I'm Baaaaa-aaack (a rant)

Re-opened my blog. 
I'd freaked out a couple weeks ago, and so I closed it. Here is the long, drawn-out, rant and rave story that goes along with it. It begins with an innocent mishap, flies into a psychotic reaction, then concludes with a soul-searching peaceful realization. Without further ado...

A1 came home with a comment on her homework about how she needed to listen, and not doodle.
I thought it was hilarious, because - all who know me know quite well - I'm a doodler.
When people call me an artist, I correct them.
Because I'm NOT an artist.
I'm a doodler. 

Annnywho. I reprimanded her, because I knew without even asking that it was something they were supposed to do as a group in class, and that she'd doodled instead. It's not like she knows how to do what I do, yet. I had to teach myself to listen through doodle. To doodle, without listening or paying attention, is dangerous. And, being new to the STAAR test, she has got to listen.

Aaaaaanywho, I reprimanded her - oh, I already said that...  but still, to myself, I thought that it was hilarious. Like mother, like daughter, right? 

I posted a picture of it on Facebook. 
At the time, I believe I had three facebook friends in my town.  Three.
And, I got a call from her teacher on Monday morning. 

Some people had left some ugly comments on the doodle-correction paper photo... things like "that teacher doesn't know that doodling stifles creativity" or "maybe if the teacher wasn't so boring" and things like that. I can see how she'd think that was rude, and a little embarrassing, but whoever shared this information with her (I'm not friends with her on Facebook) apparently left out the fact that I had her back in those comments. I made sure to say that I back her. I made sure to say that A1 should have been listening. I made sure to say that, regardless on whether I agree or disagree with anything a teacher does or says, WHAT THE TEACHER SAYS, GOES. (In 99% of cases, right?)

So, yeah. 

Somehow her teacher, at her new school, in her new town, heard that I (a woman who has taught, and who comes from a family of teachers, and who would NEVER bash a teacher, especially in public) was making her look bad on Facebook. If I was her teacher, I'd have been pissed, too!

I don't know how it came up or who shared what with her. I understand that she was probably completely embarrassed about the whole thing (she heard from like 4 people - and I'm sure what she heard was that I was telling people that she doesn't let kids be creative or some crap like that) - and I was mortified. 

So, I freaked out. 

I didn't realize that one stupid comment or photo on my Facebook page, in a town where I don't know anyone and only had a couple "friends" on my list, would make the front page headlines. 

I'd forgotten that in a town this small, rumors travel very, very quickly.
I'd forgotten that the rumor weed grows like wildfire spreads. 

Though small towns have lots and lots of great attributes, there are also petty, catty people who unknowingly destroy things because they say the wrong thing to the wrong people, or because they just don't know when to shut up. (I know these people exist everywhere, big and small towns alike, they just cause much more damage in small towns, where people are ready and willing to listen and share any new news. Any news, good or bad, is news.)

I don't know how it came about. I don't know who said what or to whom. And I'm positive it wasn't initially a malicious conversation about how the new girl in town hates teachers. But it happened, and it freaked me out. Like, put me in "I HATE THIS TOWN, GET ME OUT OF THIS PLACE, WHY AM I SURROUNDED BY GOSSIPERS" rage and tears. I got off Facebook and closed my blog. 

I mean, if people are going to talk about THAT, what is to stop them from protesting the Kellys? What is to stop them from spreading our dirty laundry - that I've shared on my blog - and twisting and distorting WHO we ARE?

The LAST thing I needed was a bunch of people reading my blog and spreading that me and my husband had issues years ago, and things about our son, and my history of bad choices, simply because 1. They DO NOT UNDERSTAND the redeeming quality of God's grace, and 2. they have nothing better to talk about. 
-'[p[p+/;]\
Don't get me wrong - I don't need their approval. But my children are a different story. They need to find friends and a group of people who love and care about them. They don't need to be ostracized because of things their parents have done or not done (yes, I know it sounds crazy, but lots of parents are waaaaaaay judgmental and often blame children for who their parents are or are not).

In my stir-crazy, out-of-my-comfort-zone bubble, I started to think - OH NO! I'm NEVER going to fit in here! We're not wealthy, and I don't have nice clothes, and my car is old and broken and dented, and I'm outspoken and misunderstood more often than not... OH NO! How will I ever fit in?! 


Then, I slapped myself, and remembered. Jessica Kelly, you don't care. "You don't care who knows what about you or your past. YOU don't care about expensive clothes or boats and cabins or weekend trips," I tells myself. "You love your friends who have those things, and you don't care that you don't." I says, "You'd like to have fun things, but you know that you're young and got started late, and things take time. You are grateful for the things you DO have - a loving and devoted husband, healthy and hilarious and beautiful children, an incredibly supportive and loving family, a nice house, a car, a full fridge..." 

I was embarrassed to realize that I was caught in this materialistic bubble made out of luxury cars and boutique clothing... and it kind of grossed me out. Not because I don't think those things are great... but because I KNOW those things aren't what define me, or my happiness or ability to make friends. 

Sure, it's nice to have friends. But if they don't see beyond my past (!), my car, my hair, my clothes, my furnishings, my loud mouth (insert innocent whistle here)... are they really friends I want to have at all? Superficial friends, surface friends... those are the WORST POSSIBLE* friends to have.

I don't care about not fitting in. I know that I will. I know that we'll all find our niche here. I know that others will love me, and I will love others. And I. don't. care.

Now, I do care if it's going to affect my daughter's schooling. I do care if it affects my children in any way - like, people not wanting to let their kids stay the night or some stupid crap like that. But, in the big picture, do I really want my daughter to hang out with kids whose parents are petty, blind, gossipy, and judgmental, anyway?

I reopen my blog today, because I've done some soul searching and praying, and realized that it doesn't matter. 
I am a writer. It is what I do, and part of my identity. 
I am an open book. And many, many people have grown in love and life and love FOR life because I've had the cajones to share our adoption journey. 
In order for anyone to really benefit from our particular story, they have to know that our life was far from peaches-and-cream when I was in my crisis pregnancy, so I don't hesitate sharing the ugly parts of our past. 

God helps us through trials not only so that WE can benefit and live a full and happy life, but also so that we can share His redeeming grace with others, that they might grow to know and love Him more. How many people never share any of their trials with others because they are embarrassed or fearful of reaction? Do we have any idea how many people's marriages could be saved if people who had experience talked about God's healing of addiction or infidelity? How many teens could benefit from their friends' dads telling them about the hell of getting a DWI or hurting someone while drunk driving? How many babies could be saved if women would share the heartache they experienced from their abortion, or their parenting stories, or adoption journey?

I'm not a push-under-the-rug kind of girl. And, though it gets me in to trouble sometimes, I don't really care.

So, forget loud mouths in this small town.
Let them talk.
May they read my blog and tell EVERYONE, screaming from the top of a cotton gin, that I made bad choices, and have a child I placed for adoption.
Because you know what? I'm PROUD of that. I don't WANT to hide it, even if I live in a place where most are certain to NOT understand.

Maybe, in their screaming, ONE GIRL in high school will hear my story and NOT abort her baby. Maybe ONE PARENT will get over their fear of rejection and humiliation enough to love their daughter enough to help her through her pregnancy and parenting or placing that baby for adoption. Talk about me all you want. It is my life drive to EMBRACE LIFE. And if you have anything negative to say about that, then, well, perhaps you're a shrew who hates life, and should probably seek counseling for that. :D  Not trying to be ugly here, just honest. I mean, I'm all about seeking within ourselves to promote personal growth. :)

I have been given many gifts, and one is the gift of helping people turn on that little light bulb that tells them that LIFE is GOOD - regardless of how you're brought in to it. I've been given a gift to share - to show women, parents, grandparents - that adoption is a life-affirming and loving option. 
I've been given a network of people who know and love me, and who will have my back no matter what life brings. 

And, I know - thanks to my father - that if you bring something in to the light, it gives those who wish to gossip about it much less joy. How fun is it to gossip about something that I'm ready and willing to share? 

Anyway, soul searching is still underway. 
My diet has hit the crapper, because I'm an emotional eater, and it's been a rough couple months. I don't even want to talk about it.

And, God has blessed me with a neighbor who gives wise advice. She's made me realize that nothing really matters. It doesn't matter if I'm a flake sometimes, or late to meetings, or if my kid misses a practice or makes a C on a report card. In the big picture, none of that matters. (More on that later. Don't misunderstand what I've just said.)

All that matters is showing and spreading love. Teaching my children to do the same. Following in the footsteps of our Maker, and getting all of us to Heaven. THAT is what matters. 

Because the world goes on outside this Small Town, America. And life goes on after we die. 

And I'm happy with who I am, and what it took for us to get here. 
I'm happy to share my heartache and bad decisions and God's healing with anyone who will listen. 

And so, read on. 
I'm done fearing what my words of truth and light will bring. 
God is good. 

Peace. :) 
Jessica