I Am a Hypocrite

Something has been weighing on me. There are times in my life when my paradigm shifts before my actions can catch up and I am left with fabulous ideals, but very little fruit.

This is one of those times. 

I have come to see the gospel of Christ very differently than I have in the past. My focus has shifted and Scripture has taken on new meaning and come alive to me in a whole new way!

I see love differently. I see ministry differently. I see church differently.

Every time this happens, I feel the need to have others convicted with the insights the Lord has shown me. I want to set them straight. Really, wouldn't that be so much more fun than actually living my new world view? 

I recently bought a t-shirt from Sevenly. I love that ministry and I love the shirt. It says, "Love the Unloved." 

Isn't that awesome?

We should definitely do that. 

When I ordered it, the ministry they were focused on was Reece's Rainbow, which raises money to help orphans with Down syndrome be adopted. It was with those orphans in mind that I pressed "buy now."

I was totally ready to love the unloved. Who wouldn't love those adorable looking kids in all those pictures? 

It's easy to love a picture. 

I wore the shirt this weekend hoping that others would see it and be inspired by the message. I don't know if they were. I only know that I was crazy convicted. 

I have a confession to make:

I'm not ready to love the unloved.

At least not all of them. I want to pick and choose the unloved that I am most comfortable loving. Those that appeal to me or that I deem worthy, I will totally love.

Orphans? Check. After all, I am traveling soon to make one of them my own. I am pretty sure I have the unloved orphan category sewn up.

Except, there is a girl down the street, whose mother left her in the care of grandparents in order to chase her addictions...again. She's just obnoxious. She's all Eddie Haskell with me and then bullies my kids. She's a poor sport, she leaves trash in our yard, and she's manipulative. 

I don't want to love her.

She meets the requirements, though. She was abandoned, repeatedly, by the woman who should love her most in the world. Her behavior stems from that rejection. The grandparents try to make up for her loss by saying "yes" to her every demand, and she demands much, trying so hard to fill the void her mother left behind.

I see all that and my heart softens toward her. 

Then, I hear her throw the r-word around or she makes fun of my kid's lisp and I ban her from my yard.

I am a hypocrite. 

Been there. Bought the t-shirt. But haven't actually done it.

Yet.

"To love him with all your heart, with all your understanding and with all your strength, and to love your neighbor as yourself is more important than all burnt offerings and sacrifices." Mark 12:33

Open Letter to a Certain Young Serbian

Dear sweet boy B with the big brown eyes,

I call you sweet because that's how I imagine you are. I have a total of six pictures and one description of you written in stilted English. I have all of them memorized, so often have I poured over them, trying to glean just one more hint of who you are. For now, you have a personality invented totally by me that lives only in my mind.

Don't worry. I'm not too attached to it and I won't mind terribly if you choose to be someone else entirely. You don't even need to be sweet. We have the gamut of personalities here and all kinds of children are welcome in this house. (Except, could you please stick with being a good sleeper like they told me you were? I am kind of attached to that part, k?)

You have a big day coming up. It's the day some crazy Americans and their handlers are coming to invade your space and try to make you like them. 

Just a warning. The Americans will try really hard to restrain themselves, but you may catch them staring at you with huge, stupid grins or even with a few tears in their eyes. Please, don't be alarmed. They mean well.

The female talks a lot and uses a lot of words, none of which you'll recognize. She will, at times, suddenly remember that you don't understand and will then proceed to speak slowly, and probably loudly, in a language that you still will not understand.

Please bear with her. Again, she means well. 

Probably better to stick with the quieter male who can speak volumes with one look and who seems to be mastering the few words they are trying to learn in your language. He's much more nurturing of the two, anyway, even though he's bald and kind of scary big.

They'll have with them a book that has pictures of strange, and seemingly endless kids that someone will probably tell you are your new siblings. 

Hmmmm. That might be a lot to take in.

Well, keep your chin up, kid. At least they're bringing toys.

Panic

I had a panic attack this morning. 

People say that sometimes when they get stressed out about something. That's not what I'm saying.

I had a literal wild-eyed, can't breathe, chest exploding panic attack. 

I had trouble getting myself to sleep last night which is normally not an issue for me at all. All the things left to do before we travel were swirling in my brain which led to thoughts of actual travel which led to thoughts of leaving the seven kids that we currently parent, here, while we're gone.

And I became anxious. 

A half of muscle relaxer helped me drift off and I was awakened a few hours later by my tiny princess calling, "Mommy....Mommy....MOMMY!" Unsure of what prompted her need for me (and entirely too tired to care) I brought her in bed with us where she shared my pillow (read kicked and punched me) for the rest of the night.

I laid there and began to wonder, "What happens when she calls Mommy and I'm not there to respond? Will the very capable adults who are caring for her in our absence be able to comfort her? What if she gets sick? What about all the things that can happen to her while we are a whole ocean away? What if our plane crashes?

What if she chokes on a banana?!?

The imagination can be a dangerous thing. Instead of reigning those thoughts in, I allowed them to move from child to child, lingering for a bit on Eon as I'm acutely aware of the recent losses we've had in the Down syndrome community, until finally:

Panic!

Obviously, there's a reason Paul tells us to take every thought captive and make it obedient to Christ (2 Corinthians 10:5). I had that thought briefly enter and exit when the anxiety was still in it's early stage. By the time I'd reached full blown panic, it was too late. It was all I could do to breathe.

What I'd forgotten and what I am reminding myself of even now is that I'm not even in control here, on the same continent, heck, even in the same room! These children are not my own. They never have been. 

The One who created them has numbered their days. He has numbered mine as well. I trust Him. I have no choice. 

As much as I want to plan for every possibility and prepare my heart for every outcome, I can't. And I will lose my mind if I continue trying.

I was reminded of this post I wrote three years ago when I apparently had a lot more wisdom. Peace on earth, indeed.

For now, I'm working on breathing, casting my care on Him, and making lists...lots and lots of lists. 


Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all your understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (Phillipians 4:6-7)

Not in Spite of...Because of

It's unusual to have such a large family in our culture. People erroneously assume we are a good catholic family. (Nope. Just passionate protestants!) Like any atypical American family, there is a story behind how we got here. But this is not the blogpost (or even site) for that.

It baffles many that we would choose to add another when we clearly have our hands full with "our own." We tend to get undue credit for having larger than normal hearts or for being so patient. 

Neither is true.

In fact, more often than not, we are counting down (sometimes aloud) the minutes until bedtime, when the house is finally, and blissfully, quiet even if for just a moment. Sometimes, I feel like I live in a state of perpetual frustration that "my stuff" is used, misplaced, lost. (This morning found me wrapped in a towel, dripping wet, and storming down the hallway in search of my shampoo that disappeared from my shower.)

People are amazed that we would adopt another in spite of our already large family size. They do not understand that it's not at all in spite of, but rather because of that has set us on this path.

As Christians, we believe in living beyond ourselves. It's when we come to the end of ourselves that God can move.

The Bible is full of promises that I mention often on this blog.  One to which I always come back is 2 Corinthians 12:9, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Another is Phillipians 4:19, "And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus."

Having a large family has given us ample opportunity to prove these promises; to live it out and see if He who has promised really is able; to see if He who has called us is faithful.

And He is.

There was a seven year stretch where I was either pregnant or breastfeeding or both. I do not do pregnancy well. I am exhausted, sick, and often immobile, not to mention emotionally erratic. During the early months of one of the pregnancies, while I was wrapped around the toilet for the umpteenth time that day, Romans 1:1 came to mind, "Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God--this is your spiritual act of worship." From that moment on, every time I retched during pregnancy, I (somewhat sarcastically) told God, "That's my worship for the day. It's all I've got to give." 

The thing is, He met me there. He sustained me, he upheld me, he nurtured me around that toilet. His strength made perfect in the misery of my weakness. And He made something beautiful out of it...a loud, demanding, life-interrupting bundle of unspeakable joy.

He also met me during the struggles with our oldest son that I wrote about here. 

These children have taught me that He is faithful. 

They've also taught me that life is fluid. 

My sister tells the story of sitting on the couch, wearing her husband's pajamas, covered in spit-up while nursing her newborn and watching morning talk-shows, thinking, "So this is my life." As that baby is now in her twenties, my sister has the perspective to look back on that with humor, but at the time, she had no way of knowing just how fleeting those moments would be.

All moments in life are temporary. Those that cause immeasurable pain, as well as those that bring us to unbelievable heights, will pass. They may change us in the process, but they, too shall come to pass. 

I remember well when my two older boys were five-months-old and two-years-old. Shawn worked second shift everyday, leaving me alone to do bedtime. Zak, the youngest of the two, would only go to sleep while nursing, so I would put ten-year-old Michaela in charge of Ben while I nursed the baby to sleep. When Zak was sound asleep, I would read Ben a story, pray for him, and tuck him in. Every night, when I walked out of his room, he would scream and cry and race down the hallway after me...and wake up Zak. Every. blasted. night.

I tried reversing the order and that was a disaster. I tried laying in bed with Ben until he fell asleep only he'd wake as soon as I stirred (plus, I still had the girls - aged ten, seven, and three - to supervise.) I felt like a huge failure and was unbelievably frustrated and exhausted. I begged God to give me wisdom, almost demanding that he solve the problem for me. 

"It's just a season," was His almost audible response. 

I just needed to ride it out. It would pass. I wasn't a terrible mother just because there was some chaos. There really wasn't a good way to make it work, given the circumstances. Of course, it did pass. Now, at 7 and 5, I can pray for them, kiss them, and send them on their merry way to bed! Bliss. 

I love that God's plan is individual. Without having experienced all that we have with this big family, we wouldn't have the faith to take a leap and experience the miracle of adoption. Adding in another to an already large brood isn't really that big of a deal.

I am in awe of families who choose to adopt without having to prove God first. They are obeying on faith, alone. They take Him at His Word and they will find Him faithful. They are the true heroes of the faith. 

When Parenting is Hard

Many of my facebook friends shared this article the weekend after the school shootings in Newtown. I read it and it all came flooding back. 

I used to live this woman's life.

I'm not sure what "caused" my oldest son's issues, but I have lots of ideas, all of them my fault. He was a demanding infant, although my postpartum depression at the time really didn't allow for much perspective. 

When he was two-years-old, our daily nap time ritual consisted of him standing on my bed screaming for an hour, a literal 60 minutes, until either the timer went off and he could get up or he finally passed out in exhaustion. I begged God everyday for the latter. As his expressive language grew, he added insults into the screaming. I had read all the books and knew I needed to win the battle of him staying on my bed, but I had to let the verbal abuse go. "Be consistent" is what the experts say, and I was that...for an entire year, every day. It never changed. 

As he got older, the fits of rage increased in both intensity and frequency. Every time I instructed him or said no to him, I braced myself for the fall out. I never knew if the response would be from my sweet young son, or the monster that seemed to roam within him. Sometimes, a simple command like, "put your shoes away," would yield a calm, agreeable response, "Okay, mom." But sometimes, it would turn him into a screaming, writhing beast who would throw things and hurl threats and insults to anyone around. His siblings would cower in fear. Sometimes, I would, too.

He was our fourth child. It wasn't like I didn't know how to raise good kids. What was wrong with me? What was wrong with him? 

We withdrew from outside life. Without any predictor of mood, I simply could not schedule things for fear of a meltdown before we walked out the door. There were often several meltdowns a day. From explosion to exhaustion lasted anywhere from one to six hours of intense, one-on-one attention to the detriment of the other kids who learned to make themselves scarce lest they become a victim, too. 

My first priority was the safety of everyone in the house. I had to lock up all the sharps. I had to tell the other kids to lock themselves in their rooms. I sometimes had to just give him his way to keep some semblance of peace. I prayed and begged God to give me wisdom, to heal his hurt, to bring us peace. 

Sometimes, I grieved because I loved him so much and was unable to help him. Sometimes, I grieved out of guilt because I barely even tolerated him. I longed for "normalcy." I felt guilty because of the time and attention he took away from his siblings. I asked my husband to consider residential treatment.

I tried talking to my friends about it. They either murmured sympathetic things while looking at me like I'd grown a second head, or acted like the tantrum their typical child once threw somehow compared and gave me advice accordingly.

I was out of my depth. 

We finally called the local outpatient behavioral health clinic for an evaluation. The waiting list was three months long.

It was a long three months.

He was tested to see if he was on the autism spectrum. He wasn't. We did get a diagnosis, though.

Generalized Anxiety Disorder, nos.

It failed to give us any real answers as to cause, but at least the foe had a name. 

We loved the evaluating psychologist, but all treatments were done by behavioral therapists. Ugh. We had observed one of those while waiting in the waiting room. Not a nice woman. We prayed our son would get someone better.

By God's grace, he actually got a therapist who was also completing her internship to be a psychologist. She was gold! She worked with him on identifying emotions, on stress release tactics, and on sticker reward charts. She worked with us on appropriate discipline and structure. 

We used "loving holds" if he wouldn't willingly go in time out, which he wouldn't. The timer didn't start until he complied and would sit alone...and stay. "Loving hold" basically meant that I would sit him on my lap and lock my arms around him while he head-butted me and kicked my shins while screaming threats. It was lovely.

But it worked. 

After a few weeks, the "loving hold" was only necessary for a few minutes vs the forty-five it took initially. A few weeks after that, it wasn't even needed. 

Soon after, I went to work full-time and Daddy became the stay-at-home-parent.

That's when the real transformation took place. 

With Dad's attention and input, he soon became the sweet, confident little boy we seldom saw before. Mr. Hyde was gone for good. 

I wish I could say what was the thing that turned him around...what was the key. I have no idea why the prayers I'd prayed for so long were suddenly answered. I am just so grateful that they were. I shudder to think of where we would be if nothing had changed.

Today, he is a happy, well-adjusted seven-year-old boy. This past year, it's like he finally grew into his skin. His tactile defensiveness is gone. No longer the gawky, uncoordinated kid he was, now he does amazing stunts on his skateboard and bike. He's still a bit shy and reserved, but he has quiet confidence to try new things. We prepare him for new situations and sometimes, he will admit that he is unsure but he now has the skills to articulate it. Occasionally, he will erupt and blow something out of proportion, but it's rare and over quickly. 

I am grateful. I don't pretend to have any answers. I feel like we have experienced a miracle. The only advice I would give to anyone in similar shoes is to seek help until you get it. Be persistent. Love your child, even if you need some distance from him to do it. And, also: Give yourself a break. Find a way to stay sane. Surround yourself with caring people. 

For the rest of you I say this: Have grace for the mom in need. Keep your judgement in check. Offer respite. Take her out for coffee. Listen. Pray for her. Look for, and remind her of, the good in her kid.

You never know when it will be you that needs help.

Love, Loss, and Forever

When God burdened our hearts about orphans abroad who have Down syndrome and compelled us to act, we never anticipated that our child would already be living in a family. We believed that we would pursue a child in an institution. 

Because of Reece's Rainbow, we knew that kids with Ds are abandoned at birth and relinquished to orphanages where they live until they are about five-years-old. Then they are put into a vehicle and driven to an adult mental institution to live out their days. 

When we set out to adopt one of these precious kids, it was with that picture in our hearts. 

But then, of the hundreds of pictures of little boys, I couldn't choose one....certainly not one over another.  

With the suggestion of a friend, we were led to Serbia, as they have a semi-blind referral system, meaning you don't get any information on a child until they receive your dossier and you are approved. 

Once we saw this video of Serbian mental institutions, we knew we'd made the right choice. 

As we waited for approval, I often thought about what it would be like to step into the institution or orphanage to meet our son. I tried to steel myself against the heartbreak I would experience there, yet, I really looked forward to bringing that experience home with me to better advocate for those kids.

Imagine my surprise when, of the three boys for whom we received information, all of them are currently in foster care.

Foster care? I didn't even know that was a choice in Serbia until half way through our process. Serbia is working hard to comply with laws that were established in 2005 and change is slow, but apparently they are moving forward.

The bottom line is that we are saving a child from an institution. Our son's future was institutional life eventually, if not for our intervention. Also, by bringing him home, we are opening a spot in the foster home for another child.  

But it's not what we were expecting. 

Now, I'm preparing my heart for a different sort of heartbreak. I do not relish taking him from the people he loves and who undoubtedly love him. Adoption is loss, always, before it becomes great gain.

But this seems too much. 

It will hurt him to leave them. It will cause him confusion and pain. His grief will break my heart. It hurts me already because I am his momma. I can't bear to think of what this will cost him, in the short term. I have been praying for that moment and praying that God will prepare his heart and the heart of his foster momma, even now.

But, I am reminded in this post by Missy that the love those people have for him is less than the "unmeasurable, unending, my-heart-would-never-mend-if-I-lost-you love" that he deserves. They care for him, I'm sure, and he will leave a void, but it's a void that will be filled again by the next child. "It is a poor substitute for the love of a mother, whose heart would never fully mend if she were to lose her child." He doesn't know it yet, but he needs, and his soul yearns for, the forever love of our family.  

More from Missy's post:

Aaron Ivey says,

The call of orphan care is not a call to simply "save the orphan". The call of orphan care is to share in the suffering of the orphan. It's to intentionally position yourself, your family, your community, to suffer alongside the orphan. To say, 'Your suffering, is now my suffering. Your story, is now my story. I willingly position myself to suffer alongside you.'

 I, too, hear the call sweet boy. Your suffering is now my suffering. Your story is now my story.
 

"Because the love you know right now? It is not enough."

 

It's OFFICIAL!

It is official: We will be traveling the second half of January to get our son!!! He is three-years-old, with Down syndrome and has a repaired heart. His surgery performed when he was 7 mos-old and we are told that it was successful, although he is still followed by cardiology. 

According to the information, he's a good sleeper, loves baths, interacts well and is affectionate with others, and "knows what is forbidden, but he disrespects it," which tells me he will fit right in! :)

"B" is currently in foster care, which is certainly not what we expected when we started this process. Honestly, having him in that setting gave me pause, simply because we anticipated rescuing a child from an institution. However, I am simply thrilled that Serbia even has foster families and that they, themselves, are moving children out of institutional life.

It does present another set of emotions for us and highlights that adoption is loss, first, which I will explore in a future post.

But, for now, we are beyond excited! We can't wait to meet him! Currently, we are waiting for his social centre to give us information on his clothing sizes so we can go shopping, although we do know that he weighs about 26 lbs. 

We will be in country for 2 - 3 weeks. We'll have our initial meeting with the Ministry in Belgrade and then travel to B's hometown, about an hour and a half away, and stay until we obtain custody of him, and then it's back to Belgrade until all procedures and paperwork are completed.

And then we come home.