God has taught me so much about His Father’s heart and my spiritual adoption as His son through the miracles of my children’s physical adoption, but this Christmas season I realized afresh that His entire redemptive plan hinged on it.
The Gospels start with “This is the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah the son of David, the son of Abraham:” Matthew starts his writings about Jesus with a listing of his heritage. He does this because at least seven distinct prophecies about the Messiah speak of his royal bloodline. If Jesus was not of the tribe of Judah and more specifically in the line of King David, the rest of Matthew’s story would be about a great man and teacher but not the Messiah. So Matthew sets the table for the whole story of redemption in a genealogy. There is only one problem…Jesus wasn’t genetically related to Joseph!
Both Luke and Matthew trace Jesus’ lineage through Joseph, yet both authors tell of the virgin birth of Jesus through Mary. How then could Jesus be the Messiah? Only through adoption! According to the Jewish Talmud, “whoever brings up an orphan in his home, scripture ascribes it to him as though he had begotten him” (Talmud Mas. Sanhedrin 19b)”
By bringing up Jesus in his home as his son, that is exactly what Jesus became, his adopted son! “Isn’t this the carpenter’s son?” (Matt 13:55)
Joseph didn’t plan on being so entwined in the salvation of the world. In fact Scripture shares of his reservations before his obedience (a very early example of ‘ReluctantHusband Syndrome’?). But aren’t you glad that he became Jesus’ earth father so that God could become our heavenly father?
C.S. Lewis said, “The Son of God became a man to enable men to become sons of God.”
If I can presume to edit C.S. Lewis, I would write, “The Son of God became the son of Joseph to enable men to become sons of God.”
What a beautiful picture… the miracle of adoption at both ends of God’s redemptive story!
_______________________________
Nathan Waggoner
His driver’s license says he is 6 feet tall, has brown hair and eyes, and is an organ donor… but to know Nathan is to know him as Ellie and Reni’s dad, Cydil’s husband, and passionate lover of missions and adoption (which he sees as one and the same). Nathan and his family will spend next Christmas (and many thereafter) in Albania, the land which gave them their kids and stole their hearts. Read their blog to follow their preparations for the mission field, thoughts on adoption, and living life as a follower of Jesus wherever this journey takes them.
Advent: 1) The arrival of a notable person, thing, or event. 2) Coming.
A time of preparation. Of waiting. Of anticipation.
For unto you a child is born. Unto you a son is given.
It is a precarious thing, this waiting. Two Christmases ago we waited. Waited on a Word from God that said yes, go, I am calling you to this, your family to this – home study, paperwork, adoption agency, financial leap, personal leap, Africa, a son. A time of preparation. We didn’t know who or when or how. Only the promise – For you have done marvelous things, things planned long ago (Isaiah 25:1).
Last Christmas we waited. Waited in the agony of labor and anticipation of coming. We knew his name. Bits of his story. Bits of his struggle. When would we go? When would he come? No news. Worrisome news. Hope and then disappointment. Not us. Not yet. Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful (Hebrews 10:23).
This Christmas we see the promise realized. A son is given. A family shifted and reknit. New colors, strands, personalities into a tapestry of hope and a future. Into forever. Joys and trials and blessings and struggles and perseverance and love. We see his face, hold his hands, delight in his smile. That which was promised. Not one word has failed of all the good things that the Lord your God has promised concerning you. All have come to pass for you; not one of them has failed (Joshua 23:14b).
And we light our candle and prepare for the Child and retell the stories of promises kept and hope renewed and futures reclaimed and families reknit. And we wait.
_______________________________
Kristi Thompson
Kristi and her husband of 19 years stay busy loving, laughing and chauffeuring their teenage daughter (biological) and kindergarten son (home six months from Lesotho) around their Kentucky home. Kristi works part-time as an elementary school counselor (and as such knows parenting advice is easier said than done and that all of parenting is an on-your-knees-with-God proposition) and part-time as a writing instructor with the Institute of Children’s Literature (as an excuse to read really great books before anyone else) and any-other-spare-minute (none) writing children’s books. Since she “thinks through her fingers” she shares their adoption journey as a coping mechanism on her personal blog.
I watched the sun and clouds shadow the mountain as the morning rose up from the night. Praying as I watched for the clouds to stand aside so that I could see it all. But, not to see the mountain this time, covered with oaks, pines, and cedars. This morning I longed to see passed the clouds of uncertainty.
It was his words that triggered it all, his remembering days of loneliness and the days he cried alone in a Ugandan orphanage. And though he is only 5 years old, his words spoke a volume full when he said to his new mother, “I was crying and you weren’t there.” I remember Psalm 68:6: “God sets the lonely in families, he leads out the prisoners with singing.” But, a secret that I never knew before is that He causes a family to be lonely for the ones He plans to set among them.
And I feel the words stirring me. And the question pressing hard on my heart, “Is someone crying and I am not there?” And do they know that I am crying for them, too?
But those pesky clouds; always descending on me, always blocking my view of His will. Causing me to look through the mist and wonder what it is I exactly saw before, back when it was lightening clear? And I imagined that Mary wondered too. She was full of the Spirit’s plans for her, full of this divine DNA stretching at her abdomen, reminding her daily that she was set on a course beyond her own imagination. But surely people looked at her and wondered if she was “one of those kind of girls”; a shame, a disgrace. And Joseph might have thought so, if not for a dream. Did she always believe that she carried the Liberating King in her womb and at what moment was she seen as fully legitimate in all the eyes around her?
And I long to feel legitimate here in my little cabin, sitting at my computer, watching for the bread crumbs to continue to drop and lead me inch by inch on this journey of adoption to it’s glorious conclusion. You may be carrying a dream as well, something uniquely your own, birthed deep inside your heart/womb. No, not as grand as Mary’s, but His plan anyway, and all those hours and mornings before all is fulfilled we wake up and go about living with the “life” growing in us, affecting our choices and behaviors, our thoughts and our plans. And I suppose the temptation to be afraid, or to doubt the plan doesn’t change it, just steals the joy from the journey–just lays a wedge between us and Him.
So here in the black and white I speak softly. With the black and white keys I peck out a confession to the bright white screen. “I feel like a mother full with child, but such a strange gestation it is! Because if I am to hold my offspring in my arms, I must follow a path of uncertainty, filled with questions, with governments, with forms, with deadlines, and with astonishing price tags. This journey, already taken by others, has sometimes ended in failures, heavy financial losses, disappointments, yet also with great success. I feel my abdomen stretching and I pray to see it all through to the end.”
And to my cry to feel “legitimate” as a prospective adoptive parent to dark skinned beauties far away and across an ocean—he seemed to answer me with 10,000 God “yes-es”. He took away a bit of the “shame” of not knowing how a girl like me, and an already full family like ours could even begin to afford an impossibility like this. All of the the “yes-es” were in the form of dollars and each one provided by way of the new job that the “man of this house” secured just a short while back; a company reimbursable grant for adoptions for up to 2 children and up to $10,000. They were 10,000 reasons to keep trying, to keep praying for miracles, to keep hoping for more.
So during this gestation period where fear sometimes grips, and uncertainty sometimes clouds my view, but where hope keeps pulling me up and forward I am asking Him for more “yes-es”.
_______________________________
Rhonda Drain
I’m Rhonda and I live in a house full of “menfolk” on a small hobby farm in the Ozarks. My husband and I have been married for 22 years and have four sons ranging in age from 12 to 21. I tiptoed into the land of blogs in the spring of this year after immersing myself into the stories of some amazing people and writers that were willing to share their lives in very generous, sacrificial, and honest ways on their personal blogs. Most were telling of the miraculous ways in which they entered the realm of adoption and followed it to a life changing conclusion. My family felt the call of adoption tugging at our hearts and I wanted communicate about it as well. I am yet amazed by the people that I have met through this new venue and hope to always follow their example of sharing from a heart of gratitude and ambition to encourage others along the way.
I love Advent wreaths and calendars filled with family time.
I love apple cider. And egg nog. And Christmas music.
And most of all, I love what Christmas represents.
I love the story of the Christ being born.
I love the way life and hope and miracles are represented in his birth.
And I especially love that we can be confident that because of His birth?
Salvation, mercy, and adoption are available to us all.
**********
I love the various ways adoption is interwoven into the very fabric of the story of Christ’s birth.
As if it weren’t simply a “less than optimal” option? But rather, a key to unlocking the heart of God for redemption and family.
You see, not only are we able to be adopted into the Kingdom of God through adoption BECAUSE of Christ’s birth and life here?
having predestined us to adoption as sons by Jesus Christ to Himself, according to the good pleasure of His will, 6 to the praise of the glory of His grace, by which He made us accepted in the Beloved. (Eph. 1:5-6 NKJV)
But Christ himself was adopted and loved wholeheartedly by an earthly father, through Joseph’s commitment to God and Mary. (Matthew 1; Luke 2:22-35)
What an amazing responsibility Joseph faced…stewarding. disciplining. loving. Christ himself…as his son? Protecting him, protecting their family, carefully guarding the mystery of his son until the timing of the Lord…
Immeasurable responsibility.
But really, don’t all fathers (and mothers) feel the weight of that responsibility? The depth of the honor to be able raise God’s favorite one. The seriousness of the accountability to guard and shepherd and love and discipline so that that person would be ready and able to fulfill his own destiny?
And, we may understand–as adoptive parents–how much Joseph could love and care for Jesus. We can say that we “get it”…That to Joseph? Jesus was simply his son. His child, for whom he was responsible for preparing for life (and so much more)…no more and no less loved than his other children…
But today?
While I am celebrating [with immeasurable gratitude] that Jesus was born for the sole purpose of giving US life?
While I am breathing in the beauty of this season?
I am also grateful for Joseph’s faith and commitment to God. I am mindful of the truth that adoption is in the very threads of our Christian beliefs.
And I am thankful that it continues to be the heart of God for us today.
_______________________________
Ashley Smith
Ashley Smith is a passionate and enthusiastic Blogger, Mother, Christian and Adoption Advocate. She often writes to release true stories and emotions about International Adoption, Faith and The Everyday Life over at In My Own Words and prays that her words would bring hope and life to readers. She is the analytical left-brained wife of a creative worship-leading right-brained (and yet still amazing) man and Mom to a 5 year old superhero-loving boy, Marvel, who joined their family in the summer of 2012 from Ethiopia! Ashley
Driving home today, I listened to this song. A stream of words, playing through my speakers, that I”ve heard time and time again.
Keep your eyes on the prize. Hold on.
And I related it to our sweet baby that waits, as we wait, in birth mother”s womb or crib in a baby home.
Waiting.
waiting for a loved one to come home from Japan
waiting to be accepted into nursing school
waiting to find out about a new position
waiting for clarity and comfort waiting for your baby to come home from Africa
waiting for healing
Waiting, in whatever measure of time, can be difficult.
We wait for things to happen. Some of us wait minutes, months, or years.
It”s what we do with that wait that makes a difference in the wait.
Waiting for the things that Earth holds. Sometimes fleeting and may not be packed and carried with us when we go. Won”t take nothing for the journey now.
Waiting for the things to come.
A breathe or a lifetime.
Waiting for the reward of things eternal; everlasting.
I listened to the words of the tune again today. A smile grew across my sun kissed cheeks. My focus turned from our child to our Savior. He reminded me that while we are waiting for our child, that I need to be aware of the bigger picture. I need to appreciate more His hand in the forming of our family.
Trust in Him. Turn it over to Him. He did start this afterall. He will finish it…all in His time.
This wait is precious and there is so much that I want to learn, absorb, and put into practice. But I don”t want to wait, while I wait. I want to make as much of this period of ticking time that I can.
So, driving and thinking about the wait of our child, He reminds me that He is waiting on me. He”s waiting on me to turn all my focus on Him; invite Him to be an even greater part of our wait. He leans in and whispers that the wait for eternity is the most precious wait of all. And that while I wait to meet Him face to face, I spend my time in this temporary home of mine, in a way that will glorify His name.
Getting to know Him on a more intimate level. Growing. Hand in hand. In Him we are FREE. In the Bible. Free of fear, free of the burden of wait, free of worry, and questions. FREE. And again His voice echoes, “Turn it over to me.”
The wait is slow and we”ve so far to go. Keep your eyes on the prize.
Rubbing away the cloudy vision, my eyes are trying to focus on the prize that is eternity with our Heavenly Father; ultimate prize.
distance separating loved ones will disappear as phone calls are swapped for embraces
acceptance into nursing school develops into an on the spot hire for a job that is more than perfect
everythingworks out in God”s timing
soft words spoken during moments of quiet; answers and peace
learning and growing during the wait; seeing beauty unfathomable
finding healing in difficult times
________________________________________
This couple from Alabama has been married just shy of four years. They knew they were ready to start a family. The southern pair felt that at some point in their lives they would welcome a child into their family through adoption. They just didn’t know God would speak and move them to adopt first. They continue seeking God’s face as they embark on their journey to adopt their first child from Uganda, Africa. You can follow them on their blog, Love for the L.O.T.
Silas likes to pretend to be a baby sometimes. His brother always liked it, too. I know this is normal toddler behavior, but I’ve always suspected that for the two of them, it’s more than that.
You couldn’t have convinced me, before all of these brown babies came into my life, that a tiny baby could really know what he missed. But there was the time Calvin was 9 months old and the cartoon cut to kids in Korea, a whole schoolyard of them laughing and playing. He froze. Then he bawled his eyes out. He knew. I swept him up and our hearts broke together, for two different reasons. That’s when my mind changed. That’s when I knew for sure that the heart knows what it wants. That’s when adoption became more than my path to a family.
Then there’s his little brother, the one who changed everything we knew all over again, the one who pushes back at life, all wiry limbs and almond eyes bigger than forever.
He’s four now, and he’s got some things to say. He tells us he loves us all the time. He calls everyone “Mrs. Doohiggy” and laughs like he invented four-year old humor. He talks trash. He gives me permission to do stuff all dang day because he has a monstrous Boss complex. “Oh sure, you can put those dishes away.” “Yes, you may check your email.” “Okay, you can make some lunch!”
A few weeks ago he curled up on my lap like a monkey baby and lapsed into that really safe baby world, his wide eyes wider, the weight of his body a gift in my hands. I’ll play baby with him anytime.
This time, the baby started talking.
S: I was born in my Kria (Korea).
Me: Yes, you were.
S: You get me there wis Daddy. We go up in the airplane.
Me: Yep. Did you like the airplane?
S: No. I cried.
Me: Why did you cry?
S: Because I was sad.
Me: Why were you sad? (super curious at this point)
S: Because I didn’t want that mommy.
Me: You didn’t want what mommy?
S: (points to me) That one.
Me: What mommy did you want?
S: Foster mommy.
He wasn’t sad when he said it. He was just telling the truth. I kissed his neck and sniffed his head and the baby was gone. He smiled and raced off to the toyroom, Charles wedged under one arm.
We have talked to him about Korea. We’ve talked about foster mommy. We’ve talked about the airplane and that he cried on it. We have never, ever, talked about why he cried on the plane. We’ve never come close to talking about how desperate he was for the life he knew, or how his world ended for a while when we showed up.
We knew his heart was broken. We know it’s mapped with scars. We did not know his little-kid brain was capable of remembering a feeling that showed up 3 years back.
This might be one more way that healing comes down, to him and to us. God never wastes pain.
But I talk about Going and all the ways it can weigh us down, make us jittery or sad, and none of it will ever come close to the kind of Going that buttons your coat, ties your shoes, and sends you across an ocean, or a river.
The amount of collective faith required in adoption sends me staggering, and most of it isn’t even mine.
They would never have chosen this. But there was so much more to the story than what they could see. So they came and let us love them and sooner or later, they loved us back. They chose us back.
Maybe it’s in the brown eyes looking up at me every day that I find this urge to reach up and grab onto something Brave. Because despite all the ways they have lost, my babies will understand how God redeems. Their worldview and the scope of their belief will leave mine in the dust. They’ll never think for a second that the neighbors they should love share their language, their skin-tone, the same hunk of dirt.
For them, it will be rooted in their soul: a good thing isn’t always an easy thing. Sometimes, just what we need, that one thing that will define us, hold us, carry us into the all the rest, is born from a heart wide-split and questions that won’t be answered.
If they and all the others like them can Go, so can we.
________________________________________
Shannan Martin
Shannan Martin is an ordinary girl who searches for and finds beauty in the everyday. She’s the wife of a man who thinks all of her jokes are funny and who regularly indulges her late-night, thinking-out-loud ponderings. They have three funny shorties, Calvin, Ruby, and Silas, who came to them across rivers and oceans. Together, they are embarking on a fresh adventure and are confident that God will meet them there. And though they no longer live on the farm, life remains a heaped-up pile of blessings, and Shannan will forever remain a Farmgirl at heart. She has blogged for three years; come take a look.
if someone would have told me 7 years ago that our almost 1 year old baby girl, chloe, would someday be a little sister, i wouldn”t have been able to fathom that. i couldn”t even imagine how my heart could fit love for any other children–let alone one ”stealing” her birth order. [yes, people say that to us.] yet, my heart has grown with each child we”ve been blessed with. i didn”t realize that was one thing that really doesn”t only hold a certain capacity.
and here we are. a different child as our oldest. i don”t think this is for everyone. but, i do know it”s for some. it is for us. and missing it because i was more worried about the ramifications of disrupting birth order than educating ourselves & listening to God”s plan for our family makes me shudder at the thought. so many of these ”older children” are really just children. ready to love. ready to make your heart grow again. ready to be the big brother. ready to excel at every new task. eager to serve. quick to learn. ready to be little again.
it”s really been a blessing to watch those things in him. there are also blessings for each person in our family from it. today i was in the middle of hard and i giggled out loud as i waded through it. i giggled at how easy our lives could have been. you know, when we were on track with our 2 kids and climbing the ladders. getting manicures every week and eating out all the time. able to enroll our kids in private classes & they could have calendars like socialites. seriously–it would have been so easy. [and i”m not knocking anyone…i”m truly saying that”s how i saw our lives at one point.] but, oh, what i would”ve missed. what we all would”ve missed. this kid is right where he belongs.
and so am i.
______________________________
Lovelyn Palm
Lovelyn is the mother to 9 children who range in age from 11 years to 3 month old twins. Her home is in the Midwest, but her heart is forever changed by a love for East Africa. She has a passion for caring for vulnerable children & families and advocating for waiting children. Sure her hands are full, but so is her heart. She blogs her family”s journey at Moments with Love.
Below is the lyrics to “Where I Belong” by Building 429…my new mantra…
Sometimes it feels like I”m watching from the outside
Sometimes it feels like I”m breathing but am I alive
I won”t keep searching for answers that aren”t here to find All I know is I”m not home yet
This is not where I belong
Take this world and give me Jesus
This is not where I belong
So when the walls come falling down on me
And when I”m lost in the current of a raging sea
I have this blessed assurance holding me. All I know is I”m not home yet
This is not where I belong
Take this world and give me Jesus
This is not where I belong
When the earth shakes I wanna be found in You
When the lights fade I wanna be found in You All I know is I”m not home yet
This is not where I belong
Take this world and give me Jesus
This is not where I belong
[x2]
Where I belong, where I belong
Where I belong, where I belong
Friends . . . I keep saying international adoption (or just adoption in general) is not for the weak. However, I am beginning to understand that it is actually indeed for the weak . . . those who are so emotionally spent that they almost have nothing left give, those that are so sleep deprived that they can’t remember what their pillow looks like, those that are physically strained and with compromised immune systems, those that wonder why they did this to their family and to the one they adopted, those that are poured out and completely used up. This is what an adoptive parent looks like in the beginning stages. And the only way I can be a parent is to lean on my Father in heaven who adopted me and knows exactly what I am going through. The only way I can parent well is to be emptied out of myself and filled up with the Spirit that groans on my behalf to the Father. When I reach my end and finally let go of my books, my workshops, my blogs, my yahoo support groups, my professionals, my doctors, my well intentioned family and friends and I just fall on my face before my Savior and Lord . . . then I can truly be the parent God created me to be (even when I doubt that is possible.) Now please understand, I’m not giving up on my books, blogs, yahoo support groups, professionals, doctors, friends and family they are all vital to the success of my family, HOWEVER, I need to be interacting with all these things while looking straight in the face of Jesus. When I take my eyes off him, all these wonderful resources are ineffective at best.
My friends, I have been poured out and spilled all over the floor. Hard days are these indeed. I have one child who has no concepts of parents and family, who is just trying to figure out if she will be given away again and lives in fear and sorrow. I have another who very clearly understands the concepts of parents and family and feels that hers have been hijacked and violently reacts to mundane things in her grief. I have yet another who is so compassionate that he wrongly puts all the needs of everyone above his own as if he were the parent and loses his childhood and so much joy in the process. Hard times. Hard to watch, hard to parent, hard not to condemn myself as being responsible for their pain. I was trying to take credit for their pain recently saying, “I did this to them all. I hurt Eden and Noah by bringing in this new child. I hurt Yaya by taking her away from all she knew. I have wrecked our peaceful wonderful family and injured and innocent bystander in the process. A bystander that didn’t ask to be adopted and ripped from all she knew. . .” You get the idea, and can see how this line of thinking goes now where but bad, really bad. And one night as my sweet Eden raged on and begged me to leave her room and leave her alone, I dragged myself out of her room and into the guest room. I fell on the bed in a choking, sobbing, heap, moaning; “Lord I CAN NOT do this anymore! I can’t do this.” And just like Jesus, he responded, “I know. But I can. And I have been trying to “do this” but you won’t let me. And for the record, I DID THIS, my sweet child. I did all of this, not you. I know what I am doing with precious Eden, courageous Noah and sweet Yaya. And I know what I’m doing with Eric and I know what I’m doing with you. Lay it all down dear one, give it back to me and let me parent through you. It will get better I promise, and my promises are true. Do you not remember them? Yaya’s life verse is one of my better promises…plans to prosper you and not to harm you, give you a future and a hope…”
Deep inhale . . . yes, Jesus. I remember. Deep inhale. Take this world and give me Jesus. And it is better, not perfect but better. And I am not so foolish as to think it won’t get worse or that I am spared from suffering. But I am no longer parenting out of my own power and God has been so faithful to send several people to help us on this journey…friends, family, doctors, therapists, even total strangers. In my weakness I am strong. Adoption is only for the weak who are made strong in Jesus. Praise you my dear El Shaddai!
I am the daughter of a King, “the” King, and on most days I don’t come close to being worthy of that title, but each day I try to live into it. God has blessed my life with an amazing husband who is my best friend and makes me laugh like no one else. He is an incredible father of three wonderful children. Two, he and I came up with together, and the third God recently “made in China” and we got to go pick her up this past May 2012. My 8-year-old son has a heart of pure gold; I have never seen so much innocence and compassion reside in one person in my life. He is a man after God’s own heart. My 3-year-old daughter is my joy. She is hilarious and spirited; a smile is always on my face when I think of her. My 2.5 year old daughter is kind hearted and brilliant, her capacity for learning and joy that we have seen in just 6 months of knowing her is unbelievable. I am also an advocate for Compassion International and we sponsor 4 children that I consider as dear as my own. So I suppose I’m a Mother to 7 children…no wonder I’m exhausted! God is so good to me I can hardly stand it. You can follow Angie”s blog at Just the 5 of Us Now.
There is something that I think many of us suffer from…the “disease” of comparing ourselves to others.
This can happen in ANY arena…
Your body.
Your intelligence.
Your beauty.
Your income.
Your reading list.
Your Facebook account.
Your vehicle.
Your education.
Your clothing.
Your speech.
Your children.
Your spouse.
Your checkbook.
Your parenting.
Your ability to hold it together.
Your decorating.
Your sewing.
Your cooking.
…and many more. (the list is endless, isn’t it?)
Satan absolutely loves to get us going about, well, really anything! He cares not how he misguides our hearts, just THAT he gets our hearts off track.
Remember what Scripture says about him? “The thief comes only to steal, kill and destroy…” John 10:10
He’s out for blood, baby. Not just to irritate you.
I used to struggle greatly with how my body compared to others. Now? It’s all about how good of a mother I am. …Or, actually APPEAR to be.
Since coming home from Africa with a former-orphan, I have been literally SWAMPED by my youngest three children’s needs.
And honestly, there ain’t a lot of hope that they are going to suddenly care about MY state of mind anytime soon. Toddlers, well, they are pretty much selfishness defined.
So the new area that Satan has tempted me with is watching other families via blogs and how they are “doing.” I’ve listened to the lie that they are all doing better than I am.
I would be a fool to assume that anyone missed me blogging, so I’ll just say it. I’ve written very few entries lately. I’ve had no ability to blog about my holiday decorations, cute ideas I had or new family traditions we installed this year. In fact, we didn’t travel for the first time EVER over the holidays because the needs of our newest family member dictated such.
Not a single article of new clothing. Nobody matched in church last Christmas.
I thought about how it was his first Christmas home and I should blog about it…but when the time came he was running a fever of over 102 and cried his way through Christmas morning. Blogworthy? Oh I don’t think so.
My reality is: our house is messy and laundry is a continuous and never-done chore. I can’t talk on the phone because I get mobbed by loud children who much of the time are fussing at each other. I tidy a room and the Littles untidy it again. Didn’t I just vacuum that? Yes, yes I did, but someone has spilled the pretzel crumbs all over it. Someone comes to me crying. Someone else needs help with homework. Another child comes to me asking for love. (And yes, this is literally the verbiage used this morning by Darrah Kate, “Mommy, I t’ink I need sum wuv.”) So I stop, kiss, solve problems, advise, listen and love. All the while the messes continue to whirl at breakneck speed. Not many craft projects are taking place.
I’ve had to stop following particular blogs that paint life with a well-groomed brush. I find myself looking at them and scouring them for faults. “Is their house REALLY that clutter free?!” “How does she think of all these ideas?” “How have they gotten their newly adopted children to attach so quickly?” “How can they afford that?” “They went where to serve whom?” “Matching outfits? Really?!” And I come back to my own life feeling like I don’t measure up.
I’ve come to the realization that my dear Savior was pierced for this transgression. He was killed because of this sin of comparison. This is NOT how He wants me to live! I am not to live under a cloud of heaviness because I simply cannot keep up with [insert name of bloggy super mom here]! No! He wants my eyes where? Where again?
On Him.
Check it out. I think He’s talking to ME!
“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith.” Hebrews 12:1-2
Two things: “And let us run with endurance the race God has set before US.” I don’t have to run your race. Or her race. I need only to run mine.
Ah. That’s nice. And quite freeing too.
The second thing comes in verse 4. Get a load of this:
“After all, you have not yet given your lives in yours struggle against sin.”
Gulp. Did you read that just now???
I haven’t YET given my life in the struggle against sin. Wow. I’m not fully sure of what that verse means, but I can be sure that it means that I’m not done battling against the powerful force of sin. And that I haven’t yet gone the distance in my effort to be free from it.
I have noticed that I can carry my carefully balanced load in an acceptable manner…until the unexpected comes along and demands my attention elsewhere. Like a house of cards it all crumbles and I am filled with intensity, stress and [gulp] yell at my children because of the stress I am under. I have learned that no matter what other people may be able to add to their plates, I cannot compare and must simply say no. I need to take on less so I am available for my children more. This is my race.
The process of saying no has been good for me. (You might try it!) I am forced to examine my worth in the eyes of Jesus again. It’s not how MUCH I do, for how many people or how much money I raise for worthy causes. It’s about doing what He asks me to do.
For now, that’s simply to focus on the adjustment and attachment of our dear child from Uganda. Helping my other young children adjust to our new family and address the needs of each person with great care. It doesn’t matter if other people agree or even understand. I just need to obey.
Sew matching outfits? Bake cutesy treats for the class at school? Volunteer at the nearby nursing home? Lead a Bible study? Assist with my child’s team? Great ideas. But right now, I’ve just gotta run MY race.
And for now, those just aren’t in my path.
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Amy Shaw
Amy is a vivacious lover of life. Married to her best friend, Brian, for over 16 years she is the mother of 9 children. 4 are biological, another 3 biological who ran ahead to Jesus, 1 adopted from Uganda and 1 more waiting for her in China.
I can remember just like it was yesterday walking into the decorated, empty room we had gotten ready for our soon to be adopted son. I remember curling up on the bed, hugging the stuffed monkey we’d bought him and wishing that it was my son. I remember wondering what he was doing at that very moment . . . wondering if he felt loved and safe. I thought about all the moments he had lived already that I would never fully know. As a mama, to not know all the answers to the questions that I’m sure I will be asked some day, is heart wrenching. I remember the ache of just longing for my precious little boy to be with me . . . wrapped up in my arms.
I remember that time seemed to stand still as we waited for phone calls, paperwork, travel dates. It felt like all the years of the adoption process and the waiting would never end.
Flash forward to a few weeks ago. I am sitting next to my son in his first grade class listening to him talk about how he used to live in Africa. He says it’s so sad that so many people have to drink dirty water just like he did. He tells about how his baby brother died from drinking dirty water. I fix my eyes on the floor as they well up with tears. All I can think is that it could have been him. It would have been him. My throat is thick as I say how blessed we are to live in a country where we likely don’t have to walk more than 20 feet in our houses to find clean, good drinking water. I sit and watch my son speak about his past . . . about HIS story. We take turns going back and forth talking and trying to help the kids understand what children just like them have to drink every day and what they must do to get it. I can see him remembering the very things he is speaking of as the words tumble out of his mouth. I think about how Tariku literally means “his story” and I smile Aren”t all our lives stories? Isn”t all the pain, the good, the struggle, the hope just begging to be told?
I remember crying many tears in his empty room just over two years ago, longing for my son to be home with me. And now the tears flow freely as I sit next to him and see how his story has shaped his heart so beautifully. It really is true – our pain, our mistakes . . . they don’t define us. They shape us. Tariku’s difficult past isn”t who he is. It’s a part of his story. Just like him being loved and treasured and valued is a part of his story. He inspires me. He shows me that we choose how we respond to the good, the bad and the ugly. He is choosing to take a terrible life circumstance and use it to help others. He is showing me what healthy vulnerability looks like even at age 7. No hiding. No fear. No shame. He is who he is. And that, my friends, is simply beautiful.
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Amy Savage
Amy is a business owner and adoptive mommy whose heart has been broken and expanded by loving orphans in Ethiopia. She blogs at Love the Least of These because there is power and transformation in sharing our stories with each other. She and her husband, Ben, and their three children make their home in Colorado Springs where Ben works in orphan advocacy for Children”s HopeChest.
