The Hope of Christmas...in September

 To say things are tense, heavy and divisive in our world right now is an understatement. The hurt and the brokenness happening all around us is palpable. The murders of Black men and women being caught on video and taking place during a worldwide pandemic, has made it impossible for anyone to ignore the racial injustices and unrest in the United States. Racial injustices that have always been part of the Black narrative in the United States. Racial injustices without reparations. With leaders in our nation both Black and white insisting that racism does not exist in America, needless to say, not everyone is in agreement which is where the division begins.

As a white woman alive in this space, place and time and who is certain that racism DOES in fact exist in America, I have had a constant feeling of being kicked in the gut. I feel this because I KNOW FOR A FACT my whiteness is responsible for the suffering and injustices my Black brothers and sisters experience daily. And I hate that this is a reality. And the knowing this and the undoing of white supremacy in my own life while living in a society built upon white supremacy makes me cringe…punch to the gut. I hear the voices and the cries of my Black friends. My in real life (not token Black person in the media) Black friends who have held my babies and put their feet under my table and worshiped by my side in church and I want to crumble under the weight of their pain. And I feel so angry about the state of our nation for so many reasons but especially because the conversation about Black men and women seeking justice and equality and safety is a conversation and reality that can cause division.

How can we hear the cries of the hurting and answer them with arrogant justifications? 

Lord, have mercy!

Dear Black people, I am so deeply sorry.

Life is strange, and 2020 is the strangest. So, it’s not surprising that in the midst of all of this. All the conversations I am having on social media with both strangers and friends. The hundreds of DMs and upsetting comments. The heavy conversations with family members and friends, in the midst of all of it, I found myself at the filming of a Christmas concert.

Christmas.

It is months away. And the months between now and Christmas are primed to be harder, heavier, and even more divisive #election. And there I was, listening to one of my favorite artists singing Christmas carols. And when she sang the song “Oh, Holy Night” I began to weep. The gut punch feeling I’ve been holding for months released in a moment through tears.

The lyrics of the song hit me hard because something I’ve been wrestling with these past months is I believe navigating the circumstances in our world should look radically different for those of us who love Jesus. At the risk of simplifying something layered with complexity, I can’t wrap my mind around how “The Church” – the collective whole of those who love Jesus – is not doing everything possible to listen to the cries of the hurting and help to build bridges of love, peace, and hope.

The Church knows that the world was holding its breath, waiting for a savior, then Jesus was born.

Jesus was born and lived and changed it all!

Have we forgotten this? 

Have we become so fixated on safety, power, nation, comfort, being right, and religion that we have forgotten how to care for the broken hearted, the poor in spirit, those seeking after justice, righteousness and peace for all? Have we forgotten everything Jesus taught us about loving and caring for our neighbor? Have we become so fixated on the return of a savior that we have forgotten about our savior here on earth who brought with him a radical way of living and loving? 

Oh, friends! What am I missing? Is my lack of theological studies blinding me here or giving me clearer sight? How are the people who love Jesus and believe him to be the savior on such opposite sides of the issues?

Look, I know I am getting a lot of it wrong. A lot! But I also know, as a woman who loves Jesus fiercely, whose life has been radically changed because of the hope and love and peace which IS Jesus, that without that hope, love and peace we have it wrong. The message of The Church, of Jesus loving people is flat out wrong when it reflects fear over hope, power over love and division over peace.

Leave it to a good and gracious God to take my breath away and bring me to my knees with a simple Christmas song at a production being filmed in the middle of the summer. An unexpected time and place to bring me back to what it is Jesus is all about and what my response to a broken world should be.

As I heard the words to the song, words reminding us of a weary world waiting for a savior, I thought of my Black friends. I thought of all the Black strangers in the room at the concert with me, of the men and women I have been listening to and learning from in books and documentaries and news articles and on social media. I heard the words and felt a pull to write them down and send them along. A reminder of hope for their weary souls. 

And I wanted to take the words of the song and remind so many in the white community who are not seeing the hurt and brokenness of those in the Black community but rather focusing on and fearing the brokenness of their world. Remember dear ones, a savior came to the earth to break chains and end oppression. A savior whose law is love and gospel is peace.

We don’t have to wait for Christmas to live out and live in these truths.

Oh Holy Night (a portion of the song)

Oh Holy night! The Stars are brightly shining.

It is the night of our dear Savior’s birth.

Long lay the world in sin and error pining.

Till he appeared and the soul felt it worth.

A thill of hope – a weary world rejoices,

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

Fall on your knees!

Truly he taught us love for one another,

His law is love and His gospel is peace.

Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.

And in His name all oppression shall cease.

Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,

With all our hearts we praise his holy name.

Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,

His power and glory ever more proclaim!

Recognizing Our Teachers With Amazon

Thanks to Amazon for sponsoring this post

It’s school time! As to be expected I have 

So. Many. Thoughts. And. Feelings.

First, how? How is a new school year already here? I ask this question every year, and every year the summer seems to fly by. So here we are, in August, and it’s time to start a new school year. This school year I have a 1st grader, 4th grader and our Macyn Hope Arpi Avis is going into SIXTH GRADE! As in JUNIOR HIGH! Excuse me while I go curl up in a ball and cry! 

Okay, I’m back! While sending our children to JUNIOR HIGH is already a thing no parent should have to face, we are all now “sending” our kids to school during these unique times. I know every school district is starting school differently, and for us here in Southern California, our kids are all starting off the year with distance learning. Can I just pause here for a second and say “Lord have mercy!” and “Jesus take the wheel!” 

If you’ve been following along here for a bit then you know that school can be (or always is!) complicated for our kids who have Down syndrome. And if you decide to hang out with us a little longer then we are about to find out the exciting new challenges headed our way when our family goes head to head with Distance Learning. As they say, these are unprecedented times.

While I have so many more thoughts on this unprecedented school year, I want to take a moment to say, teachers are heroes. Let me say that again a little louder for the students in the back, “TEACHERS ARE HEROES!” Teachers have always been heroes but dang it, the task at hand for teachers starting the 2020 school year, it is the work of people in capes and tight shiny suits...heroes I tell ya.

I for one am ready to come alongside our teachers this year, more than ever, and show them just how much we love, support and appreciate them. Which is why when Amazon reached out to ask if we would want to partner with them to celebrate teachers by helping them get ready for the new school year, the answer was, 100% Yes!

I’m excited to share with you some of the ways you can give back to deserving teachers and educators with Amazon:

• Clear The List: Okay friends, if you haven’t heard about #ClearTheList movement, let me tell you: Clear The List is an organic social media movement that encourages customers to give back to teachers by purchasing items from their Amazon Wish Lists. So cool right? If you are a teacher and want to create your own Amazon Wish List you can get started at amazon.com/WishList. And don’t forget to head to my latest Instagram post  to submit your Wish Lists.

• Shop with AmazonSmile: I know a lot of us are not in a position to give right now no matter how much we love and support our teachers, and that is okay! If you find yourself in that boat, and you can only afford to get the supplies your kids need right now, then let me tell you about AmazonSmile. AmazonSmile is a way to give back at no extra cost to you. As you are shopping on Amazon for school supplies for you kids all you need to do is head to smile.amazon.com/readyforschool and a portion of the purchase price of eligible items will be donated to your selected charity. With more than 150,000 eligible education-related charities like schools and PTA’s, simply head to smile.amazon.com/ to find the one you want a portion of your purchase price to go to.

• Donations with Alexa: And finally when it comes to giving to our favorite charities let’s talk about our favorite gal, Alexa! She’s here to make donating a breeze. Simply say, “Alexa, I want to make a donation” to any Alexa-enabled device and she’ll help you get started!

Here’s to a new school year, to teachers, to students and the loved ones helping them grow and learn.

Dear Daughter

“Mom, isn’t it weird that you are my mom and I am your daughter and we don’t look alike?” 

There was a pause in my breath as I glanced at my nine-year-old daughter in the rearview mirror. Her big brown eyes, deep in thought, meeting mine. She politely smiled. Her upturned mouth uncertain if the expression was genuine or there to make me feel okay.

I wanted to say so many things. To tell her

“Of course you are my daughter.”

“We don’t need to look alike to be family.”

“It is not weird that I am your mom and you are my daughter. Every family is different.”

And while none of those statements are bad or harmful, as a transracial adoptive mom I’ve been listening to the voices of transracial adult adoptees, and I am learning that none of those statements are helpful either. 

As I continued to catch glances of my daughter in the rear view mirror, her chestnut brown skin and black curly hair in stark contrast to my light olive tone and straight brown hair, I was reminded she was right. We don’t look alike. Not at all. And it doesn’t matter that I’ve been her mom for all but five months of her life. It doesn’t matter that I was the one who watched her take her first steps, eat her first foods, say her first words. If you placed us in a room with strangers, no one would guess that we belonged to one another. 

Staring at her I knew, as a mother who never had biological children, I no longer felt the need to see my eyes, nose, cheekbones, lips in the faces of my children. The fact remains, I see those characteristics in the faces of my own parents, my siblings and even in some of my nieces and nephews. A connection to who I am, where I came from. But my daughter, with no attachment to a single person who shares her same genetic makeup, walks around a world in which she lacks the connection of resemblance. She is alone in that regard. A fact which remains heavy and burdensome.  

Rather than throw out some thoughts that may not be helpful I looked at my daughter and asked, “Do you want to talk about how that makes you feel?” 

To which she so bravely and clearly shared, “Sometimes I feel so different. Like I am the only person in the family who is like me. Sometimes it makes me feel left out.” 

Crushed, I reached my hand back and grabbed hers. I know this reality cannot be changed, fixed, or bypassed. It just is. I also know it’s not personal and to center myself in this conversation would in the long term be damaging to my daughter. So I said the only thing I could think to say, “Honey, I am so sorry. And I want you to know, it is okay to feel that way. Your feelings about your place in our family are so important and I hope you know you can always share them with me if you want to.” She squeezed my hand and we drove home.

Dear daughter of mine,

As a person raised in the family of my birth I will never know the full extent of the heaviness of the brokenness you experience as an adoptee. And as a white mom raising a daughter with brown skin, I will never understand the weight of this reality for you. And for that I am so very sorry. But please know, I will always try my very best and I promise you this: 

As much as my eyes will allow me to, I will see you!

As much as my mind will allow me to, I will try to understand you!

And as much as my soul will allow me to, I will hold it all with you. 

Because dear, brave, powerful daughter of mine, I adore you and I am learning from you. 

Xoxo,

Mom

You can change over there.” The nurse pointed to a small changing room off to the side. She handed me a hospital gown and walked away.

I stepped into the room, locked the door, set the hospital gown on the chair in the corner and began to undress. As I slid my arms into the gown I got a glimpse of my body in the mirror. I paused and stared. Instead of seeing a body that was strong and able, a body that got me out of bed every morning and carried me through my day, a body which functioned in a way that allowed me to travel the world and navigate it with ease, I stared at my naked body, and the only thing I could see was brokenness. 

At that moment in my life I had been on this thing we call the “infertility journey” for over two years. Allow me to fill you in. After four years of marriage to the love of my life we decided we were ready to start a family. I was 24 years old, young and healthy with no genetic history that would ever lead me to believe I would not be able to get pregnant. But once we hit the six month mark of trying to get pregnant, I had a feeling something was very wrong. 

People in our lives, including my ObGyn, were quick to dismiss my fears, saying things like “Six months is not a long time,” and “No need to worry.” But any woman hoping to get pregnant who does not right away knows that those months in which we remain un-pregnant add up like some kind of freak dog year making six months feel three years at least. So two years later when I made my way to the hospital for yet another procedure and stared at my broken body in the mirror, my head knew it had only been two years but my heart and my soul were certain it had been much, much longer.

Getting back to that moment in the hospital changing room: I was there for a dye test. In those two years leading up to that moment I had had numerous procedures each one leading to another which ultimately led me to get a dye test to see if my only working fallopian tube was clear and if so, hallelujah-praise-the-Lord there was hope for a pregnancy still. 

What happened over the next week would ultimately be the final nail in my infertility coffin. It seems a little harsh to use such an analogy, but the loss of my fertility was a death to me. I’ll spare you some details but in short what happened is after the dye test I went home full of hope. I had learned that I had a functioning and very clear fallopian tube, and I had been told by so many well meaning people that it was not uncommon for women to end up getting pregnant shortly after a dye test. A few days after the test, the hope I was holding so tightly began to dwindle when I found myself doubled over with a pain that made it so I could not walk on my own. My husband helped me to the car and rushed me to the emergency room. Over the next couple days I would find myself in and out of the emergency room multiple times with fever, pain, vomiting and diarrhea. While I was never hospitalized, I did end up spending two weeks at home in bed because of a horrible infection that had spread throughout my female organs. 

When I finally made my way back to my ObGyn he informed me that I am part of the less than 2% of the women who have a dye test done and get an infection because of it. He also informed me that an infection of that magnitude would have most likely destroyed any chance I had at getting pregnant, placing my fertility into the coffin and nailing it shut.

I left from the doctor’s office that day crushed with the dwindling hope I had been holding onto disappearing completely. When I got home I crumbled, falling into my bed sobbing. 

It’s such a strange thing to find one’s self in grief which exists in the loss of a dream. While the world around me continued to turn and flourish, I was stuck, and my dream of motherhood felt dead. But as it goes, our friend Time stepped in to help my heart heal and eventually I found my way back to hope. And this time hope took on the form of adoption. 

When hope found its way back to me here is what I learned: while my dreams of pregnancy had come to a close, my dream of motherhood was still very much alive and it could be fulfilled by growing my family via adoption.

So we started down the path towards adoption and let me tell you, it was nothing I thought it would be. If you are a potential adoptive parent, I don’t want that to scare you, but I do want to share some of what I have learned that I wish I knew when I started the process. The truth is, I went into adoption with one purpose in mind: to become a mom. Three adoptions later I have learned that the fact is there is so much more to adoption than this.   

After the pain of the loss of my fertility started to dull, my husband and I went in search of what we thought would be the best way for us to pursue adoption. At the time I was very much wanting a healthy infant. I anticipated the road towards adoption would be bumpy, but I also romanticized it, ignorant to the trauma from which every adoption comes from. So with a blind hope we chose a private adoption agency. When the time came for us to check the boxes identifying traits we were open to or not with our future baby we checked “no” to all major health issues or genetic differences. We also were hoping for minimal contact with the birth family in the form of cards/letters and pictures only. So when we learned about a baby girl born with a congenital heart defect, pulmonary hypertension and Down syndrome, saying “no” to adopting her made complete and total sense. On paper she was so much of what we were trying to avoid. But there was a tug on my heart to learn more about this little girl, and after three weeks of going back and forth between: “I think we should adopt her” to “There is no way we can do this,” we ultimately found ourselves saying our scariest and best “YES!” and bringing home our daughter with her broken heart, sick lungs and extra chromosome. Ultimately, we made this decision because at the end of the day she was a baby in need of a family and we were a family in need of a baby, and that seemed to be more than enough. In addition, the thing we discovered, quite quickly I might add, is that none of the things about her that seemed so terrifying on paper could even come close to the love we would feel for her and the ways in which her unique perspective on life would change our world. 

As I type this she is twelve years old and the eldest of our three kids. About two years after bringing her home my husband and I chose adoption again. This time we decided to adopt through our local county. This would mean we would have a lot less control over the type of child we would bring into our home. But after learning so much about the adoption process and knowing that adoption is about more than just growing our family, we were open to the layers and nuance an adoption would bring our way, which meant we were open to all different kinds of adoption scenarios. 

When our eldest daughter was three years old we brought home another daughter. She joined our family at six months old. She had no diagnosed special needs or health issues but she is a different ethnicity than my husband and I, and so she opened up a new opportunity for us to learn what it means to have a transracial family. And together we continue to navigate the trauma found by being a person of color raised by white parents, which is an unavoidable, delicate and important aspect of her story.

When our eldest daughter was five years old and our middle daughter was two, we learned about a birthmother who was pregnant with a baby boy who had a congenital heart defect and Down syndrome, and she wanted to create an adoption plan for him. We were so honored to get to be the family she chose for her son to grow up in and two months after meeting her, our son was born. Our relationship with our son’s birth mother and her extended family has taught us so much about the importance of knowing and allowing our children to also be the child of their birth mother. She’s helped us see that when it comes to adoptive and birth families it is not an either/or but rather a both/and. 

Today, all these years later, I write this as a mother of three children ages twelve, nine and six. Three children born from different women's wombs. Three children who call me mom. This is an honor I do not hold lightly. And as I think back to that broken girl staring at herself in the mirror I want to gather her up in my arms and tell her, “it is going to be harder and better than you could ever prepare for. And you are going to be okay.” Because, dear friend who finds herself on this adoption journey, it is going to be harder and better than you could ever prepare for. And you are going to be okay.

So We Disagree, Now What?

Last week, in an effort to amplify and center the voices of Black men and women in the conversation about race in America, a Black friend of mine did a takeover on my Instagram page @TheLuckyFewOffical and shared his lived out experience of what it means to be Black in America right now. I encouraged my followers to be listeners and learners in this space and time, but what he shared created knee jerk reactions in thousands and things got tense, to say the least. His posts brought on hundreds of hurtful, harmful, and racist comments, but it also brought up hard and necessary conversations and some genuine questions from people who are listening and learning right now. Included in those questions I found this in my Direct Messages: 

Dear Heather,

My question is this: what would you say to someone who is sitting in the tension, listening to the voices, reading all the things, praying like crazy for humility and wisdom and after all of that comes to a different conclusion about the root of the problem facing our nation right now?

Thanks,

Cindy (her name as been changed)

Here is my response: 

Dear Cindy,

The very first thing that comes to mind is, I don’t know. I just don’t know. I have lots of white friends who I am not seeing eye to eye with right now on the issues of race and Racial injustice in America and its root and our responsibility as white people. People who I love dearly have accused me of “baiting false race wars,” “sitting in my ivory tower on social media while stoking the nightmare.” They have accused me of hating their family members who are in law enforcement and believing the lies being fed to me by “liberal nazis.” At the same time, I’ve challenged these same loved ones to see that they have racism in their life that needs to be dismantled, and they are benefiting from white privilege and white supremacy. It seems we believe the exact opposite thing when it comes to these issues. I will send them articles and videos and conversations and scripture and sermons trying to better help them see things the way I do, which I’m convinced is the right way, which is why I am speaking up and fighting for it. Then they will send me links to videos and articles and conversations and scripture to try to help me better see things the way they do, etc. We both seem to accuse the other person of sitting in an echo chamber and not allowing opposing voices into the conversation while fully believing that we are in fact listening to a wide variety of voices right now. At the end of the day we both feel strongly that we are right and the other person is wrong. So now what?

Look, I am not an expert in any of this, but I do have some thoughts which are all based on my reality and lens and learning. But before I share those with you I think a little background could help: I believe in Racial Justice and I believe that Racial Justice is not something being implemented or practiced within the systems of America. Racial Justice has been something I have been working towards for over twenty years. As a white woman in America I have had the privilege aka white privilege to give the work of Racial Justice the attention it deserves in intervals throughout these past 20 years. In other words, because I do not have to endure the overt oppression and dangers caused by the lack of Racial Justice in our nation, I can participate in working towards Racial Justice...or not. It’s really up to me (see; definition of white privilege). Personally, this started out as a deep dive during college into understanding Racial Justice mostly through the lens of the Bible and the ministry and life of Jesus, which led to a major dismantling of racism in my own life, leaving me feeling pretty shook up and coming out on the other side as what some like to say “woke” in my early 20’s. Some time passed in which I would dip in and out of the work of Racial Justice, until the county of San Bernardino called me and asked if I’d like to adopt “a little hispanic girl,” to which I answered, “yes” and our middle daughter Truly joined our lives. Come to find out, she is Guatemalan and African American and presents to the world as Black. A few years into the life of being a white mother raising a daughter who is Black I took an even deeper dive into the understanding and work of Racial Justice when we moved to a more racially diverse community. This move created relationships with people of all different ethnicities, including Black and Brown people, who taught me by sharing their lived experiences, even more about what it means to be Black in America. By being intentional in making sure I had proximity to Black and Brown people I was able to develop real and meaningful relationships with them. These relationships helped create the lens from which I understand racism in America today. 

“ ...if we lack meaningful relationships with those whose voices we say we are listening to and learning from, then we lack the heartbeat of the conversation. And where there is no heartbeat there is no life...no growth. ”

— -Heather Avis

The truth is, we can sit in the tension and listen and read and pray all day long, but if we lack meaningful relationships with those whose voices we say we are listening to and learning from, then we lack the heartbeat of the conversation. And where there is no heartbeat there is no life…no growth. 

Let me tell you a story: a few years ago when we were living in the Los Angeles area my husband worked for a church that was intentionally multi-ethnic. Because of this he worked with people of all different ethnicities including quite a few Black men. One of his co-workers, who happened to be a Black man, had a long commute to work so he would stay with us from time to time. He ended up having his own room in our home with his clothes in the drawers and toothbrush in the bathroom. Sometimes he’d be around during dinner time and join Josh and I and our three small children around our dining room table. He became our friend. One night he came to the house later than we had anticipated. I had already gone to bed but my husband Josh was still awake. Our friend told him he was late because he had been pulled over by a police officer. When he asked why he was pulled over the officer yelled at him to get out of his vehicle. And for the next thirty minutes he sat on the side of the road, cars passing by, humiliated and afraid. He drove off without a ticket, without a citation. His only crime? Being a Black man in America. He told my husband it happens to him often. Shortly after he shared this story with us a young man by the name of Michael Brown was shot and killed by a police officer in Ferguson, Missouri. The day after the story hit the news cycle my husband went to work and during the staff meeting he had the opportunity to listen to the voices, stories and lived out experiences of his Black co-workers, most of whom were pastors. He sat and listened as each person shared time after time of experiencing oppression and harm by the systems in place in our country. He heard the lived stories of people who he had real and meaningful relationships with and it changed everything. 

As the mother of two children who have Down syndrome and one child who is Black, I have found that we live in a world built upon and centered on the voices of the most powerful and the majority of these voices have been and are white people without a disability. I began paying closer attention to this because of my relationship to my children. Over the past 12 years as their mother I have found myself up against systems that have been put into place by strong, powerful and mostly white people without disabilities which is why the systems do not work for my kids. So when it comes time to try to understand why there is unrest within a system, I believe with all my convictions that the voices to listen to in the conversation are always the voices of the marginalized or oppressed. Which is what I am committed to doing in the conversation about race. And the most powerful and life changing of those voices are the ones with whom I have real meaningful and intentional relationships with. 

So Cindy, my question for you is, are you in relationships with Black people? Please know I ask this gently, with grace and humility. And I don’t mean the black co-worker or neighbor you are kind to and who you see nothing wrong with. Or the Black child who was adopted into a white family in a white neighborhood going to a white church. I mean are you putting your feet under the table and sharing a meal and life with Black men and women? Because if you say after sitting in the tension and listening and reading and learning and praying you have come to a different conclusion and disagree with a lot of what is being said about the root of the problem with racism in our country but you have not been in relationship with Black men and women who are living under the oppression of that racism daily and who trust you enough within that relationship to share it with you, then I’d say the key component needed for reaching a conclusion is missing. There is more work to be done. 

And I guess the relationships I have with Black people is why, after listening to the point of view of my friends who sit on the opposite side of the conversation and watching the videos they send and praying through the scripture they share, I still believe what I believe about the Racial Injustice in America. Because if I hear and adopt the beliefs they are sharing with me, none of which come from Black people with whom they have a meaningful relationship with, then that means I have to look at my Black friends with whom I do have a meaningful and real relationship with and say to them, “you are wrong. Your lived experience in this world is not real.” And I think not only would that be harmful but it would be irresponsible and inhumane. 

As I write this letter to you, I do so knowing that I may be getting it all wrong. The most any of us can know and understand about a situation we are not personally experiencing is what we are willing to try to know and understand. I am not free of the blinders and ignorance I see in thoses I disagree with. But gosh darn I am trying my best to truly see the whole picture here. I am just one person doing the best I can with what I know and have, committed to listening, learning, relationship and growth. And I trust you are too.

With grace, peace, love and justice,

Heather 

Day 61...What’s Really Going On?

Hey Friends, Today marks 61 days of quarantine or shelter in place or social distancing or stay at home or whatever the heck you want to call it. 61 days! Whoa.

I remember during that first week when we were advised to not leave our homes and the businesses in our community began to shut their doors, how shocked and devastated I was. But with nowhere to go there was chatter about everything that could be accomplished during our time at home. And people everywhere began talking about their bucket list. On a walk with some girlfriends that first week we were sharing with each other some of the projects we hoped to complete when I announced, “I am going to learn what flowers are edible and then plant them in my garden.” (Something I’ve always wanted to do.)

Well, here we are, 61 days later and I have no idea what flowers are edible nor have I planted a single thing in my garden. Nor do I even have a garden! 

Fast forward a couple weeks when we all began to recognize that this stay at home business was not ending anytime soon. It was early in the morning and all three kids had piled into my bed. As the morning conversation unfolded, Josh and I agreed that seeing as things were not going to be opening up anytime soon, it was time to create our own “quarantine bucket list.” So I pulled out a piece of paper and we began to make a list:

• Paint the stairs

• Set up the spa (PS: it’s on backorder and has not been delivered)

• Watch the sunset at the beach (from the car of course)

• Clean out the closets

• Build an epic fort

• Themed movie night

• Family sleepover in our room

Just to name a few. And here we are, sitting in our home for 61 days and you want to know how many things we’ve checked off this bucket list? Zero things. Z-E-R-O. And really, look at that list, it’s not like we were shooting for the stars! 

As I ride this rollercoaster we call “Worldwide Pandemic,” the one I am screaming to get off of, I go from feeling totally fine with the way our lives have played out these past 61 days, to feeling like a complete failure for abandoning our bucket list and for not knowing the name of a single edible flower. 

Why do I share all of this with you? A couple of reasons: I have a feeling I am not the only person who is feeling unaccomplished 61 days into this world-wide-pandemic situation. Surely I’m not the only person looking back on the past 61 days thinking, “What the heck have we been doing this whole time?” Honestly? Somewhere in my deepest heart of hearts is a person who wants to be an adorable, Pinterest-worthy, creator of beautiful bucket lists and then actually checks off the items on the list. But that was not me prior to a worldwide pandemic, and it surely is not me now during one. And you know what...THAT IS OKAY! 

It also makes me look back at what I did accomplish these past 61 days and I’ve realized I just needed a different list. One that looked more like this:

• Make dinner, 61 times

• Oversee kindergarten, 3rd grade and 5th grade school work 

• Read...a lot

• Answer emails

• Walk over 200 miles (Yes! I did walk over 200 miles this past 61 days!)

• Tell people I love that I love them

• Check in on my neighbor

• Extend grace

• Ask for forgiveness

• Show up the best ways I know how

In other words, I have done my very best during this time. And I have a feeling you have too. 

So wherever you find yourself on this 61st day of whatever this is, let me tell you: you’re doing a good job. Period. Good night!

Stay healthy, stay safe!
Shouting Their Worth,
Heather 

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In other news! Here’s a few things you should know about…

• The Lucky Few Podcast is growing! Will you help us? The Lucky Few Podcast is all about shifting the narrative by shouting the worth of people with Down syndrome. For the past two years, The Lucky Few Podcast team has been investing more of our time and resources to bring you weekly episodes that encourage, inspire and equip you to go into your spaces of influence and shift the Down syndrome narrative. As the podcast grows we want to invite you to grow along with it by supporting it financially. Become a Patron Here!
  

• Inclusion for All eCourse is now PAY WHAT YOU CAN. That’s right, if you can only pay one dollar or pay 1 million, we want everyone to invest their time and energy into making this world more inclusive. We know this life is better when we live it together, so what are you waiting for? Click here to start your course.
  

Still not sure? Check out this free download resource: A Guide to Inclusion: 5 inclusive practices to help instill an inclusive mindset in your home, classroom, community and life.

Need just the right shirt to give to a teacher, grad or mama? Check out our collections at our NEW shop. SHOP HERE.

Get Ready For a Wonderful (and very weird) Easter

(Sponsored by National Pork Board) 

Easter is in three days! What? How did that happen? Anyone else feeling surprised by this? I don’t know about you but the days seem nameless and I forget about days that are of some kind of significance, such as Easter! So it has snuck up on us. 

Honestly? Easter is a favorite celebration around here. The story of hope, restoration and redemption that Easter tells is the foundation of our family. And while this year’s celebration is going to look a little different, hope, restoration and redemption are what we are holding onto now more than ever.

So for Sunday, even though we can’t celebrate with anyone outside of our family of five, the traditions we love will still be sprinkled throughout our day. 

First up: the meal! 

What is a tradition without food? For me the Easter meal has always included mashed potatoes, corn, and ham steaks with brown sugar and pineapple. Because these strange times have created some voids on the shelves in grocery stores we will be switching things up just a bit.  The mashed potatoes will be there and will include butter and sour-cream, the corn will be replaced with brussel sprouts roasted with bacon and the ham steaks will be replaced by a bone-in spiral ham. And because it is just the five of us this year I am going to try a new recipe for the ham which includes brown sugar, bourbon and honey (all of which are already in my cupboards!) 

Other traditions that will look a little different will include virtual church and an Easter egg hunt for three kids (and a puppy!) instead of 30+.

I think we can all agree that in these very weird times this Easter it is going to feel, well, weird. But I have a feeling it can also be wonderful! Happy (almost) Easter friends! Hope yours is full of all the traditions and flavors you love.

Whose Life is Worth Saving?

(Side note: since writing this piece, an article has come out stating Trump’s administration has said people with disabilities must not be denied medical treatment based on their disability. This is great news. But the point remains. So please do read on!  https://thehill.com/policy/healthcare/489982-trump-administration-says-people-with-disabilities-must-not-be-denied

Let’s look at a COVID-19 hypothetical: 

Two 11-year-old girls enter an emergency department at the same time. Both girls are struggling to breathe and need immediate care in the form of a ventilator. There is one ventilator and the triage doctors must now decide who gets it. Girl ‘A’ appears healthy with a history of health. Girl ‘B’ has a medical history that includes a congenital heart defect and pulmonary hypertension, both of which have been totally resolved and she’s been totally healthy since she was two years old. She also has Down syndrome. Whose life will the doctors choose to save?

 The articles circulating the internet about the very real idea that as the Coronavirus spreads doctors may have to decide who will be saved and who won’t, have created a tension and a fear amongst many of those who may find themselves in the “won’t save” column. Among those are people with intellectual and/or physical disabilities, which could end up including my children with Down syndrome. 

 This idea that the life of a person without a disability is more valuable than the life of a person with a disability is nothing new. Take the Down syndrome population for example: the majority of babies with Down syndrome who receive an in-utero diagnosis are aborted solely because of the diagnosis. Or said differently, if they did not have Down syndrome, if there was not a disability, they would be viewed as worthy of life, (here kid, have a ventilator). And once born, people with Down syndrome and other disabilities are living in a world where this attitude and reaction to an in-utero diagnosis is accepted. Their disability is viewed as something to fix, tolerate or avoid, often being seen as a “problem” with “solutions” in place to help make people with disabilities more like people without disabilities.

Over the past week I’ve read the articles about medical plans in place for if/when this virus overwhelms our medical system. These protocols will guide doctors who have to make the horrific choice about whose life is worthy of saving. And because the virus has been kind to kids, it is unlikely the hypothetical which we started with here will come to fruition. But my friends with disabilities may not be so lucky. People I love who fit into a category that has been deemed “less worthy of life” because of a diagnosis may lose their lives to someone who does not have a disability. 

Before I continue, two pieces of information I want to make sure are heard loud and clear. First, I am so very, very, very thankful to the medical professionals on the front lines of this pandemic. I know they are risking their lives and if/when a decision is made to save the life of a person without a disability vs. a person with a disability, I know this is a not a personal decision made by doctors. I can’t imagine having the pressure and responsibility to make a decision like this. I only have sympathy for the doctors who have to make that call. Doctors, I love you all! Second, I’m in the camp of all people are worthy of life and because of my proximity to people with disabilities I have been given the gift of a better understanding of what it truly means to be human and the worth of a life starts and stops with one’s humanity.

As I read the articles written by people with disabilities expressing this new level of fear if they were to get the virus, as well as major media outlets discussing triage protocols, I want to point out that the world questioned my daughter’s worth and the worth of the disabled long before COVID 19. The medical triage protocol we are seeing circulate which is deciding the life of people with disabilities is less than those without, is simply a magnifying glass on a sentiment that has been alive and well for decades, centuries, since the beginning of time.  

 And while I can’t imagine anyone reading this would agree the life of my daughter with Down syndrome is worth less than the life of an 11-year-old without a disability, during this time may we all take pause and try to better understand why and how we measure the value of a life. As we remain in our homes distant from others for an indefinite amount of time, may we be intentional in creating proximity via social media, books, movies, etc. to those who we may place in the “less worthy” column. And by doing so may we all broaden our definition of who is worthy of life and what it truly means to be human. It is an opportunity as well as a responsibility.

Stay safe, stay home, we are with you in this! 

Hey Friend! It's Time for YOU to Own Your Story

Less than three weeks ago I gathered in a room in sunny Redlands, California with 60 other people and together we learned what it means to truly own our stories. 

 Let me take you back a bit and tell you the how and why I ended up there that day.

 For the past eight years I have been a leader in the social media Down syndrome space. Yes! The “social media Down syndrome space” is a real thing (you should come hang out with us there. It’s a magical space!). I never sought out to be in this space. We started as an Instagram account set up to share and celebrate life with a child who has Down syndrome. As I shared how lucky I felt to be a mother to a child with Down syndrome I began using the hashtag #theluckyfew.  This hashtag grew quite quickly and within a year many more families posting pictures of their child with Down syndrome began adding #theluckyfew to their captions. As our Instagram account grew so did the hashtag. With more than 430K #theluckyfew hashtags on Instagram today, all of which are connected to the Down syndrome community, the phrase “The Lucky Few” has become synonyms with Down syndrome. In other words, “lucky” has begun to attach itself to “Down syndrome” and a true narrative shift is happening right before our eyes. 

 It took me a few years to truly recognize the influence I had in the Down syndrome conversation. But once I did, I began to notice that the stories I had to share were being received in life changing or rather, narrative shifting ways. As those early days unfolded it took me some time to learn how to truly step into my influence and intentionally tell the story I was living out. But as the years have gone by, I’ve discovered that when I made the conscious decision to truly own my story by understanding its importance and choosing to share it with the world, what started as a simple hashtag has become a new, life giving, life changing and necessary narrative shift for people with Down syndrome and those of us who love them. 

 As my influence on social media grew so did my interaction with moms raising kids with Down syndrome. Over the years I’ve had a similar conversation with thousands of these mamas and it goes something like this: “how do I share my story with the world in an impactful and narrative shifting way?” The short answer was, “Put your story into the world.” But a longer answer was needed and thus Own Your Story was born.  

 Here’s the thing about stories: we all have one that should be told and should be heard. All of us are living out our own unique stories and the only way those stories can have a positive impact on the world is if we share them.

 Three weeks ago when we launched our first ever Own Your Story Workshop the room did have a few mamas from “the lucky few” in it, but what I found so amazing, and affirming is that the room was full of people from all different walks of life living out all different kinds of stories. 

Yes, a person raising a child with Down syndrome NEEDS to know how to see the influence their story has on this world, they need to truly learn how to own their story. But so does the person who is raising a kid without Down syndrome. And the person who is single with no kids, and the person working as a barista, or starting a non-profit or hustling as a small business owner.

This world is full of stories that have the power to create empathy, connect humanity and shift narratives. And the story you’re living out is one of them. 

 At the end of the night, after we finished up our first every Own Your Story Workshop, I sat in my living room with my husband and my friends who partnered with us and made it happen. We raised our glasses to a successful day created by all our hard work but more than that we toasted to the stories that were born into the world that day knowing that each story would have a narrative shifting ripple effect. The first Own Your Story had come to an end, but its impact was only just the beginning.

If you’re ready to Own Your Story follow this link to join us at our next live workshop or you can join us at home with our Own Your Story eCourse!

Actually, Inclusion is Not The Goal

It was the end of the school day and I was waiting outside the gate of the school for the bell to ring. As I approached the back gate of the school, I noticed my daughter, Macyn, was on the field with her class playing dodgeball. I smiled as I watched her run from colorful rubber balls and when the class would slow down just a tad to hand her a ball making sure she had a chance to participate in the game my heart exploded with joy. I found myself laughing out loud at her meager attempt to throw the ball at the opposing side to try to get her opponent out. Let’s just say, Avis’s are more artists than athletes. As I watched the game go down the yard-duty at the gate who was also watching leaned towards me and said, “She does a good job playing dodgeball.” her tone sounding surprised, “and the class is so good at including her in the game.” 

“Of course she does a great job playing dodgeball with her class.” I snapped back, holding my tongue as I was not in the mode to have to educate this educator on the fact that her seemingly innocent comment had made a helpless victim out of my daughter and heros out of the rest of the class. 

Let me interrupt this story with a few important pieces of information before we move on: my daughter has Down syndrome; she’s in 5th grade; and she is fully included in her general education 5th grade classroom.  

Back to our yard-duty friend and why her comments were so harmful:

First: she would not have made those comments to any of the other parents who have kids in my daughter’s class. For all of the other kids in the class the assumption and expectation is that they will participate in a game of dodgeball with their classmates. To assume this of a typical peer but not of a student with Down syndrome is to assume less of the student with Down syndrome.

Second: she was implying that kids who were so good at including a person with Down syndrome were somehow the heroes.

Here is a fact we can tattoo on our bodies: being kind to another human does not make you a hero, it makes you a human. 

This yard-duty is a kind, loving, caring person (who does not get paid enough for what she does). But what this yard-duty represents is the idea that it is something special and admirable for a person with Down syndrome to participate in a game of dodgeball, or in life for that matter, with her neuro-typical peers. I found myself being snappy with this well-meaning yard-duty because this kind of thinking is what continues to divide and segregate people like my daughter.

What the yard-duty didn’t know was happening is that not only was my daughter fully included in her 5th grade classroom but she had also found a place to belong. 

There is a difference you see.

Inclusion is important but belonging is the goal.  

Inclusion is a foundation on which belonging can begin to grow. An inclusive mindset paired with inclusive practices leads to the ultimate goal which is belonging.

Let’s look at it this way: 

Inclusion says:

You can come into our space.

We will adjust the space to make it work for you.

We will support your learning and differences in our space.

You’re Welcome.

Belonging says: 

The human in me sees the human in you. 

The vulnerability in me see the vulnerability in you. 

The need to be loved in me sees the need to be loved in you.

Let’s do this life together. 

When my daughter with Down syndrome started 5th grade she entered a classroom that had intentionally made accommodations and modifications so she could have access to her curriculum and peers, this is inclusion. But what’s happened over the months was the access and opportunities in place created a space where friendships could be formed and misunderstandings understood and the scary unknown became known erasing the fear. When our daughter played dodgeball with her peers that day, she did so as someone who belonged.

The need for belonging is universal. It is not based off of ability, looks, socioeconomics, status, gender or ethnicity. Belonging is woven into the fabric of humanity. EVERYONE desires a place to belong.  

So going back to our yard-duty friend and the dodgeball game, here is what I should have said (and still can):

“You know what, Macyn is actually terrible at dodgeball! But she plays it with her class not because they are so good about including her but because it is where she belongs. Macyn belongs with her friends playing dodgeball” 

In conclusion: My hope and prayer for my kids, myself and all of you is that as we search for that sense of belonging for ourselves we find that along the way we create spaces where everyone can belong.   

 Because if there is one thing my daughter with Down syndrome has taught me is that Everyone Belongs!