good intentions

Last New Year's Eve I wrote a post with my intentions for the year. One of them was to start writing a book.

I feel the pit growing in my stomach when I even suggest that I am going to do this. I fear failure. I fear that I have nothing new to say. I fear getting stuck and not being able to get unstuck. I fear bad reviews.

A couple weeks ago, I was invited to join the Redbud Writer's Guild. Being among these amazing women writers I feel a little like the awkward new girl at the lunch table, but I know the encouragement and accountability will give me the kick in the butt I need to get to work. And, with my newfound confidence, I pitched my idea to an agent (full disclosure: my cousin) and he told me to get started. Gulp.

Not knowing exactly how to begin something that's longer than a blog post, I've been digging up my old journals and poetry notebooks. Amidst hundreds of broken lines of scribbled poetry and prose I found this advice I copied from Jane Kenyon:

Protect your time. Feed your inner life. Avoid too much noise. Read good books, have good sentences in your ears. Be yourself as often as you can. Walk. Take the phone off the hook. Work regular hours.

I think my younger self knew that if I lived this poet's life, whatever I wrote would come from a place that mattered. It would be beautiful, whether anyone else read it or not. Book or no book, I am going to start, and hope my younger self was right.

the good news

Ten and a half years ago I fell in love with my husband over email. I didn't know what he looked like (aside from a couple of corny photos) and he lived thousands of miles away, but he was vulnerable and passionate, creative and funny, authentic and faithful. He knew what he wanted - a love-filled life that included a life partner, music, adventure and kids. I remember specifically that he loved the idea of adopting children.

Andrew was a third, inconvenient and unwanted child, who spent his Italian adolescence, more in less, in the home of his best friend Silvio. What Andrew remembers most about this experience is Silvio's loving and welcoming parents, who essentially adopted Andrew into their home as they had legally adopted Silvio and his sister. Here, without any blood connection, Andrew experienced love and grace. It marked his life forever.

For years we have toyed with the idea of adopting. As much as we have theoretically liked the thought, we've never had the money. It's never been the right time. The leap from theory to reality has seemed impossible. Scary at the very least. But the nagging thought never leaves us.

Nothing has changed, really. Except that God has now gone from whispering to outright shouting in our ears.

A couple months ago, I discovered I was pregnant. It was utterly shocking and terrifying and then, quite quickly, insanely exciting. We did not have maternity insurance, but who cares? Of course we'd come up with the money. Of course the timing was fine. Of course I'm not too old. Then, after 8 weeks, I wasn't pregnant anymore. Instead of being sad, we see those two months as a beautiful gift—an opportunity to know that whatever excuse we could come up with, it was irrelevant if a child could be welcomed into our home.

So, the Bordoni family is beginning our adoption journey. We have no idea how we'll pay for it. We have rooms to clean out and lives to reschedule. We hope not to be hobbling on canes when our kids finally graduate and marry. But none of these barriers really matter when our hearts have been captured. After all, that's how this incredible journey of love began ten and a half years ago. The direction seems outlandish, but God shouts in our ears "This way!" and we follow. As our pastor said on Sunday, being Easter people doesn't mean we go on vacation. It means we go to our Galilee—the sometimes uncomfortable, uncertain, messy and dangerous place where we're called to love and serve. And it means that Jesus goes ahead of us. So even though we have no idea how we're going to do it, we know there's going to be a way. And this, my friends, is the good news.

intention #3: write letters, with a pen

Recently I received a beautiful hand-written letter from a woman from church thanking me for the things I write here and a sweet card from my aunt, just because. I found a note of encouragement from my sister-in-law in my mailbox a week ago and a thank you from my step-mom. I am always surprised by how touched I feel to get a letter or note from someone in the mail. To know that someone put some real thought and time into me means a ton.

I am not the best at sending letters myself. But I am trying to be better. I am starting with thank you notes and I am getting Liam going on it, too.

Today we wrote a couple of overdue thank you notes for Christmas gifts. Liam added his unique touch to each one, and cracked himself up each time, such as, "Dear Aunt Tim and Uncle Liz." I love that kid. But it was his last note that really got me.

He insisted that he wanted to write to his good friend Ian whose birthday party he just attended last weekend. I started to say that we needed to finish our thank you notes first, but it was clear he wasn't going to be pleased with that response, so I let him use our nice stationery and write his note. The result was precious:

Dear Ian,
I just want to say hi. Say hi to Andrew for me. Thanks for the Nerf gun. The party was awesome!
Love, Liam

If Ian is anything like me, he's going to feel incredibly special that his buddy Liam took the time to write him a letter. And not because he was due a thank you or because it was a holiday and everyone else was doing it, too. But just because Liam had an impulse to say hi, I'm thinking of you. I appreciate you. I liked your party favor.

As is often the case, I want to be more like my son when I grow up. I'm glad he's here to show me the way.

friday haiku

seven thirty a.m.
no one is awake but me
day's first miracle

intention #2: write more poetry

I used to write poetry. I used to have time to think. I used to be able to sit with a line from a poem and stew over it for an hour. These days I cannot imagine it. There's billable work to do! Kids to chase after! Groceries to buy! Dinner to prepare! Showers to take! My rational mind tells me I need to exercise, clean, purge my office long before I need to wile away my precious hours doing something as indulgent as writing poetry. But I can't shake the longing to get back to it. So, inspired by My Year in Haiku, I plan to write and post a haiku every Friday. A poetry warmup of sorts. 17 syllables a week. I think I can do it, and still keep the kitchen tidy.

(If you are so inspired, join me and link to your haiku post in the comments - or just write one there. It'll make you happy. It'll make me happy, too.)


fifth morning of school
goodbye cries escalating
it will get better

intention #1: a plan for giving

A couple months ago I was flipping through a Family Fun magazine at the library and was inspired by an article with an ingenious idea for giving. I had been wanting to find a way to implement the idea but it wasn't until a car ride home from Wisconsin between Christmas and New Years that I found the moment to spring it on my family.

"I'm hungry," my six year old whined from the backseat, just outside Beloit. Not having food or a plan, I asked him what he thought we should do.

"Go to McDonalds?" he excitedly suggested, leaning forward in his seat.

Ugh. I hate McDonalds, which is why my son has been there probably five times in his life and why he thinks it's so wonderful. Plus, it wasn't dinnertime yet and a snack of fries would probably just make everyone feel hungrier.

"I have a better idea," I said, trying to sound enthusiastic, knowing this probably wasn't the moment to turn a request for fast food into a lecture on the needs of others. But, sometimes I really can't help myself.

Liam threw himself back and sighed. He knew all too well my better idea was not going to be french fries.

"What?" he pouted.

"Well," I said. "What if instead of spending money for food at McDonald's we wait until we get home to eat something. Then we write down what we would have spent there and put it that piece of paper in a jar. Every time we go to buy something extra or spend our money on something we really don't need this year, we'll think about whether we could not spend the money and write it on a paper for the jar. The jar will be our Giving Jar. We'll pick a special place we want to give the money, then we'll add up the amounts on all the slips of paper and write a check for the total. What do you think?"

"YES!" my son shouted. He really did this. My husband just about crashed the car.

"How much can we write on the slip?" my son asked excitedly.

We figured between french fries and drinks we'd probably spend $10. Then we discussed what or who we should be saving the money for. Because of our connection to Lithuania, we agreed that in a few months we'd add up our papers and write the check to our sister church in Taurage, specifically for the playground they want to build for kids in the community who have no safe place to play.

My son never said a word about being hungry the rest of the 90 minute drive home. I was stunned. Did this really happen? Can a focused family giving plan silence a kid who would give his front teeth to eat at McDonald's?

We'll see. In the meantime, we've started making our pizza on Friday nights: $8 for foregoing a Home Run Inn. And working at the library instead of the coffee shop: $2 for not buying a cup of tea.

I don't think of us as frivolous spenders. These days we're especially careful with our money. But I see this exercise as a good lesson in what we need versus what we want. And what we can give up - even the little we think we have - to help someone else. I also think we'll all discover that spending money doesn't make our lives richer. But seeing it fill the Giving Jar? We're already finding that that's a different story.