Today I bought our niece Katie a graduation present. I couldn’t decide what to choose, so I gave the gift of shopping. I bought her a gift card at a store where she can pick out things for her first dorm room. In six weeks or so, she’ll be going to college to study marine biology, and I’m betting she’ll do big things. If there were a Trivial Pursuit game that was all about the ocean, you definitely wouldn’t want to play against her.

It’s tough to wrap my head around the idea of Katie going to college because I hang onto this mental image of her as the 8-year-old flower girl in my wedding. She was so perfect in her little white dress with her red hair pulled back in a pretty braid. When you don’t see kids often enough, their age tends to freeze in your mind in between visits, even though they go right ahead outgrowing clothes, learning to drive and leaving for college.

Before I bought Katie’s gift card, I walked down the aisles, looking at new bedspreads, shower caddies and bulletin boards. As I browsed by, the past 18 years seemed to vanish in a time warp. Wasn’t it just five minutes ago that my college roommate and I were picking out things for our first dorm room? We put matching comforters on our twin beds, and my dad laid down a carpet remnant to cover the cold, hard tile in that box of a room. We had a little microwave for late night popcorn, not nearly enough closet space and a small fish tank with one goldfish – until we learned the hard way that you can’t clean a fish tank with dish soap before refilling it. (I’m betting the future marine biologist won’t make that same mistake.)

It hit me today, just how much life can zip by in what feels like such a short period of time. One day you’re mapping out a university campus, hoping you won’t get lost on the first day of class. The next day you’re mapping out carpool schedules and coaxing a toddler to eat her green beans. How’d I get here so fast?

Nearly two decades have passed since the day I moved into my first dorm room. And as nice as it would be to have some of the perks of being 18 again (especially the thinner thighs), I wouldn’t go back even if I could. I’ve had a good time getting from there to here – even though it often feels like a blur. But it’s a blur that brought me a college degree, a career, a husband, a mortgage, three kids, good friends, great memories and more than 700 newspaper columns documenting the journey in progress.

I wish I had brilliant advice for Katie and the other 18-year-olds headed off to start their new lives this fall, but my pointers are pretty basic. Here goes: You won’t realize just how fast the time goes by until it’s already gone. So stop to absorb the big moments as often as you can and write about them, too. Film them with your tiny camera phone, if you like, but don’t post anything stupid on YouTube because the only place where time stands still is the Internet, where stupid lives on forever, and a Google search can stand between you and your dream job.

Protect your credit score as if it’s even more valuable than your favorite pair of “going out” jeans because – believe me – it is. And know that even though you’ll be making tons of decisions on your own in the next few years, none of them are as important as the quality of the people whom you choose to spend your time with and your own integrity. Surround yourself with friends who have good sense and a good heart, and you’ll be fine.

And one day – in 18 to 20 years – you’ll be shopping for a graduation gift for the pretty little flower girl who stood by you at your wedding, and you’ll probably feel a thousand years old. But, if you’re blessed and if you make smart decisions, you’ll look at your blur of a life and know that you wouldn’t want it any other way.

Want to read previous installments of The Rockwood Files? Click here!

Tired of the same old, same old? Ready for a change but don’t want to spend a fortune? Let me help! First things first, one room at the time, let’s get started…

Pick a room in your house that feels unsettled, like this “before” fireplace/living room area.

Without spending a dime, the room can be “re-freshed” just by following a few simple rules. The end result can be like this “after”: a clean, open space that feels more put together.

On to the rules. Move everything out of the room, everything except for the furniture that you KNOW you want to keep in the area. This is called “clean-slating” the current space. Now, stand in your newly emptied room. Does it still feel unsettled?

Perhaps the problem is just a matter of color. Paint is the most inexpensive material that can transform just about any space. Prep time included, painting takes about a day, depending on the room size and current color. If the color is satisfactory, then bypass the paint stage. Whoa, hold your horses! Are there any touch-up areas? Spackle! This is the time to clean the base boards, dust the blinds, and clear out those cobwebs!

Finding your room’s purpose… after everything is spit-spot, then the question, “What happens in this room?” can be asked. Is the room used as a bedroom, living area, family room? Maybe it is a bonus room and has many separate activities going on. Define the space and begin bringing in the items that will serve to fulfill the room’s function.

Balance…. A room with large windows may be in need of a large piece of furniture across from it. Think of the space in shapes. Balance a tall, skinny armoire with a low, rectangular sofa or wide secretary. Move the upright, walnut piano across from the ornate fireplace with detailed millwork rather than placing it beside it in the room.

Working with basic furniture, you now have the “bones” established. Much like a great pair of khakis and crisp, white blouse are the foundation to a terrific outfit. The merchandising may now commence. Scarves, necklaces, earrings, and handbags….

What color is the wall? This is the background of your painting. What colors are in your basics? Those are the scenery colors, like supporting actors in a great play. Pick a punch. Choose a color and let it play the lead role. An example would be cream-colored walls, khaki upholstered sofa and love seat, and soft green toss-pillows with a matching throw tossed over the arm of the sofa. To create a richer palette, find a pair of draperies with the wall and upholstery colors and your accent punch color included in them.

Merchandising, a.k.a. baskets, bowls, pottery, photo frames, and metals, can be found nearly everywhere. Some of my favorite spots are Oops, TJMaxx, and Target. For wall art, I have found terrific deals at Kirkland’s near the NWA Mall. One thing highly recommended is purchasing a home and garden magazine and studying the photos. Notice how the objects are arranged by color and size to achieve balance and harmony.

So, empty the room completely, minus furniture certain to stay. Then, decide if your space requires a fresh coat of paint or just a little touch-up. Bring in items for the room’s purpose and balance them off one another. And don’t forget the icing on the cake. Merchandise with baskets, pillows, and art.

Happy Havening!

Modoa Interiors, LLC is a Motherlode sponsor that specializes in transforming homes into “havens” at (very) affordable prices. 

If you’d like Beverly’s help with “re-freshing” your home, give her a call at 479-530-7357. Click HERE or the ad at right to visit Beverly’s website and see more before/after pics!

There has been a lot of activity on the adoption front.

ACTIVITY, yes, but no matches in the end.  No baby in sight.  Let’s see.  In a one-month time frame, we have been chosen by a birth mom, and then told that the birth mom was no longer working with the agency.  Then we were told that it turned out that she had come back to our agency, and she had chosen us.  We were waiting for her paper work, (baby due in November) when we learned that she had been a “tad” dishonest in some of her information.

She told the adoption agency that this was her fourth pregnancy (I never knew the story on the other kids), and that the birth father of this pregnancy was not the same as the others.  When the agency received her medical paperwork, we found out that this was actually her SEVENTH pregnancy, and she claimed the birth father was the same for the last four (including the current pregnancy).  Fishy.  Well, who knows the reasons . . . I have never been in that situation, so I just can’t put myself there.

We did not feel great about the dishonesty, but decided to look at her information so we could make an informed decision.  Two days later, the paperwork should have been sent that day, our agency calls.  In the midst of doing background checks, our agency found out that this birth mom was also working with another adoption agency.  She had been matched with a family.  Wow!  Was she planning on taking the money from both and choosing the adoptive family at the end?  Was she planning to take the money and run?  Did she never intend to go with both agencies?  We will never know.

Our agency dropped her upon learning that information.  What a crazy ride.  I don’t feel particularly let down, because I never felt very invested in this situation.   Still, it just reminds me that adoption is tough . . . so tough.

During that same time frame, our agency contacted us about a set of twins.  Yes, twins!  Boy/girl twins – 12 weeks premature, 7 weeks old, in the hospital, doing great.  Birth mom wanted to make an adoption plan, she was not in a relationship with the birth father any longer.  Our agency did not know if they could work with her because the birth father was interested in pursuing custody.

Where we interested the agency asked?  OF COURSE!  TWINS – how wonderful, how scary, how amazing.  We would have been DONE, DONE, DONE.  I felt a strong connection to this situation.  I have always said that after Isaac’s extremely early birth, that I wanted a chance to bring home a full-term, newborn, straight from the hospital.  This got me thinking, though.  What if we were MEANT to be parents to preemies?  We certainly had the experience and the love for those amazing babies.

So, I wrote a special letter to the birth mom, telling her about our preemie experience with Isaac.  We don’t mention any of that in our profile or photo album normally shown to birth moms.  Turns out that the birth mom dropped out of the picture and the birth father pursued custody.  Our agency never ended up working with them — so sad, so disappointing.  I sure hope those babies and that dad, a person with a very troubled past I am told, find a way to be ok and love each other  . . .

Finally, I got a call about an hour ago (Wednesday morning).  It was our agency with a 4-year-old child to be placed for adoption.  Oh my God!  Well, I have said more than once that Isaac is our oldest child, our first child, and will always be.  We are not interested in having a child that is older than he is.  I just can’t imagine that situation.  I sure hope that he finds the right family . . . I know he will.

So much has happened, and yet nothing has happened.  We are feeling disgruntled and jaded with the adoption process right now.  I never want to paint a negative picture about adoption – not about agencies, lawyers, birth parents, adoptive parents, the kiddos that need loving homes, none of them!  It’s difficult, though, to go through this and not feel hardened . . . every situation we have dealt with has involved some sort of drug and/or serious alcohol use, some sort of criminal past, some sort of misinformation or downright lying.  At the same time, I can’t imagine what I would do if I were in the same situation as the amazing people that are trying to work out an adoption plan or a way to parent their kids.

I know that all they want is to live the best lives that they know how to live, and to try to do what’s best for themselves, their kids, and families.   I pray for them, and pray for us – I pray for wisdom, guidance, compassion, and empathy.  Let us all have these things, and let us all make the best decisions we can, and find the right answers in our family building decisions.

To read Erin’s previous posts, click here

By Bro. John L. Cash, “Country Preacher Dad”

All the people I know who grew up shooting fireworks have one thing in common:  They’ve all had a firecracker go off in their hands.

Now, it’s never the first firecracker that goes off in your hand. You’re much too nervous when you light your first one, and, because of that, you treat your first firecracker with respect. You lay your first firecracker on the end of the driveway and stand as far away as possible when you light it. You crouch down like a track runner on his mark before a big race. You reach behind your back and extend your arm and the “punk stick” that you’re holding as far away from your body as you can, looking over your shoulder as you try to find the fuse. And as soon as you hear the sizzling sound of your first lit “Black Cat,” you’re already sprinting toward the front porch. You’re in your grandma’s lap before the thing explodes. No—it’s never your first firecracker that goes off in your hand.

But, eventually, everyone experiences that incomparable pain in the fingers that only an exploding firecracker can deliver. First you hear the deafening report, followed by a shock wave, followed by numbness that quickly gives way to a throbbing ache that thumps with every beat of your heart. Yes, a Black Cat firecracker has exploded in your hand. The only thing you can do now is to go inside and seek sympathy (and an ice pack).

How does this happen? Clearly you knew firecrackers were dangerous. And from the way you lit the first one, clearly you knew the safety rules. Your downfall came from familiarity and overconfidence. You began to believe the warnings on the package (“Put firework on ground before lighting. Get away!”) applied only to other people, folks who were less fireworks-sophisticated than you.

You started to take chances, little by little.  You light one while you face it. Then you light one and only take two steps back. You light one in your hand and quickly fling it away. Then you light one in your hand and hold it a little longer before you calmly toss it. All is well until the time that the fuse is a little too short and your reaction time is a little off. The firecracker blows up in your hand.

There’s a spiritual lesson here. None of us is smart enough to toy around with temptation and sin and expect to wind up unhurt. King Solomon wrote, “Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.” (Proverbs 16:18) Whenever we think we’re greater than temptation, we’re heading for trouble.

Dear mamas, let’s not trust in ourselves and our own strength this week, but let us draw near to our Saviour. Teach your little ones, “If you want to be happy, be good.” When we draw near to the Lord, the devil flees away, and our hearts and homes are filled with joy.

Dr. John L. Cash is the “Country Preacher Dad” *Sing that  title to the tune of “Secret Agent Man” He was raised in Stuttgart, Arkansas, and is beginning his 25th year of  being a country preacher in the piney woods five miles south of the little town of Hickory, Mississippi.  He and his lovely wife, Susan, and his sons, Spencer (age 18) and Seth (age 15) live in the parsonage next door to the Antioch Christian Church” (where the Cash brothers lay their firecrackers on the ground—as long as their Dad is watching).  You should write him at extramailbox@juno.com.