“Beautiful! What a chance at life that these precious girls wouldn
The Aroma of Christ
I am, obviously, an adoptive parent. I like to read blogs (some being adoption blogs). I read adoptive parent forums. I have even read a couple books written for adoptive parents. I don’t consider myself an expert, not even close. But, I do want to say something to adoptive parents, and I respectfully hope they’ll listen.
Over the past few years, I have read MANY posts and articles written by adoptive parents about what everyone else should and shouldn’t say to adopted children, what people should and shouldn’t ask an adopted, more specifically. an adopted, non-white child. I’ve read posts that lecture the general public about what they should ask, where it would be appropriate to ask it, what not to ask, etc. And, I’ll be frank, it wears me out. I find all of the pointed advice overwhelming to the point of giving up, and I often hear a small voice saying, “Forget it! I just won’t ask you, or any other adoptive parent, anything about adoption since it’s such a sensitive topic.” After such articles, my thought is always this, “If I feel this way, how must the non-adoptive general public feel?!”
Here’s the reality–when a family decides to adopt, more specifically, adopt a child who is of another race, then they have kicked the door wide open for curious questions because racially blended families aren’t the norm. This isn’t just a United States thing; they aren’t the norm anywhere in the world. It is pretty much common knowledge that whenever you make a decision to go against social norms, you’re inviting questions, opinions, and curious looks. This is reality, and it is a reality everywhere in the world because people who break tradition or don’t follow “normal” paths ALWAYS get this reaction, no matter what country you live in.
For example, when a teenager dyes his hair red and spikes it into a four-inch Mohawk, people look. Why? because it’s not the norm. When a family chooses to have no TVs in the home, people ask questions; its not the norm. When a family moves half-way around the world to be missionaries, people question and inquire about it because it’s not normal. If I’m going to be honest with you, I too am curious as to why people do these types of things. Why did that boy put his hair in a red mohawk? Why did you make the decision to not have TVs? What led you to uproot your family to be a missionary? I truly want to know (
Go With the Heart
As our travel to China approached, I was a bit obsessed with reading books about adoption. Adoption and attachment, sleep, and eating.
Obsessed.
Then, we met Grace.
I’ve read them all. I have. But, when she was finally with us. It was time to throw the books out the window and go with the heart.
That first week in China. She slept. It was GREAT. Other families in our travel group were fighting with the kids to get them to go to sleep, to get them to stay asleep, to have them sleep soundly (mind you…they were all older than Grace). I was feeling blessed. We were sleeping.
Then, we came home.
Then, she had surgery.
Now, we are not.
Big Talks
I’ve been wondering when it would happen. I think it is starting now. I think I have seen the very tippy top of the iceberg of Therese’s grieving.
Last night my sweet Therese poured forth story after story about her life in Yako. These were not pleasant stories. These are the rip your heart out, no child should have witnessed, or seen stories like this. Three hours worth of stories, and I got the impression there are so many more.
Therese told me that she is tired of feeling sad all the time (you would never know she feels sad at all from how she behaves). She knows that here, in America, we “talk talk talk and cry” when we are sad, but not in Yako. She said she wants to cry, but she “doesn’t can’t” (I love that phrase of hers!).
I reassured her that she will cry when she is ready. I told her that God gave us a way to get the sad out of our hearts, namely crying, and retelling our story. I told her that God will do amazingly wonderful things with those sad stories of hers.
Therese told me it is better to adopt a baby, because babies do not have so many sad stories as a girl who is ten. I told her that I wanted a 10-year-old girl, and I am here to listen to her stories. I find her stories, even the sad ones, to be precious. I treasure her stories, and I will help her remember the ones she wants to remember and to use the difficult ones for good. I want my 10-year-old girl, hard stories included, because she would not be Therese without those hard stories.
More importantly, I know a Savior who specializes in hard stories, and He redeems them all if you let Him. Therese knows Him too, and many of her stories include God saving her from harm or revealing something to her that helped her save some one else.
I admit I woke up this morning feeling a little sick and incredibly daunted by the task of raising this sweet girl with too many hard stories. Lord, can I do this? His answer to me was a gentle, “No, you can’t, but I CAN. Come to me and I will pour out wisdom straight from my heart.”
Okay, Lord, we will do this together. You lead. I will follow.
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Erika has been married to Casey for 11 crazy beautiful years. Erika is mom to two 10 year olds and two 6 year olds who aren’t twins! Therese (10), newly adopted from Burkina Faso, is awaiting heart surgery. Evelea (10) willingly gave up her position as oldest child so we could add Therese to our family. Sitota (6) was adopted from Ethiopia and brings a lot of fun to the family. Carter (6) has had six heart surgeries and gave us the courage to adopt a child with a heart defect. They are astounded that as our family doubled in size, our love quadrupled. You can learn more about their family on their blog.
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Don’t forget to go back and read this post to enter our giveaway from The Invision Project
What if…
What if by some cruel twist of fate I woke up one morning to find that the tables were turned, and my beautiful and perfect Lily were lying in an orphanage, somewhere in Eastern Europe?
What if she had lived out the past 16 months of her life with no mommy and daddy to love her, no brothers and sisters to dote on her every day?
What if instead, she spent most of her waking hours in a crib, staring at the slats of the bars and playing with only her fingers or feet for comfort? What if she cried herself to sleep at night, because there was nobody who cared or had the time to attend to her when she woke up scared or lonely or sad?
What if she didn’t eat when she was hungry, go to sleep with a full belly, or have her basic needs met with loving care?
What if my Lily stayed in that orphanage for many years, never leaving it to see the world around her? What if the only connection she had to the outside world was an occasional trip to the playground on the orphanage grounds…but for the most part she was locked away, an outcast of society?
What if she never received the help she needed through therapy, never had the opportunity to develop skills, to grow, to learn.
What if she never got the medical attention she needed when she was first born, had attention given to that tiny hole in her heart that doctors watched so carefully. What if she survived simply because she existed, devoid of any quality of life?
What if she were never celebrated for the treasure that she is, never nurtured or praised or adored? What if there were no parties or gifts or songs to commemorate that beautiful day she made her entrance into the world, nothing that distinguished that day from any other day of her secluded and monotonous life?
What if, after being shut away in that orphanage for five years, she woke one morning to find herself being whisked away from the only home she’d ever known- however stark or isolated- to the horror that is the Institution? What if, because of the inability of any 5 year old, let alone one with cognitive delays, she could not comprehend what had happened to her? What if there were no one to explain to her why her head was being shaved, her tiny arms tied to a crib, or where her friends had gone, and why no one was coming back for her to save her from the nightmare that was now her life?
What if that were my Lily’s fate?
What would I do?
In the words of a dear friend…
I would beg, borrow, and obsess myself to make sure she knew love and felt valued and wanted. If Lily were alone on the other side of the ocean, I would find her and rescue her no matter what the cost or how much dignity needed to be compromised.
Albina is my Lily.
She’s no more deserving of the fate that awaits her than my child.
Or yours.
She is a beautiful and precious treasure, waiting for someone to recognize her value.
Albina is an orphan in Eastern Europe. Because she was born with Down syndrome, she is considered a burden to her society, an outcast to be hidden away.
An anonymous family has committed to matching dollar-for-dollar donations for her up to $5,000. So far, through the generosity of so many like-minded people, she now has $5,332.50 in her grant fund on Reece’s Rainbow; with the matching funds, her grant fund for her adoption is over $10,000.
I have a feeling her sweet little face is enough. But, due to the nature of international adoptions, it’s going to take a pile of money for someone to rescue her. And,
Giveaway From The Invision Project: So This is What Happens When Dreams Come True
About 9 months ago, I returned home from a trip to Mexico that confirmed my desire to get cameras into the hands of orphans. Some of the girls at the Door of Faith Orphanage in La Mision had borrowed my SLR, and I could not get over the images they captured.
So not long after, I started brainstorming an idea I believe the Lord planted in my heart
Adoption Will Affect Your Biological Children
I have heard it said by others that they would never adopt for fear of how it will affect their biological children.
Since adopting,
our children now:
Love deeper.
Think of others more.
Pray for orphans across the world.
Pray for families adopting by name.
Pray for our sponsored children by name.
Will not let anyone refer to Elijah as their adopted brother,
he is their brother (period).
Save their money to help adoptive families and orphan care ministries.
Share the beauty of adoption.
Share that we were all orphans, adopted through Christ.
I would say they have been affected alright.
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Amy is the mother of four blessings. She and her husband, Paul, have three biological children and one beautiful blessing from Ethiopia, adopted July 2010. They would love for you to follow their adventures at Filled With Praise.
Living Out James 1:27 From My Dining Room
I was simply searching for an African doll. That’s all. I emailed a missionary who our church supports, knowing she works with village women who do crafts. Maybe one of them could make a doll. The missionary told me she no longer worked with those women but gave me an email to get in touch with one, Mary Magdalene.
All I did was send her a simple email asking if she or one of the women she works with could make a doll.
But, her response left me stunned. She told me that only 4 days earlier–she gave me even the exact time of day–she had cried out to the Lord asking him to bring someone to buy her crafts.
She had been widowed twice, both husbands had been killed in war, leaving her with 9 children to raise on her own. But, what we would see as a desperate situation did not stop her from bringing 7 orphaned children into her home. One of the children she now cares for was abandoned at the age of 6 because it was discovered that she is HIV+, which she contracted from her parents, the ones who abandoned her. Mary is a strong and faithful woman who trained women in her village to make beads and helped them learn how to sell them in the marketplace. They pool the money made and split it between them so that all are provided for.
But, here she was, crying out for provision, desperate to see God at work. 4 days later, she received my email. I encouraged her to send me what she had–I will find people to buy it, I told her. Just send it, I said. And, she did. She sent jewelry and more jewelry and handmade animals and more jewelry…and two little dolls. The dolls that started it all.
So, here I am with a dining room full of what some may see as paper beads and small animals but what I see as precious jewels and treasures, created by women sitting together in community, caring for the least of these, in faith that He will provide.
Join me in being part of God’s promise to them.
Email me or contact me via Facebook where pictures will be posted for purchase. Or, visit the dedicated page I just created here on We Are Grafted In with pictures and prices for some of the pieces as well.
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Forever changed by our experience of being adopted and adopting, Kelly is a stay-at-home mom/manager to 4 children–the youngest of whom is from Baoji, Shaanxi, China–who is a professional juggler, juggling her calling as wife and mother with a small online store (Jiayin Designs), editing, administrating this site, and, now, joining the efforts with
Measuring
Measuring.
We do it all the time.
I could go on a tear about how we as Americans do it, with everything, but that might be a whole ‘nother post…and the point is that we do it consciously or unconsciously…ALL THE TIME.
But, let’s stay focused: as parents we measure…what? Everything, right? Right!
And no matter how you became a parent, you still measure everything…right?
Hmmm. Think maybe not? Consider.
If you are having a baby (meaning you are pregnant and are gonna literally give birth to a child), from the very moment you find out you are pregnant, there you are: measuring.
You count the days since your last period; you measure how many weeks along you are;
Orphans on the Brain
I can