Thursday, December 19, 2013

An Unread Letter

Dear Tayech,

Today your son turns one.

I went into his room this morning to his smiling face and I thought of you.  I picked him up and kissed his face and thought of you.  He nuzzled his head into the crook of my neck and I thought of you.  I tickled his piggies and he giggled and I thought of you. 

Somewhere across the world, you are well into your day but I wondered if you woke up this morning with the same thought, "Today is his birthday."  I wondered if you smile or cry or push the feelings down and stay busy so as to not think about it.  I wonder how you're doing.  I wonder if you can think comfortably about your boy or if it still brings painful memories.  I wonder if you imagine him in my home, in my arms, in our family.  I wonder if you are thriving or surviving.  I wonder if your family has taken you back.

I've spent the last few months writing letters to birthmoms and sending pictures and highlights and words that I hope convey how wanted and loved our kids are.  I did not realize how much these letters meant to me before my Ethiopian babes came along.  These letters allow me to once again reflect on my kid's stories...of how they grew in you and how they are growing up with me.  I get to share their successes, their funny moments, their struggles, their lives, their faces.  This is not the case with you, Tayech.  There is no mailbox.  There is no email address.  There is nowhere to send a letter.

So, I write this knowing you will not read it today.  But it feels like it should be written.  It feels like you should now how your "gift from God" is doing.  And I want you to know this:

HE IS AMAZING.

I wondered how the adjustment of starting over with a little one would go.  I wasn't quite sure I was ready to start over at baby stage.  I've been looking around and there are less moms my age who are pregnant or getting up for nightly feedings.  But here's the thing.  I love this baby and being with this baby and everything about this baby stage.  I love that he loves spatulas and big plastic bowls.  I love that he starts jumping up and down in his crib when I walk into the room.  I love that his two words are "mama" and "dada."   I love that he comes to me, wanting me to hold him, to comfort him, to play with him.  I love that he hangs out at my legs sucking on my pants.   I love that he is speed racer when his dad walks in the door.  I love that his favorite thing is getting placed in between his two parents and literally getting squished between us.

HE IS STRONG.

When we came home, this boy was small and his legs were thin and his belly was big.  His vitamin levels were out of whack.  His kidneys were acting weird.  His head had that perpetual orphanage fungus on it.  He was puking over every. inch. of. my. house.

And it is all better.  He is healthy.  He is rounding out.  He's getting teeth.  He loves food.  He is a speed walker. 

HE IS HAPPY AND HE BRINGS HAPPINESS.

This boy is content.  He smiles easily and bounces when he's excited.  He bangs on everything with joy.  He coos and talks and plays.  He can turn a scowling nine year old into a affectionate little mother.   He turns an active four year old into a gentle spirit.   I watch his daddy look at him and I can see how thrilled they both are with each other.   And my heart....it is full.  Brimming.  Overflowing.

But mostly I want you to know this:

HE IS LOVED.

And he will ALWAYS be loved.

Thank you, Tayech, for this child.  For bringing him into the world despite a very difficult life situation.  For giving him a chance.  For making a sacrifice.

For giving him a birthday.










 


Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Living the Dream

We thought long and hard before taking in black children into our family.
 
We live in a small, rural, white community and our kids go to a well-intentioned, ethnically challenged school.  I have sat through the school spring concerts in a cold sweat as I looked out at all those blondies wondering if my kids can find a place here, too. Our sweet little Ethiopians bring smiles now because they're cute and little.  I wonder, no...I know that some of  those smiles will change if one of my kids shows up to date a daughter or son.  I worry about them fitting in, finding friends, marrying spouses, being teased, facing heartache, resenting me because I am not the mom they should have had.   I dread the day when they look at themselves and feel shame because they are different.  I want to protect their hearts, their souls, their beings from nonacceptance and rejection and THAT DAY when they realize that their gorgeous little chocolate skin might not work in their favor.
 
We are a trans-racial family.  I never dreamed this for myself.  I guess God shaped my heart in a way that could be filled by this bunch that looks so different from me.  And I would NEVER have thought my hubs would get on board at the idea of traveling to Africa to fill our quiver.  God shaped his heart, too.  And apparently God has prepared him for a dozen or so.
 
We are a trans-racial family.  When I head out, I am noticed.  People look.  They remember us.  They smile. They stare. They glare. They ask. I don't leave the house without someone making a judgement about me...my kids...my family.  Sometimes that feels kind of weighty when all you want to do is run in for a gallon of milk.  Some days it feels like a platform to speak words for the kids like my kids who need families.  Some days, I'm so proud of them.  My girl who still thinks her hair is pretty and whose smile lights up a room.  She doesn't walk.  She bounces and skips and sings her way through life and is so carefree.  She and her beautiful, bright smile and her endless energy.  And my boy who grins at me every time I look at him with his little curls and that skin.  It is just delicious.
 
I remember going to the store and a random woman coming up to me and saying, "I remember you.  You were here last Thursday."  I could not say the same.  And once a gentleman came up to me to talk hair routines.  And another black man actually elbow- bumped me over a Crisco conversation.  And when I go to the doctor's office, they know our names and not because of repeated illnesses.  I have been stared at by a black family with arms crossed and scowls on their faces.  I have been told that "these" children are so precious.  Children at school have literally stopped in their tracks when we walked down the hallways.  Random strangers have come up and asked to touch her hair.  People have pointed and others have broke into tears.
 
And last week, on one of our first Sundays out to a church as a family of six, I left the service to walk the chatty, squirmy baby around out back.  The pastor read Dr. King's speech during his sermon. 

I have a dream where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.
 
I've heard this speech before.  I was educated, reminded, and even empathetic in the past.  Now, I am emotionally invested.  I started boo-hooing right there as I was holding my black baby in my white hands and thinking that in another time not so long ago, THIS WOULD NEVER HAVE HAPPENED.  We are the literal incarnation of this man's dream. 

I slipped back into our row as the final song played.  We walked out together and a man came up next to me and in front of my babes, leaned in and asked, "Are you working through Child Protective Services?" 

I guess we have a ways to go and if we could speed the process up, that would be great.  Because my babies are growing up and I want them to be loved and I just want skin color to be a NON-ISSUE.  I want their hearts to shine through.  Their value to be acknowledged because they are CHILDREN OF THEIR HEAVENLY FATHER MADE IN HIS IMAGE.

My dear Eden, my dreams for you are grand.  I pray that you are surrounded by friends and opportunities and every good thing that you deserve.  I hope that you find a godly man who sees your beauty, inside and out.  I want for you all that life has to offer with nothing to hold you back.  May you look in the mirror and still keep smiling and singing and bouncing your way through life.  You are complete and enough just as you are.  

And little Judah...my man. When I look into your big, brown eyes, I don't know how anyone could not fall in love with you.  I hope that others will see your sweet temperament and calm, contented ways.  May you find your place in life through struggles and joy and an assurance of who you are in Christ.  May you be respected as a lover of people and a lover of God. 

And Dr. King.  Thanks for thinking big.  Big enough to start movements that bring about change.  Because if you didn't have a dream, I wouldn't be living it.













 


 

Saturday, August 3, 2013

New Normal

We have hit the two week mark.  It's a milestone worth sharing.

This is when I start feeling like a sane person again and when a baby cries in the middle of the night, I'm not puzzled thinking, "Huh?  What is making all that noise?!?"  The luggage is unpacked, the jet lag has worn off, the house is kind of back to normal except for the explosion of primary colors trailing throughout the living room floor.  And, it feels like I can take a few minutes to write when every other day I would just head straight for a nap.

Here's a few of the details for those of you who are detail kind of people and all happen to ask the same following questions:

Question #1...How'd it go in Ethiopia?

Answer...I have no idea.  It is one big, exhausted blur.  I do remember picking up the baby, not sleeping, a traditional dinner (ew) in costume and then leaving. 

 
 
Let's move on.

Question #2... How was the flight?!? (typically asked with eyes widened, mouth formed in a worried, sympathetic expression, hand on shoulder....)

Nugget was amazing.  We got the coveted bassinette row.  I didn't even know this existed before our trip with Eden.  They just hook a little bed/death trap up to the bulk head row and babies can sleep (or not sleep) there instead of sprawled on your lap.  Genius.  We may have gotten this seat due to some pleading, urgent prayers sent upward while standing at the ticket counter or maybe just because babies trump other passengers when it comes to getting a little bed.  I may have let out a little, "Hallelujah. Thank you, Jesus!" when this seat was confirmed and in ROW 10 meaning I could beat out rows 11-46 at deboarding time.  However, I soon realized that three other babies would be sharing our special row, my favorite being the mom traveling with a two year old and an eight month old all BY HER LONELY SELF.  Said mother may have not brought one item of entertainment for the 17 hour plane ride and I became spare mom to either/both of her children.  I digress.  

I've told people that our baby was clearly the most prayed for as he was the best behaved and slept not necessarily in the coveted bassinette but mostly on me.  I had numb butt cheek syndrome for 15 of the 17 hour ride.  We all kind of tanked on the last leg to Grand Rapids.  People kept looking at us, some sympathetically and some slightly annoyed. I wanted to stand, turn, and give the "baby has been traveling for 20+ hours so how about you just sip your Diet Coke and move about your business" kind of speech. My favorite moment may have been when I asked some business-looking man if he would like to trade seats with my husband in the back of the plane.  He looked hesitant.  I lifted sweet, bawling Nugget and said, "Or...you can sit by us!"  Business man made his way to the back.

The good news is that we got off that awful, delayed plane and walked down the ramp to the crowd of the devoted/those who had nothing going on that Saturday afternoon and it was just a moment of everything coming together.  Three little ones running towards us with tears flowing as I watched them lay eyes of their little bro for the first time.  These are the times you don't get to live very often.  Well, sort of.  I can relive it every day if I want thanks to my girl buddy, pro-photographer/fellow adoptive mom who captured it all in slow mo.

What's the link?  So glad you asked.
http://staceyclackphotography.pass.us/scholten/
password: Scholten

Question #3...How's it been going? (ironically asked with the same facial expressions as question #2)

People,  he is the cutest little whipper snapper I ever laid eyes on.  More pics! More pics!  I can hear you chanting...


 


 He's a happy little dude.  He smiles easily.  He crawls and stands and looks way too little to be doing either.  We are all sort of infatuated with him, especially my dear girl, Hannah, who loves everything about babies.  Actually mostly she loves that they have to do whatever she wants and won't talk back.  I kind of share her feelings.  There's something sort of endearing about a little one who has three primary concerns: food, sleep, clean butt and doesn't argue with you when you ask them to put their breakfast dishes away.  They snuggle you and bounce up and down because it is just toooooo much fun.  When J's excited, his little legs start frantically kicking.  He is loving tubs and toys and stroller rides and all things baby.

The doc says he was probably born early.  He's made it to the 6th percentile, on target with his age group, a little low in iron and Vitamin D (who isn't?), puking much less (I could tell some stories), sitting up without immediately nose diving and eating everything he finds on the floor.  He stand at the window looking outside, reaches for us when visitors come over, drools like a fool and happens to love dad's whiskers (and dad....that is also worth noting). 

Uh, and then there are the nights.

They've been, shall we say, sporadic?  Some nights (like 3 nights) we're up once or twice for a quick bottle and then back down for the count.  And then there are the last few nights of more frequent, special bonding times.  Baby likes a bottle...not rocking, not patting the bum, not gentle swaying back and forth.  The kid wants a bottle.  And so sometimes he just wins and I say, "Have at it. I'm going back to bed."  This is a habit we will have to slowly replace.  In time.  Like when I have more stamina and energy and sleep.  OK, maybe never.

We're on our way.  Heading in the right direction.  Slowly getting to know each other and trust and love and become a family. 

There are days...change that....EVERY day, I just look around at this conglomeration of a family.  One who talks non-stop, showing signs of becoming a young lady.  One climbing the shelves in search of a screw driver to take the wheels off his trucks.  Another with her fluffy puffs and her love for music.  And the newbie with his easy coming smile....interests still to be determined.  I can't help but feel those "quiver is full," "blessed beyond measure", "life doesn't get any better than this" kind of moments.  And then they start fighting and I tackle laundry load number 23 for the week, or they spill their cereal on the floor again and it gets crazy.  But it's the good kind of crazy.  The "this is the best kind of crazy."  The kind of crazy that could change in a heartbeat.  So for today, I'm taking the messes and the 100 requests all starting with, "MOM!!!!" and I'm soaking it in with a thankful heart and spirit.

Grateful for these kids.  My kids.




 

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss

Nobody tells you how hard this day is.

At 6:30 in the morning, years ago, I was in the garage putting on my shoes, almost in the car on my second to last day of substitute teaching.  I stopped because the phone rang. I answered.  "Kim, she's in labor.  Baby is coming today!!"

I paced and paced and called and cleaned and sat and then stood up again....didn't even bother with teaching that day.  It was a day of pure elation.  Today was the day.  The day I never knew if it would exist.  The day that would make me a mom because of someone else's decision.

And so on the way to the hospital, we stopped for flowers and held hands and smiled as we searched out the room and there she was. Perfect.  Wrapped tightly in those hospital blankets with a little pink hat probably knit by some random, charitable grandma.  She wasn't even one of those babies that is cute simply because she was a baby.  She was beautiful. No squished up little face just round and pink and lovely.

This day was amazing.  I would live it again and again.  But no one prepared me for the other feelings.  The one's that came when I saw a teenage mom with swollen eyes and my heart checked.  The one where a would-be grandma was consoled in the corner as she answered phone calls from friends and family who would never come to the hospital for a reunion.  I felt her loss, too.  Maybe even more because she knew what the word "mother" meant.   The feelings of jealousy as I watched someone else change her and feed her and hold her and kiss her.  The desperate unspoken fears of "What if she changes her mind??

Or when I walked into the hospital with an empty car seat, watched this young woman/girl slowly ride in a wheelchair to the front door, red-faced and crying, cherishing those last moments, handing her baby over, getting in a car, driving away....as I stood their holding HER baby and an empty car seat.

No one told me to expect this to be so hard.  No one said that this day, THE day, would also be one of the hardest.  It wouldn't feel like a Gotcha Day, but more like I Stole Ya Day.

I have lived this day now four times.

I was emotional even in the anticipation of today, knowing the duality of feelings was coming.

We did the norms...photos, laughs, visiting, playing, holding the babies, drinking the strong coffee.  But I knew it was coming.

We sat on pink couches and it slowly, quietly creeped in.  A woman I have come to respect for her devotion, her commitment, her LOVE for these children who come in and out of her life like a revolving door.  A women who loves these babies knowing it will be painful to say goodbye.  And she sat holding my Judah and the tears came freely.  "Rabirra, I know you will have a bright future.  You will live good life.  You will grow to be strong boy.  Goodbye, Rabi." Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss. And once again, a baby is placed in my arms and I am his mother with the blessing of another.  Her pain is palapable.  She apologizes for being emotional because, "we just become so attached to these babies."

Today Judah lost his family.  Again.  And although I know he WILL have a bright future, today my heart just hurts for those women who love tirelessly knowing that their attachment will result in sadness.  Today they lost four members of their makeshift family.  And yet tomorrow they will all show up again and keep on loving and caring.

Thank you, dear women.  For being a mama to my boy.  For picking him up when he cries, getting him to smile, snuggling him to your chest, feeding him in the night, sitting on the floor and encouraging him to crawl and roll over and share his toy.  You are precious.  You are amazing.  You are women of great strength.  And I am so grateful that you become attached knowing it is only for a short time. Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss.






Monday, July 15, 2013

Weed Eating and Other Baby Essentials

Today. 

I get on a plane and start the trip back to Judah.

Oh. my. word.

This sort of elicits three appropriate responses that occur in the following order:

1. "Holla!"

This is the pure joy, excitement, nervous energy, long-awaited reality coming to be.  It makes you smile.  You swoon at Nugget's picture.  You sniff those little diapers and stack those neatly folded baby outfits.   Giving baby a bath and putting him in his jammies washed in that special baby detergent sounds fun. Nugget is going to smile and laugh and attach to you and think you are the best thing that ever came along.  You envision rocking and cuddling and sleeping through the night. I repeat....sleeping through the night.  It feels like the world is aligned.  God is blessing.  Life is good.  I can't wait. 


2. "Oh, crap!"

This is the reality component that interferes with the above dream world.  It is the experience of mothering taking hold of your thoughts and slowly reminding you of all the unpleasantries of life with baby.  The lugging of the diaper bag and car seat through parking lots, the puking on your clothes, the inability to shower, the stack of laundry, the night feedings.   The understanding that life is going to be....uh.....different for a while.   The realization of all the things you were going to get done before this trip but didn't.  And in my case that longer than long, long flight home.  And this time, Baby better like Daddy.  I remember laying in bed on our Eden trip and thinking, "What are we doing?  We have lost our minds."


3. "Say what?!?"

I've kind of been through this adoption thing a time or three and every time it never feels remotely normal.  I am getting on a plane.  I am crossing the world.  I am swinging on by an orphanage in the afternoon.  I'm sitting through a coffee ceremony that has nothing to do with adoption or babies.  I pick up Nugget.  We hug everyone goodbye.  And then Nugget is now coming to live with me. FOREVER.  No matter how excited or scared or whatever the emotions...this just always seems a little, little, little bit unusual to me.  And kind of amazing, too.

As is then waking up at home to strange baby in...your....living room.  Totally not weird.  Baby from the picture is now 3-D baby sitting on the couch with your other kids.

And the great news is that I have completed the following list of essentials in preparation for a new baby over the last three days.  New moms, you may want to take notes.

  • swept garage and organized the jumble of plastic cars, bikes, scooters, bubble wands, sticks/swords, golf balls, and socks.  Don't ask. 
  • oil changed in the car....wiped down seats, vacuumed floors
  • stripped all pink things from Nugget's room and replaced them with animal printy things and new crib sheet.  I don't know why I feel Ethiopian babies can pull of animal prints, but they just can.
  • organized the pantry
  • had a fun session with the weed eater
  • located saved boy clothes to discover none would actually fit
  • made 4 trips to the grocery store in one week for....groceries.
  • chosen grout color and new garage doors
  • given three members of our family haircuts
That's pretty much what you need to do in order to welcome a new child into your home....especially the weed eating.  Wouldn't want baby to get lost in the grass or something. 

So, whatever.  The bags are 90% packed.  The plane tickets are secured.  The kids are going to hang with the grandmas for a few days.  It will all be O.K.

It will all be O.K.

Because on Saturday, after 24 hours of travel, I will walk out of our concourse to my kids waiting for their new brother.  And they will be beaming.  And I will be beaming.  And Judah will be home.

And I'm pretty sure he won't care about the pantry and I'd even wager some cash that he won't get lost in the grass.

We're on our way....





 

Monday, June 10, 2013

First Meetings

Ethiopia has my heart.

These people, this deep culture and history, this place....it came inside me and it won't ever get out.  This is the country of two of my children. 

I don't even know where to start although that famous Sound of Music song, "Let's start at the very beginning.  A very good place to start..." is on auto repeat in my brain right now.

We met the nugget.  He is just everything I expected him to be.  I know what a first encounter can look like.  That mental image of arms outstretched, running towards one another, arms around the neck while Little One weeps, "Mommy!" is just pretty much ridiculous.  Instead there more often are  tears and looking away and struggling to get out of those mama arms.  But little Judah had about five minutes of sceptism and then was a happy, drooly, bubble blowing baby and we were buddies from then on.  He puked on me three times which just confirmed our union as family.  He is our boy.  If not for the fear of arrest, I would have gladly smuggled him in a suitcase and called this adoption final.  But for now he's loved.  And he's happy.  And he's growing.  And he'll be just fine until I get back.  That difficult last visit is only difficult for me because little Judah is already home in his mind.  He has a bunch of moms and a dozen big brothers and a cozy little bed by the window.  And when I come back, I will be taking him from everything he knows to be secure and trustworthy and that thought alone makes it ok to leave him for now. 









But Judah is here because of someone and we met her and she broke my heart.

I can't imagine the feelings of riding to the orphanage where you left your baby to meet the foreign couple that will now raise him.  But she showed up and that was very brave.  And I can't imagine how intimidating it is to have these people turn on a video camera pointed directly at you while they run down a list of personal questions.  But she answered and that was very brave.  To relive the pain, the disownment from your family, the day you left him, the details of your delivery must be excruciating.  But she told it all and that was very brave.  And when I asked her, "What are your hopes and dreams for your son when he gets older?", she looked down and said,

"I hope he doesn't grow up to be like me."

I struggled to keep it together.   I think my hand may have come up to cover my mouth as I took a deep breath and paused for a moment.  That was a powerfully honest answer and it was a window into this woman's past, present, and future. "I hope he doesn't grow up to be like me."

I watched this young woman carefully page through the picture book we made for her when she thought no one was watching.  She traced the face of the baby she gave birth to with her fingertips.



 


And all too soon it was time to leave and I stood and I hugged her.  She hugged me back.  Tightly.  And as I started to pull away, she held on tighter.  In that moment, sentences and words and similar languages weren't needed because we both communicated a single message but with a very different meaning.

Thank you.

I told her that her child was a gift to our family.  He will be loved and have every opportunity that we can give him.  She smiled.  And then she walked out the door.

I will probably never see her again.  I know that she has a piece of my heart and it hurts for her loss, her past, her shame, her rotten draw of luck in this world of those with and without.  And I know that when I look at her son, I will be reminded of her and my hopes for her future.

May you think about your son and his future and smile.

May you come to forgive yourself and find forgiveness from others.

When the world has turned its back on you, may you feel how vast and how wide and how deep is the love the Father has for you.

May you know how blessed I am for meeting you.
 

Sunday, June 2, 2013

Nudges and High-Fives

A few years ago, I felt something I know to be Spirit prompted.  And I'm not really one to make that claim very often.  I would much prefer a God sticky note with clear instructions written on it.  When it comes to Holy Spirit nudges,  I wish he worked with something bigger....like maybe a bat or a blow horn.

But this started in my basement as I watched a video about children leaving their homes before dark and seeking refuge in a "safe" place to sleep.   They were afraid of being stolen by an army and forced to do unspeakable things to others.   Someone was in that room documenting these children in this "safe" place.  They were sitting near the ceiling, camera angled down into the room. The camera panned from one end of the room to the other and showed hundreds of little bodies lying one after another filling every inch of the floor. 

And then the camera panned over a rafter and showed room number two with hundreds of little bodies lying one after another filling every inch of the floor.

Oh, that pissed me off.  I had a good ugly cry and after that a deep anger came rising up that had to do with me and my apathy towards needy people.   I don't know why poverty and injustice can so unmove us at times. But this day, at this time, I was moved.

The Spirit instilled a feeling, a thought, a whisper in me that sounded like this, "Do something."

And I did.

First, I brought in some unsuspecting groupies.  They sat wide-eyed at me as I told them I had planned a year of growing towards hurting people.  We studied Scripture and got educated and traveled out of the country.  The "I" had turned to "WE" and kept getting bigger.  We promised popcorn and a Bono video at the next elder's meeting and those men took it in and jumped on board.   And then came a call to action to our congregation and a Christmas offering for Haiti. Oh, I can feel the emotion rising up even as I type and think back to the Sunday we announced a grand total that EXCEEDED more than we could have imagined.  Well, not more than God could have imagined.  Our little makeshift team questioned "What do we do now?  What do we do with all this money???"  Two weeks later, the earthquake happened.  And we knew.

Now there's all this amazing stuff going on in Haiti and I just revel in what God has done after a few years of Christmas giving.  When we're reminded that Christmas is not our birthday.  It's Jesus' birthday.  I can't wait to get to heaven and high-five him.   I no longer buy into that obnoxious statement (excuse) of  "What can one person do?  The problem is just too big."

About 8 weeks ago, I was debating whether or not to blog this adoption story.  I sometimes feel like we are the squeaky adoption wheel that everyone is tired of hearing about.  Maybe we just go, I send home an email or two and we'll call it good.  And in response I heard clearly,

"Judah's adoption story is for someone else to hear."  

Like that exact statement popped into my head.  And I kind of blew it off, but it kept coming over and over throughout the day.  It was the same feeling I had years ago when I know God told me to "Do something."

Uh, I don't know what that means. It feels a little hokey pokey to even write that down, let alone hit the publish button.  I don't know what part of his story is intended for unsuspecting ears.   I find it a little vague and I'm kind of a details sort of gal.  I just know that it was clear enough for me to be sure.  In small ways, this is already being affirmed.  OK...even some big ways. But I like to dream that for whatever reason, God is using our story and it needs to be shared because someone needs to hear it.  Because someone needs to do something.

And if you're heart is starting to beat a little faster or you feel or will feel an unexpected emotion filling your chest, I'm pretty sure this has nothing to do with you.  If you feel a spirit breathed, "Do something," that is TOTALLY just your imagination.  Yeah, so sorry about that.  And if my readership suddenly starts plummeting, I have one word for you....scaredy cats.

So, here it goes.  Tomorrow, I board an airplane, cross the ocean, enter a foreign land, drive to a small orphanage, and meet this little nugget who will be my son.  It's going to be great and it's going to be hard and it's going to be everything else in between.  I can't wait to look into his big, brown eyes for the first time and know that he is here and his story is already being used for something bigger.  High-five, God.  I love how you work.













 

Saturday, May 11, 2013

Pansies Welcome Here.


We’ve gotten a week full of photos of our little nugget.   For some reason that just fits him….little nugget.  I might need to feed him straight butter when he gets home just to give him some survival capacity in this house full of bigger kids.  These photos are introducing me to my son.  I’ve seen him in a Christmas velour outfit.  I’ve seen him with curls and after a fresh buzz cut.  I’ve seen his skinny lower legs.  I’ve seen that birthmark on his Ethiopian forehead.  And I think at some point, a swarm of mosquitos may have snacked on his little face….and he must have been delicious by the looks of things.  I’ve seen him held in the arms of a nanny smiling at him and pinching his little cheeks while drool runs down his chin.  And the latest one has him holding a Happy  Mother’s Day sign.  I’ve seen his expressions.  He’s been smiling.  He’s been crying.  He’s been confused and uncomfortable and then the total opposite.  I’m getting to know him one picture at a time.

Friday was another unexpected day.  This time it brought news of travel plans moving up.  I first sat down and re-read the email.  Expect to travel between June 3 and 30.  Here is a brief snapshot of what ensued.  First, I told Warner.  I wandered around the house feeling like this morning just suddenly needed to be very productive, but not exactly sure in what way.  So two munchkins and I got in the car and went to the greenhouse….because potted plants are VERY important at a time like this….and we maybe got lost on the way even though I’ve been there many times before.  And maybe I ate an entire bag of chocolate covered pretzels.

We’ve got a lot going on right now.  We’re building a house.  I spend hours deciding on light fixtures and carpet and paint chips and then running to the plumber and then to the cabinet place and then back to the plumber.  Oh, and my husband is starting another farm.  And we’ll be moving in a few months and I don’t have a bed for Eden and school is coming to a close with field trips and end of school stuff.  And then I will have three energetic children to keep busy while packing for trips to Ethiopia in between dealing with cottage rentals.  And then…..

But, I’m ready for this nugget.  Friday’s news was great news.  I am excited to meet him….the living, breathing him.  Friday’s news was like a salve to my heart that already recognizes Judah as my son and knows the sooner he’s home, the better.  I’m going to rest in God’s timing.  I’M GOING TO REST IN GOD’S TIMING. 

But, he’s totally messing with me.

I know though that some read our news with mixed emotions.  I know some have been waiting….and waiting.  And I know how hard that it is.  I have waited.  Over the last 11 years, I have spent 8 of them waiting for one of my children.  I’ve drifted between spells of great peace and surrender, hands uplifted, turning the wait over to the One in charge.  This quickly followed up by brow-beating, hands-clenched, tears flowing with covers pulled up over my head wondering, “Why?  Why? WHY??” And then my favorite….organizing cupboards and closets and boxes of toys with a label maker because it makes me feel like I have control over one little corner of my life.  Waiting isn’t for pansies, people.

Can I just say to those of you waiting on something or someone that.... MY HEART KNOWS.   I share in your longing.   I have been there.  I have watched friends birth two or three children while I waited for my first.  I have sat through baby showers with a hurting heart and smile on my face.   I have wondered why if children are a blessing from the Lord, why isn’t he blessing me?  I have tried to figure out what the “lesson” I need to learn might be.  I have hugged those who traveled to far off places to bring home little brown babies SO WANTING TO DO THAT and knowing that my husband wasn’t ready.  I have closed the door to the nursery because some days were just that hard.  I have cried out, “WHERE ARE YOU?  I THOUGHT YOU CALLED ME TO THIS! WHY AREN’T YOU MAKING THIS HAPPEN? ”

I don’t know all the reasons for the wait.   But it has strengthened my character, faith, and passion.   It has given me opportunity to come alongside others drifting in a similar boat and say, “Keep rowing.  These waves will settle.”   It turned the idea of being a mom into a longing for a child. It has focused my attention on a world in need of redemption.   It has made me rethink my values, my needs, my wants, my pride.  It has forced me to give up control.  And ultimately I give you four, solid, undeniably clear and amazingly perfect reasons for my wait:

Hannah.

Luke.

Eden.

And now Judah.

Oh the beauty of retrospect.  For whatever reason, these children ended up in my bed on a Saturday morning fighting over who can get the closest to their mom.  I cannot wait to see what enfolds.  What is it about me that God gave me these kids?  For what future purpose?  What will be accomplished through them because of this home?  And here’s the thing.  It doesn’t matter if I ever even know.  God doesn’t have to fill me in.  I just trust there is a reason.  And for that, I would wait and wait all over again.

Over the last few months, a few songs have grounded me.  They’ve changed my anxious thoughts into moments of praise.  They’ve reminded me of my Focus.  They’ve soothed the soul.  These are some of my favorite lines:

I am the Lord your God.

I go before you now.

I stand beside you.

And I’m all around you.

Though you feel I’m far away,

I’m closer than your breath.

And I am with you

More than you know.

I am the Lord your Peace.

No evil will conquer you.

So steady now your hearts and mind.

Come into my rest.

And oh let your faith arise.

And lift up your weary head.

I am with you

Wherever you go.

Come to me.

I’m all you need.

Come to me.

I’m everything.

Come to me.

I’m all you need.

Come to me.

I’m your everything.

I am your anchor

In the wind and the waves.

And I am your steadfast

So don’t be afraid.

Though your heart and flesh may fail you.

I’m your faithful strength.

And I am with you

Wherever you go.

Come to me.

I’m all you need.

(Come To Me, by Jenn Johnson)….give it a listen.  It’s way better when she sings it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sY0Vz8fvIhE


May our eyes stay fixed on Him, waiters.  I’m fist pumping my chest in solidarity.

 

 

 

Thursday, April 25, 2013

And so it begins....again.

I told my sweet, supportive husband a few months ago that I wanted to write a book. 

There are certain moments in life when you wish you had your camera ready to snap the reaction that ensues after such a comment.  If I were to sum it up there was a slight taken aback, eyebrows furrowed, shocked expression as though I had just asked to take a month off to summit Mt. Everest.  "What would YOU write a book about?!?"  I guess the idea is still growing on him.

Sooooo.....maybe a blog is a good entry level writing position.  I mean everyone has one these days. And out of these everyones, I read exactly two on a regular basis.  The rest of the world and their crafty activities, supper plans, and pre-school lessons will have to remain a mystery.  There is a certain level of pretentiousness that comes when you write, expecting others to read.  And maybe some pressure that this better be worth my time...and be funny, and clever, and inspiring, and not pretentious. 

But I have stories to share and thoughts I like to get out and I don't know if you've heard recently but ANOTHER ETHIOPIAN LOVE on the way.  Our adoption journeys have been such God journeys.  Mostly Him convincing me to open my tightly clenched fists and my tightly clenched PLANS.  Writing it out feels like a love gift back to Him.

This world of adoptive families (<--adoptive MAMAS) is intense.  We fight paperwork with lists and highlighters and sticky notes and file folders.  We stalk police departments (maybe 8 times) and doctor's offices for perfectly worded clearances.  We visit and revisit and revisit notaries.  We stand in lines at the Secretary of State with our brood of other wee ones.  We read books, write summaries, attend workshops, make mental notes, plan, prepare, email and there may be a few who document every step of this process in a Facebook group.  (These people may be driving me a little crazy.)

And then there is the adoptive mama's heart.  We yearn for babies without mamas.  We love them all and we want them all.  We would move mountains for a child and wonder why the rest of the world doesn't want to house a dozen of their own.  I've learned to bite my tongue, let my judgements slowly simmer down realizing that God's Kingdom has enough dimensions that we can all have a variety of passions.  There's enough on the agenda for us all to take part in different ways.

But for me, I lose sleep over orphans. 

I saw a woman on our last trip to Ethiopia.  She was sitting on the sidewalk next to a traffic-filled street with horns honking, exhaust thick in the air, music blaring, night setting in, and we passed her by on our way back from dinner.  Her hand was out.  Her head scarf spread around her.  She looks at us, eyes locked, because we're white and affluent and American and I passed her my leftover food.  Which is when I saw them.  Babies.  I think two, maybe three sleeping next to her ON THE SIDEWALK.  And my heart just aches for her.  I'm a mom.  She's a mom.  And this is what it takes to feed her children.

 My being is stirred with injustice and anger and frustration.  Every time I think of her, I am also reminded of my own selfishness and addiction to comfort and shopping overindulgences and my sweet babies at home tucked into their Pottery Barn inspired rooms.  I hate this world of duality. It seems so wrong...to the core of human life wrong.   Like I'm pretty sure Jesus is not happy about it wrong.

This Saturday afternoon, my phone dinged.  The kids and I were in the car, just about to leave the farm.  And I tapped the email icon and scrolled to the reason for the ding.  The subject line read, "REFERRAL!!!!" 

Oh. My. Word. 

My intuitive Hannah keeps asking, "What, Mom?  What is it?  MOM!! What??!"  And all I can say is, "This is it!  It's him!"  (which might come out a bit vague if you are 8 and trying to get email details).  "IT'S YOUR BROTHER!"  I call Warner.  "Where are you?  Do not move.  I'm coming.  Do not leave.  It is important."  (which might come out a bit vague if you are 36 and getting a strange phone call from your wife).  And on the 2 minute drive, we all wait for that little face to download onto a screen and it does as we pull in and we all jump out of the car as we hand the phone to Dad.  And he looks down and then up and then, "What is...is this it?"  There we all stood.  In a parking lot, around a cell phone.  And that is how we first met Judah.

I love that call.  It is filled with adrenaline and excitement and hand shaking joy and when that all cools, I also feel such deep sadness.  Adoption is hard.  It starts in a hard place.  A really, really hard place.  It starts in brokenness.  A mother couldn't keep her baby and that's why he is coming into ours.  Oh the weight of that responsibility.  It takes my breath away.  My arms are held out wide to him.  I will travel across the world to get him.  I will wait as long as it takes because I know he comes from another mom's outstretched arms letting him go as she kissed his little mouth and had to walk away.  What a gift.  Her gift to me.