It’s a battle that at the age of 29 I have almost won. When I was a kid, my parents used each and every bribe and trick in the book to get me to stop. My siblings would make fun of me, at times, by sticking their entire fist in their mouth mimicking what I looked like while biting my nails. My response was one of complete denial, of course. I guess you could have called me an “Aggressive Nail Biter.” Think nail biting and then take that a few steps further. How many nights I went to sleep with my fingers throbbing and bleeding because I had bit them so low? Too many to count. I remember one specific time of bribery to get me to stop. Fifth grade, in the sun room on the side of that huge, stone house we were renting at the time in Pottstown, PA. My Dad said to me “Kelsey, if you can grow the nail on ONE thumb so that I can see white then I’ll buy you a root beer float.” We didn’t have a lot of spare money so the fact that Dad and Mom had agreed to spend money on something like that just to get me to stop biting the nail on ONE finger… They were desperate. Fast forward to today. A year ago I actually stopped biting my nails, for the most part. I can’t even tell you how many years I have tried to stop. All through high school, university and now even in Romania. I have tried SO HARD. I’ve never succeeded, until kind of now. I haven’t bit them in a few months actually – until, that is, this freakin’ week. I think my stress levels must be so high that my body has dug through the depths of my “go to” stress habits and brought back, for everyone’s enjoyment of course, nail biting. I haven’t bitten them nearly as low as I would have a couple of years ago – but the pretty little nails are definitely “la revedere” as of this morning.
So…what’s going on?
Stuff is going on with Caleb’s adoption process so my mind and heart are kind of going a bit crazy over that.
I have a huge exam on Monday in a format that I’m not quite used to. Or, am I used to any exam format really? The last exam I took was in May of 2004. I keep studying and studying but feel that I forget all of information by the next day. And, GET THIS, I have BEEN DRINKING COKE AT 10PM JUST SO I CAN STAY ALERT AND STUDY MORE. Whew, didn’t prepare you for that, did I? I know, me, drinking Coke at 10pm? I don’t drink caffeine after 3pm or else I can’t sleep all night. Desperate times call for desperate measures. And no, not desperate enough for straight up coke…just coke zero. Still though, our coke zero here is NOT caffeine free so it still counts.
Wondering what this year is going to hold – what decisions to I need to make for Caleb and I… Which desires are mine and which are God’s? His leading in my life will be the best for our little family of 2. I know it, but I still am stressing out over what that will be and how that will look… What implications will that mean for the direction of our lives and… I’m not good at writing, I know. It’s a very heavy burden right now, this. But one that I shouldn’t even be dealing with right now. But one that I can’t help BUT think about – all the time.
My sister-in-law’s close friend was one of the people murdered in Afghanistan this month. For some reason this just shook me… Of course the grief of this woman’s family is great, and normally, I would immediately think about them first. But this time, and I honestly do not mean this in any offensive way to the family’s grief, my heart is breaking for my sister-in-law and the loss of that great friendship in her life. It’s making me tear up even now typing that.
Went to Borumlaca yesterday. What beautiful children are in that little village! We have a group visiting and doing ministry through marionettes : Suitcase Sideshow . I watched their program, dress rehearsal of sorts. earlier this week. It moved me to tears. No, I’m not being dramatic by saying that. What God will do in Marghita through their various presentations this week, some with just our youth and quite a few scheduled in open air in town, cannot be less THAN lives moved and changed. They took their program to Borumlaca yesterday. Most of the teens and parents are gone just now working in other European countries to collect mushrooms and other crops. As the kids, majority of them dressed in rags – scabs all over their faces – hair stuck up in every which way – cheap, extremely worn sandals (if any) on their feet, all gathered around the “spectacol!!” I could feel my heart being torn…again. I wanted to take these two girls, below, and hold them forever. Roxana and Alexandra. Their parents are gone, have an older sister at home. Older sister doesn’t want anything to do with the two little ones. So it’s Roxana’s responsibility to take care of Alexandra. During the program she held her for the majority of the time, rocked her to sleep and held her during her nap and didn’t once let her out of her arms. “Roxana, how old are you?” “I…I…don’t know.” She doesn’t know her age. She knows how old Alexandra is, though. She is 2 years old. What do you do with this? I just hurt for them – not a selfish hurt, really. I hurt for them. For their neglect. For not knowing how old she is. For parents leaving and an older sister who doesn’t give a sh**. For their wounds on their body. For not being clean or having clean clothes. For not having the childhood that they so deserve. For not RECEIVING LOVE from the ones, who in the first place, are supposed to do that for these girls. Oh Jesus, wrap these girls in your love today…
Alex. I woke up Sunday morning and….this thought flooded my heart : “He deserves to be able to call someone MAMA.” I cried (story of my life this week apparently) for this. Oh Alex, you need a Mama, bud! He needs a Mom. He deserves to be able to call someone MOM instead of our names : Katie, Courtney, Kelsey and Helena. There may be a possible family. We don’t know if they would be a right fit or not but…it’s time for Alex. God has said “no” to me taking him so it’s time…it’s time for him to be able to say that little word : Mama.
(Alex and Caleb putting their puppets to bed on the living room floor on Sunday night.)
My landlord is here, from France, for us to work out the “mistake” on my rental contract. No one seems to have an answer. It appears, after three days of working on this, that the piece of land that my apartment is on is one address. This address dates back to who knows when, this was huge block of land with 1 address. There are numerous apartment blocs and families homes, and even a school, on that bloc of land right now. Yet, because of this original address my residency card is in this address. So we have been to two notaries, have had hours of conversations with numerous individuals to figure out what to do. Mail coming to my apartment has a different address. I need this “different” address on my residency card – not the address from years and years ago when this was just 1 piece of land. But, apparently, this is the way it might stay. Doesn’t make sense to me at all! No one in my apartment receives mail here with that old address – it’s all the current address! So frustrating. We are also trying to make headway on getting the cement roof insulated before winter (and ALL THE MOLD) returns. Because my landlord hasn’t been here in 2.5 years it’s a lot to get done in 1.5 weeks. And, it’s a lot to get done with everything else my mind is trying to wrap itself around this week and early next. AAGHGHGH!
But, can I end this with a Praise? All of the money I asked to be donated for the adoption process has been raised. All $3000 of it. YAY! YAY!