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Lois Flowers

Lois Flowers

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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1 Tip to Help You Say No When You’re Exhausted

by Lois Flowers October 27, 2015
by Lois Flowers

How to say no when you are exhausted.I had an email conversation the other day that made me want to drop everything and take a sympathy nap. Every sentence oozed discouragement as my formerly energetic friend described how exhausted she is. How she has to drag herself through each day. How void she is of enthusiasm and vision.

Her words shot me back several years to a season when I felt much like she is feeling now. I didn’t have near the full plate that my friend carries, but as I’ve shared here and here, I know very well what it’s like to trudge around all day in a state of perpetual overwhelmedness.

I’m not talking about being a bit too busy or somewhat over-committed. No, this has to do with the kind of mind-numbing fatigue that stems from circumstantial, hormonal, relational or physical factors that often are beyond our control.

As I read my friend’s email, I thought of the little phrase that guided how I used my time and energy during my own tired years:

“Only do what only I can do.”

Contrary to what I may think, I am not indispensable. And during seasons of acute exhaustion or stress, if there are others who can do work that I’m struggling to do, I need to step aside and let them.

Here’s a case in point. I used to work in the children’s ministry at my church, teaching a class of fifth and sixth graders once a month. There were some great kids in this class, including my own daughter. But because of my depleted state, I often found my patience wearing thin and my irritability level rising as I tried to get them to focus.

When I actually began to dread going to church on those Sundays when I had to teach, I started to wonder if it might be time for a change. The turning point came when I realized that I would not want someone with my attitude teaching my own daughters. Maybe it was time to move on to something else.

The children’s pastor graciously let me off the hook. I relinquished my teacher title knowing that there were other people who could oversee the class. My little motto gave me the freedom to let go and find ways to serve that better matched my gifts and personality.

That wasn’t the only thing I dropped or said “no” to during those years. I turned down leadership opportunities. I didn’t sign up to be a room parent at my daughters’ school (though I did make treats for class parties). I didn’t volunteer for much of anything, really.

At times, I felt selfish and guilty. I wondered if people were disappointed in me, and maybe they were. But during this season of my life, I had to put my own oxygen mask on first before I could help anyone else.

So I only did what only I could do.

For me, this mostly included taking care of my home and family. Beyond my normal household duties, I focused on what I thought was important, even if it tuckered me out. When Lilly was in fourth and fifth grade, she wanted me to have lunch with her once a week. The cafeteria was noisy and the kids were rambunctious, but I went because I sensed she needed me.

I’m not suggesting that weary people should never participate in activities or ministries that take them out of their so-called “comfort zones” or don’t seem to fit their obvious skill sets. Sometimes when the call for “all hands on deck” goes out, it is our moral or spiritual obligation to answer it, no matter how fatigued we are.

Also, the practice of only doing what only you can do isn’t necessarily a permanent decision-making strategy. You might be worn out now, but you probably won’t be worn out forever. Seasons change, energy levels go back up, enthusiasm returns. It might require medical intervention from time to time, but it does happen.

For a while, I had so much margin in my life there was hardly room for anything else. But as I started to feel more like my normal self, I began adding things back in. But only very strategically.

Today, I volunteer at the elementary school—helping kids with writing, but still not planning parties. I now have lunch with younger daughter Molly every week. (She’ll be in middle school next year and I won’t be able to then.) I help organize special events for the women’s ministry at church.

I do other things, too, but I haven’t forgotten what those tired days were like. Which is why I shared my experiences with my friend, along with these final thoughts that I hope might encourage others who are slogging through their own weary seasons.

I’m sorry you are in this tough place of never-ending butt-dragging, my friend. I know words from me won’t change much, but I do understand, and I would hug you if I could. You are making a difference, even if you see no tangible proof right now. So hang in there. It won’t always be like this.

And if it gets worse before it gets better, as it sometimes does, take a tip from your white-space loving friend and only do what only you can do.

It’s hard to let go, but it’s worth it.

♥ Lois

P.S. Linking up this week with Suzie Eller at #LiveFreeThursday.

October 27, 2015 22 comments
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How I Feel is Not Who I Am

by Lois Flowers October 20, 2015
by Lois Flowers

This dog may look sad, but actions speak louder than feelings. (For people too.)Earlier this year, I read a blog post by someone who was packing up and moving after 38 years in the same house. The writer, Linda Stoll, wrote about depersonalizing her beloved home to prepare it for listing, and about all the memories she would leave behind when she relocates to a new address in a different state.

In the comments section, I told her that the longest I’ve ever lived anywhere (as an adult) has been five years, so I could only imagine how hard it would be to do all that work after nearly four decades in the same place.

Her response stopped me in my tracks and triggered an internal dialogue that continued for weeks.

“Five years, huh?” she wrote. “Wow, Lois, you are courageous. And maybe a bit of an adventurer like (another commenter) was just talking about!”

Out of all the words in the English language, I have never used “courageous” or “adventurer” to describe myself. Not one time.

Deep down inside, I crave security, adjust slowly to change and only take risks with great reluctance. I hadn’t realized it before, but these personal struggles and feelings strongly influenced the kind of person I thought I was. Perhaps that’s why terms like “boring,” “safe” and “structured” often come to mind when I think of myself, rather than other, more exciting adjectives.

Linda’s kind words made me recognize that just because I don’t feel courageous doesn’t mean I’m not courageous, and just because I would never think of myself as an adventurer doesn’t mean I’m not adventurous.

As I shared here, Randy and I have moved eight times in 21 years of marriage, most recently into a foreclosed house that basically needed a top-to-bottom overhaul (which Randy has done almost entirely by himself). This is just the path our residential life has taken, so I never thought of it as very adventurous.

But maybe it has been, just a little.

We’ve also been to China twice to adopt our lovely daughters. Becoming parents for the first time—in a foreign country far away from our own moms and mentors—was what it took to grow our family, so it doesn’t register very high on the courageous scale for us.

But again, maybe it was, just a little.

Thanks to Linda’s affirming words, here’s what I’m discovering:

In real life—the kind that’s lived out loud and in person—actions speak louder than emotions. When it comes to who I am, what I do is far more telling than how I feel.

And this is not just true for me, either.

Everywhere I look, I see people who show up every day, who do what’s right even when they don’t feel like it, who take hard steps for the good of someone else. Based on how they feel at any given moment—or in any given season of life—they would never think of themselves as people of great faith, kindness, patience or generosity.

But their actions speak otherwise. Quite loudly, in fact.

They’re just doing the next thing, taking what comes and trying to make the best of it, attempting to honor God with whatever little or much they have. They don’t realize that, from the outside looking in, they are living, breathing examples of faith in action, love in action, strength in action.

If you know people like this, maybe you should tell them what you see. Take it from me—you just never know the difference an affirming observation might make in someone else’s life.

And remember: Though it’s sometimes tough to believe, our feelings don’t dictate who we are, nor are they the final arbiter of truth about us.

♥ Lois

In real life—the kind that’s lived out loud and in person—actions speak louder than emotions. When it comes to who I am, what I do is far more telling than how I feel. Share on X

P.S. I’m linking up this week with Grace & Truth, Suzie Eller at Live Free Thursday, Kelly Balarie at Purposeful Faith, Jennifer Dukes Lee at #TellHisStory and Holley Gerth at Coffee for Your Heart.

October 20, 2015 35 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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