Quick Takes: The Cinquain Edition.

by Lenae on April 4, 2014

(1) On Orphan Hosting:
Their eyes
Smiling, hopeful
I wonder where they could
find a place to settle, finally
at home.*

(2) After my second son’s 6th birthday yesterday:
wreck me in a
hushed way. Life turns over
and over, they remind me with
bright eyes.

(3) Because it wouldn’t be an outing without it:
“I peed,”
Daughter tells me.
Of course, 10 miles from home
“Oh man, I really peed,” she says.
*Head smack*

(4) On being “done”:
breastfeeding or
expecting a baby:
In the mirror, I ponder her
She’s… new.

(5) Speaking of the baby:
In the
morning, he runs
into my arms, little,
dimpled hands wrapping ’round my neck

(6) He’s my rugged heart:
and random jokes:
He is laughter, my life
Always he makes me smile, keeps me

(7) And as for the other pieces of my heart:
Their plans
for the weekend
include Lego-building
and adventures in the backyard–

Linking up at Conversion Diary!

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Constant Surprises: Reaching Out.

by Lenae on March 20, 2014

Nothing has surprised me more since reaching adulthood than my passion as a mother.  I wasn’t one of those girls who daydreamed about being a parent someday, and it shocked me when quietly, overnight almost, I woke as a young newlywed with this small, beautiful dream to have a baby.  I was in the midst of what I’d previously believed to be my greatest goal: pursuing a successful military career.  And while my Air Force service is something of great pride for me to this day, it is these littles littering my house with their toys and laughter that keep me most occupied and inspired.


Really, the surprises just keep coming… I’ve come to expect it as part of the process.  Hours-long hiccup episodes, a 4-year-old who believes truly with every inch of his heroic heart that he IS Captain America, a sweet and sassy daughter after a string of adventurous boys… They surprise us with their antics, their complex, unique personalities, and of course, as most every parent will testify, how they challenge us to continually grow as individuals.


The largest twin surprise to date?  How absolutely freaking hard it is to be a parent, and how extraordinarily rewarding it is at the same time.

Throughout it all, we’ve shocked ourselves and many who know us as we keep venturing further out: More babies and moves across the world and back again.  Certainly as a 20-year-old, freshly married Airman First Class, I never imagined that within the next decade I’d birth five children, much less live in a country I’d never heard of until Ben came across the assignment listing.  Yet our military life seems to mirror in many ways the broader journey God has us on, at least for now: of constant movement, of times of rest sprinkled throughout times of challenge, like that muscle-burning hike after a languid nap beneath a shaded tree.

This summer we’ll be welcoming a pair of sisters from Eastern Europe into our home through a 5-week, Christian-based orphan hosting program called New Horizons For Children.  We initially heard of it when a good friend and her family hosted a sweet girl over the Christmas holiday last year.  Their story seems so much bigger than anything we can imagine for ourselves: an achingly gorgeous tale of, yes, a God-given surprise and gift.  The experience changes the host family as much as it provides a rare opportunity for these children to visit a new country and blossom in the the environment of a loving family.  Just as our own parenting experience keeps proving to us, we have heard from our friends and others who have walked this road that these kids will shake you up in the very best way… just another surprise inevitably behind the door when you reach out with trembling, unsure hands and pray to love as God would have you.  Even with a full house, even with full schedules, we believe we have more room in our hearts to show these sisters the comforting warmth of a stable family that loves them as they are, just as our Father in heaven loves us.


New Horizons is a hosting–not an adoption–program, though many families (or others who meet the children while they’re being hosted) go on to adopt afterward.  Our focus for now is to prepare our hearts and home for these girls and love them well while they’re here… remaining open to however He leads during and after our time together.  I’ll update soon with more information, but in the meantime, we’d deeply appreciate your prayers as we look ahead to this summer.

You can find out more about New Horizons For Children here.



Just across the way there was a large conference room.  Outside its entrance was taped a sign: “National Audubon Society meeting.”  My brain felt fine but my heart was racing wildly as I shifted my weight from foot to foot, absent-mindedly crumpling the papers in my hands.  In my distraction, I couldn’t remember quite what the Audubon Society is: …Is their business birds?  Animals?  Who cared?  Maybe I’d fold up this little speech and tuck it into my purse, hide it under my wallet and chapsticks.  I’d saunter into the National Something-Or-Other Society instead of the audition I’d signed up for.   Maybe there would be snacks!  All would be well and safe and maybe my hands would stop sweating.

This was the conundrum I found myself in a few weeks ago at a library in Baltimore.  The thread tying me to Listen To Your Mother begins with Adventures in Babywearing, a blog by Stephanie Precourt that I’ve been following since my own early days of blogging.  I remember her excitement and passion for the production, described on LTYM’s website as “a national series of original live readings” on the topic of motherhood.  Initially, I thought, Stephanie is a lot cooler than I even imagined!  And then, after the fact, I whispered quietly to myself, I don’t know if I could ever do something like that, even in a smallish, local setting.

Dreaming big can be hard to translate into actual, tangible actions.  Compare it to that complete freak-out at the door of the airplane when you realize you’re about jump into the air with only a parachute and some insanely cheerful instructor to save you.  Or that moment when you’re dilated to 7 cm and suddenly, the sciatic pain and perpetually full bladder of yesterday suddenly seem a lot–A LOT–more desirable than pushing a human being out of your body.

Azerbaijan was a fantastic idea until we were winding through its dark streets on the night we arrived.  All my exotic musings of it disappeared in flourishy, Disney-like swirls of smoke as the truth settled in: We’ve moved our family of 6 across the planet to a place most of our friends and family had never heard of and OH MY GOODNESS, WE NEED TO GO BACK HOME to the place of convenient stores and familiar everything and very few unknowns.

National Audubon Society, anyone?

But we made it.  The Disney smoke reliably swept away the early anxiety and we even double-downed on the comfort we came to feel as residents of Baku: We grew to love Azerbaijan and its people.

In the days before the LTYM audition, I was confiding in a friend about my nerves.  “I mean, I’m just not a brave person…” I typed into the chat box.  Oh, how swiftly the dots of an incoming response started flying!

“You mean, ‘not brave’ as in you didn’t just finish a 2-year tour overseas with five kids?” she wondered.

Right, right — that.  In the aftermath it doesn’t seem as brave; at some point my heart swelled big enough for the place that it completely engulfed any doubts.  Anything but affection is hard to imagine.  Yet if the proof is indeed in the translation–dreams to action–then the simple fact that I filled out that audition form screams volumes about new Lenae as opposed to old Lenae.

That isn’t to say I’m ready to go skydiving tomorrow.  I guess I just grew up a bit in Baku.  The fear of a nightmare unfolding gave way to a golden-drenched string of opportunities to love, learn, and solidify the inner confidence that mind-boggling risks are often what carry you to where God wants you to be.  And oftentimes, that thrashing journey from Point A to Point B demands sharing.

Thankfully I only had a few moments to contemplate snack-diving the National Audubon meeting.  The audition itself was a brief blur, nursed along by the wide smiles of Taya and the rest of the panel screening the pieces.

I refreshed the e-mail twice with the announcement that I’d made the cast for the Listen To Your Mother/Baltimore show.  Then I casually told my husband.  Then I screamed.  Then I jumped up and down.  #barfyexcited, I described to my fellow castmates a few days later (might as well let them know ahead of our first rehearsal what they’ll be dealing with, right?)

Barfy-excited, indeed — I made it!  …And I guess, I am brave.

You can find out more about
Listen To Your Mother and information on ticket sales here.

Can’t Stop.

by Lenae on February 20, 2014

Sometimes the realization comes in a sudden flood: Triggered by a birthday or a moment of deja vu, we remember them tinier, more innocent, all chirpy voices and dimpled limbs.

Sometimes it comes unexpectedly: Side by side photos become glossy-surfaced proof that time is unrelenting and we are part of an unstoppable process that’s been looping over and over upon itself since Time itself came to be.

Babies begin as dreams, surprises, shocks.  And then they’re here, warm and overwhelmingly new, vessels of hope and possibility, a future wrapped around your finger.  You master the swaddle wrap (or you don’t, because some of them like to be wild and free when they sleep) and you stock up on the preferred paci (or you don’t, because some turn up their noses at them).  And you ring in their first birthday at the height of emotion and celebration.

The babies learn to toddle, wobbly, curious.  They’re wee eaglets peering over the nest’s edge.  Eventually you’ll find them atop a counter and you’ve no idea how in the world they managed that feat, let alone ingest the stash of goodies they found their way into as well.  You wipe their mouths and dole out instant forgiveness wrapped in amusement.  They’ll curl into balls as you tickle-kiss behind their ears.

Then one day, they’ll be talking to you from the back seat.  They can read the road signs and ask you why you’re going to this store and not that one, and sometimes they’ll ask even harder questions about where their pet hamster went after he died or why their friend pushed them down that one time.  The elusive, frustrating swaddle wrap suddenly seems irresistibly desirable, simple; gone, now… folded into a stack of fleece and flannel at the bottom of a bin in the garage.

… This is where I am now, just a short way out from the shore, the tide beginning to get stronger, pushing at my ankles.  I lose balance sometimes, trip a little into a squat, as my babies splash ahead.  Their heads bob at my finger tips, the rush of Time mingling with their laughter.

one month back.

by Lenae on February 8, 2014

I went into a Michael‘s today.  It was a bit overwhelming.  I’ve slowly gotten over the fact that a commissary is now a few short miles from my house and has just about everything on God’s beautiful earth for us to consume, but Michael’s sent me into a spiraling nosedive.  Samuel gazed at me concernedly from his seat in the cart, occasionally taking breaks to make wild swipes when I wheeled too close to a shelf.

Aisles and aisles of foam wreaths and fake flowers and stickers and scrapbooks and yarn.  Just crazy, people.

And that’s where I’m at right now, just a few days shy of one month back in the U.S.  Really, the kids are the only ones handling the transition like studs.  I’m pretty sure their thought process is: “Yeah, yeah, yeah… This is all sooooo bittersweet.  TAKE ME TO CHICK-FIL-A AGAIN.”

But hey, it’s pretty easy to be cheerful (and demanding, apparently) when you’re sleeping on a fluffy mattress.  They’re the proud owners of fresh bunk beds and while they try to pretend they’re not vaulting off the top bed (the loud thuds aren’t give-aways at all, darlings), we’re sleeping in a grand, empty bedroom, camping style!  It’s all very romantic and such.

… This got grumpy quick, yeah?  No, we’re good, y’all.  For every moment when I’m like, “It’d be cool if I had that one casserole dish right now,” there are moments of turning onto our street at sunset, the row of housing silhouetted against a tree-lined, violet-magenta sky, and feeling like we are home.  I got caught outside during Retreat one evening and as I stood through its playing, my memory played a reel of the past: Retreats when I wore the uniform, and as a young mother, and now, still young but not very, with a revolution of life experience showing around my eyes but especially in my heart.