All things grow with love, Part I and Part II

Preface to the Preface

I planned to post this on 12.31.13 on my sister’s birthday; I wanted my family to read this first…thus the delay…

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Preface

I don’t want to sound like a broken record, so adjust the volume as needed…

As a writer/artist and mother, I choose to openly express my vulnerabilities, in order to give transformation — the way God comes into our lives — permission to change my heart.

I guess I can honestly say that 2013 has been a tremendous year filled with new  challenges; in a nutshell,  my heart has been through the shredder;  if you gather and tape together all the pieces, I think this is what you would read….

Part I

I have recorded many instances where I have fought incredibly hard to be strong, in some instances (maybe all), I kept people an arm’s length away (okay, so maybe even hundreds of miles). This year, circumstances  forced me to confront my insecurities and fears;  I’ve learned more this year, than ever, that all things grow with love.

For years (well into adulthood), I couldn’t push through the victimization of my childhood, I always took pride in declaring that I was a survivor, but internally, I remained wrecked as a victim. Body paint made me a warrior, but my soul lost its ignition somewhere along the way. Loss homogenized itself in being lost, while attempting to turn the car around in more promising directions.

During therapy as a teen, I was told by my therapist, that it was up to me to break the cycle of abuse. For years, I never knew completely, what she meant, because I was caught up in blaming, rather than accepting the responsibility of taking ownership of my life. I basically designed a battleground with trenches, for my heart to hide while my soul searched for answers; I was completely immersed in muddied waters.

No matter what I achieved in my life, I kept returning emotionally, to the closet of my childhood; a safe haven for my wounded  heart; time and time again, my fears filled years with unnecessary tears until I  became camouflaged against the wall, my spirit sunken with insecurities; I was squeezed, dried and exfoliated with anxiety. Honestly, I have felt like a pile of rags, not even worthy of a rummage sale.

To overcome challenges, I  learned how to thrive within muddy waters. I think the Son has a lot to do with that!  Many times over, amazingly enough, at my own ground zero, I have felt the extraordinary generosity and compassion from people all around me, but the first time, I encountered growth, was in the embrace of my foster family, who loved me for me. They nurtured and provided me with a home, when I felt unlovable as a teenager.

I have learned to daily resign my fears and give my roots permission to become acquainted in the salutation of being entirely welcomed. Just as I was welcomed into a family 20 years ago. This is the lesson/gift I wish to pass on to my son….

All things grow with love . . .

Part II

Dear Family,

On Christmas Eve of this year, I presented the women in our family with a necklace, which symbolized much more, than just a family tree. With children (too excited over gift-giving and receiving) in the room, I could hardly speak, I attempted to make a formal announcement, explaining the symbolism of the gift I was giving. I but I could not literally speak all the words, I wished to speak, so, here they are . . .

. . . this year is a special year; it’s the 20th anniversary of an important day in my life. I wish to take this moment to celebrate a life-changing conversation that took place at a winter retreat held in Ripley, West Virginia; we sat around a 6ft table and you changed the course of my existence through your open invitation to join your family; your decision to love me, enabled the transformation of a fragile young girl into a strong woman. Nearly 21 years ago in 1993, you opened your hearts and invited me to become your daughter and sister.

During my personal struggles this past year, I have been reminded repeatedly, about your gift of family. My heart is filled with gratitude for the decision you made to love me, when my own biological family rejected me.  The circle of family is truly, never-ending, which has given us the awesome opportunity to grow in love. The tree has many branches, for we have grown both in love, and in numbers, including the arrival of five grandsons (Papa’s basketball team). Through all the seasons, for many years, no matter what, you have nurtured my faith to withstand all the stormy seasons of life (did you notice, that the leaves are still intact?) Again, my heart is filled with gratitude and I am thankful for the love that has grown between all of our hearts (especially between all the cousins) – I am so thankful to be a member of this family!

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I love you.
Kimberly (Jo)

Purposeful Beginnings (Via Family Tree)

ImageFYI: This post was inspired by National Adoption Month!

  • I am thankful for folks who choose adoption, especially my grandma and grandpa, who adopted my Mom.
  • I am thankful for my foster parents who didn’t adopt me legally, but who still call me their middle daughter, 20 years after they invited me to join their family.
  • I am thankful for my cousins (via my mother’s adoption). My cousins “adopted” my son and I; they love us, just as my grandmother loved me.

When I was in my graduate school program for Creative Arts Therapy (2004/05-ish), I was given an assignment to create a family genogram. I knew my family history, but I really didn’t know the “entire” story. To explore a genogram, is to look for patterns and make connections about all the different generations.

In April 2011, I wrote a poem (see below) about my family’s patterns of connection and disconnection. One of the connections that strengthens my spirit, is the fact that a woman, my grandmother (my mother’s adoptive mother) adopted my mother when my mom was four years old. My mother gave me up twice, both when I was a toddler and then again, when I was an adolescent. Prior to my son’s birth, several folks asked me if I was going to give up my son for adoption; I respect those women who make that choice, but for me ( I was 33) , I knew that I wanted my son and I decided to be a single parent. My son and I are connected to our larger family, which ranges from biological to foster to adoptive; the definition of family is most transparent through my son’s eyes; my son doesn’t understand the difference between foster, biological and adoptive, he just loves our family as our “family.”

Tonight, I asked my son what he wanted for his birthday this month; he didn’t ask for toys, he joyfully said, “MY COUSINS!”  He said them all by name (biological, foster and adoptive). This makes my heart smile; he teaches me that “love is blind, except, blind can see hope.” I am so thankful that he will teach future generations about my grandmother’s legacy of love!

COLANDER GIRLS

We are born with bowls-

not hearts- in our chest,

naturally,

we are able to receive and contain love,

enough to overflow

and fill our souls

until life’s consequences

or pure selfishness forms holes,

one at a time,

pressing pain

like pins and needles

through what was meant to protect us

from aching.

These bowls are passed down

from one generation to another,

from one mother to her daughter,

to another daughter,

and another.

My family bowl

has seemingly

been empty and repaired for years

the strongest women

have learned how to patch up the holes

placed there by my ancestors-

if the truth be known,

during the great depression

my great grandmother

gave birth to many children

she became a widow,

she was rescued by a man’s proposal

he gave her one condition,

she could only bring one child into the marriage.

This is how the story began,

with loss and more loss,

afterwards,

however,

my great-grandmother

had two more children,

one in 1925, my grandmother,

a beautiful girl.

She grew up

and patched her colander,

finally married,

but couldn’t bear children,

found it within her heart to love a child,

not born under her heart,

but in it.

She adopted my mother,

a beautiful girl in 1960

My mom inherited a patched up colander,

but love poured through her

as if she couldn’t feel anything at all-

her own biological mother

was addicted to drugs,

abandoned all of her children.

it’s a fact,

life’s consequences or pure selfishness forms holes,

one at a time,

pressing pain like pins

and needles

through what was meant to protect us

from aching.

In 1977,

my mother’s colander

was passed down to me,

a beautiful girl,

who was physically, verbally and sexually abused

by the men my mother invited into our lives;

she relinquished

her rights to me,

her only daughter;

so my mom’s own existence

could only be validated by

a marriage to a criminal;

I was abandoned,

but I was patched up

by the embrace

of a foster family-

I was invited to become

their middle daughter;

To be welcomed-

Meant not being lost anymore-

While discovering

My identity,

I learned to be more open than closed

It didn’t happen all at once-

to consciously break the cycle,

I attempted to prove failure

wasn’t an option;

for many years,

I successfully pushed away

every opportunity

to be intimately connected

with another,

I built up a resilient shield,

until I stopped caring and

allowed one man after another

into my life

who didn’t deserve

to be there at all.

It’s a fact,

life’s consequences or pure selfishness forms holes,

one at a time,

pressing pain

like pins and needles

through what was meant to protect us

from aching.

In November of 2011,

I became a single mother

and my son was born-

I will gave him

my patched up colander

pressing my love

as a permanent patch

of healing

to protect my child

from aching,

to prevent a 100 year cycle

from being interconnected

to further victimization

and ache;

through the written word,

hope will patch and restore

our family’s colander

for more purposeful beginnings,

to receive and contain love,

enough to overflow to future generations.

FYI: Learn more about National Adoption Month at http://www.davethomasfoundation.org/.