How can anyone live under the pressure of 39 children, 38 of them adopted as older children? Many of my children have difficult emotional issues, some are severely disturbed, and some appear quite normal to the outside world, saving their rages and breakdowns for us as it is safe and secure here to fall apart. People would point at them if they acted like that in public.

Every single day presents many challenges. Challenges that would bring a racing stallion to its knees, complications that befuddle us all, events that make me temporarily bonkers and constant tests of my soul, commitment and intelligence. There are always incredible trials on a daily basis.

There’s one single factor that holds me together. It is an undeniable faith in God that I am doing exactly what He wants me to do. This is only about me, what works for me; others have to find their own way, what works for them.

My very positive attitude, that takes a hit almost every hour, is my Plan B. Things will work out eventually, this I know.

I build myself up through books, articles, country gospel music and like-minded people. A take on the GIGO Theory; garbage in = garbage out. Instead, as oppositional as my children, I have the BUIBUO Theory; Build-Up In = Build-Up Out. If I build myself up, then my strength will be desirable and contagious to my children.

Should I teach them to fret and worry? Heck no, that won’t get them anywhere. Norman Vincent Peale suggests, based on a study he did, that we write our worries on paper and then walk away for a week. Come back in seven days, read what you then thought needed to be worried about, and you’ll discover that 97% didn’t ever happen anyway while you handled the rest of it. Why then waste your time worrying?

I’m Alfred E. Newman’s twin sister apparently, “What, me worry?”

I’ve underlined important passages, written them out, and I read and reread my own notes to myself. There’s simply no other way for me to function. This is my own “How To…”

Yes, I’ve felt discouraged and defeated, beat down and trod upon at times; but I pull myself together and keep on keeping on every single time. I see no other possible avenue to success. I’m sure not quitting. College educated past grad school level, I may have typed that previous sentence grammatically correct whereas in real life I often holler these words, “Heck no, I ain’t quitting,” as, after all, this is the Deep South.