Pumpkin Bread and Contentment

The Papa is out of town - he surprised his dad in Florida with a visit. I am, therefore, trying to make the most of these days with the kiddos. Thus the pumpkin bread.

We spent the first half of the day getting ready to, and then going swimming with friends who have access to a local time-share/resort. This wore the kids out, and they came home and napped for nearly three hours, waking up after 5:00. We took it easy, ate leftovers for dinner, played Play-Doh, watched a show, and ate fresh-from-the-oven pumpkin bread. Oh. Yum.

This brings me to thoughts of my deep contentment in mothering. Oh, it's hard. When we jumped from two kids to four overnight it got really, really hard. It's actually been a lot of unromantic ugly in the last several years. (I keep meaning to write about the two-year transition, but as much as I think about things to say, the words just won't come out of me quite yet. So I will just keep alluding to that time, and you can anticipate the big reveal that will one day come.)

Our home is loud, way too loud for my sensitive nerves. It's boisterous, which is really just code for often supremely chaotic, which triggers my clamp-down response as I try to get a handful of control back in a life that feels so out of control to my INFJ personality.

But there is peace, too. There are sweet moments of sharing, or times when playing Play-Doh is a calm and creative experience rather that a wild, squashing, mixing-all-the-colors-into-puce experience. There are apologies and hugs when the feral wrestling matches end up hurting someone. There is the sharing of a toy out of the blue. There is even cheerful helping in the kitchen on occasion. There are moments when I read to a crew all snuggled up on the couch, and moments where a little girl is sounding out words and demonstrating the amazing transformation that occurs when the brain learns to read. There is lying down in each kiddo's bed at night and listening as they share their thoughts.

I used to dream of going back to work. At something. Just about anything. Like, I thought being a barista at Starbucks sounded heavenly. I wanted to do something mindless. Something you could leave at work and not bring home. Something that did not require endless self-doubt, invasion of personal space (OK, let's be clear here...groping and being slobbered on and leaned on and interrupted), and constantly seeking perspective - reading, talking, praying, reading, talking, praying...so much processing and trying to figure the crazy out.

The days are more manageable lately. And this has allowed me to reconnect with the joy I once thought I would have in parenting. The joy and wonder I DID have before our world got rocked. At some point during the trying times, I found a necklace at World Market. It was just a piece of flat circular pottery on a leather string, but it bore the imprint of a symbol that (supposedly) meant "joy" in some African language. I bought it immediately and wore it as a reminder to find the joy in my life. It took a long, LONG time for that to sink in on a daily basis. But I have it again.

I have joy. I am content. I don't dream of escaping to a job anymore. I do freelance from home a few hours a week. I like being home when the kids get out of school. I like that my presence is a dependable part of their day. I'm not always in a great mood, but I am here. I am accessible. I dislike the hectic routine of making dinner--it's probably the lowlight of my day, but I love that I am able to cook dinner from scratch most nights. It's meaningful for me and sustaining for them. We are in a good place right now, and I am enjoying it.

I catch myself enjoying moments IN the moment. Not later. Not looking at pictures, in fact, I am taking fewer photos lately in part because I just want to be. Be present. Not be trying to capture it all for someone else. I am perhaps selfish in that--I want all the moment fully. I want all its senses burned into my memory so that I don't need a photograph in order to remember it.

In contradiction to all the "positive thinking" philosophy out there, I have learned that you can't just "fairytale think" your way out of tremendous upheaval. You can't change everything by simply willing yourself to be happy or different. It's a process. The only way through the storm is, wait for it...through the storm. Real growth, permanent change, and wisdom come from enduring and learning from, reflecting on, what was endured. And that is no picnic. Right? You can't picnic in the middle of a hurricane.

I found that several things help me tremendously.

1. Gratitude. I read Ann Voskamp's one thousand gifts a while back and have intermittently kept a gratitude journal (actually I can never find one when I need it, so I have three or four journals scattered throughout the house). I dove in again when my mom got me a devotional based on the book, and it has been such a lovely experience - there is room to respond to the text as well as to continue the list of gratitude. I feel refreshed afterwards, even if I only spent ten minutes on it while waiting in the pick-up line at school.

2. A high-altitude perspective. Individual moments can be very overwhelming. Emotion, stress, uncertainty, and other people's disregulation can whip up the intensity of a problem or issue. We have dealt with ADD impulsivity, anxious attachment issues, speech therapy, massive tantrums, hours of occupational therapy, loss/grief, death, sneaky passive aggression, temporary depression, declarations of not believing in God, declarations of hatred towards me, my own grief over my flawed responses to my children, and, at one point early in the transition when we had two kids in diapers and a third regressed due to the upheaval and everyone was sick, I changed 12 gag-inducing poopy diapers in one day. All of it, ALL OF IT, even the stuff that brought me to my knees in tears and frustration, was ultimately handled by clinging to the truth of God's plan and supremacy. Clinging to the truth that these kids are not my own, but God's, and therefore I am called to do my best to be a faithful parent and let God handle the healing. I cannot plug all the emotional gaps for my kids. I cannot fix the sorrows in their stories. I cannot take away the challenges they were given in their natures or their brain chemistry. I teach, coach, feed, hold, discipline, and stretch them. God's going to have to see to all the super-human stuff because, ahem, I'm only human.

3. Community. This part is so very beautiful. I have more loving community than I know what to do with, and it's why I am sane. Um...really. I meet monthly with a few other adoptive mamas. We are free to be raw and sad and mad. Adoption is beautiful, and it is very hard. Some situations are mild, others eat the family. In my little group, we are all dealing with some thing(s) specific to adoption and our kids. And so we cheer each other on as one finds a glimmer of hope, a medication that works for a child's issue, a neurologist who "gets it," a teacher who makes all the difference in a school experience, resources that support healing. We make an annual getaway - once we escaped to a cabin in the mountains for a weekend, another time to a hot springs spa for a day. We can laugh at things that most people wouldn't find laughable, and while it is sometimes a dark, wry laughter, it brings some relief.

I also have a community of mamas through my church. These mamas have children in the same age range as my own, but as mamas our own ages span more than a decade. This is life-giving. We get together with our kids, do Bible studies, read books, and take our book club to Big Bear because we are fun like that. We know each others' stories well. We keep each others' kids in line. We babysit at the drop of a hat when an emergency arises. We pray for one another, text each other goofy updates and memes, and generally instigate a healthy amount of belly-laughing. 

I am not alone.

It feels so good to be sure of my place and to be happy in it. And tonight I was reminded of that, so I thought I'd share.

The End of that Chapter

Life has more quiet moments now that school is back in session. This morning I continued cleaning and organizing my desk area. Something that has piled up over the years in no particular order is the paperwork associated with our adoptions: overflowing hanging files, random documents in a pile on a shelf, in an envelope that never got fully emptied. Receipts, papers poached to request social security numbers or a passport and never returned to the file...I looked at and sorted it all. I also dumped all the infertility treatment forms and medical reports into the "shred" pile. They are no longer needed.

Not gonna lie. The emotion swelled and took my breath away a couple of times.

I'm not sure where the emotion came from - I wasn't sad. It was just a period in our lives that was so...intense. To look it in the face again - the checklists of things to do, the piles of receipts, the lawyer notices, the thick stapled packets of information about ourselves or the birth parents, it opened a tender place in my heart that remembered, viscerally, the weight of it all.

At the same time, that period in our lives is OVER. Done deal. And I experienced great joy in keeping only one copy of each item in a file for the appropriate child and throwing out the duplicates. Each child has a file with his or her origins told in the indifferent language of legal documents. One day these papers will interest them.

I'm trying to understand the hollow feeling of loss that is still there when I say goodbye, in this concrete way, to that chapter in my life. It makes no sense - I am glad to leave it behind. Maybe it's that, while there's finally closure for me, it is still something my kids will open up and experience for the first time one day. Those papers are all familiar to me; I signed most of them or took them from envelopes myself while standing on the wooden staircase of our Albany home, reading them in the winter light that glowed softly through the arched window of the front door. I sat across a table in a room lit by fluorescent lights and helped draft some of them with a couple we were just getting to know.

Closure is good, and closure I have. We are truly in a new chapter in our lives. It is apparent in the way our family has settled. We are one. We are parents and children, brothers and sisters, and the "how we got here" does not diminish this bond. And this new chapter is oh so good. So onward.

The Thing that Sucks about Infertility is that It's the Hardest Way to have a Baby

I started out writing this post about the greatest challenge for me as I deal with infertility. And then that one thing turned into two things. And then it turned into a realization that no matter how hard it has been, I really have nothing to complain about. And then the post became moot. And then it became relevant again because suddenly there was a greater truth than the original complaint. So here is my progression of thought along with a happy ending.

Infertility is on my mind of late because I am soon turning 40 years old. As I approached this number, so dreaded by any woman wishing to bear children, I thought: this is it. If I have any shot at possibly getting pregnant, I had better get going on that treatment now. So I did. Seven years ago, or so, we went through a couple rounds of treatment that were unsuccessful...which quickly led to the adoption of Benjamin. This time we decided to try another couple rounds of a slightly more aggressive treatment, but we found out last week that our final attempt still did not take. We're done with medical intervention now.

So it's over. The lingering hope that our unidentified issue could be circumvented by science...done. Moving on. No babies in this womb. The grief finally ambushed me.

My first complaint about infertility is that it just makes growing a family hard. No option is simple. None are cheap. You have to really want to add a baby to your family. And whether you do it through medicine or adoption, it is a long and challenging process. 

There is the issue of money - medicine costs money. Adoption costs money. Money that some folks would use for a tropical vacation or dramatic home improvements or to pay off college loans.

There is the pain factor. Giving oneself shots in the belly is really no fun. Though I must say, I got a kick out of looking at my husband after he jabbed an intro-muscular needle into my right butt cheek and reflecting on how we never anticipated that living out our wedding vows would include sticking a needle in one of our arses.

Adoption requires struggling through mounds of paperwork and jumping into an intimate friendship on the count of three. It requires adding more people to the family, and being available to others who are experiencing a loss at the very moment you are experiencing the joy of addition.

I sum up these challenges with this: for those of us who are infertile, simply getting to the point of attempting to add a child requires a ridiculous amount of forethought, planning, decision-making, and effort. And for every thought one has toward a possible next step, there are numerous thoughts that pop up against that course of action.

The second burden on my heart is that I just want to experience pregnancy and birthing. I am the mama who dreamed of natural birth, of doing things at home, of breastfeeding for an uncomfortably long time. Some of my friends think me a bit of a hippie. Call it what you will, I really wanted to give birth and be present for it all along the way. I do not have that choice...and my heart hurts a bit.

But as much as I am tempted to complain about it, we who are infertile are not unique in our struggle. In a lifetime, a couple will be faced with any number of health challenges, child-bearing or rearing challenges, life-and-death challenges. Some of us get cancer. Some experience miscarriages in between healthy births. Some give birth and then discover their child has a grave illness or developmental issue. Some give birth once and then can't anymore, and their family growth gets cut off prematurely. Lots of couples deal with financial constraints as they consider having another child. Lots encounter struggles during pregnancy or have premature births.

I can't mope about my situation. Especially because here is where it led:

I am privileged to have the children I have through open adoption. PRIVILEGED. They are dear and amazing little people. I have seen God work through our situation time and time again. And how can I dishonor that by rewriting the script this time around? Why would I want to? I don't have any desire to change our past or the family I have been given, so I will look at this latest moment of grief through a different lens.

I will set aside my feelings of loss to embrace our next journey - we intend to pursue another open adoption. Our final one, as far as I can tell. There must be another boy or girl growing in the womb of a mama who is looking for safety and love in a package that resembles our family.  So we will get out there and wait for her.

The thing that sucks about infertility is that it is the hardest way to have a baby. But in the end, that's not so bad.

On praying with kids

We've been talking a lot at church about prayer. Last night the little group that meets in our house weekly, made up of parents, pondered how to pray meaningfully with our children. I've been growing in this area and am by no means an authority or super-spiritual or above any other parent - it's just that I think some of the things I've been learning and trying out are worth sharing.

Let's start with the fundamental value of a Christ-following parent, because anything I do should be tied to this:

I want my child to know the Gospel. And by that I mean the Truth that human beings -- me, them, we -- are frail and prone to self-centeredness. We eat too much, we envy, we grumble, we say mean things and then justify ourselves, we hide our deviousness. We hurt others on purpose, and we hurt them on accident.  And if we think we do none of that, then our issue is pride. Yet, in the midst of our hurtful ways, God loves us and He provides a rescue plan through Jesus. And by believing in Jesus, I am not only rescued from my own destructiveness, but I am given the opportunity to change. To grow to be more like Jesus: sacrificial, considerate of others, peace-making, patient, kind, gentle, possessing control over my wayward tongue. I have the opportunity to be an instrument of healing and restoration rather than a clawing, clamoring bundle of entitlement. I can't do it alone. I am transformed by him when I am close to him.

The trouble is, often the righteous behavior that is the product of God's work in my child's heart gets rerouted as the objective. When that happens, I am only teaching my child to do good works on his own strength. I teach him to value hypocrisy over humility. Prayer is a beautiful space for intimately joining our children in asking God to transform their hearts (and our own!). Together we can humbly acknowledge our struggles and ask for strength to do things differently the next day. We can ask for opportunities to show God's love to others. And we can pray on behalf of people we encounter throughout the day.

So when I pray with my children, here are some of the things we do:


1. Pray for whatever their hearts need most.
Are they fighting over toys a lot? Bragging and envying and competing? Hitting? Do they have a very short fuse with siblings? Or maybe, in the tween world, are there social conflicts and gossip? Giving a frenemy the cold shoulder? Feeling left out? Is there a general attitude of disrespect? Is there a lack of empathy? Do they think they are entitled to everything?

We are talking about Jesus and reading the Bible off and on throughout the week, so anything we pray can be tied back to something we've already talked about. Praying before bed is not the time to launch into lengthy explanations. Our prayers can be short and sincere because other groundwork has been laid. Some of our prayers have included:

-- Give us hearts that can care about others instead of only caring about our own wants.

-- Give us the chance to show extra kindness to someone at school tomorrow.

-- Help us get better at solving problems with our sister peacefully.

-- Help me find a way to be patient with ______ even when she says hurtful things about me.

-- Give my heart joy even when I am working hard and I feel tired.

-- Help me see where someone's harsh words might be the result of their own hurts.

-- Help me to remember to listen to my teacher's voice.

-- Help me find something good about ______.

-- Thank you for the way you have provided for us today - the beautiful sunshine, the birds building their nests in our backyard, the way we have healthy food to eat and a Papa who spent so much time preparing dinner tonight. Help us to remember that you have provided for all our needs, and help us to be able to see the difference between the things we need and the things we want.


2. Thank God, specifically, for them.
Because I have children through adoption or fostering, it is at the forefront of my mind how God has put us all together as a family. This is true of biological children, though perhaps not as obvious. It helps my children feel loved and whole when I share with God, in front of them, how pleased I am with them. How dearly I love them. How I delight in them. I also am giving them context - that no matter how or why we fit together as a family at this time, God did it because he loves us. And we can trust his goodness and provision.

-- I thank you for putting Sadie into our family. We just love her so very much. Thank you for giving her such a strong body, such a quick mind, and such a lively personality. Thank you, God, for her joy that shines through her beautiful smile. We are so grateful you brought her to us. And we are grateful that you have given her so many people to love her (and here I sometimes name all the grandmas and grandpas or aunties or whomever to help unite, in her mind, all the biological and adoptive family).

-- Thank you for Maks, God. Thank you for making him a part of our family for this time. You have given him two families so that he will always have lots of people to love and care for him, because YOU love and care for him. Thank you for his sweetness and his desire to always be helpful. We love him so much.

3. Pray for others, especially for those we don't know. 
Children will naturally think of all the sick grandmothers and dead family pets when asked to pray for others. But will they think of the drunk, homeless man? Will they include the unhappy child at school who is not very nice to be around? We can help them pray for these people's hearts - not just that they will get a place to stay (which may not be realistic where serious mental illness is concerned) or suddenly be nice (which is the result of a heart or situation change). We can pray when we hear a siren in the distance - pray for the person needing the emergency help. We can help them process what they experienced throughout the day by praying with them for the people who were part of that experience.

-- We pray for Wayne, God. He is very sad and lonely. Sleeping at night under the bridge is a scary thing. We ask that you comfort his heart. That you remind him that he is loved. Give him peace in the midst of all the scary stuff. Bring one of his friends to him, to be with him. We ask for another opportunity to run into him and see how he's doing. Help us to keep our eyes open to know when someone is lonely. Give us courage to say hi and to listen if they need to talk.


-- Lord, please be near that lady who was talking to us in the grocery store line. She said such nice things to us, but there was so much sadness in her eyes. Lord, we don't know what is going on in her life, but you do. Please find a way to let her know you are near. Please help her bring her problems to you. Help her to trust you. Bring good people around her to encourage her.


-- We pray for Stella. I don't like how she's been so mean to Tati. But we know that when people are acting like that there is something hurting them inside. We pray for that hurt. We pray that she would find a safe place to talk about that hurt. A safe place for her hurt to heal. We ask that you would give Tati courage to be kind to her, patience with her words. We ask you to give Tati a heart that is open to possibly being her friend.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Our prayers do not have to be long or formal, though it is really cool when they can be intentional. I think if we include praying like this, we will also be developing humility, empathy, and dependence on God. Instead of approaching Our Father as a heavenly Santa with a wish list of ways to be delivered from uncomfortable circumstances, our children can ask him to make them better lovers of people, stronger in dealing with challenges, and more aware of others' needs. What a perspective change!

Not My Own

I would probably have missed this truth had it not been for the blessing of adoption. My ego, or my attempt to control, or the way my boy might have worn my eyes or smile might have obscured my sense of clarity.

My children are not my own.

It is not DNA that separates us. It is not blood or lineage or nine months in another mother's womb.

It is the truth that my children actually belong to God, and I am merely acting on God's behalf, acting as the physical presence of His embrace, His compassion, His correction. This changes everything.

For one, it is incredibly humbling. Every time I feel human rage gripping my throat - anger at how the older child hits the younger on the head, indignation at a child's disrespect and defiance, frustration with the incessant screaming or wailing or whining - I have to evaluate:  Is this holy anger? Is this anger born out of true righteousness or is it the swelling of my pride or a reaction to inconvenience? Is this response going to hurt or teach? When I am sober of spirit, I can take a deep breath and think before I speak.

But when I am feeling frayed, the words come out without filter. The words are harsh, the tone condescending, or worse - shaming. The words are loud, too loud. And after the tears, first on his face and then on mine, I must go to this little learning boy and apologize. I must tell him how I love him and how God loves him and how the way I spoke to him was not loving and kind, and how this is precisely the problem we have as human beings - God is perfect, though, and in that we can place our hope.

And oh, how quickly he forgives - for he is still a little boy who just wants his mama's arms around him.

It is good for me to remember that I am acting on God's behalf - it helps me take the deep breaths first. I try to take time to think creatively about how to turn an explosive situation into a teachable moment. I am reminded to ask for wisdom from above, for eyes to see the bigger picture, for patience despite the inconvenience or fatigue.

This truth also takes the ego out of parenting. My children do not look like an extension of me, therefore I am less tempted to see them as such. But this is just as important for biological children. Because they are God's, they are not required to fulfill our childhood dreams. They are not here to continue a family legacy. It is not important for them to attend the university we attended, to achieve the grades we maintained, to meet or supersede our athletic accomplishments (of which I have few, let it be known). They are not mini-me's competing with the children of our friends whereby we outshine our friends through our children. They are not required to be successful by the world's standards, nor are they required to maintain parental image or reputation. They are not an extension of us.

America is a hard place for raising children without ego. Everything in our society tells us that our children are like accessories - they accent or tarnish us. They bring us pride or shame. They are a way by which we may impress others - after all, if my child makes it into Harvard, isn't that a result of my good genes? My excellent parenting techniques? The superb education I worked hard to ensure?

But children are not purse dogs to be groomed and toted into public to advance our appearance or our career or our family name.

And then there is the responsibility part of this Godly parenting task. I have the responsibility to care for my children - to provide for physical needs, to teach self-control and kindness, to instill values and a knowledge of God.  But it is not my responsibility to control my child. To hover incessantly. To make the decisions for, to protect from every pain (after all, we learn most from trying experiences); this need to control is only born out of human fear, in some, or personal fulfillment, in others.

If I see myself as acting on God's behalf, I will not spoil my children with material possessions; I will give what truly matters - my time and affection and presence. I will not teach my child to satisfy the holes that swell up in his heart from time to time with entertainment and frivolous distractions, but rather with seeking God, with creating and maintaining life-expanding friendships, with giving to others instead of expecting others to always give to him. I will teach him that instead of looking out for Number One, he will find greater joy in serving others - that this will buoy his spirit, help him see his place in this world, reveal his sense of purpose. To love God and love man - there is nothing greater that is asked of us.  Is everything that I do, every gift I give, every experience we navigate as a family drawing us closer to this or away from it?

America provides us with a million ways to shirk our responsibility. If we are adults, we are sold on the idea that children should not infringe on our right to be "happy" - this limited perspective completely misses the truth that loving parents make sacrifices (and there is great joy in this at times). No, we don't become people other than who we have been created to be, but we are frequently inconvenienced for the greater good of investing in these little people within our care. We no longer live wholly unto ourselves.

If we are women, we are told we can be an amazing mother and have an amazing career at the same time - with others raising our kids. We are told that anything less is untrue to ourselves and uninspiring to our children. **

If we work hard, we are told we "deserve" time to ourselves. If we did not have much growing up, we believe our children "deserve" the luxuries we did not have. Our children are beaten down with advertisements that make them think they cannot live without Disney princesses or Halo or Wii systems or iPads or their own personal cell phone.

No. Instead of releasing my children to the whims of a culture obsessed with consuming and escaping, and then worrying about the nebulous dangerous strangers out in the neighborhood somewhere, I will release my children in the care of God, knowing that whatever befalls my children or our family is ordained. And if it is ordained by God, we will be given the strength to meet it and the healing to get through it.

Most of life is not an emergency, after all, though we often treat it as such.

And most of life is worth savoring, not escaping with mind-numbing, spirit-stripping substitutes.

I am just getting started on this run through parenthood, but this I know:  my children are not mine to make into my own image - to ruin through my own passivity, ego, self-pursuits, or need to control.  It does not matter if my children are of my own flesh or someone else's - they belong to God, and I will do my best to parent accordingly.

______________________________________________________
**Note: I am not throwing stones at mamas who work outside the home. I am only challenging the thinking that values outside-the-home work as worth more than mothering because it requires greater intelligence or education or talent, or because it is somehow more reflective of who we are as individuals. I also question the "you can, and should, have it all" messages we receive. Women's empowerment today often enslaves us to the impossible idea that we can/should do it all - and we breathlessly, joylessly, and overflowing with guilt attempt to live up to standards that can rarely be met and are not necessary bars to achieve anyway.

Christmas Cookies, Part II

To get caught up on this story, you may want to familiarize yourself with Part I.

I wanted us to practice Advent - waiting, hoping, bringing our Savior to people with gentleness and joy. I hope for my children to grow with a love for God and man. This is not the kind of thing that occurs with mere words. As a parent I need to be modeling this, participating in it, and providing opportunities for my children to engage in it.

(A moment on my soapbox:  Ahem, I see so many well-meaning parents who teach their children the language of the Gospel, the theology of it, but when it comes to it, their children are not expected to live the Gospel, but rather a checklist of "moral" behaviors. Sadly, this is not the good news. Our children need to participate in the love of others, of ALL, in whatever ways are age-appropriate. It is our responsibility as Christian parents to impart this, not legalism, to our children. 


I am not a perfect parent, so this is not a judgment on those parents. We're all a work in progress. I just see how our intentions can be so easily waylaid if we are not intentional.  I do teach morality and manners to my children, but I do not mistake them for the Gospel which is something else entirely more alive and important.)

So. Benjamin and I wrapped up these little goodies, put some tidings of comfort and joy on the tag, and hit the streets of downtown Escondido. I did not care to knock people over the head with the entire story of Jesus. I am pretty sure that in most cases that doesn't work. Instead, our tidings were personal, and pointed to God quickly and quietly: GOD has shown us much GRACE and MERCY. May you experience the same. Merry Christmas!

And now the story gets very cool.

See...I have these prejudices.

I try not to, really. But I get ideas in my head about the who and how, and next thing I know, that's the only way to be. In my mind, we were going down to find some homeless/hungry people and to feed them, albeit, with sugar cookies.

(Neat insight - when I was feeling sheepish that our attempt to "feed" people with dessert rather than something substantive, a friend pointed out that part of observing Advent was considering others rather than ourselves. For a three-year-old, sharing broccoli requires no sacrifice. But sharing cookies, well, that requires a good deal of considering our neighbor to be as important as ourselves. I was greatly encouraged.)

So I was on the lookout for folks in dire straits. Scruffy folks. In particular, one woman who sits on the bench on a main intersection. We walk past her all the time. We say good morning, but she doesn't respond. Her gray hair and thick glasses slump down into the heap of blankets over her shoulders.

First, we approached said homeless woman. I demonstrated for Benjamin - held out the bag of cookies and said something like, "Merry Christmas! We just wanted you to have these." She, cheap coffee in one hand, cigarette in the others, shooed me away gruffly. "Rglsifujbvlksuhf," she muttered. Or something like that.

OK. Rebuffed by a lady in a heap of blankets.

We went on. This time I gave Benjamin a bag and told him he could give it to whoever he wanted.  I wanted this to be a Benjamin thing. I wanted HIM to experience the joy of following God's lead. And this is how it went.

We walked. And walked. And walked. Sometimes I would point someone out to him and he shook his head, no. And then, he peered into the vacuum shop and saw a little girl. A lovely little Mexican girl in there with her family, a girl with long wavy hair pulled into two tight pigtails. He beelined through the door and stuck his hand out. "Here," he said, and marched back outside.

My prejudice? I would not have picked a kid - her parents would probably make her throw out the cookies. But hey, my pick so far had turned me down. Perhaps I should watch and see how God would lead.

He took another bag. Every time we came to an intersection I asked him which way to go. Sometimes we went straight ahead, sometimes we turned. We came to a couple seated on a bench, sharing a 40 oz. brown glass bottle wrapped in a paper bag. Benjamin slowed down. He eye-balled them as we passed. Then he turned back and stuck out his cookies. I explained what we were doing. They smiled and said thanks and a said he was so cute and so on.

My prejudice? None. I was OK with giving cookies to people with evident drinking problems.

We crossed the street to walk up the other side.

A skinny young man with all the outward signs of a meth addiction sat in a patch of sunlight. I took charge on this one. "Are you hungry?" I asked. "Yeah," he said.

"You want some cookies?" I asked.

"Sure!" he said. And Benjamin gave him some.

He turned and put them in his back pack. We saw him later down the street handing them to someone. A trade for something, perhaps? Awesome. With all my prejudices, I make really great decisions.

We got closer to the French Bakery. No one dining in there would be hungry or homeless. But Benjamin decided that was the place for the next delivery. He marched into the middle of the cafe. He searched the room, turning almost a full circle. People started looking at him.  I stood just outside the glass door watching. Starting to feel a little embarrassed.  Feeling like we were attracting attention. Like we were weird.

Benjamin picked a young woman in business attire. She had long, dark, curly hair and tasteful make-up. He went up and placed the cookies on her table as she chatted with her friend. She startled, looked at him, then looked around for his mama, for some explanation. I waved with my fingers through the glass, and motioned for Benjamin to come back out.

My prejudice? That professionally attired folks don't qualify as needing anything.

Our last bag of cookies. Benjamin lead on - now taking some turns and twists that landed us in an alley. Not some dark dangerous place, but certainly an area that smelled like urine and where an occasional shopping cart or pile of belongings signified people living in the shadows. Benjamin asked about these piles. We talked about how some people live outside. How they are sometimes hungry. How we can be friends with them.

Eventually we passed two men sitting on the back step of a closed down business. By this time, I was over myself. Clearly my meddling in this affair was going nowhere. I said hello as we passed, the guys mentioned how cute Benjamin was, and then he handed them his cookies. They thought he had gotten them at some event, and they said no, they would never take a kid's cookies. I told them we had made them specifically to give away, and it was his decision to give them the cookies. They smiled so broadly and said thanks.

As we walked away they opened the bag and shared the cookies.

I'm not sure what Benjamin learned from the experience, but I have seen how foolish my preconceived notions can be. I am, indeed, a silly girl who needs to follow around her toddler more - asking him, shall we go this way or that?  For God can more easily speak to one who has the eyes of a child.