The Greatest Gift

My parents don't celebrate Christmas.  I won't go into all of the details, but they have some valid convictions for not doing so.  I now celebrate Christmas with my new family, but for the first 19 years of my life, Christmas was just another day.  No presents under the tree (oh wait, no tree), no Santa, no special traditions.

Imagine my shock when I celebrated Christmas with my then-boyfriend's family for the first time.  Andrew's family members are among the most generous people I know, so there have always been TONS of presents under the tree.  And by "under the tree," I mean that the radius of gifts actually extends well into the center of the living room.  I counted seventeen gifts just for me that first year.  Hello, Christmas.

Material gifts are nice, whether they come at Christmastime or not.  While the true meaning of Christmas can easily be lost in commercialism, the love behind the gifts given is typically what makes
the season so full of joy.  I'm excited about my new Sperrys and my Nike running tights (people know me well), but all of the thoughtful gifts I received pale in comparison to that one not under the tree.
She's sitting in the middle of the living room, wearing her Christmas pajamas and a silver bow on her sweet little head.

The greatest gift is my daughter.

In December 2012, our pastor asked everyone to write an impossible prayer on an index card and place it in an envelope so that he and other church leaders could pray for everyone's requests.  I had almost
forgotten that I turned this in until he texted me a picture of the card a couple of months after we brought Piper home:

Three years ago around Christmastime, Andrew and I decided that we would start trying to get pregnant.  Needless to say, December 2012 was difficult.  Two years had passed with surgeries, doctor visits, and countless negative pregnancy tests.  I did the obligatory "liking" of pregnancy announcements on Facebook and sullenly attended baby shower after baby shower, but inside I was anxious and angry.

This Christmas season has been different.  To a small degree, I think I will always wonder why we are unable to have biological children and struggle to truly be happy for people who so easily find themselves pregnant.  But the joy of Piper has overwhelmed all of the negative feelings in the past few months as I've realized that there is truly no other child I would rather have but her.

This afternoon, we finalized Piper's adoption.  Though she has been our daughter in our hearts since we found out about her in May, today she became our daughter on paper.  I didn't think I would be emotional about this court date, but the finality of the decree and the words below brought tears to my eyes.  She's really ours.

IT IS FURTHER ORDERED, ADJUDGED AND DECREED BY THE COURT THAT THE CHILD GRACE C-H (the previous name on Piper's birth certificate), IS HEREBY DECLARED TO BE THE LAWFULLY ADOPTED CHILD OF THE PETITIONERS, ANDREW AND MARY RACHEL, HUSBAND AND WIFE, AND THAT THE CARE, CUSTODY, NURTURE, EDUCATION AND CONTROL OF THIS CHILD BE, AND HEREBY IS, VESTED EXCLUSIVELY IN THE PETITIONERS.

One calendar year, minus three days.  That's how long this adoption process took from start (filling out the application) to finish (finalization).  An impossible prayer?  Sure seems that way.  Many applicants for adoptions are in the waiting phase alone for over a year.  But the impossible came true.  Today, I'm thankful that God hears our hearts even when we can't verbalize the emotions within it. I'm thankful, amazingly, that I don't plan my life, because 2013 has ended so much better than I could have ever envisioned.  And of course, I'm thankful that my name is next to my sweet angel's on her new birth certificate.  Piper Anna Fenrick- that's the best gift of Christmas.

2013 in Pictures:

January 2- We fill out our application and mail it to Deaconess Adoption.

February 8-9- We complete our agency's required adoption seminar.

February 15- Our friends throw us an adoption party and help us raise over $1,000 to bring Piper home.

Adoption Party Hostesses, Jordan and Abby

March 1- My sweet friend, Jenna, puts together a surprise baby shower for me at work.

Friends at my work shower

March- Piper's nursery is ready.

March- For 30 days, Andrew grows a horrendous mustache, which goes on to raise over $3,000 for Piper's adoption campaign.

April 2- Our home study is complete and approved!

April 5- We have a huge garage sale at my friend, Rachel's, house, to continue raising money for Piper.

May 16- I get a phone call at work from Piper's birth mom, saying that she has chosen us to be Little Girl's adoptive parents.  (I posted this picture to Instagram after Andrew got home that day: "Extra big smiles today because we just found out we are going to be PARENTS!")

May 30- We meet Piper's birth parents for the first time at the adoption agency.  Even our smiles here can't explain the significance of that day.

June 22- Church Shower at Rachel's house

Sweet friends

June 23- Fenrick Family Baby Shower

More Fenrick Baby Shower

June 28, 7:00 p.m.- Piper Anna Fenrick is born at OU Medical Center in Edmond, Oklahoma, weighing 7 pounds, 6 ounces.

Perfect.

I meet Piper for the first time.  The face says it all.

Dad meets his angel.

Our new family.  (Too many visitors at the hospital to post pictures!)

June 30- We get to take Piper home to Norman.  (Our case worker, Bonni, is on the right.)

July 4- Piper's first holiday

July 24- "Mr. Conner" and "Miss Amanda" (Piper's birth parents) go to court to terminate their parental rights.  We love them to pieces.  Now that they have done this, we are allowed to acknowledge Piper's existence on social media.

July 28- My Flower Mound friends (Mandy, Whitney, and Katherine) throw the perfect shower for P.

Flower Mound Shower

August 3- Hicks Family Baby Shower for Piper and her cousin, Andrew (born one month apart)

Andrew's momma

Piper meets her "Nana" (great-grandmother) at the Hicks Family Shower

October 19- Andrew and I run in the "Orphan Love Mud Run" to raise money for 10 different adopting families in Oklahoma, of which we are one.

October 31- Piper's first Halloween with Mom the Princess (and Dad the Frog).  Not that she cares.

November 28- Piper's first Thanksgiving.

December 25- Piper's first Christmas

Christmas Eve church

Christmas morning

December 30- Grace C-H goes to court and becomes Piper Anna Fenrick.

Family

Finally a Fenrick

 Big day

We love you, angel!

The judge

Hicks Family

Fenrick Family

Heck of a year.  Here's to 2014!

Choose kindness.

You might be sick of hearing about the Duck Dynasty controversy, so if that's the case, you can just shut this tab.  (I won't be offended.)  In an effort to form my own opinions on the issue, I've not read many blogs in the last couple of days.  I've seen the Facebook posts, and I've read Phil Robertson's interview.  I know what I think about the subject, and obviously, so does everyone else.  Really, though, this blog post isn't about Duck Dynasty; it's about the lost art of choosing kindness.

Let's get a few things straight.

I love Duck Dynasty.  Some of the humor is manufactured, I'm sure, but I still find the show entertaining.  I'm a country girl at heart, so I love guns, fishing, home-cooked meals, four-wheeling, and everything outdoors.  Like many Southerners, and like the characters on the show, I also love God, family, and tradition.

But I think Phil Robertson is wrong.

He isn't wrong for standing firm in his beliefs, but for being careless with his words.

No one should be surprised that Phil is against homosexuality.  However, there is a definite difference between saying, "I don't agree with that lifestyle" and essentially, "What kind of sick, twisted idiots live that way?!"  Phil's statements pridefully placed himself above others, forgetting the fact that he and the rest of us are just humans in need of kindness and grace.  Phil's beliefs may be valid.  His general point about Christians wrongly minimizing sin may be, as well.  But he lost all credibility when his commentary became crude and cold-hearted.       

I teach Pre-K, and a common scenario in my classroom is that one student will hit or kick another.  Inevitably, the victim will come running to me immediately, exclaiming, "Mrs. Fenrick, he hit me!"  Then, almost always, the perpetrator will say, "But I said sorry!", expecting to avoid the consequences of his actions.  (It never works, by the way; he's still in trouble.)  In the same way, Phil Robertson (and people in general) cannot avoid the effects of words and actions by tacking on an "it's not my place to judge" statement to the end of a dehumanizing rant.  

As you may or may not know, Hobby Lobby has a case concerning the Obamacare Birth Control Mandate that is going to the Supreme Court.  (I am probably much more aware of this issue than the general public because my husband works for Hobby Lobby, so the company's decisions directly affect us.)   Here, I think we could all learn a lesson from David Green, Hobby Lobby's founder and owner.  Whether or not you agree with Green's principles or stance on the issue at hand, his handling of the entire situation is noteworthy.  Unlike the Chick-fil-A scandal of this summer and the current Duck Dynasty affair, Hobby Lobby's case has not become highly offensive.  I would argue that the reason lies in the way that David Green has handled himself.  So far, he has been able to stand firm in his beliefs without alienating others or putting himself on a pedestal.  He has been kind.  Hats off to you, Mr. Green.  

No one ever changed anyone's mind about anything by being mean.  Choose kindness, and choose your words carefully.

Yes, I do have a real job.

When I taught special education, no one questioned the legitimacy of my job.  "My goodness, you must have the patience of Job," they'd comment.  "You must work very hard!"  they'd exclaim.  Or, "Oh, I could never do your job!"  Now that I am teaching Pre-K, I get a lot of, "So it's basically babysitting, right?"  "What do you even do all day?"  Few things irk me more than these questions and the fact that early childhood teachers are not respected as just that: teachers.

Four-year-olds are wonderful.  They're intelligent, inquisitive, creative, funny, and helpful.  I can understand where a person's experience with one or two of them at a time would lead him to believe that being a Pre-K teacher is easy because honestly, four-year-olds are easy to love.  Try having 15 of them in a room together and then see what you think.  I'm not complaining; the fact of the matter is that I literally have seven kids pulling on my clothes at times and am trying to somehow help the other eight who are asking fifteen different questions and smashing Play-Dough into the carpet.  People who teach early childhood are generally overworked and underpaid; they do their job simply because they recognize the importance of molding young minds into something great.

We've had multiple unexpected snow days here in the past week.  Children everywhere have been cooped up inside, and parents everywhere have been pulling their hair out.  Even if teaching early childhood was just babysitting (which it isn't), I think that most people would recognize after these long days, that taking care of small children is actually a big task.

So, what do I do all day?

We make things.  We make messes.  (I clean them up mostly, but they help).  We make crafts.  We make memories.

I blow noses, blow whistles, tie shoes, tie sashes on dresses, put on Band-Aids, put up crayons, and put on a circus to keep their attention.

I teach.  I teach letters and numbers.  I teach them to write their names.  I teach them to read and to love it (yes, four-year-olds can learn to read).  I teach them about safety and health.  I teach them new vocabulary (sometimes to replace the colorful language they have learned at home).

But more importantly, I teach them manners.  (Jude, cups are for drinking, not for putting on our heads.)  I teach them patience.  (Wyatt, you can have that puzzle, but Owen gets to finish it first.)  I teach them kindness.  (Ellie, your friend's face says that she is sad because you pushed her down.)  Every moment can be a learning experience.  Thus, teaching early childhood is not simply a matter of common sense; it is an art.  Contrary to popular belief on the street, an early childhood degree isn't a load of bologna.  (And don't get me wrong- I've still got tons to learn myself.)  

I'm a parent as well as a teacher, and so for a large portion of my day, I turn my own child over to someone else.  I know that she is in good hands, but I still worry.  At the end of the day, I believe that I am ultimately responsible for her education, but I pray constantly that her early childhood teacher is caring for her as I would.  In these formative years, I want my daughter to learn basic skills and to have opportunities for positive social interactions, but I mostly want her to love and be loved.  I think every kid deserves that, and I know that not every kid gets it at home.  That's really why I teach.

I teach four-year-olds.  I don't always love it, and I'm not always good at it, but it's always important.  And it's always a real job.  

Searching for significance

Thanksgiving has come and gone once again.  Once again, I ate way more than I should have, spent too much money on Black Friday, and didn't do anything semi-productive.  My list of blessings this year is a mile long (as it is every year), but I don't feel thankful.  Most days, I don't feel anything.

I've got a beautiful home with more clothes and food than anyone needs, a good job, a precious daughter, a hard-working husband, and amazing friends.  On paper, I've got everything I need and want.  Yet, I'm numb.  And I'm in counseling.

It's hard to explain, really.  I can't exactly tell you why I resent the fact that people think my life is happy all the time.  Sometimes it is.   Sometimes there are real moments of inexpressible joy.  But those moments are fleeting.  I'm not angry.  I'm not depressed.  And I definitely don't want you to feel sorry for me.  I just want to feel alive.  In the depths of my soul, I want to feel beautiful...and significant.

I get tired of the old Christian cliches, particularly, "Find your satisfaction in Christ."  I know people mean well when they say that, but I'm sorry- I have no idea what it means.  I have a hard time wrapping my mind around ideas that aren't tangible.  Show me, practically, how to "find my satisfaction in Christ," and I'd love to listen.  Otherwise, it seems like that's an easy, automatic answer to an issue with deep and twisted roots.

Life is short.  I've been especially reminded of that in the last couple of weeks as my childhood friend was diagnosed with cancer.  He's 26, and the cancer has spread to his brain.  In my mind, cancer isn't supposed to happen to people my age.  But it can, and it does.  Cancer is no respecter of strength or youth.  Neither are car wrecks, plane crashes, or freak accidents.  Life could end or be drastically altered at any moment, regardless of whether you are 24 or 104.

My counselor tells me to hold onto the things that seem the most real, the experiences and people that make me feel alive, while at the same time recognizing that some of the most real things require a leap of faith to believe.  In light of the fact that life is short, I want to find those things and then to hold fast to them, refusing to let go.  I'm convinced that there is more to life than what I'm experiencing.  I've seen glimpses of it.

One of the greatest gifts God gives us is the ability to start over.  I can't change my circumstances (and in most instances, I don't want to).  But tomorrow I can wake up and "reset."  I can choose to laugh louder, love more, and hold more tightly to the people who are important to me.  I can choose those things even when I'd rather not.  Then maybe, just maybe, those choices will make me feel again.

Oh, and counseling is helpful for everyone.  More on that another day.