Realities Archives - Page 8 of 24

April 11, 2014April 11, 2014

Moments – Two Weeks

It turns out, I was right in feeling {unprepared} for all that the last two weeks have held for this gang. Until you’ve lived through something like this, there’s really no way you can fully prepare for the experience. EVEN if you have the most awesome support network of “been there done that” mommas sharing their experiences and advice. EVEN if you have an amazing crowd of friends and family praying you through and supporting you practically and emotionally. Which, I am so grateful to say, I do. But still. {unprepared} I was.

I’m not gonna lie. These last two weeks since Mei Mei’s surgery have been hard. The day of the surgery, frankly, was likely the easiest of the days that we had while IN the hospital. ( We waited. She slept. And oddly, I only felt momentary flashes of nervous anxiety over her care or well-being. SO. SO. grateful for that.)

And just this past Saturday we finally experienced the easiest day-into-overnight since we returned home from our four day stay. In between those good days, we’ve crammed all kinds of hard moments. Sleepless nights. Night terrors. Temper tantrums. Pain management gone awry. Lost patience. Ugly behavior. And not all of it was Mei Mei.

But in between those good days, we’ve also crammed a lot of really great moments. Those are the moments on which I am (sometimes hourly) choosing to focus. Those are the moments that the Lord uses to swing my eyes back to HIM and HIS perfect plan for Mei Mei. For our family. It’s an act of discipline, this choosing to focus. Especially at this time of year.

Mei Mei got the honor of placing the first ornament
on her first-ever Christmas tree. Yes, I cried.

I could (and am sorely tempted to) stress over the anger and aggression that comes bubbling up out of her in those difficult moments. I could keep looking at that “holiday To Do list” that isn’t getting smaller any time soon and despair of ever finishing it in time. I could sink into the flashing moments of Mommy-guilt and inadequacy, wallowing in the fear that I’m not meeting the needs of the other gang members, in the every day and in the fervor of the holiday. I could, I could, I could. And really, I’ve struggled NOT to.

But then there are these other moments. These moments when HE comes to me and whispers to my heart. S nippets of Scripture memorized as a child. Refrains of songs and hymns buried deep in my heart. I’ve said it before but it bears repeating. In these moments, I am so incredibly grateful for parents who trained me in The Word. Who taught me to seek His face in good and in bad moments. Who encouraged me and lived out the example that joy comes NOT in the circumstances but in the confidence and security of being HIS CHOSEN CHILD. It has carried me well in these last two weeks.

First cookie decorating party ever! Not sure how much icing went on the cookies.
Last year, only 3 of our kids were home for this tradition.
This year, The Gang was ALL here. Yes, I cried.

I am convinced, in all of these moments, both hard and healing, that the prayers of the Body of Christ carried us. I am convinced that His Word is powerful and full of Truth that rises above the difficult moments. I am convinced, now more than ever, that HE HAS CHOSEN ME for this time. For this child. For even in those moments where I feel like I’m failing miserably at all of it, He speaks to me. In those moments when I wonder if my inadequate and all-too human response to my daughter’s broken-ness is doing more damage than good, He offers me HIS response.
It’s those moments when I get the second wind to go just a little deeper into her heart. It’s those moments when I get a fresh fire to escort her to the healing He has for her. Those moments, even the hardest of moments, I remember that they are just that: moments. By definition, moments (both hard and exultant) are fleeting. He is not. He holds those moments. Each and every one of them.

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Tracy, aka The Gang’s Momma, has been married to Todd, aka The Boss, for almost 24 years. Together they parent 6 kids (ages 19, 18, 14, 12, 6 & 2 ½). She loves to read, write, cry over weekly episodes of Parenthood, and share a good cup of coffee with a friend. A confirmed extrovert, Tracy has met her match in their newest daughter for both strength of will and love of socializing. While parenting her two youngest who came home through China’s special needs program is definitely the most challenging thing she’s ever done (between attachment issues & some complicated medical needs), the Lord is also using it to make her a stronger, better mommy. (At least that’s what she tells herself over her 2^nd or 3^rd giant Tigger mug full of coffee almost every day!) You can find the occasional musings of the momma at www.whitneygang.blogspot.com.

April 7, 2014April 6, 2014

Changed by broken walls

It was never an easy journey to get there.

When I said we wanted to visit her orphanage in 2010 when we were there to adopt her, we met resistance. It was too far. The train was too fast for a child. We would be too tired. We would bring germs from America. We wouldn’t want to go. But, that’s where they were wrong. I was determined to go, determined to physically enter into her history even if only for a moment. And so, we went. We drove about 3 hours there to stand at the gate, walk across the grounds, allow the ayis who knew our child infinitely more than we did to dote on our baby, and take lots of pictures.

I had never been more aware of my foreignity as I was at that moment. We were out of place, standing among ayis speed talking in a language only unrecognizable to the two of us. They pointed at us and spoke freely, knowing we would stand still in front of them and smile regardless of what they said. We watched as our new baby responded in a way we could not. She wasn’t a stranger there; they knew her and she knew them. We were the strangers surrounded by grey cement walls and dusty ground. The only thing I felt connected to there were the very walls themselves. I tried desperately to grab hold of something to take home with us, not even knowing really what, while the walls seemed to desperately present themselves as cheerful with some colorful cardboard cut outs stuck to them for now until the next rainfall would turn them into more dust on the ground. I cried. It sorta felt like the grey, tiled walls were crying too.

When I said I wanted to visit the location of the old orphanage a few weeks ago, I met resistance. It was too far. We would be too tired. It wasn’t safe. We wouldn’t want to go. And, while I had been determined to get there, I was willing to let it go. I had already been given so much, and it wasn’t the reason why I came.

When the driver pulled our van over and pointed to the right, my heart stopped for a moment.

There I was again, standing at a new gate that looked 50 years old already, looking at what used to be.

Most of the walls that had cried along with me four years ago were no more. I stood looking at what was in front of me and cried alone.

It’s China. Buildings are built and torn down and built again to be torn down again. It’s a seemingly never-ending cycle of building and destruction. Standing witness to it before me, I didn’t feel like the foreigner I had four years ago. Everything was different now. At the very moment I stood crying on Bao Ping Road, my daughter who had been there, who had lived behind those gates and inside those broken walls, was sleeping soundly beside her sister in a warm bed in the place she knows and I know as home.

I saw a picture of adoption that day in the form of broken walls and a quiet construction site.

They gave us a bag of dirt the day we received our daughter in March 2010. The director handed us a little bag of stones and dust from the grounds of the orphanage. I thought it was nice, thoughtful, a memento for her to have as she got older. We put it in a special box for her along with the clothes she came to us in and other special things. Now that gift means something entirely different. It is not a memento; it’s a monument. It gently says:

Those walls that were the only home you knew need to come down now. Let God turn them to dust, as hard as that may be, so that He can build new walls, strong walls, walls that will not crumble, walls where you will never be alone. It’s never an easy journey to get there; but, stone by stone, brick by brick, while it may be a painstaking journey, you can get there. Accept this gift so that you always remember your story and so that you can trace the work of the Repairer of Broken Walls, the Restorer of Crumbling Dwellings, the One who makes beautiful things out of stones, dirt, and dust.

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Kelly has a passion for supporting adoptive families, specifically to encourage parents to be intentional and understand their own hearts more clearly as they seek to care for their hearts of their children. Kelly has a Master’s degree in counseling and has been working with adoptive families since she and her husband Mark founded the nonprofit The Sparrow Fund (www.sparrow-fund.org). Married to Mark since 1998, they have 3 biological children and 1 daughter who was adopted as a toddler from China in 2010. You can learn more about their adoption story, how they’ve been changed by the experience of adoption, and what life for them looks like on Kelly’s personal blog, My Overthinking.

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Wanna learn more about going to China with The Sparrow Fund in October to serve at this orphanage? Click on Upcoming Events to read more, and email us for more information.

March 21, 2014

An Unwelcome House Guest

It’s been pretty quiet here in my little corner of the blogosphere. I know. We’ve been in a hard season with things. This season has been exhausting. Frustrating. Desperate. Isolating. Painful. Exhausting. Draining. The pace of our household has hardly relented in deference to the hard season. It couldn’t.

I can tell you exactly when it started.

Let me tell you the story.

In early December, Trauma came to visit. He snuck into the house, bringing Control, Anxiety, and Fear with him. They are the kind of house guest that rolls into your pretty little guest room unannounced. The kind of house guest that brings his unpleasant friends stowed away in his suitcase before you can even process that his suitcase has been tossed on your guest bed. On the good linens no less. They are the kind of house guest the adage speaks of: “Company and fish start to stink after three days.”

Let me tell you, it stunk way sooner than three days.

It seems as if Mei Mei’s first surgery brought Trauma out of hiding. It’s totally understandable and we knew to expect it from lots of previous experiences – Trauma lurks in those hospitals for lots of kids. Kids from great, loving, nurturing beginnings. Kids from hard places. Kids with serious sicknesses. Kids with simple playground accidents. But it really feels like he was waiting for her in that room. Hiding under that oh-so-institutional crib cage. Hovering under the ugly, rough blankets.

Worse, he felt it necessary to follow her home from the hospital. He toyed with her, making a game of randomly waking her. He got his buddy to help. Fear clutched at her throat. Trauma whipped Control into a frenzy of raging tantrums over peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that weren’t cut “just so.” He’d whisper in Anxiety’s ear a teensy little musing, thus starting the “Telephone Game” of insecurities repeated and grossly warped beyond recognition by the time they got to my girl’s ear. It took us a few weeks of muscling through our own sleep deprivation and the dirty laundry of these unwelcome guests to figure out that they thought they were here to stay.

When the awareness took root that these weren’t visitors, but squatters, The Boss and I dug into our bag of spiritual warfare tactics and started making things very uncomfortable for these intruders. It’s been hard work, this remediation of the damage they sought to inflict. It’s taken all of our energies. Certain Fruits of the Spirit have gotten extra work-outs, through the muddle of sleep deprivation.

{Really, moms, isn’t the irregular sort of sleep deprivation the worst kind of all? I think I could probably get used to 4-5 hours of sleep if that was the new norm. But 8 hours, then 4, then 6 then 4 again? Oh.MY.WORD.}

Scripture is being spoken, sung, hummed, and prayed. The new rocking chair is logging many, many miles. Old hymns of Truth and Promise are being called to mind, used as lullabies, even if the verses are mixed up and tunes are badly mangled. The security and anchor of The Word that my folks encouraged me to memorize and sink deeply into my heart as a young believer are pouring out when I’m too tired to coherently put together my own prayer.

Practical things had to be tended to, to aid the eviction of the unwanted tenants. So January was spent re-establishing household routines and my beloved systems.(Gasp! Yes, even I was shocked at how long it took me to get back on that bandwagon I so love!) I grocery shopped multiple times between snow storms. I baked and cooked whenever the snow dumped on us, and we were snowed in. Menu planning, preparation of the daily dinner, and laundry days all were re-instituted. Many days those tasks were literally ALL that I could handle. But handle them I did. Anxiety had no choice but to pipe down in the wake of the loud, proud boasting of permanence and structure that our return to routines gave. I much prefer when Security and Confidence hang out with my gang, don’t you?

February was focused on establishing some kind of social schedule for the little extroverted Mei Mei and her extrovert momma. Too many unstructured days staying home all day gave Trauma and Control way too much freedom to wreak their havoc. Play dates here at home and busy mornings out to do our errands made way for Joy, Cooperation, and Peace to hang out with us. It continues to amaze to me just HOW much of an extrovert this little girl is!

And while we aren’t certain that Trauma has left the building just yet, we do feel as if he’s recognized that his days are numbered. When he slinks off into the darkness and muck from whence he came, he will have no choice but to pack up his traveling mates with him. The foundation upon which we have built our home has made Trauma’s stay an uncomfortable one and he’s learning that we cannot, WILL NOT co-habitate with him.

Since our name is on the mortgage, he’s the one that’s got to go.

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March 19, 2014March 19, 2014

What Adoption Won’t Do

Adoption is a topic close to my heart. My husband, Matt, and I adopted our twoyoungest children. After having our oldest son, we were not able to have morebiological kids due to a rare medical issue I didn’t even know I had. We adopted ouryounger son as an infant and are still waiting to go to court to finalize the adoptionof our daughter, who came home in November at age four. Their stories are here

and here.

In our seven years as part of the adoption community, we’ve noticed some common

misconceptions. I want to help clear some things up for you, especially if you’re

considering adoption for your family.

What Adoption Won’t Do:

Erase the pain of infertility. We tried for longer than I would have liked to have

our son, and I distinctly remember the grief that came every month. I didn’t expect

the same kind of pain with secondary infertility (after all, at least I already had one

baby, right?), but there it was. It turns out that having a child (or more than one)

doesn’t make infertility any easier. Our biological son is now nine, and I still grieve

the loss of the ability to conceive, carry, and deliver another child. Our two adopted

children bring such joy to our lives, but they do not erase the pain of infertility and

cannot be expected to. If you are considering adoption after infertility, please give

yourself time to really experience and grieve your loss before adopting.

Make you a savior. If you are going into adoption with the idea that you’ll ride in

on a white horse to rescue a child who will in turn be appreciative and loving, you’re

setting yourself up for disappointment. No matter the age of the child being adopted,

you are not their rescuer. God is. When you reverse those roles, you will set the

stage for resentment and an unhealthy dynamic. God is the only one who rescues. If

He calls you to adopt, let Him do the rescuing. The best thing you can do is to obey

and thank Him for letting you play a part in that child’s life.

Allow you to parent the same way you parent your biological kids. Adoption

is born out of loss. The birth family and child have all experienced deep loss, and

the adoptive family has often had their own losses as well. Adoptive parenting has

to be different from parenting our biological kids because of the child’s history.

Whether infant or older child adoption, the loss of their birth family plays a role in

their development, attachment, self-concept, and relationships. We can love our

children the same regardless of how they joined our family, but we need to parent

them differently.

Make your marriage better. Whether you’ve endured years of infertility or are

adopting because it’s what God has put on your heart, adoption will not make

your marriage better. It’s easy to think “if only we had a baby, things would be

better.” No more hormones, no more monthly disappointments, no more doctor’s

appointments. Or maybe for you, it seems like your marriage was so much better

when you were both focused on your babies; and now that they’re older, things are

more difficult again. Whatever the case, adoption is difficult and adds stress to a

marriage and family. It doesn’t “fix” anything.

Make your life easier. This one is probably obvious. Adoption, when done with

intentionality, is hard. And that doesn’t end when the baby or child is in your arms.

That’s only the beginning. Adoption is heart-wrenching and overwhelming at

times. I’ve sat with our six-year-old son while he wept over not knowing his birth

family and not being able to fully understand why he was placed for adoption. Our

daughter has wounds only God can heal. She has emotional triggers that we may

never know the root of. And we grieve too because we didn’t see her first steps or

hear her first words. We didn’t get to rock her to sleep or soothe her when she cried.

Whatever the circumstances, adoption is hard for everyone involved.

But what adoption does is more powerful than anything it doesn’t do.

Adoption has brought our family together in a way only God could orchestrate.

His hand has been evident in every step. He literally provided a father for our two

fatherless children, and is the Heavenly Father for us all. We will forever be grateful

for the gift of all three of our children and on our knees with humility that we have

the honor of parenting them.

Adoption has given us a glimpse into God’s grace like nothing else could.

The grace I show my children when they act out is only a tiny shadow of the Grace I’ve received(and continue to need daily). The financial and emotional cost of adopting ourchildren is nothing compared to the cost of my own adoption by God. In order forme to become His daughter, God sacrificed His only Son.Adoption has revealed God’s love for us like we hadn’t seen before. When we look at

our adopted children with the same love we have for the one who shares our genes,

we grasp a little bit more the love God has for us. When He looks at me, He doesn’t

see second-best. He sees His daughter.

Adoption is hard. But it’s worth it.

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Becca Whitson writes with her husband Matt at WhitsonLife.com. They write about marriage, parenting, and life through the lens of a married couple, parenting team, and pastor and professional counselor. Their desire is to provide hope and restoration by giving you a glimpse into their lives- the failures, the successes, and the brokenness and beauty of everyday.

February 14, 2014May 16, 2022

Taking Her From the Streets

[Continuing from Wednesday’s post …]

Moments of insecurity reveal my street-raised daughter to have a bark louder than her bite. As we learn Him, He teaches us about her and it’s here that we’re finding her gentleness.

Months ago, we started praying into her the opposite of what we were perceiving from her behavior. We weren’t looking to directly oppose what we saw, but as we asked Him for understanding into her heart, we realized that much of the whirlwind around her was borne from inertia. She had a dormant beauty that never had reason to surface.

And I’ve had too many years taking gulps of worst-case scenario expectations, lived-out. This time, I would try His perspective, first. We prayed it, said it, spoke it over her, and to her. And to ourselves. He was bringing forth beauty, refinement, gentleness. All the things one might say she wasn’t is what we believed He was saying she is.

And His Word speaks a better way.

One particular morning, Eden crawled into my lap and confessed yet another grievance. Hope was “hurting her heart.” It was not a surprise; I’d witnessed some of what she was referencing.

We talked it out. God was clearly using this to develop compassion in Eden’s heart for the broken. As we wrapped up our conversation I said, “Let’s pray and ask God how He sees Hope. Let’s ask Him to give us His eyes for her.”

We prayed, waited, listened.

Eden broke the silence: “Elegant. The word ‘elegant’ came to me, Mommy.” Though tucked away in a book we’d read months ago, it’s not a part of our everyday vocabulary. He spoke through the mouth of a six year-old babe to confirm the course we’d charted in prayer. He was making Hope new and even telling her siblings about it. Beauty initiated by Him, before our naked eyes could see it.

And He is doing it, friends. Under our roof is a greenhouse. It’s messy at times, this workroom of ours, but I can’t ignore the growth. Dirt giving birth to life. New shoots are everywhere and before long it’ll be spring.

I’ve heard from many of you whose stories take on a different shape, but the plight is the same. We share the scars of motherhood, both for children who have been adopted, and those home-grown. You’ve cultivated the dirt and are waiting for spring. You have a Hope in your home and your heart sits, tentative about how to respond. As you wait on her — that “her” for you — might I humbly share some of His counsel to me:

Talk about her beauty, even behind closed-doors. Make it a part of your vernacular. “I can’t say that,” Nate replied to my bleak assessment of the situation, one day. He saw the end, where I was taking stock of the beginning. Nate has been the gatekeeper of our language. I need this.

What we declare — out of fear — in private becomes much easier to believe in her presence. To be her advocate, even closed-door conversations need to come back to the beauty He is bringing forth. To be her advocate, our understanding of her future must be rooted in the promises of His Word. There is no true advocacy apart from Him.

And the power of life and death lies in the tongue. (Proverbs 18:21)

Pray up and in. Adoration was the tool He gave me, early, for this task. To tear down the walls of lies around her heart and life (maybe even spoken over her before her birth) you must first erect Truth in your own life. Battling this blind, is not knowing who He is over your life and your family.

The only perspective that will stand, is His perspective.

Pray His Word back to Him, say His Word back to Him, paste it over your life. And as it takes root in your heart, which it will — because it’s alive — you’ll find it easier to pray it into her.

His Word will be her reality if you just open the door. Morning, noon, and night. It’s waiting. He’s ready-available to re-write your understanding.

Ask Him how He sees her. All day long you will be tempted to be the thermometer on her life. Her behavior has calcified how she sees herself and the enemy is hot on your trail to make you believe the same. In your pain, do not indulge your fear. Much of what you “feel” may actually be in direct opposition to what His Word says is true.

There is no better time than now to sit cross-legged in front of your fireplace, with moleskin journal in hand and a perspective ready to be molded, and ask Him the question that will unlock her heart: Father, how do you see her? Be prepared to take note … with your life.

Tell her who she is and set up memorials around when she walks it out. Behind ten of Hope’s missteps is one heart-move towards beauty. We celebrate the one. When it comes, we acknowledge it, that night we recall it, the next morning we lift it up as the first step in a pattern that will come. “Hope, remember how you cleared Caleb’s plate for him yesterday? That was awesome! Are you ready to do that again today? Let’s ask Jesus to show you more opportunities to love your siblings well today.”

It’s likely she lives covered under a blanket of shame — she’s been telling herself or hearing others remind her what a problem she is. You get to be Jesus’ eyes and search below the dirt for early signs of growth.

Don’t be afraid to respond to and discipline for the ten. ”He disciplines those He loves.” (Hebrews 12:6). Teaching this kind of love — His kind of love — is not pretending there isn’t a chasm of sin to cross or fantasizing a person into reality. Love stares deep into dark and through dark to find beauty. She needs to know you know her dark, and that it will not stand, in order to trust you when you tell her you see beauty. Isn’t that so with us and the Lord?

She needs to know and expect your loving-but-firm response to her sin, as she’s desperate for another’s guardrails on her life. Kids long for guardrails — unchanging guardrails, the same ones yesterday as there will be tomorrow. Children were never intended by Him to control their surroundings.

Be consistently consistent, it’s her safety.

Treat her like the daughter she is, not the orphan she was is the motto in our home.

When her behavior makes you want to retreat, take that as your cue to engage. Restoration love isn’t threatened by sin, it’s activated. When you take a step towards pouring out what you don’t have, He pours in. Give her the love your flesh can’t conjure. Give her the love that requires His overshadowing. He will surprise you, I promise.

Press in. These days are not her days to grow if they aren’t, first, your days to grow. It isn’t “when you get through this” that you’ll find Him. Now is your greatest opportunity to thrive.

These incidents are not accidents and the heart-pain they reveal in you is bigger than your circumstances. As He heals her orphan heart, He is healing yours too. Both are on His radar.

Slow down. Pour out to Him; He can handle your chest-heaving cries. And receive. He has gold for you in this season. And that gold is a greater depth of communion with Him.

And, finally, tell the story. His story. His final word is never doubt, despair or destruction. The testimony of Jesus is being written on your watch. Speak it out as such. When you get the look of pity from a friend who doesn’t quite understand your pain, tell her you are blessed, because you are.

Mamas, these are not your worst days, these days are fodder for a work that will leave you forever changed.

Perspective is everything.

And we get to turn in our frail human constructs of God for His. This is the best of times.

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Sara is a wife to Nate and a mother of four (and one on the way) whose birth canal bridged the expanse between the United States and Africa. After almost a decade of Christian life she was introduced to pain and perplexity and, ultimately, intimacy with Jesus. God met her and moved her when life stopped working. And out of the overflow of this perplexity, came her writing.You can read more of her writing at Every Bitter Thing Is Sweet.

February 3, 2014February 3, 2014

Adoption…a clearer picture

Yesterday morning I checked Facebook and saw another adoption t-shirt
design and I can’t ignore it anymore.

I love the hearts of those making the shirts, for fundraisers, for orphan care, for awareness and I know they are worn like a badge of honor…

BUT…

I just can’t get past it, because most of them paint only the “butterfly and rainbows” picture of adoption that simply isn’t the full picture.

I am an adoption advocate, but firstly I am a family preservation advocate and a child advocate. It’s not about adoption, it’s about the children.

Adoption is more than just having love. It’s more than joy, blessing, family, happiness etc.

Adoption is a beautiful thing…in it’s own messy way.

My assumption is the shirts are being purchased and worn by PAP’s and AP’s but I feel like as representatives of adoption (because we’ve been there or are going to be there), can we please paint a clear picture?

Not one of doom and gloom but not one of only roses either.

Having a family knit together through both biology and adoption is one of the best things ever and I want to burst with joy when I see our unique little family…

but…

adoption is also one of the hardest things I’ve done. Some days I want to burst in tears with the loss and hurt we’ve encountered through this process. I know that I’m not alone in either of these thoughts.

So my challenge, to all of us as PAP’s an AP’s. Can we stop pretending and painting a picture that isn’t a view of the full masterpiece? Can we paint a clear picture of the joy and sorrow of adoption while still protecting our kiddos hearts?

Let’s celebrate the beauty of adoption but not gloss over the loss that comes with it, both in our wardrobe and in our speech.

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Lindsie has been married to her husband and best friend, David, almost 9 years. She is the homeschooling mother of four-ages 7, 5, 5, and 3. Their youngest two children are Ethiopian born and Korean born. While always Midwesterners at heart, they are loving living in Colorado. She loves Jesus, her family, hiking, good coffee, and cooking, as well as learning to embrace Life with a capital “L”, as she shares on her blog.

January 31, 2014February 2, 2014

Stories

I have told both of my boys thier adoption stories since they were newborns in my arms. It’s not easy to put into words the miraculous and complicated way God brought them into our lives, but I’ve always felt like it was good practice for me even if they have no clue what I’m saying. The way they became part of our family is precious and I don’t ever want to forget those stories that made me a mama.

Right now, it’s pretty much a one-sided conversation. My oldest is starting to make some straight-forward connections like…

“L is my birthmommy.”

“I grew in her tummy”

“She picked you and daddy to be my parents.”

Then there are moments when I can see it in his eyes. His little brain is just spinning trying to figure out his story.

That’s when a little bit of fear sets in. I realize that there will probably come a day when there will be hard questions to answer and upset or confused emotions that come out of my boys. In my humanness, I want to protect them. I don’t ever want them to doubt our love for them or their birthfamilies love for them.

Then my loving, heavenly Father whispers to me and says, “Abby, don’t you remember how I used some really difficult situations in your life to draw you closer to me? I want to do that for your boys too.”

So, yes. It will be hard. There will be emotions that may be difficult to deal with. I won’t have all the answers for my boys, but I have the priviledge of pointing them to The One who is control of all things and has EVERYTHING they need.

“And my God will meet all you needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:19

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Abby and her college sweetheart husband Wes began the journey of domestic adoption in 2009. Blessed with a (more than they had planned but oh so thankful for it) open adoption experience, they were able to witness the birth of their first child Max in the summer of 2010. Little brother Sam joined their team in September of 2012. Wes and Abby are trusting God as he leads them in their relationship with their sons’ birth families. You can follow their story at Akers of Love.

January 27, 2014

Oh, The Joy!

Once upon a time there was a mama of 4 girls.

She was happy and content in her world of baby dolls, hair bows and polka dot tights.

Then one night she was aimlessly surfing her agency’s website…..

when her heart literally skipped a beat.

Her husband sleeping, she called her friend in Florida..

“I think i’m looking at my son….”

This mama was scared….A BOY???!!
Lord!! What would she do with a boy???

Her best friend would tell her, “there’s something about the way a boy loves his mama…”

and she would listen, but not fully understand.

Until Monday, December 6, 2010, in Guangzhou, China…..

In the International adoption world, a female child under the age of 3 is still the most requested child across every county and continent, including the United States. In 2011, for China, there were 1,888 females to just 699 boys (http://adoption.state.gov/about_us/statistics.php), adopted and brought home to their forever families.

With a shared list of literally hundreds of waiting children in China, the overwhelming majority of them are male. When little girls come to agency lists, the emails come pouring in…..and young boys with minor needs sit.

And wait.

Simply because they are boys.

Now hear my heart.

When the Lord called us to adopt the first time, we knew it was a daughter. It wasn’t written in the sky or spelled out in black and white, but we knew.

We had barely recovered from jet lag when the Holy Spirit began to convict me about my willingness to follow HIS plan for our family, or mine….and it took me digging into His Word, and continually, daily, laying my plans on the alter and and offering them as a sacrifice.

Sometimes, we just have to be willing for this adoption thing to not look like we thought it would.

Lord, did you call us to adopt a daughter…..or a child?

Proverbs 19:21

Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.

If you’re on this adoption road I’d challenge you today to seek deep the heart of your Father. Be willing for the end not to look like you planned it would.

Perhaps it will.
Maybe it won’t.
But rest assured….He knows *exactly* what you need.

Even when you didn’t realize what was missing.

Psalm 133:1

“Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brothers to dwell together in unity!”

*Shepard, Jude, and Judah pictures courtesy of Steph at Nihao y’all and Anna at AnythingbutLokey and K&RPhotography

_______________________________

Emily and Jay have been married for 11 years and have 5 childen–Avery 8, Ally 6, Annalyse 4, Ashley 3, and (finally) our BOY, Asher 2. Ashley and Asher were adopted from China and were both special needs adoptions. Emily spends her days chasing toddlers and waiting in line at carpool. Her favorite place in the world is in her van, all alone with the worship music blaring! She would count it an honor to have you be encouraged at her blog: www.ourhimpossiblejourney.blogspot.com.

January 24, 2014January 24, 2014

Profundity of Life After Adoption

“Nummies, Mama? I make you dis.”

His tiny little voice barely above a whisper as he approaches me on the couch, handing me a tiny toy colander filled with a wooden pizza slice and two felt pieces of bread- white and rye. “Peanut butter, cheese, and chocolate, ” he tells me.

Gifts from my boy.

From where I am sitting I can see a wall full of pictures; pictures we took of him last July, when we first met our little boy in a Moscow orphanage. He’s two, but he looks much younger. Maybe a year and a half old.

I remember last year: worrying about him, wanting- no aching– to bring him home, and counting down every eternal day until we did. Mostly I remember walking the streets around our neighbourhood and praying as desperately as I could for that home-coming day to arrive soon.

Lots about parenting an adopted child is very normal. We do all the regular parenting things like books and baths, play dough and painting, making messes and tidying up…

But parts of it are just so profound. Every time we walk those same streets together- my boy and I- I think about those prayers I whispered and that deep ache in my heart, now filled. Neither my heart nor my mind can comprehend the mysterious way in which God seemed to bend fate and bring us together. Redemption for both of us.

We do such normal things like taking our boy to the zoo and yet the whole experience is seeped in this profound brew of what is and what could have been. I watch my boy who has morphed from babyhood to childhood in nine short months and I am amazed. As he gestated in our family he has grown only more vibrant. Just when we think we’ve hit the height of his transformation, he surprises us.

Nine months ago, he grew upset when we had him run around inside without shoes on, so used to having his little feet always covered. Five months ago we took him, bundled in our winter clothes, to the shore of Lake Michigan and he froze in the sand, then gingerly pushed it back with the tip of boot, wondering what is this stuff? We tried him on a trampoline twice this summer, both times to cries of, “I don’t like it!!” and scooped him off.

And then yesterday, we came across this net at our zoo’s playground- roped across a pit, bouncing and insecure beneath the happy feet of running children. And Arie tried it.

With apprehension, he took two steps and cried out, “Mama help!” but we encouraged him to do it alone. “Only kids allowed on here Arie! No grown ups. I know you can do it!”

Slowly, he took another step. And another. His face grew more determined and proud with every inch until finally, he reached the other side. Pure victory for my little man.

As he raced around that play fort I was lost again in the profundity of what is and what could have been. A year ago, an orphanage. Today, a zoo. A year ago, thousands of miles away. Today, here. What could have been: the small world, the day-to-day, the every changing care-givers, and the insecurity of not knowing who comes next. A little boy, relying on himself. What is: a big world of new experiences, the day-to-day and the joyful surprises, the constant love of mom and dad, the security of knowing that it’s us, forever. A big boy, growing brave and finding his way.

His life verse runs constant through my mind:

See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland.

With his life, God is doing a new thing. The profound moments stitched like a colorful thread through the fabric of my day.

There will be many more of these moments. Many more times when I will be struck with the wonder of his life- of my life- redeemed. More pictures in albums and photos on my wall. Restoration. Streams in the wasteland.

Love.

_______________________________

Jillian Burden is still adjusting to this beautiful thing called motherhood; she and her husband are parents to a son by way of a Russian adoption. While her belly might not have expanded, her heart and her faith sure grew as her family did! You can read about this soul stretching journey to parenthood on her blog.

January 20, 2014January 20, 2014

Why Knit?

I took up knitting not long after our first adoption. I knitted a scarf first, imperfect with its holes randomly scattered, revealing to all that not only was I a novice, but also that I am decidedly not a perfectionist. The holes didn’t bother me really– but the sense of satisfaction I felt at having actually finished a project was soon to become an addiction. I’ve lost count of how many scarves I’ve knitted over the past 13 years, but suffice it to say that even my husband and 3 sons have scarves– I totally knew they’d never wear them! I didn’t care though because I soon realized that the hobby I began as a way to connect with our Russian daughter, who loved to knit, turned out to satisfy a need that parenting definitely does not. That is, I could set out to accomplish a goal and actually see it finished within a week or two. How refreshing in the midst of the parenting goals which consume our thoughts, our time, and our emotional and spiritual energies. Goals like bringing our children into healing from the deep wounds of their pasts, teaching them to give and receive love, to think before acting and to understand consequences, to learn English and to get along with others, to handle their anger well, not to mention personal hygiene, sharing toys etc, etc, etc……..!

Delayed Gratification

Talk about long-term goals–parenting surely can lay claim to being the job with the most delayed gratification ever! We realize early on that our efforts in raising our children often don’t see the fruit we desire and believe for until an undisclosed but greatly anticipated and hoped-for day. So we parents learn to sow seeds in all kinds of climates, stages, and circumstances.

“Happy and fortunate are you who cast your seed upon all waters [when the river overflows its banks; for the seed will sink into the mud and when the waters subside, the plant will spring up; you will find it after many days and reap an abundant harvest], you who safely send forth the ox and the donkey [to range freely].” Isaiah 32:20 (Amplified)

I’m excited to share this scripture with you because it has been such an encouragement to me in the past few weeks. I am encouraged once again as a parent to continue to sow the seeds of love, wise counsel, firm boundaries, unconditional acceptance, words of Truth, kindness and firmness….

“You Will Find it After Many Days….”

Adoptive parenting is one of those jobs that is vast in scope with only occasional (but glorious) signs of accomplishment and finality. We treasure those moments when, like the tying off of the last piece of yarn on my latest knitting project, we see that one of our long-term goals have been met. As this scripture says, “you will find it after many days…” I want to encourage you parents to continue to cast in hope the seeds of your love (in all its many forms) on all the waters of your child’s life, all the waters of your families’ circumstances. For indeed, that seed will sink into the mud of your child’s life, deep into his identity. And though hidden from you for what may seem an impossibly long season, so long that it may call upon you to believe with faith-filled hope, it will indeed “spring up.”

Glorious Satisfaction

Just recently we experienced the glorious satisfaction, (far more gratifying than any completed knitting project I am here to tell you!) of seeing seeds of healing spring up before our astonished eyes — seeds sown over and over and over and over in hope. To hear our child speak words to us that could only be spoken from a place of deep healing, confirmed in both eyes and tone of voice, left both Stephen and me full of praise to God for His faithfulness. This experience, so fresh and pleasing, reminded us that we must not grow weary of casting our seeds when all we see is a muddy stream and truly wonder if we’ve made any progress at all.

Father God, we are believing You for the promised abundant harvest. Help us to parent in faith when our eyes don’t see any evidence of plants and fruit in our children. May it be to us and our children as you have said. Amen.

___________________________

Beth has been married to her husband Stephen for 27 years. They have seven children, ages 18-24. Several years after giving birth to three girls God called their family to the adventure and blessing of adoption. In 2000, they brought home a brother and sister, ages 5 and 10, from Russia. Then they returned to the same orphanage 18 months later and brought home two more brothers, ages 7 and 10. Beth’s heart has been deeply and forever changed as she has watched the love of Father God poured out on her whole family through adoption. She leads Hope at Home, a ministry dedicated to help adoptive and foster parents encounter the Father’s heart for their families, partnering with God to transform orphans into sons and daughters. For more parenting insight and encouragement in the Lord, go to Hope at Home.

Blog

Category: Realities

Moments – Two Weeks

Changed by broken walls

An Unwelcome House Guest

What Adoption Won’t Do

Taking Her From the Streets

Adoption…a clearer picture

Stories

Oh, The Joy!

“Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brothers to dwell together in unity!”

Profundity of Life After Adoption

Why Knit?