This weekend we attended a beautiful wedding. Being a hopeless romantic, I love weddings. Since I gave birth to my daughter 13 years ago, weddings mean even more. I can't go to a wedding without getting a bit nostalgic thinking about the day I will witness my beautiful baby girl marry the man that I have been praying for since the day she was born.
Blame it on the hormones or the breath taking entrance of the bride but a thought crossed my mind and my heart literally causing it to break. Holding our precious 10 month foster daughter "little miss sunshine" my eyes welled up with big tears as I leaned overed and whispered to my husband "will be there? When this precious baby gets married will be there? Will you be the one walking down the aisle? Will have the privilege of seeing her try on dresses? Will we even be invited?"
Seven months with "little miss sunshine" has flown by so quickly. To date her case is not moving along quickly but still a reunification case. Although I could not love her more if she were grown in my tummy (not my heart) I know one day I may have to say good bye. I might lose one I have grown to love intensely and bonded with in ways that can't be described. I am thankful that I have a heavenly Father who understands on much larger scale what it is like "to lose a child". I pray that if that day comes, God will give me the grace to let her go. I can not count the ways she has made my life so blessed. Our lives are so enriched for having had her in it and for that I am truly grateful and humbled.
My to do list is full of well meaning resolutions. But one I am committed to is ministering to "little miss sunshine's" biological mom. In the not so distant past, I have secretly wished the biological moms of our foster children would fail. But I see the way they interact and it is evident that she genuinely loves baby Z! She is a lost 16 year old foster child herself. She is an innocent victim of the system. She has no blueprint or example of heathy motherhood. Most of their own mothers have been absent, or they would not be in foster care. Even a teenage mom
with the best intentions will often miss the mark and follow in their mother's footsteps. After they lose their children, they feel depressed, defeated, hopeless, helpless, and alone. Many are raised by addict mothers and fathers by name only. So many of these girls need a mother. And I just happen to be a stellar mother (in my own biased opinion but dont ask my teenage chimdren) The Lord is challenging me to love on her. To be the nurturing mother she never had. To be Jesus with skin on to the person who gave birth to one of the biggest blessings on my life.
Please pray for me in the coming months as we wrestle with the possibility of saying good bye to "our daughter" and try to love our way into the heart of a 16 year old hurting "baby momma"
Foster care isn't easy. Nothing about our callings usually are. But I am so thankful for the sojourners (fellow foster moms) God has placed on this journey with us, our church and biological family that love and support us, and our God who empowers us to do that which we thought we could not!!!
Monday, January 2, 2012
http://www.kfor.com/news/local/kfor-leaders-work-on-dhs-lawsuit-settlement-20120101,0,3701095.story
Wished we lived in a state that better cared for the children in its custody
Wished we lived in a world where the CHURCH didn't leave caring for the fatherless up to the government. "if we get down to the nitty gritty truth, it's not the governments job. The government isn't commissioned, the government isn commanded, the government isn't equipped , and the government isn't empowered by the One who made it all to care for His children. The church is. We are the people that God has instructed to be different and to make a difference."
Wished we lived in a state that better cared for the children in its custody
Wished we lived in a world where the CHURCH didn't leave caring for the fatherless up to the government. "if we get down to the nitty gritty truth, it's not the governments job. The government isn't commissioned, the government isn commanded, the government isn't equipped , and the government isn't empowered by the One who made it all to care for His children. The church is. We are the people that God has instructed to be different and to make a difference."
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Lessons from the middle mom:
Lesson one: Gods work is not easy! He did not promise,when He called me to be a foster mom, that there would be no pain, no grief, no sacrifice.
Lesson two: along with other things, grief is part of the sacrifice I present to Him every time I embrace a baby for the first time. See 1 chronicles 21:24... "But King David said to Ornan, "No, I will buy them from you at a fair price. I won’t offer to the LORD what belongs to you nor offer an entirely burned offering that costs me nothing." (1 Chronicles 21:24 CEB) Foster care costs.
Lesson three: if I did not love each baby/ child, from the minute I touch him/her, as if they are my own, with total abandon, with my whole heart and soul, God would not have called me into this ministry. These children don't need another mother who is detached; they have already experienced loss. They need a mother who will throw open her heart, throw open her arms and embrace them with a love that changes everyone and everything it touches.
Heavenly father let that be me! Grow my heart by giving pieces of it away!
http://www.themiddlemom.com/
Lesson two: along with other things, grief is part of the sacrifice I present to Him every time I embrace a baby for the first time. See 1 chronicles 21:24... "But King David said to Ornan, "No, I will buy them from you at a fair price. I won’t offer to the LORD what belongs to you nor offer an entirely burned offering that costs me nothing." (1 Chronicles 21:24 CEB) Foster care costs.
Lesson three: if I did not love each baby/ child, from the minute I touch him/her, as if they are my own, with total abandon, with my whole heart and soul, God would not have called me into this ministry. These children don't need another mother who is detached; they have already experienced loss. They need a mother who will throw open her heart, throw open her arms and embrace them with a love that changes everyone and everything it touches.
Heavenly father let that be me! Grow my heart by giving pieces of it away!
http://www.themiddlemom.com/
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
"I want YOU!"
In nursing school, we are taught how to assess a person's pain level on a 0-10 scale. With experience we learn that anyone who is able talk rates their pain a "10" (especially while playing on their smart phone) is lying.
After going back to work yesterday, coming home to man the troops(7 kids) solo since Jake had an elders meeting, unsuccessfully trying to potty train a rambunctious two year old, and being in so much back pain I could scream... I would could have honestly rated my frustration a "10" on a 0 to 10 scale.
Finally a coveted reprieve was within reach... BEDTIME! I wanted to get in, read the book (skipping a few pages, sing the song (skipping a few verses), say the prayer, and get out!!! My big comfy bed and DVR was calling my name and I was ready to answer.
With baby settled, I was ready to tackle (not literally) our new two and a half year old "jewel". But she had other plans. Amidst the one more drink of water, temper tantrums, and my frugal efforts to appease this little lady, I learned a lesson that has been haunting me today.
After thirty minutes and just when my frustration and her crying reached an all time high, completely fluttered, I yelled (I mean calmly said) "WHAT DO YOU WANT JEWEL?!" to which she finally clearly communicated "I want YOU!"
Humbled I slowed down long enough to rock that precious jewel in my arms on the floor (despite my back pain) for a few minutes. And then, with me feeling like the biggest most selfish chump, she climbed in bed and went right to sleep.
Lesson #1: sometimes foster/ adopted communicate their hurt,grief, loss, and confusion with bad behavior. But what they are really crying out for is YOU! It's a mommy or a daddy to love on them and rock them for just a few minutes.
Lesson #2: sometimes we can get really frustrated, instead of throwing an adult tantrum or retreating into isolation, we just need to cry out to God "I want YOU!" Because no matter how old we are we need a loving daddy just as much as an orphaned child does. We need to crawl into his arms and rest!
I love the verse in psalms that commands "be still and know that I am God." Another translation uses "cease striving" in place of "be still". Sometimes God uses little things and or little people to get me to "cease striving" and slow my anxious heart down.
Today several times, when I have felt frustration creeping in, I have whispered and even yelled out to God three little yet powerful words "I want YOU!" And because of that today has been good!
After going back to work yesterday, coming home to man the troops(7 kids) solo since Jake had an elders meeting, unsuccessfully trying to potty train a rambunctious two year old, and being in so much back pain I could scream... I would could have honestly rated my frustration a "10" on a 0 to 10 scale.
Finally a coveted reprieve was within reach... BEDTIME! I wanted to get in, read the book (skipping a few pages, sing the song (skipping a few verses), say the prayer, and get out!!! My big comfy bed and DVR was calling my name and I was ready to answer.
With baby settled, I was ready to tackle (not literally) our new two and a half year old "jewel". But she had other plans. Amidst the one more drink of water, temper tantrums, and my frugal efforts to appease this little lady, I learned a lesson that has been haunting me today.
After thirty minutes and just when my frustration and her crying reached an all time high, completely fluttered, I yelled (I mean calmly said) "WHAT DO YOU WANT JEWEL?!" to which she finally clearly communicated "I want YOU!"
Humbled I slowed down long enough to rock that precious jewel in my arms on the floor (despite my back pain) for a few minutes. And then, with me feeling like the biggest most selfish chump, she climbed in bed and went right to sleep.
Lesson #1: sometimes foster/ adopted communicate their hurt,grief, loss, and confusion with bad behavior. But what they are really crying out for is YOU! It's a mommy or a daddy to love on them and rock them for just a few minutes.
Lesson #2: sometimes we can get really frustrated, instead of throwing an adult tantrum or retreating into isolation, we just need to cry out to God "I want YOU!" Because no matter how old we are we need a loving daddy just as much as an orphaned child does. We need to crawl into his arms and rest!
I love the verse in psalms that commands "be still and know that I am God." Another translation uses "cease striving" in place of "be still". Sometimes God uses little things and or little people to get me to "cease striving" and slow my anxious heart down.
Today several times, when I have felt frustration creeping in, I have whispered and even yelled out to God three little yet powerful words "I want YOU!" And because of that today has been good!
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Journey to considering it pure joy...
Confession: I'm ugly today. I'm having a bad day courtesy of JIA. Since Ashlyn got diagnosed in October, we have our good days and bad. But today is ugly and I can feel myself on a slippery slope towards a pity party hence it's time to write it out (more for my sake than yours because on days like today I need to see through the lens of faith and not my own cloudy with self pity).
As a mom, seeing your children suffer is a helpless feeling. We are "fixers" and want to kiss "boo-boo's" away from the time that they are placed in our arms in the delivery room. The last week has been rough around here. Her wrist is the size of a grapefruit and knees are so swollen she couldn't walk this morning. Last night she slept with me and literally cried in her sleep. Helpless. But this is our new normal. It's amazing that in a matter of months my active 13 year old daughter went from dancing around the house to using a walker to help her maintain mobility. Our new normal involves tough decision making as we "pick our poison" and choose which agrressive medication to try next. Our new normal consists of her asking "what was my SED rate this time" instead of "can I go to the mall with my friends". Our new normal means praying that it's the insurance company everytime the phone rings saying that they have approved the $4000 monthly treatment she needs right now. Today I hate our new normal!!
Over and over, we have tried to instill in Ashlyn that this disease will not DEFINE her (she won't be the girl with JIA or the girl with a walker) but REFINE her. And on pity party days like today I feel like a hypocrite. Even when I tempted to be ugly about this, I know that on the other side of heaven we will be amazed at all the good that came through this and the way God used this for his glory.
As someone who spent over a decade working with teens in youth ministry, I can honestly tell you that there are some world changers in our society's current youth. But I can also tell you that there are some morally bankrupt teens who have bought into our cultures me centered propaganda. When I see the character and perservance that shines through my sweet girl, I am thankful at times that God has allowed this JIA beast into our lives. Not that I have arrived at a place where I welcome suffering into lives with open arms, I think we are on a journey to "considering it pure joy" because through these difficult days God is faithful, faith/ trust/ and complete dependence on Him is built, and we are refined more and more into the image of his Son. Jake and I have committed to raising children that don't merely survive the world but change it. Surviving JIA is not our ultimate goal... But allowing God to use it to change us and change lives is.
"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." (James 1:2-4 NIV)
As a mom, seeing your children suffer is a helpless feeling. We are "fixers" and want to kiss "boo-boo's" away from the time that they are placed in our arms in the delivery room. The last week has been rough around here. Her wrist is the size of a grapefruit and knees are so swollen she couldn't walk this morning. Last night she slept with me and literally cried in her sleep. Helpless. But this is our new normal. It's amazing that in a matter of months my active 13 year old daughter went from dancing around the house to using a walker to help her maintain mobility. Our new normal involves tough decision making as we "pick our poison" and choose which agrressive medication to try next. Our new normal consists of her asking "what was my SED rate this time" instead of "can I go to the mall with my friends". Our new normal means praying that it's the insurance company everytime the phone rings saying that they have approved the $4000 monthly treatment she needs right now. Today I hate our new normal!!
Over and over, we have tried to instill in Ashlyn that this disease will not DEFINE her (she won't be the girl with JIA or the girl with a walker) but REFINE her. And on pity party days like today I feel like a hypocrite. Even when I tempted to be ugly about this, I know that on the other side of heaven we will be amazed at all the good that came through this and the way God used this for his glory.
As someone who spent over a decade working with teens in youth ministry, I can honestly tell you that there are some world changers in our society's current youth. But I can also tell you that there are some morally bankrupt teens who have bought into our cultures me centered propaganda. When I see the character and perservance that shines through my sweet girl, I am thankful at times that God has allowed this JIA beast into our lives. Not that I have arrived at a place where I welcome suffering into lives with open arms, I think we are on a journey to "considering it pure joy" because through these difficult days God is faithful, faith/ trust/ and complete dependence on Him is built, and we are refined more and more into the image of his Son. Jake and I have committed to raising children that don't merely survive the world but change it. Surviving JIA is not our ultimate goal... But allowing God to use it to change us and change lives is.
"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." (James 1:2-4 NIV)
Monday, October 31, 2011
When He Made Her: Update On Ashlyn
The last several weeks all our time, energy, and focus has been on our precious 13 year old daughter Ashlyn. With you have a big family like ours... usually we feel the constant struggle of making sure each of our 6 children gets individualized and equal, one on one, parent to child time. But our sweet Ashlyn has been fighting an unseen battle and has been consuming our hearts and minds (if not time as well).
About 3 weeks ago, she came down with a high fever, rash, and severe generalized pain. After numerous doctor's appointments, routine tests, and medications (from antibiotics to steroids) nothing seemed to bring any relief. After weeks of feeling miserable, losing over 8 pounds, watching all the 80's movies she could stand with Momma, with a fever of 103.6 and a painful rash covering the majority of her body, we finally hit an all point low last Thursday night and took her to the ER. She was admitted and we have set up camp (literally wallpapering with my little pony coloring pages and "Teen Bop" posters) on the pediatric floor (first at Baptist, now at OU children's). After being inpatient for 7 days, we finally have some answers. She is having an auto immune crisis and has been diagnosed with Systemic Juvenile Idiopathic Arthritis (JIA or JRA). Seeing your child in pain is the most helpless feeling in the world. Combine that with my husband's minor outpatient knee scope a few weeks ago, and the fact I am still recovery from a major back surgery that I had less than a month ago, and we have a recipe for a month straight from the gates of Hades. I have had a pity party or two as I crave my "normal" life back but I know that I know that I know that God works ALL things out for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purposes. And I know that I know that I know that God is ever so faithful to my family, has proved that over and over, and will again.
Once my very favorite verses in difficult seasons is found in Psalm 56:8 "You keep track of all my sorrows.You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book." The comforting thing about God is He never misses a tear that falls and never wastes our pain. We have cried tears of fear as we watched her get very sick, very quick, and had very little answers at the time. Yesterday we cried tears of relief as we finally knew what was causing her illness and knew the enemy we were fighting. About this time yesterday I went into the bathroom and cried tears into a hospital towel (and yes He collected those too) to muffle the sound from my daughter. But I'm done trying to be strong for her.... I give up, I'm not strong enough, but we are being renewed and sustained by He who is STRONG ENOUGH for the both of us!! And her strength combined with His is an unstoppable force.
Yesterday she began initial treatment of steroids, anti- inflammatory medications, and a medication called methotrexate (its a chemo drug that has intense side effects like hair loss but Ashlyn's dosage will be so small that her treatment's side effects aren't that extreme). Today we starting a new intense treatment called pulsing steroids (basically increasing her dosage from about 10 mg to about 10,000 mg). Please pray that she tolerates it well and it will be the breakthrough we need to get her feeling better!We are praying that she may be well enough to go home by this weekend and then return to school in about 2 weeks.
But as I am looking at the baby girl in bed the next to me, who I have seen cry out in pain more times than I can count the last several days, I know that she is the toughest of the tough.
As I have been on the verge of tears several times today, God is speaking truth into my soul and reminding me what I already know about this little girl who I adore more than anything I have ever adored in my life. I know that God has numbered the hairs on her beautiful little head and He knows what exactly she is up against
("And the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows" ~ Luke 12:7)
God has reminded me today that despite her aching body and our questions about what is going inside of her, HE KNOWS HER INTIMATELY because he created her. Just as Psalm 139 reminds me... "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be."
I wasn't there when He made her (well technically I was but we won't go into that) but here are some of the things I marvel about the creation of this precious girl in the bed next to me:
1. Her Compassion: This has been evident for as long as I can remember...I daily catch glimpses of her compassion but here are some of the big examples that stand out.
*One day when she was about 3 or 4 years old, I remember walking into the family room where she had been watching TV and her little face blotchy from crying hysterically. When I questioned what was wrong, she pointed to the TV where she had been watching a St. Jude's telethon. Her heart broke for the sick children she saw. She insisted we do something to help and wanted to send some of her toys to "help them feel better". For years later whenever someone asked her what she wanted to be be when she grew up, without any hesitation, the answer was always an adamant "I am going to be a doctor at St. Jude and make all those kids better!"
* After a unexpectedly being forced to say goodbye to a foster sister she loved as her own several years ago, she was heart broken so badly I wasn't sure God would ever bring healing to heart. Jake and I decided that we could not longer foster children and put her compassionate heart through that again. But shortly after the adoption of her Haitian brothers, we insisted that we resume fostering again. She said that they (the foster babies) were worth getting our hearts broken again. As I watch her now playing with our current 8 month old foster baby, in efforts to protect her heart I try to remind her that Baby Z is not ours. She knows in her head that we may likely end up in the same ugly place of goodbye but that is the thing about compassionate people.... we think with our hearts and not heads.
*Another example was when we decided to become full time missionaries to Haiti, it was a family decision (we didn't want to be one of those parents who dragged their children to the mission field). So we presented to them the idea and a realistic picture of what sacrifices this move would bring. We wanted them to pray about and really really consider it before committing. Within minutes, Ashlyn said "I don't need to think to about it. This is what God is calling us to do and people need us there. I'm going with or without you guys!" Our first trip there, my heart swelled with pride as I watched her play with children at the medical clinics where we were working. She quickly became Haitian children's favorite "blanc" on the block. She spent time working triage with me at the clinics and at night, we would debrief about some of the patients we had saw that day. I watched her cry as she realized they spent all day waiting to be seen by a doctor (many of them for the first time in their lives), cry over a newborn baby so dehydrated and malnourished she was on the verge of death, and cry over all she was seeing with her own eyes for the first time. Again all the talk about becoming a doctor to help sick children resurfaced but St. Jude would have to share her time with the children of Haiti.
* Another example was just last month, I had a date day with her and we went to see the movie "The Help". Because we are both "ugly criers" we made it to the van before we both burst out in tears (and literally cried the whole twenty minute ride home). Through her tears she verbalized her frustration over Christians acting not very Christlike (the movie was set in the 60's at the dawn of the civil rights movement in Mississippi, during the weekly bridge club that main character attends with several "christian" friends discussion centers around their belief that all homes should have separate bathroom facilities for the "colored" help). Somehow with the stellar education, Ashlyn has received she was naive to the civil rights movement and things like the KKK. Words seemed to fail me as I tried to explain that dark time in our nations history. So we just cried together. that conversation led to another one in which Ashlyn expressed how she couldn't imagine her life without her Haitian brothers and despite some blatant and some subtle prejudice and criticism we have received, she encouraged me that no matter what anyone though of our decision to adopt and foster, we would never regret our decision. She said "Mom you know how you and daddy are say/ pray that you are raising us kids not to survive the world but change it? Well don't worry, we are!" She also informed me in that conversation that despite the chaos and sacrifice our big family requires that she plans to have 11 kids (3 biological and 8 adopted or fostered). Once again my heart melted at her compassion and desire to change the world (I also kicked up my praying for her future husband/ baby daddy of my future 11 grandchildren).
I have been told that I am a compassionate person but my compassion pales in comparison to hers. I love that when He made her he added extra doses of compassion!!
2. Her Chattiness: When Ashlyn started talking, she went straight from one or two word sentences to entire paragraphs. I have been exhausted since the day she began talking. When she was in preschool, we had a 45 minute commute everyday from Norwich to Wichita... I have a vivid mental picture of her sitting in car seat, kicking her little legs back and forth, and chatting about everything from random questions to "why did those bad guys have to kill Jesus?" Question after question and sentence after sentence all day long, followed by the same phrase "right Momma, right?" Also at that same time, my dad would frequently take her and Drew from Wichita to Denver to visit my sister. Most kids would nap (especially in the boring stretch of western Kansas) but not our Ashlyn. She could chat the entire 12 hour drive.
(Somehow in the car we always have our most in depth and memorable conversations. That is why I love the verse in Deuteronomy that talks about talking about the Lord when you are on the road... "And you must commit yourselves wholeheartedly to these commands that I am giving you today. Repeat them again and again to your children. Talk about them when you are at home and when you are on the road, when you are going to bed and when you are getting up.")
If you have spent anytime with her daddy, it doesn't take long to see where the chattiness comes from. His profession is one that requires him to talk (and have a captive audience one day a week). Somehow I see her in a similar profession one day... one in which she is paid to talk to people all day.
Also like her dad, she can be loud and very outspoken about things she is passionate about and the injustices she sees in our world. Even at the tender age of 13, she models Proverbs 31:8-9 better than most adults I know. ("Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves,for the rights of all who are destitute. Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy.")
Although it can be exhausting for an introvert like myself, I love that when He made her He made her chatty!! Her chattiness is the overflow of a heart that just loves people. God has used her chatty self to bear witness to others around her. She loves talking but she really LOVES TALKING ABOUT JESUS!!
3. Her Love for Children: She is a magnet. Children of all ages are drawn to Ashlyn and she her face literally glows when she is around kids. She can name each and every child/ infant that walks through the doors of CHCC. She eagerly jumps at every opportunity to help out in the children's ministry at church. Every Sunday morning, she wakes up to go to church with her Daddy at an ungodly hour just to help wherever she can even if it's just to help with her foster sister or babysit other children whose parents are on the worship team. She loves to babysit and usually tries to insist on providing it for free (or to raise money to go back to Haiti). I love that when He made her He created her in His image (Mark 10:13-14 and Genesis 1:27)
Although I was not there when He made her, the evidence that she is fearfully and wonderfully made is overwhelming. Compassionate like her Momma, chattiness like her daddy, and an unexplainable magnetic attraction for children like her Jesus. Despite all chronic illness, she is flawless.
My heart melts every time I hear her sweet voice call me "Momma" but I am confident that the very heart of God melts every time she calls Him "Savior God"!!!
Friday, October 21, 2011
After the airport.... That's what she said
These days I do not have time/energy to shower,let alone blog. Although I hate to post yet another "that's what she said" blog... I couldn't resist. Every single word of this resonates with my adoptive Momma's heart. This is the ugly truth that I have experienced "after the airport" of all three of our adoptions.... But now almost 2 years post adoption from the older boys and 5 years post adoption from Jimso, I can honestly tell you that what used to be daily meltdowns are now few and far between, that love really does cast out fear, and our God is healer! Just like new moms quickly forget their painful labor and delivery process as they hold their precious newborn. Adoptive parents wouldn't trade their transition pains for the precious new addition causing their beyond exhaustion moments. I hope the truth spoken by the hat lady in this post encourages you today wherever you might be... Whether in your bathroom crying smack dab in your own "after the airport" season or walking on sunshine. I pray you are surrounded by a community loving the crap out of you whereever this finds you today!!!
http://jenhatmaker.com/blog/2011/09/06/after-the-airport
"I'm going to tell you something; a little confession, if you will. Some of you will pull your hair out and smear your faces with ashes and put all my books on eBay and quit believing in God, but I'm willing to take that risk:
I'm really, really glad all my kids are back in school.
There. I said it. The three children that I birthed and nursed and raised from scratch, and the two children we begged and cried and screeched for and fetched from Africa...all five of these kids are in school. And I am happy, so happy, happy, happy, happy, hip-hip-hooray Mary Poppins happy.
For my friends and readers who homeschool, I tip my hat and say to you, "Well done, good and faithful servants." And believe me, I have a couple of besties who paddle in that stream, and paddle it well. For some kids in some cities in some families in some districts, this is the very right thing. The end. Why people feel the need to make a fuss about how other parents decide to educate their children is beyond me. Let's live and let live, yall. For the love of Pete.
But I cannot educate my own children, people, unless I am OK with us all becoming homicidal.
Plus, we're in a nice little Bermuda triangle where our kids feed into fabulous schools with vested teachers that make me want to weep with gratitude. The language resources for my Amharic speakers is over the top, and I have a free pass to attend school each and every day, which I have exercised with zero restraint.
But this is not a post about homeschooling or public schooling. The reason I am happy my kids are in school is not because I lack the organization to educate five kids (which I do), it's not because I've chosen a career with a moderate workload (which I have), and it's not because I'm a little sloppy on details and my kids would likely graduate with a sixth-grade education (which they would).
It's because parenting right now is EXHAUSTING and the mental break is keeping me afloat.
On July 22nd we came down the escalator at the Austin airport with Remy. On August 21st we came down the same escalator with Ben. These were two of the happiest days of my life.
I am crying with joy. Remy is ready to sprint like FloJo from the screaming white people.
Insert audio of yelling and cheering. GAH, why was she so clingy?
One month later: Here comes my man and my boy. This pic makes me verclempt.
The 7 Hatmakers on the same continent. You've been warned, America.
After an arduous adoption journey, our kids were safe in our arms, tucked into their bunk beds their dad built with his own two hands, surrounded by the dearest, most sincere community we have ever known. God delivered them from poverty and abandonment back into a family, no longer alone in this big world; now wanted and loved and welcomed with great fervor.
The end.
Not.
Remy gave us about 12 hours of honeymooning until her terror burst onto the scene. Sometimes her fear is so palpable, it literally takes my breath away. New places: terror. New faces: total insecurity. Transitions: help us, Jesus. She has asked us every single day since July 22nd if she is going back to Ethiopia. Every. Single. Day. When I discovered cashews to be a winning legume for her impossible palate, I told her:
"Yay! Good job! Cashews are good for you and will help you grow big and strong!"
"Big? Ah-Rrrremy? Big? Cashews?"
"Yes!"
She pushes them away and starts crying.
Once again, I am bewildered and befuddled.
"No! No Ah-Rrremy grow big! Me big, then go back to Ethiopia! No! Dis is no!"
When a child fears that cashews will once again leave her abandoned on this earth because she will grow out of the age we might still want to parent her, you are dealing with heartbreaking fragility.
Her fear comes out as 1.) defiance, 2.) terror, and 3.) catatonic disassociation, in that order. We've been spit on, kicked, disobeyed, refused, clung to, begged for, adored, ignored, and rejected. Triggers are unpredictable. Yesterday, we entered an hour-long Armageddon because she wouldn't put her bike up. This turned into defiance and disrespect, deal breakers as we establish safe boundaries. When at long last her angry, dark face relented, and she finally uttered in the smallest voice: "I'm sorry, Mommy. I'm sorry, Daddy," the damn broke and she cried for thirty minutes, telling us over and over that we don't love her and she is going back to Africa.
Meanwhile, Ben sidled up quietly next to me as Brandon held Remy's flailing legs, and asked in a whisper: "Mom? Forever?"
Is this family forever, even with this hysterical girl? Are you forever, even though she is draining the lifeblood out of you and Dad? Am I forever, once my junk starts coming out that I'm holding in? Are you forever for her? For me? Should I be worried that you'll only put up with this level of chaos for so long?
God love them.
We are parenting damaged, traumatized children; don't let the pictures fool you. We're in the weeds. Every minute is on; there is no off. We've arrived late, cancelled altogether, hunkered down in therapy mode, missed appointments, failed to answer hundreds of emails in a timely manner, left voicemails unlistened to, texts unread, we've restructured, regrouped, replanned, reorganized, we've punted and called audibles, we've left the bigs on their own, hoping they are functioning well on auto-pilot after a lifetime of healthy stability, and sometimes, we put "Tangled" on for the eleventh time and cry in the bathroom.
We are exhausted beyond measure.
I know what you're thinking: You asked for this. Yes we did. And we'd ask for it again, with full disclosure and foreknowledge. We would. We would say yes to adoption, to Ben, to Remy. We would do it all over again. We might do it all over again in the future.
That does not mean we are not exhausted.
I know what else you might be thinking: Are you trying to scare people away from adoption? Because this is pretty good propaganda for turning a blind eye to this mess. No I'm not. While adoption is clearly not the answer for the 170 million orphans on earth, it is one answer, and I'll go to the grave begging more people to open their homes and minds and hearts to abandoned children who are praying for a Mom and Dad and a God who might still see them.
But Brandon and I decided some time ago to go at this honestly, with truthful words and actual experiences that might encourage the weary heart or battle some of the fluffy, damaging semi-truths about adopting. Because let me tell you something: If you are intrigued by the idea of adoption, with the crescendoing storyine and happy airport pictures and the sigh-inducing family portrait with the different skin colors and the feely-feel good parts of the narrative, please find another way to see God's kingdom come.
You cannot just be into adoption to adopt; you have to be into parenting.
And it is hard, hard, intentional, laborious work. Children who have been abused, abandoned, neglected, given away, given up, and left alone are shaken so deeply, so intrinsically, they absolutely require parents who are willing to wholly invest in their healing; through the screaming, the fits, the anger, the shame, the entitlement, the bed-wetting, the spitting, the rejection, the bone-chilling fear. Parents who are willing to become the safe place, the Forever these children hope for but are too terrified to believe in just yet.
But "yet" is a powerful word in the context of faith, if we are indeed to believe in the unseen and hope for what has not materialized.
I followed a God into this story who heals and redeems, who restores wasted years and mends broken places. This God specializes in the Destroyed. I've seen it. I've been a part of it. I have His ancient Word that tells of it. I love a Jesus who made reconciliation his whole mission. My children will not remain broken. They are loved by too good a Savior. I will not remain exhausted and spent. I am loved by too merciful a Father.
So today, I'm writing for you who are somewhere "after the airport." The big moment is over and you are living in the aftermath when the collective grief or euphoria has passed. You lost a parent, a sibling, a friend, a child. The experience mobilized every single human being who loves you, and they rallied, gathered, carried you. And now it's three months later on a random Tuesday, and the sting has worn off for everyone else, and you are left in your sorrow.
I'm writing for those of you who had the oh-so-wanted baby after the cheers and showers and Facebook fervor, and now you're struggling with a depression so dark and deep, you are afraid to say it out loud. To you who moved across the country in obedience - you left your family, church, community, your jobs - and now the headline has passed and you are lonely and unanchored. For my friends who've brought their adopted children home and the media frenzy has died down, and you are holding a screaming toddler, a fragile kindergartener, an angry teen, trying to catch your breath and make it through the day without bawling while everyone else has gone back to their regularly scheduled programs...I'm with you today.
More importantly, God is with you today. He remains in the chaos long after it has lost its shine. When the delivered meals have stopped and the attention has waned, Jesus remains. He sticks with us long after it is convenient or interesting. If you feel alone today in your new normal, would you please receive this bit of beauty: this simple Scripture recited billions of times throughout the ages, perhaps without the poetry of David or precision of Paul, but with enough truth to sustain the weariest traveler:
"Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you" (Deut. 31:6).
He will never leave.
Never forsake.
Never.
For my readers who love someone living "after the airport," the big moment - be it a blessed high or a devastating low - is never the completion. The grief and struggle, the work and effort, the healing and restoring comes later. Will you call your friend who lost her mom to cancer five months ago? Will you check in on your friends who adopted this spring? Email your neighbor who took a big risk and moved or changed jobs or quit to stay home. For the love of Moses, do you have a friend who stepped out and started a church last year? Bring him a lasagna and do not be alarmed if he sobs into his french bread.
Trust me when I tell you that although we are all having hilarious moments like this:
And precious moments like this:
...we are still in the thick of hard, exhausting work, so if you ask me if these are the happiest days of my life (which a ton of you have), and my eyes kind of glaze over and I say through a tight-lipped smile like a robot, "Yes. Sure. Of course. This is my dream life"...I am lying. I am lying so you won't feel uncomfortable when I tell you, "Actually, I haven't had a shower in three days, I lost my temper with my uncontrollable daughter this morning and had to walk outside, I'm constantly cleaning up pee because uncircumcised tee-tee goes sideways onto walls, and sometimes when my two littles are asleep and we're downstairs with the original three kids who are so stable and healthy and easy, it creates a nostalgia so intense, I think I might perish. But enough about me. How are you?"
But that would be weird. So I say, "Yes. I am so happy."
If you are living "after the airport," how I wish I could transplant my community into your life; friends who have loved us so completely and exhaustively, I could weep just thinking about it. Maybe one of the most brilliant ways God "never leaves us" and "never forsakes us" is through the love of each other. Maybe He knew that receiving love from people with skin on is the most excellent way, so He gave us an entire set of Scriptures founded upon community and sacrificial love for one another. I guess He realized that if we obeyed, if we became more like His Son, then no one would ever want for mercy when their chips were down. No one. Good plan.
Oh let us be a community who loves each other well. Because someone is always struggling through the "after the airport" phase, when the chords of human kindness become a lifeline of salvation. Let us watch for the struggling members of our tribe, faking it through sarcasm or self-deprecation or a cheerfully false report. May we refuse to let someone get swallowed up in isolation, drowning in grief or difficulties that seem too heavy to let anyone else carry. Let's live this big, beautiful Life together, rescuing each other from the brink and exposing the unending compassion of our Jesus who called us to this high level of community; past the romantic beginnings, through the messy and mundane middles, and all the way to the depths.
http://jenhatmaker.com/blog/2011/09/06/after-the-airport
"I'm going to tell you something; a little confession, if you will. Some of you will pull your hair out and smear your faces with ashes and put all my books on eBay and quit believing in God, but I'm willing to take that risk:
I'm really, really glad all my kids are back in school.
There. I said it. The three children that I birthed and nursed and raised from scratch, and the two children we begged and cried and screeched for and fetched from Africa...all five of these kids are in school. And I am happy, so happy, happy, happy, happy, hip-hip-hooray Mary Poppins happy.
For my friends and readers who homeschool, I tip my hat and say to you, "Well done, good and faithful servants." And believe me, I have a couple of besties who paddle in that stream, and paddle it well. For some kids in some cities in some families in some districts, this is the very right thing. The end. Why people feel the need to make a fuss about how other parents decide to educate their children is beyond me. Let's live and let live, yall. For the love of Pete.
But I cannot educate my own children, people, unless I am OK with us all becoming homicidal.
Plus, we're in a nice little Bermuda triangle where our kids feed into fabulous schools with vested teachers that make me want to weep with gratitude. The language resources for my Amharic speakers is over the top, and I have a free pass to attend school each and every day, which I have exercised with zero restraint.
But this is not a post about homeschooling or public schooling. The reason I am happy my kids are in school is not because I lack the organization to educate five kids (which I do), it's not because I've chosen a career with a moderate workload (which I have), and it's not because I'm a little sloppy on details and my kids would likely graduate with a sixth-grade education (which they would).
It's because parenting right now is EXHAUSTING and the mental break is keeping me afloat.
On July 22nd we came down the escalator at the Austin airport with Remy. On August 21st we came down the same escalator with Ben. These were two of the happiest days of my life.
I am crying with joy. Remy is ready to sprint like FloJo from the screaming white people.
Insert audio of yelling and cheering. GAH, why was she so clingy?
One month later: Here comes my man and my boy. This pic makes me verclempt.
The 7 Hatmakers on the same continent. You've been warned, America.
After an arduous adoption journey, our kids were safe in our arms, tucked into their bunk beds their dad built with his own two hands, surrounded by the dearest, most sincere community we have ever known. God delivered them from poverty and abandonment back into a family, no longer alone in this big world; now wanted and loved and welcomed with great fervor.
The end.
Not.
Remy gave us about 12 hours of honeymooning until her terror burst onto the scene. Sometimes her fear is so palpable, it literally takes my breath away. New places: terror. New faces: total insecurity. Transitions: help us, Jesus. She has asked us every single day since July 22nd if she is going back to Ethiopia. Every. Single. Day. When I discovered cashews to be a winning legume for her impossible palate, I told her:
"Yay! Good job! Cashews are good for you and will help you grow big and strong!"
"Big? Ah-Rrrremy? Big? Cashews?"
"Yes!"
She pushes them away and starts crying.
Once again, I am bewildered and befuddled.
"No! No Ah-Rrremy grow big! Me big, then go back to Ethiopia! No! Dis is no!"
When a child fears that cashews will once again leave her abandoned on this earth because she will grow out of the age we might still want to parent her, you are dealing with heartbreaking fragility.
Her fear comes out as 1.) defiance, 2.) terror, and 3.) catatonic disassociation, in that order. We've been spit on, kicked, disobeyed, refused, clung to, begged for, adored, ignored, and rejected. Triggers are unpredictable. Yesterday, we entered an hour-long Armageddon because she wouldn't put her bike up. This turned into defiance and disrespect, deal breakers as we establish safe boundaries. When at long last her angry, dark face relented, and she finally uttered in the smallest voice: "I'm sorry, Mommy. I'm sorry, Daddy," the damn broke and she cried for thirty minutes, telling us over and over that we don't love her and she is going back to Africa.
Meanwhile, Ben sidled up quietly next to me as Brandon held Remy's flailing legs, and asked in a whisper: "Mom? Forever?"
Is this family forever, even with this hysterical girl? Are you forever, even though she is draining the lifeblood out of you and Dad? Am I forever, once my junk starts coming out that I'm holding in? Are you forever for her? For me? Should I be worried that you'll only put up with this level of chaos for so long?
God love them.
We are parenting damaged, traumatized children; don't let the pictures fool you. We're in the weeds. Every minute is on; there is no off. We've arrived late, cancelled altogether, hunkered down in therapy mode, missed appointments, failed to answer hundreds of emails in a timely manner, left voicemails unlistened to, texts unread, we've restructured, regrouped, replanned, reorganized, we've punted and called audibles, we've left the bigs on their own, hoping they are functioning well on auto-pilot after a lifetime of healthy stability, and sometimes, we put "Tangled" on for the eleventh time and cry in the bathroom.
We are exhausted beyond measure.
I know what you're thinking: You asked for this. Yes we did. And we'd ask for it again, with full disclosure and foreknowledge. We would. We would say yes to adoption, to Ben, to Remy. We would do it all over again. We might do it all over again in the future.
That does not mean we are not exhausted.
I know what else you might be thinking: Are you trying to scare people away from adoption? Because this is pretty good propaganda for turning a blind eye to this mess. No I'm not. While adoption is clearly not the answer for the 170 million orphans on earth, it is one answer, and I'll go to the grave begging more people to open their homes and minds and hearts to abandoned children who are praying for a Mom and Dad and a God who might still see them.
But Brandon and I decided some time ago to go at this honestly, with truthful words and actual experiences that might encourage the weary heart or battle some of the fluffy, damaging semi-truths about adopting. Because let me tell you something: If you are intrigued by the idea of adoption, with the crescendoing storyine and happy airport pictures and the sigh-inducing family portrait with the different skin colors and the feely-feel good parts of the narrative, please find another way to see God's kingdom come.
You cannot just be into adoption to adopt; you have to be into parenting.
And it is hard, hard, intentional, laborious work. Children who have been abused, abandoned, neglected, given away, given up, and left alone are shaken so deeply, so intrinsically, they absolutely require parents who are willing to wholly invest in their healing; through the screaming, the fits, the anger, the shame, the entitlement, the bed-wetting, the spitting, the rejection, the bone-chilling fear. Parents who are willing to become the safe place, the Forever these children hope for but are too terrified to believe in just yet.
But "yet" is a powerful word in the context of faith, if we are indeed to believe in the unseen and hope for what has not materialized.
I followed a God into this story who heals and redeems, who restores wasted years and mends broken places. This God specializes in the Destroyed. I've seen it. I've been a part of it. I have His ancient Word that tells of it. I love a Jesus who made reconciliation his whole mission. My children will not remain broken. They are loved by too good a Savior. I will not remain exhausted and spent. I am loved by too merciful a Father.
So today, I'm writing for you who are somewhere "after the airport." The big moment is over and you are living in the aftermath when the collective grief or euphoria has passed. You lost a parent, a sibling, a friend, a child. The experience mobilized every single human being who loves you, and they rallied, gathered, carried you. And now it's three months later on a random Tuesday, and the sting has worn off for everyone else, and you are left in your sorrow.
I'm writing for those of you who had the oh-so-wanted baby after the cheers and showers and Facebook fervor, and now you're struggling with a depression so dark and deep, you are afraid to say it out loud. To you who moved across the country in obedience - you left your family, church, community, your jobs - and now the headline has passed and you are lonely and unanchored. For my friends who've brought their adopted children home and the media frenzy has died down, and you are holding a screaming toddler, a fragile kindergartener, an angry teen, trying to catch your breath and make it through the day without bawling while everyone else has gone back to their regularly scheduled programs...I'm with you today.
More importantly, God is with you today. He remains in the chaos long after it has lost its shine. When the delivered meals have stopped and the attention has waned, Jesus remains. He sticks with us long after it is convenient or interesting. If you feel alone today in your new normal, would you please receive this bit of beauty: this simple Scripture recited billions of times throughout the ages, perhaps without the poetry of David or precision of Paul, but with enough truth to sustain the weariest traveler:
"Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you" (Deut. 31:6).
He will never leave.
Never forsake.
Never.
For my readers who love someone living "after the airport," the big moment - be it a blessed high or a devastating low - is never the completion. The grief and struggle, the work and effort, the healing and restoring comes later. Will you call your friend who lost her mom to cancer five months ago? Will you check in on your friends who adopted this spring? Email your neighbor who took a big risk and moved or changed jobs or quit to stay home. For the love of Moses, do you have a friend who stepped out and started a church last year? Bring him a lasagna and do not be alarmed if he sobs into his french bread.
Trust me when I tell you that although we are all having hilarious moments like this:
And precious moments like this:
...we are still in the thick of hard, exhausting work, so if you ask me if these are the happiest days of my life (which a ton of you have), and my eyes kind of glaze over and I say through a tight-lipped smile like a robot, "Yes. Sure. Of course. This is my dream life"...I am lying. I am lying so you won't feel uncomfortable when I tell you, "Actually, I haven't had a shower in three days, I lost my temper with my uncontrollable daughter this morning and had to walk outside, I'm constantly cleaning up pee because uncircumcised tee-tee goes sideways onto walls, and sometimes when my two littles are asleep and we're downstairs with the original three kids who are so stable and healthy and easy, it creates a nostalgia so intense, I think I might perish. But enough about me. How are you?"
But that would be weird. So I say, "Yes. I am so happy."
If you are living "after the airport," how I wish I could transplant my community into your life; friends who have loved us so completely and exhaustively, I could weep just thinking about it. Maybe one of the most brilliant ways God "never leaves us" and "never forsakes us" is through the love of each other. Maybe He knew that receiving love from people with skin on is the most excellent way, so He gave us an entire set of Scriptures founded upon community and sacrificial love for one another. I guess He realized that if we obeyed, if we became more like His Son, then no one would ever want for mercy when their chips were down. No one. Good plan.
Oh let us be a community who loves each other well. Because someone is always struggling through the "after the airport" phase, when the chords of human kindness become a lifeline of salvation. Let us watch for the struggling members of our tribe, faking it through sarcasm or self-deprecation or a cheerfully false report. May we refuse to let someone get swallowed up in isolation, drowning in grief or difficulties that seem too heavy to let anyone else carry. Let's live this big, beautiful Life together, rescuing each other from the brink and exposing the unending compassion of our Jesus who called us to this high level of community; past the romantic beginnings, through the messy and mundane middles, and all the way to the depths.
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