Sunday school ended and we gathered the children to head back to the church to take part in the remainder of the service. Church is touch and go for us. Sitting in one place for any amount of time is not our strength (neither is whispering!), but we are blessed with a very loving church family who seem to understand – or at least ignore – our children’s unorthodox ways of “worshiping.” As we made our way to the church from the parish hall, my son (many steps ahead) made a beeline for the rock wall and began running up and down it with great abandon. Shuttling the others into the church, I went over to invite him to join me in the church. He informed me that Dad said he could stay out there. (Truth telling – also not our strength…)

After some time walking around with him, he finally agreed to come inside with me. As I settled into the pew, he headed to the back of the church to grab some paper and colored pencils. I was grateful he chose a calm activity to keep him occupied. Several minutes later I glanced down to see what he was drawing. But he was not drawing, he was actually writing – a minor miracle given that any request for him to write is typically met with flailing body parts, steam coming out of his ears, daggers shooting out of his eyes, and slight foaming at the mouth. Then I read what he was writing…God will you forgive me for all I’ve done. I’m trying so hard to be who you want me to be. I wish I could fix it.

<Insert ugly cry and melting heart>

He knows. He knows that sometimes his behavior is unacceptable, and hear this – he DOESN’T WANT IT TO BE. Sometimes, given what he has experienced and given this point in his development, he just really CANNOT control it. I know people who see us in public spaces may have a hard time believing this, and trust me, I understand the doubt! My husband and I spend the majority of our day playing a little game we like to call “Can He Help it or Not.” (If this were an Olympic event I am convinced that the training we have endured would secure us a medal!) The thing is this kid is bright and insightful and a deeper thinker than most 40 year-olds I know…when he is regulated. But when he is triggered by a memory, a smell, a sound, or when his anxiety kicks in, his dinosaur brain takes over and logic, knowledge, control have effectively left the building.

That morning in Sunday School we had read the story of Jesus and Levi. Jesus asks Levi, a tax collector despised by society, to come follow him. Jesus is not looking for those who are righteous, but for those who are imperfect. We encouraged the children to think of someone in school or in their neighborhood who was often left out and to write them a card inviting them into relationship through a play date or sitting together at lunch. My son, who is home schooled (a discussion for another post) and struggles to make friends was stumped by this assignment. He spent the entire class cutting paper into tiny little pieces. Shortly afterwards, back in church, he penned the prayer. Did he see himself in Levi, the one no one wants to be around? A “bad” kid? Unfortunately that is his interpretation of the messages he often receives from others in public spaces. It breaks my heart, and I just want to throw this paper in their faces…”See?! See?! He is trying! He doesn’t want to annoy you or to insult your vision of how children should behave. He is asking God for help, and HE IS TRYING!”

Then it struck me…this is my prayer too. I am trying so hard to be the person God wants me to be. I am trying to remain patient as I deal with tantrums that spring from seemingly nowhere. I am trying to hold on to all of the beautiful moments that are filled with peace and laughter and not forget them during those dark days. I am trying to teach my children coping skills and to model for them how to effectively handle their emotions. I am trying to live in the moment and to not worry about what today’s behavior might mean for the people my children are destined to become. I am voraciously reading about all of their multiple diagnoses in order to find ways to best support them without losing faith. I wish I could fix it. God, please forgive me…I am trying.

After letting me read the prayer, my son folded it up and hid it in the pew. He wanted to leave it “for God to read.” (Side note: To anyone who knows us, the note is still there <wink, wink>. His mother did not remove it when he wasn’t looking to save it for herself because she knows God can read it wherever it is. And she certainly didn’t blog about it…)

A child born to another woman calls me mom. The depth of the tragedy and the magnitude of the privilege are not lost on me.     

–Jody Landers

Hi! Thank you so much for visiting my blog! I am a professor of education, a farmer, a sister, a daughter, an aunt, a wife, and a mother of 2 amazing children adopted through foster care. I hope that this blog becomes a place where you can learn, connect, laugh, and cry with me as I share the joys, the struggles, and the hopes of navigating this life.

What exactly is the beginning? Is it when I was in elementary school and loved to play “house,” or in high school when I spent at least one night a weekend babysitting, or when I went off to college and just knew that my calling was to be an elementary school teacher, or during college when I met my future husband and worried that I was not worthy of his romanticism, or eight years later when I finally said yes and married him, or two years after that when I cried every time the pregnancy test was negative, or two years after that when IVF was unsuccessful and I felt like a failure for not wanting to go through that again, or a year later when we went through marriage counseling and I tried to come to terms with never being a mother, or five years after that when we started the training to become foster parents, or one year later when we had our first foster placement, or one and a half years later when we adopted our first child, or six months later when we adopted our second child, or a year later when we realized that parenting these children would be more complicated than we thought…

Life is never what we imagine it to be. And yet it manages to be everything we need. I might argue that I don’t “need” the daily struggles of parenting these cherubs, but God clearly knows more than I do. And I clearly still have a lot more to learn about love and life.

When I married Rob, I knew I was marrying into the “Apple Dynasty” – five generations before us had farmed this land, and we were expected to keep the “pick-ur-own” tradition going. Of course, I thought this would be our responsibility as we neared retirement from our own careers…but life has a funny way of taking your meticulously laid out plans, giving them the middle finger, and throwing you a curve ball that you have no choice but to catch. And so…we are (part-time) farmers with full-time careers outside of farming, who are responsible for two children with special needs, two dogs who love to lick and hate to listen, a few sweet but senseless chickens, two bossy ducks, two donkeys who may or may not epitomize the definition of “asses,” one one-eyed pony, and a handful of barn cats with serious “tude.”

Being a Stribling – while wrought with responsibility – means being part of a village…thank God! This village is full of love…and full of song. Before every family meal we sing the “Stribling Grace,” which is really just the Johnny Appleseed song…”Oh, the Lord is good to me. And so I thank the Lord, for giving me the things I need, the sun and the rain and the apple seed. The Lord is good to me!” Hence the name of this blog…The Sun, The Rain, and The Appleseed. It also reflects the amazing bright moments our children bring to our lives, the challenges that often make us cry, and the hope we have for sowing the seeds of grace, love, and faith in the journey.

Thanks for following along on the journey with us. We hope you find comfort, laughter, knowledge, camaraderie, and hope along the way!