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.

Cream or Sugar?

I am worn.

Maybe "worn" is too gentle a word.

Exhausted. Done.

Like a rented mule.

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.

And as for rest?

Ha.

That is what coffee is for.

Strike that.

That is what espresso is for.

How to care for the "Least of These"...The Right Way

The church that I attend recently started up an adoption/foster care group where people come together and share life, struggles, and laughter while brainstorming ideas about how to suck others into our madness.

Yesterday we compiled a list of all the opportunities that we have been kicking around to present to the congregation over the course of the next year (maybe even longer...the list was l-o-n-g).

Here are some of the topics that we came up with:

• DCS
• Gateway Woods
• Loving Shepherd Ministries
• The Harbor St. Petersburg
• Special needs (DS, HIV, older children, sibling groups, etc...)
• Ray of Hope Medical Missions
• Safe Families

Following our meeting I overheard a conversation that basically had the gist of "I believe so much in what I am doing that I just don't know if I can, in good conscience, promote what you are doing."

Oh dear. The slippery slope. One that I have often found myself plummeting down.

I can only believe that this zeal comes from a good place. But where that zeal becomes a problem is when we use our calling to bludgeon others for having a different call.

When we were adopting Daniel, I had a friend confide in me that she and her family was looking to foster a teenager in a very rough situation through the foster care system. I didn't say anything, but my initial reaction was not to be happy for her, was not to support. But rather to judge. To think of all the reasons that I would never do that...(and she shouldn't either). Almost immediately God reminded me that He had called our family to a situation that many people had a similar opinion about. And it made me realize that we are called differently. And I am so glad about that! I am thankful that Father God places the lonely in families.

Why does the way that God goes about that have to be an exclusive thing? Why do we feel the need to cram our agenda down other people's throats?

I absolutely believe to the very core of everything that I am that God called us to go get Daniel. That if Daniel had been a foster kid in Indiana instead of a orphan in Ukraine, we would have been called to foster him in Indiana instead of flying around the world to adopt him.

There are pros and cons to any adoption scenario.

I think the thing that we all need to hold hands and sing "Kumbaya" about, is the fact that a kid who didn't have love, has gotten love.

Sure, we can nit-pick about what is the most effective, most nobel, most needed path to orphan care, but long after the fundraisers are over, long after the accent has worn off, long after the judge brings his gavel down, long after people forget the kid isn't your bio kid, this kid is yours; drinking out of the milk jug, arguing about homework, begging for Elsa from Frozen to come to his birthday party. And you will realize that where they come from is important. And you will get over yourself when it comes to indignation about the way that they came to be available for adoption in the first place.

I believe that there is room for all of us at the table. Those who foster to adopt. Those who foster. Those who provide respite care. Those who do international adoption. Those who adopt domestically. Those who adopt children with Down Syndrome. Those who adopt a small nation. Those who call it quits after one. Those who adopt due to infertility. Those who adopt an extra kid on top of the bios that they already have. Those who adopt children with HIV. Those who adopt perfectly healthy chubby cheeked newborns. Those who don't adopt at all, but faithfully pray and/or send their $38/month to Compassion or World Vision.

This list could go on.

But it boils down to LOVE. The right way? The magical ingredient?

LOVE.

Not ours.

Ours will wear out like a pair of cheap socks.

Only God.

The Blessing of ADHD

So, I stinking HATE the aforementioned label. Capital letters HATE.

I do not dispute the fact that ....  is a real thing. Not one bit. I do not dispute the fact that I live with two people that (most likely) are blessed with it.

That's right. I said BLESSED.

What I would quibble with is the stigma around that label. The stigma that says, "Oh, that person can't do X Y or Z."

I do not agree with painting people with that label and then trying to cram them into the mold.

I also do not love this being used as a crutch.

Why does everything have to be perfect in our culture? Teeth straight and bleached. Hair straightened. Photoshopped lives. People who can sit for hours in a BORING classroom or in a BEIGE cubicle are more valued than those who need to fidget, who would rather be jumping than sitting. Who the heck defines "perfect?!" Yuck!

I think that maybe it isn't anything that is wrong with you, that it is the way that God, our everlasting, ever loving, all knowing Father, CREATED you. That it isn't a result of faulty programming, but maybe more a fault of our couch potato culture.

I have grown to view ADHD as similar to the Parable of the Talents.

Matthew 25:14-30

The Message (MSG)

^14-18 “It’s also like a man going off on an extended trip. He called his servants together and delegated responsibilities. To one he gave five thousand dollars, to another two thousand, to a third one thousand, depending on their abilities. Then he left. Right off, the first servant went to work and doubled his master’s investment. The second did the same. But the man with the single thousand dug a hole and carefully buried his master’s money.

^19-21 “After a long absence, the master of those three servants came back and settled up with them. The one given five thousand dollars showed him how he had doubled his investment. His master commended him: ‘Good work! You did your job well. From now on be my partner.’
^22-23 “The servant with the two thousand showed how he also had doubled his master’s investment. His master commended him: ‘Good work! You did your job well. From now on be my partner.’
^24-25 “The servant given one thousand said, ‘Master, I know you have high standards and hate careless ways, that you demand the best and make no allowances for error. I was afraid I might disappoint you, so I found a good hiding place and secured your money. Here it is, safe and sound down to the last cent.’
^26-27 “The master was furious. ‘That’s a terrible way to live! It’s criminal to live cautiously like that! If you knew I was after the best, why did you do less than the least? The least you could have done would have been to invest the sum with the bankers, where at least I would have gotten a little interest.
^28-30 “‘Take the thousand and give it to the one who risked the most. And get rid of this “play-it-safe” who won’t go out on a limb. Throw him out into utter darkness.'

I guess I view the energy that God has given you as His investment in YOU!

When we met the director of the home that Daniel lived at, I asked her whether Daniel was a good boy. She gave a very Ukrainian "meh" shrug and then pantomimed that he was like a spinning top.

She was right. (Except for the "meh" part).

What that has translated into for our family is ACTIVITY! And that has been a great gift! We go to the YMCA at least once a week, more often two-three times a week. Yesterday Garth took the kids to family Zumba and then swimming. Hours of physical activity. Muscles are building for all of the kids. They all swim like fish now. And Daniel? He goes and goes!

The boy who was scared of the water? After carefully observing the people who swim laps he is developing great form. No doggy paddle for him!

That boy who could barely pedal his bike? He runs the mile all the time now.

Determination and the energy to match.

Unstoppable.

Confidence blooms for the kids.

And the investment is being spent.

And yielding a return.