And now...the rest of the story

Our house is expanding...by 4 feet. Yes, just 3 months after taking J.T. into our home, 2 little girls will be adding their "patches" to our patchwork family.

Yes, it's quick.
Yes, it's crazy.
But we know it's right.

Just 6 weeks after getting J.T. I had a dream that there was a little girl who needed us. I brought it up to Jon and he just blew it off, saying it was too soon. The next week I had another dream about a little girl and he took it a bit more seriously.

"Well, I guess we said we'd know when the time was right. Let's bring it up with J. T."
He loved the idea and has been asking for a sister ever since.

So we were slow on calling the placement worker, just getting caught up in the busyness of life with a 4 year old.

Another week passed and another dream. This one was clearly a 3 year old girl who needed us,- but the window of opportunity was closing.

It didn't make a bit of sense to me. How could we run out of time? It's not as if they hold foster kids on the shelf for a bit. When they come into care, they place them. I woke up with such a strong feeling in my spirit I couldn't let it rest.

"Jon, you have to call Sara. And if you don't I will! We're running out of time.... it's a girl,- a three year old girl."

"Ok, ok, I'll call her now."

Dialing. "Hey Sara, it's Jon G.....yeah.....oh really?.....hmmmmm.....ok, maybe I should let you talk to my wife."

Sure enough, she had a 3 year old girl in mind for us. She was actually already in care, but needed a transfer in placement. She was going for a weekend respite with another family, but Sara expected to current foster mom to need the transfer in the next few days.

We said yes without a doubt. But when the weekend came and went, the current foster mom through she could make the situation work.

We were disappointed, but at the same time we all knew it wouldn't work. So we waited patiently.

And two weeks ago Jon got a call from Sara.

"Remember that little girl? We'll need to change her placement. For real this time, it's just not working where she currently is"

"Yes. we'll take her"

"Well wait....there's also a sister"

Yes, they are part of a group of 5 children who are in care, and many have been separated. The agency saw this as the perfect opportunity to reunite the girls.

That was  surprise to us, but we took the weekend to pray about  it. In the end we felt this was truly the right thing to do.

So they are joining us this weekend, first the 10 year old A.T. and then the (now) 4 year old Si-Si.

Crazy? Yes.

But we knew that was the journey we were signing up for.

And now you know...the rest of the story.

Torn apart

On the 27^th we finally got the call. I’d been very impatiently waiting for. I've reminding myself that it was all about timing and the right fit. We’d had a few calls but the kids were out of our demographics so we had to say no.

When we finally got the right call I was so excited. A little boy, 3 years old, - our first foster kid.

But immediately my excitement was conflicted with sadness. I realized that a family had been torn apart that day.

I prayed for his Biological mother, the sibling, his little heart. I couldn’t even imagine what that experience would be like.

 I would soon find out.

Little JT came to us that evening and we began the process of settling in- which I realize is anything but settling. It’s a mad flurry or introductions, immediate boundaries with a smile, trips to Meijer for everything the child did not come with, calls to the Foster Closet to find out when we can visit to get resources etc.

Saturday morning we did some errands and were driving home with JT in the back. We were on a main street, and the traffic suddenly got a bit congested. There were cars slowing and some switching lanes.

Garage Sale.

“Oh that’s weird, even a cop is at that garage sale.” Jon laughed.

Indeed there was. I leaned forward in my seat to get a better glance at what they were selling that had so many people’s attention. What I saw broke my heart.

A grandmother in the front yard fell to her knees. She grabbed her grandchild in her arms, as the little girl sobbed hysterically.

She had a large bruise around her eye.

A police man stood behind them with his hand on her shoulder as he gently tried to free her from grandma’s last goodbye.

I knew what I was witnessing.

“That little is being removed.” I said.

The deep sadness settled into my heart again. Everyday this is happening around us, but rarely does it touch our lives. Families are being torn apart every day.

And while I love everything about our little JT, part of me wishes it could be different for him. I wish he could be in his family, happy and whole. I wish things could be good for them, and they could be united. I wish he'd never had to experience the fear and sadness of being separated from his mother.

But I know for now that is not possible. So for now I will try my best to give him those things in our Patchwork family.

Due Date

So today we sign our final paper and will receive the final "ok" to take in kids. I wonder if this is how pregnant women feel. Waiting and wondering, "Will today be the day?" I'm overwhelmed with excitement, I can't really think of anything else. Yet sometimes I find myself thinking, "Well if they don't come for a few days then they can miss the rain and play outside." or "I hope they don't come that day, I haven't thawed out the hamburger...." So we're just waiting.....

So how did I get here?.....

To be honest I’d always grown up expecting to have my own kids. I never knew any other way. I thought I’d marry young and start a family in my early 20’s. But sometimes life doesn’t work the way you expect. By 32, I found myself well educated in both books and life, had built a career and left it all behind to live in Africa. So many wonderful unexpected things had come my way but not the one thing I’d truly longed for, - a family. After a while it began to stress me out! Year after year, still single and no children. All you hear about in the media is increasing rates of infertility, or struggles to get pregnant after 30! I have several friends who have gone through IVF treatments and I’d think to myself, “Oh that is definitely not for me!” I had seriously considered adoption, (after all I was living in Africa) but each time I prayed about it, I heard a resounding “NO.” He wasn’t even open for discussion. So I returned to the USA with no baby. More years went by and the stress piled on, and it felt like the opportunities were slipping away. There finally came a day that I was fed up. Me and God had to have it out. I felt like Jacob “wrestling” with God, and not letting go until I had some answers. That was a long tearful night but I remember throwing at Him “You’ve given me wonderful things and wonderful opportunities. You’ve given me all of these things, but I’ve never asked you for these. College and NC and Africa were all good, but why do you refuse to give me the one thing that I actually want? No answer. Not that day, and not for a very long time. But one night I woke up from a dream. It wasn’t just a dream. It was a dream, you know? And I can’t even remember what the dream was, but I remember waking up and understanding the meaning of the dream was that my children would not be my own. Ok. To be honest I wasn’t exactly thrilled, - but at least I had an answer. I could calm the flip down and not stress about my fertile years anymore. I took this to mean that I’d end up with a guy who already had kids and I’d be the stepmom. Ummm. Not my first choice. I’d get to spend my weekend with some other woman’s kids. They’d like me but love her. I’d always be second best. I’d been given the child consolation prize. More years went by. I’d accepted my fate. The biological part didn’t bother me, oh heavens no. I fall in love with other people’s kids all the time. But I didn’t want to be a part time mom. I wanted to be a real mom. A 24 hours a day mom. A mom who reads bedtime stories every night, and cleans up puke and teaches kids how to ride bikes and convinces kids there are no monsters under the bed. A mom who tries and tries all of the parenting tips she reads online before she snaps and loses her s@%! and screams, “I don’t care who started it, I’m ending it!!!” or “Do you see? Do you see? That’s why we can’t have anything nice!” And then there was a day. One day in April. I was praying about whatever, but my mind began to think about this topic again, - my kids would not be my own And I heard in my spirit as clear as day, “When God gives us something, it…is…good.” I sat numb thinking about that. It…is...good. I was not being punished. I was not given second hand children. I was not handed a consolation prize. It is good. It is good that I will raise children that are not my own. It is good that I not have my own biological children. For whatever purpose, yet to be seen, this was part of my journey. Part of my plan. Part of who I was created to be. In that moment, I had an epiphany. My mind began to race with all of those thoughts long forgotten. The times I used to beg my parents to adopt another child. The plethora of time in teaching, or in Africa when I’d look at the pitiful life of some of my kids and long “I wish I could just take them home with me.” The fear I had of childbirth. The indifference I had with babies. The times I’d encountered those who had been adopted and left thinking “that’s awesome!” My secret desire to be a house-mom of a Wototo Village in Africa. The desire to have 6, 20, 50, 100 kids. For the first time, the idea of having kids that were not my own made me…happy. It has made me happy every day since. And for those of you who know our story, 3 months later I stood in the buffet line at a wedding, talking to some random guy that I had met a few months before at church. He pulled out his phone and started showing me pictures of his family, - a very motley crew. “Yeah, my brother fosters and adopts. I want to do that someday too. I think it would be cool…” And the rest is history…..

Patchwork Parenting

My husband has a patchwork quilt that his grandmother made The colors are eclectic and I can't quite say they match. But there is something that is very appealing about this patchwork quilt. Maybe it's knowing that someone created it by hand,-hours of painstakingly planning, cutting, and stitching. Maybe it's knowing that a family member thought enough to put it all together and give it to Jon without ever knowing everyone who would enjoy it. Maybe it's the fact that when you actually climb under it, it is cozy beyond all measures of coziness. There is just something about that patchwork quilt that is good. It makes me think of the journey Jon and I are just about to begin. We've initiated the process to get our foster care license. This is the beginning of what I will refer to as Patchwork Parenting. Our family will be pieced together piece by piece. Most likely, we won't match and we'll all look like an eclectic collection. However, we are confident that even this process has been planned and will produce love and comfort for those we don't yet know. We are excited to begin this journey. I hope to chronicle the journey here......

I get it.

When I lived in Swaziland, about 50% of the population was HIV positive. The life expectancy had dropped to under 30 years. It is expected that the Swazi culture will be extinct by 2030. And yet when you spoke to a Swazi about it, they often felt helpless to change anything. They knew a change in sexual practices could change these statistics, but also felt that these were radical changes in a culture where polygamy is still common, it’s accepted that married men have mistresses, and condom use wasn’t really popular.
I’d ask some of my female friends about this, and they often expressed a sad acceptance that it was inevitable,- sooner or later it would happen to everyone, there wasn’t much they could do to change an entire culture. And I agree, you can’t change other people. But if I was in their shoes, I think I would at least want to protect myself.
“Would you ever not get married?...or would you ever insist that your husband wear a condom if he was staying out at night?”
They would laugh off the absurdity of my suggestions. It was just their culture,-and you can’t really expect a woman to not want to get married, have a family, or that your husband would accept wearing a condom after all this time of being married.
I use to shake my head in saddened disbelief.
“We all die someday Christy. I’ll die of AIDS, maybe you’ll die in a car wreck. What’s the difference?” they’d say.
“You’re right. We all die someday. But you’ll die at 30 and leave your children orphaned, and I’ll die when I’m 90, in my bed surrounded by my children and grandchildren.
However, I’ve always said that Swaziland has the same problems as America, it just takes on a different form.
This month I’ve committed to a ’30-day challenge’ of healthy eating, and regular exercise. (My friend Nichole does it through Facebook.) I’ve cut out lots of sugar, processed foods, and fast food, and I feel good doing it. I committed to this to go along with my Crim training, but also committed to it because I knew it was only 30 days.
“You can do anything for 30 days right?” I said to myself. “Then after that I can go back to whatever. I mean, it’s not really realistic that I’ll never eat fast food again, or sweets? I mean that’s just part of life, you get busy and over stretched, and so you have to grab something quick and or processed, or on-the-go. That’s just part of the American culture.”
And the light bulb went off!
I sounded just like my Swazi friends.
I look around me every day and see the consequences of our food choices. Obesity, diabetes, heart attacks, high blood pressure ect. It is killing off our people, and shortening our life spans. And we often shrug our shoulders and say, “Oh well, what are we to do? That’s just our culture, and the way life is.”

My own acceptance of this was a bit startling. I think I need to make a change. I know I’m only one person and I can’t change an entire culture. But I can make choices for myself. I can make changes in my ways. Some of my choices might seem counter culture, but I think I’ll have to adapt some of these practices for more than 30 days.
Thanks Nichole,- I get it.

If Jesus is the Reason....

Every year when December rolls around I get reflective. Another year has come and gone. What happened? What did I accomplish? What are my goals for the next year?

This year the holiday season approached with lights and bells & whistles just the same as always. I was so excited but knew this year would be a challenge. Work, plus grad school would eat away at the weekdays as well as the weekends. Could I squeeze in shopping here and there between students? Would I miss sitting in front of my tree because of the hours I had to sit in my office studying? I braced myself for the holiday season which (just as I expected) would fly by in a blink making me wonder "Hey, where did the month go?"

And maybe it was because my favorite time of year was slipping through my fingers that I became so easily annoyed with those little thing that I would usually let slide,- but this year I found myself internally cranky.

No I didn't go off on anyone, but I really feel the need to vent.

Hence, the blog. (Warning, you might not want to read this)

My biggest pet peeve this year was this seemingly constant barrage (either in close vicinity or via facebook)of I-refuse-to-be-politically-correct-because-I'm-a-Christian greetings. These usually came in the form of Merry CHRISTmas, or Jesus is the Reason for the Season, or Join my facebook group to keep Christ in Christmas if you are a REAL Christian, or Don't write "X-mas" groups.

Ugh!

Let me make myself clear. I am a Christian. I know Christmas Day is the day we observe the birth of Christ. So in the future, if I bump into you at church on Sunday and wish you a "Happy Holidays" it's not because I'm ignorant, nor is it because I'm trying to be politically correct. It's because between Nov. and Jan we celebrate many many holidays such as Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Boxing Day (for those of you Brits)New Years Eve, and New Years Day. My wish if for you to have all of them happily. So please save me the lecture about how I'm supposed to say "Merry Christmas"

Secondly, I have no problem writing "X-mas" because I know the history behind it and I'm not actually removing Jesus from Christmas. No matter how many facebook groups protest it, I'm still going to do it guilt-free.

You, however are welcome to write it how ever you'd like and wish it however you'd like. It's a free country and I don't mind if you say "Merry Christmas"

But it does bother me that these people who insist on making everyone keep "CHRIST in CHRIStmas" do little more than post annoying stuff on facebook.

(Disclaimer: I do have many beautiful friends who spend the holiday season serving, giving, loving, blessing others, and sacrificing in ways that would truly honor Jesus in remembering his birth)

But for the others, if the focus is still on presents, Santa, spending money you don't have to buy presents for people who don't really need anymore, gorging yourself on food 'till you're sick, throwing a couple of left over coins into a Salvation Army kettle, why do you pat yourself on the back for writing out all of the letters in Christmas instead of writing an abbreviation?
Perhaps you think you are doing baby Jesus a favor by honoring his holiday. But if your attitude, and actions are no different than those who don't recognize him, have you really honored him?
Yes, Jesus is the reason for the Season, but he's not the reason for mayhem incorporated into it.

Scared Hands

I watched an interesting story on the news this morning. A man named Richard Edwards recently had a double hand transplant.
Now he reports that he's amazed by his new hands and often stares and contemplates them.
He said, "I just look at them to learn them. They have these scars, and I wonder. What did he do to get these scars?"
A great question to ask ourselves.

Creepy Crawlies and other Central American Excitements

This is the Scorpion that Shannon and I found in our room. Very big and very scary.
Guatemala also has some giant spiders, snakes that like to sleep on warm computers, and even offered us a small earthquake.
While we did miss a tropical storm, a hurricane, a volcanic eruption, and flooding, we did get to witness (and thankfully escape)the beginning of a shoot out on the way to the Capital, and a crime scene complete with yellow tape and corpses.
Yeah, definitely had some excitement on this trip.
I was happy to be home in Flint where we have neither critters nor shootings. lol

Living a Better Story

Back in college a friend once asked me, “What’s your biggest fear?”

I remember my answer clearly. “I’m terrified that someday, I’ll be 90 years old, laying on my death bed and realize I’ve never done anything great in my life.”

Something within me way back then knew that life was meant to be something significant. And you’d think being able to articulate that at 20, that I’d be intentional about the things I’d do.

But maybe not.

I think perhaps at that age, we might all idealistically approach life that way,- That we are here for a purpose and our lives will make a difference.
But like so many others, I guess I thought that an exciting life would happen to me, while I was doing the routine, mundane, daily grind. The daily college life led to the daily career life.

Mondaytuesdaywednesdaythursdayfridaysaturdaysunday……lather, rinse, repeat.

Before I knew it, years had slipped by and nothing great had happened to me yet. Perhaps I would just need to wait a bit longer…..

Then I had my epiphany: I was bored in life.

While I loved my friends, my family, and even my teaching job, I recognized that if life was going to be exciting, I was going to have to make it exciting.
So, (much to my father’s chagrin) I sold off everything I owned, packed 4 suitcases and moved to Africa.

If you’d asked anyone around me, they would have all told you I was living this big, adventurous, life! I ran a large schooling program for AIDS orphans and vulnerable children! I slayed giant insects! I ate chicken intestines.

And while the years I lived in Africa were great and provided me (and you long-time readers) with some hilarious blog-fodder, after the initial excitement wore off, it was a new location to spend Monday thru Sunday.

Eventually I came home.

Now working and enrolled in grad school, …well, same thing, new city.

More years have passed….Early 30’s… Still nothing “great”.

So last February I read Donald Miller’s A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, and it really spoke to me. It’s the only book I’ve ever read where I thought to myself, “…damn...I should’ve bought this instead of just checking it out at the library.”

I read half, and then started again from the beginning because it was too good not to. And while I finished the end chapters, and read through the second time, I also started at the beginning again. I had to have 3 bookmarks throughout the book to keep my place for my multiple readings.

It just made sense to me.

Maybe it’s his simplicity of writing, maybe because he’s talking about things from a writer’s perspective, maybe it’s because I see myself in him when he’s “living the life he always wanted” and still recognizes something is missing, but I could relate to it.

There’s a scene when he writes about living as a writer and making up stories for a living. Then one day he goes to a coffee shop and sees a couple with a family and it occurs to him that while He’s been making up stories, others have been living their stories.

I think that’s the part I started to tear up.

I recognize now that the life I’ve been desiring to have all along is not simply about doing stuff, or even having an adventure, but an living an intentional life. Yes inevitably, it will include the daily grind, and living this way is bound to bring about some adventures, but it’s caused me to reflect on what I actually want to start doing in the midst of my Monday thru Sunday.

A few months ago Donald Miller posted the “what if” challenge on his blog. I thought to myself,” What if my character stopped saving random cats, and started to progress the story forward?”

This is what I’ve been slowly moving towards,- focused on the thing that has been heavy on my heart. “What if I actually started reaching out to some of these teenage girls in class who are slipping through the social cracks? What if I broke that unspoken rule that students and adults don’t mix? What if I started being an influence in their lives? What if I gave them the chance to live a better story?” This is the direction I’ve started as a short term story.

So I’ve been really hoping to attend the Living a Better Story seminar (with Donald Miller) in Portland in September. I’m thinking that it would give me additional encouragement to continue in the direction I’ve started to baby step. Maybe it can help me lead these teens along the way.
At the same time it terrifies me. I told my best friend “I’d like to go to this seminar… but I’m afraid it will mess me up. I’m afraid I’ll be wrecked for the ordinary.”

But isn’t facing conflict the best part of the story? You’ll root for my character won’t you?

Living a Better Story Seminar from All Things Converge Podcast on Vimeo.

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Flood damage

I shot this picture down the ravine. You can see that shorts are were left behind as well as shoes and toys. Just evidence of all that was washed away in the flood.

These are picture of the damage done in the recent tropical storm and flooding. The edges of the river have just been destroyed, taking homes, and lives.


This is the water line, 1/2 way up the window. It lets you see just how bad the flooding was in the city.

temporary housing

So these are some of the temporary houses we helped with to allow these families a roof over their heads. A far cry from what they will have in a year, but it is 4 walls and a rood that keeps the rain out better than black plastic.

This is Baby harrison. His mother is 16 and she was found on the banks of the river, freightened and alone. Her house and all of her belongings were washed away. They were living in a "house" made of tree branches and black plastic.


So many people were living like this,- a tent city.

The widow's home

We spent a few days building and painting a house for this younge widow. She lost her husband in the flood, and now is living on the compound withher two small children. She's been given this house as well as employment to provide for herself, and protect her from men who might pose a threat to a younge woman.

Colocha

This is Colocha, a beautiful little girl at the mal-nutrition center. She was abandoned at birth and rescued.
Her name means "curly" and while she is a happy healthy baby, thriving at Hope for Life, still holding her in my arms made me cry.
She is doing well, but what about all of the babies who have yet to be rescued?

More More More

The Lord has really been pushing me to ask him for "More." I'm trying, but to be honest, I don't know what "more" is.
It reminds me of a story I read about Katheryn Kuhlman as a little girl. She'd stand behind her father and say "Daddy, give me a nickle." He'd pretend he didn't hear her and she'd ask again and again until he'd swoop around and pull her into his lap and give her a nickle. As an adult he recounted this story to her, and said, "My precious daughter. I would have given you anything you'd asked... you only limited yourself because you didnt'know to ask for more."
I can see this in myself,- like a little kid who things $100 is the biggest amount in the world,- enought to buy a candy bar and a house and a car.
But we all know there is so much more than $100!
God is telling me there is more than I've been asking for, more than I've been willing to accept.
I don't know what it is, but I'm asking for it!

Representin'

Okay, I'm not done with the Guatemala stories, but I read this today and thought it was interesting.

1 Chron 22:7 "I wanted to build a Temple to honor the name of the Lord my God," David told him. "But the Lord said to me, 'You have killed many men in the great battles you have fought. And since you have shed so much blood before me, you will not be the one to build a Temple to honor my name. But you will have a son who will experience peace and rest. I will give him peace with his enemies in all the surrounding lands. His name will be Solomon and I will give peace and quiet to Isreal during his reign. He is the one who will build a Temple to honor my name......'"

David, was a man after God's own heart, but at the same time, God didn't want someone with a reputation as a killer to be the one to build his house of prayer,- he wanted someone with a reputation as a peacemaker.

Do you think you are building in the kingdom of God?
What is your reputation?

Wilmer

One day this little boy approached our car when we stopped at the office.
"Como se llama?" I asked
"Wilmer," he responded with a crossed eyed smile.
You couldn't help but love him.
I gave him a stick of gum and he smiled bigger. Then he reached in the window and started rummaging through Michelle's bag, looking for candy.
The next day we went on a tour of the compound and stopped by the malnutrition center. This is for children who are malnourished, or abandoned. For 6 out of 10 children it is too late by the time they arrive. too much damage has been done to their little bodies, and they don't make it. But for those who do, the transformation is amazing. Their before and after pictures are displayed in the hallway. It almost brought tears to my eyes when I saw this:

Our little gum chomper had been rescued himself. I'd never had guessed if I hadn't seen the picture myself.
that really just sealed in my heart the importance of the ministry that was being done in Zacapa.


This is baby Mario. He's an unbelievable 7 months old.



And here are several of our girls with babies and toddlers of various ages.

Guatemala Stories

Okay Okay,now a bit about the guatemala trip....
Guatemala was a beautiful country combining my favorite parts of my favorite countries. Guatemala city reminded me a lot of Maputu, Mozambique, but Zacapa was mountainous like Swaziland. And of course the people were lovely and gracious like the Brazilians so it was a triple win!
But this trip was by far the hardest trip I've been on,- mentally, physically, emotionally. However I'm not affraid of a challenge. I know "suffering" is the place where were are tested, challenged, and grow, so I tried to take it all in with a good attitude.

The temperatures and humidity were both high and a lot of days were were working outside. In addition, our beginning living quarters were more like bunkers with community bathrooms,- and y'all know how I am with my downtime and personal space. This was fixin' to drive me crazy!

But through it all I had to keep in mind, the advice Ben Rogers gave me back in Swaziland, "A good servant isn't offended when she's treated like a servant" So many times I'll do a task and get it done, but it would never be considered serving. Serving is an attitude. Serving is excellence. Serving is Humility.


This was the question that kept rising up in my spirit.
Will you serve me?
Will you serve me when you are hot?
Will you serve me when you are tired?
Will you serve me when you are sick?
Will you serve me when the task doesn't seem like 'ministry'?
Will you serve me when someone one else gets all the credit?
Will you serve me?

All of these were hard, but I know I'm better because of meeting the challenge.

Just my opinion, don't send me death threats

I'll say it.
I'll blaspheme.
I know I will offend most of you. A few of you will end our friendship. Some of you might even threaten my life, or the life of my cat.
But I can no longer stay silent.

I don't understand the appeal of Twilight.

I've heard women from 9 years to-50 years rave about the stories. Even a few guys.

So I thought I'd at least give it a shot. I got the first book from the library. And now after 3 weeks and 350 pages, I'm bored.
It's slow, repetative, I can't quite figure out what the plot is suppose to be, and it's kinda scary.
No, not vampire scary, but Edwards-gets-bored-at-night-and-watches-Bella-sleep scary. When I was in high school we called that stalking. Now it's called love.

I've heard so much about the love story, and I don't really see a love story here. I see an obsession and a struggle over self control.
Some women (and I'm talking grown women here) have expressed a desire for a man, like Edward, who would give up everything, and deny themselves because they are so in love a woman.

If that's you,( and I say this 100% judgement free) then put down the Twilight series, and pick up your Bibles. Read Hosea, read John. The love story is true, better, and has a happier ending. :0)
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not one those nay-sayers who think books like these are evil and will destroy our civilization. Maybe it can even be of some good if it helps you to recognize an unfulfilled longing within yourself. I hope you all find what you're looking for, I do.

But I think the problem is that women read books like these, or watch chick flicks and beleive that people like this exist (I'm talking about romantics not vampires) and that if they could only meet him then their lives would be happy.

But they never pursuit the one relationship that can truely make them happy. And that's why these twi-hards make me so sad.