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Lois Flowers

Lois Flowers

When Someone You Love is Infertile (and a Giveaway)

by Lois Flowers December 1, 2015
by Lois Flowers

Holidays in the wilderness are tough, no matter the struggle. But the desert of infertility presents particular challenges because so many of the festive celebrations and cozy traditions revolve around children. I’m not there now, but I remember all too well how the ache deepens at this time of year. If you know of someone who is walking this lonely road, this post is for you. 

coffee cups

You may never have thought of this before, but people who deal with infertility often feel like misfits in a society that is so oriented around children. This is especially true in the church, where motherhood is considered to be one of life’s most noble callings.

Take it from someone who knows: Your infertile friend doesn’t want you to feel sorry for her, but she does want you to care.

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December 1, 2015 24 comments
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Finding Blessings Tucked Between Pages of Scripture

by Lois Flowers November 24, 2015
by Lois Flowers

When it comes to Bible management, there are two extremes. There are people who come home from church on Sunday and immediately remove every scrap of paper from their Bibles, and there are those who keep every single bulletin, flyer and inspirational bookmark they’ve ever owned stuffed between the pages of their Bibles.

(I know this spectrum exists because I am married to one of those first people, and I’m pretty sure it’s a scientific fact that every extreme must have an opposite extreme, thus the second group.)

Several weeks ago, author Jennifer Dukes Lee posted something on her blog that got me thinking about this.

“For years,” she wrote, “I have kept a little slip of paper tucked between the pages of my Bible. It says, ‘Keep reading. It’s not the end of the book.’ ”

I always love a good quote, and the one Jennifer shared is a keeper, for sure. But that particular day, her words called to mind the things that I keep tucked between the pages of my own Bible.

In case you were wondering, I fall somewhere in the middle of the spectrum I described above. Right now, for example, my bible holds a ticket for our upcoming Christmas Tea and an Operation Christmas Child bookmark, along with a dog-eared envelope full of little notes and pictures my daughters have given me over the years (thoughtfully organized by one of those very girls).

The ticket and bookmark will be culled after a few weeks, while the envelope will remain until it completely falls apart. But as special as its contents are, there are a couple of other items in my Bible that have been there much longer and are much more meaningful to me.

One little piece of paper contains the lyrics to a worship song we used to sing at our church in Northwest Arkansas back when we were waiting to adopt Molly. We knew we would be getting a daughter from China, but before we received our adoption referral, we had no idea who she was or exactly where she was.

The message of the song “He Knows My Name” sustained us during those days of wondering. We knew the little girl who would become our second daughter had already been born, and it gave us great comfort to remember that God not only knew her name, but was watching over her until we were able to come for her.

Every time I flip past those lyrics, I’m vaulted back to that season in God’s waiting room. Yes, there were tears that fell, just as the song says, and I will never forget them. But even as my eyes get misty once again, my heart overflows with gratitude at the way He so graciously answered our prayers for our sweet Molly.

The second item that will never leave the pages of my Bible is a tiny zip-lock baggie, about an inch square, that contains three actual mustard seeds. These little baggies were handed out at the same church, probably on a Sunday when the message had something to do with faith.

In my Bible, though, this little packet is not between the pages of Matthew’s gospel, where Jesus talks about moving mountains with faith the size of mustard seeds. It’s stuck in the fold of Lamentations 3, a passage I held close during another season of waiting when my trust sometimes wavered but God’s faithfulness did not:

“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.’ The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.” (Lamentations 3:22-26)

I cannot look at those seeds, in that specific spot in my Bible, without remembering. How God comforted us through three years of infertility. How He carried us as we waited almost two more years to adopt Lilly. How He went before us to China and watched over both of the daughters He had chosen for our family since before time began. How He’s been with us every day since.

Through ups and downs, change and stress, turmoil and joy—He’s always constant, always loving, always faithful.

That’s what’s in my Bible—and in my heart—this week of Thanksgiving.

What’s in yours?

♥ Lois

November 24, 2015 16 comments
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When Bad Nights Inspire Warm Memories

by Lois Flowers November 17, 2015
by Lois Flowers

Little Molly was sick, but not enough to warrant ER-in-the-middle-of-the-night concern. At least we didn’t think so at the time. Her cough was thick and her breathing quick, but not so fast as to be alarmed.

bench with pillows

As the hours passed, her symptoms worsened. Had it been daytime, I would have taken her to the pediatrician, or at least called the office for advice from the nurse. But it was late, and at that point in our parenting journey, we had no experience with after-hours clinics.

When her fever hit 103, though, I called our insurance company’s emergency nursing hotline. If her fever goes above 104, take her to the ER, the nurse calmly told me.

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November 17, 2015 16 comments
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What Not to Say to Adoptive Parents

by Lois Flowers November 10, 2015
by Lois Flowers

Lois and Girls by old car at zooWhen I see someone walking through a dark valley or trudging through a long wilderness, I want to reach out, but I’m often at a loss for what to do.

That’s why I find articles featuring what I like to call “from-the-trenches” guidance to be so helpful. What better way to learn—to truly understand—than from someone who’s been there and knows first hand what it’s like?

Tricia Lott Williford, a widow with two young sons, wrote a column of this type titled “4 Ways to Offer Help to Someone in Crisis,” in which she listed questions and statements that do not help, each paired with words that do.

This article deals primarily with how to encourage people in the midst of loss and grief. But there are other, less urgent, situations when a bit of understanding also would be helpful. Such as when speaking to the parents of adopted children—about those children, in front of those children.

First off, as the adoptive mom of two, let me say this. People are curious, yes, but most also are genuinely interested. I get that, and I love it. Randy and I wouldn’t have adopted children from China if we weren’t open to comments and questions about the process and our family.

I enjoy talking to people who’ve either adopted from Asia themselves or who have friends or relatives with children from China (or anywhere else). It’s an instant common bond. Granted, I don’t automatically speak to every Caucasian woman with an Asian-looking child like I might have done before we got Lilly and Molly. But if a conversation happens, it’s fine with me.

That said, there are a few comments and phrases people sometimes use when discussing adoption and adoptive parents that make me cringe just a bit. I don’t take personal offense to them because they are normally uttered sincerely, with no idea of the agitation or even hurt they might incur.

But in the interest of education, realizing that insensitive comments often are solely due to a lack of personal experience, here is my own version of what not to say to an adoptive parent (when you want to say something).

1. Avoid the terms “real mom” and “real dad.“

If a person is a parent, he or she is a real parent, no matter if that title was achieved through nine months of pregnancy or a huge pile of paperwork and years of waiting.

I have a feeling step- and foster parents also would appreciate it if the word “real” was never used as an adjective to describe a parent. The word “biological” works much better.

2. Don’t ask, “Are they sisters?”

If I saw a blond lady at the grocery store with several little blond girls in and around her shopping cart, I wouldn’t dream of saying, “Ma’am, your girls are so cute! Are they sisters?” And yet, more than a few times people have asked me that very question, in full earshot of my two daughters.

What they are wondering, of course, is whether or not my daughters are biological siblings. I know that. The girls know that. But it’s still a question that gets my hackles up, every time.

My daughters came from different parts of China, three years apart. So no, they are not biologically related. But, for now and eternity, they are as much sisters as the little blond kids in the shopping cart.

I understand that people wonder about this. And unlike Randy, who simply answers “yes” and goes about his business, I don’t mind delving into the details a little more. But, if you are inclined to ask an adoptive parent about this issue, a more appropriate question is, “Are your children biological siblings?”

3. Eliminate the phrase, “children of her own” or “children of their own.”

I’ll be honest. With this one, we start to veer dangerously close to sensitive territory. And what makes it even worse is that I have actually caught myself using this phrase, which just shows how ingrained it is.

For me, this is simple. My daughters are my children, my family. In that sense, they are “my own,” even though I didn’t give birth to them. But I don’t own them, nor do I wish to. Each is her own person, entrusted to me and Randy to rear for awhile as best we know how, and to love forever as best we know how.

This phrase might be used more frequently when a family includes both biological and adopted children, to designate which is which. But wherever it’s said, this hurts my heart.

There are not levels of parenthood, nor are there levels of son or daughtership. Again, terms like “biological” and “adopted” are much more accurate (and loving) than anything that includes the words “my own.”

There you have it—three little phrases to avoid when talking to adoptive parents. If you’ve used these terms in the past, don’t feel bad about it. Just try not to use them in the future. And if one slips out, simply apologize and move on.

When someone acknowledges that she may have said the wrong thing, it tells me she’s aware of what she’s saying and how it might affect me. And, as a person who doesn’t always say the right thing either, I appreciate that.

♥ Lois

November 10, 2015 22 comments
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A Waiting Room Answer to ‘What do you do?’

by Lois Flowers November 3, 2015
by Lois Flowers

When my daughter Molly was younger, people would always ask her, “What do you do?”

What they wanted to know, of course, was which extracurricular activities she was involved in. Soccer? Dance? Piano? Tennis? Competitive tight-rope walking?

The answer? Until her fourth-grade year, nothing.

For a while, she went through a phase of weeding out what she didn’t want to do. Not surprisingly, this endeavor was largely based on what her older sister was interested in the time. Every now and then, on the way home from dropping Lilly off at some practice or class, I’d hear from the backseat:

“Do you have to play soccer?”

“Do you have to take ballet?”

“Do you have to sing solos in the first-grade musical?”

No, nope and most assuredly not!

If you ask me, knowing what you don’t want to do is just as important as knowing what you do—especially if you are a planner like Molly who tends to make big decisions only after lots of careful thought. (And I firmly believe my job as her mom is not to force her into things she doesn’t want to do, but rather, to let her discover her own interests at her own sweet pace.)

Now, though, I’m the one who’s getting the question. I realize “What do you do?” is a natural query for adults as well as children, but I’m not exactly sure how to answer it these days.

It’s not that I don’t know what I do. Homemaker, housewife, math tutor, writing coach, household engineer, bookkeeper, taxi driver, chief cook and laundry washer—it all applies, just as it has for quite a long time.

I love being a stay-at-home mom, but now that my girls are getting older, I’m actively investigating what might be next for me, professionally. In the last year or so, I’ve added blogging to my mix of ongoing activities and resumed a bit of editing. But I’m still in somewhat of a nebulous in-between phase when it comes to regular work that results in actual income.

In today’s marketplace, finding freelance writing or editing work is not an overnight process. It’s not only what you know, it’s who. It’s not necessarily where you look, but when.

As a result, it’s easy to get discouraged, to convince myself that there’s no way I’ll ever get much work in my field so I might as well just start applying for checker jobs at the local big box retail store.

Then again, I’ve logged enough hours in God’s waiting room over the years to understand that things happen when the timing is right, which often is when I least expect it.

So I’m not rushing into anything. I’m not knocking on every door I see. A few months ago, I made a list and I’ve been working my way through it, slowly and methodically. When an opportunity pops up or an idea begins to germinate, I take the next step and wait. If nothing happens, I move on to the next thing.

I’m trying to do my part while trusting that God will send the work I need to do, when I need to do it. There’s a lot of peace in that, even though it doesn’t make for a flashy answer when someone asks me what I do.

For her part, Molly now welcomes the opportunity to try new things. She signed up for math club. She’s in special chorus. She’s even playing the clarinet in the fifth-grade band. (This, after stating for years that she wanted to play the violin because she was sure that blowing on a wind instrument would make her dizzy.)

She sampled a tap-dancing class just the other week, but left the building with the firm conviction that this form of movement was too loud for her. (I could have told her that before she went in, but sometimes we have to find things out for ourselves when we are almost 11.)

It’s too early to tell if any of these activities will become her main “thing” as she gets older. Maybe none of them will. But she’s trying and growing and stretching, because the time is right for her to do that.

And because the time is right, I don’t have to push things on her. I just get to sit back and watch the beauty unfold.

♥ Lois

November 3, 2015 38 comments
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Song of the Month: A Look Back and a Birthday Song

by Lois Flowers November 1, 2015
by Lois Flowers

Song of the month header 1

Since I introduced the Song of the Month on Waxing Gibbous last November, it’s been my joy to share with you some of the music that has meant to the most to me over the last year.

This isn’t a feature that draws a lot of response, nor do I intend for it to be. But I do love it when a tune touches a deep place in someone’s heart, and he or she takes the time to let me know.

I’ve heard from the teenage daughter of my college roommate, from my brother across the globe in the Philippines, from a dear former colleague in Arkansas. And every note and comment solidifies what I believe with all my heart—that God speaks to His children in powerful ways through music.

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November 1, 2015 8 comments
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As long as we’re here on planet Earth, God has a good purpose for us. This is true no matter how old we are, what we feel on any given day or what we imagine anyone else thinks about us. It can be a struggle, though, to believe this and live like it. It requires divine strength and eternal hope. And so I write, one pilgrim to another, in an effort to encourage us both as we navigate the long walk home together.

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