I knew it was coming, and here it is. I don’t know if it’s a new phase of self-awareness, or a new confidence that Matthew has to start letting out some of these feelings he has inside, but he’s got some things to get off his chest.
So even though I knew it would come out someday, I was still devastated when he told me the other day–I don’t want brown eyes. I don’t like my eyes. I want green eyes like YOU.
{God give me wisdom}
Oh dear, I really like your brown eyes, I say.
DARK brown, he corrects me. And I NOT, he adds, shaking his head back and forth.
Well, do you know why your eyes look the way they do? Why they are that shape and why they are that color?
NO.
Because everyone born in Korea has eyes shaped like that. Korean people have brown eyes! I wasn’t born in Korea. I don’t get to have eyes like you. I have to have green eyes.
For a second, he is impressed with this information. Being born in Korea is a great source of pride to him right now. But it isn’t quite enough to tip him over. He remains gruff and grumpy with his lot in life. Isaac bounds in the room.
I love my eyes! The shape and the color! I love your eyes too, Matthew! I love your brown eyes!!!
WELL I DON’T.
If there is one thing about Matthew, it is that he has an innate ability to stand firm in his beliefs.
So we sit in the floor of the hallway and begin to discuss how we all look a little bit different. All of our hair is a little bit different. Isaac says that my hair is black (??) and I correct him that it is brown. He counters with DARK BROWN, and I don’t feel this is worth arguing about, so I say yes, I have dark brown hair. Matthew perks up immediately. He is gleeful.
Like me, mama!! You hair is dark brown and my eyes is dark brown! We the same!!!!
Yes! You’re right!!!
Then we all went and stood in front of the bathroom mirror together and stuck out our tongues. YES! Our tongues are all pink. That’s one way we are the same! We all pulled up our shirts to reveal belly buttons. Look, we all have belly buttons! The same again! We examined our arms next to each other and realized none of our skin is exactly alike. Isaac’s is pinker. Mine is very freckly. Matthew’s is bronze and clear. We examined hands and earlobes and looked for the presence of widows peaks until everybody was satisfied that we have some things in common but also many differences. Matthew’s spirits were good.
When Jason came home and sat down with us for dinner, Matthew asked with a huge grin, “Hey Dad, do you know what’s the SAME??”. He answered excitedly–my eyes and mommy’s hair. Dark brown! The same!!!
It may have been my imagination, but I believe he was sitting up straighter than ever in his chair that night.
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Elizabeth Wood
Elizabeth is a happily married mama to 2 preschool-aged boys. She and her husband have a 4-year old bio son, Isaac, and her younger son (3.5 year old, Matthew) joined their family as a toddler through international adoption from South Korea’s waiting child program. Being only 6 months apart in age, the boys are virtual twins but couldn’t be more different. They have been a family of four for just over a year. Feel free to visit their family blog, Everyday the Wonderful Happens, where Elizabeth blogs about the boys, their antics, her son”s special needs, her beliefs, adoption, and pretty much anything else that tickles her fancy.
I feel like I am starting to pin point why there are so many hurdles in this race towards attachment. It isn’t that Jaydn won’t let me love her, and it is most certainly not that I don’t love her. The issue that has surfaced over time is that she is adaptable. Too adaptable. She conforms to her environment and has no sense of self. It isn’t her fault, its just another defense mechanism that protected her the first two years of institutional life. But the poor girl is a chameleon. That is why she would be perfectly content to walk off with a stranger and never see us again b/c she would just change what was “required” and survive there too.
This characteristic poses a daunting task to me as a mother. It is my job to help my kids figure out who they are, what they like and what they want to become. Its clear Jaxon is a people pleasing, tender hearted, brilliant and self confident little boy. Its clear Jovie is a strong willed, independent, charmer with a love for all things beautiful. Its clear Jaydn is…. she is….um…whatever people want her to be. My heart breaks that even she doesn’t know what she wants or who she is and be confident enough to go and be it! How do I teach her this habit of “doing” is less important than “being”? I want to know and see who SHE is and comfort and nurture her from that place. But when a child grows up more like a parrot copying behavior, actions or words for the sake of attention (good or bad), it is difficult to know how to parent them in the most effective way. What “works” one day won’t the next b/c she has simply adjusted herself to the situation rather than chosen what is right and wrong.
Im not sure I am articulating all of this very well so let me just leave you a word picture for how it feels: Its as if I am playing a game of “pin your heart on Jaydn” and after being spun around 20 times and after the blindfold has been removed I look around only to be told that I am supposed to pin my heart on a vapor, an ever changing, ever moving mirage. Its an impossible task, or at least that is how it feels right now. But I am trying and hoping and praying. The only thing that brings me comfort in this crazy “pin my heart” game is the knowledge that God knows Jaydn. He knows her heart, desires, dreams and personality better than I ever will. Maybe I will get glimpses over time and I pray I do, because I can’t wait for the real Jaydn to be revealed to the rest of us too.
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Bethany Gaddis
I have been married since 2003 years to a worship pastor, a rock star, and the most involved and intentional dad I have ever seen! Together, we have the privilege of parenting three amazing children (Jaxon-born in March 2005, Jovie, born in March 2008, and Jaydn born in August 2008). Jaydn came home to us through international adoption from Uganda, Africa. I enjoy writing as a way to learn life lessons out loud because, most of the time, the right (wise) answers are in me somewhere; I just have to dig to find them.
There isn’t a person alive who does not yearn for identity and purpose. As we raise our adopted children we see that this question of identity is often more complicated for them–complicated by a missing or shattered past, by the realities of relinquishment, rejection and abandonment, by the issue of race and culture, by tough questions of “why me” or “what if….?”
It seems to me that the people who are the most whole are the ones who are settled with who they are and enjoying a strong sense of purpose in their lives. Identity and purpose are the basic ingredients of wholeness for all of us, and most likely your adopted child will require extra effort on your part to instill and call forth his identity as a son with a destiny, her place as a daughter with a calling. It has been fascinating to me to hear that even children adopted as infants often find, once they become teenagers, that this issue of identity gets confused and complicated by the realities of adoption.
One of the most effective opposing forces to your adopted child’s sense of identity is an orphan spirit. For some children their adoption into a loving Christian family has not freed them from this sense of being an orphan– one who lacks parents, lacks love, lacks protection and provision, lacks security….. Even when the lack is replaced in adoption by a loving mother and father, a wonderful home and church with lots of friends, abundant provision in every way, this sense of being one who lacks can remain and threaten to become a child’s primary motivating identity, even years after his or her adoption as a daughter or son.
Much of our work as adoptive parents is to administer this truth, day after day and year after year, that this child is no longer an orphan, but a true Son or Daughter. One who is defined not by lack, but rather by possession and inheritance! One who is worthy, acceptable, significant, powerful, full of purpose and destiny and calling, defended, safe, beloved….
What can we parents do to help our child receive and embrace their Identity as a Son or Daughter, rejecting the lies borne out of the facts of their past? Lies that tell them “you are not significant, you don’t have what it takes, you are unloved and unwanted, you are too different to fit in, you have to fend for yourself….” Lies that keep them from connecting, and limit their ability to walk in their true destiny.
There are no simple answers to this question, but I believe there are some practical things we can do to massage into our treasured children the TRUTH of their identity.
Family Name
Be intentional about using your family name. There is something powerful about a family name. It speaks of belonging, heritage, relationship, history. When we are born again into the family of God, we take on His name and the full inheritance that goes along with it,
For Whom every family in heaven and on earth is named
Ephesians 3:15
Being named is more important to our perception of ourelves than we may realize. There is something significant for our children in hearing over and over that they are Templetons. If your child is being unkind, rather than say, “Don’t be unkind. That’s not nice,” you might say, “In the Templeton [inserting your name of course!] Family we treat each other with kindness.” Look for ways to intentionally insert your family name into daily life. “We Templetons go to church and worship God.” It may seem awkward but we have found it to communicate the truth of sonship to our children, especially in those early years.
Family Meetings
Having regular family meetings is a wonderful way to impart the wholeness of “sonship” into your adopted child. Just the gathering itself communicates that they are part of a whole or a unit, something established, something that has a history. These times can take on whatever flavor or purpose,
Someone asked me the other day how I knew I loved/could love Ruby. It was a simple question and I understood them asking- but the answer is so plain and simple to me. I already adore Ruby and love her to the ends of the earth, because I love Jesus. I love the God that created her and knit her together – so I already love her.
I don’t think it will always be easy. I don’t think it will always make sense. But I know, as much as I know that the sun is going to rise tomorrow, that she is mine, and I am hers.
We aren’t really called to save the world, not even to save one person; Jesus has already done that. We are called to love with abandon.
I already love her with wild abandon.
And I absolutely can’t wait to meet her.
“We love because He first loved us.” – 1 John 4:19
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Sara McClintock
Sara was blessed by marrying her best friend 15 years ago. Then, found The Greatest Love of All in Jesus Christ in 2004. Having already had the privilege to parent two football-loving sons, Sara and Bill had international adoption laid on their hearts. They were blessed beyond belief when they welcomed the cutest, spunkiest Chinese girl from Luoyang into their family in December 2008. Having left pieces of their hearts in China, Bill & Sara are praying for God’s will to retrieve them. Please stop by their family blog
When we look back 3 months, we can really see how far our little girl has come.
But, there are times that the sadness and the heartache of China overwhelms her, and she is overcome with homesickness and grief.
Nothing that I can point to initiates these “sad days.” But, there is an obvious change in her face and it is so often, instantaneous.
She reaches for daddy or I to hold her while she cries in our arms. The moments are fewer and farther between, and they last for less than an hour, but they do come.
And, they come when I least expect it.
I don’t ever expect for her to stop being sad or stop missing China. Maybe I am a bit pessimitic or a bit realistic, whatever you want to call it. I don’t believe I can ever replace the hole that was left when she was abandoned or the grief that she wasn’t adopted by her foster family and sent back to the orphanage. I do believe the Lord will meet her where she is and begin to heal her heart and the feelings of rejection and abandonment she carries around, but I do think there will always be a longing or even a sadness for what was home, for what was familiar. Talking to many adult adoptees, there always seems to be a longing for what was or should have been.
I can’t imagine why anyone would believe that an adopted child should be thankful for their new home and not be sad. They have been taken away from everything familiar, even if it wasn’t always good.
Familiar is good.
Just look at the women who go back to their husbands who abuse them or the children who cry out for mom and dad even though they are abused.
Familiar is home. Familiar is what we crave. We don’t want new all of the time; we want the same. The same smells, the same language, the same food, the same people.
If there are any adoptive parents in the process out there reading this, here is a reality check.
New isn’t always better. It’s another change for our kiddos. Another “something” or “someone” to get use to and the thankfulness will not be there for quite sometime until its familiar.
And that takes lots of time.
Be patient.
Give more of yourself than you ever thought possible.
Let them see and feel your love.
Someday they will understand what adoption is about and what life would have been like for them where they came from.
Someday they will reach for you when they are scared or sad.
Someday you will be the first one they run to to show off their latest critter they’ve caught or their newest accomplishment.
Someday you will be mama or daddy.
Someday they will say “I love you” all on their own.
Don’t expect them to feel “lucky” that you adopted them. Expect them to be sad or angry or depressed because you took them away from familiar things.
And wait for the smiles to come. Because they will come. When you least expect it.
See. Look at our little monkey smiling all goofy for us.
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Branda McEwen
I am a mother to four children–the newest of which is our 8 year old Man Yu, 6 chickens, 3 gerbils, 2 cats, 1 dog and a multitude of birds. I am married to my sweet & amazing hunk of a hubby, Michael, for the past 12 years. In addition to being a stay-at-home mom, I am honored to be a part of An Orphan’s Wish as their Human Resources Director and serve the children still waiting for families. We welcome your visit into our world at Days Made of Now.
Adoption is difficult…have I said that before? It is. It is difficult.
Beautiful.
Painful.
Confusing.
Fulfilling.
Dirty.
Messy.
Gut-wrenching.
Joy-inducing.
As Katie Davis says, “it is the gospel in my living room.”
Bonding is one of those things that I never thought about until I was expecting Elijah. During the 9 months I carried him I was plagued by the doubt of a brand new mother…would I be a good mother? Would I mess him up? I read books and I came across this concept of ‘bonding’…they said that some people bonded right away with their babies and for some people it took longer. What did THAT mean? Did they mean that I could be taking care of a baby that didn’t feel like my own? Was I going to be despondent and depressed after giving birth because I didn’t love my baby?? And it seemed like it could be up to fate…a simple dealing of the cards…some people bond, some don’t. WHAT?!?!? I freaked out. Then I remembered, I don’t believe in fate! God gave me this baby and love comes from GOD…not from nature, not from genetics, not from the air…love comes from God and He will develop it and grow it.
Thankfully, for a brand new mama who was already struggling with confidence, I did not struggle to bond with my baby when he came. I didn’t even have to try. It was completely natural and I never thought about bonding again…until my next blessing was put in my arms 2.5 years later and my first thought was, “Who is THAT?”
I had to try a little harder with Iliana. I loved her, without a doubt…but she wasn’t as familiar. I held her and babied her and loved on her, just as I had with Elijah and slowly, over the next few weeks, I was hooked. My ah-ha moment…so THAT’S what they meant about bonding…
With both of my bonding examples God filled me with love…I didn’t get to watch Him do it with Elijah–it was immediate–so fast that I didn’t even realize I had been blessed…but with Iliana, I got to watch Him grow my love for my baby girl. He filled me up with love for her so clearly & measurably that I was able to praise Him for it daily.
Bonding is really just a scientific label for loving. While most of the time we use the word love when we are describing how we feel…it really is an action. Bonding is the action of loving. When I was bonding with Iliana, I would sing to her, hold her, rock her, dress her, feed her, soothe her, bathe her, talk to her… all loving actions that grew love for her in my heart. It is the same with adoption.
One of my very favorite books in the Bible is 1 John. Long before I was a parent, I loved this scripture. It has helped me– a rather closed, careful person by nature– to open up and to love others. God has used 1 John 4 especially in my life to teach me. When Jared and I were first starting to date, God used 1 John 4:18 to help me to open up to Jared when I was scared to be vulnerable. 1 John 4:7-12 specifically spoke to all those questions I had in my heart (and from others) while we were going through the adoption process…How can I love a child that is not my own flesh and blood? Can I love them as much?
Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God…no one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and His love is made complete in us…and so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God and God in Him.
I love love love this. It fills me with peace and gives me confidence. God IS love. The love I have for Elijah is not made less because I love Judah…it multiplies…and not because I am some endless fount of love, but because God in me gives me more of Himself.
If I practice love on Canaan and Eden, I love them. My heart grows more connected with them. But I have to actively love them. No, it isn’t natural…but it is against my selfish, sinful nature to love ANYone more than myself. The God in me trumps my sin-nature. Oh, how I thank Him for this. Instead of limited, selfish love; I have God-sized, supernatural love to give to my children–ALL of my children.
The practice and process of bonding with my ‘homegrown’ children all took place when they were babies. It’s the same with Canaan and Eden. They are in their ‘infant’ stage in our family and I bond with them the same way I bonded with Iliana.
I dress them.
Even though they can dress themselves, I frequently help them–not because they need my help but because they need to learn to rely on me.
I talk to them.
And with this, I have to make the conscious effort to make eye contact with them. I don’t know why, but my natural tendency while keeping myself guarded is to not make eye contact with people. I have to force myself to look at my kiddos in their eyes when I talk to them and to listen to them with my eyes.
I bathe them.
Yep, I’m their mom. I’m responsible for their messes, bodies included.
I hold them and soothe them.
Canaan’s tendency when he came home was to soothe himself. I pretty much had to force myself on him at first when he would hurt himself. He didn’t want my sympathy–it didn’t help him. Slowly, he grew to accept it and now, he needs me more.
I laugh with them.
Very important. We have fun together. Tickles. Wrestle. Chase. Draw. Dance. Sing.
Fun together.
I share my drink with them.
Weird huh? I have never been a parent who shares my food with my kids. They drink out of their own glasses because I think floaties in my drink are gross …but with Canaan and Eden, for some reason, the sharing of spit warms my heart to them. Kinda like a mark that they are mine. Call me crazy…but it really, really helps.
Bonding. The practice of loving–actively, consciously. And God supports it, enables it, IS it.
Gotta love the real.
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Rebekah Motley
My name is Rebekah. I’ve been married to my husband Jared for 10 years. We were missionaries in Italy for a few years until God changed our plans and brought us back to the States. So now, I am a cattleman’s wife, working the ranch alongside my husband whenever I can. I am also the mother of 6 kiddos–4 home grown and 2 blessings through adoption. We brought our children home from Ethiopia in December of 2010. I am also a professional photographer who uses photography and blogging to keep a record of our life during these crazy and precious childhood years.
I’m going to tell you something; a little confession, if you will. Some of you will pull your hair out and smear your faces with ashes and put all my books on eBay and quit believing in God, but I’m willing to take that risk:
I’m really, really glad all my kids are back in school.
There. I said it. The three children that I birthed and nursed and raised from scratch, and the two children we begged and cried and screeched for and fetched from Africa…all five of these kids are in school. And I am happy, so happy, happy, happy, happy, hip-hip-hooray Mary Poppins happy.
For my friends and readers who homeschool, I tip my hat and say to you, “Well done, good and faithful servants.” And believe me, I have a couple of besties who paddle in that stream, and paddle it well. For some kids in some cities in some families in some districts, this is the very right thing. The end. Why people feel the need to make a fuss about how other parents decide to educate their children is beyond me. Let’s live and let live, yall. For the love of Pete.
But I cannot educate my own children, people, unless I am OK with us all becoming homicidal.
Plus, we’re in a nice little Bermuda triangle where our kids feed into fabulous schools with vested teachers that make me want to weep with gratitude. The language resources for my Amharic speakers is over the top, and I have a free pass to attend school each and every day, which I have exercised with zero restraint.
But this is not a post about homeschooling or public schooling. The reason I am happy my kids are in school is not because I lack the organization to educate five kids (which I do), it’s not because I’ve chosen a career with a moderate workload (which I have), and it’s not because I’m a little sloppy on details and my kids would likely graduate with a sixth-grade education (which they would).
It’s because parenting right now is EXHAUSTING and the mental break is keeping me afloat.
On July 22nd, we came down the escalator at the Austin airport with Remy. On August 21st, we came down the same escalator with Ben. These were two of the happiest days of my life.
I am crying with joy. Remy is ready to sprint like FloJo from the screaming white people.
Insert audio of yelling and cheering. GAH, why was she so clingy?
One month later: Here comes my man and my boy. This pic makes me verclempt.
The 7 Hatmakers on the same continent. You’ve been warned, America.
After an arduous adoption journey, our kids were safe in our arms, tucked into their bunk beds their dad built with his own two hands, surrounded by the dearest, most sincere community we have ever known. God delivered them from poverty and abandonment back into a family, no longer alone in this big world; now wanted and loved and welcomed with great fervor.
The end.
Not.
Remy gave us about 12 hours of honeymooning until her terror burst onto the scene. Sometimes her fear is so palpable, it literally takes my breath away. New places: terror. New faces: total insecurity. Transitions: help us, Jesus. She has asked us every single day since July 22nd if she is going back to Ethiopia. Every. Single. Day. When I discovered cashews to be a winning legume for her impossible palate, I told her:
“Yay! Good job! Cashews are good for you and will help you grow big and strong!”
“Big? Ah-Rrrremy? Big? Cashews?”
“Yes!”
She pushes them away and starts crying.
Once again, I am bewildered and befuddled.
“No! No Ah-Rrremy grow big! Me big, then go back to Ethiopia! No! Dis is no!”
When a child fears that cashews will once again leave her abandoned on this earth because she will grow out of the age we might still want to parent her, you are dealing with heartbreaking fragility.
Her fear comes out as 1.) defiance, 2.) terror, and 3.) catatonic disassociation, in that order. We’ve been spit on, kicked, disobeyed, refused, clung to, begged for, adored, ignored, and rejected. Triggers are unpredictable. Yesterday, we entered an hour-long Armageddon because she wouldn’t put her bike up. This turned into defiance and disrespect, deal breakers as we establish safe boundaries. When at long last her angry, dark face relented, and she finally uttered in the smallest voice: “I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m sorry, Daddy,” the dam broke and she cried for thirty minutes, telling us over and over that we don’t love her and she is going back to Africa.
Meanwhile, Ben sidled up quietly next to me as Brandon held Remy’s flailing legs, and asked in a whisper: “Mom? Forever?”
Is this family forever, even with this hysterical girl? Are you forever, even though she is draining the lifeblood out of you and Dad? Am I forever, once my junk starts coming out that I’m holding in? Are you forever for her? For me? Should I be worried that you’ll only put up with this level of chaos for so long?
God love them.
We are parenting damaged, traumatized children; don’t let the pictures fool you. We’re in the weeds. Every minute is on; there is no off. We’ve arrived late, cancelled altogether, hunkered down in therapy mode, missed appointments, failed to answer hundreds of emails in a timely manner, left voicemails unlistened to, texts unread, we’ve restructured, regrouped, replanned, reorganized, we’ve punted and called audibles, we’ve left the bigs on their own, hoping they are functioning well on auto-pilot after a lifetime of healthy stability, and sometimes, we put “Tangled” on for the eleventh time and cry in the bathroom.
We are exhausted beyond measure.
I know what you’re thinking: You asked for this. Yes we did. And we’d ask for it again, with full disclosure and foreknowledge. We would. We would say yes to adoption, to Ben, to Remy. We would do it all over again. We might do it all over again in the future.
That does not mean we are not exhausted.
I know what else you might be thinking: Are you trying to scare people away from adoption? Because this is pretty good propaganda for turning a blind eye to this mess. No I’m not. While adoption is clearly not the answer for the 170 million orphans on earth, it is one answer, and I’ll go to the grave begging more people to open their homes and minds and hearts to abandoned children who are praying for a Mom and Dad and a God who might still see them.
But Brandon and I decided some time ago to go at this honestly, with truthful words and actual experiences that might encourage the weary heart or battle some of the fluffy, damaging semi-truths about adopting. Because let me tell you something: If you are intrigued by the idea of adoption, with the crescendoing storyine and happy airport pictures and the sigh-inducing family portrait with the different skin colors and the feely-feel good parts of the narrative, please find another way to see God’s kingdom come.
You cannot just be into adoption to adopt; you have to be into parenting.
And it is hard, hard, intentional, laborious work. Children who have been abused, abandoned, neglected, given away, given up, and left alone are shaken so deeply, so intrinsically, they absolutely require parents who are willing to wholly invest in their healing; through the screaming, the fits, the anger, the shame, the entitlement, the bed-wetting, the spitting, the rejection, the bone-chilling fear. Parents who are willing to become the safe place, the Forever these children hope for but are too terrified to believe in just yet.
But “yet” is a powerful word in the context of faith, if we are indeed to believe in the unseen and hope for what has not materialized.
I followed a God into this story who heals and redeems, who restores wasted years and mends broken places. This God specializes in the Destroyed. I’ve seen it. I’ve been a part of it. I have His ancient Word that tells of it. I love a Jesus who made reconciliation his whole mission. My children will not remain broken. They are loved by too good a Savior. I will not remain exhausted and spent. I am loved by too merciful a Father.
So today, I’m writing for you who are somewhere “after the airport.” The big moment is over, and you are living in the aftermath when the collective grief or euphoria has passed. You lost a parent, a sibling, a friend, a child. The experience mobilized every single human being who loves you, and they rallied, gathered, carried you. And now, it’s three months later on a random Tuesday, and the sting has worn off for everyone else, and you are left in your sorrow.
I’m writing for those of you who had the oh-so-wanted baby after the cheers and showers and Facebook fervor, and now you’re struggling with a depression so dark and deep, you are afraid to say it out loud. To you who moved across the country in obedience – you left your family, church, community, your jobs – and now the headline has passed and you are lonely and unanchored. For my friends who’ve brought their adopted children home and the media frenzy has died down, and you are holding a screaming toddler, a fragile kindergartener, an angry teen, trying to catch your breath and make it through the day without bawling while everyone else has gone back to their regularly scheduled programs…I’m with you today.
More importantly, God is with you today. He remains in the chaos long after it has lost its shine. When the delivered meals have stopped and the attention has waned, Jesus remains. He sticks with us long after it is convenient or interesting. If you feel alone today in your new normal, would you please receive this bit of beauty: this simple Scripture recited billions of times throughout the ages, perhaps without the poetry of David or precision of Paul, but with enough truth to sustain the weariest traveler:
“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you” (Deut. 31:6).
He will never leave.
Never forsake.
Never.
For my readers who love someone living “after the airport,” the big moment – be it a blessed high or a devastating low – is never the completion. The grief and struggle, the work and effort, the healing and restoring comes later. Will you call your friend who lost her mom to cancer five months ago? Will you check in on your friends who adopted this spring? Email your neighbor who took a big risk and moved or changed jobs or quit to stay home. For the love of Moses, do you have a friend who stepped out and started a church last year? Bring him a lasagna and do not be alarmed if he sobs into his french bread.
Trust me when I tell you that although we are all having hilarious moments like this:
And precious moments like this:
…we are still in the thick of hard, exhausting work, so if you ask me if these are the happiest days of my life (which a ton of you have), and my eyes kind of glaze over and I say through a tight-lipped smile like a robot, “Yes. Sure. Of course. This is my dream life”…I am lying. I am lying so you won’t feel uncomfortable when I tell you, “Actually, I haven’t had a shower in three days, I lost my temper with my uncontrollable daughter this morning and had to walk outside, I’m constantly cleaning up pee because uncircumcised tee-tee goes sideways onto walls, and sometimes when my two littles are asleep and we’re downstairs with the original three kids who are so stable and healthy and easy, it creates a nostalgia so intense, I think I might perish. But enough about me. How are you?”
But that would be weird. So I say, “Yes. I am so happy.”
If you are living “after the airport,” how I wish I could transplant my community into your life; friends who have loved us so completely and exhaustively, I could weep just thinking about it. Maybe one of the most brilliant ways God “never leaves us” and “never forsakes us” is through the love of each other. Maybe He knew that receiving love from people with skin on is the most excellent way, so He gave us an entire set of Scriptures founded upon community and sacrificial love for one another. I guess He realized that if we obeyed, if we became more like His Son, then no one would ever want for mercy when their chips were down. No one. Good plan.
Oh let us be a community who loves each other well. Because someone is always struggling through the “after the airport” phase, when the chords of human kindness become a lifeline of salvation. Let us watch for the struggling members of our tribe, faking it through sarcasm or self-deprecation or a cheerfully false report. May we refuse to let someone get swallowed up in isolation, drowning in grief or difficulties that seem too heavy to let anyone else carry. Let’s live this big, beautiful Life together, rescuing each other from the brink and exposing the unending compassion of our Jesus who called us to this high level of community; past the romantic beginnings, through the messy and mundane middles, and all the way to the depths.
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Jennifer Hatmaker
Jen Hatmaker has partnered with her husband Brandon in full-time ministry for 15 years, and they pastor Austin New Church in Texas. After a nauseating stint as an entitled, bored Christian, Jen and her family joined the battle for those on the margins. They pioneered Restore Austin, connecting churches to local and global non-profits for the individual, collective, and social renewal of Austin. Jen is a popular speaker at retreats, conferences, and seminars all around the country. She is the author of nine books and Bible studies, including Interrupted: An Adventure in Relearning the Essentials of Faith
Parenting turns ordinary folk into warriors. My mom will attest that I was a very strong-willed, stubborn child. That stubbornness serves me exceedingly well now as a mother. It feels as though all I do some days is pit my will against the wills of my children
I feel like I am starting to pin point why there are so many hurdles in this race towards attachment. It isn’t that Jaydn won’t let me love her, and it is most certainly not that I don’t love her. The issue that has surfaced over time is that she is adaptable. Too adaptable. She conforms to her environment and has no sense of self. It isn’t her fault, its just another defense mechanism that protected her the first two years of institutional life. But the poor girl is a chameleon. That is why she would be perfectly content to walk off with a stranger and never see us again b/c she would just change what was “required” and survive there too.
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