Meet Annet

Fantastic news! Our far-away family is back up to FIVE members once again! Before I tell you about the newest member, I do need to provide some back-story. I know it's long-winded, but there's a lot to tell.

Several books, documentaries, and websites have just happened to pop up in my life over the past few months (this is never a coincidence, I believe.) All of these things had something in common: they are about HIV/AIDS, often focusing on the crisis in Africa, in particular (though AIDS continues to be a huge problem in many countries around the world, while the prognosis here in the United States is a lot better than it used to be.) I highly recommend watching the documentary Angels in the Dust, which takes place in South Africa. A wonderful woman named Marion Cloete lives and works there, providing a safe place to stay for children who are orphaned by AIDS, whose parents have rejected them because they have been sexually assaulted and they may be infected, or children who are sick and would not receive proper care if they stayed at home, due to the prevalence of folk medicine in certain areas. Marion holds therapy sessions with these children, works to educate the community about the spread of HIV (which happens almost all the time from either assault or infidelity), visits the sick and dying and offers to take them to the hospital to receive proper treatment...the woman is amazing. She's a firecracker. I have never met her, and I love her. Seriously, the documentary was very moving and inspiring, and at times quite sad. I was particularly moved by the story of one little girl in the film, who was probably about 8 or 9 years old. She lived on site at this orphanage, for lack of a better term, and spoke of a time when she was small (as if she wasn't small already!) She was raped by a man in her home, who then threatened to kill her if she told anyone. It is my understanding (from the film) that one piece of medicinal folklore in the area is that the men have been told that taking a girl's innocence will protect them against this virus. We know, of course, that this is garbage, and is in fact contributing to the spread of HIV. To make matters worse, this girl's mother said she would kill her if she kept talking about the assault, calling her a liar. Later, the girl tells Marion she is ready to be tested for HIV, which may have been spread to her from this assault a few years before. Because her mother was still living, legally they could not do the test without her permission- and the mother didn't even believe the girl had been attacked in the first place! It's heartbreaking enough to think of these children, sick or orphaned from this awful disease. It brings the sadness to a whole new level to think of how many of them have lived horror stories like this little girl's.

After watching the documentary, and reading these books, and stumbling upon these websites while researching other things, I felt a very strong compulsion to help, somehow. One of the most familiar ways I know how to make an impact on a situation so far away from me is through child sponsorship. I spent quite a bit of time online one evening browsing Compassion's site. You can actually limit your search to children that live in HIV/AIDS affected areas, so that's what I started looking for. Uganda was definitely the country that came up most often in my search. I have had an interest in Uganda for quite some time, for a variety of reasons (novels I read as a preteen and teenager, my knowledge of the wildlife there, the fact that it's just across the lake from Tanzania...), and decided to choose a girl living in that area, in the hopes that we could make an impact on her life in such a way that she might be able to stay safe, or get the help she needed if she was already affected by this disease in some way. I found a little girl, 10 years old, living in Uganda. Her picture was marked by three symbols: the symbol for HIV/AIDS prone areas, the symbol for living in an area with a high rate of child abuse and exploitation, and the symbol showing she had been waiting for a sponsor for a long time- well over 200 days, in fact. I went downstairs and told my husband about her, and asked if he thought I could go ahead and commit to be her sponsor. I felt that this was a cost we could probably afford, but I wanted to be sure. He recommended we wait a day while we thought it over. I prayed for that girl that night, but I also realized something: if we could afford the extra cost of another traditional sponsorship, we really should be putting that money toward expanding our family here, as opposed to our far-away family. That money should be used either to pay down debt, or to go directly in the special savings account set up so we can one day bring home a child like the one I was hoping to sponsor. The next morning I got up and got on the computer...and found that this precious girl had found a sponsor. I wasn't sad, I was thankful! Thankful that after all this time waiting and waiting, someone had finally claimed her, had finally committed to help this child rise up out of poverty through Compassion International. I felt good about my decision.

Fast forward a few weeks to my conversation with a Compassion representative on the day I received final details about my Tae leaving the program in Thailand. Normally, sponsors are only allowed to have three correspondence sponsor kids- a limit I reached a little over a year ago. However, earlier this year, maybe in February, Compassion posted the exciting news online that they had 500 children in need of correspondence sponsors, and just this once, we could break the Rule of Three. Of course I called right away and got on the waiting list, and that's when Jayid joined our family. When Tae left the program, that left us at the technical limit of three correspondence kids again. The wonderful people at Compassion told me that although I had three kids, since Jayid joined the group as a "bonus", I could get put on the waiting list for another correspondence sponsorship (as a low priority, of course.) I never would have considered giving any answer other than an enthusiastic "YES, PLEASE."

And that brings us to today. I normally write to my kids every week or so. Because of some things that have been going on recently, I haven't really felt like writing to them. Part of it has to do with the fact that I didn't feel I could write a positive, happy letter. Any letter I sent would surely be a downer ("Another pet died. Oh, and by the way, I might be having surgery.") So I finally logged in to my account this morning, and saw that, although Tae's name finally disappeared from my account a little over a week ago, we were now back up to four correspondence sponsor kids. The newest member of our far-away family is named Annet. She is a beautiful girl, ten years old, and she lives in Uganda. Just saying that makes me feel like crying happy tears. God listens to our prayers. He knows how badly I want to have a connection with at least one child in that country, since going over there myself is not an option right now. And what are the odds that my newest sponsor child would be a girl? Girls are requested more often than boys. Since I was a low-priority on the waiting list, I didn't choose a girl over a boy. I didn't have that option, even if I wanted it! And I certainly never would have guessed that she would be ten years old, the same age as the little girl I was hoping to sponsor more than a month ago. God is good, all the time.

There is a hint of a smile on that precious face!

Quincy.

Quincy Jones passed away peacefully in her home September 17 at the age of 2 years and 5 months, after battling a long illness.
Quincy, born in Jeffersontown on April 15, 2010, was one of a litter of octuplets. She spent all but the first five weeks of her life living with her two adoptive parents, and her sister Monster. Always known for being outgoing and affectionate, Quincy spent much of her youth and adulthood climbing to surprising heights, and spending time where she was not actually supposed to be (in the couch, on the windowsill, up someone's pant leg.)
Quincy's proudest accomplishment was defeating the monster that so many Americans battle on a daily basis- obesity. Quincy struggled with obesity for many months, earning her the nickname "Big Fat Meanie", for her habit of pilfering the food of her sisters. Through a strict diet, though, she was able to get down to a healthy weight once again.
Though Quincy spent much of the last six weeks quite ill, she fought her way back from a stroke, partial blindness, and an inability to eat her regular food. In her final days she was allowed to break her diet and enjoy cookies, pizza, and peanut butter fudge.
Though she was frail in the time before her death, Quincy's family knows she would want to be remembered as the sweet, healthy rat she once was, who gave kisses and liked to have her belly rubbed. She will be greatly missed.

Baby Quincy, the day I got her. 

Having a bit of egg, as a treat

Riding around on my foot

Best buddies. Exploring the world together. 

"LET ME CLIMB YOUR HAND, DANG IT"

After she ate her noodle, she took Monster's noodle, too. 

Not supposed to be on the windowsill!

Baby Quincy hiding in her igloo

They used to have hammocks. Then they peed all over them and chewed them up. 

Taken a few weeks ago. I miss her so much.

Loaves and Fishes

I need to tell you about my awesome God.

My Bible study group has served dinner at this ministry called Scarlet Hope. We like them a lot. Basically, Scarlet Hope does outreach to strippers. That's the simplest way to put it. They own two big, connected houses in Crescent Hill, and they have Bible studies there, art therapy, they serve dinner at the house (and take dinner to the clubs), they have dorm rooms that will be available soon for the girls who leave their jobs and need a place to stay until they get on their feet, and they are almost finished with a commercial kitchen in the basement of one of the homes, so they can open a catering company as a transitional job for the girls who quit dancing. They do wonderful work- one club in the area even shut down when the owners gave their lives to Christ as a result of Scarlet Hope's work. They are awesome, and we love them.

Anyway, a few months ago, one of our Bible study members (my friend Blaire) mentioned that Scarlet Hope was doing a fundraising thing where they were trying to raise $150,000 in 100 days. We like to do service projects together, and we like Scarlet Hope, and it just so happened that my church was going to have this community event called Outdoor Market. They did it last year, too- local businesses, crafty people, and other folks could come set up a booth for a very small fee (used for advertising.) My group decided to set up a bake sale booth, right next to a booth where Blaire, a groomer, would do doggie nail trims for a donation to Scarlet Hope.

Somehow, I got put in charge of all this. I don't really know how it happened. I was the one who mentioned that my church would be hosting this event, and I definitely planned on making stuff for sale, but somehow, the bake sale became My Thing. And it was stressful, let me tell you. For one thing, we had no budget. Each of us was responsible for preparing and packaging various treats for sale, and we had some volunteers that would bring tables, a tent thing for shade, bottled water for sale, and several other things, but I got the supplies for posters. I decided on pricing, and made signs explaining how much everything cost. I wrote up fliers explaining why we were fundraising and who would get the money. I made a donation jar. I planned to make quite a few things for the sale, as well, purchasing the ingredients and disposable foil pans and baggies with shiny twist ties....it was stressful. At some point I became convinced that we would not have much food for sale. We had six hours to fill. We didn't want a ton of leftovers, but it would be embarrassing and counter-productive to only have enough goodies for sale that would last, say, 30 minutes. I wasn't really hearing much from my fellow Bible study members about what they were planning to bring, as far as food went. I told my mom last Tuesday evening, on our way to the last Bible study meeting we would have before the big event, that I was really worried about how things were going to go, and "at this point, I'm praying for a 'loaves and fishes' moment." I was hoping that the tiny amount of food I was expecting to have for sale would miraculously multiply and we would be able to clear a hundred dollars for Scarlet Hope.

In the days before the bake sale, I ran into a lot of issues with the food I was planning to make. My cobblers bubbled over in the oven, and I had to pull them out before they were done so the drippy bits wouldn't catch fire.  I learned that even though I prepared 50 sticks worth of marshmallow pops, a bag of chocolate chips will only cover about 7 of them- and chocolate chips are expensive. I think I made a dozen total. The brownies I made were very fudgy and couldn't be pulled from the pan in any manner that could be called attractive. About the only thing that went right was the fudge. Three pans of peanut butter fudge. But I kept praying for my "loaves and fishes."

The morning of the bake sale arrived. We didn't have many people to help out, since most of our volunteers could just stick around for the first few hours, and two people were sick and went home. I injured my finger on a folding chair. The weather was nice, but it was windy and blew all my fliers around at one point. But we had three tables full of food. A huge basket of cookies. A multitude of every kind of "krispie" treat imaginable. A big tray of mini-loaves of yummy breads. Pretty plates of cookies, wrapped up with cellophane and ribbon. Baggies upon baggies upon baggies of other little treats, like puppy chow and pretzels with Rolo's candy melted in the middle. I can't even remember the rest. We had so much. We sold a lot, and at the end of the day, had quite a few leftovers. We were able to make more sales by discounting what we had left, and then, at the very end, sent the pastor off with a tray of treats to share with the folks in the church office. Loaves and fishes! Loaves and fishes!

The best part, though, was counting the money that we brought in for Scarlet Hope. There are only a few weeks left in their fundraising drive, and they have quite a ways to go to reach their goal. This morning I went to the bank and deposited the money we brought in from the bake sale and the nail trims. The grand total was $458.10- well over what I thought we could possibly bring in. God's provision more than exceeded our expectations. I am so thankful for all the hard work that everyone did in preparation for this past weekend, and I'm thankful for those who bought our treats and just flat out made donations to our cause. I am thankful that my God is faithful. At the end of the day Saturday, I felt like he was telling me "why do you worry? I've got everything under control." I'll try to keep that in mind the next time I am feeling overwhelmed or like my life is spinning out of control.

"And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:19

"I wish you joy and happiness"

How do you say goodbye to a member of your family that you've never met?

On Tuesday, I logged into my Compassion account to send a quick response letter to one of my kids (Said), since I received a letter from him that morning. When I logged in, I noticed that Tae's picture was missing from my account- his info was still there, but there was a weird, grey avatar where his picture should have been. I thought it was a little weird, but went ahead and wrote my letter and went about my day.

A few hours later, I decided to post on Compassion's facebook page, asking if anyone else had experienced that anomaly. One person wrote back right away and said that it was probably just a glitch, and again, I tried to go about my day. Then I checked facebook on my phone on the way to Bible study, and saw that two more people had commented on my post. One of these people was the author of a very popular blog written by a Compassion advocate- the other one, I don't know who they are. But they both said I should call Compassion and check on things, as it sounded like Tae was no longer in the program. So that's what I did. And just as we were pulling into a parking spot at church, the nice lady on the other end of the line told me that a note had been added to my account that morning saying Tae was no longer participating in the child development program, and they should have more info in a few days.

Well, I was devastated. This weekend was hard enough already. Friday we lost Pig. Saturday and Sunday I got to spend time with family, which was great, but a very large portion of the hours-long conversations that took place revolved around babies: who's having babies, who's going to start having babies soon, who already has a baby, etc. I do not expect to be able to avoid listening to or participating in all conversation revolving around children until I have my own. That's stupid. I love kids. And I love my family. But for whatever reason, on Saturday, it just felt like too much. And then the same thing happened on Sunday. Monday was a nice break, but then, to find out that I would no longer be able to communicate with this boy who has become a true part of my family....it's heartbreaking. And hard to cope with.

I finally did hear from Compassion today. I say "finally" like I've been waiting for ages and ages- really it's been less than 48 hours. Anyway, I learned that Tae, who was spending the summer away from home working on a construction job with his dad, had decided to stay in the city and work, and that's why he dropped out of the program. It's sad for me, but the lady I spoke to said that he is actually earning "good wages", which is fantastic because the whole reason he was able to participate in the program in the first place was due to his living in extreme poverty. If Tae can start work now (which still is kind of bad since he's 14) and practice good spending and saving habits, maybe he can break out from this poverty and be able to provide a good life for his future family. This is really a blessing. But it's also incredibly sad. I will likely never hear from him again. I'm sure we will never meet, at least in this life. Compassion said I can send him one last letter, and they will be able to get it to him through their contacts at the child development center he was going to when he was living with his grandpa. That makes me feel better. I feel a tremendous amount of pressure regarding this letter. How am I supposed to say goodbye? I don't think I have room on my piece of paper to say all the things I want to tell him- how I thank God every day for him, how I pray for him and his family, how I pray for his schooling, and his future, and his health. How I will worry each time I hear about flooding or storms in Thailand for the rest of my life. How I would love to go to the dinosaur museum near where he lives, or attend the Songkran festival, both of which he has written about in his letters. I will miss his enthusiasm for sharing his life with me. When I wrote to him to tell him about my exciting first experience with Thai cuisine, he wanted to know EVERYTHING, from the name of the restaurant to whether or not I had tried the papaya salad, which he was certain they served, because apparently it's a big deal in Thailand. Tae's letters have always been detailed, inquisitive and thoughtful, and I will miss him terribly.


I did learn today that Compassion will allow me to be put on the waiting list to receive another correspondence sponsorship, for which I am extremely grateful (technically, I have the maximum number of correspondence sponsor kids.) I look forward to continuing to expand our "far-away family" in this way, but no one will ever take Tae's place.

Obits

Guinea "Snickers" Pig of Louisville passed away August 31, 2012, at the age of probably 4-ish.

Originally from the Okolona neighborhood, Pig moved to the Fern Creek area in her youth, where she shared an apartment with a charming pair of newlyweds. Following a recent move to neighboring Highview, she retired from her long and successful career as a toilet paper roll chewer. She was a lifelong ve

getarian and a member of the United Church of Weeeeeeeee.

Pig is survived by her caretakers Brandon and Jessi Jones, as well as four adopted sisters: Quincy, Monster, Glitter and Cupcake. She will be especially missed by Glitter, who really liked to get in her cage for some reason.

Memorials may be made to the "Buy Brandon and Jessi a pair of baby peegs to assuage the anguish of their bereavement" fund.

One of the two inevitabilities of life (hint: it's not "taxes")

I can't handle seeing animals in pain. It's not like I'm cold toward people, necessarily, but animals really get to me sometimes. If we watch a kid's movie with anthropomorphized animals in it, and said animals get sad, I usually cry. I just can't stand it. It's something that is very difficult for me to deal with.

My Quincy is dying. It sucks to say it, but it's true. She isn't sick, really. She isn't coughing or wheezing. But she has been slowing down dramatically over the past few days. The rat I once called "big fat meanie" for stealing the food of her sisters is losing weight, and not really eating. We thought she might have had pain in her little hands and feet, because she would pick up a piece of food, hold it for a moment or two, and end up dropping it. She is staying on the ground floor of her cage, too. But it's more than just her extremities. She walks funny, and has been acting confused. This morning I noticed that one of her eyes has turned cloudy and white- and it wasn't like that yesterday. I have a feeling that she can't see very well out of the other one, either, judging by the way she has bumped into things. I got her to drink a little with an eye dropper earlier this afternoon because I realized I haven't seen her drink anything in a few days. She has been working on the same piece of dried pineapple all morning, taking imperceptibly tiny bites. I don't think she is in pain, but she is just fading away. The whole thing is very sad, and very hard for me to deal with. I have never been "the grown up" when a pet has passed away. Earlier this year my family had to put our dog Ivan to sleep. But Ivan has always been my mom's dog, and I hadn't lived in the same house with him for over two years. Quincy can't be put to sleep because no vets around here deal with that sort of thing when it comes to small animals. I have actually only found two vets in the whole city that would even consider seeing her when she was a baby and I thought she had a respiratory infection (I was wrong.) So we are basically playing the worst kind of waiting game.

My dear husband, who loves animals so much and has playtime with our pets every night, tried, I guess, to offer me some words of comfort a few minutes ago when I was telling him how emotionally drained I was feeling these days (in addition to being in the process of losing Quincy, I also had some car trouble this weekend- stressful enough- that ended up draining our bank account, costing twice as much as originally estimated, and we have bills due next week. But I digress.) He said "well, they don't live forever." Yes, thank you, I know that. I can't expect anyone, pets or people, to live forever. But it's hard when my pets still seem so young to me. It's hard seeing a creature I care about changing so much in a matter of a few days- changing for the worse. It's hard because there's nothing I can really do for her. And it's hard because no matter who you are and who is dying, you can never really be prepared- mentally, emotionally- for death. Even if you have a loved one who has been sick or in an accident, there is always a tiny voice in your head that hopes "maybe things will get better. Maybe this isn't the end." Life would be easier if we knew when we, or our loved ones, or our pets, were going to die. I keep thinking of a quote from an episode of the Golden Girls-- "There shouldn't be heart attacks, or cancer, or anything like that. There should just be a certain age where you have to turn your life in, like a library book." Maybe if we knew when our pets' due dates were, it would make it easier when it's time to turn them in. I don't know. I'm sad and I'm rambling.

I'm fairly confident that things are not going to get better with my Quincy. I am sure that there is not going to be a miraculous turnaround here. Which means things are going to get worse- for her, physically, and for me, emotionally. We are certainly in for an interesting week. If you would remember us when saying your prayers, I would certainly appreciate it.

Little baby Quincy, the day after she came to live with us (1 month old)

I sent this picture in to a cute animal website, and Q got featured on there! She got 73 thumbs up.  :)

Working on the "edible log" the rats destroyed in one week. It was probably meant to last much 

longer than that. 

Quincy and Monster used to have a hammock. Then we had to get another hammock because they would fight over who got to stay in the hammock. Even with two hammocks, sometimes they both snuggled up in one. The hammocks kind of fell apart after a while. 

Introducing Glitter to Quincy. Quincy kind of looks like Glitter and Cupcake's momma. So they flipped out when they saw her. Quincy was horrified. This is our size comparison between big fat Quincy (before she went on a diet) and little bitty Glitter (who is still smaller than her sissy, Cupcake)

Quincy, climbing on her cage while the babies are inside exploring. Quincy and Monster HATED it when the babies got to visit their cage. She is waiting for one of them to come close enough for her to punch, in this picture. I'm not kidding. She bopped them all the time. Monster hissed a lot and got so worked up she was bouncing around like hot popcorn. But then, after a few weeks, we cleaned the cage, everyone moved in together, and it was all fine and dandy. 

Quincy today. I took this picture this morning. She is resting a little piece of pineapple on top of her paws because she can't hold onto it very well. I'm sure that there is plenty of pineapple in heaven. And cheese and deli turkey and rotini and chocolate chips and everything else she likes to eat. 

the clutter conundrum

I have many thoughts swirling around in my head. I will try to relay them as coherently as possible. Bear with me.

When Brandon and I bought our house in December and packed up our apartment, our whole living/dining area was full of boxes. Boxes upon boxes. It was incredible how many boxes we had, for two reasons: the first being that we are just two people, and the second being that we are what one could call "poor". We are above the poverty line, but we didn't have much when we got married, and we didn't think we had much more by the time we moved (almost two years to the day into our marriage.) So seeing all those boxes full of our stuff was quite interesting- for me, anyway.

On moving day, Brandon's family and my grandparents and uncle came to our apartment and loaded up "the truck" and an SUV with our stuff. And the trunk of a car. And we all headed over to the new house. I stayed at the house unpacking with my mother in law while everyone else went back for more stuff. And then there was another trip. And yet another. After the third or fourth trip (I lost track), everyone started taking things out of the boxes that I had yet to unpack. They needed the boxes- because there was more stuff. I think there were two more trips like this!

Now we are in our new home. We have gained a few hundred square feet, plus a garage. We have two stories instead of one, a larger bedroom closet and we've gained another spare bedroom. And there is stuff everywhere. Now, if you were to walk into my house and take a look around, you wouldn't think "clutter!" The floors are clear (exception: my one spare room, but I'll get to that in a minute.) There aren't really piles of stuff on all the flat surfaces. But if you open up the closet in "The Blue Room" (where the computer and the pets are), you'll see that it is full. Granted, it is a very small closet, because of the way the ceiling is sloped. But it is full nonetheless. The upstairs hall closet (another oddly shaped one) is full. The closet in "The Purple Room" (where my crafting supplies, our books, and other random things are kept) is full, as well. The shelves in our bedroom closet are packed (they could be better designed) and the kitchen cabinets are full. The whole back wall of our one-car garage is lined with plastic totes holding things, our luggage, etc. I know that with better organizational devices (racks, shelves, and the like) it would feel like less stuff. But the amount of stuff remains unchanged.

Since we moved in, I have often thought about how we will consolidate the things in both of our spare bedrooms to make room for a child or two. There is no question about it, some of our stuff will have to go. And I have been slowly working on that (more in my head than anything else.) This weekend I was hit with a new sense of urgency to downsize our life- or at least, the "stuff" in it.

I just returned from a trip (it really can't be called a vacation, because that would imply that everyone had a good time) and on that trip I read Radical by David Platt. The book is about a lot of things. It's Christian non-fiction, for one. If I were to describe the book in one sentence, I would say that it's about the idea that there should be more important things to a Christian than pursuing the "American Dream." And what is the American Dream? Well, I'm pretty sure it involves a lot of stuff. A car for everyone in the family. New TVs whenever a more exciting model comes out. Spending so much on clothes we never wear and food we throw away. Dropping money on $6 coffee drinks that are gone in like 3 seconds (I used to be REALLY bad about that one.) And the list goes on and on. The book was full of anecdotes and little stories, and one of them that really struck me was a retelling of a diary entry, I guess, from John Wesley. Wesley had just got a new apartment wherever he was, and spent some money on pictures to decorate his walls. Then he puts them up in the apartment and feels very guilty later when he notices the maid (or someone like that) is shivering in the winter cold because she doesn't have a warm coat. Wesley is compelled to give her money to buy one, but guess what- he spent his money on pictures. For the wall. There is nothing wrong with having nice things, but sometimes our priorities can be soooooooooo messed up. We get takeout instead of cooking at home, and there are a billion people in the world who do not have enough to eat. We throw birthday parties for one year olds who will never remember the occasion and will lose interest in 90% of the hundreds of dollars of gifts within a day or two, and there are more than 20,000 children all over the world who die DAILY from starvation or preventable disease- disease like diarrhea from unclean water, which we would just knock out with an Imodium from the medicine cabinet (swallowed with a glass of clean water from the tap, naturally.) How much do those cost, anyway? Pennies! I am definitely not saying we shouldn't hang pictures on our walls, or that we shouldn't order a pizza every now and then, or that we shouldn't have birthday parties for little kids. I am saying that we have things pretty nice over here in America. The poorest of our nation are still pretty rich compared to much of the world. And we are turning a blind eye to that. As Christians, we have a duty- a command- to care for others. And we are doing a crappy job.

As I was finishing up the book, my mind was already flitting around, taking mental inventory of my home a few hundred miles away. I was thinking of all the stuff we have- some of which we never ever use, and could either be given away to someone who needs it, or sold to pay down our debt, which would in turn free up more of our income for helping others.  Everyone who reads this knows about my desire to be a mom and our hope to open our home to children who need a mom and a dad. The prospect of international adoption is on hold for now, and while financial reasons didn't really factor into our benching of that idea, the reality is that currently, that method of reaching parenthood is out of our reach financially, anyway. One thing we are strongly considering at this point is adoption from the foster system, which is much more attainable money-wise (and that would not be the reason we would go with that option.) But we'd still need to furnish that spare bedroom, and be prepared to educate our kids (either private school or homeschooling) and take care of them well. And we're not ready for that yet, because of debt. We can't sponsor another child through our beloved Compassion International because to be honest, we could not always guarantee that we'd have that extra $38 a month. I'd love to be able to immediately head to the Babies R Us website and order necessities when A Woman's Choice posts an urgent need on their facebook page. I'd love to be able to buy school supplies for the collection at church. I'd love it if I could buy all the marked-down kids and teens books I find at Half Price Books and send them to Maryhurst (their little library is just so sad.) And a billion other things. We can't do nearly as much in following our Savior's commands to care for those who are in need as we want to, and it's because of debt. And lame debt at that. We don't have credit cards or anything. We don't spend our money stupidly. It's this crazy student loan debt that is bogging us down. And for what? Brandon can't get a job in his  field and I didn't even get my degree (and won't for the forseeable future). But I digress.

I think I was prompted to start this post (over an hour ago...) because this evening, on a whim, I decided to straighten the drawers of my husband's dresser. I do the laundry in our house (he washes the towels, though) and fold it and put it away. Brandon's dresser has five drawers. I only ever open three of them, because that's where all his clothes go. As I was refolding and organizing this evening, I came up with entire piles of things I didn't even know he owned. We've been together for six years. There is a whole drawer (#4) of shirts that I have literally never seen before. Never! And I didn't even get to the fifth drawer. A few things could be sold at the consignment shop, but most of it would be a great donation to Goodwill. Clean clothes in immaculate shape for someone who has fallen on hard times and maybe can't afford to shop anywhere else. I came up with a pretty decent stack of things from a drawer that he actually uses: old shirts from church events, freshman orientation at college, gifts people bought him that he removed the tags from but never wore, for whatever reason. I sorted things out into a few different piles: "things I've seen you wear once or twice but I don't think you really care about", "things I have seen in this drawer but never on you", "things I didn't know existed and you would never in a million billion years wear." When I called him over to come look at my handiwork, he got irritated with me and told me to put everything back. "I already went through my clothes", he said. Yes, this is truth. He got rid of an undershirt that looked like it had been dragged repeatedly over a cheese grater, and three pairs of (size small!) basketball shorts that had been stretched out and were now too baggy for him (it's disgusting, really.) Big deal. I certainly don't want him to feel pressured to give up things he cares about or that might be of use to him. And I am not trying to compare the amount of things he's willing to part with to what I am planning to get rid of. But I am frustrated because in some ways, we have much to give. When we get to heaven, do you think God will ever tell anyone "you gave too much to those in need"? I think it's about as likely as Him saying "I'm really glad you kept all those old shirts to yourself."

I have had a lot on my mind recently, and I'm not entirely sure that this post made much sense (especially considering I wrote it over the course of an hour or so, with many breaks.) But I felt the need to share some of the things that have been brought to my attention lately. And if you haven't already read Radical, I highly recommend that you do. I will definitely continue on my quest to purge our house of some of this "stuff", and I will let you know how that goes. I'm looking forward to taking action against clutter because I want to do good, and not just because someone is fussing at me to do so. : )