Home Sweet Home - Part 2

One week ago, my parent's home officially sold their home. My definition of home goes way beyond the 4 walls that hold up a roof, but it includes the space inside. Whenever anyone asks me where "home" is, I never know how to answer. I usually say "I'm from all over the place" or "my parents live in Indiana" or turbo-tongue all the places I've lived the past 30 years. If I had to choose where my home is, California feels most like home out of anywhere that I've lived but my family - Getz's and Diaz's - will always BE my home.Since my parents informed us of their move, I've been thinking about the significance of HOME in relationship to our little ones. Their home will always be Ethiopia, but it will also be wherever Brian and I are with them. I've often prayed for the monumental transition they will face in location, parents, health, culture, and language. I've wondered how their little bodies and souls will fare the change in "home". In the midst of my questions and motherly fears, I trust their Father is caring for them more than I ever will.
Ultimately, this world is not our home. My dad's said that to me countless times. And he's right [no gloating here, pops!]. Maybe when people ask me where I'm from and I stumble to find an answer, it's okay. Because this world is not my home, nor is it for our kiddos.

Hope you enjoyed the pics of the backyard my dad painstakingly designed over the past decade. And that's our dog, Lizzie [below], who's the sweetest thing in the world. [She's currently living with my cousin's family while my parents are in a transition apartment.]

Home Sweet Home - Part 1

This week my parents are moving from the house that they've lived in for the past 17 years of my 30 years of life. It was a quick process for them and has required some quick processing on my end, too! A week after they went into escrow, I was able to go home to help my parents pack a few boxes and find some closure from my "childhood" home. While I only lived in this house for 5 years (I moved out in 1997), some major things happened in this address...


All 3 of us kids graduated high school and had our parties in the backyard.

I sat at the kitchen table after high school every day boring my mom with every detail from my high school escapades.

I fell in love with Brian during our senior year of high school.

My baby brother, Drew, now 19, only remembers living in this house. My dad painted the Chief - GO ILLINI! - on his bedroom wall for Christmas one year.

Brian proposed to me in the basement during Christmas, under the lights of the tree.

We had our rehearsal dinner in the backyard with our friends and family supporting our wedding vows.

I have countless memories in my bedroom!

...plus scores of birthday parties, Christmas celebrations, movie nights, sleepovers, and I'm sure a few bad events, too. :)

But while I was packing boxes, reminiscing with my family, and recalling precious memories from 810 Glen Eagle Lane, I realized in a whole new way that home is where the heart is. Home is a place of love, not an address. And a home is family.

Friends for the Journey

There have been innumerable gifts along this journey called infertility and adoption. But one of the greatest gifts has been the friends from across the country, whom I've never met, that share some aspect of our story. There have been more tears as I've read different blogs and emails, and crazy head-bobbing as I know their journey (similar to how God knows mine). And it's been healing for me to recount my story, offer encouragement and prayers, and just affirm "I know".

The most recent example is this POST from my friend, Andrea.

BTW: I'm also grateful because this week we hit 7 months on the wait list. I'm grateful because we are 7 months closer to our kiddos being home than we were 7 months ago. Any day...