The DAP Monster.

There are not many topics I get fired up about. I am not an argumentative person. I avoid confrontation at all costs. Yet, here I am, stirring a pot in education. The fact is, some pots NEED to be stirred. Otherwise, things can get burned. 

Let's call this pot the "Developmentally Appropriate Practices Pot." For those of you who do not know what DAP means, stop and read basically everything on THIS website.

Sounds excellent, doesn't it? It's what you picture when your child is away at school. Let me tell you something terrifying--right now in early childhood education, what you picture couldn't be further away from the truth. 

As a society, we have believed the lie that "sooner is better," which results in a "shove it down their throats" teaching philosophy. (Think that's harsh? Stop by a local kindergarten classroom where most of the time children are all but told to sit down at a desk, shut up for hours on end, and complete worksheet after worksheet well above their development [often times academic, also] level. Oh! And if they don't finish in the allotted time. You'll see them still sitting at their desk while their classmates go out to recess. It's a shameful time.) This creates a big problem. If your child does not meet these ridiculous requirements at extremely early ages, you are told something is wrong with them--they need: 
(1) to be put on an intervention plan, 
(2) more kill and drill style teaching while their peers move forward, and 
(3) more homework to practice the skills they're "behind" on. 

I beg to differ. They need more developmentally appropriate instruction.

Let's take a look into my personal experience as a student and then as an educator. After all, it is what I know best.

Well before Common Core or Oklahoma's lovely Reading Sufficiency Act, I went to school. I didn't attend pre-kindergarten. Why? They didn't exist. (I LOVE pre-k! When early childhood education is done correctly, it's a BEAUTIFUL thing. I'm not knocking pre-k, not if it's a developmentally appropriate environment). The first time I stepped into a public school was for a half-day kindergarten program. (How old school!!! No, how APPROPRIATE!) I did not receive any formal reading (or any other kind) instruction in Kindergarten. I played with my friends and sang lots and lots of songs on a rug. 

At home I had two incredible parents who read to me often. My mom says I loved books. I initiated the interest and what do you know? I began to read in kindergarten. (Plot twist?! Nope. Just reinforcing that learning happens best when DAP lead). My parents were not teachers. They actually did not attend college. They just followed my lead with learning. I continued my love for reading throughout school. I scored a 34 on my ACT in Reading. Can you even believe I did not complete a reading worksheet until first grade? What a genius! (Actually, by today's standards I learned on time--then I was early!) No, it's called developmentally appropriate learning. 

More formal reading instruction was introduced in first grade, although I would point out it honestly is what we see the first semester of kindergarten now. First grade is where my sister learned to read. She would be considered a late bloomer, like Leo, today. My parents and her teacher did not panic. They let her learn on her pace. Guess where she is now! Kicking rocks? I mean, she did learn to read "late." What a failure! NO! She's kicking tail in a doctorate program. 

Fast forward to college where I was instructed by the queen of DAP and student taught under an expert. It took me a while to get the hang of it, because it is not natural. Natural is taking the easy route. Natural is asking for a teacher guide to a curriculum and living in the copy machine room. The easy route is glorified babysitting, where you attempt to look like you are teaching through DAP--your students are playing with last month's centers and you are sitting on your rump.

A teacher in a DAP classroom is never still. He/she is busy finding HANDS-ON activities that meet standards, resetting the dramatic play center with new props, and making new sensory items for the sensory table. When students are at these learning centers, she is up walking around to not only manage the classroom, but to question and encourage children. He will lead them through questioning to think deeper. She will point out problems and offer solutions. Students' creativity, problem solving skills, and confidence will soar. Instruction is individualized for each child's needs, therefore the teacher must not just create engaging activities for the majority of the class, but turn the same activities into enrichment for some yet be able to simplify it for those struggling with the concept (The key to DAP in the classroom is the teacher meeting children where they are--some setting the curve, some well-above the curve, and some not even hitting the chart.) The teacher will observe and informally assess students day in and day out. This is difficult. It takes a lot of hard work. The outcome is worth it. The teacher will know more about each child--their social, emotional, and academic levels--than ANY test score would ever share. 

I was SHOCKED to find these practices are not prevalent in the average early childhood classroom. I had lived in the perfect DAP bubble and thought it was unanimously accepted. POP. Teachers who believe wholeheartedly in DAP are thought of as crazy, behind the times, hindering their student's growth with trivial play time. That thinking could not be more wrong. As Fred Rogers said, "Play is often talked about as if it were a relief from serious learning. But for children play is serious learning. Play is really the work of childhood."

I can already hear the doubters. "What do you know? You only taught for 3 years." 

Research proves this over and over (I've linked some of my favorite articles throughout. They should show up as bright green words). Although, I don't need science to convince myself of what is right. I saw the effects of inappropriate instruction every single day of my short-lived time in the classroom. Students cried because they did not want to come to school. They lacked imaginations and had no problem solving skills. The littles' and their parents' stress levels were over the top. They did not enjoy learning and what they did learn was not lasting--that is the saddest part of all. 

My first year I threw out the lesson plan when a student spotted a spider in the doorway on our way to recess. We studied spiders the rest of that day. I followed their lead often after that--incorporating their new interests into lesson plans and using their excitement to meet various standards. On the last day of school, most of them could read/write simple sentences, really KNEW most of their sight words, and recognized the numbers 1-20 (all perfectly acceptable for kindergarteners) despite my frequent breaks from the cultural norm. (They came to me on very different levels and left all further along than where we began.) That wasn't my favorite part, though. My favorite part was their excitement when they saw a spider and started rambling off facts about orb webs months later. Learning, true learning through DAP, is fun, yes, but most importantly--lasting. 

Some may say Oklahoma has the 3rd grade reading test and RSA laws because of ideas like mine or our country, as a whole, is behind countries like Finland because of these silly ideologies. I dare to say our problems began when we deviated from Developmentally Appropriate Practices. It is well passed time to return. 

Who's with me?! 

"Every child has a right to his fifth year of life, his fourth year, his third year. He has a right to live each year with joy and self-fulfillment. No one should ever claim the power to make a child mortgage his today for the sake of tomorrow."

Gillham Girls.

To my baby sister, on the day before her wedding:

I don't remember the day you were born. I do know I was 2 years, 2 months, and 9 days old. I have been told I was very sick, but was quite curious of this thing people called my "sister." So, probably despite Mom's better judgement, I met you in the hospital room. Shortly thereafter, Mom says I asked for you to return to her womb because you really threw a kink in life as I had known it. Don't worry--clearly Mom told me no. She also said no when I asked if we could leave you with Grandma when we took our first Norman shopping trip after you came along. She told me you were ours. We had to keep you and take you with us. This sister thing was hard for a 2 year old. 

Something changed drastically along the way. At age 2 (I was 4), you were quite the biter with a mouthful of chompers. You would dig into my arms and leave bruises that would make a grown person wince. Mom tried to break you of this terrible habit in a variety of ways. You're Mack--stubborn as all get out. You didn't give it up easy. The last time you bit me, she didn't spank you. She didn't put you in time out. Nope. Just like any amazing mom would do, she pulled your arm over to MY mouth and told me to bite you back. 

I couldn't. 

You'd left marks and bruises on me for months on end. I'd never retaliated. Mom was asking me to this time to show you how bad it hurt. I wouldn't. I couldn't imagine causing you pain. (Mom did it for me--thankfully. It worked--you never bit me again!)

That was the theme of our growing up. You'd pick a fight with me, for instance--the one time you grabbed my ponytail for no apparent reason while I was minding my own business and cleaning out the dishwasher. I quickly gained the upper hand, but wouldn't hurt you back. I hustled out to the salon to inform mom that you started it and I chose not to finish it. 

Do you know how many times I took spankings because I fought Mom and Dad to NOT give you well-deserved ones?! That'd be about HALF of all the ones I ever received. I'll also point out you never took ONE for me. That was okay. It was my calling as the older sister--unconditionally love and protect baby sister at all costs, even if she's wrong, no matter who I'm up against. 

I think I've done a fantastic job, minus the one time I made YOU ride on the back of the elephant in Africa. You were braver than me. I knew Mary the Elephant wouldn't hurt you--you're an animal whisperer. 

Tomorrow, (now I'm crying) I will pass my job on to the only guy I'd willingly give it to. I liked Zane from the very beginning, before you knew he existed and all throughout the lie of, "we're just friends," you fed everyone. When he declared his undying love for you at what seemed a poor time, I was thrilled. He valiantly pursued your heart and I quickly knew you would be his wife. 

Just as I would like to think I've done for you the last 23 years, he makes you more Mack. And Mack is the best thing you could be. He makes you laugh the same way I have--even when I would make fun of it. (Scream, laugh, snort, AND repeat). He gives you a better run for your money in your stubborn state than I EVER did. (He'll definitely need to keep that up). He forgives you immediately. He cheers you up. He calms your fears. He protects you. He prays for you. He points you to Jesus. And he will become your husband tomorrow evening. 

I'll probably bawl my eyes out as I stand beside you. They won't be sad tears. They'll be happy tears. I'll be reminiscing on every moment up to this point and thanking the Lord I've had a front row seat and a role to play in preparing you for the moment as your MOH, your sister, your roommate, and your best friend. I'll be praying that Zane realizes the weight of such a calling to protect and love you. I know he'll do the best job. 

No matter the change in our last names, we'll always be "The Gillham Girls!"

I love you, Mackenzie Leigh Deviney. 

Oh. I almost forgot something. You are SUCH a COUGAR! ;)

Tornado Bridezilla.

It's taken me four days shy of four years, but I decided to finally share a more detailed, rather comical version of our wedding story to revive my blog. When I say, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." I mean it. I really do, but every word you're about to read is true. 

Fair warning--this is the lengthiest blog post I've ever written. Prepare for a few belly laughs along the way.

Mid-April 2013. I sat in an early childhood conference with one of my dear friends when I got an email from Carnival informing me the cruise I had booked for our honeymoon would no longer be embarking. With about 6 weeks until the big day, I panicked. I called Ryan, who instructed me to check other cities and purchase plane tickets. So, to New Orleans we would go. I should've known then. 

Two weeks before the day, I had almost managed to kindly kick Ryan's BFFs out of the house so I could move all of our stuff in. For this night, though, I cooked dinner and we sat altogether for one of the last times to watch TV. We couldn't find a thing to watch on Friday night. Kelly was running the remote and landed on a show called "Bridezilla." On this particular episode of a show none of us had ever watched, a woman in Oklahoma was preparing for her wedding day and she was every bit of a Bridezilla. (Note: for the record, I wouldn't consider myself such a thing. I was super chill before, during, and after, even considering the circumstances). The poor woman had a tornado ruin her May wedding. We joked and laughed about how terrible that would be. I should've known then. 

May 20, 2013 was a heartbreaking day for my home state. A terrible tornado hit Moore, OK, and reminded every citizen of the dangers that are possible with those wicked twisters. It put everyone in their place. When the newscasters were talking about MY wedding day a week out, everybody was on the edge of their seats. I was already in denial. I should've known then. 

May 31, 2013--THE BIG DAY! I woke up to many Facebook notifications and text messages wishing me "the best day ever" along with alerts from every weather app known to man about what was expected that evening. "Meh. Another May Day," I told myself. Then the messages of, "I'm so sorry, Madison, we're not going to make it to your wedding because of the weather" began at 10am. Nine hours before! Come on, Okies! You've got to be kidding me. They say this EVERY day in May. Plus, we've never really had multiple, horrible, national news type of storms within two weeks of each other. I should've known then. 

My bridesmaids and family tried to keep my mind off of it. I don't think they realized I had my phone which was constantly reminding me of two things: "it's my wedding day" and "you are in a tornado warning all day long." Thanks, technology. 

Two hours out and about 50 people are in the building. We've asked the maintenance crew about where to take shelter in case such storm arrives. They call the first floor a "basement" (basement implies underground--this was NOT underground) and show us two of the safer places to be. I should've known then. 

Pictures were taken. First look was complete. Guests began to arrive. Some of those guests were from the west and started to share about what the building storms looked like. In my bridal room, right in front of me--the one who has successfully been in denial for months until now. I escaped to the bathroom texting both my dad and Ryan to meet me there. 

Ryan was super chill and left quickly. My dad came in and asked if it would be okay if we just started later than expected, because the timeline showed the storm arriving in our area at the same time I should be walking the aisle. "We'll just let it blow over," he said. I confidently agreed and returned to my room. 

All too quickly he returned to escort me and my bridesmaids down to the first floor. I saw the many people who had braved their way to the venue on my way down, offering them smiles of thanks while meeting their fearful eyes. Sheesh. Why today?!

They took Ryan and I to the bathroom and offered us two metal chairs. I hadn't realized just how many people were in attendance or already come and gone to seek safety. 125 people signed my guest book that night. Nothing compared to the 550 people who RSVP'd, but I guarantee it was 125 more than my parents and I wished to be responsible for that evening. 

I looked around at the familiar faces sharing my space. I heard someone outside the bathroom say something about the children and elderly. I immediately demanded the chairs be removed from the bathroom to make more room for those people as I got down in the bathroom floor in my wedding gown I'd dreamed of wearing my entire life. No one listened to me, but the chairs were quickly taken by others. (I found out later the children and elderly were allowed into the "safest part of the building.") My sister and best friend from college sat holding my hands while Ryan left to comfort all his out of state friends who had never experienced a spring night in Oklahoma. 

At the beginning of our shelter seeking time, everyone was pretty calm--quietly sharing their disbelief in what was happening and walking by the bathroom to wave at me, the bride, who was casually sitting in a bathroom floor. Only one person struck a chord with me during the high stress time. They asked me to reschedule the wedding or just sign the license where I was sitting. Don't worry--I held my tongue, pretended they were joking, and let out a nervous laugh. The possible Bridezilla stayed in her place.

Then--all phones that were playing Gary England and other meteorologists started to drown out the chatter. 

"It's over a mile wide."
"It has produced multiple vortices."
"It's headed straight for downtown." 

People began to sing, pray, and cry, understandably. 

"THREE MINUTES UNTIL IMPACT!" some Rent-A-Cop who liked to pretend he was in charge yelled. "TAKE COVER!" 

Silence. Other than the ONE phone still picking up the live stream of Gary. I could hear it right outside the bathroom door. It seemed like forever. I'm not joking. Three minutes lasted forever in such conditions. Heavy breathing and crying could be heard, with some very quiet, very real prayers for protection. I opened my eyes to see Taylor staring back, I said probably the worst thing I could at the time, "Wow. I never expected to meet Jesus wearing my wedding dress." She gave me this shocked look and squeezed her eyes shut. I think she was strongly praying against that because she was worried about her panty line. 

"The tornado has turned south. It's now headed for the airport."

Sighs of relief. Thanks, Gary! I would remember the airport part later on after the wedding. We sat for a few minutes to digest what we had heard and unwind from our experience (and because the Rent-A-Cop realized all his power was soon to be forgotten. He couldn't have that). 

Then the race upstairs began. On the way back up, I was informed the building was running on a generator and that I was limited to 15 minutes. A 45 minute ceremony forced into a third of the time? Sure. I can do that. NOT. 

Wait a minute. Where's my bouquet? What bride walks an aisle without her bouquet? Bless, Joe Terrell. He bravely faced the flooding, winds, and hail to retrieve the bouquet his wife Jeannie had fashioned for me from my Grampy's vintage car. We'd taken pictures in the car that afternoon, when the day was still fairly normal. All normal was now lost. 

My bridal party RAN down the aisle to random songs on my playlist playing completely out of order. My sweet ring bearer, who nailed his part in the rehearsal, held back tears as he walked the aisle alone. It was my turn. The usher, who was a college friend of Ryan's, opened the door. "NOPE. I'M NOT GOING. NOT UNTIL MY SONG PLAYS."

I don't remember what Jacob said, but that was the split second my bridezilla popped out. (Sorry, Jacob!) My dad cracked the door so I could listen to the random music as the DJ was trying to find THE ONE. One thing was going to go right tonight. Mandi Mapes WOULD be played as I sprinted up the aisle. 

"No.. Nope... That's not it... Nuh-uh... OH! That's it! Okay! We can go!" 

I wasted so much time to have MY song play that my dad was rushed to give me away. He hugged Ryan, said the sweetest thing ever, and turned away, leaving my arms wide open for a hug. Oh well. The show must go on. Steve, my youth pastor growing up, shouted a quickened message because there was no mic, my mom ran to retrieve the unity sand we forgot in the mess, and the Rent-A-Cop asked us to scrap the Family Prayer. Uh. Sir, after the last 2 hours, we need all the prayer we can get. Go sit down. I've got 5 solid minutes left. 

Finally, it's vow time. Oh. Fireworks in the rain?! No! That's just a transformer blowing up right outside the window and catching fire. Tornado sirens, again?! Bonnie almost jumped off the stage. I glanced down to see my mom telling her it was to the south and east of us while she looked down at her PHONE that was still streaming Gary on low volume. Yes, that's totally normal for the mother of the bride, right?

I vowed my ever love to my groom. He vowed his love to me. We ran back down the aisle.

"HURRY! Cut the cake! We all need to leave!"

The few reception pictures were taken in 30 seconds to make our wedding look somewhat normal. I noticed the floor was wet and the bottom of my gown was gross from traipsing through it! Ew! Mom encouraged me to change back into the clothes I'd gotten ready in since land was no where to be seen outside already. Sure. (Men, you can skip the rest of this paragraph. No, really.) I couldn't find my bra. I had to BORROW one that was THREE cup sizes too big. Yup. What a let down that would be!

All guests had been thrown out into the rain at this point, minus our families. I looked out the door to see a car already flooded out in the street. How are we supposed to get out of here?! Thankfully, we were staying downtown for the evening to catch a morning flight to New Orleans. We didn't have far to go. That couldn't be said about the other 125 guests that were forcefully evacuated moments before. 

Todd offered to lead us to the hotel. We hopped in the little Jetta. The screen flashed--0 miles to empty. Well, the first argument of the marriage ensued. People had used my car to run errands all day. I didn't know it was on empty, but "not the time to be empty in this emergency" I was told. Ryan called his dad, who was leading us around even more flooded cars to higher ground. "Find us a gas station first, please." We made it to the pump. Todd waved and there we were alone in the car. 

Ryan got out, but the pumps were off thanks to all the electrical problems. He ran into the station in the pouring down rain, while still wearing his suit. The pumps were reset and he returned...with a scary looking man following him. He got to my car and started pumping the gas. Then, the scary man started yelling incoherent things at him. And then began chasing him around my car. (Oh my cow. Yes, that happened). Ryan quickly opened my door at one point and threw his wallet in and yelled at me to lock the door. Oh. So, leave my husband outside hurdling the gas hose every few seconds with a scary man screaming crazy things at him? Don't have to tell me twice! So much for better or for worse! I locked him out in seconds, scared out of my mind. Ryan told the scary man he didn't have money on him--which was the truth. It was locked inside with me now. The scary man stopped chasing him, grunted, and waved goodbye. SERIOUSLY. (I told you at the beginning you wouldn't believe me).

Ryan got back in the car and we took off to the Colcord. The valet was working in the horrible conditions, so we grabbed our bags for him that way he could go ahead and take the car. The drenched rats entered the super nice hotel. Thankfully, Ryan had already checked in. I still needed to check on that airport. I leaned over the counter with the most serious face I could and asked the hostess if the airport was clear. I had heard Gary say it was headed to the airport. "Oh, yes, ma'am, it's perfectly okay," she said as she stared at the tornado coverage on national news already. "Well, if that changes, would you please let us know? We have a flight out in the morning." "Of course!" she said. SHE SAID. 

Before we could make it to the elevator, our valet ran up asking for the keys to the car. I'd finally hit the point of overwhelmed where you just are there, completely glazed over and I barely heard Ryan respond, "they're in the cup holder."

We got up to the room and someone knocked on the door. It was the hostess asking where the keys were. The valet still couldn't find them. Ryan lost his cool momentarily and informed her that the keys ARE, in fact, in the car. He looked at me, who sat in the floor staring at the nice carpet, and mumbled disgust of the valet not finding the keys. Before he could get too worked up, the phone rang. It was a different hostess telling Ryan there's a problem and they REALLY can't find the keys. He started to yell, which quickly shook me out of the funk and I looked at my purse. Oh. Shoot. I had the keys. I frantically grabbed them so he'd chill out and he apologized to the hostess, and ran out the door. He said the valet was SOAKED, with EVERY door wide open on the Jetta in the POURING rain. "I'm sorry, my wife...," he started, but the valet didn't care. 

I'd gotten in the shower. I just wanted to go to bed to sleep off this nightmare. And I did. No tears, I'd like to point out. Not yet. Those came weeks later. (See, totally not a Bridezilla!)

I woke to Ryan's voice hollering, "Lacey!!" in the hallway. I groggily reached for my phone to see it was 1am and wondered why on earth my sister-in-law was in my hotel room on my wedding night. She wasn't. She was on the phone, but falling asleep repeatedly on Ryan who had been awakened by his phone 30 minutes prior. 

Ryan had thought for the first 2 hours of his phone buzzing that it was his friends messing with him on his wedding night. And part of it was. Another person was trying to get a hold of Ryan...our pastor. Why?! On our wedding night?! He had kindly checked our flight status once he finally got home to Weatherford in the wee hours of the morning. Our flight was cancelled out of OKC. Thanks, hostess, who DIDN'T call. Ryan was trying to get a hold of his dad to figure out what to do. We had 11 hours to make a 12 hour drive to catch the boat. He woke me up so sweetly and informed me to get ready. We had to leave NOW. 

About 3 hours after checking in, we were checking out. The initial valet's shift was over; we didn't have to face him. While Ryan was helping the new one load our car at 2:00am, I remembered the tip. (Oops. The first one that definitely deserved one didn't get a tip. I had been in a daze). I checked my purse. No cash. (That was another lesson my new husband would teach me in time). Two well-dressed men exited the hotel. Did I mention it was STILL raining? They lit their cigarettes next to me and asked where we were getting in from. I tell them we were actually leaving and gave them the extremely shortened version of our last 7 hours. They apologized profusely for what I'd had to endure and paid the valet $40 for us. I lovingly refer to these two strangers as my "smoking angels." 

We hopped back in the fully gassed car and took off to find every route to the interstate closed. At the last attempt, Ryan asked if he could take my car AROUND the road closed sign. (Poor Jetta--I should've liked her more just for what she put up with on this one drive). I allowed him to since it was our ONLY shot. By God's grace, we didn't float away or hit anything. We were the only ones on the road for a LONG time. And it was STILL raining. 

At Purcell, we pulled off to get energy drinks because I was in and out of that daze and Ryan had only gotten a few hours of sleep in the last 2 days. Just south of Pauls Valley, the rain quit. At the SAME exact time, a bird pooped on our windshield. It was the biggest pile of bird poo that I'd seen in my entire life. The wipers were still on. Ryan turned those off as fast as he could. However, the damage was done. Jetta was out of windshield wiper fluid, too. (No, you can't make this stuff up). He had to peer out of a thin line at the bottom of the windshield for the remainder of the drive. 

Simultaneously, Ryan was calling Carnival, who didn't care about our problems, and Dallas Love to make sure we could catch our connecting flight there instead of driving the entire way to Louisiana. I love Love. They said yes. We parked our dirty, bird poo car in the garage and made our way into the airport. Maybe this nightmare was over. Maybe. 

We walked up to the ticket counter and explained our predicament. A Southwest employee named Benjamin helped us, and made SURE we would board first so we could sit together. In his words, "After all that, you two don't need to be separated." Thank you, Benjamin!

We grabbed a bite for breakfast at 5:30am and sat down at our gate to catch our breath. We sat for a long while intercepting messages and calls from our family, filling them in on all the changes to our itinerary. At last, normalcy had been reached. 

"Would Ryan Russ please report to the desk?" 

NOW WHAT?!

I watched my husband's facial expressions to try to get a clue. Are we not going to be able to get on the flight?! How far is New Orleans from Dallas?! We're going to miss our honeymoon! What a mess!

He looked pensive, but still serene. He was carrying something, but I couldn't see what because of the height of the airport chairs. He rounded the corner with two large bottles of champagne. Ryan and I don't drink, so I blurted--"how'd we get those?!?!" Will Rogers had sent them to us for all our troubles. How kind and thoughtful! Now--what to do with two bottles of alcohol in an airport? I had a backpack stuffed to the zippers because Ryan refused to take his own carry-on. It was almost time to board. Ryan shoved our gifts into the side pockets of my backpack. Classy! I begged him to carry it, but he wouldn't. Thanks, babe!

I hid the backpack underneath my seat and slept the whole flight. The Carnival transport met us at baggage claim and (ARE YOU THE RUSSES?!) knew who we were!!! They cared more than they let on! We got on the bus and made our journey to the boat. 

Did you know you have to check in alcohol to get on a cruise ship? I didn't because this was my first cruise; I also didn't realize how popular alcoholic beverages were until I entered into that line to check in my two comparatively small bottles, hoping to go unnoticed. After all, there were packs of beer with numbers I didn't know existed. Nevertheless, the man who handled my measly bottles chose me to make a scene. He picked up my bottles off the belt and turned to his friends, and shouted, "Here's where the party's at tonight, boys!" I kid you not. Every person in the vicinity stared at me. I turned shades of red I didn't know existed. 

We got to our room, threw the bottles in the closet (our host kept pulling them out and icing them ALL week long!), and fell back asleep. Trauma like the last 24 hours I'd survived deserved sleep. Ryan didn't want to go to the safety meeting and got it cleared by the blessed soul at one of the check-in sites that took pity on us. I strongly disagreed. Our luck, a hurricane was sure to hit. Or an iceberg in the middle of the Caribbean. I easily won that argument. We went to the safety meeting. 

At dinner that night, we met two guests. Naturally, the first question was where we were from. 

(Eye roll) "Oklahoma." 

"OH NO! Were you affected by the tornado?! Did you know that was the widest tornado on record?" 

"Uh. It was?! Wow. Yes, but...well, here's a quick version..."

After the very first time to share the never ending nightmare of a wedding day, the man looked at me straight in the eye and said, "If a storm pops up out here, we're throwing you overboard." Joy. I knew who to steer clear from all week. Just in case!

The rest of the week went well. We won the Love and Marriage show as they newlywed couple and basically were famous everywhere we went. We won ANOTHER bottle of champagne. We swam with dolphins, ate crazy food, and enjoyed an overall NORMAL honeymoon. 

No icebergs, no hurricanes, no more tornados.

It's a story that will be shared for years to come by all who were involved. I've been told our day is memorable--that the guests will never forget it. (Probably in part due to the hail damage to their vehicles! They could get a new car, but those insurance rates will never be the same!) I won't be able to forget it, even though sometimes I try. After all, tornadoes that ruin weddings actually don't happen EVERY day in Oklahoma--only on my wedding day and a random episode of Bridezilla. 

Foster Care.

For numerous reasons, I have grown up afraid of it, afraid of them. They were in it. 

They were kids at school, siblings in church, and the people who lived down the street from my best friend in elementary. They were always around, but sadly, I never found myself entering their world. It was unknown. And unknown is scary. Since I am one to cry when fish or turtles die, I am NOT one for unexpected goodbyes. They could just leave; they could disappear with absolutely no explanation.

There has been a day or two during work when I can hear my dad’s voice repeating what he said to me when I told him and mom I planned to major in early childhood education...

“Madison, you can’t take them all home with you.” 

A small part of my heart said, “Why not?” 

The other part of my heart said, “Dad, do not worry. I’m too scared to enter into THAT world. I always have been.”

Nearly two years in the classroom, I can say I have only experienced one moment where my heart broke into a million pieces over one of them. The fear of the unknown and the goodbye kept me from investing in, caring for, and loving on them before. Until an unexpected goodbye happened…a goodbye I did not even know about until it had already taken place. I had told them I would see them tomorrow, but I would not. I did not know my goodbye would be forever. Tears flowed for weeks on end. I cried for months at the mention of their name. I cried myself to sleep for a week straight because I could not figure out what I could do for them. Then, the Lord told me to be still. I finally made myself still and He gently whispered, “You introduced My kind of love. You did your part. Continue on.” What I feared the most was over. Though it deeply hurt, it was the first time I allowed myself to not ignore their situation as a whole, but enter right into their mess and distress.

“We can’t let the fear of loving a child that might leave us deter us; we must let the fear of a child never knowing our love drive us.” ~Jason Johnson

Adoption is not always the answer for them. No, it is usually always more difficult of a process than that. If it was a simple process, I can assure you my husband and I would already have a house full. Unfortunately, foster care is much more complicated. After several months or years, sometimes one party says reunify; another says terminate rights. What the system sees as a success can quickly become a failure that begins the entire process all over. These poor children are stuck in a limbo for a large portion of their lives. They move from home to home. They did not ask for it. They find themselves in the system because of others' poor choices. Situations are nasty. Stories are heartbreaking.

Children in the system, though, should not be what I had made them out to be. A little girl who calls me “My Nadi” is opening my eyes to all things foster care and has been for roughly four months now (I am by no means close to an expert). Ryan and I are not her foster parents. We are just two people that bounce in and out of her foster parents’ home because they happen to be my sweet family that live 8.2 miles up the road. If there is one thing I have learned by knowing this precious princess and her brother, it is that a person does not have to become a foster parent to be involved in foster care. You just have to care; you wholeheartedly care for the children in the system. (If you feel at all interested or led to foster care, though, please check into Oklahoma Fosters or the child protective services in your state).

Why enter into their mess and distress? Why not run for the hills out of fear? Why not remain indifferent? The main reason—Someone entered directly into our distress 2,000 years ago to offer hope. Except our messy situation was our own fault. We had been living in an open rebellion against God for thousands of years. Jesus came as the Redeemer. Jesus rescued us. The cost? Giving up His life on the cross as the ultimate sacrifice for all of humanity’s sin. Jesus came to heal what was broken—the relationship between man and Almighty God. He invests in, cares for, loves on, and enters into the world of all those who repent.

Foster care brings hope.

Foster care exists to mend relationships. 

Foster care helps rescue children from danger. 

Foster care begins the healing of what is broken. 

Foster care reflects Christ's love.
Foster care is a sacrifice. 

The sacrifice can be great or small.

The sacrifice can be giving up your comfortable life to foster.
The sacrifice can be saying goodbye unexpectedly.

The sacrifice can be offering babysitting or grocery shopping to foster parents. 

The sacrifice can be granting extra patience to the foster child in your classroom.

The sacrifice can be laying down all pride to ride a motorized cow around the entire mall with a 3 year old. 

Whatever the sacrifice, it is indeed worth it. Jesus thought we were worth entering into the world for. I know He thinks foster children are worth entering into their world, also. 

He showed me by introducing a princess named “Z.”

"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after widows and orphans in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." James 1:27. (emphasis added)

Relentless Pursuit.

Knock, knock, knock.

I looked around the room at all of the invited guests in my apartment playing a board game that evening.

“Who could that possibly be? It must be a neighbor,” I said as I got up to answer my door.

Opened door.

Shock. Anger. Frustration. Confusion.

Why does he keep doing this? Doesn’t he get it?

“What part of GET out and STAY out of my life do you not understand?” I yelled quite forcefully and slammed the door shut. I fought back hot tears and sat back down in the floor. All eyes were set on me.

“WHOSE TURN IS IT?!”

Two weeks later I was on his porch, holding an unwanted Christmas present to return. It was unwanted because of the sender. I wanted to keep my absolutely adorable houndstooth pair of rain boots. But I could not. He HAD to learn. Surely he would become tired of my persistent rejections.

Door opened. No words. Just shoved rain boots in his arms and left.

Letters, donuts, Sonic, and flowers that greeted me at the door for weeks on end would be tossed immediately in the trash can. (Except the donuts and Sonic. This college girl had to eat).

My dad called and asked, “Why are you being so hard on him, Madison?”

I thought for several minutes: Why am I doing this to him? His pursuit is unlike anything I had ever seen. 

“Dad, he’s ruining my plans, my future, my life as I know and love it.”

“I like him. He brings you donuts. You need to eat a little more. You’re looking rough.” 
(Gee, thanks, Dad!)

“If I say yes to something just one time, Dad, I’ll never be able to tell him no again.”

Roughly ten months after that conversation, I found myself staring at the most beautiful ring from the most amazing guy, who was wrapping up the relentless pursuit by asking me to change all my plans, my future, and my life for him. Instead of saying no for the 5,743^rd time, I smiled with tears running down my face and screamed, “YES!”

Now that you know that happened you might think a lot less of me. And you should think a whole lot more of Ryan. We have been married for nearly 3 years now and I still apologize at least once a week for my cruelty towards him during that time all because I was not yielding to the pursuit. Ryan could have given up and stopped at any point, but he chose not to.

Ryan's pursuit of me then (and now) reflects the Lord's pursuit of my heart and soul for my whole life. The Lord graciously, faithfully, and lovingly pursues me day in and day out, regardless of me.

I grew up in church with godly parents at home teaching me about Jesus. I remember exactly where I was when I realized I was a sinner, repented, and trusted in Christ for my salvation. God’s pursuit up to that point was glorious. All the blessings He gave me through my family, Sunday school teachers, and the drama he used on a specific Sunday evening to put it all together shows His sovereignty. God’s first pursuit stirred my heart to see the need of a Savior. 

But the gospel did not stop there in my life. It does not just stop at the time of repentance. The Holy Spirit came in that moment to dwell in a 6 year old’s soul for the rest of eternity. And the journey began.

Elementary. Junior high. High School. College. Work. Friends. Family. Change. Growth. Life. It happens. Life happens.

Ugly. Dark. Worldly. Temptations. Rebellion. Hypocrisy. Pride. Sin. It creeps in. 

But God.

Just like He orchestrated the moments perfectly for me to become apart of the Redeemed, He continues throughout the journey. He watches. He listens. He sees. He knows. He reaches in. He woos. He pursues. He loves. He does not stop. He does not give up. He never lets go. He never tires.

So often I get in the way. Just like I did with Ryan. 

No, no. That is not my plan. That is not what I had pictured. That is not what I had in mind. That is not the way it should go. 

Yet, God continues to pursue my heart. Sometimes He whispers. Sometimes He shouts. Sometimes He uses His Word. Sometimes He uses my shortcomings. Sometimes He uses children's books. Sometimes He uses sunrises. Sometimes He uses flowers. Sometimes He uses experiences. Sometimes He uses memories. Sometimes He uses people. He always uses something to captivate my attention with Himself.

God is relentless in His pursuit of my soul. He is relentless in showing His glory. He is relentless in reminding me who I am in Him, where I should be, and what I am to do. Even when I say no again and again, when I do not understand, when I do not want to listen, when I run in the opposite direction, when I am afraid to say yes, He does not leave me there. In spite of myself, He continues. Praise the Lord!

His graciousness is exceeding. His love is unconditional. His faithfulness is unfathomable. His pursuit is relentlessly beautiful. 

"There is none like you among the gods, O Lord, nor are there any works like yours. All the nations you have made shall come and worship before you, O Lord, and shall glorify your name. For you are great and do wondrous things; you alone are God. Teach me your way, O LORD, that I may walk in your truth; unite my heart to fear your name. I give thanks to you, O Lord my God, with my whole heart, and I will glorify your name forever. For great is your steadfast love toward me; you have delivered my soul from the depths of Sheol. 

You, O Lord, are a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness."

(Psalm 86:8-13,15)