For many years, I have felt ashamed about not recognizing racism in my own life earlier. I just didn’t see it. My family uprooted itself to go to Africa and help people. My dad left his practice in the States to work as a missionary doctor. We left a big, beautiful home where we had acreage, a pool, an orchard… and we were happy to go. Mom once said we left a pool and gained an ocean.

There were kids of every skin tone in my graduating class. There is a rainbow of skin tone in my family, and I have a child of color.

It doesn’t sound like racism.

When we went to Liberia, we brought our lifestyle with us. It was scaled down, of course. I had Star Wars posters on my bedroom walls. We had nice clothes and stereos. We had rogue bars on our windows.

We unintentionally flaunted what we had in front of people who had nothing.

The compound where we lived was full of coconut trees. I could pick up a coconut anytime I wanted to. I could crack it open and eat it, or I could throw it into the lagoon. It didn’t matter. If a Liberian picked up a coconut, they were called a coconut rogue, and chased away. The maintenance department picked up the coconuts and put them into barrels in a fenced area. Many of the people living around us were hungry.

If a child came to the door asking for kool aid, they might be pointed to the hose where they could get a drink of water.

Out by the airport, there is a place called “Smell No Taste.” During the war, the people would come and stand at the fence, smelling the food cooked for the American military.

Smell no taste pretty much says it all.

I pick up a pen and touch it to the paper, and a fish swims out. Mike loaned me some tools for making pottery. I picked up a wooden stylus and touched it to the leather hard surface of a pot. It had fish in it too!

I grasp the moving utensils, and find that there are fishes hiding everywhere.

They wriggle out and sometimes congregate, overlapping each other and swimming away, happy to be freed from the ink chamber or sculpting tool.

When I paint, I sometimes don’t know what is going to come out. At other times, the subject is clear and deliberate. It’s the same way when I write. Whatever I am digesting will come out when the time is right.

When the words flow out, surprising even me, it can be cathartic. The things I am the most hesitant to write are often the most rewarding.

I hook something unseen in the depths, and reel in an important memory or unresolved issue.

Those big fish are intimidating. They can be threatening, flopping around the way they do. Lashing out. Afraid of change. When they settle down, I examine them.

When I take the hook out of their mouth and release them, I actually take the hook out of myself.

The thing is just the thing, and I am no longer tethered to it.

Most recently, the subject of religion as been surfacing, and this has made me uncomfortable… and that makes me uncomfortable. I don’t want to censor myself. I want to say it all.

When I write something that I think is shocking or offensive, I read it to friends and they say it is beautiful. When I read it aloud, I get choked up, so I know it’s real. It’s coming from my soul.

I don’t think there is a problem with what I say. I think there is a problem with the old way of thinking.

I see it on a large scale now. Recognizing and naming white supremacy in our culture is threatening to those who are comfortable with it. I want to be comfortable opposing fascism and tyranny wherever I see it.

I read on social media that you can’t change your friends, but you can change your friends.

I can change myself.

I’m going to be 60 this summer. It kind of makes me laugh. Time goes by fast, and I feel like I’ve only recently started finding my voice. Maybe I just needed to live a few things so I’d have something to say.

I’m tired of being disrespected. I still feel that i am treated like a child. I have not said what I really want to say because I haven’t wanted to hurt anyone’s feelings. The same people have hurt me with their words many times.

I grew up in a narrow minded culture where we thought we were right, and everyone else was wrong insofar as they disagreed or differed from us.

28 years ago, I left that judgmental institution and have never regretted it. Not even for one second. For me, religion is the opposite of spirituality. Dogma is unkind. Religious fundamentalism is abusive.

The point is, I don’t need anyone to approve of what I do or what I say. I sure don’t need anyone to tell me what to believe.

If I tell you my plans, please understand that I am not asking for advice. I don’t welcome your criticism.

I’m not going to do things the way you do.

I’m not.

I think a lot before I act, and I have my own trajectory.

If my dream sounds like a nightmare to you, please keep it to yourself.

I don’t want to be like you.

If I grew up with you on the mission field, I’m pretty sure I don’t share your political or religious views. I still consider you a friend. Our friendship was not based on politics.

Having said that, I won’t abide a platform of intolerance and hate.

I don’t see many of the people I knew as a child. It might be fun to see childhood acquaintances.

I still want you. I don’t need you.

Use your words. Don’t quote the Bible and call it your opinion.

I’m not going to pray out loud with you, and I’m definitely not going to sing hymns. It’s just not me.

What I really like to do is sit by a bonfire, talking late into the night. I like deep conversations, and I like to laugh. I love my kids more than anything.

It’s time for me to cast off fear and say the things I feel. Not to hurt, but even if it hurts.

I want my words to be compelling… inspiring but not sweet… kind but not easy… honest but not necessarily comfortable.

It used to be that I didn’t want to tell my stories behind my paintings. I didn’t want to limit the viewer from actively seeing the images for themselves. It was like looking at shapes in the clouds. Not everyone saw what I saw. That is ok when I see a fish and you see a UFO or a golden retriever.

As I painted this, I saw streets filled with blood and fire and protestors demanding justice. I saw three hundred years of pain and inequity. I feel ashamed and outraged on behalf of my black brothers and sisters. I am sickened that my daughter has to be extra careful when she leaves her house because of the color of her skin. I can not fathom the mentality that makes it necessary for us to state that black lives matter.

Holly and I participated in a game show on a boat, and we won. We answered every question the same.

Q: What was the happiest day of your life?

A: The day Madeline was born.

My happiest days have been the days my children have come into my life. Everything else was just to support that.

By the time most people are my age, they’re happily empty nesting. They enjoy their grandchildren, and get to do whatever they want.

I’m not ready for that, and don’t think I ever will be.

All of my kids and I have open hearts, an open home and lots of love to share. We also have a very supportive, loving community. Our network is our family, and we could not be who we are without you.

We know who you are. You know who you are. We love you so much.

Think of us. Wish on a star. Say a prayer. Whatever it is you do. Vote.

2020 will be what we make it.

Recently, I’ve had a fundamental shift in my thinking.

Family relationships are complicated. I’m grateful for the upbringing I have had, and for the opportunity to travel the globe.

What usually happens in America, is that you get parented for a while, and then you go out on your own into society. There is a reason we don’t stay. This is normal. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t have stayed with my parents. We were expatriates in a third world country. I floundered for years, with no roots and few long term friends.

My brothers and I spread out across the world, discovering or creating our own lives as adults. We’re not dependent upon each other, and we don’t communicate with each other all that much.

I have never felt respected by my family. If they respected me, they never let me know. I’ve had some clues in adulthood, that they valued me and even admired me, but these came as a great surprise. And maybe too late.

I’ve never felt I’ve lived up to their expectations, and I don’t care to. I don’t believe in things that they believe, and they don’t value what is important to me.

There is a difference between being taught something and believing something.

I don’t take the Bible literally. I don’t think missions are good for the world. I wish western culture didn’t steamroll over other small cultures. I don’t believe in heaven and hell. I don’t believe we’re born evil and in need of salvation.

I don’t need all the answers. I would rather be kind and open minded.

I no longer need my family of origin. I love them, but we don’t need each other. I don’t need their permission or blessing. I don’t need their advice.

That sounds negative, but I don’t have anger or resentment. I don’t have regrets.

I love my life and the family I have created.

One day, I found myself as an empty nester, and I left my home to be a help to my family, but they didn’t need me. I didn’t fit into their busy schedules. Now I can relax, back where I belong.

With love, I release them all from any control over me.

My puzzle piece just doesn’t fit there.

The years continue to tick by. We age, and I find that I can only be content. I have no unresolved issues… nothing to make amends for.

I have a lot of happy memories of a life of peaks and valleys.

Madeline was painting with me one day when she was little. Holly came down the stairs and said “Oh Madeline, I love your painting!” Madeline said “That’s my palette!” and laughed.

Some of the most beautiful things are unintentional. Flowers. Rocks. Sunlight on the water. And then we intentionally try to duplicate these things with paint. We label them and recognize them.

I was painting fish in acrylic the other day, and these are the colors I was using.

I’m laying in a hotel bathtub somewhere in southern Minnesota. I didn’t sleep much, which is no surprise.

I’m grateful to all the people who help my family. Today will be jam packed with meetings and appointments, followed by the long drive home so that I can get up early for work tomorrow.

A little over two years ago, I had the idea to grow my family again. To be honest, I was surprised that I was able to pull it off! I thought my age and marital status would be roadblocks to adopting again, 23 years after I last adopted.

I didn’t really think too much about the concerns that intimidate many at the thought of adopting multiple kids… older kids… kids with special needs.

Here I am, with those hurdles behind me.

It’s hard to imagine my life without my kids. As our caseworker has said many times, we were a good match.

The magic of family happened late for us. We lived a lot before we came into each other’s’ lives, and now my youngest is an adult. He has one more year of high school, and I am not ready to be an empty nester again.

Is this for everyone? No.

Once again, I am grateful to all the people who help us. Not only the caseworkers, therapists, teachers, doctors and other support workers, but the family and friends who love and support us. Your words and smiles mean so much, and we look forward to hugs again.