My mom (paternal grandmother) waited her whole life to own and show horses.  Once her two children (my dad and aunt) were grown, she finally began living that dream with two horses.

And then I was born. Mom quit her job, sent Billie Jo, her beautiful white mare to my uncle’s farm in Kentucky, and boarded DoughBoy with friends near us. I remember visiting both horses many times as a child, and riding a few times, but I don’t think I realized what a sacrifice it was for her until recently. I didn’t know why we had beautiful saddles and other “horse related” items in the extra bedroom, or why she didn’t spend more time with them.

Raising kids after your own kids are grown up, is not for the weak.  Yes, babies are a blessing, gifts from God, innocent little humans that will grow up and change the world around them.  Whether adopting or raising a child born to another family member, you are forever responsible for all the things important to helping that child grow.  Some days it’s easy, so days not so much. Somedays you question your sanity and even why God entrusted you with yet another life.   And sometimes you get to hear Him speak so clearly that all you can do cry and be grateful for the opportunity to see things you wouldn’t believe if you didn’t actually experience it.

As I’ve mentioned before, at three years old, Alanna became obsessed with all things horses. With no prompting from me or anyone else. She discovered a new cartoon on tv about a girl and a horse. She started collecting toy horses any time we saw them in stores. Mom’s collection of horses have a new home now, on a shelf in her room, all except for one, which she chose to keep on the table next to her bed.

Last night I complained about being cold while I stood outside watching her ride, and laugh with her trainer. She was singing while riding, but I couldn’t hear the song. On our way home, I asked her, “so what were you singing out there?” Her answer, very seriously, “Jesus loves me.”

It’s Mother’s Day, and all week I’ve been thinking today would be the day I start writing again. Today can bring joy and happy memories, it’s an excuse to give moms a “break” from their normal responsibilities, and celebrate them for all that they do everyday. But sometimes our moms are taken from us before we’re ready.

When my mom passed away in 2007, I had no idea I wasn’t ready. I only knew she was no longer suffering and for that I was thankful. I just let her go. I remember waking up in the middle of the night a few weeks later, and seeing her sitting in the chair next to my bed. She didn’t move or say anything, and I just sat there, frozen.

Fast forward to 2018, at 3 years old Alanna had become obsessed with horses. (If you knew her, then you know my mom loved her horses.) Out of nowhere a collector catalog addressed to myself arrived in our mailbox. I realized the horses my mom had collected from all over the world, were in boxes in my basement. They’re now in Alanna’s room.

June 2019, I had a dream I was visiting a family friend, and when I walked in their home, I saw one of my mom’s horse statues. I didn’t ask for it, I just said I was happy it was being loved. I woke up, completely forgetting the dream… until a couple weeks later…

July 2019, my husband and I were in Branson, Missouri. We were walking through a Native American museum, seeing several dark bronze statues, and I remember the dream. I told Larry about it and asked if he knew the statue because it’s famous, only I couldn’t remember the name. I looked all over that museum, but didn’t see it. That night we went to dinner at Top of the Rock. While waiting for our table, we walked down to the wine cellar, and outside. Larry was a few steps ahead of me and he stopped and just looked at me, and said, “that?” And there it was, literally larger than life. My mom’s statue, right there in the middle of the infinity pool. “End of the Trail”

Alanna started horse riding lessons back in the fall, and mom’s “cowboy hat” belt buckle just happened to be in a box of random things in my office. Last week I was thinking it had been awhile since anything strange has happened, and then yesterday I saw it. Growing up, every spring, a single yellow tulip would bloom by the tree in our front yard. I only remember because I got in trouble for picking it once! Mom told me that my aunt had planted them several years before and only one continued to bloom. We haven’t started working on our landscaping yet this year, and it’s pretty sad to put it nicely. Yesterday, I walked out to check the mail, and right in front of my porch, a single yellow tulip.

A little over a week ago, as I was tucking Alanna in to bed, she said “You know your mom is still with you right? She may be in heaven, but she’s with God. And God lives in our hearts, so that means your mom is in your heart too.”

Happy Mother’s Day Mama.

I make messes ALL THE TIME, and I tend to leave them lay, not because I like the mess, but I run out of time, or some other thing comes along that needs my attention, or I’m just to tired to deal with it, and then something else happens, and so on… And that’s how my “home office” became the dumping ground for “all the things” over the last several months.

I started a new business as a consultant with Beautycounter in the fall. If you’re not familiar, Beautycounter is a skincare company, with a mission of getting safer products into the hands of everyone. “Formulate, advocate, & educate – that’s our motto for creating clean beauty products that truly perform while holding ourselves to unparalleled standards of safety. Why? It’s really simple: beauty should be good for you.”

I was having a hard time focusing on “working” in my ever-so-messy office. Every time I looked up, in every direction, I saw STUFF. Clutter. It needed to go!!! In January, I began clearing out all the things I didn’t need, and reorganizing what I wanted to stay. Then a funny thing happened. On a business coaching call, it was suggested I rethink the business I created a few years ago, (then closed when it became too much work) only modified to fit my life now. So some of those things I was packing up, needed to stay, out and easily accessible.

Balance. How to we find or achieve balance everyday? Is it even possible? Somedays are just plain messy. Somedays are simply beautiful. After this past year, I’ve decided it’s best to just take them all, no matter what. I was challenged to find 3 things to be thankful for every day for the first week of February. I did, and I’m continuing that for as long as I can. If you’re considering this challenge for yourself, try it for a week… and it doesn’t have to be big things… I was thankful the day my laundry was caught up! Oh, and I did rethink and reopen my custom sign business… one more thing to be thankful for this month, because being creative does feed my soul. This quote from Jennifer Lee is going on my office wall!

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So I just start typing, just like that? Yeah, I guess it really is that easy. What if no one wants to read what I write? I recently asked a friend that question, and her response was something like, all writers worry to some extent, if people want to read what they write. Well, okay, I will continue this thing I’ve begun. Sharing my story, in the hopes that one day, somewhere it may help even one person find a little light at the end of a dark tunnel.

November 1974. I am three months old. My birth mother and I are temporarily living with my father’s parents, in Illinois, while he is currently in the Army, stationed at Fort Leonard Wood, in Missouri. My grandparents return home one evening, finding the door open, and my mother missing. I am still there, alone, but I am safe.

Sixteen years later, she came back. Sometimes I think I could have lived the rest of my life without that experience. I want to believe that she has good reasons for her behavior, reasons I just can’t understand. I also don’t possess the ability to bite my tongue when it comes to “talking back” to her. A few weeks ago I sent her a text asking her about the night she left me. She responded asking who I was, saying I had the wrong phone number. I apologized, thinking, she could have changed her number, it happens. Except yesterday she sent my sister a text from the same number. So, naturally I sent her another text today. No response.

That woman may have given birth to me, but she is not my mother. My grandma became my mom that night back in November of 1974, when I was three months old, and I wouldn’t change it if I could.

I somehow got myself signed up for not one, but two different “sugar fast” groups this month.

Neither one is a “diet” and weight loss isn’t even a goal at this point, though that’s always a bonus!!

I lost almost 40 lbs between Jan ‘19 – Mar ‘20! And then well, you know, the world changed. It wasn’t an overnight thing for me, but by mid summer, I just quit thinking about all that is good for me, and developed a “so what attitude.” By the time Thanksgiving & Christmas rolled around I was back to feeling like crap.

So today, I’m choosing to make better choices. Bravely telling myself I can do anything for 40 days.

Set a new goal, believe in yourself, fearlessly run after it!

For as long as I can remember, this quilt has been one of my favorite things. It belonged to my “Nana” who was my Great-Grandma, on my dad’s side. She was born in 1906 and the oldest of eight siblings! I grew up spending every weekend, Friday night – Sunday afternoon, at her house. She taught me to bake, to garden, embroider, sew, crochet and so much more. And on Sundays she took me to church.

I always wanted to take this quilt home with me, but she wouldn’t let me. This quilt was always special to her too. Her own mother had made it. She had a pattern, called “a drunkard’s path” and she loved way the blocks were arranged to form one long continuous “path” over the whole surface. However, she sent my Nana out to find the perfect shade of GREEN fabric to be the background to resemble grass. She said she was changing the name to “a snakes path” because she refused to have anything about a drunkard in her home!

Finally the day came, as she was downsizing to move into an assisted living facility, she let me take it home. I used it often, but as it began looking a bit tattered, I stopped. When Alanna was 2, I took it to use in her Christmas photos. I think I loved it even more after that… so it’s become sort of a tradition! This year my other granddaughter was able to be with us for photos, and I can’t help but think that Nana was there watching too.

This morning I thought about the way we treasure certain things. We tend not to use them out of FEAR they might break or get lost. How will our future generations learn to love and appreciate those treasures if we don’t find a way to share them? Many of us are spending the holidays with just our immediate families this year, and might not feel like going “all out” the way we would if extended family and friends were present. So I challenge you, USE the good China, read the Christmas story from an old family Bible, make your grandma’s favorite recipe, just stop “saving” them for a special occasion, because everyday can be an opportunity to make special moments.

Merry Christmas friends!

I wasn’t planning to post again so soon, but thought I better explain this sooner than later…

Oxford’s brief definition simply says: noun. a person who is partially of Asian or Pacific Islander descent.

I spent my entire 46 years on this earth saying/believing/feeling I am HALF Korean, and HALF American/caucasian. I grew up not knowing my birth mother or any of her family. I did not identify as a Korean girl at all, except that my eyes were kinda almond shaped. At the same time, I also knew I wasn’t fully “white” either. Half & Half, end of story.

Awhile back I was introduced to a group on social media, and realized there is this HUGE community of half-Korean or half-asian people all over the US, as well as overseas. I’M NOT THE ONLY ONE?? What!?! Through that group, I was led to a few others, one in which I have come to love, we’re all so very different, yet have this unseen connection, like distant family members. Then a few weeks ago, I experienced my “aha” moment… for the first time ever, I felt WHOLE. Not half one thing or another… but 100% Hapa. I can’t explain it, other than it changed something in me, and for now, I’m hanging on to it.

I remember being a kid and just doing things, without asking, probably because I knew the answer wouldn’t be what I wanted. Things like moving all of the furniture in my bedroom, or riding my bike to a friend’s house, and staying out way past the time I was supposed to be home so my mom could drive me across town, for guitar lessons that I HATED! Then as I got older, making terrible decisions, knowing full well the outcome would not be pretty. And then one day, I decided to travel to a 3rd world country on whim, because why not? What’s there to be afraid of? My mom taught me to go after whatever it was I wanted, and sometimes fear can hold you back, so don’t let it (or anything else) get in the way.

In 2008, I went on a week long journey to Haiti. I was going to hold babies while their mothers got much needed medical attention. That was “my” plan. By mid-week, I had fallen head over heals in love with an 11 year old girl, and knew I was meant to be her mama. I was told the children there could not be adopted, so not to get any ideas. That girl turned 23 years old in October this year, and as I’m writing this, she’s in my bathroom helping my 5 year old get ready for bed.

They were not wrong, those kids were not “available” for adoption. But I didn’t let that stop me. I did the research, and I had help. I hired a Haitian attorney and by the grace of God, my husband and I adopted her AND her sister. Five years later, we adopted their cousin.

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and love and of a sound mind.”

– 2 Timothy 1:7

I’m not convinced I got that “sound mind” just yet, but I’m a work in progress. Thank you reading this far. I hope to share a little bit of my sometimes crazy and chaotic life on a somewhat regular basis.