Obligatory Educational Post

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.

On earth as it is in heaven, friends.

Every Little Thing

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. 

He will grow. 

But in the meantime I am saving money on clothes.

The Hummingbird

School is out.

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. }

Thank Goodness For Elastic

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.

And cry copiously.

And laugh outrageously. 

And roll eyes. A lot.