The Last of The Firsts...

There are a lot of things we've missed in Angie's life.  A lot of firsts.  I'm a big fan of celebrations, occasions, dressing up, anything special; so firsts are kind of a big deal to me.

We'll never get to see little baby Angie experiencing all those firsts. Until this moment, I'm not sure I've ever even pictured her as an infant.  Man, I bet she was cuuuuute! We missed her take her first steps toddling around barefoot in the Bolivian sand. No one will ever know what her first word was. We can't even be sure which language it was in, Quechua or Spanish. And maybe most regrettably, we weren't there to witness her first little sin. Not a moment you other parents probably put in the scrapbook, but one that could have saved us a lot of heartache, if we'd been there to correct her gently and train her up with consistency.

But God has been more than fair to us. Even though we came into her life seven years in progress, we've never missed a birthday. God so generously put all three of us in the same place for her very first Christmas celebration, her third day at the orphanage Talita Cumi. I glowed at her first ballet recital, cheered at her first basketball game, and relished her first tennis match. I took pictures of her, and Ruby's, first sight of those much anticipated white flakes falling from the sky we take for granted, snow.  And it was my ears that captured her first sentence in English.

I have nothing to complain about, we couldn't have asked for more firsts as late in the game as we came in. But now I see, as we approach the end of our first year in the States, that the frequency of those novel moments is dwindling. I'm charging up the camera for Halloween and Thanksgiving, as I'm actively pursuing more squeals of surprise and delight. 

You've probably noticed I'm head over heels in love with autumn! But Angie can only press so many leaves with me before that gets old. So, yesterday I created a first. I remember her saying once, probably after seeing it in a movie, that she wanted to jump in a pile of leaves. When she got home from school, I was raking our front yard into a mini mountain. However, it turns out 11 is too old (or cool) to jump in leaf piles. Well, it's a good thing Ruby is not 11 yet!

We broke the ice by tossing Ruby's ball in and laughing--with her, not at her, of course-- as she rooted around for it blindly. 

But after a few minutes of that we were both submerged. And after a few more minutes I was wondering why I don't create play for us more often. It takes intentionality to put down what's easy and invent fun, it takes humility to keep trying when she rejects my attempts, and it takes some sacrifice to be buried in a pile of filthy leaves and let your child throw the dog's ball at you. But, really what do I have going that's more important than bonding with my tweenager? 

Our hour of carefree romping, didn't solve all our problems, we still had a doozy of a fight this morning, but it gave us a little firmer foundation to recover to. Thank you to you moms who always inspire me with your ingenious ideas. And to you tired moms, like me, the squeals of pure joy are worth a little effort. Someone please remind me of that next week when I forget...

The School-Visit Rockstar Tour

Juggling, that's what we women do, right?

From late August through October my balancing act looks something like this:

• Get the kiddo into a showering/bus-catching/homework-finishing/sports-playing/bed-timing routine
• Pack, unpack, repack, lose things as I...
• Drive 5,268-ish miles
• Watch as many of Angie's tennis matches as I can between miles
• Visit 9 university campuses
• Maintain an intermittently short and long-distance steamy relationship with my main man as I come and go from the home base
• Speak to and challenge 216 veterinary students to live out the call God has for their lives
• Attempt to find the perfect Fro-Yo combo with their fabulous student leaders, equipping them to serve their Christian Veterinary Fellowship groups well
• Celebrate my husband's birthday non-stop for a week against his will
• Encourage and appreciate 28 faculty advisers in college towns around the Southeast
• Keep up with the laundry because it's the one chore Jon hates
• Follow-up with each of those 200 plus contacts to make sure we're serving them as well as we can be
• Praise the Lord for the fall colors as the trees shed their gorgeous leaves
• Coordinate over 30 speakers for two of our Real Life Real Impact weekends coming up
• Vacation with the family to Ft. Walton Beach to visit my 95 year-old great uncle
• Cherish each and every story from the amazing students God allows me to mobilize...

It's been an incredible ride these past couple months working with student ministry, here are the beautiful leaders of the student groups I serve.

Auburn University

Tuskegee University

University of Tennessee

University of Georgia

Mississippi State University

Morehead State at Asbury's Mission Farm

University of Florida

Thank you Jon, Bulo, and Bula for all your help with Angie.  And thank you to each of you who is part of our team to make these campus ministries a reality around the Southeast. It's such a privilege to get to use my profession to guide others in using theirs for Christ. To partner with us check out Abounding and look for more details about the school visit tour in my next prayer letter...

Cheating At Any Age

Last week, while the in-laws were in town for Jon's birthday and we were bracing ourselves for the barrage of after school homework, I got a call from Angie's science teacher. Yep, if you muttered "Uh-oh" under your breath you were right. She was very nice and matter of fact (contrary to all of Angie's claims that she's basically a goon) when she told me that Angie had cheated on her science test. No, not glancing at her neighbor's paper, but you know, just using a study guide. Subtle. 

My alarm has been rising consistently as she's begun to venture beyond the "normal" mischief Jon and I remember from our childhood. The week before when she flipped us the bird for the first time, I asked Jon if he'd still be alive if he'd tried such a thing in his house. And I definitely don't remember my parents getting a call from my teachers about cheating. Probably partly because if I ever did commit such a crime, I likely wasn't as blatant about it. But what I also recognized in the aftermath of the call when we asked Angie why she cheated, and she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "because I didn't know the answers," was that I never had nearly the temptation to cheat that she must fight all the time.

From the stories about her peers and their homework habits, and Jon's recounting of the Open House he attended while I was out of town, where pretty much no other parents from Angie's classes bothered to show up, I gather that maybe she's not surrounded by the most hardworking, motivated, or responsible classmates. The teacher herself mentioned that other kids were cheating on the same test. But my real empathy comes from knowing that Angie likely goes into most tests and assignments in a state of confusion and (no matter how much we prepare) unpreparedness that I never experienced.

Then, yesterday, God granted me a further glimpse into her reality. Wednesday is the day we pray that Angie's homework load is lighter than two hours, since we have small group in the evening. Instead she came home with a normal-sized assignment that I could manage, albeit with slight incredulity that she has no textbook or even notes to use for finding the answers, but is just expected to Google all the information. The whopper, however, was the 5-paragraph essay she was expected to write on her own personal culture, with a nod to how one's culture affects their perspective on life, etc.

After struggling to get the truth about when she really found out about this paper and where were all the parts she was supposed to have already written, I vented about the preposterousness of such a task. And then I texted Jon, only half-jokingly, "Would you think less of me if I wrote Angie's essay for her?" I reasoned that I could pull out my hair for roughly 3-6 hours dictating how to spell every word, and correcting each attempt at sentence structure, after not-so gently leading her toward each thought to make up those sentences. Or I could spend ~20 minutes typing up 5 paragraphs (5 sentences each!) with plenty of spelling and grammatical errors (that would have been the hardest part), and we could get on with our lives. Of course I would get Angie's input about what she wanted to say and all, but come on teachers, really?! All the other parents are writing these too, right?  Oh, it was so tempting...

And in that instant I was, again, for the zillionth time, reminded not to judge. Why can I not remember this one simple lesson, without constant examples in my own life. Someday, I pray I'll have enough experience, wisdom, humility, and understanding to react with grace instead of judgment when I get those calls, or that finger, or that look and tone of voice (you know the ones I'm talking about). But until then, I've thrown Angie under the bus a bit here, in case any of you are in the same boat and need that gentle reminder that we're all just playing the cards we're dealt, and some of us have been given a better hand than others.

But for the grace of God go I...

YOLO

This morning, Jon teasingly invited Ruby to go to work with him. She wagged her tail. I responded by promising to take her on a run if she stayed home with me. She wagged her tail. Jon made a counter offer. To which I reminded her that she would miss her run if she went for a car ride with Daddy. She looked contemplative, torn, a little confused, but continued to wag her tail. Jon said in a Ruby voice, "Oh well, it will still be the best day ever."

It's a running joke in our home that for Ruby every day is the best day ever. We laugh about it, because maybe it's her little pea brain that lets her live every day to the fullest, maybe it's her failure to understand time in the way we humans see it, or maybe she's just the only one of us who really gets it. In every pant of her tongue and wag of her tail she exudes YOLO ("You Only Live Once" for those of you over the age of 16, without texting teenage children). 

I'd been impressed by her optimism before, but this morning when she continued to view life through such rose colored glasses in spite of such disappointment, I was in awe.

My recurring epiphany that joy is not contingent on one's circumstances appropriately resurfaces today, as it would be the 29th birthday of my dear cousin Kevin. Before his life was cut short ten days ago, Kevin, like Ruby was contagious in his happiness. It seems his outlook on life was to not waste time on the unnecessary, but to capture every moment and make it more beautiful.

Team Spears running the Crater Lake Rim Half Marathon.

As his Facebook page fills with tributes, I wish he had heard all the good he brought into the world.

 "I will forever remember the feeling of you laughing while you had me in a hug."

"Kevin was genuine before all else - he had a way of loving and accepting himself that helped me and others to do the same."

"During your short time in this reality you made lasting impressions of an old soul on many great people. I am inspired to continue living and working to create a world you would be proud of." 

"Once, years ago, Kevin stole my journal and wrote down poems for me - ones that he had memorized and kept close to his heart. Timeless as always, deep and meaningful, these words he gifted me are too beautiful to keep to myself. The last line he wrote, "written in love by Kevin Spears". But what didn't he do in love?"

"As I look at this photo, I realize I have never seen you without a smile, living life to the 

fullest each and every day."

"My dear, sweet li'l bro and best friend passed away suddenly yesterday. I had just talked to him on the phone for an hour right before it happened. For that, I feel so blessed. In that last conversation, he sounded so happy and full of love and passion for life."

Enjoying God's creation with Kevin.

Not a moment of Kevin's life was in vain if he inspired those of us who continue on, to do so with a smile. We will be better people for having loved him.

Habits of Happiness

Uncomfortably Comfortable

Through the open windows, the sweet morning sounds of the sparrows, the cicadas, and the passing train ride in on the fresh cool breeze. It is glorious, and I am oh so content. 

Did you catch the key words there? Open windows. Cool breeze. IT'S FALL!!! 

Maybe not officially as the calendar goes, but if we can't wear white anymore, and the kids are back in school, and the pumpkins are beginning to reclaim their prominent position in everything commercial, then it's fall enough for me. And it's my first fall in four years! That's right people, I haven't been in the US for this leaf-changing, cinnamon-scented, chilly-enough-for-a-jacket season since 2008! Oh, how I've missed it...

But now that we've opened up the house, and the temperature has dropped to the 60's for two nights in a row, and Angie's settling into middle school, I'm beginning to worry I'm getting a little too comfortable in this first world.

I started to get concerned when we visited Bolivia a few weeks ago. The weather wasn't nearly as miserably hot as it could have been in August, which rarely obeys the norms for the last "month of winter" that it really is, and usually creeps back into the mid-high 90s. We stayed in the guest room of some missionary friends' lovely home, so we really lacked nothing of consequence. But the buzzing mosquitoes, public transportation, smokey air, shortage of fancy plumbing, and sharing a bed with my daughter instead of my husband started to make me dream of home...

Now that we're back in the states, where autumn will soon paint the trees with the oranges and reds it has saved all year for such a time as this, and even the most humble home has so many luxuries, instead of feeling guilty about having too much, I've decided to feel grateful.

Grateful that this year I can ask the tap for cold or hot water, and it will oblige.

Thankful for the softness of clothes, sheets, and towels fresh from the dryer.

Relieved that I can flush my toilet paper.

Appreciative that I have candy corn, chocolate chips, ranch dressing, Papa John's, Chick-fil-a, and Target at my fingertips.

So glad that opportunities abound for Angie to follow in her mama's footsteps and play tennis to her heart's content.

Giddy because it's football season and my team rocks, even if I'm too cheap to buy tickets to the games now.

Content with the home we can make our own, because it is.

Overjoyed that family surrounds us in all directions.

Many of you have asked how the trip to Bolivia was for Angie. She did great. She enjoyed the things she'd missed, and was ready to return to her new home in Kentucky when our visit was over. Her weakest moment came right after we'd stopped by her old school and her friends had been so ecstatic to see her. 

"I wish we could live in Bolivia again," she thought out loud as we walked back to the house.

"No, you'd miss your grandparents, your cousins, snow, tennis, and you can barely speak Spanish anymore." I teased her. 

"Well, I wish we could have both. Like if Bolivia and the United States were side by side," she motioned with her hands just how close she desired them to be.

Don't we all wish we could have the best of both worlds. I'd prefer the changing seasons of the North mixed with the simplicity of South America. I'd choose the impossible combination of U.S. efficiency and the Latin priority of relationships. I would move all my friends and family from both continents to the same city. And I'd merge my ministries so I could take veterinary students from Santa Cruz, Bolivia and Auburn, Alabama to treat chickens together at an orphanage.

But in the meantime, since life is not a smorgasbord to order from a la carte, I'll choose to focus on all the beauty God gives me every day whether in the colors of the leaves, or the kindness of His people.

Hello and Goodbye, Bolivia!

Of the past five nights, Angie and I have spent three in transit, reclining as well as we could on buses and planes, finally getting back to our cozy beds last night. Today, as I wade through a sea of laundry, emails, grocery and to-do lists, I pray she's staying bright and alert through her first day of middle school. But even if she's a bit drowsy as they train her on such important sixth-grade skills as opening her coveted locker, I'm confident she'd say it was worth it.

Angie's best friend Maria, on her first day of school this year in Santa Cruz.

Going back to Bolivia, if only for a week, was a great way for Angie to visit old friends and stomping grounds, such as her school, her orphanage, and our church. She can be introspective, but not on demand, so I can't be sure how it affected her to see some of the poverty, and the despair of the kiddos she grew up with. But more than reverse culture shock I think what she experienced might be called reverse language shock. Returning to your mother tongue after a nine month hiatus, turned out to be more difficult than we'd anticipated. Don't worry, we'll try to be more intentional about maintaining her Spanish, it's just that her English still isn't perfect... Now, sometimes the poor kid can't figure out how to express herself in any language!

For me, it was an awesome opportunity to touch base with all our Latin ministries; see how some of them needed encouragement, and see others growing. My next prayer letter shares about lots of these updates, but to tide you over until September, I'll say that our final adoption follow-up was a success! 

Sunday, was one of the busier days of our trip. I started the morning with a long jog with my dear friends. Then we had the treat of attending La Viña our sweet little Vineyard church, with the sweetest part being the company of our first-time guests, Moira and her husband Ariel. Moira is the vet I carried the ultrasound machine down for. It was awesome to see her and her husband flipping through the pages of my old Spanish Bible I'd left with her last fall. And when the message brought tears to her eyes, it gave me hope that maybe they'll get involved and give in to the Lord's loving pursuit of them.

Enjoying church with vet friends at my side and sponsor child in my arms...

After church, Moira and Ariel joined us for lunch and then came to our VetRed party. A little get together with quesadillas, empanadas, and an assortment of other goodies was a great way to catch up with many of the people I worked with in Santa Cruz for three years. And it was wonderful to be able to connect some students, vets, and university faculty with each other in hopes that they'll continue to share in ministry even when we're not around.

VetRed Gathering

Oh, here comes Angie off the bus, time to stop daydreaming about South America and get back to the realities of life in Kentucky. Bolivia, we'll be praying for you and missing you. Vaya con Dios siempre. And know that you are loved.

Angie's First Mom

“Nice to see you again, Bolivia,” Angie said nonchalantly in perfect English as our plane touched down in Santa Cruz, like she were talking to an old friend.  An old friend she’d grown up with, but had been separated from by many miles and worlds of difference, for nine months.

Visiting Talita Cumi yesterday.

Later, the same day, while squeezing lemons into fresh lemonade, she just as casually shared story after story of her life before—with her other family--to Heidi Janecke. Heidi was one of my closest friends when we served in Bolivia, as she’s my CVM colleague Bill’s husband. But her ministry goes far beyond supporting her veterinary missionary man, she has been integral in the day to day operations of Talita Cumi Children’s Home, where Angie lived for a year between her other family, and her current one--us. During the more than 12 years Talita Cumi has served Bolivia’s children, Heidi has seen more than 500 kids come and go in countless fashions. But only one has come back to share their story with her in English. The beauty of this moment was not lost on Heidi as Angie poured out some of her most vulnerable memories in her newfound comfort, confidence, and language.

Their conversation ranged from Angie’s incredulity that people would force their five year-old children to cook dinner, to her curiosity about why her birth parents left her all those years ago. To this, Heidi wisely responded that maybe her parents didn’t have enough money to take care of her, maybe her mom was trying to do what was best for her. And later, when Heidi recounted this exchange to me, I started to wonder about Angie’s biological mother as well. I’ve heard innumerable stories about the family who raised her, but about the family who first left her, none of us really knows anything.

Maybe her mother was in a desperate situation; young, poor, unprepared… Maybe she was honestly hoping to give her baby a better life, opportunities she could not herself offer. To this new mom I’ve invented in my head, the sweet, scared, overwhelmed girl, who wanted all the best for Angie, I so wish I could show her the young lady she’s become.

Would she have imagined in a million years that her daughter would be growing up with two gringos, in a Cape Cod house in KY? Would she guess the path her childhood would take; from the abusive home, to the orphanage, to a family in the US, then back to the orphanage where she’d teach the other children English. Could she have known her baby would go from sometimes sleeping on the streets in Santa Cruz to regularly serving the homeless in Louisville?

Angie tutoring one of the home's newest kiddos for her English test today.

Heidi says we’ll get to show Angie's birth mom all of this in Heaven. But I pray she can sleep in peace tonight, wherever she may be, resting assured her beloved child is loved by sooo many. Overcoming so many obstacles, growing into a compassionate, educated, gorgeous, well-rounded, daughter of not just both of us, but of her Heavenly Father as well. To Him be the glory, for this miracle story only He could write. A page turner I can’t seem to put down, and can’t wait to see unfold….