as I have felt how much I have changed in the last few days, somethings are still the same.

In these wee hours of the morning I am so grateful for those people who have brought me this far, walked with me, wept with me, encouraged me and so on. 

Be blessed by ALL the relationships you have in your life. 

Water, Holy Water

Greetings from our little family vacation in a state that isn't land locked. We have spent this week in a quiet water community in Florida. Just before we started our journey down here, I commented on how in Kentucky, it gets hot and summer arrives, but summer never really happens. I grew up on the Jersey Shore, not that deplorable show, but the real shore were summer days were spent on the beach and long warm summer nights were always spent with friends in the back yard or on the boardwalk. Summer for me is a way of life not merely a change in season. That way of life hasn't happened in my experience in KY, maybe it happens if you aren't living on a mostly empty campus and have friends who live off campus, but we really don't. There are less pools and no ocean so that makes it difficult.

Last night I sat out on my mom's dock doing a little reading for summer classes and that's when it hit me. Summer happens here, we have been out on the boat, sitting poolside, beach, barbeques, and family. There is something about that salt air that you get even the faintest hints of when you live near the water that is just life giving. I started thinking more about water and my deep connection to it and longing for it. When people ask how I like KY I almost always respond I miss the ocean. It's not just the ocean though, it's the bay, it's life in a "water community", it's the pools that weren't mine but were open to me any time I wanted to use them. It's safe to say I love the water. I love to be in the water or even just near the water. It gives me life...

That's when it hit me, maybe my connection with water is even deeper than that of my physical self. Maybe it is all the way down in the depths of my soul. I have always said I feel so close to God when I am near the water. It's the first place I can remember really experiencing God in a way that filled me with awe and wonder. This week as I spent time doing the things that are familiar and make me comfortable and happy I noticed how much water just makes me feel whole.

It isn't a new idea, Baptism uses water for a reason. That's when it hit me maybe water is so life giving to me, because deep down in some unconscious place it makes me remember my Baptism. My identity not just as a girl who loves when summer happens and all the water it brings but as a beloved child of God.

There is something Holy about water. 

Today I am grateful for water, what it symbolizes, the life it gives and the rest it brings.

Feces, Drug Deals & Broken Glass

Let me tell you about how much I love my job. I get to hang out with some amazing kids twice a week. On Sunday its with the younger kids, elementary school age and on Tuesday I get to hang out with middle school age kids. Of course I am teaching them as they go, mostly I find myself teaching them that they matter, which can't be overstated, I am convinced of it. The world tells them regularly that they don't matter and they aren't good enough. I might just be one girl, but I will fight everyday for them to know the world is made up of a bunch of crazy liars who are afraid of the power they will have when they believe in themselves.

Sunday was our last day learning on Sunday morning for awhile, so I pulled my ace in the hole, the lesson on Play as Sabbath. I went out Saturday evening and bought for the church a bunch of simple toys for out door play. Frisbee, wiffle ball, nerf football, bubbles, you get the idea. Then like the neighborhood I work in often does, I got the surprises I wasn't expecting. I knew all I had to work with for outdoor space was the parking lot which gets a lot of drive through traffic, so I took the kids to an out of the way corner. It was hot, especially with the blacktop reflecting the heat back at us. I wasn't out there for 2 minutes when my nostrils were filled with the distinct sent of human urine baking in the sun. I couldn't locate the exact location so I moved the kids away from where it was strongest. It also wreaked of dog poop which I couldn't find, Paul later told me he saw it. Then there was the broken glass and rusted razor blades. Now my safe spot was even smaller. The next surprise was that the kids didn't know what to do with a lot of what I brought out. I had to teach all but two of them how to play net less badminton. Most of them still don't know that it works better underhand. Then one of the birdies got stuck on top of the construction trailer, Paul later climbed on top of our van to get it.

Tonight we were supposed to go walk a new pedestrian bridge in town, but with bad weather predicted (it never showed up) we opted to have movie night instead. Tonight because it was a special night Paul and L got to come with me to work. L snuggled up with my single youth group member, maybe this is more of a mentoring relationship. We watched Monster's Inc. had dinner, snacks and ice pops. It was our end of the year celebration brought indoors. Half way through the movie I got up to walk around, I am always there at this time of night but I don't usually work in a room where I can see out to the main drag through the neighborhood. So there sat L and my student, sprawled out on a sleeping bag on the sanctuary floor, sharing snacks and watching the movie. Paul near by playing with his phone. I looked out the front window only to witness several drug deals at what the congregation calls "the drug house". All this with kids out there playing.

I wanted to throw up, something inside me got equally upset, angry and disappointed in the world. How is it that some children grow up in this neighborhood and others just 15 minutes away are at their private $150 an hour lessons for something or other? They have never seen a drug deal go down while the kids I work with are surrounded by it. I realize in that moment that my kid is one of those privileged kids who doesn't have to live with this in her face. She will eventually see it because she comes to work with me but she gets to go home to her safe home where people are quiet and not roaming the streets to find relief from the heat that is built up in their unairconditioned homes. She doesn't have $150 private lessons though, we try (and often fail) to keep her grounded in things that have no material worth.

My head started spinning, how does a neighborhood end up like this? What is the root cause of all this poverty? What will break the cycle for the next generation?  How is it that some people choose to deal drugs and others end up watching movies in church sanctuaries? How is it that some how some kids get tons of fruit and veggies and other healthy whole foods and others get stuck with a steady diet of boxed mac and cheese and hot dogs?

It was an odd moment with so many fleeting thoughts that reach down to my core. There are many surprises and frustrations even after a year of getting used to life in my new church/work home. I have another year with these fine people and challenges and all I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Doing ministry is different now, I have to change and rework everything I have ever done before this point. It's alright though because I am doing what I most long to do, teaching kids they are loved, they matter and they are someone who can make something wonderful of their life. We don't often say much about God, we are busy with homework help and building trusting relationships but God is in it. You know small goals to start.

Today I am grateful for the work I am blessed to do and for all those who told me I was somebody before I could believe them and who even though the odds were stacked against me cheered me on and didn't write me off. You have given me unimaginable gifts that will be passed on until I leave this life.