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"Garbage Bag Suitcase: A Memoir" Book Review

          It took me less than 1 day to read this remarkably written memoir, not because it’s what I would consider an “easy read” but because I was captivated to the point of not being able to put the book down.

            Written by Shenandoah Chefalo, Garbage bag Suitcase offers a personal look into the life of one child – one small girl who faced abuse and neglect in her daily life – a life that was worth saving even though no one was there to step in and be a savior. In her memoir, Chefalo describes the intense trauma she suffered at the hands of those ordered to care for her by the people that she was supposed to love and trust most in this world.

            And after living in chaos and instability for 13 years, transferring her few belongings from place to place in a garbage bag that came to be known as her suitcase, she found the immense courage to make a choice – instead of remaining under the parental umbrella of addiction, abuse, and mental illness, Chefalo chose herself.

            Sadly, making life-altering choices usually come with a consequence or two. And in Chefalo’s case, she wound up in the foster care system. Lost and struggling with her identity, she writes of facing each new school, each new home with an underlying drive to make a way through her struggles, to become one of the 3% of foster children to go to college, and one of the 1% to graduate.

            In her memoir, Chefalo relays even more staggering statistics about the foster care system. She shares the mental and physical complexities that are common among children who have aged out of their foster homes with nowhere to go, no one to turn to as support. She reflects on her own struggles with lying , food, and relationship – how they weren’t just behaviors that needed to be “fixed” as our society proclaims, but how they were a way to stay alive and a way to reinvent herself, especially since her family and a broken system left her wondering who she even was.

            The inside glimpses she vulnerably shares in Garbage Bag Suitcase challenged me to look at my own children through a different lens. To understand the helplessness and fear that can still grip a child that has been through such trauma, who has been taken away from all that they’d known, as dysfunctional as it was, and placed with strangers – to see how one can walk away from the wreckage of it all and to make yet another choice, one of forgiveness… well, there aren’t words to describe the miracle of it all.

            In the second section of her book, Chefalo tackles her ideas of how to reform our current foster care system, changing it in ways that promise hope and success for many more children than the current statistics show. Personally, I have always felt that vigorous and constant early intervention services would be the best preventative measure for keeping children out of foster care, helping parents learn to parent in their own homes, bridging that gap and averting the formative years from being overlooked in our young children. Because, once a child gets to school, even if a teacher or administrator notice that something just “isn’t right” with a child, will they report it? Will anything be done? Will the child just be taken and traumatized further? Instead, Chefalo offers brilliant suggestions that are currently being tested and used in our country, offering children a better chance at life.

            And if one child is able to make the choice for themselves, and the choice for forgiveness, then this little girl’s story, with her garbage bag suitcase, will not have been in vain.

            To purchase this story for yourself, click here and follow Shenandoah's blog at http://garbagebagsuitcase.blogspot.com/

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What RAD Means to Me

A post from an adoptive mother raising two children with RAD (Reactive Attachment Disorder) and what that means on a daily basis.

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Middays With Michelle - The Radio Interview

The moment has FINALLY arrived! We have the link to the radio interview done back in August on the Middays With Michelle Show! So excited to share this all with you, even though some of the story has changed since the time of this recording. Take a listen as I recap the last 5 years of my life, including infertility, fostering, adopting, raising children with RAD, loss, and a beautiful little miracle!

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First Vlog Post

A Vlog about the loss of a foster child, the grief a mother faces, and the hope she finds in the Lord.

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Fall Cleaning

     It was a phenomenal weekend. Plain and simple, it was the weekend that I needed to feel like me again. That is, as a woman and a person.... not a wife, not a mother, not an employee, not a taxi-driver. I re-found my soul, the core of who I am, and it felt amazing. With the fellowship of friends and an awesome church service, I was refreshed and rejuvenated. What's better yet? I found my kids to be much more tolerable (dare I say enjoyable??) in the midst of it! Now, it obviously helped that my mother-in-law had the kids for Friday evening and most of Saturday (three cheers for patient relatives, right?).... maybe we all needed some time apart. I sometimes forget that they may get just as sick of me as I sometimes feel of them! My husband always says, "How can I miss you if you never go away??" Maybe he's onto something. (Just don't tell him I said so.)
     I knew it was going to be a great day as soon as I woke up. This has nothing to do with my parental psychic powers and everything to do with the fact that when I came out of my room this morning, my children were cleaning their rooms. (I feel the need to pause for effect to let that set in for a moment....) THEY WERE CLEANING THEIR ROOMS!!! And I'm not just talking about making beds and shoving toys into their closets. Oh, no! When I cautiously peered into the first bedroom, I saw both kids sitting in the middle of the room, adorned in nightgowns (yes, my son wears an over-sized nightshirt to bed half the time... I can't seem to break him of this, but that's a post for another day), garbage can between them, and they were literally spring cleaning!...in the fall. Now, you have to understand, this is truly a big deal. I suffer from borderline OCD (self-diagnosed, yes, but I'm pretty sure there's merit to it... just ask my husband). And with this "mental illness" of mine, I have the tendency to, oh, freak out on occasion when the kids make confetti with their coloring pages and then leave said confetti all over the floor. Or when Cameron insists on keeping garbage in his room because NOTHING can be thrown away without a crying fit. Or when Legos get left in the patterns of the carpet, waiting to shove their grooved tops into unsuspecting tootsies.
     So when my kids smiled at me and said, "Good morning! We're cleaning our rooms and throwing away garbage!", you can imagine the sweet, sweet joy that coursed through my veins. It was like the spike of coffee mixed with the calmness of sleepy-time tea. Exhilaration meets Relief. Euphoria at its finest. But the best part wasn't even that they were cleaning.... but they were HELPING each other clean. There may or may not have been angels singing (I'm pretty sure I heard the opening chords of the Hallelujah chorus coming from under the bed....), but Lord knows I sure was! Well, right up until the part where Taylor decided that her room was clean and that Cameron was more than capable of cleaning his own room without her assistance... you know, since he did such a nice job on hers. I reminded her that it's rude to have someone help you and then not help them in return. So she said it's not that she didn't want to help, it's just that she realized she's still pretty tired. I enthusiastically suggested that a nap after church would be just the ticket for her drowsiness.... and then she decided that she really wasn't too tired to help him afterall. Good choice, little one, good choice.
     They may not be my blood, but I was all too aware when they picked up my bad habits (darn nail-biting and fear of those pesky spiders....). I should've known that the bad, as well as the good habits, can be passed on. Especially when those habits are as neurotic and obsessive as mine. If only this worked on husbands....

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