Remedy for Burnout: Enduring for the Eternal

God is joking, right? Move away from our state and to an uncertain destiny just because of homeschooling?

We had to question what God had told us about homeschooling our children back when our oldest was five. The decision hadn’t been easy then, but God placed a knowing inside us that it was the right thing to do.

There will always be conflicting points of view and interpretations on how to best handle situations, but your commitment to that one thing you know God spoke to your heart will see you through. When burnout hits, if our motivations are built 

and based on God’s unchanging nature, we cannot fail.

Backed into a corner, we had to reconsider. Two things transpired to make us question whether we should stay in our home of twelve years. We had adopted a son who was hearing impaired. The size of a three year old, he labored through a church preschool program and private speech therapy services, but these situations held at bay decisions about public school until his adoption was finalized. The other consideration was our oldest biological son. The state we lived in required second graders to pass an exam, and this child lagged behind in reading—not that unusual for boys his age. But, there was one shot at passing the test, and he didn’t.

The law was the law. If your child had a special need in any area, then the parent was required to be certified in that field to home educate. I had to be certified in both reading specialty and hearing impairment to homeschool two of my children, and I wasn’t.

The local school district complicated matters by telling us they would not hire someone certified in hearing impairment. We went to battle. We knew our rights. Going to the highest levels to insist the schools provide for our adopted son, we worked to change minds and hearts, but it did no good. We spent so much time in war there was no time to spend with the children, especially our hearing impaired son, who had desperate needs.

Father, tell us what to do. We put the house on the market, and it didn’t sell. Is this your answer, Lord?  We could leave our home and move fifteen miles across the state line and homeschool each of our children in freedom. What a temptation! We prayed harder.

“For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”

2 Corinthians 4: 17-18 (NKJ)

One day, my husband came home with an answer. A good steward of God’s wealth and blessing maintains his material belongings in a responsible manner. The conflict? The Bible also says, that the planet is our temporary residence, and that we should make decisions based on what is eternal rather than on what is temporary. What did we know for certain? Our two biological children and two adopted children were God given. To live an authentic example of relationship with God was our highest responsibility to them. And the biggest lesson life had taught us? God is most concerned with what will last.

Money? It comes and it goes. Places to live and things to wear? He promises to provide. Our decision was made based on enduring for what was eternal. We moved across state lines and continued to homeschool our children. I am not saying this is the right decision for everyone in our situation. I have never seen God do anything the same way twice. But, I am saying, it was the right decision for us at that moment.

There was a price. Our house never sold, and we endured hardships. Was the hardship fair? Adversity made us want to doubt our decisions. Even now, I sometimes wonder if we could have done something differently. But each time we were challenged, we counted it joy and pursued knowing Him and the fellowship of His sufferings. God never once failed us financially. He supplied materially and entrusted us with two more internationally adopted children.

“For we know that if our earthly house, this tent, (I realize this can mean our bodies) is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.” 2 Corinthians 5:1(NKJ)

Throughout the years we have been faced with this one question. Would we choose what is important now or what would be important later?

Heartfelt commitments require endurance through hardship, trial, testing, and attack. Outward circumstances are never easy to decipher. There will always be conflicting points of view and interpretations on how to best handle situations, but your commitment to that one thing you know God spoke to your heart will see you through. When burnout hits, if our motivations are built and based on God’s unchanging nature, we cannot fail.

*The preceding story was created as I journeyed through burnout and explored a remedy for it. Rest is the letter R in Remedy. Exercise your faith is letter E. Meditate More is letter M. Today's post is letter E, Endure for the Eternal. Stay tuned for future blogs concerning letters D-Y.*

 Listen for His Whispers...

Remedy for Burnout: Meditate/ Pour/ Meditate Some More

A sparkling glass pitcher. Perfect. I filled it with ice and water. The heavy cut glass would reflect the candlelight on my table, and make a lovely accent to dinner. After all, how often did special occasions pull us away from plastic divided plates and sippy cups? 

Leaving the kitchen to dress for dinner, I returned to find a puddle. On the counter near the pitcher was a pool of water. Must have missed it when cleaning. I grabbed a towel and soaked up the spill.

Mary meditated on Jesus, and as long as she did, she was filled. Martha stewed, her energies pouring from her faster than she could stop their leak. Both women beautiful, but one filled. One at peace.

The smell of pot roast reminded me it was time to take it out of the oven. I carefully arranged it on a platter and added onions, bite-sized potatoes, and carrots. I spun around to grab the pitcher. There it was, another drippy mess on the counter. Certainly, my prized pitcher wasn’t leaking? I lifted it high for examination. Nothing.

I toweled up the water, and this time stood guard. Ever so slowly, water drained from the pitcher. I dumped the contents and brought it to the light. The smallest of hair-line fractures zigzagged the glass. How could something so heavy crack and leak?

Whether we pour or leak, we need to be filled and refilled with His power. Be carried by the sweeping current of His Holy Spirit. Be refreshed. 
Meditate, pour, then meditate some more.

I couldn't bring myself to throw it away. On the outside it was still lovely. But what purpose would it serve? A receptacle for silk flowers? I scratched the idea and threw it in the can. I hate throwing things away. It called me back. I hovered over the trash can, and a lesson bloomed in my heart. A pitcher is meant to be poured and refilled. If it cannot hold substance, it has no purpose.

The story of Mary and Martha came to mind. Mary meditated on Jesus, and as long as she did, she was filled. Martha stewed, her energies pouring from her faster than she could stop their leak. Both women beautiful, but one filled. One at peace.

Meditation. The Hebrew word meaning to breathe. To breathe is to have life. Without life, we run dry. An answer to burnout? Meditate on your Redeemer. Fill yourself with His rich and satisfying Word; He is the Word who has come to dwell with us. 

And, flow where The River goes. Whether we pour or leak, we need to be filled and refilled with His power. Be carried by the sweeping current of His Holy Spirit. Be refreshed. 

Meditate. Pour out to others. Then meditate some more.

“O God, You are my God, and earnestly will I seek You; my inner self thirsts for You, my flesh longs and is faint for You, in a dry and weary land where no water is… My whole being shall be satisfied as with marrow and fatness; and my mouth shall praise You with joyful lips when I remember You upon my bed and meditate on You in the night watches. For You have been my help, and in the shadow of Your wings will I rejoice. My whole being follows hard after You and clings closely to You; Your right hand upholds me.” (Psalm 63:1, 5-7 Amplified)

*The preceding story, Remedy for Burnout, was written as I journeyed through burnout as a homeschooling mom. The letter R-Remember to Rest, E-Exercise What?, M-Meditate/Pour/Meditate Some More. Stay tuned for E-D-Y.* 

Mornings in our lives are those fresh, new beginnings we cherish each time we experience God.

Remedy for Burnout: Exercise What?

All I needed was a high school physical education credit for my son. Why did something so simple take on a life of its own? Destined to learn about types of exercise, whether I was allergic to them or not, suddenly became essential.

Discovery? There were lessons hidden much deeper than what I perceived on the pages of my son’s textbook.

 

What did the Bible say about exercise? I searched and found 1Timothy 4:8 (Amplified). “For physical training is of some value (useful for a little). But godliness (spiritual training) is useful and of value in every way…” 

There are rewards to physical exercise, but even greater promises result from the exercise of our faith in the One who has provided all good things.

The medical world and media slammed two benefits of exercise home to me. Exercise prevents our bodies from disease, and physical exertion relieves stress. So what did the scripture mean when it said there was something better? How did God exercise faith?

When force meets resistance, strength is gained and developed… I mulled over this tidbit, but inspiration didn’t snag me. I strolled to the staircase wall and shoved it with both hands. Isometric. Muscular contraction exerted against an immovable object. I pushed harder. Then my blur of understanding became clear as God showed me how consistency and steadfastness would ultimately build my strength of faith.

Though circumstances could come against my day and thrust our school into deadlock, I needed to keep going. No matter what. 

It's in pushing forward. Simple terms? Though circumstances could come against my day and thrust our school into deadlock, I needed to keep going. No matter what. Push through that hard hour when learning didn’t seem to soak into my child’s head, the frustrating day when life swallowed my goals and spoke of unfruitfulness, that upsetting year when a relationship problem and illness tried to devour me. Persevere. And, the real test? Withstanding with joy.

            So what was isotonic exercise? Muscular contraction resulting from force against movable objects… Or, strength of faith built by pushing away things that strove to subdue me. Spiritual and physical warfare. What weighed me down and did its best to strangle, choke, and overpower me? Small things like the disruption of telephone or doorbell. Hard things like a rebellious teenager, a looming financial disaster, or long term illness? The real test? Fighting while keeping my composure and battling when the enemy’s badgering voice told me I was a failure at every turn.

            David at Ziklag is an example of exercising faith in the midst of chaos. (1 Samuel 30:1-10).  This account showed me the power behind overcoming faith. David and his men came home to find their city invaded by the Amalekites. Fire had demolished their homes and their wives and children had been taken captive. His human response? David and his men wanted to despair. They had lost everything. David’s own men talked of stoning him.

But the scriptures tell us David encouraged himself in the Lord.  He turned to his only Hope, and acted on what God told him to do. As a result, a brave and conquering rescue took place, and all lost was recovered. Two days after the lowest point in David's life, he was crowned King of Israel.

The real test? Fighting while keeping my composure and battling when the enemy’s badgering voice told me I was a failure at every turn.

There are rewards to physical exercise, but even greater promises result from the exercise of our faith in the One who has provided all good things.The endeavors never cease, the need for exercise never diminishes. Don’t plunge into burnout. Be steadfast and consistent. Resist your enemy.

Let’s have dialog about the things you feel are subjecting you to burnout. What can you do to exercise your faith in these areas?

Jeremiah 9:24

2 Timothy 4:7

1Timothy 6:12 

*The preceding story was created as I journeyed through burnout and explored a remedy for it. Rest is the letter R in Remedy. Exercise your faith is letter E. Stay tuned for future blogs concerning letters M-E-D-Y.*

When God Whispers

Remedy for Burnout: Remember To Rest

My nerves crackled with anxiety, and I blinked away thoughts of cutting loose and running. The toilet paper wasn’t normally stored in the refrigerator. As my brain power flickered like a dying light bulb, I questioned my sanity. Had I really put unwashed clothes in the dryer and mistaken Lysol Spray for deodorant this morning?

To my side, a daughter murmured to her homegrown doll, Francesca, as she swept the doll’s mitten-shaped hand across a Braille alphabet card. “No silly. That’s not the answer. It’s G. G says Qu in Queen. Let’s try it again.”

Phonic’s therapy. Today.

While still processing the toilet paper in the fridge, my other daughter, walking like Frankenstein, entered the kitchen dressed in cardboard. Have you ever bent to pull toilet paper from the fridge while having a conversation with Disney’s Cogsworth the Clock, alias Asian nine-year-old with a perfectly face-painted French mustache?

Art class. Quirky. But cute.

I eased myself into a chair and peered toward the peaceful sight of the Methodist church building next door. A gentle wind swayed the bushes of the side-yard, and my gaze scaled the white steeple.

Anchor me,Lord!

But an interruption much like television static blurred past the window. My oldest son, wearing Man from Snowy River hat, breezed down the driveway on horseback. A lariat poised in his right hand spun in the air. I jumped to my feet and scrambled to the living room. As I reached the large, front windows, the horse came to an abrupt stop. My son yanked on his rope, and a glimpse of his target stumbled from behind the shoulder point of the Welsh pony. Arms bound, a younger brother yelled to Kingdom come.

Impressive equestrian skills. People skills? Not so much.

A third brother slammed the back door, ran toward me speaking with characteristically disjointed syllables and signing with frantic hands.

Tattling 101. If this son could tattle, he could talk.

Recess ended. I called each of my darlings to attend court. I perched on the sofa and had them form a lineup which included Francesca, Cogsworth, and Man from Snowy River. Lunch over and instruction beginning again at 2PM, I relegated each of them to a different room in the house for one hour of peace and quiet.

Instead of caving, I stretched on the sofa and prayed, remembering back several years to when the children were smaller. And, God reminded me about the importance of rest.

Love your neighbor as yourself… Loving yourself isn’t self promotion, is it? It’s necessary.

I had started well. Once the kids had outgrown naptime, I had still required them to sit calmly on their beds for an hour every afternoon. They could read, draw, play quietly with Legos… When had I allowed this important time of day to slip into obscurity?

I could hear parenting experts telling me to keep my children busy, busy. Then they're less trouble, right? But, creativity and soul nurturing are oftentimes born of quiet moments for kids and moms alike.

God whispered to me the need for purposeful rest. This type of rest would keep me on track with the practical elements in my life. I could handle the work-a-day existence of being mom and teacher if I believed I was doing it all for a higher purpose. I’d forgotten. Like the Children of Israel wandering the desert, I’d let mundane days rob me of my calling, and I’d allowed God’s splendor to dim.

Growing weary in doing well… This Biblical phrase identified and cemented the issue. In modern vernacular, I was experiencing burnout. How does one put the brakes on burnout when you already feel chewed and swallowed?

Reaching for my Bible, I read Joshua 4:3, 6, & 7. God instructed Joshua to lay memory stones. The purpose? To remind future generations of His power, presence, and provision. The stones were taken from the Jordan River, and they were lifted from the riverbed in the places where the priest's feet stood firm before the Ark of the Covenant. This Ark represented God’s presence. Why was this significant? Our decision to parent and homeschool, and the ability to actually do it, had been firmly planted in God's power, presence, and provision from the beginning. So why was I lacking?

Rest—so easy and so hard.

I began to understand. Strong, family memories could wield weapons to slay burnout. New memories were tactical procedures ensuring my future. But what should comprise my memory stones? I couldn’t imagine myself gathering rocks. Then it hit me. Journals, scrapbooks, photo albums, lapbooks—anything that records our progress and demonstrates God’s graciousness to us is a memory stone.

Afternoon quiet time was reinstituted at my house that day. I gathered fluffy pillows, lit a scented candle, snuggled deeper into the folds of the couch, and reviewed my purpose along with my children’s treasured moments.

I renewed my mind, setting it on the finished work of Jesus Christ—the Believer’s ultimate rest—and basked in the comforting help of the Holy Spirit.

Refreshed…

 “[What would have become of me] had I not believed that I would see the Lord’s goodness in the land of the living?” Psalm 27:13 (Amplified)

What about you? I’d love to hear what sustains you. What restful thing do you do to regain focus?

                       

*The preceding story was created as I journeyed through burnout and explored a remedy for it. Rest is the letter R in Remedy. Stay tuned for future blogs concerning letters E-M-E-D-Y.

           

2 Thessalonians 1:3

Joshua 4:3-24

Psalm 16: 9

Isaiah 63:14

Listen for His Whispers...

When Trouble Finds You

New beginnings are like new blooms; they anticipate sunshine and dew-kissed days to blossom.  They spring forth, by design of the Creator, fresh, sturdy, yet tender and lovely.

We had moved to a new beginning—a different house, neighborhood, town, and state. I was prepared. I’d gathered curriculum. I’d planned entertaining activities for my toddler. My boys, seven, six, and five, had organized closets filled with learning games, and I had a teacher corner, complete with manuals and motivating magazines. I had made calls and studied state law. My paperwork was filed.

            On this first day of school, my primary agenda was to feed hungry tummies. I scrambled eggs and made toast. Kissing my husband as he headed for work, I skipped to the bathroom to groom while the kids ate. When I came back, the kids had deserted. The boys had made a pirate ship of the bunk beds and the toddler was listening to music. Happy sounds filtered the rooms and the sun’s rays splashed my face while I scrubbed the frying pan at the kitchen sink.

            A knock sounded on the back door as peals of laughter and playacting grew louder. My daughter clamored through the room marching to music. I scanned the table. Scrambled eggs dotted its surface.  Electric curlers were atop my head, but I was dressed. I shuddered. Being in a new place, I didn’t know people. Who would knock on the back door at eight in the morning?

I managed to pluck two or three rollers from my hair as I opened the door. A stranger stood there.  Be gracious.

“Mrs. McCauley?” he said, never cracking a smile.

“Yes?”

“I am Mr. Jones and I am with the state truancy department. Someone filed a complaint with us saying your children are not in school. This is the first day of school, ma’am. Are your children here?”

Panic gripped. Heavenly Father! This was before the days of organizations telling you what to do in such situations. The door was wide open, and this man had one foot in the threshold. Wisdom told me to show confidence and honesty. What else could I do?

“Please come in…” I smiled, though trembling. The children’s games ceased and they swarmed, grinning at the company. I told them to do what they were supposed to be doing, and one by one they trickled away. The pirate ship sailed.  Hails of shiver me timbers reverberated. I swept my hand around the kitchen. 

“I’m sorry things are a mess.We just finished breakfast.”

He said nothing.

“Mr. Jones, I am a homeschooler. My children have not been outdoors this morning, and I don’t understand who called and complained.”

“The call was made last week, before school began.”

“I don’t understand. Why would someone do that?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. Why don’t you show me your paperwork?”

            I invited him to follow me to my teacher corner. Anyone could tell I was organized and serious, but suddenly I realized I had been remiss. I had filed papers without making a photocopy, and I had no proof of what I’d sent the state. An explanation nervously poured from my mouth.

            He asked to see the children’s books. I showed him everything and treated him with the dignity of a trusted friend. As he strolled once more to the classroom, he stooped to speak with my three-year-old, who now sat with a book. 

“What are you reading, honey?”

“A book about Jesus.” She beamed, and I could see her eyes blaze a trail to his heart.

The man rose, meeting my eyes and said, “You are doing a wonderful job…”

Most of the time trouble will come calling when it’s least expected, and situations can spin out of control in a hurry. Granted, I should have been more prepared, but what I learned speaks volumes.  A gentle answer can turn away wrath. What is meant for evil, God can change for good. The attributes of our Father—truthfulness, graciousness, confidence—exercised in our actions, can produce lovely blooms endowed with hope of flowering. What about you? Have you had a negative reaction to homeschooling turn around because you cried out for God’s virtues? Have you found yourself in a new situation, counting on God to be faithful and fruitful in your endeavors?

*Author’s note:  I do recommend homeschoolers join HSLDA and learn what to do in a situation like the one above. The days of pioneering are over, and there is helpful information on what to do before and after your rights are threatened.  

Though we may be unprepared, the Holy Spirit is our Helper.

Listen for his whispers! 

Popcorn Memories

One night, a few years ago now, my body as always longed for rest, but the alarm jolted me awake at midnight's blue, when the kids would be fast asleep. What?!? Then I remembered. I slipped from beneath flannel sheets and electric blanket into the still cold of our ancient house, looking back with longing at my soft pillow. The century-old stairs creaked as I scaled them in cloak of darkness, a tight fist about a one-dollar bill. I tiptoed through the upstairs maze, my feet dodging dressers, cast-aside shoes, and prickly, little carpet tacks at every portal. As I shivered, I smiled to myself; my mission would soon be accomplished. A baby tooth awaited me in a snack-sized Ziploc tucked under my second-born's pillow.

Carefully, carefully, I inched toward Jarred's bunk.  Five feet… Four feet… Three feet away from his wee, slumbering snore... Faint moonlight softened his little face into a deceiving sweetness. Two feet… I reached out… And the world plunged from its axis! My legs went sprawling in mid-air; the breath I’d been holding burst into a wild, squeal of terror. The room shifted, rocked, rolled, and I landed in a bruising heap among more than a thousand glass marbles. Looking up at the ceiling, I knew with icy certainty— my favorite red-haired mischief-maker had booby-trapped the tooth fairy! Every scene from The Ransom of Red Chief went flying through my head, as I turned red with fury.

That night carried the real potential to send me over the proverbial edge, though I forgave my repentant son, toothless grin and all. The next day, black-and-blue and sleep deprived, I needed a vacation, but there was no money for such a luxury. I calculated the cost of a sitter for the day and decided I was worth it, but none were available. Randy will watch the kids this evening, and I can escape. But events conspired against me, and of course, he had to work late.

I was stuck. Stuck! Stuck! Stuck! And in the midst of my stomping about with no glamorous place to hide from this exasperating day, memories began skipping through my brain like popcorn. Pop! Pop! Pop!

POP! The time my creative toddlers destroyed their room. No, I really mean destroyed. As in every toy out, every stitch of clothing strewn. Have you ever stood at the door to that room? Well, I knew they couldn't clean up their mess alone – but I simply took one look, turned and walked away, shaking my head like a lunatic and babbling, "Just – clean it up." When I returned, they had cleaned it all right. Around the baseboards in perfect rows marched a baseball, a shoe, a Big Bird bank, a sock, a soldier, another shoe, baby lotion, a Fisher-Price tape player, another sock, and on, and on, all the way around the room. I sipped my iced tea and studied the two-man clean-up crew, now chasing their squealing younger sister.

POP! The morning my son, Joshua, decided to take down the chain link fence. I had never analyzed how a chain link fence is put together, much less taken down, but my son visualized a fort built from that section of fencing. Not only did he dismantle the section screw by screw, he also took the garden shears and cut an ingenious doorway through the middle of it. Would you think dull garden shears could cut through chain? I stared at the gaping hole, thinking, My head is actually going to explode this time. I had two choices: I could have an aneurysm, or not. Making the obvious choice, I looked at my son and said – teeth clenched – voice low, "Put. It. Back." By sunset that evening, the section was back in place, the center bound together with wire like a great incision.

I learned from each catastrophe. When did each shenanigan, my children pulled, transition in my mind to an endearing memory? Finally, I sat wilting on the back stoop, watching my kids romping in the yard, and with memories came bubbles of laughter.

I sipped my iced tea and reflected on my life with children. Hadn't God been good to me, after my first child was stillborn? Hadn't He whispered to me that I would have children? Me. The mom of six blessings. My heart softened. Despite my annoyance, He refreshed me. From that night forward, the tooth fairy never again retrieved teeth from under children's pillows—making the exchange instead at the downstairs' bookcase.

But I learned that survival is about clinging to God’s merciful gift of humor, gracing me with the perspective to laugh at, and occasionally even with, my children's hoodlum ways. Sometimes a restorative vacation is just a step backwards into a few blessed minutes of hysterical laughter. 

So, pop back in time, and tell me your funny. When did humor help you survive?

Mornings in our lives are those fresh, new 

beginnings we cherish each time we 

experience God.  

A Seed—A Wind—A Masterpiece

1990

Leesa Wallace now understood the grief swollen hearts of others. Her precious Caitlin, born just three months earlier with trisomy-19, fought for her life. Worship music lilted in the background of the hospital room, and the baby responded to it as she always had.  Yet this time, she was too weak for her arms and legs to flail and reach toward heaven. This time, only her eyes danced in rhythm to the heartbeat of the Father.  As the music paused between songs, the baby gave up her fight and flew into the arms of the Savior who had loved her first.  And a gaping wound rent Leesa’s heart, leaving a hole. She clutched the trembling hand of her husband, and together they cried.

1999

Since Caitlin’s death, three more daughters were born into the Wallace household to join big brother, Zachory, but the family was incomplete.  Leesa knew on the inside—had always known—that God wanted her to have a medically fragile child. Not one to replace Caitlin, but one chosen by the Father to love, serve, and bless.

The seed, planted by the Father, began germinating. The knowing became inescapable. It was time. After taking adoption classes through the state of Louisiana, the Wallace family began searching for their special child, and Leesa was led to Adopt America, a national organization representing children for adoption with special needs.  The process with Louisiana was slow and painstaking. But Adopt America found a child almost immediately and agreed to work between states to unite their family with a child.

Louisiana joined hands with Adopt America and the state of Texas. There was a seven month old boy, Matthew, living in a foster home in San Antonio, born with spina bifida. Leesa was given the names and phone number for the foster parents, and God was the orchestra leader bringing every instrument of His service into play.  And this was only the warm-up.

After dinner one evening, Leesa phoned San Antonio.  Foster parent, Dennis Snyder, answered.   They chatted and in their discourse Leesa asked, “Why do you foster children who are medically challenged?”  His reply would send electricity jolting through her body.  This couple had a heart for fragile children because they had a daughter born with trisomy-18, who died at age nine. 

When Mr. Snyder asked, “Why do you want to adopt a medically fragile child?” Leesa told him about Caitlin. Immediately, Dennis called his wife to the extension.  She asked; and Leesa explained that they had previously lived in Round Rock, Texas, approximately sixty miles from the Snyder’s home in San Antonio. 

Long faded memories began popping in Leesa as Jeanne Snyder peppered her with questions. In which Texas cemetery had Caitlin been buried?  And when?  Leesa’s pulse escalated as she told Jeanne the specific name of the cemetery.  As things turned out, the Snyders had started a support group for families who had children with trisomy, and when they learned a young family in Round Rock had lost their daughter, Jeanne had made the drive to attend the funeral.  Yes.  Jeanne Snyder had been at Caitlin’s funeral.

As the conversation continued to unfold, Leesa realized she had gone to one of the San Antonio support group meetings shortly after Caitlin was born, and though names had withered with time, it was the Snyder’s home where she had sat and shared about her special daughter. Yes. Matthew was being fostered in this same home. A knowing settled over Leesa. And, God, the Maestro, lifted his baton in prelude.

The social worker in Texas was eager to find a Hispanic home for this child who was both white and Hispanic in heritage. This woman chose to be uncooperative and launched a campaign to find Matthew a Hispanic home. Her final ploy sent devastating breakers into the coastline of Leesa’s heart. The Texas social worker decided to do an expanded feature, advertising Matthew on Texas television despite protests by the Snyders and the Wallaces. Matthew was a cute and gregarious baby.  His potential was unknown, and he was passing huge developmental milestones. Who wouldn’t want to adopt him? 

But in the end, not a single person made contact to ask more questions about adopting Matthew.  This mother and son were meant to be together.  The Heavenly Conductor brought His masterpiece to conclusion.  Matthew Wallace’s adoption was finalized September of 2000.

2012

Today, Matthew is thirteen.  He recently went to med-camp, and he has overcome many adversities through the help of his loving parents. The Snyders are still involved in Matthew’s life, playing an extended family role. 

God places the lonely in families.  Psalm 68:6A

(Left to Right) The Wallace Children: Kimberlee, Sadie, Zachory, Matthew, and Meghann 

Paul and Leesa Wallace pastor a church in Shreveport, LA. Our family was privileged to be apart of their church family for many years. God directed me to share this part of their story with you. Live blessed!    Ann McCauley

Listen for His Whispers