Pick & Choose.

Not to be confused with Pick and Save. At Pick N Save, you get to literally pick the items that you want and save money in the process. Gen to the ius. I have never been to Pick N Save, but I picture it to be a place filled with happy people who grab item after item and throw their fists in the air while crying out "SAVINGS!" and high fiving fellow shoppers in the check out line.

Pick and Choose? Well, this is different. At least in the connotation that I am taking from it.

I have this issue with God sometimes. I want to plan His plan for me. You know, live a healthy life until I'm about 87 or 93 and then, after a blissful night of playing with my great grandkids and watching a rousing re-run of Minute to Win It on the classic gameshow channel, fall asleep in my husband's arms only to be awakened by Gabriel the angel in heaven who immediately shows me a mirror and I discover that my body is identical to Marissa Miller.

Here is what I hate. When people say to me, "God has a plan for you...." Ok, so I don't hate the whole God has a plan thing and don't even disagree with it. But, I hate when they fill in the blanks at the end of the sentence. Like they somehow have this direct line to God and He conveniently whispers to them, and not me, the future direction of my life.

I had a particularly rough day the other day and I just needed a minute to be honest with myself and with God. I don't understand His ways, but I am not supposed to, I guess. I know that He is so good, so I hope in that and not in what necessarily happens to me. I have this faux bargaining session with God sometimes. It sounds a little something like this:

Ok God. So, I know that I can't have everything I want and exactly the way I want it. And I know that You are good and faithful and that no matter what happens in life, I have hope in You and will be ok (have I buttered you up enough Big G?). But, can you just give me this one little thing? Can I have this one tiny part of my life happen just the way I want it to? I mean, you are the miracle worker, so let's flex those big guns my way for a minute. capeesh?

But, here is how I really do see it. I prayed and believed the way you all said I should. and all three of my little ones died. Does this mean God is not as big as I thought He was? Does this mean I didn't have enough faith in Him and it's my own fault? Does this mean that He was just as sad as we were, but we live in a broken world and so sometimes, things we want to work end up breaking? Or maybe God is actually just that much bigger and more complex than we can comprehend so it could just be time to stop putting so much dependance on our own strength and just rest in the goodness of God no matter WHAT happens?

Anyways, I wrote a song. Because there are some moments in my life that scare me. Adopting and all of the what if's that come with that. Getting pregnant again and all of the risk that comes with that. Having a family. Being a mom. Finding a lump on my body, like my grandmother, grandfather and uncle did. And most days, I am confident in God. But sometimes. I am scared because in the grand scheme of things, I am so small.

Untitled.

Open shops and little clocks. The time just passes by.

Pick and choose and my hearts to bruise.

It's never good. The timing's Yours.

I know that I know I can't pick what I want and toss the rest in the water..

But, I know that I know I don't have the heart to lose... another..

Round and round we go. This little show of hope and make-believe.

It's so clear to me that I can't see. And that's the part I dread.

I know that I know I can't pick what I want and toss the rest in the water..

But, I know that I know I don't have the heart to lose...another..

I am unshaken, but constantly shaking.

I am unwavered, yet find myself waving.

I am not broken, but please don't go breaking me down.

I try to be faithful, but I can't find faith in.

Losing my heart to a world that keeps taking.

I am not broken, but please don't go breaking me down.

Broken hearts. Clean up the floor and take the pain away.

Tiny pieces of you. All over the place.

I know that I know I can't pick what I want and toss the rest in the water.

But I know that I know I don't have the heart to lose another.. round.

Go Figure.

I am meeting with a new counselor next week. Her name is Gail. I hope she is better than what I am picturing a female pychiatrist by the name of Gail to be. Let's start our time off by clearing one thing up, Gail. I do not like closing my eyes and picturing serenity. I want you to yell at me and tell me what I am doing wrong and maybe slap me across my face and shake my head in your hands and say, "Get ahold of yourself woman!!". Now that would be awesome.

I have a love/hate relationship with counseling. I have never seen counseling as a bad thing or a sign that my marriage or my life are spinning wildly out of control. In fact, I love going to counseling when life is breezy and wonderful...it's when I'm the least foggiest in my selfishness. But I hate going during the times when it is "someone else's fault" because they are always the times when I realize that it is really a lot more my fault than I care to admit. See? Love it and hate it. It's like my own personal teeth flossing session. hurts so good.

See, I love Scott. But, I have a hard time letting him be him sometimes. I married him full well knowing that he was on the quiet side and that he was uncomfortably blunt with some of his conversational comebacks, just like he knew full well that I didn't enjoy cooking. (Ok, I may not have OUTRIGHT said that, but after two years of dating and only cooking frozen pizzas and macaroni, he should have picked up the hint) And we chose to marry anyways. I knew that our car rides would more than likely be silent just like he knew that the dinner table would more than likely be empty.

Here is the problemo. He loves to eat and I love to talk.

And my personal contradiction? I want him to accept all of my flaws and yet I want him to fix all of his.

People don't end up married 35 years with absolutely no relational fruit to show for it on accident. People don't start their vows with "In sickness and in health, except when I decide to cheat on you, which I will". A mother doesnt look at her newborn and say "I can't wait for the day that I abandon you and the rest of this family to go find myself". I don't know of any couple who starts their dinner conversation with, "So, in the next ten years when you and I avoid all of the issues that we have with eachother and start just living separate lives, which bedroom do you want to end up in?"

So, off to counseling I go. Because I married a man who I want to spend the rest of my life with. And I want to enjoy the rest of my life with him. And that doesn't happen by accident. There are far too many good things about Scott that I fail to recognize because I am caught up in his flaws and far too many bad things about me that I fail to recognize because I am caught up in my own needs.

Plus, have you seen my guy? If the word studmuffin ever made sense to anyone, you can insert it here. The only thing I can understand about it is maybe woman who love pastries would connect with that adjective better than had it been studtabletop. I will be safe and stick with calling him Holy Heat Wave Batman. Meaning, he is fiiiiine. and delicious.. and yummy.. ok, studmuffin does make more sense now. I mean really, look at him. I could just put him in my pocket and take him out during snacktime and eat him with a spoon.

Now, I'm just plain hungry and have completely lost my train of thought.

Oh yeah. Gail. Probably has brown short hair. Hopefully she is awesome at her job. Scott. Really excited to spend my life with him. Need to invest in books on tape. Stephanie. Can't just rely on those street smarts and beauty pageant grace. Figure out why you want to control anything and everything around you while pretending like you are laid back and surfer girlish.

Oh, and buy muffin mix. Actually, just go buy a muffin. Who needs homemade?

I Remember When....

I have a confession.
I love talking about memories of other people.

But here is the real "issue".
Sometimes I do it, just so they will talk about a memory they have of me.

There is something validating about being told how funny or curious or strong or fearless you were as a kid. Or how brave or adorable or cute or dorky you were as a teenie bopper. It's like when you put in your status update "Write down one memory you have of me" and then sit and wait for the answers to pour in...laughing to yourself as someone says "memory, memory...that was so funny" while you are smiling and thinking "man, I was so funny".

It's awful and I know it. But, when I tell you something from your childhood that I think was hilarious or worth sharing again, it is partially because I want a boomerang memory to come right back at me... For example, I fed this bait to my brother last night. And he didn't take.

"I remember you doing ninja kicks behind the couch as a kid." - me.
"haha" - Colin.

If the story played out the way I wanted it to, it would have gone something like this:
"I remember you doing ninja kicks behind the couch as a kid: - me
"Oh my gosh! I totally remember that! I thought that was so fun! And you would always try to kick too, but you were so bad at it!" - Colin
"I was, wasn't I?" (to myself...oh clumsy silly stephanie..sigh) - me

See, Colin would have walked away feeling so cool because he could do the ninja kicks and had he reciprocated, could have made me feel equally as cool for being the cute and clumsy younger sister. fail, Colin. fail.

So, listen. We all love validating our friends for their super human kicks and amazing fort-making abilities as kids. Or how cool they really looked with that jewel studded hat in their 6th grade picture or the enormous corduroy pants that catapulted them into 9th grade popularity.

But, can't these memories be for both the giver and receiver? So, I'll scratch your back...you scratch mine, ok?

Backscratching...I used to play this game with my childhood friends called Write On Backs. They would write a word on my back and I would have to guess what they were saying and vice versa...Amy always tried to fake me out with her lower case "l" and upper case "I". She was so sneaky! But, I usually figured it out...oh smart and witty young Stephanie...sigh...

I'm Freaking Out.

1) We have decided for sure for sure for sure that we are adopting from Ethiopia!!!!!!!

2) We have been freaking about the cost of it (approx. $30,000 total) but not freaking out too bad because we knew that if God put the desire to adopt in our hearts, He would provide a way.

3) Random and amazing friend came to us a month ago and said the following (warning: you might pee your pants)
"I want to help raise the money for your adoption"

4) GOD IS FAITHFUL

5) This random and amazing friend, Chris, is doing just that....and it is incredible to see God beginning to provide a way to bring our little one home to us.

6) Why am I posting? Because it is ALL that I can think about.. all day.. and night.. well, actually that is a lie, because at night I am either sleeping or trying really hard to remember the ridiculous thing that Scott said or did in his sleep (yes, he is one of those...and it is hilarious)

That is all. If you want to be a part of bringing the first baby Zibell home, just message me your email or comment it on here and I can send you what Chris sent out.

We are getting so close to this thing actually happening, I can almost feel it!

Let's Dance, the Last Dance Tonight

Oh Donna Summer. I didn't really know you until you were regurgitated into a dance mix for So You Think You Can Dance.... One day, my kids are going to talk about my Justin Timberlake like that. Like he hardly existed. So sad.

Tonight is the night. Our last night sleeping in our first home. Hold please, I need to go turn on some sad music to get in the mood here. Carrie Underwood? Check. Take that wheel Jesus.

So, to answer your question, yes. I'm sad. I'm nostalgic. I'm feeling a twinge of regret. So, I am going to do what any normal person would do when they are filled with all of the emotions of saying goodbye to a home that is filled with so many memories.

Rip it to pieces. That's right. It's really the only way I can justify leaving. I mean, it just makes sense.

Now I sound like an unfaithful spouse. And having said that sounds like I went to too much counseling as a child. There may not be a recovery here.

Ok. Alright '0000' East 'Blah' Parkway (to protect it from any funny business tonight of course), here's looking at you...

With your crazy gas stove that blew open the oven door when we turned you on.

And your stupid fake fireplace made of plywood that took up our entire kitchen and not even my dog believed was real.

With your stairs that made you swear off high heels.

And your gold fans that took me to the 70's.

And how about your glass door that just invited Peeping Toms to join us for dinner.

And let's not forget that annoying chipmunk that lives behind your front steps.

I'm happy to be leaving you, you lame...stupid...awful....

Well, we did replace that stove for a shiny new white one that purrs like a kitty. And we tore down that fireplace and people stopped pointing and laughing.. That railing we installed did change my thoughts on high heels...And we did replace those gold fans with ones that even Pottery Barn would be happy to invite over for dinner...And we got a new door and that glass door is in a better place now hopefully being what it was created to be. a window.... and Chip, well you are the world's friendliest chipmunk.

Well, crap.

That didn't work.

Fine.

I am going to miss you home. There. I said it. You are too darn cute to not miss. It's like Michelle from Full House.

So, lets have that Last Dance, whatd'ya say?

I suddenly have the urge to find a corner of a wall, wrap my arms...along it... and slow dance the night away.

Don't judge.

The Other You.

We are going to have a child soon. A beautiful little boy or maybe girl from a country far away. Ethiopia to be exact.

We are just starting the process...raising money...filling out applications...researching and more researching....reading books....

And my mind is constantly filled with thoughts about our child. What will he/she look like? Boy? Girl? Newborn? 1 year old?

And as much as I am picturing taking this little child for walks...watching them grow up... playing and dancing in the living room to cartoons...snuggling during the winter months and running through hoses in the summer...hearing the soft breathing of a napping infant.... I have become even more overwhelmed with this:

This baby will come into the world grieving. Losing the one thing it has been so intimately connected with for its entire existence. It's mother.

I know that at some point, Scott and I will be the only scent that this child knows. the only voices that bring security. the only heartbeats they will hear. But when our little first one comes into the world, it will only have had one heartbeat...one voice...one scent... and it wont be ours. and it will be gone.

There is something so beautiful about adoption. but there is something so tragic.

We are adopting not to fill our need to be parents. We are adopting not to complete the family circle that we long for. No. I am realizing that more and more how incredibly selfish that is.

There is a child who has a mother that does not want them. There is a child who has lost both parents to death, disease or poverty. A child who has cousins running around somewhere in the world and aunt's and uncle's and grandma's and grandpa's who share their smile, their laugh, their quirks, their bloodline. Who they will never meet.

I understand grief. I do not understand rejection. I do not understand loneliness.

So, as the reality of adoption is setting in, I am completely sobered. The feeling of responsibility is heavy on my heart. This child needs love and we will give that unconditionally. This child needs security and we will provide that. But, this child will need to heal. And this is the part that I am praying the Lord shows us how to handle.

You.

I remember asking you to write letters with me to our 3 babies when we took a trip to the Dells. And you layed there on the blanket at the park in Devil's Lake. uncomfortable. wanting to be somewhere else. not because you didn't want to acknowledge them or face what we were facing. but because you and I grieve so differently. and this was a part of my grieving and not yours. but you wrote. and you let me cry. and you folded up those letters into a little envelope and let me have them.

I remember laying on the bathroom floor during our second miscarriage completely broken. a mess. i couldnt breathe enough to calm down. and you held me. the strength that you put around me. the shirt you let me soak with my tears as you soaked mine with yours.

I remember reading an email of thanks that you sent out to our friends. you wrote with a vulnerability that i didnt have the courage to write with. your words were so raw and so humble and so honest. i remember you taking my breath away. and i remember thinking, i love this man.

I remember watching you play football when we went camping right after we lost Will. I was so angry with you for making me leave the security of our dark and sad home. I wasn't ready to look anyone in the eye. wasnt ready to smile. but, we went. and i watched you play football and caught glimpses of joy in your face. caught you laughing as you dropped a ball. caught you smiling at me with a sheepish grin when you threw a perfect spiral. you reminded me that we would be ok without saying one word.

I have seen a side to you that I'm not sure I would have seen had we not lost. I have seen a depth of sadness in your eyes. I have heard desperation in your voice. I have felt the ache of emptiness in the air around you.

But, I have seen love that I could never explain. I have seen humility that still brings me to tears. I have seen a strength that I dont even think you knew that you had. I have understood the meaning of hope.

And I have been loved. truly loved by a man who had nothing to give. and yet, still gave me everything.

I know working really hard and succeeding at work... spending time with wonderful friends and family... playing weekly softball and having game nights...going on late night dates and sleeping in.... taking our dogs to the park and enjoying the sun on vacations.... this all just fills the time for you...

Because I know that as much as you love being an uncle and a great friend and an awesome son, you just want to be a dad. And although there has been no loss lately... there has still been no gain.

And I just wanted you to know that our time will come. And in the meantime, I am really sorry that you have to wait.

I think it could be incredibly cheesy and horribly lame. But, if you could put aside the late 1990's associations with this word, I am going to ask that you would...

Because I want to tell you. that you.

are my hero. and we are going to be ok.
because I have you. and you have me.