stuck…

Adoption journeys stalled, Covid-19 in 2020, she should be home by now, nations stalled in panic, doors slammed shut….we are stuck. And the ones who suffer are the tiny souls who wait.

Being stuck invites inevitable well meaning cliches…”It’s not the right time yet, in God’s time, God must be teaching you something, enjoy this time.”

And so it goes.

What the un-stuck cannot fathom is the love. Take your own child and put them in another place, cared for by other people, oceans away. Add in few to no updates, a lot of sleepless nights, wondering, waiting…that is the stuck. The love isn’t just a seed, waiting to grow. It’s real time love, already deeply rooted in the dark soil of paperwork, watered in months of tears, and grown in the desert of prayer.

Stuck is the small face on the fridge, reluctantly taken down, replaced by an older face. It’s the missed first steps, first words, candleless birthdays, the deep breath and closed eyes of more bad news.

Stuck is the aching bittersweetness of the longed for update. It’s the slow wait, but also the disbelief at the passage of time. Stuck is deep diving into adoption waters, knowing you can’t breathe again until the weight of her is in your arms.

It’s not easily explained unless you’ve donned the shoes.

Those who are stuck aren’t alone. In the wee hours glow, together we reach for each other, tapping out news and fears on tear drenched keyboards.

And for those alongside the stuck, just be with us, for bandaging words aren’t necessary. The necessary is simply the space to wipe a tear or clear our throat when her name comes up. It may be something as simple and profound as a hand on the shoulder and “this is hard”. It’s the room to grieve lost time and childhood. We aren’t fixable.

Because, you see, loving an unmet child doesn’t equal less love than what we have for those already home.

It just means that, for now, we are holding our breath…until that door opens….and there she is.

Only then can we catch our breath again.

the day you were born…

Dear, little Ella Fēi,

May 1st. Today is the day we celebrate your birth. While we may never know the exact day of your birth, you have been gifted the birthday of May 1st. May day. What a lovely day to celebrate you on! The day of spring, May flowers popping up their vibrant heads after April showers….the day where, in the past, sweet spring traditions were passed along from child to child.

In our country, children used to gather up armfuls of spring flowers, leave them on doorsteps, knock, and run away giggling…hiding in the bushes for the pure pleasure of seeing the delight on the receiver’s face. May day.

And you, my child, may have been found on this first day of May…..and while your finder may have viewed you with dismay, people gathering around, wondering where this tiny flower came from….where the authorities may have passed you from person to person before you came to be in the place you now are, please know that we celebrate the sweet gift that you are to us on this May day….the gift that we know you will be to us.

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Even though governments, disease, panic, restrictions, and all that is shoving hard against the brave of us….. and every waiting family, even though every new announcement is time pushed back, pushed back, pushed back…the frustrating, helplessness of the unknown, separating families, holding strict hostage of adoption timelines……We still look ahead, longing for the day where we can arrive and hold our sweet flower in our arms.

So, despite the bittersweetness of this day…. getting out your little dresses, shoes and toys that were tucked away, patiently awaiting their small owner….we celebrate this day of your birth.

May day.

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Ella Fēi, your Mama woke up this morning to the usual….your big brother thumping down the hallway, throwing open the bedroom door, “Mama, UP!” he states….He’s enthusiastically thumping a pink balloon on his head.

Where did he get the balloon, I sleepily wonder?

I walk out to see that your big sisters have sweetly decorated for you…..

This, Ella Fēi, is your day, decorated….. we should have had you by now. You are pink, blue, green….all the joy colors of spring.

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Here is your May Day birthday outfit….you should have been wearing it by now…Flowers for Ella Fēi.

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Here are your patiently waiting lovies…….the future of snuggles, tea parties and long walks…. you should have been holding them by now.

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This is a little gift from your siblings…..a sunhat and choose happy….to match your big brother. You should have been twinning it with him by now….

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This is your big sister, making a delicious cake, celebrating you!

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This is your chromosome cutie brother, mad at Mama for making him try on your new hat for size. Big brother hates trying on girlie things…..it’s pretty funny, actually.

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Your Daddy went to the Chinese market to get ingredients for his famous homemade dumplings.

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And here is your cake, from scratch by big sis.

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I guess I write all of this so that you will know that you were chosen, wanted, loved, looked forward to…all the lovely things that make up who we are.

The family things.

The God things.

The adoption things.

May Day is the day of spring, new life, colors and promises.

I pray that you somehow sense this today, our Ella Fēi, our May Day girl.

Happy Birthday.

Love,

Mama

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of the unsung…a compilation of images

Here’s to the husband, who realized a life shift when he heard the sniff, saw the screen glow turned his way, heard the question…..babe, look at this. Can we? Should we? Did you know? How can we not?

And you looked.

Here’s to you, your logical glance preceded by an illogical yearn. No. It’s too much. It can’t be. This isn’t our job…..our plan for our family, my life, our life. I’m too old, we’ve raised our kids, we haven’t had a child yet….

Here’s to the man who struggled deeply, battling the yes, knowing where it came from. Here’s to the husband who tried to want it, but had doubts. Huge doubts. Lingering fears. Here’s to the deep breath and lifted prayers.

Here’s to the hand on the furrowed brow, staring at budgets, crunching numbers. Here’s to the man staring at frightening diagnosis lists.

Here’s to wondering if you could love a stranger’s child like you love your own. Would you? Could you?

Here’s to you, and your brave, blind, faithful yes.

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Here’s to the Daddies, the Babas, the Yeyes, the Fathers, the unsung ones that make up the tribe of men who stand in the gap for the calling. The calling to adopt, to foster, to be a father to the fatherless…..a privilege not for the faint of heart, because it takes a real man to do it.

The job is for the strongest of men, who forgo the gym, the game, the golf course for endless therapies, counseling, hospital visits.

The most challenging road where the best is yet to come, where the end game isn’t an earthly crown.

This is for you.

Here’s to the daddies who don’t count chromosomes.

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Here’s to the babas who strive for attachment, who celebrate the hard fought battle from fear to trust. (the reward is a jet lagged nap)

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Here’s to the fathers who risked it all and won the crown, who have already heard the “well done, good and faithful…” Here’s to your legacy of fatherhood. Here’s to the children you comforted with your last breath. You’ll meet again.

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Here’s to you, when you’re not quite sure where to go from here or what’s coming next.

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Here’s to the dads who breaks down racial divides. Here’s to the dads who wait for years for adoptions to go through…longing to give their child a permanent name and home. Here’s to the fathers who set the bar high in their communities, who inspire others to follow and meet the need.

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Here’s to the oh-so-tired daddies, who work second jobs to pay for home studies, who come home exhausted, pushing through evening medical routines….here’s to the men who can literally sleep anywhere. This is your legacy.

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Here’s to the dads who hold up a family at the resting place of a fragile little one. The bravest of the brave. Here’s to the dad who knew the potential loss and chose it, relished it, embraced every moment of sweet life…..only to let it fly away.

Here’s to your silent, streaming tears, your wife on one arm, a tiny casket on the other.

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Here’s to Gotcha Day jitters, the flight, the strange land, the questioning officials, the deep breath, the pounding heart. Here’s to the lengths you will go for that first smile. Here’s to taking a small person’s terror on your shoulders, here’s to the first eye contact, the first touch, the first hug….

Here’s to the moment when you realized that your compassion was light years greater than your no.

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Here’s to you, father of many yeses…who did it once and went back again, who saw it all and kept offering life.

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Here’s to the dads who are wrapped around their little fingers!

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Here’s to the daddies who do the fun things, who are goofy, who teach, who love….here’s to the laughter and all the things that memories are made of. Here’s where adventure happens. It’s with you.

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Here’s to the songs you sing, the swings you swing, the piggy back rides, and final goodbyes. Here’s to holding on and letting go.

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Here’s what you have learned and shouted to the world. That ordinary men, with God, can do mighty things. Your gentleness is your strength. Your compassion is the most faithful of companions. You do brave, difficult, gut wrenching things.

Because of that….

You are our heroes.

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Here’s to you.

 

*** An enormous thank you to the families who contributed their beautiful photos to this blog! The heart and stories behind each one brought me to tears while I wrote this. I pray that God brings more and more men along the way who will be willing to be a father to the fatherless, who would step up to protect and lead precious little ones Him.

And to my amazing husband, for saying yes twice to our two who are rocking the extra chromosome. God is good and I love you so very much.***

Love,

Cady

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if I could write a miracle…

 

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If I were God that I may write

A miracle, one late night

A babe I’d craft inside my hand

With extra stuff, you understand.

This miracle I’d gently place inside

A place where people seem to die.

A place where most of them don’t live

to see the daylight privilege.

I’d place this babe inside this spot

and hide his extra special lot.

Until he’s born and then I’d watch

him placed into another spot.

Picked up by strangers just to lie

inside a crib, but he won’t die;

My miracles I sprinkle, grow

They get to earth, have seeds to sow.

And from his crib, his almond eyes

take in this world with small surprise.

His growth is slow, his steps are late,

Eyes radiate joy, and never hate.

And one sweet day, heart parents come

to collect their miracle child of one.

Across the sunset line they fly,

Arrow straight, they heard his cry

For lifelong love, a family he

Will join them all eternally.

This miracle boy with extra stuff

Has things to share with all of us.

Courage to love when all seems lost

Hugs to give, without cost.

Lessons taught by one so small

Nary taught by intellects tall.

Watches your face, always in tune

For when you’re sad, he’ll leave the room

Bring tissues, hugs, whatever helps.

Thinks of others, not himself.

Yes, if I could write a miracle child

And place him in the world a while

This is the story I would write,

If dark be overcome with light.

Treasures, most times, are hard to find

And what is valued by mankind?

Wealth and status, brains, power

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Of quiet innocence, simplicity

Sweet life without toxicity.

Search high or low for power to wipe

Your tears, or comfort bleakest nights.

Yes, if I could write a miracle, this

Is the pattern I’d insist.

And if you have this miracle, you

Are highly blessed, through and through.

I tell you this that joy befalls

Those who answer miracle’s calls.

Miracles are both far and few

Answer the call. You’ll find what’s true.

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Written for our little miracle boy, Lian Alexander Driver, by his Mama, Cady Driver. Lian, a miracle from start to finish…from his extra 21st chromosome to the fact that God brought him into our lives through adoption, and the blessings, joy, laugher, and love that He has poured out upon us is immeasurable.

In celebration of ALL of the miracles who are rocking the extra 21st chromosome.

One can only hope that you all find such a miracle.

 

the ripple of yes….

Somehow, somewhere, you find yourself standing in a place where yes doesn’t quite makes sense. It’s a blind spot in the crossroads of your life. Something pulls in one direction, but rational sense points fiercely in another.

God, why? God, how? God, where? God, now?

The refrain patterns over and over again in the travelers who walk this particular uncertain road. We struggle with this yes, for it’s an uncomfortable one. It’s the yes that doesn’t fit the framework of long held dreams.

Bossy prudence says don’t. Don’t sacrifice yourself to this yes. It’ll cost you. Friends and family warn you. Is this a yes for the betterment of you? Your family? Your future?

But then, like a sweet spring rain, God waters a yes into the soil of your soul with the purpose of planting His desires with yours.

Just like that, up sprouts a tentative yes.

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These are the families of “yes”. With uncertain steps, most didn’t know where their yes might lead or what this yes really means.

Nevertheless, the families say yes, and in taking that first blind step of faith found a road that is so incredibly less travelled that opportunities abound to shout from the mountaintops the worth of the blessed few who walk this earth while carrying a piece of God’s heart in theirs.

The unfolding patterns of “yes” look slightly different in each narrative. The call occurred in one spouse’s heart and leapt to the other’s. A few knew their yes calling for years, but for most, this yes was never the anticipated oasis on any life horizon.

But….God.

God ever-so-gently placed the yes into each family, and while the it was heralded by uncertainty, it was answered with brave.

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And we, the families of this extraordinary yes, declare that where there is life, there are people who say yes to it. Where there is hope, we shout yes. Where families are needed, we whisper yes, in the dead of night, even in our uncertainty.

We toss our tiny pebble of yes into the waters of faith, and the resulting ripples rock the heart boats of the fearful tarrying yeses. The skeptical yeses. The timid yeses.

Once the yes has a sweet face attached to it, it’s that much easier for the neighbor’s yes, the friend’s yes, the teacher’s yes to mirror yours….turning doubts into families found, lives restored, healing for the oft abandoned lingering hearts.

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Just imagine, that somewhere in the depths of your mother’s womb, the division of your life cells was amiss. Because of that mathematical anomaly, your life path now denied you family, home, country, dignity, education, every aspect of what humanity demands for a life of yes.

What does a small soul of destitution have to do for the large souls of plenty to say yes to the simple grace of love? Family? Life?

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This is the Extraordinary yes of Down syndrome adoption. It’s the road less travelled, the path not taken, the yes of faith over fear.

It’s the best yes, the scariest yes, the most exhilarating yes. It’s a yes that will both drive you to your knees in the darkest hours, and radiantly illuminate your previous dimly lit worldview.

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Would you join us by celebrating this ExtraOrdinary yes?

The brave yeses of small lives, who defy great odds to tell the world that their yes is brimming with eternal value, overflowing with joy.

Fall in love with the these 13 families of yes in Extraordinary Adoption. Book royalties go towards the “Say Yes” grants through Open Hearts For Orphans  to directly help more families adopt children with Down syndrome.

#Extraordinaryadoption

Order here: www.extraordinaryadoption.com

Follow us on facebook Open Hearts For Orphans

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5 quick and easy reasons to not adopt

Adoption isn’t for everyone. This is such an oft repeated statement that we should, really, get t-shirts made of it. I mean, seriously. They would sell like hot cakes. You know how crazy adoption peeps are about the t-shirts!

For everyone’s convenience, here is a conveniently compiled list of the top 5 reasons that adoption is not for everyone. This is a great list to have handy when challenged by those crazy people who adopt, making one feel all squirmy with those shocking photos, inconvenient statistics, and, for Pete’s sake, stop with the t-shirts sales, people!

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5. FROM ANY ANGLE, ADOPTION IS A CHALLENGE

If you’re a person who strives for a life paved with smooth, sparkly stones and peaceful vistas, adoption is probably something best to be avoided at all costs. For most, the challenge of running a 5K or working out in the gym should definitely be satisfying enough. Why put yourself through the equivalent of a lifelong marathon when a weekend marathon can satisfy the challenge itch? Plus, with adoption, there’s no visible finish line, no cheering crowds, and not one single shiny trophy in sight as far as the eye can see.

What attraction is there in the thankless, broken, lifelong marathon of adoption?

Although, I HAVE heard rumors that the adoption marathon could bring enormous, yet quietly celebrated victories that cannot be measured by earthly standards….but those are just rumors and who can trust those?

4. ADOPTION WILL BREAK ONE

Adoption will break the hardest of hearts in all the most tender places. This is definitely NOT good for your physical health, mental state, and definitely puts the blood pressure into digits only recommended for elephants. For example, once you’ve walked through that room, lined with silent cribs occupied by glassy eyed children, your heart will feel like it has been through a shredder and it’s a much larger shredder than the cheese one.

No longer can you enjoy a simple sunset or a cozy Christmas without being gouged by the double edged sword of happiness laced with remembrances of those who aren’t experiencing your current blessings. There is an undeniable shattering of the heart when you weep as your adopted child weeps, as they mourn their loss, as they rage against the life change, clawing through the trauma of a brief but scarred life.

A broken heart is something to avoid at all costs in life.

Although rumor has it that a tenderized heart expands in capacity and endurance, and didn’t Jesus Himself weep over the lost?….. but I could be wrong on that one.

3. ADOPTION WILL GREATLY AGGRAVATE ONE’S FLAWS

If you are like me and you work on an orderly existence with possessions that haven’t been repaired with duck tape and spit, then adoption definitely isn’t for you. If testing the absolute limits of your patience and tolerance isn’t a goal in life, definitely don’t attempt this.

In cautiously avoiding any and all situations that will challenge the assorted fruits of the spirit (love, joy, peace, PATIENCE, self-control, etc…), you can be sure to never embarrass your Christian testimony in front of others, your faith quota will always be a lavish overflowing waterfall, and you can rest assure that your spotless reputation will stay  solidly intact.

Also, another benefit is that one will not ever have to rely or lean upon your church, friends, family, village, town, tribe, or even perfect strangers, and one’s fierce independence will stay firmly in place.

On second thought, I DO recall that a muscle that is exercised becomes stronger with use,  and the whole “not needing anyone” could possibly be a pride issue……but exercising is hard work, and sweating through these problems might ruin the hairdo or chip the nails….and independence is SO American…so let’s just go with that.

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2. ADOPTION WILL CHALLENGE ONE’S MARRIAGE

Long walks on the beach? Dinner and a movie? Gazing at each other minus the eye bags of extreme exhaustion…. If you just ADORE these romantic things, and they are what make your marriage tick, then I’d recommend continuing on with the comfortable journey you are currently traversing. You don’t need those pesky late night migraines of trying to figure out where the next adoption payment is coming from or which kidney you need to sell to make it happen. Not to mention that the therapies and sleeping at the hospital will DEFINITELY put you out of the loving mood and who wants that?

That sweaty hand in his as you ride that elevator up to meet your child for the first time, the mascara running down your face, those whispered prayers for sleep to come in the traumatized dark hours, the bleary mornings….definitely not.

Besides, who wants to get all sorts of creative with what a date night constitutes? A 15 minute ride in the car with the child who finally fell asleep and you can miraculously finish a sentence….it’s a hot date! Grocery shopping together, catching each other’s gaze over the mushrooms and diapers (hopefully not in the same section)

DATE!

Sitting through a church service for the first time in a year because your child will FINALLY stay in the nursery without exhibiting trauma-related behavior. It’s a DATE…and if you’re lucky, you may EVEN attend a church where you can hold hands or he can slip his arm around you. * helpful hint* Sit in the back. (Not sure if making out will be overlooked, though, unless it’s one of those super progressive churches where you have to feel your way to your seat in the dark.)

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Nah, long walks on the beach are DEFINITELY preferred….

the moment your eyes lock over the photo of that child, and both of your hearts leap with united Divine intent…

…that’s definitely not as glam. Stick with the beach thing.

And the number ONE REASON to NOT adopt is:

1. ADOPTION WILL CHALLENGE  EVERY SINGLE AREA OF ONE’S FAITH

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If you have a huge interest in questioning the goodness of God or why bad things happen to tiny, helpless humans, definitely adopt…..if you really don’t want to challenge your faith with these head scratching conundrums, then absolutely avoid adoption.

Is God good? Will He really, truly provide this Mt. Everest of cost? What is true worship? What does the Bible really say about laying down your life? Why are we commanded to do certain things? What is a soul for eternity worth?

Man, lots of questions like these can almost shove you out of the Christian kayak of belief and then where would you be? Floundering in the water? Getting eaten by a giant whale?

Yep.

Though, there IS some ancient text where a certain person (starting with “P” and ending with “TUR”) was commanded to step out of a boat willingly and if he kept his eyes on Jesus, he walked on water. I could be mistaken though.

Who wants to step out of a satisfyingly safe kayak for a water stroll? Not everyone.

Let’s not get crazy here, folks. Safety is our top priority, right?

Although, I have heard whispers of if a believer wishes to save one’s life, one must lose it.

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These pesky, Bibically-laced whispers….always so inconvenient and they make one just want to turn up the Netflix binge and block things out.

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“Whoever seeks to preserve his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life will keep it.” Luke 17:33

“But Jesus called them to him, saying, “Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God.” Luke 18:16

if I were a shoe….

I’m a writer, so my mind works in mysterious and often strange ways. In the weird way that I commonly contemplate life, I was thinking the other day about shoes…and if shoes were friendships, what type of shoe would I be in a friendship?

After much imaginative deliberation, here’s what I’ve concluded.

 

It goes something like this…If I were a shoe, I think I’d liken myself to a pair of rain boots that sit on your back porch. Steady, dependable, waterproof, I get you through the floods of life. The deluges. The storms, mud and rain. In the spring, you take me out and I splash through the muddy puddles of life with you.

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On warm, summery days, you clickety-clack out the door with your swishing skirt, bedazzled throat, with your party-shoe friends on, all of you so strappy, thin, and sparkling. Your party-shoe friends make you look tall and beautiful, perfect for your selfies and party photos…and I sigh, sometimes, as I watch and wait, steady and dependable in my ordinary spot in the back steps.

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Some days, you bumpity-bump down the steps with your bulging luggage and your travel-shoe friends. You are all elated, rugged, and trendy, ready for all of the world’s adventures. They exude excitement, anticipating the journey and you’re so excited to be with them, for they will take to you to exotic places where your photos will look like paintings and you’ll bask in foreign suns.

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I flop to my side while you’re away, in the strong, evening breeze, flexible and sturdy. The milky stars appear one by one, distant and clear, brilliant and soft in all of their eternal glory.

And I wait.

Here or there, you flippety-flop out of the house with your shopping shoe friends, all chattery, lip gloss sparkling, earrings catching the light, phones at the ready to capture all of the laughter and fun for your girls’ day out.

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I know that later I’ll see the photos, hear the stories  of you adventures. I’ll laugh, listen, and wistfully agree that you had  great time….I watch the sky, and the seasons slide by, and I know that sunny days don’t last forever…and I stay because who will see you through when the floods come?

And I watch and wait.

And one morning, I see the storm clouds billowing in, hearing the distant thunderous announcements, and I know that, once again, I will be donned. You see, with my ridged soles and sturdy sides, I will wade you through the storms of your life, slow and steady, strong and resilient. When you’re slogging through the mud, you know I’ll be there…dependable and quiet, but always there. My thick soles will keep you from slipping on the rocks of troubles into the torrents of tearful despair. You lean into my tall sides against the onslaught and I can give you balance through the rushing rivers.

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On other days, when you need to pull the stubborn weeds that threaten your growth and mar your garden, I’ll be in the mud right there with you, keeping you clean and dry. If you’re mucking out stalls, working on the farm….well….I’m there to keep you from getting too stinky.

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You see, I don’t look good with party clothes, unless it’s to get you to the party through the rain….arriving, you quickly take me off to don your cheerful, brightly colored party-shoe friends…they’re so much fun at parties!…with their sparkly laughter and witty conversations. I’ll sit on the host’s porch and wait until you need to get home.

And you clomp home with me, depositing me unceremoniously by the back door while you go inside to nestle with your comfortable, evening, fireside slipper-friends. They are warm and cozy, agreeing with everything you have to say in their philosophical airs and theoretical opinions. You discuss great matters with them over coffee and I listen quietly from my home by your back door. I know I’m not educated enough to opine about world issues or understand the intricacies of the trendy, modern dialects.

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I listen and thoughtfully wait.

Honestly, I have tried to be a different kind of shoe friend. Oh, how I’ve tried! I didn’t want to be a rain boot friend! They aren’t fun or special….too serious. They aren’t pretty or popular…..to ordinary. Nobody says, “Just wait until you see this AWESOME pair of rain boots that I saved up for and got!”

No, I’m mostly bought in a pinch. “Oh no! It’s raining, quick! Grab that pair of rain boots, I need them right now!”

In my younger years, when I was just a little Croc, I tried to be a party-shoe friend, but I lacked the sophistication and sparkle. Parties are exhausting! I’ve tried to be the travel-shoe friend, adventurous and daring….ready to take on the world….but when I was along for the ride, I longed for home, and when I returned, I was happy…content to not be continually amazed. Besides, I wasn’t built to be worn for long periods of time…I’m not comfortable enough and you need thick socks with me.

For a brief period, I attempted being a dance-shoe friend…what a miserable time that was! The lights were too bright, the crowds too rambunctious, my cheeks would ache from the forced smile that never made it past my face to my heart.

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Then, could I be a  flip-flop friend? Bright, breezy, easily replaced every season…but no…that didn’t work either. I’m too long term. I don’t dispose of people easily and I do not like being disposed of.

And so, after much experimentation, I have decided that I am happy to be a rain boot-friend. I’ll be here if you need me and it’s ok that I’m not in your party photos or shiny-shoe friend selfies. Even if you don’t need me for a long time, I’ll just be waiting on your back porch where you left me, watching the clouds for the storms…glad to get you through until the sun shines and the puddles have dried.

You see, you need all of these friends in your life and all of these friends serve a beautiful and cohesive purpose for you. Your party-shoe friends, your plucky travel-shoe friends, your dancing-shoe friends, fuzzy slipper-friends…and yes, even your rain boot friends.

Whatever type of shoe friend you are, just be the shoe that the Designer made you to be. I can never whittle down my sides and glue on some sparkles to become a party-shoe friend, nor am I good with travel…too bulky. I’ve learned the hard way that I’m happiest being what I am, what I was designed to be. I cannot force myself to be a  different shoe when my design was pre-planned.

So, wherever you are in life, even if you’ve needed me before and haven’t needed me since, I’ll still be there for you….waiting by the backdoor of your existence, watching the clouds and anticipating how I can ease you through your next rainy day.

I’m a happy pair of rain boots.

And I really only look good with a tutu if I’m worn on a three year old.

photo of yellow boots near flowers