Here we are. All of us. On the cusp of a new year. The New Year. (capital N, capital Y)
Some are so ready to kiss 2014 adios and plunge into a fresh start.
Others sit in this last day of the year and dread the new one.
My dad's best friend is going off of life support tomorrow. Celebrating tonight and welcoming tomorrow makes my heart literally ache.
I ache for my daddy. I ache for the family. I ache for myself, even though I am on the bottom of the list. Just another indicator of time marching on.
I have been very introspective today. There is a kind of beauty in life that can only be seen in the pain. It is in the pain that we get a glimpse of what life was meant to be. Joy without pain. That is how God made us to live, so when we experience the awfulness that sin has brought into the world, our hearts naturally yearn even more for the perfection we were created for.
I used to work at the hospital. I would run all over the place, from the ER to the ICU to the maternity ward and everywhere in between. Such a spectrum. Rejoicing and heartbreak, just a floor apart.
Once when I was pushing my cart around, I had a thought about how scary birth is for a baby. Everything that he has ever known…gone and changing. Warm and comfortable in his dark little world, until one day he starts not quite fitting how he used to. Somehow it isn't so comfortable anymore.
But it is all he knows.
And then pain! Squeezing, rhythmic. He doesn't know what is going on. Surely his life is ending. Everything he ever knew…gone.
Wrenched out and away from his entire world.
And then eyes open.
Light.
Love like he never even knew existed.
People who have been eagerly anticipating him. Holding him. Loving him. Rejoicing in his coming.
The end of one thing, but the beginning of an unimaginably better thing.
This will happen twice.
I will end this year sharing my favorite poem, like I did last year. A poem to live by:
To live content with small means;
To seek elegance rather than luxury,
and refinement rather than fashion;
To be worthy, not respectable;
and wealthy, not rich;
To study hard,
think quietly,
talk gently,
act frankly;
To listen to stars and birds,
To babes and sages, with open heart,
to bear all cheerfully,
do all bravely,
await occasions,
hurry never.
...To let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious,
grow up through the common.
This is to be my symphony.
-Wm. Henry Channing
I wish you all a blessed New Year, full of love, adventure and becoming. May each of us live every moment to the fullest, seek God's guidance and when that isn't clear, seek wise friends. May we revel in the cold air and soak in the summer days. May we, each of us, hold one another dear and tight, so that when we are apart we can remember the feel of love. May we dance in the kitchen at least once a month to a song that is ridiculous and happy. May we have open hands and open hearts ready to receive the people and blessings that God sends our way. Amen.
As time plods on in our home, thoughts of the whole "adoption" thing kind of dim because it stops being anything out of the ordinary and simply becomes…well, life.
Logically I know that Daniel came from another mother. He has been asking these questions lately. Questions that I am at a loss to answer. Partly because I, quite simply, don't know, and partly because what I do know isn't heartwarming.
I don't know much. A name. A situation.
This used to bother me. I wanted answers. I wanted to know the "why's."
What God gave me was a dream.
I was sitting in a small room, like an exam room at a doctor's office. I had Daniel in my lap. Across from me sat a beautiful woman.
Golden hair. Blue eyes. Freckles. Healthy.
She seemed to almost radiate light.
In my dream, I wondered who she was and was filled with the knowledge that this was Daniel's biological mother.
My mind said "No" it isn't logical that she would have looked like this, given the information I have.
Then I was filled with warmth and love and I heard God say, "This is how I see her."
All the anger that I had toward her dissolved after the dream, back in January of this year.
The thing is, all parents want to protect their kids' stories. Especially adoptive parents who have an ounce of caring, because really, even in the most ideal adoptive situation, there is heartache and loss. Profound loss.
My son's story is nothing that I sit and flippantly talk about. Ever. It is sacred.
And yet, as time passes and the wrinkles start to smooth out, I can go days without thinking about him being adopted. Weeks without thinking about the yuck he came out of.
The irony of reaching that point is now Daniel starts with the questions. And the speculations. And the fantastic stories.
Do I ignore it? Validate it? Lay the facts out, sparing no hurt?
The fact is there was a woman, someone who I have never, nor will ever meet, yet who's decisions have changed my life and to whom I am connected with until the day I die. And she is one big question mark. I can't help loving her and feeling compassion toward her. And thinking about what a cool kid she had and how it is sad that she lost out, for whatever reasons, on seeing him grow and develop.
And if the above is true for me, it is even more true for Daniel.
Last Sunday I was speaking with a friend of mine who brought home an 8 month old from the Congo two years ago this week. She went on to say that the little one was struggling hard this week. That trauma is real and manifesting itself in this precious child, especially during the anniversary. Oh, how I understand that. Then she said something that was really a fundamental shift in the way I view those hard times. Well, really the way that most of us view those hard times. She said (with her eyes full of the pain she had been watching her son go through) "Even though it is hard, I am just so thankful and honored that we get to go through this with him." Wait. What?! I will be honest. I was not thankful and honored when, this morning, I had to listen to Daniel try and push my buttons over and over by saying, while in time out, "Mommy, listen to me! I want a different mommy!" And, I kid you not, he said it stinking twenty times if he said it once. It doesn't hurt my feelings, but it is mighty inconvenient when I am trying to get the kids out of the house, but Daniel is in trauma-meltdown-mode because he has had a schedule change at school and one of the aids made him feel overwhelmed and so he is lashing out at me. As much as I would have loved to bundle him up and kick him out of the door so he could catch the bus, I knew that what I needed to do was address the feelings and the behavior and offer redemption. All before school started. Ugh. I am SO not enough. And I didn't get breakfast. And I got a migraine. Let's be honest, I was not considering serving Daniel in that moment pure joy. More like pure inconvenience. And yet, in James 1: 2-8, we are told:
Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters,a whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. 4Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. 5If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you. 6But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. 7That person should not expect to receive anything from the Lord. 8Such a person is double-minded and unstable in all they do.
Tonight when I went to write this post, I was reading the latter part of the scripture. "But when you ask you must believe and not doubt…" Oh, Lord. I doubt. I am all about praying powerfully and totally believing that Daniel will grow up to love the Lord and serve Him. And then I have a day like today and the teacher calls to tell me that (when cornered, in all fairness) Daniel got in a fight on the playground and Daniel lashes out at me because some woman at school sniped about his reading skills. And then I am tossed like the sea. Doubting God's plan. Oh, to consider it pure joy. Even in the tough moments when I am inconvenienced. That would be a radical shift. This Thanksgiving I am deciding to be thankful for the few conflicts and struggles in our journey that I have experienced through this past year, as well as the mounds of wonderful, because they are shaping me into who God wants me to be. And so I will CHOOSE to be in the moment, to be filled with determination and grit for these tough times, to take the challenges and use them like a kite uses the wind.
And I am CHOOSING to speak this. To give these feelings words so that others can also experience that shift in thinking.
To, maybe, not expect so much out of myself and others.
To lay down those things that I have prayed for with the faith that God can pick them up.
<voice of Olaf> "All good things. All good things."
But sometimes I am just SO TIRED OF IT ALL.
(Here comes the whine….)
Sometimes I just want to know how it is going to turn out. (And that it will turn out ok.)
So, maybe what I really want is for some expert to say, "It is going to be ok, Crystal." And let's face it…not just "ok" I want to know that it will be great.
I. Want. To. Know.
And it is times like this that I can almost physically HEAR God telling me to look at Him. He isn't placating me with empty promises and trite phrases. His Spirit is simply telling me to look to Him.
That maybe, through looking at Him, instead of the homework pages and assessments, I can see who He is. And by seeing who He is, know that He has it all under His control and that everything that will happen will be ever for His glory.
But, if any of you want to chime in and tell me that it will be ok, I wouldn't mind that a bit.
I was driving to my first day of training for my new job in my orange 1979 Mercedes with the sunroof open. Listening to Oldies 101.7.
A glorious day.
Clear blue sky. The likes of which only comes after summer finally begins to relinquish its grasp and fall starts to cut in on the dance.
Delicious and crisp.
An announcement cuts in. A plane hit a building in New York.
Ooh. That's too bad. It must have been an accident.
Not even a blip on my radar of what was to come as I zipped down the road, a happy newlywed, on my way to a new job.
Then there was another announcement.
Another plane hit.
Oh Jesus.
I still can't fully grasp it.
I get to the training center and everyone is huddled in the break room. Glued to the 19" Panasonic.
Images like this assail my brain as I tried to reconcile the world of the day before to the world I was seeing play out in front of me.
I could go on and on. I could describe that day in perfect detail. How I thought the world was ending. How I watched the news coverage until I could watch no more. How the only thing, besides coverage, was on TV Land and it was the Brady Bunch (where the girls are grown up and sharing a house). How Garth was working late. How I sat on our garage-sale couch, practically catatonic.
And really, we all have those stories. That day brought us all to our knees. Drew us all closer to those we loved.
We all said we wouldn't forget. And we haven't.
But life has a way of going on. It can seem callous that we can move past the tragedies that are as surely a part of life as is living it.
Yet, there is a beauty in the forgetting. A beauty in the meal after a funeral. A beauty in the new lives that are born into the world that don't even know of the tragedy, except for the stories.
Because all of those things offer the proof that life goes on.
Life goes on and you can't remember so much what it was like before, because all of those hurts remade us a bit, and we walk on. And we smile again. And we laugh. And we have new hurts that we don't think we can get through, but we do. And we remember.
Down through the ages. Thousands of years. The groaning of the Israelites for their deliverance from Egypt. The crying out of those who trust in YAHWEH, calling out for deliverance, even now. The wailing of those who don't even know who they are summoning. "Come." Over and over. Thousands of times. Ten thousands of voices. Millions of reasons. "Come. Save." The words encapsulating all the pain and questioning and hope in the midst of it. "Come. Save. Deliver."
We were made for so much more than the most beautiful, perfect thing that this world has to offer, it is no wonder that our souls shy away from the pain.
I have, personally, never felt too much anger or contempt for the people who were in his life prior to us showing up, but after last night's story… Ugh. Help me, Jesus.
But then I remember that Jesus was angry too. Righteous anger. And so maybe my anger isn't wrong.
I sat on my bed last night. Trying. Trying to let go of the emotions that Daniel's tale had evoked.
Thoughts of "If only…" plagued my mind. But I believe and know that we got Daniel in God's time.
Why God????
I don't really have a tidy way to wrap this post up, as I set here with tears running down my cheeks.
I think of all the people who KNEW what was going on. I think of all the family that didn't step forward to care for him. I don't know any of them, but a child isn't born in a vacuum. Even if a mom can't care for him.
How do you teach a child worth? We try day by day. And he fits in so well. But he will always know that he was systematically neglected, abused. And I don't have a beautiful thing to say to bring closure and explanation for that. Because it is sin. Sin in its darkest, tarriest, most demon-filled form.
And why does he tell me? What stops him from sharing with Garth?
I am glad that he can share. And I never want to shut him down. And I suppose there is a dubious honor to being the Keeper.
People, I have heard two Secrets this summer (since June) and both have WRECKED me. And to know that my baby has those and more to share. If just one of these things had happened to me it would have been the worst event in my life.
School began in Sponseller-land on the 18th of August.
Daniel is now at the same school as his siblings which has, so far, proven to be a much better fit for our family.
Some of the strategies that we have incorporated this year (for those who are wondering) are:
Garth is down as the point of contact for naughty behavior. I got called way too much over way too piddley of things last year and it about gave me a breakdown. And it was totally my own fault that I let it happen. Because I was so worried about having a perfect child that I was trying, by the force of my will, to make it happen. Garth has a better perspective on the minutia than I do. Things that leave me wiped out often just make him laugh.
I will not go into his class to help him behave.Daniel is fully aware of what is expected of him. He quickly grasped the fact, last year, that if he was rotten, I would be called, I would come in and that is what he wanted: mama. This year I told his teacher that my presence in the class should be a reward rather than a "punishment." So now he is working towards me coming in to help rather than a trinket or toy. I think it is a much healthier bribe.
I have contacts on the inside. Grace, Claire and Wyatt are there to help Daniel make good choices and rat him out when he doesn't. For example, he was taking forever to eat in the cafeteria. I was not aware of the problem and I think that the teacher didn't realize that he was intentionally lollygagging. Claire snitched on him and so we told him that he couldn't eat breakfast at school unless he got to class on time. (He eats breakfast at home either way about it, he is not deprived.) I spoke with the teacher and she told me that he had suddenly began getting to class on time. After a week and a half of not.
We have come a long way, baby!
This is a one year to the day difference. So much more centered.
Dear Crystal of August 2013 (and parents in the thick of it everywhere),
You look like... um, well we won't go there, Sweetie. Go take a shower after you are done reading this.
I know things are really hard right now. I know you are more tired than you have ever been in your entire life. I know all those negative things that people told you would happen, seem like they are happening. And all of that makes you want to crawl into a hole.
I know this may seem unbelievable, but it will get better. It may sound trite, but it is truth.
And the "getting better" will be more than just "getting used to it."
I know you feel like you can't go anywhere because everyone will stare and judge. Here is a secret, one that it has taken me until just about now to understand: the way you worry about things and apologize for everything makes people look and judge that much more. People do not care about you and your crazy kids nearly as much as you think they do. And if you feel judged because, in the past, you have judged others, well sister, that is called karma.
Let it go.
Look around you! I know it seems like everyone else has it together. They don't. I promise. And there is someone, somewhere, who thinks you have it all together, too, and we all know that is a laugh.
Give yourself grace. God has. Why are you withholding something from yourself that God has freely poured out? Don't be stingy with yourself.
I know there is all sorts of "wretched me" rhetoric. Don't buy it. You have been fearfully and wonderfully made. The spark of the Divine is in YOU! Just as it is in the Tasmanian devil of a kid you brought home with you. And in the mother who gives you the stink-eye at the zoo because your kid splashed her kid. And while we are at it, I suppose it is in those terrors at church who beat your kid up.
Capisci?
You are great at doing things and in your self-supposed aptitude you have taken God off the throne. You feel like He is not efficient enough for you. Not sufficient enough for you.
A friend will point this out to you, and you will struggle to figure out how to let God take control. Trust me. You are over-thinking this. It is ridiculously simple: Stop. Stop feeling like the earth is crashing down when things don't go according to your plan. Stop taking responsibility for other people's actions. You can only facilitate so much. You can only teach so much. Ultimately your kids will have to show what they are made of. (And a kid with a helicopter parent is often disliked on principle).
You can't fix everything. You can try. You will try. And some of it will stick. Celebrate what sticks. And stop bashing your head against the wall when it doesn't.
Drink more water.
Do more yoga. Learning to meditate and commune with God despite the noise is a holy, powerful skill that will bring you more peace than having everything perfectly quiet.
You will grow. You will become more beautiful. More special. More strong. More fabulous.
More fierce.
You will learn to be shaped instead of broken.
Now, I know I told you to take a shower, but before you do that, jump up and down a few times. Get the blood flowing. Turn on the keurig so it is ready to go once you are done in the bathroom.
In February I wrote a post about a great book that I read called "Infinitely More" by Alex Krutov. What I didn't talk about on here was "the rest of the story."
I absolutely loved, loved, loved the book. It was incredibly moving.
I come across as being a rather impulsive person, but I kind of like to think of it as just being receptive to go where the Spirit leads. At the drop of a hat.
I found Alex on Facebook and invited him to stay with us. At our house. (Hey, what's another?!)
He agreed.
(I didn't talk a lot about it because people think I am crazy. For example, we have two people living here right now who literally came to our door selling something and I offered them a room. Yep. I told my sister and she thought I was joking. Nope.)
So, in May, Alex came.
Have you ever met someone that your soul knew? That is how I felt about Alex. Like we understood each other beyond words. I think part of the feeling was a result of Alex's uncanny ability to connect with people, but I think a larger part is the fact we had a divine appointment to be friends.
Alex's story is amazing.
Thrown away at just a few days old.
Grew up in the Russian state system and on the streets.
Threw away opportunities.
But all the while God was writing His name on Alex's heart, just as surely as Alex's name was written on His hand. Preparing Alex to be His. To hear His call.
One of the big calls on Alex's life was to start The Harbor.
The Harbor is a program/ministry that Russian orphans can participate in once they have been emancipated from the state system. The Harbor places orphans in residential family-style communities, gives them an education, and teaches them skills necessary to maintain a home and thrive in Russian society. To help maintain and support the ministry of The Harbor, Alex travels back and forth. Three months in the U.S., then three months in Saint Petersburg, Russia. Back and forth. He runs himself into the ground. Giving and giving. Cooking. Preaching. Consulting. Counseling. Loving. Playing. Praying. Challenging. This list is making me tired. But that IS HIS LIFE. He spends his own dime to do all of this. And I think that when people meet him they can't help but feel like he is so good at what he does and The Harbor is reaching so many people, that any help that they can give is rather insignificant in the scheme of things. Wrong. See, the thing is, Alex doesn't like to ask for money. He likes to give more than receive any day of the week. He trusts the Holy Spirit to lead people to give. And often many people have the best of intentions, but life gets in the way. Churches need new roofs and so The Harbor support gets cut. Or any number of reasons. Lots of them really legitimate, but it hurts the bottom line. I asked him specifically what the need for The Harbor was and why. Here was his response:
Dear Crystal. It was good to talk to you the other day. Our current monthly deficit is around $3,000 so that means that every month we are forced to dip into our rainy day fund thus it gets constantly depleted. If our situation does not improve then we will face some major challenges. Thank you so much for willing to spread the word. Here is what we need in order to close the deficit. If we could find 60 families at $50 per month or 30 families at $100 per month for 2 years commitment. The deficit has always existed and at the end of the year it has always balanced out. Yes, the growth of the Harbor has definitely in the play here also. Yes, some shifting the Harbor to another organization, but most of it is actually due to financial struggles that people have and simply stop supporting us without even telling us. Once again thank you so much for willing to help us out. This is a huge help. Blessings.
I can only think that people don't realize what the situation is. They see all the successes and don't understand that they can help propel things. I am very honored to be a part, even though it is small, of the mission at The Harbor. I am proud to stand with my friend and brother in Christ who is living out God's will for his life in this moment, serving in St. Petersburg.
I was reading Facebook today and I saw something really thought provoking. The whole idea that adoption is a "second best" solution.
I don't believe that Daniel was born to be in our family, the same way that I don't believe that Adam and Eve were set-up to fall.
In a perfect, un-fallen, world, there would be no need for adoption. All parents everywhere would live long, healthy, fertile lives during which they would devote themselves to caring for their children in the best, most beautiful way; training them up to perpetuate the cycle.
Children would be protected by society; their innocence cherished, their hearts guarded.
Families wouldn't be torn apart by lies, by trafficking, by substances, by death.
Obviously we aren't living in that perfect world.
Just like Adam and Eve inevitably screwed up, so do we. Everyday. Little choices that lead to a slow fade from who God made us to be.
But.....
(Now here comes the beautiful part!)
God REDEEMS!
He sends His son to bridge the gap that WE created.
And His son is not second best.
God created us in His image, with free will, knowing we would drop the ball and making a way for us to still be found blameless in His eyes.
Through adoption, He is allowing us to redeem!
I can't change the fact that no one ever told Daniel "I love you" before I showed up, but I can say it everyday now. I can't make up for it, but I can redeem it, through Jesus Christ. What happened has happened. There is no changing it.
Adoption is NOT second best. And when I say that in a perfect world it would be unnecessary, I don't mean that I love my son any bit less.
I can say for Daniel, adoption was the best thing that ever happened to him. Given his situation, it was the best thing that ever could happen to him.
When we were preparing to travel last year (actually one year ago today we went back to Ukraine for court), Garth's uncle told me, "There is more going on here than you understand. God is doing big things for this boy."
All through our process I felt an extreme urgency. God put one word on my heart through out our entire ordeal and that word was "RUN."
At the time I thought the reason that God wanted us to hurry and get there was so that Daniel would not be sent to the internat.
And that was a really good reason.
Except for now, I see more of the story.
What I have been told, is the following:
On May 1, it was recommended to Mama Director to evacuate. No, she said. This is their home, she said.
On May 28 the rebels moved into the detskiy dom. Mama Director left. The children did not go with her. The captain abandoned ship.
The above picture is what is left.
I am not sure where the children are...
I have often wondered why Daniel got out and others....did not. But the other day it occurred to me that maybe there were families for those children, too. But people didn't listen to the redemption song. Instead of listening, maybe they listed. Listed all the reasons that they couldn't do it.
This is something that has been brewing for a long time. Kind of a PSA for adopting families, if you will. What you need to know about your first meeting with your child: (Some of this is very individual, but some is pretty common, so beware)
Our first meeting with Daniel was not all hearts and rainbows. It was very intimidating. The paperwork from the SDA labeled him "retarded" and "imbecile." Over and over again our facilitator told me (with her Ukrainian accent) "He has problems, Crystal, I can tell you this. He has lots of problems."
Daniel came into the office and I didn't hear music and bells and see confetti fall. Quite the opposite. I felt ill. My vision was greying out and my stomach was full of bats. Not butterflies.
All of those questions reared their heads, "How can this child fit in?" "How will this ever work?"
I wanted to run.
But I made myself sit there. And smile. And say the right things.
And after ten minutes of him being asked to perform (which he didn't do well), he was ushered out and we were asked whether we wanted him or not.
I am so thankful that Garth was with me. Because I couldn't get the words out. Garth had to say the "yes."
We got back to our hotel and I thought my heart was breaking. I wanted to die. It seemed like too much.
I am sharing this, because I want you to know that I realized something about a month after I got home: that the devil was preying on my mind in that room, in that moment.
For all the amazing things that God had done to give Daniel a family and to get him out of there, Satan was not going to sit idly by.
KNOW THIS, Adopting Parents, it is scary. It is huge. It is overwhelming. But God is holding it. That picture that you fell in love with? That you found while browsing a website, or were forwarded by an advocate, or were assigned by your agency, or picked out of a three ring binder: that face? It is a life. A life that has been through crazy pain and yet also experienced unexpected beauty.(Never discount the beauty).That picture is not who that child is. Who you have built your child to be in your mind? It's a dream. The quicker you wake up and love reality, the happier you all will be.
And if you can't? Walk away now. Don't bring home a child that you will resent. Don't hold "rehoming" them as an alternative.
Nearly eleven months later, I can say, Daniel is exactly where he is supposed to be.
And those awful labels? Lies. But even if they were true, would he be any less deserving of a family?
Children, like Sasha Pastov who, in Ukraine, are written off and institutionalized, here would be in a special ed classroom, down the hall from your other kids, and would be happy and productive and a blessing.
But never underestimate the God factor. He is Healer. He is Mender. He is Counselor. He is Redeemer.
I am not a big follower of all things adoption related. Or of things Ukrainian adoption related. But I can't help but notice all the crowing that goes on when an adopted child starts growing.
Most children coming out of the Eastern Bloc countries are small for their age and for their culture and it seems like they rapidly grow and flourish once home.
I have mentioned before how shocked I was when I first laid eyes on Daniel, due to his size. He has grown about an inch. Maybe. In ten months.
I comfort myself by the fact that when I was in Ukraine I was eye to eye with the average man, often I was even a bit taller. And my brother-in-law, who is probably 6', seemed like Gulliver. Towering over people everywhere we went.
But still, from time to time, I feel a defensiveness rise in me when I hear people remark on Daniel's height (or lack thereof).
But one thing that I think might be the gift in his size, is the fact that he and Wyatt are the same height, give or take an inch. And they are best friends. And maturity-wise, they are on the same wave-length.
I would love for him to start growing, but I know that I need to enjoy this time where he is little and I can pick him up like a baby. And baby him.
I won't lie. I was kind of dreading it, but so far so good.
I just love to see my kids bonding over freedom. I believe in raising free-range children. So they play and play. And I figure if anything major happens I will hear the sirens.
Last week the kids went to VBS at the church down the street. It was really nice and Daniel was totally geeked about it. It is handy that he is in class with his sister, because she tells it how it is.
ALL the kids also spent the night at Grandma's last week on Wednesday. It was the first night that Daniel has been away from me. It was a success! Yippee! And he learned that he loves blueberry pancakes in the bargain! You CANNOT even imagine how FREEING it is to know that he can spend the night away and do well.
On Saturday we had the opportunity to go to a local minor league baseball game. I was really concerned how all the kids would be with the game starting at 7:05 and knowing that we wouldn't get home until after 11:00. I had major doubts about how well Daniel would sit. But, OH MY GOODNESS, he was enthralled!
He stood at attention during the national anthem and saluted the flag.
He saw a man selling cotton candy and it triggered a tale about how once he went to camp and got cotton candy and watched a movie. Obviously a very fond memory. I wouldn't have even thought about cotton candy being an experience to share with him, because I think that it is vile.
Later on during the game, he turned to me and told me a very disturbing event that happened at the detskiy dom. Something that if you witnessed, would scar you for life. And just the knowing that this is one event of many. Sometimes I forget. Sometimes I just look at the smile and forget that he comes from a life that I cannot imagine. And I just expect him to fit in and perform. Which he does, but sometimes he can't. And I need to have more patience and understanding about that.
At the end of the evening there was a fireworks display. He was totally blissed out.
I can't even think of how very thankful I am that he is not in Slavy'ansk or those booms from the fireworks could have had a whole other connotation for him. The children in his orphanage have been evacuated. (Update June 2014: I have since learned that they were not evacuated, other orphanages were, but Topolyok was not.) Pray for them. Things are not good at all in Slavy'ansk. Roads are blocked. No power. No electricity. No running water. People are starving.
I can't tell you how it breaks my heart that his home, orphanage that it was, is gone. That there will be no visits back, as an adult, to see where he came from. To know that that door is irrevocably closed.
The picture below is a photo that was shot from the church that we were a part of during our time in Slavy'ansk. It was taken in late May.
Many of our friends have left town, but many others do not have the transportation, the money, or anywhere else to go.
According to reports, the Orthodox monastery (pictured below) in the neighboring town of Svatagorsk (I probably totally butchered that) is sheltering around 700 refugees. They are sleeping anywhere from 3-7 to a room and receiving one meal a day. The government has no money to care for the refugees and so they are dependent on the generosity of others and of churches for their livelihood in this season of exile.
One year ago, today, we landed in Kiev. So much has happened. Both in Ukraine and in our family. And through it all I can see God's hand and timing and care. The God who called us to this adventure, who told us over and over again to "run" is still every bit as much here as He ever was; mending brokenness, calling us to love our neighbors, expanding our view of who our neighbor is.
I love who God is making us through our journey. Who He is shaping our children into. There have been countless moments of doubt and I think that sometimes it is easy to only present the pretty side. I have always tried to be open about our struggles so that others might have an honest view of what it is like, but sometimes there just aren't words.
There are not words for the fear I felt at our referral meeting with Daniel. He couldn't count to ten. He couldn't write his name. He couldn't draw a circle. We saw him for ten minutes and were asked whether we wanted him or not.
There are NO WORDS for how that feels. That a life hangs in the balance of a one word answer. That the universe can shift with a simple 'yes' or 'no'.
There also aren't words for the thrill I have when he has successes. When I see the easy way that my children have bonded and love each other.
There are NO WORDS to describe how it felt to walk into my mother's house after Daniel had his first overnight and hear that he slept well. And that he was happy. That my little bird is stretching his wings and learning the right kind of independence.
There are NO WORDS to tell how it feels to know that he is loved by others. For who he is. Not because people feel sorry for him or that he is a novelty, but rather because he is a cool kid with talents and worth and capital "P" personality.
We may not be the most equipped family on our own, but we have a wonderful community and a wonderful Daddy God. And we do the best we can.
{Here is the transcript of the video: The story of the hummingbird as told by Wangari Maathai to children
We are constantly being bombarded by problems that we face and sometimes we can get completely overwhelmed.
The story of the hummingbird is about this huge forest being consumed by a fire. All the animals in the forest come out and they are transfixed as they watch the forest burning and they feel very overwhelmed, very powerless, except this little hummingbird. It says, ‘I’m going to do something about the fire!’ So it flies to the nearest stream and takes a drop of water. It puts it on the fire, and goes up and down, up and down, up and down, as fast as it can. In the meantime all the other animals, much bigger animals like the elephant with a big trunk that could bring much more water, they are standing there helpless. And they are saying to the hummingbird, ‘What do you think you can do? You are too little. This fire is too big. Your wings are too little and your beak is so small that you can only bring a small drop of water at a time.’ But as they continue to discourage it, it turns to them without wasting any time and it tells them ‘I am doing the best I can.’
And that to me is what all of us should do. We should always be like a hummingbird. I may be insignificant, but I certainly don't want to be like the animals watching the planet goes down the drain. I will be a hummingbird, I will do the best I can. }
A year ago we were busy getting ready for our trip to Ukraine. What we thought to be the culmination of everything that we had been working toward.
(Silly us, it was just the beginning!)
I packed toothbrushes and toothpaste donated by dentists. I packed toys donated by McDonald's. I packed socks and underwear donated by many friends. (The little boys were jazzed about the "pockets" in their underwear. Bah ha).
And I shopped. For an eight year old boy that I had never met. But he was eight. And I had a nine year old that was wearing size 10 and so I figured I was set. I bought size 8 clothes; shirts and shorts. Matching outfits for Wyatt and Daniel. I guessed what size shoe he might wear and I bought size 13.
And then we flew to Ukraine. And met with the SDA (or DAP) and saw this picture, taken when he was 5:
That face. I can't even.
We took the overnight train to Slavyansk, a sleepy, friendly town, which is now a hot mess thanks to the conflict in Ukraine. We got off the train. Went to our hotel. Showered. Drove around to all the necessary places to get all the necessary papers and then went to the orphanage.
As I was walking up the sidewalk I saw a group of children on one of the playgrounds. Not playing, mind you, but sitting. And I saw a quarter profile of Daniel. And I knew that it was him. I didn't say anything, but my heart sang. Because I knew.
A short time later we were seated in the director's office and Daniel was ushered in.
Eight year old Daniel. He looked to me like a five year old, except for all those permanent teeth. All I could think was how very tiny he was. Short and round and puffy.
So here we have a kid. Eight years old. And we have all these size 8 clothes. And he can fit them because he is roly poly.
His little feet are bent from wearing shoes that were chronically too small and (as I have since found out) had been caned as a punishment for "naughtiness." Those size 13's go to his little brother and I pick him up some 11's.
He comes home and gets off the psychotropic medications. And drops 13 pounds by the time summer is over.
Winter worked. I had sweat pants with drawstrings.
Now summer is here and the shorts come out. And they fall down. So I safety pin them. And there is Daniel, constantly pulling up his pants. No complaints. Just a constant tugging.
I had to go to the toddler section and buy size 5T with the adjustable, elastic waistbands. The toddler section for my, now, 9 year old son.
He is as happy as a lark.
"Mommy! My shorts aren't falling down!"
We still have those size 8 shorts. And I am convinced that someday he will fit into them.
And that is how expectations go.
Expectations, that you can't hold loosely, are the killer of relationships. And of happiness.
I got an email yesterday that Daniel said the "F" word at school. Yep. That's right. Fart. No lie. I got an email that my nine year old boy said "fart."
To be in this game we have to hold things loosely and roll with the punches.
I am learning in this process that "easy" is like an ebb and flow. Right now it seems that we are stuck in an "ebb" time.
I hate posting blogs like this, because, inevitably, I get many responses relating to support groups, mental diagnoses and the like. And what I really want more than anything is for Jesus to support me. For Daddy God to sustain me. Not a group that rehashes the yuck.
And being the competitive person that I am, I often just try to figure out how we are in comparison to others. Comfort that is found by seeing others worse off is poor comfort. False comfort. Certainly not the comfort that God gives. My challenge in this moment is to lean on the knowledge that God's assurances are not contingent on anyone else being better or worse off than me.
Comfort is letting go. Of the frustration when it seems like others are undoing work that I have spent months at. Of the resentment that wells in my heart like the hot tears in my eyes. Of the worry that weighs my heart and pries my focus from my Focal Point.
You see, Dear Readers, as time goes on, the definition of a "good day" morphs and expectations are raised, but you still have a child that is experiencing firsts and checking boundaries. It is just that everyone else is just an eensy bit less tolerant. After all, he has been here almost 10 months. Ten months. Ah...perspective.
Summer school is coming and with it yet more changes. He needs it so badly and was excited about it until his partner in crime/brother started boo-hooing that he couldn't make it through the summer without his brother there. Every moment. So now it has turned into something negative. Something that I am already receiving resistance and veiled threats to be naughty during. Driving to the school he goes to now is three minutes. And a pain in the neck. Driving out to summer school is 35. Meh.
I am praying that since summer school is a Special Education program that they will have more tools in the tool box to deal with this situation.
