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Could I ask for a few prayers? We are in this insa Could I ask for a few prayers? We are in this insanely weird space in the adoption process, where there is nothing left for me to do but wait. No cookbooks to write or fundraisers to plan. No mountains of paperwork to fill out or home studies to complete. No baby gear to research or names to choose. No anything. Just wait. And it’s maddeningly hard for me.⁣ ⁣ Right now, we could have a baby in a week or a month or a year. We could be on the road next Monday, heading to a hospital to get a baby, only to find out the mother has changed her mind and decided to parent. Nothing is certain. Everything is up in the air. And for a choleric like me, this is the hardest place to be. I excel at doing. And when there’s nothing left to do, when everything is out of my control, I struggle.⁣ ⁣ It’s true, control is an illusion. It’s true, all plans can be shattered in a heartbeat. Every pregnancy is full of the unexpected. Babies come on their own schedule or don’t come at all or come and then are lost all the time. But it’s easier to lull yourself into thinking that’s not true, that there is some sort of schedule, when there actually is some sort of schedule. With adoption, there is none. It strips away all the illusions of control and perfectly laid plans we have, forcing us back to the moment, this moment, which is the only moment for which we are promised grace. Right now, I’m vacillating between receiving that grace and having a panic attack. It changes by the second.⁣ ⁣ So, say some prayers for us, please, and for all couples in this strange in between space, as well as all the expectant mamas out there, carrying babies who they’re contemplating entrusting to others. There is so much grace to be had in these days, but it’s hard and somewhat terrifying to receive. We need all the help we can get. I need all the help I can get.⁣ ⁣ #adoption #adoptivemother #adoptiveparent #waiting #catholicmom #expecting #catholicfamily #sayingyestolife #thecatholicwoman #secondadoption #allisgrace
If anyone ever wanted to make a movie about Chris If anyone ever wanted to make a movie about Chris and me, it would have to end with our decision to date. Everything else about our relationship has been beautifully, blissfully boring. Including our engagement.⁣ ⁣ On Christmas morning 2015, Chris asked my parents for my hand. A few days after that, he planned to propose. But then he got the flu, and his plans went out the window. So, once he was on the mend, on an ordinary Friday night, after an ordinary dinner, we sat down on my couch and he asked me to marry him. Just like that. No orchestra. No roses. No photographer. Just us, being us, in the place I loved the best. And that’s all I needed. Because the man doing the proposing was Chris.⁣ ⁣ So many of you have asked to hear more about Chris—about what made him so special. If you knew him, though, you wouldn’t have to ask.⁣ ⁣ As a father, Chris is affectionate, funny, playful, and wise. A natural teacher, he's always helping Toby learn about the world around him, from how to flip a light switch to how to throw a ball. It takes Chris twice as long to go on a walk with Toby as it takes me, because he wants to stop and let Toby look at every tree and play with every stick. He never rushes. And he never borrows trouble.⁣ ⁣ As a husband, Chris is gentle, faithful, funny, affirming, helpful, and patient. When I'm stressed, he puts me in the car and takes me for a drive. When I’m racing to meet a deadline, he gets up with Toby in the night. And when I'm tired, he does the dishes and sends me to bed.⁣ ⁣ Chris doesn't come home from the store without bringing me chocolate. He doesn't pass by a person who lives on the streets without giving them help. He loves ideas and books and cares deeply about doing what’s right. He has deep theological knowledge, but loves Jesus with the simple faith of a child. He also loves the Pittsburgh Pirates. But, if we need him, he doesn’t hesitate to shut off the game. In short, Chris is a man who was made to be a husband and father. It just took him time to get there. And while I may have gotten one of the world’s most boring proposals, the man doing the proposing was a man far better than I deserve. He’s not lucky I waited. I am.
In case anyone, anywhere, is under the illusion we In case anyone, anywhere, is under the illusion we’ve got it together, let me tell you about this here bed.⁣ ⁣ We bought it 6 months ago, when Toby’s insistence on sleeping with us was driving Chris out of our full size bed and onto the floor. Because of budgetary constraints, everything about it is el cheapo (actually, el cheapest). And from the very first night, I’ve regretted the purchase profoundly.⁣ ⁣ That night, we discovered the bed creaked like a windmill in a hurricane. We also discovered the mattress had a mountain-like lump in the middle, but gave no support anywhere else, practically sinking to the floor with the first hint of human contact. But, we had neither the time nor energy to return the thing, so we accepted it as a poverty and offered it up as a penance.⁣ ⁣ And what a penance it has been.⁣ ⁣ For 6 months, if one of us so much as rolled over, the creaking woke the other. For 6 months, I’ve tossed and turned for hours as my back pain has gotten worse and worse. For 6 months, I have not so silently cursed the bed nightly, losing any right to even call the thing a penance. And for the last month, I’ve cried at bedtime, exhausted, in pain, and knowing I’d only be more in pain come morning.⁣ ⁣ So, last night, determined to improve our situation, we lugged some boards out of the garage and took the mattress off the bed, thinking perhaps they might give it extra support. And we found…⁣ ⁣ We found that 6 months ago, we put the box spring on upside down. Up. Side. Down. The mountain in the middle of the mattress was the lone cross bar supporting it, while all other supports were on the “bottom,” nestled up against the bedframe and 18” away from the mattress.⁣ ⁣ We flipped the box spring. Low and behold the mattress no longer sank, the mountain in the middle was gone, and the creaking was no more.⁣ ⁣ 6 months of pain. 6 months of tears. 6 months of sleepless nights. All gone in an instant. And it never would have been there at all, if we’d had the mental energy to think about the problem for 5 minutes.⁣ ⁣ Yay us. Winning at life. Anyone else? Anyone?⁣ 🤦🏼‍♀️ 😭 #tiredmom #tireddad #cosleeping #codrowning #dontjudgemypillows #theywerecheap
July 2015. Chris and I had been dating for 6 month July 2015. Chris and I had been dating for 6 months. Everyone expected a proposal any day. After 9 years of our “Will They or Won’t They” friendship, marriage seemed like a given.⁣ ⁣ Chris and I felt that pressure. We’d ignored it for months, focusing on learning to love each other in a new way and enjoying the freedom that came with dating. But by July, we were getting anxious—me that he wasn’t going to propose and Chris that if he didn’t do it soon he’d be back to his cad status ASAP.⁣ ⁣ So, we started talking seriously about engagement, researching Pre-Cana retreats, looking into venues, and picking dates.⁣ ⁣ Then, 3 days before we planned to leave for a visit with my family in Illinois (and get my grandma’s diamond), Chris panicked. He wasn’t ready. So, I panicked. I suggested I go home alone.⁣ ⁣ Chris said no. We would go home together, as planned.⁣ ⁣ It was the best possible decision. Rejecting the pressure to move according to others’ timelines and expectations gave us the freedom to just be with each other again. Weathering the panic drew us closer. And it helped Chris grow in confidence about our relationship: it wasn’t going to end like his two previous engagements had; it was stronger; we were stronger.⁣ ⁣ The moral of the story? Relationships aren’t like baking a cake. There is no one timeline for everyone. We all have different hurts we have to heal from and different issues we have to work through. That doesn’t happen on a schedule. And the truth is, if you don’t work through those issues and hurts before marriage, you will have to work through them after. Or watch your marriage fall apart.⁣ ⁣ Now, some people can get stuck in an indefinite rut, not moving forward, not working through issues, not healing. Directionless dating is a problem. Don’t do that. If there’s no clear reason why your relationship is stuck in a holding pattern, that’s a concern.⁣ ⁣ But, if you know why you’re moving at a different pace than you expected or others expected or others moved, put your blinders on and keep doing the work you’re doing. It may not end in marriage. But, if it does, your marriage will be better for it. And no matter what, you’ll be better for it.
One quick postscript to wrap up my posting maratho One quick postscript to wrap up my posting marathon.⁣ ⁣ Today, you got to experience what so many of my friends did during those crazy, confusing years: varying degrees of frustration, anger, and violent tendencies towards Chris. His behavior was so mystifying and maddening, that it left many of them wanting to kill him on the regular.⁣ ⁣ But behind all the mystifying and maddening was a man—an amazing, good man committed to becoming holy, who was genuinely sick and genuinely struggling.⁣ ⁣ Chris wasn’t always perfect in his decision-making, with me or with other women. But neither was I. Neither are any of us. Which is why relationships are so dang hard. We’re all broken or wounded in some way, and while nursing those wounds we often end up wounding others.⁣ ⁣ God blessed me with the grace and patience and clarity to see how good of a man Chris really was—his wisdom, intelligence, kindness, gentleness, sensitivity, and faithfulness. And that, more than anything else, is why I waited. He was worth waiting for. He was worth every second of the drama, frustration, confusion, and pain.⁣ ⁣ My friends know that now. They know Chris now. They’ve had the chance to get to know Chris, not just through my tearful, frustrated stories about him, but through interacting with him and watching their husbands and children interact with him. They see him now as I saw him then. They also have seen him continue to grow in holiness and love and virtue. Marriage has been good for Chris. Fatherhood has been good for Chris. And Chris has been better than good for me. He’s been the best thing that’s ever happened for me.⁣ ⁣ The confusing, chaotic, dramatic stuff is entertaining. But it’s not the important part. It fades into the background, when the real love story of a happy marriage begins.⁣ ⁣ As I’ve said before, sacramental graces can reach backwards, transforming all the moments that came before, redeeming every grief, healing every wound, changing every sorrow to joy. ⁣ ⁣ That’s how it’s been with us. This, what I shared today—it’s just a good story now. It’s not my reality anymore. My reality is marriage to the best man I know. And it’s the very best reality I can imagine.
(7/7a) I promised you lessons.⁣ ⁣ 1. Trips to (7/7a) I promised you lessons.⁣ ⁣ 1. Trips to Europe do nothing to help you forget the love of your life. But they’re still awesome and you should take as many as you can while single.⁣ ⁣ 2. It doesn’t normally end this way. When guys dawdle, it’s usually because they’re just not that in to you.⁣ ⁣ 3. Sometimes, it does end this way. We live in a world filled with broken people, who can’t be in healthy relationships until they heal—whether in mind, body, or spirit. So, delay isn’t always denial.⁣ ⁣ 4. How do you know when to wait? Sanctifying grace helps. Mass helps. Adoration helps. Good counsel helps. They’re what enabled me to make prudent decisions. If I’d been in a state of serious sin, not growing in prayer, and not seeking good counsel, it would’ve been different. So, don’t make these decisions apart from grace, God, and wise friends.⁣ ⁣ 5. What also helped? The fruits I saw in me. Chris didn’t lead me to sin. He led me closer to Christ. Our friendship was life-giving, even when it was hard. It made me kinder, gentler, more joyful, and more faithful. If your friendship isn’t doing that, reevaluate.⁣ ⁣ 6. Seek God’s will, not yours. Daily, for 9 years, my prayer wasn’t, “God, give me Chris.” It was, “God, you know my heart. If this isn’t of you, change it. If it is of you, help me bear it.” Yes, I demanded signs. But fewer as the years went on. None by the end. I learned to trust as I grew in faith. If your faith and trust look no different over time, that’s a red flag.⁣ ⁣ 7. Don’t let your idea of romance get in the way of real romance. Life is not a fairy tale. Love doesn’t always come how we expect it. If I’d insisted on a fairy tale romance, I wouldn’t have my husband—my wise, sexy, funny, virtuous, holy husband, who I love with all my heart.⁣ ⁣ And if Chris hadn’t let go of his desire for immediate fireworks and explored his deep, persistent need to be with me, he wouldn’t have found a love far more beautiful than his shallow ideas of romance. That letting go was hard for him. Our love didn’t happen as he expected. After he got well, that’s why he hesitated moving forward⁣ ⁣ But eventually, he did. And I can’t thank God enough. Why? Stay tuned for 7b.
(6/7) All through 2013, Chris and I grew closer. W (6/7) All through 2013, Chris and I grew closer. We saw each other every weekend, despite living 45 minutes apart. Chris started taking me with him when he visited friends in Greenville, SC. And I became his steady date for weddings and diocesan events. But we still weren’t dating. By 2014, Chris was calling and texting me more than my roommate’s boyfriend called and texted her. He took me to Quebec to see my sick uncle, and began acting territorial when other men flirted with me. But we still weren’t dating. Then, in October, he started asking questions. Weird questions. Did I think our friendship deterred other men from pursuing me? Did I not go out with other men because of him? Did I still want to get married? I dodged them all. Honest answers would lead to honest discussions, and honest discussions always led to us not seeing each other. And I wasn’t doing that ever again. So, we still weren’t dating. In November, I went on Sirius XM Radio, ostensibly to talk about The American Catholic Almanac. Instead, I spent an hour being humiliated for still being single by a certain male radio host, who is lucky I didn’t have sharp objects on me that night (and who still isn’t safe in my presence). The next day, Chris showed up with flowers and wine. But we still weren’t dating. In December, we went back to Greenville. While Chris was showering, one of his friends gave me a piece of her mind about us spending so much time together without dating. I held back tears until Chris came down and we left the house. Then, I broke down sobbing. Chris pressed me about what was wrong. I told him what she said. ... “Well,” he responded, “maybe we should date.” “I’ve been trying to talk to you about this for months,” he continued. “But you keep avoiding the conversation. “ Guilty as charged. We spent the rest of the morning walking around Abbeyville, South Carolina, holding hands, and talking about the nine years between our first date and that day. After so many years of friendship, neither of us knew what dating each other would look like or how it would change our relationship. But we were ready to find out.
(5/7) I was living a soap opera. A bad soap opera. (5/7) I was living a soap opera. A bad soap opera. As soon as I got off the phone, I raced to the hospital. Nobody knew why Chris’ kidneys were failing. So, I set up camp in his room while teams of doctors tried to find the answer. I stayed for a week. We held hands. We talked. We prayed….And we fought. Because I wasn’t the only woman at the hospital. There was another female friend there the first few days. They’d gone on a few dates in 2010, then became friends again after our 2011 break. I’d known nothing about her. But she knew all about me. I was living a Mexican soap opera. Eventually, she left. I stayed. After a week, his doctors diagnosed him with pulmonary sarcoidosis. After he was released, I headed off to Europe for 2 weeks (yes, again), and got home expecting we would finally start dating. But we didn’t. At first, he needed time to get well. And then, as more time passed and we still weren’t dating, I decided I didn’t care anymore. I mean, I cared. I loved him. I wanted to be with him. But I’d stopped expecting things to change. Chris was Chris. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t commit. But, it didn’t matter. As long as he was alive and we were friends, I could deal. There was peace again. There was joy again. No matter how frustrated I felt with our situation at night, in the morning, I woke up with the grace to do it all over again. Because of that, I decided that I’d misunderstood God. Maybe, he was calling me to Chris, but just as friends. It wasn’t what I wanted, but being his friend seemed better than being any other man’s wife. So, I stopped dating other guys, stopped asking God to change my heart, and just loved Chris as the situation allowed me to love him. Oddly enough, those closest to me supported that. When I would occasionally panic and talk about running, my new spiritual director and best friends all counseled me to stay in the friendship. Partly because they knew running was pointless: Chris and I would somehow find our way back to each other again. We always did. But also, I think, because they knew Chris would come around. And he did. But I was too blinded by my own fear to see it.
(4/7) In October 2009, I had two massive, fast-gro (4/7) In October 2009, I had two massive, fast-growing tumors on my uterus. Doctors thought they were cancerous and told me I’d likely need a hysterectomy. I wanted to call Chris. But he deserved more than a barren, broken woman. So, I never picked up the phone. 19 days passed between diagnosis and surgery. During that time, I was prayed over a half dozen times and anointed by Father Mike Scanlan and Father Ryland. When the doctors finally operated, they found the tumors were benign. I also got to keep my uterus. The doctors promised I’d have no problem conceiving. (Promises, promises). 🤷‍♀️ Fall turned to winter again, and in January, Chris emailed. He wanted to see me. He missed me. Could we be friends again? Feeling the shortness of life, I said yes, and we went back to our status quo. More shows and concerts. Another trip to Italy. A family wedding. And then an awkward conversation in May 2011, which ended with me saying I needed space. I flew off to England on a whim three days later. Chris didn’t handle it well. While I was gone, he kept emailing me and commenting on Facebook posts. I thought he was insane. How could he not see we should be dating? But he couldn’t. He was sick and getting sicker and even though he told me that, I didn’t believe him. I didn’t understand how an undiagnosed autoimmune disorder, which he was (badly) self-treating, affected his ability to make decisions. I also couldn’t see how that same illness prevented him from healing from an old (pre-me) broken engagement. I was sick and tired and done. When I got back from England, we went to one more concert, then I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore. That break lasted a year. I dated other guys. I went to Europe twice. My Single Girl book, which I’d written a year earlier, came out. I started writing “These Beautiful Bones.” And I cried everyday. I felt utterly desolated, without hope, without grace, without joy. But damn it, I’d waited long enough. God could take his “in quiet and trust” letters and send them to someone else. Then, on August 3, 2012, Chris called. It was his birthday. And he was on his way to the hospital, in kidney failure.
(3/7) Fall 2007 to Fall 2009. Two years of repetit (3/7) Fall 2007 to Fall 2009. Two years of repetitive, ambiguous drama. When Chris came home to Pittsburgh, I assumed we’d start dating. I assumed wrong.⁣ ⁣ Instead, we settled into friendship. A very datey friendship. But friendship. We went to concerts, shows, and movies. We explored Pittsburgh. We traveled to New York, Philadelphia, and Italy. We spent hours and hours, weeks and weeks talking. But nothing more. Not even handholding.⁣ ⁣ My friends, by and large, wanted to kill Chris. I sometimes wanted to kill him, too. But, God wouldn’t let me. Every time I’d reach the end of my rope, I’d deliver an ultimatum to the Lord God Almighty. Which is a really stupid thing to do. But, God didn’t smite me. Instead, every time I told Him I was done, that I was gonna give Chris a piece of my mind and walk away, He said one thing to me: “In quietness and in trust shall be your strength,” (Is 30:15).⁣ ⁣ That danged verse haunted me. It appeared like clockwork whenever I was tempted to throw in the towel on Chris. It was read out loud at Mass, included in the Magnificat during Morning and Evening Prayer, handed to me on scraps of paper by strangers, emblazoned at the tops of devotional writings copied out for me by friends, and once, sent to me in the mail. That was when I told God that unless he sent me a letter telling me what to do, I was going to tell Chris to take a hike.⁣ ⁣ A few days later, a letter arrived, with “In quietness and trust shall be your strength,” written large across the back of the envelope.⁣ ⁣ I stayed quiet.⁣ ⁣ The one person who thought I wasn’t crazy was my spiritual director, Father Ray Ryland. He knew every thought I had about Chris—how I was praying and processing and what I was hearing—and encouraged me to hang in there.⁣ ⁣ So, I did. But Chris didn’t. In September 2009, he told me he was worried about how much time we were spending together. He thought we should back off the friendship. I agreed.⁣ ⁣ A week later, I went to the doctor about some pain I’d been having. When the tests came back, he sent me to a specialist. Something was wrong. Very wrong. They suspected cancer. ⁣
(2/7) I opened the email. Chris was in town. He wa (2/7) I opened the email. Chris was in town. He wanted to come over. I wrote back. We picked a time. I put on my cutest outfit and waited.⁣ ⁣ He arrived. We chatted. But he never broached the topic of us. I was ticked. He got up to go, still having said nothing about the elephant in the room. So, I did. I asked him to explain what he was doing at my house and why he’d bothered to write at all. Had anything changed?⁣ ⁣ He had nothing for me. Just some mumbling line about wanting to talk occasionally and having women friends. I think I told him he had issues, then stood there, angrily, watching him struggle with my tricky, century-old doorknob, as he attempted to leave.⁣ ⁣ It was awkward.⁣ ⁣ He left. I went to Adoration. God told me to stop acting like a twit. If I wanted to be with Chris, it wasn’t going to look like what I wanted it to look. At least not at first. I could take it or leave it.⁣ ⁣ I took it. Chris and I began writing again, but just occasionally. I dated some. I also went back to Austria. I married off yet another roommate, said goodbye to my two very best friends when their husbands’ jobs took them away from Steubenville, and left my job at Franciscan to begin writing freelance full time.⁣ ⁣ Through it all, my heart hurt everyday. I was sure Chris was the one. But he wasn’t moving forward. He wasn’t doing anything, not even calling. Because of that, on July 20, 2007, I left noon Mass on campus in tears. My best friends were gone. I was alone. And all I wanted was to be with Chris. As I drove home, I told God in no uncertain terms, that something had to change.⁣ ⁣ “I believe your will is in the situation, Lord,” I said aloud. “Chris isn’t making any attempt to call, let alone date me. He lives 500 miles away. This isn’t going anywhere. So, change the situation or change my heart. I can’t do this any longer.”⁣ ⁣ Six hours later, the phone rang. It was Chris. It was the first time he’d called in over a year. He wanted me to know he’d accepted a position with the Diocese of Pittsburgh, and was leaving South Carolina. He’d be home in a month.
(1/7) Where do I pick our story up? ⁣ ⁣ How ab (1/7) Where do I pick our story up? ⁣ ⁣ How about October 22, 2005—the end of our first date? Chris and I spent 9 hours exploring Pittsburgh. We hugged, said goodbye, and Chris said he’d call. Then, he got in his car to head back to South Carolina, and I got in mine, not knowing if I’d ever see him again.⁣ ⁣ As fall turned to winter, there were more lengthy emails, more phone calls, and another date at Christmas. But no clarity. After almost 5 months, I was hitting my limit. So, in February, I swallowed my pride and told him I couldn’t go on writing without some understanding.⁣⁣ ⁣ He responded…ambiguously. He liked me. He enjoyed talking to me. He wanted to go on writing. But he wasn’t prepared for more.⁣ ⁣ I said okay. Other women, sensibly, would have walked. But every time I took it to prayer, I heard God counseling patience. So, I said yes to Chris and God, and I was patient. Or tried to be.⁣ ⁣ More months passed. Then, the school year ended, and Chris came home to Pittsburgh, to spend the summer with his parents. In the spring, we had another date and talked about what we would do that summer. But once summer came, the phone never rang. He was in town for 4 weeks before I saw him. I was angry, confused, hurt, and done.⁣ ⁣ I told God what he could do with patience, then, on July 29, 2006, I saw Chris and told him we needed to stop talking. He had an explanation—he was struggling with his health and couldn’t think about dating—but it sounded like an excuse. I said goodbye.⁣ ⁣ Immediately and profoundly, I regretted my decision. I felt…disobedient. That night, I asked God when I could talk to Chris again. As clear as I’ve heard anything in my life, I heard “5 months.”⁣ ⁣ That fall, I renovated my kitchen, traveled to Austria, and went out with other men. But none of them were Chris. He was always on my mind, making every other guy seem “less than.” But, God said we couldn’t talk until December 29, so I obeyed.⁣ ⁣ Finally, on December 29, I woke up, feeling like I had permission to reach out. I had one of Chris books, but needed to know where to return it. I opened my computer, planning to email him and ask.⁣ ⁣ At the top of my Inbox, was an email from Chris.
Because @stephanieweinert asked.⁣ ⁣ Chris and Because @stephanieweinert asked.⁣ ⁣ Chris and I do not have a fairy tale love story. We have a sit-com love story. A Ross and Rachel, Seeley and Bones, Fox and Dana, Luke and Lorelai, Sam and Diane love story. Which is really entertaining when you’re watching all 10 seasons in 30 minute increments once a week, but not so fun when you live every moment of it for 10 long years. ⁣ ⁣ It wasn’t supposed to take that long. It really wasn’t.⁣ ⁣ We met on @catholicmatch in 2005. I was sure I’d never find an intelligent, Jane Austen-loving, poet of a man on the Internet. Because those types of men are supposed to hate everything modern, and the Internet was definitely modern.⁣ ⁣ But, I’d just married off yet another roommate (living with me was like a fast-track move for finding your spouse), and was feeling desperate. I’d been online for 2 months when Chris wrote. My first thought was, “He seems like he’d be a nice friend, but nothing more.” As the weeks went by, though, that thought changed.⁣ ⁣ For 4 weeks, we exchanged lengthy emails everyday, touching on everything from Thomas Aquinas to baseball. We shared our stories and our hearts, and soon, Chris felt like home to me. We’d never met. I didn’t get sick to my stomach with love when I thought about him. But I wasn’t looking to get sick to my stomach. I was looking for home. And I was pretty sure I’d found him.⁣ ⁣ A month to the day after I got Chris’ first letter, he drove to Pittsburgh and we spent the day exploring the city. I knew he was the one. He…wasn’t sure.⁣ ⁣ He liked me. He enjoyed our time together. But fireworks weren’t going off. And Chris expected fireworks. And dancing forest animals. And singing fairy godmothers. He expected everything you see in fairy tales and Hollywood movies. He had it in his head that he was supposed to know, instantaneously, without question, that I was the one for him. He believed in love at first sight. And he didn’t feel that for me.⁣ ⁣ But, again, he liked me. I was interesting, fun, faithful, and attractive enough. So, he decided I would make a good friend.⁣ ⁣ And thus began our 9 year “Will they or Won’t They?” dance.⁣ ⁣ To be continued…#fridayintroductionsourlovestory
Sharing a picture of my living room because it’s Sharing a picture of my living room because it’s the only thing in my life that’s organized right now. Between the adoption, home study, fundraiser, taxes, writing deadlines, getting the house ready for baby, taking care of my existing baby, and normal life stuff like doctors appointments, personal hygiene, and cleaning out the fridge, I am dropping balls left and right. I mean, I feel like I’m sitting in a giant ball pit, covered in balls I’ve dropped lately. My brain is broken and just can’t keep track of the details like it normally does. So, can you help an exhausted girl out and share below your best tips for keeping track of all the details and getting all the things done?! #drowning #needhelp #allthesuggestionsplease #organization #dontanyonelookinmyclosets #orthebasement #thegarageisscarytoo
Just because I can write a book about cooking and Just because I can write a book about cooking and hospitality, doesn’t means I haven’t had hosting disasters.⁣ ⁣ Once, I hosted a baby shower for a former roommate. I was the only woman present, without a babe in my arms or belly. That was rough. Rougher was when my cohost suggested we go around the room and share our favorite advice about motherhood. I left the room, hid in the bathroom, and cried for the rest of the party.⁣ ⁣ Another time, while making soup for a crowd of friends, I sliced my hand open on a can of tomato sauce. I somehow finished making the soup, then headed to the ER, while my friends enjoyed the soup without me.⁣ ⁣ For another baby shower, I ordered fancy cupcakes, picked them up from the bakery, but never opened the box until 20 minutes before guests arrived. Instead of being covered in flowers and baby rattles, they were iced in green and decorated with leprechauns, rainbows, and pots of gold. 🤷‍♀️⁣ ⁣ I could go on. I could talk about meals that got served hours late, recipes that flopped, chairs that broke, rooms that got trashed by hordes of small children, conversations that got heated, and guests that refused to talk.⁣ ⁣ I have hosted—no exaggeration—at least 1000 dinners, lunches, brunches, showers and cookouts, big and small, and some of those have been massive flops. But I keep doing it.⁣ ⁣ Why?⁣ ⁣ Because the fun always outweighs the humiliation. Because I have friends and godchildren I wouldn’t have without those gatherings. Because my home is happier with others in it, even though those others make it messier. Because life is hard, and risotto, good wine, and better conversation take the edge off it. And because by sacrificing time and money (and occasionally my dignity) to prepare a meal for others, I can show them how incredibly worthy of that sacrifice they are.⁣ ⁣ I’ve loved hearing this week that “Around the Catholic Table” is inspiring more of you to embrace hospitality. But as you do, just remember it doesn’t have to be perfect to be good. People don’t need perfect. They just need to be welcomed and loved. And that, you can do.⁣ ⁣ (To get Around the Catholic Table, see the link in my bio!)
I had a happy childhood. It wasn’t perfect. I wa I had a happy childhood. It wasn’t perfect. I was a pale redhead who was 30 years old from the time she was 3. School could be rough. But home was good. Home was fun. Home was full of life. It was full of friends, family, and children, plus all the messes friends, family, and children make.⁣ ⁣ I write about this more in “Around the Catholic Table,” the cookbook I’m giving away as an adoption fundraiser, but one of the greatest gifts my parents gave me growing up was a love for hospitality. The best memories I have include my parents’ friends and their children, plus my aunts and uncles, grandparents and cousins. Looking back, it seems like someone was always hosting a “whole gang” party, where houses shook with the noise of children and nobody inspected the baseboards because we were all too busy talking and laughing and eating pizza off paper plates.⁣ ⁣ From my parents and the dinners they, their friends, and siblings hosted, I learned that life is meant to be shared, friendship is meant to be real, and a meal is always a great excuse to get together. I am the woman I am, with the marriage and faith I have, in large part, because of those dinners. When I was too little to understand the Eucharist, they gave me a glimpse of the fullness of joy promised in the Marriage Supper of the Lamb.⁣ ⁣ That’s what I want to give Toby. That’s what I want to give any other baby God sends us. And that’s what I want to give you and those you love through my new e-cookbook.⁣ ⁣ “Around the Catholic Table: 77 Recipes for Easy Hospitality and Everyday Dinners” is about so much more than helping us fund an adoption. It’s about helping everyone receive the blessings I did, growing up in a community where friends were and still are family. It’s about helping you bring more life into your home, as you help us bring more life into ours.⁣ ⁣ Yesterday, you helped us get almost halfway to our goal. Thank you to everyone who has donated so far and everyone who has shared with me how much you’re enjoying the cookbook. I’m excited to see what today brings for us and for what the cookbook bring for you! (Link in bio & stories)
Here we go!⁣!! ⁣ My dream, for as long as I ca Here we go!⁣!! ⁣ My dream, for as long as I can remember, was to be the mother of a large family. I wanted a home filled with life—with all the joyful chaotic messes that little people bring. I prayed for that dream for so many years, and God answered those prayers…but not how I expected.⁣ ⁣ Marriage didn’t come early for me. It came late. And when it came, infertility followed. But in all those years of waiting and praying, little ones still filled my home. They were the children of my sisters, my friends, and strangers who became friends. With those children, came their parents and friendship and so much joy.⁣ ⁣ During my long single years, God showed me that if I opened my door to others, offering them a meal and a place to belong, my home would never lack for life. It would always be full of what matters most: friendship, grace, and love.⁣ ⁣ Now, as my husband and I seek to welcome home a second baby through adoption, I want to help you welcome more people into your home, too.⁣ ⁣ “Around The Catholic Table: 77 Recipes for Easy Hospitality and Everyday Dinners” is my gift to everyone who contributes just $10 to our adoption fundraiser. This 191 page(!) e-cookbook offers you 77 easy-to-print recipes that are⁣ ⁣ …designed to feed a crowd;⁣ ⁣ …simple to prepare before guests arrive and with children underfoot;⁣ ⁣ …for every occasion, from brunches and casual suppers to cocktail parties and cookouts;⁣ ⁣ …And which (frequently) accommodate common food allergies and restrictions. Most recipes are gluten free and every section but one features dairy free, vegetarian, vegan, or nut free recipes. (I can’t in good conscience recommend dairy free risotto.)⁣ ⁣ The e-cookbook also features 7 essays by me, on hospitality, food, and hosting, as well as 65+ full color photos. I’ve been working on this project for 4 months and am over-the-moon excited (and scared!) to share it with you.⁣ ⁣ To learn more about the cookbook and how you can get it by supporting our adoption fundraiser, watch my stories today or follow the link in bio.⁣ . 📸 @caitlinrennphotography #aroundthecatholictable #thecatholictable #adoption #adopting family #cookbook #ecookbook #hospitality
Tomorrow, we launch our adoption fundraiser, and w Tomorrow, we launch our adoption fundraiser, and with it, my e-cookbook. I’m excited...and crazy nervous. So, can I tell you how it all began and maybe remind myself why I’m doing this?⁣ ⁣ When we adopted Toby, most of you weren’t following along. But those who were, know it was a long, crazy, and expensive journey. When it was over, we brought our boy home thinking that was it. He would be our only child. We could never afford to do it again.⁣ ⁣ But as the months passed, Chris and I couldn’t shake the desire for another baby. It was more than just a desire, though. We felt like someone was missing, like someone should be here who wasn’t. We looked into foster care, but it wasn’t a good fit for us for several reasons. We hoped I’d get pregnant, but I didn’t. So then we started asking God to drop a baby into our lap. That, He almost did.⁣ ⁣ Last September, we found out Toby’s birthparents were expecting and wanted us to adopt. We said yes and began racking our brains about how to afford it. Someone suggested I raffle off dinner invitations to my house. I told them they were nuts. But, it got me thinking.⁣ ⁣ I couldn’t cook dinner for everyone who wanted to help. But I could give everyone the recipes I would use to cook them dinner, along with a glimpse of the hospitality we strive for in our home.⁣ ⁣ It felt right. So, I got to work. But soon after, we found out Toby’s sibling would never come home. At the 16-week ultrasound, she was gone.⁣ ⁣ We mourned that baby. We grieved for her parents and for Toby and for us. But the feeling that someone was missing from our family didn’t go away. So, I kept working on the cookbook and we kept praying for direction. In December, it came when we found @cradledingrace. Now, here we are, waiting, praying, and getting ready to launch our best hope of making this dream happen.⁣ ⁣ This is a deeply personal project. @joannagaines could do it better, but I’m not her. So, it’s my recipes, my stories, my typos, and my imperfect photos you’ll get if you help us. I hope you do. But even more, I hope you receive the cookbook in the spirit it’s given: as a gift of gratitude and love, from one friend to another.⁣ ⁣ T minus 1.
All he knows is joy. Love and adoration surround h All he knows is joy. Love and adoration surround him wherever he goes. Daddy is his best friend. Mama is his first love. And his only worry is whether or not Mama will relent and give him a fourth banana before 3 pm.⁣ ⁣ Right now, everything is easy. Everything is clear. It’s all so simple. This is his home, and he is our son. He doesn’t question who he is. He doesn’t wonder about where he belongs or what his life would have been like if one mother hadn’t entrusted him to another.⁣ ⁣ But it won’t always be this way. Hard days will come. I know that. And so I pray. I ask God to help me always be the mother he needs me to be, to help me always love him as he most needs me to love him and walk with him well, for as long as I possibly can.⁣ ⁣ I also beg God to grant Toby wisdom and understanding, peace and consolation, strength and compassion, so that he can navigate the questions and struggles to come. ⁣ ⁣ But most of all, I ask God to always help my son know that his life is a gift. That his entire existence is a glorious, perfect gift. Not simply to Chris and to me. But to the world and heaven too.⁣ ⁣ It is so good that Tobias James Connolly Chapman exists. It is wonderfully, miraculously, blessedly good that he is. And oh my Lord, I want him to know that. To never doubt it for even one second. To hold onto that belief as tightly as he holds onto me now.⁣ ⁣ So many people don’t know that. They don’t know they are gifts, and that it is so good they exist. They don’t know it about the people they pass on the streets or sit across from in restaurants either. And somehow, they don’t even know that about the babies they carry in their wombs—their precious, unrepeatable, perfect babies. And we, as a people, are all poorer for it.⁣ ⁣ I don’t want that poverty for my son. I don’t want that poverty for anyone. So, in these easy times, I pray for our hard times to come and the hard time, for others, that are. And hope against hope that my prayers bears fruit. Please, Jesus. Please.⁣ ⁣ 📸 @caitlinrennphotography #adoption #adoptivemom #adoptedson #lifeisagift #chooselife #roevwadeat47 #lordhavemercy #catholicwife #catholicmom #thecatholicwoman
Do you remember last week when I listed things I f Do you remember last week when I listed things I find hard? Well, 1 more thing should have gone on that list: keeping my mouth shut.⁣ ⁣ Today, on a radio interview, I spilled the beans about my secret adoption project. We’re still 1 week from launch, but if the good folks in Decatur, Illinois know about it, you should too. So, what’s my secret?⁣ ⁣ In order to help us fund this adoption, I’ve written an e-cookbook. But not just any e-cookbook. “Around the Catholic Table: 77 Recipes for Easy Hospitality and Everyday Dinners” is a cookbook dedicated to cultivating a spirit of Christian hospitality in every heart.⁣ ⁣ It features 77 recipes of mine;⁣ ⁣ …all designed to feed a crowd;⁣ …simple to prepare before guests arrive and with littles underfoot;⁣ …for every occasion, from casual suppers to cocktail parties;⁣ …and which take into account the most common food allergies, sensitivities and restrictions.⁣ ⁣ While not all recipes are "food allergy friendly," the majority are gluten-free, and every section includes dairy-free, nut-free, vegetarian, and vegan recipes.⁣ ⁣ In addition to the recipes, this cookbook features 7 essays by me on hospitality, food, and practical aspects of hosting. And with 50+ full-page photos and a gorgeous design courtesy of @meanttoflystudio, it’s prettier than almost any print cookbook I own.⁣ ⁣ I’m not selling “Around the Catholic Table,” though. I’m giving it to everyone who gives just $10 to our adoption fundraiser.⁣ ⁣ If someone feels called to give more, they can, and we will be profoundly grateful. But to get the cookbook, all you have to give is $10. We want to make it easy for everyone to help us, because every gift counts.⁣ ⁣ But I’m gonna need a lot of people to want cookbooks at that level of giving. A LOT of people. Like half of you who follow me here. Which is why I’m a wreck about this. So, for all of you who keep asking how you can help us with this adoption, here’s your answer:⁣ ⁣ 1. Pray for peace for us and wisdom and consolation for any expectant mama considering us.⁣ ⁣ 2. When the cookbook launches, share the heck out of it.⁣ ⁣ 3. Get one yourself!⁣ ⁣ T minus 7 days!⁣ ⁣ 📸 @caitlinrennphotography
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I like to keep things simple around here...and happy. So, don't say anything in the comment box that you wouldn't say at someone's table. Comments that are uncharitable, obnoxious, or rude will be sent straight to the trash. That includes comments lecturing me or anyone else about the ingredients used in recipes. My house. My rules.

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