Uncategorized Archives - Page 9 of 16

June 26, 2014June 26, 2014

Parenting Backwards {Summer Rewind}

Raising a child from birth to adulthood seems like a cycle of teaching attachment and then teaching how to let go. First, you try to get a newborn to attach to a breast for feeding then after a few months, a few years for some, you ween them off of the breast and onto a bottle. The process starts all over again. Attach to the bottle then ween to a sippy cup and so on. Just think about it: we use things to comfort and nourish and soothe our children just so later on we can teach them that they will have to grow up and move on from them. A blankie, a pacifier, a crib, a toy, a home, etc. It’s a cycle of teaching them to attach and let go because that is what life is all about.

Well, parenting an adopted child feels completely opposite of that to me. I feel like I am having to parent backwards. Instead of teaching Jaydn to attach and let go, I am trying to teach her to let go and attach, let go of her defense mechanisms and the tools she has been using to survive her almost animalistic institutionalized life up until now and attach to us at the heart level, let go of her fears of abandonment and sense of self-sufficiency and attach to us, her loving family who she can trust and feel safe with because we aren’t going anywhere.

It is really hard to parent this way after years of doing it the other way. Call me selfish, but I enjoy the times when Jaxon and Jovie are playing in the other room while I do my quiet time or dishes or whatever I need to do for a little while. I have taught them to trust a babysitter or a Sunday school teacher so that Nathan and I can have a date, or I can enjoy worship with our church body. Teaching even toddler-aged kids to let go has its perks! But, parenting backwards is a conscious sacrifice of those perks. With Jaydn on my lap 24/7, I can only catch bits of the sermon between feeding her crackers or keeping an eye on her as she destroys my notes with a pen. Nathan and I don’t go on dates. Dishes, quiet times, and whatever else I need to do will just have to wait until she is asleep at night. And, to be honest, by then, I’m too tired, so it simply doesn’t get done.

Another example is last night. We went to a worship and music ministry party. We couldn’t get a babysitter because it’s too early in Jaydn’s development to leave her with anyone else so Nathan and I drove separately just in case I would need to leave because of the kids. So, as Nathan wandered around meeting and greeting people he will be working so closely with in the coming years, I sat on a couch with a 40lb 2-year-old squishing my face at an almost painful strength, knotting my hair with her forceful fingers, and then jerking herself backwards at random times with brut force almost breaking my arms as I attempt to catch her each time. A sweet new friend offered to watch her for a minute while I ventured to the chocolate fountain, and I jumped at the chance. “OH! YES! Kid freedom!,” I thought to myself. I returned from the other room a few minutes later, knowing I wasn’t really “supposed” to do that, but Lord knows I needed it (both the break and the chocolate-covered fruit). Then, it was back to my lap she came. I kept thinking about how the other two kids were upstairs, entertaining themselves, and what a gift that truly had become to me as one tired mommy. I went upstairs to join them and sat on the floor while Jaydn would get up long enough to grab a toy and then plop onto my lap again. The process of her seeing me as different than every other woman in the room is an arduous one.

Please know that I am not complaining. Actually, I am learning out loud. I am learning how to parent someone who has no experiential reason to trust/love me. I am learning how to walk through every painful door of her self-sufficiency and place Christ’s redemption story there. I am not Jaydn’s mommy because I had to be. I chose this role out of obedience to God’s command through Scripture. So, as in all things I experience in my life where I feel ill-equipped and unable, I believe that God has placed me here to be more reliant on Him. I know He can parent forwards, backwards, upwards, downwards, sideways and upside down–He is The Everlasting Father. My prayer is that through all of this, He will also teach me how to let go (and let God) and teach Jaydn how to attach.

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I have been married going on 8 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- 5 1/2, Jovie, 2 1/2, and Jaydn 2). Jaydn came to us through adoption from Uganda, Africa. We moved to Little Rock, Arkansas, but I am a west coast girl at heart. I enjoy photography, adventure recreation, and teaching high-school students about the most important decision they could ever make: to follow Jesus.

June 16, 2014June 16, 2014

Between Beauty and Brokenness

I’m on vacation in one of my favorite places on earth- the Florida beach on the Gulf of Mexico.There’s a 7 mile stretch between Pensacola and Navarre called the Gulf Island National Seashore. It’s a protected area so there are absolutely no buildings- no high rise hotels, no restaurants, no bars, and no tattoo parlors; only a two-lane road with a 35 mph speed limit. It’s the beautiful beach the way God made it. Two years ago when we drove through with our kids, I told Tom, “One day, I want to come back and run this gorgeous stretch. You can drop me off and pick me up on the other side”.

Well, the “one day” just arrived today! I excitedly prepared for my run of beauty which included lots of sunscreen, lots of water, and my favorite sunglasses. There were special signs placed all along the road reading “Shorebird nesting- 20 mph”. How cute- the Mamma birds are nesting so the cars need to drive even slower. Just perfect!!! Maybe I’ll see a nest or two. I just can’t wait!

It wasn’t long before my “How cute!” turned into “Hey!!! what’s going on???” I had no more run 100 yards when these cute mamma shore birds starting flying overhead, screeching and dive bombing my head- obviously threatened by my presence. Tom and I were running the first few miles together, and I was a few steps behind him laughing at the one brave bird who got within a foot of his head, swooping down over and over. Laughter soon turned to dismay as the number of birds increased and I started hearing splats hit the ground beside me. How could my much anticipated run in such a beautiful location be so full of poop?

It was then that I remembered a word picture given by Dan Cruver at the Together for Adoption convention in Atlanta last fall. He said that adoption is the road between beauty and brokenness. Adoption is so beautiful because it pictures what Christ does for us- taking us as His children and calling us His own. But it is only possible because of brokenness in our world. Dan said that he realized this as he stood on a road in Haiti with the beautiful emerald ocean on one side and a mass grave with thousands of hurricane victims buried on the other. As I ran along today trying to dodge the bird poop falling down, I also thought of my own adopted children. They are so beautiful and were so anticipated. Yet because of their early years of abandonment and institutionalization, they have a lot of yuck to work through in their hearts and lives.

This sometimes translates into difficult parenting. But isn’t that the reality of adoption?

When I reached the other side of the Gulf Island National Seashore an hour later, I was covered in bird poop. But along the way I chose to enjoy the beautiful white sand, listen to the roll of waves, smell the salty air, feel the breeze on my face, and thank God for my wonderful, adopted children.

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Rebecca Cruttenden, founder and director of Team Orphans, is a dedicated mom of three adopted children, and a three-time Ironman finisher. She has raised over $80,000 for adoption grants in the last three years. She, her husband Tom, and their three children live in Rockford, Michigan. Her next race is Ironman Florida on November 1, 2014. You can read more about Rebecca’s work with Team Orphans on their blog.

June 9, 2014June 3, 2014

Why Google Can Never Be a Mom

Let’s be honest. Google is pretty great. It can give you directions, show you photos and sort through billions of facts to deliver the information you want. Its so awesome it is both a noun and a verb. There are nearly 6,000,000 Google searches a day. One of the most common questions people type into Google is “What is the meaning of life?”.

I’m not nearly as smart as Google, but I imagine what people are really asking is “What is the meaning of my life?”. When you type it into Google all kinds of quotes, articles and opinion websites pop up. Data to sort through for days. And yet, that doesn’t really answer the question people are asking.

Rewind a few weeks…

I recently returned from a trip to Burundi. This small country is nestled in the heart of Africa between Rwanda and Tanzania. Currently, my family is in the middle of adopting two children from there. One evening when I was organizing all the things I had to bring with me, I watched a film called Closure. (If you are interested in adoption, I highly recommend it.)

It is a documentary about a trans-racial adoptee, Angela, who searches for her birth family. As someone who is adopting I was struck by her search for identity. Her adoptive family was incredible and joined her in the hunt for her biological family. There was one scene that stood out in particular.

Angela was using Google to hunt down information on her family. And Google was giving her answers, but she was looking for more than facts – she was looking for people.

Fast forward to last week in Africa…

I was sitting in a shelter surrounded by orphans. A little girl who was 5 shared my seat as I listened to the nun across the table talk about the kids who were in their care. She was sharing the facts and stats of all the children there – how old they were, their medical history, how many are available for adoption…

The children in the room were not very interested in the stats and data on their lives. They were focused on this one particular nun who tickled them, looked them straight in the eye and snuggled them while whispering something in their ears. I don’t know what she was whispering, but it sure made them all smile.

so happy to be in Africa

I couldn’t put my finger on it at the moment, but sitting in that room I started thinking of Angela from the documentary. Later that night I sat under my mosquito net and processed out the day. That is when I realized what the connection was.

The similarity between Angela and the children in those shelters is that they didn’t want facts or data. Angela could Google a million personality quizzes to help her shape her identity or search online for her missing family. These kids in Burundi have information in their files which gives a brief glimpse of where they have come from.

However, this information is not what these children are craving. I saw it watching them interact with the nuns. They want people to look into their eyes and really see them. They want a voice to speak their value out loud. Someone to tell them what they are great at and help them dream into what they could become.

For all the information that is out there – personality quizzes, scholarly articles, personal medical histories – there is no substitute for an actual person looking you in the eye and telling you why you matter. It is what everyone craves and I recognized it in the little eyes all around me.

While Google can spit out loads of resources and facts, it can never be a mom. It can never hold a hand, sing an original song or squeeze into a toddler bed to snuggle a sick kid. Google can never really answer the most asked question in the world, “What is the meaning of my life?“.

women in Burundi

For the rest of my time in Africa, I thought about those children’s mothers. Many of them died from HIV or complications in childbirth. My imagination can’t comprehend how hard it must have been for them to realize that they would never have the chance to watch their babies grow up.

They would never get to tell them the story of how they were born, tell them the potential they see in them or share with them memories from their own childhood. Those mamas never got the chance to give their kids what they are longing for – identity.

I am reminded of the powerful privilege of motherhood. The ability we have to touch, speak and develop our kids is one not every woman is given. God has granted us the honor to speak identity into our kids. Who they are in Christ and who they are to us. It is a question the world is asking. Google may be smarter than us, but we have the answers.

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Elizabeth is a church planter, speaker, writer and abolitionist. She lives in Texas with her husband and two kids. They are currently in the process of adopting siblings from Burundi. Her other hobbies include wasting time on social media, trying to remember where she parked her car & browsing Pinterest for DIY projects she will never actually make. You can visit her at Lark & Bloom or on Twitter @larkandbloom.

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Are you looking for an opportunity to go and serve orphans? Consider joining us from October 9th-19th for an opportunity to do significant work in the lives of both children and adults and prepare for life-change yourself in the process.

Visit The Sparrow Fund for more information!

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June 5, 2014May 16, 2022

But God {Summer Rewind}

So much of what’s communicated about the world of adoption can feel so fatalistic. Both the outside observer and the mom who is in the thick of it can share the same bleak perspective. One perceives trouble and the other lives it, daily. Anecdotes about the neighbor’s son who, post-adoption, traumatized his siblings, share equal weight with a mother’s desperate prayer requests for her child, whose countenance has iced-over since they brought her home. Rewind 10 years and any sort of bump in the pathway to the “normal” life intimidated me. My secret goal was to maintain an equilibrium in every way.

A good marriage, steady friendships, growing impact on the world, faithful-but-not-interrupted walk with God. None of these, in and of themselves, are wrong, of course. But, they couldn’t exist alongside my prayers for a unique intimacy with God. He let me share, however little, in His sufferings. Little did I know that what was in front of me would prepare me to administer healing to my daughter and walk alongside my son in his grief. My hiccups found me a Father, and they are teaching me to be a mother. Though I met with Jesus in the back-alley of life and found true safety outside of my “normal” life, I still carried those same expectations for normalcy over my children, who came to me through an anything-but-normal means. Residual fear of straying from the norm carried through to our first months and even year of absorbing Eden and Caleb into our fold. “Happy children” was my goal. The problem, unfortunately, being that I also prayed even before the first time I laid eyes on them, that they would know Him as Daddy. I’ve asked, almost daily, that they would know in their innermost being how high, wide, deep and long is His love. While happy is surely the fruit of a child who knows their Father loves them, there are years where that truth may have been called into question, for my little former-orphans. And, they cannot be erased. And, grief has surfaced in our home. The pain behind her eyes is unavoidable at times. Her grasps for the promise of security exposed behind weak attempts to disguise them. Is our love as temporal as the one she first knew? If the womb’s bond was broken by poverty, who can she trust?

The foundational fissures of a child, once abandoned, cannot be easily caulked. Even the early years are subject to a forever imprint. But God. Yes, but God. The same words I heard years ago about all those areas of “normal” being stretched thin, are the words I hear now. I found a flicker of light in the night, then, that set my whole heart on a different course. One breath of His changed everything. I was not made to simply endure, forever living by the scars I’d incurred along the way. I was made to conquer. To win. And the prize was the internal shifting of my heart that would never be taken away from me. I would never be the same again. My walk through the valley of the shadow of death marked my twenties and early thirties. My daughter found it at three and four. But, her scars will be her testimony. And, the imprint, a remainder mark of the sweet kiss of Jesus. I feel the ripples of loss in my home. When fear fills her eyes and insecurity leaks out, I inhale the abandonment too. She clasps her hands around my neck with a hold that craves promise, while expecting that one day this, too, will end. Her joy and zeal, overshadowed as of late, by tentativeness. By itself, it is bleak. It is fatalistic. There is reason to accept our children will be forever broken. “But God” echoes from my insides. I want to shout it in my home and let the hope of those words linger like a candle’s fragrance in winter over our responses to this vessel not-yet-fully-healed. She gets to find Him. Early. The darkness ignored by many but undeniable to her, begs a light. My little girl will see the goodness of God in the land of the living. And because I’d faulted in my marriage, my friendships, my impact, my ambitions, her road to Him is actually exciting for me. I know not just what is on the other side, but the Man she gets to meet along the way. And His grip around her tiny fingers offers her early admittance to safety.

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Sara is a wife to Nate and a mother of five 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.

June 3, 2014June 3, 2014

Two Years In {Madly In Love}

I stir – barely. Two dark eyes stare at me and a little voice whimpers – Mommy, I had a bad dream that I lost my family. I lift him up, pull him close and in a moment, back to sleep.

It’s morning, but dark. I’m aware that there’s a child next to me, sleeping deeply, body twitching. I don’t even remember who it is. So I reach over and find the head – oh, that coarse hair belongs to no one but him. And I stay in bed, hand on him, bodies close, hearing our inhales and exhales.

A while later and I’m looking at him, that dark brown back, shoulders incredibly broad and strong, made for throwing and catching. And my thoughts catch up to me, and I’m taken back by my feelings, because I realize I’m madly in love.

Madly in love? See, love is a verb – and for nearly two years, two LONG years, I’ve been doing agape love. DOING love, and feeling grief. Doing love, and feeling exhaustion. DOING love and feeling hopelessness.

Agape love may be a verb, but madly in love, storge, is a feeling. And I was feeling it.

It’s that feeling I’ve felt with my infants, when I wanted to drench myself in their beauty and sweet scent, when I couldn’t snap enough pictures or share enough stories. But when rocking, a hug and a good-night kiss is met with snarls of THAT WAS TOO SHORT and then an hour of mad screaming, love is negate of feeling but instead pure obedience, unconditional, agape, following Christ, attempting to love as He loved, and and feeling my deep ineptitude the entire time.

I’ve wanted to adopt all my life, and I naively thought I would be able to mother children not born to me because of the affection I felt towards children who weren’t mine, how I could agape difficult campers during my many years at Royal Family Kids Camp. And I felt affection for him from the moment I met him, how could I not? But initial affection is not enough to carry a Mother through when it’s your son’s birthday and you wake up excited to celebrate him and he wakes up spitting in your face.

But it was that day, a month or two ago where I tenderly responded to defiance with You act so tough all the time but you’re just a little boy who needs his Mommy. His body softened, face perplexed, not knowing what to think. Up until now his Mom had felt threatened by those torrents of anger, by the non-stop arguing.

And then that night after an hour of non-stop arguing and I found those dark steeled eyes and I ask a sincere question: I wonder if right now you just need a bottle? He melts, literally collapses his body into mine, walls down now.

And in this past month he has come more and more to me – for affection, for hugs. Even when he’s angry I’ve noticed that he is willing to melt into my arms to calm himself down. Our nap time snuggles are long and sincere. And one nap as he fell into REM twitching I thought about my infants and how I would peel away from them once they were in REM sleep. And I realize we are both experiencing redemption – I am experiencing delight and joy in my son and he is feeling safe in his mothers’ arms – something we both had lost.

Joe comments how much this son loves me. And I realize – madly in love takes two – WE are madly in love. He storges me, and I storge him. Now as lovers do, madly in love is a feeling that ebbs and flows. He’s still a difficult child. I still lose my my patience.

I think these stories are crucial for adoptive parents to share. I think there is a great deal of pressure to have a “positive adoption story.” But the pain must be shared to give parents hope who are experiencing homelessness. And there are many, many more despairing adoptive parents than most people could ever imagine. But redemption is real, and praise God, it happens.

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Jenny was just 15 when she felt God’s call to spend her life with foster care and adoption. Shortly thereafter, she started working for Royal Family Kids’ Camp and did so for the next 10 years, even asking her then boyfriend to join her at camp. Her vision became a shared vision and she married her best friend Joe in 2002. By 2012 they had two children ages 4 and 6 and were planning on fostering babies and toddlers. But instead God brought a sibling group, ages 1, 3 and 5 into their lives and made it clear that they were to adopt them. Her professional background in Child Development and Early Intervention has made her passionate about forming healthy attachment relationships with her children and helping them heal from trauma. Her personal blog has been her way to seek God’s heart along the journey and you can read at lifewiththebrackmans.blogspot.com

May 30, 2014October 20, 2018

Be a Blessing {A Call to Help}

We were all hot and drenched with sweat by the time we reached the steep incline. Hours of hiking the rugged country of Israel had left us drained. But there was more to see just ahead, so one by one we tackled the climb searching for footholds and struggling to keep our balance. Our guide had paused midway up the climb offering his hand to us in assistance. However, nearly everybody in our group declined his help, perhaps not wanting to appear weak or tired or needy.

Once our group had made the climb and was ready to continue, our guide gave us a bit of an earful. Why had we all declined his offer of help? We were surprised by his question and stood silently. He went on to explain that by declining his help we had denied him the opportunity to bless us. Our declining actually took something away from him.

Whether we like it or not, we all need help from each other. God designed us to live in community — in community with Him and with each other. And in community living, there is help that is needed and help to be given.

The Sparrow Fund specializes in being on the helping side of things, in being a blessing to others. What began as a fund to give grants to families to help cover the cost of medical reviews of a referral quickly grew to include: training and speaking, retreats, and offering other resources to adoptive families. All of these “acts of helping” fall right in line with their mission: Encouraging and supporting families in the adventure of adoption. The Sparrow Fund has made it their mission to help, to be a blessing others. But they can’t do it alone.

They need help. This is your opportunity to be a blessing to them.

They need funding in order to continue to do the work to which God has called them. Most of that funding comes from Building the Nest — an event that lasts for only one month. One month to raise funding for all that they do. And that month is May.

May 31st (Saturday) is the LAST day…the LAST day to buy from any of the businesses listed here and have 10% of the profits go right back to supporting the work of The Sparrow Fund.

So, on their behalf, can I ask you to take a look at the businesses involved in this year’s Building the Nest, and then make a list of all the people you will need to buy a gift in the coming months. (Birthdays, anniversaries, teacher gifts, Christmas, etc.) You need to shop for them anyways, why not do it now and shop with a purpose. Shop knowing that your purchases are helping to continue the work of The Sparrow Fund. By being intentional about your shopping right now — today — you will be a blessing to not only Mark and Kelly who run TSF, but you will be blessing all of the families TSF supports throughout the year.

Each and every purchase will make a difference, and each and every purchase you make will enter you in a drawing to win an iPad bundle! Just follow this link and leave a comment to the original post telling what you bought and you will be entered!

The Sparrow Fund exists to bless others. Won’t you take this opportunity to bless them with your purchases?

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18 years in the classroom as a teacher was easy compared to parenting three little ones at home full-time. Through their three daughters, God has revealed Himself most clearly to Stephanie and her husband Matthew. He not only worked a miracle in giving them their biological daughter, He continued to show Himself in mighty ways throughout adoption journeys in China and Bhutan that were anything but normal. Nowadays she enjoys encouraging and connecting with other adoptive families through speaking and her work on the leadership team of “We Are Grafted In”. You can read more about their family on their personal blog We Are Family.

May 28, 2014May 29, 2014

A Letter to Her First Mother

To her first mother:

You are one of the most important people in my life, and I have never met you. You live somewhere halfway across the world, in a Chinese city. You are our daughter’s first mother. You carried her under your heart for a precious 9 months, gave birth to her, and then made a difficult decision. And although you couldn’t raise her yourself, I know that you loved her in an unbelievable way because you selflessly chose LIFE. You chose to make her a blessing to another mother, even though it was surely a devastating and unsettling decision to make.

I am that mother, and I want you to know that I think of you often. I think about you when I rock her to sleep at night. As I sing her favorite song to her, I cannot help but mourn your losses as a mother to her. I look at her birth mark and her belly button, and am reminded of the short time she was able to spend with you. When I look into her eyes, I wonder how much they look like yours and I regret that you can’t see the light in them. When I see she has grown another inch, I wonder if her first father is tall. When I see her smile and laugh, my heart hurts that you cannot see her happiness and beauty. I’m sad that you haven’t been able to witness the graceful way she has handled every situation thrown at her. I hurt for the experiences you have already missed, and all of the experiences in the future that you won’t be a part of.

As we celebrate Mother’s Day here in the U.S., I want you to be at peace. I want you to know that our daughter is most definitely a blessing to me. She is also an amazing blessing to her Daddy, her sister, her brother, and all of her family. She is joyful and happy. She rarely stops smiling and she lights up every room she walks into. She is loving and affectionate. She is strong and courageous. She is so very graceful and brave. She is smart and clever. She is funny and silly and feisty. She has a beautiful spirit and has completely stolen my heart. She is so loved and has been well-cared for her whole life, including the year she spent with her foster family in Fuzhou.

When she is old enough to ask about you, I will tell her that you loved her. Although I do not know the circumstances of her birth, I will tell her you made the best decision you could at the time. I will tell her that neither one of us are less her mother than the other. We are both equally mothers to her in different ways. I will pray for you with her … for peace as her first mother, that you know our daughter is loved, healthy, happy, and well-cared for. We will pray that you know God’s love as we do, and that if we do not meet each other in this life, that we will see each other in Heaven.

Many blessings and so much love,
Nicole

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Nicole is a daughter to the King and a wife to an amazing man. She is a classical homeschooling mama to {almost} four, by birth and adoption. She is a part-time newborn photographer, a founder and adoption photographer at Red Thread Sessions, a contributing blogger at No Hands But Ours, and an advocate of orphan care and adoption. When she’s not with her family or behind her camera, she loves to blog, create, give life to old furniture, spend time at the beach, and read. She strives to live her life to glorify our Heavenly Father. With His love, all things are possible.

May 20, 2014May 20, 2014

Once Upon a Time Until Forever {Part Two}

There’s a new picture hanging in my kitchen today, a new masterpiece to our mixed media gallery, hanging between Olaf magnets and a flyer from school.

Yesterday was her last Chinese class of the year. Little dark-haired people skitted around the room while soft-spoken Lao Shi tried to shepherd their bodies with seemingly swelling energy. Typically, one of us sits in her class and typically tries to read despite the reason why we’re there. But, with the senioritis that suspiciously attacked even these preschoolers, I was needed.

Lao Shi had brought photocopies for the children to complete and staple together as memory books of the year. Way over the heads of children who can barely write their own names, most of them were scribbling and distracted and alternating between singing Liang Zhi Lao Hu and Let it Go. Lydia clutched a red pen in her little fingers, firmly held it motionless over the ABOUT ME page before her and swung her feet with gusto below her. As the teacher tried to help other kids, I pulled up to her desk to help her, filling in the blanks with the words she supplied to me.

My age: 5.

Where I was born: China.

My parents: Mommy and Daddy.

Brothers & Sisters: Ashlyn, Drew and Evan.

Pets: Mojo and Bebo.

My picture:

Okay, Lydia. Go ahead. You draw a picture of yourself there.

Pressing hard on the page, she drew her typical person—a round circle for a head, an oval torso, stick arms and legs, eyes and a smile, and some hair around the head. But, then she started intensely working on that torso. I thought she was intent on giving herself a dress that matched the one she was wearing. I watched until she put the pen down with contentment.

That’s a big belly and inside that is a baby that was beautiful called Yue Yue that became Lydia.

It was not a dress she was intensely drawing, it was herself in the womb of her first mother. I smiled and waited for her and for the lump in my throat to dissipate a little. While I waited, she picked up the pen again and went back to her drawing, this time drawing a little body on the chest of the stick figure that was her China mommy.

A doctor helped me to come out of her belly because that’s what doctors do.

Is that your China mommy holding you?

Yup….I don’t know her name.

I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know her name either. I wish we did….

No one stopped to listen. No one there sat with me and marveled at all this little 5 year old girl is processing when she is told to complete a picture appropriate for the title ABOUT ME. This little moment just blended into the energy of the room and class went on without a notice of another step in the journey of a little girl and the woman who is her second mother.

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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 The Sparrow Fund. 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.

May 14, 2014May 13, 2014

Some Powerful Words of Approval

Blessing. It is the simplest of things to do, as are so many of the things I forget to be intentional about in the daily swirl of parenting!

I love to tell my daughter, “You are just amazing! I love who you are and I love it that I get to be your mommy.”

It is a joy to say to my son, “What a strong young man you are! It is just plain fun to be with you.”

Who of us does not desire that kind of approval?! I still see, after these many years later since our children first came home, that the need for blessing in our adopted children is even more key to their wholeness and identity than with our biological children.

Father God spoke powerful words of blessing over His Son:

And behold, a voice from heaven said, This is My Son, My Beloved, in Whom I delight! (Matthew 3:17 AMP)

There is a lot in this short scripture for us!

The voice that spoke the blessing was the Father. There is something powerful about a daddy’s blessing. We mamas can and should bless too, for we have a voice of significant influence, but you fathers have a unique and powerful role in blessing your children.
My Son”–find ways to speak belonging, relationship, and connection. Father didn’t say, “this is the son.” He said “this is My son.” I just love that!
“My Son“–never grow tired of speaking sonship to, with, about, and over your adopted child. A son or daughter is not an orphan. I see my children’s perceived need of this truth to come and go over the 14 and 12 years they have been home, but I am absolutely convinced that they always are hungering for this declaration. Even now as young adults, maybe even more so actually because they are going through the sometimes complicated process of making sense of their identities, they sometimes struggle with what it means that they are no longer orphans.
God spoke this defining blessing out loud where others could hear. I love speaking words of affirmation and blessing to my children in the hearing of their siblings, peers, and other adults. Sure, they may act embarrassed at some stages, but I can see they really love it underneath! For all of us, it just plain feels good when someone speaks of their pleasure in us. We are empowering our children when we bless them in front of others.
“My Beloved”–we find ways to highlight that this is not just our son or daughter. Not only a child who was adopted, and so now has a familial connection to us. No! This is a much loved child. Oh how our children need to hear this. This reality may not be true for your children, but for ours, the fact is that they know from experience that not all sons and daughters are much loved.
“My Beloved”–again, notice that Father God highlights the personal connection with His son. Jesus is not merely a beloved son, he is my beloved son.
“In Whom I Delight“–I love how God doesn’t stop at familial relationship as He blesses Jesus. It’s like He is saying, “There is even more than that! I like him–a lot. I enjoy him. He pleases me.” Find ways to show your approval. Even, and especially, in those times when it is hardest to find something of which to approve!

And you know, God spoke these power words over His son before Jesus had done any miracles, or fulfilled His destiny, or made the choice to yield to the Father’s will of death on the cross. We also can and should bless our children, not based on their performance, but on their identity–even and especially when their actions don’t reflect the truth of who they are as a true son or daughter.

So my fellow parents, let’s be intentional in speaking these kind of powerful words of approval and blessing and life into, about, over and with our children. I am seeing the fruit of it in our 4 adopted children who are now 19, 19, 21 and 23– there is very little more satisfying than that for this mama!

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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.

May 12, 2014June 11, 2018

Wrestling

I’m a rule follower. I’m usually not that interested in blazing a trail or forging a new path. I like tried-and-true. I like safe. Perhaps I feel like if I follow a set rule or the “right” way the outcome will be guaranteed. Guaranteed to be positive, productive, and pleasant. Who doesn’t like pleasant, right?

So, I’ve done my fair share of reading. I should clarify, I am not a reader of novels and quality literature. I really wish I was, but I’m not. But, I do read helpful how-to books. Books about how to grow spiritually, parent successfully, and nurture effectively.

I’m also surrounded by friends and family whose input an opinions I value. Honest, God-following, straight-shooting, encouraging, wise people. I’m not afraid to admit when I don’t know something or need to grow in an area, and I’m quick to seek out the wisdom and experience of others.

But, what I’m really looking for in all of that is a rule. A “right” way of doing things. The right way. Because if I can figure out the one right answer to whatever challenge or decision I am facing, I will be guaranteed to like the results.

The only problem is, as much as I really, really want there to be one. right. answer. There usually isn’t.

What works for you, might not work for me.

What worked for one of my children, may not for the other.

Which makes this whole parenting gig challenging, to say the least. Besides the typical decisions of parenting, there are questions and decisions about what my children – biological and adopted – need to grow into emotionally healthy, spiritually strong people. And as they grow, the questions and decisions change. In parenting, instead of a to-do list where things are crossed off leaving you with a feeling of accomplishment, one decision or question often leads to another.

Does she need more time with me?

How can I encourage bonding in a way that she will connect with?

Are her outbursts a normal phase or is she working through something adoption related?

How will my two daughters with two very different adoption stories feel about their story?

When is it appropriate to share each detail of their story? When are they ready?

Is she too attached to me? Is it healthy attachment?

How do I encourage our bio daughter who feels left out being the only one not adopted?

Big questions. Big decisions. No real “right” answers. No one rule to follow to guarantee results. Just a wrestling.

Wrestling with the options, the experts’ opinions, the input of wise counsel and the prayers to my Heavenly Father to guide me. To guide me in some clear and unmistakable way, please. And while there have been times when He has done so, I find that more often than not I am left to wrestle.

Wrestle with the options and choices and decisions. We wrestle with the what as well as the why. We wrestle with Him.

“Then Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him until daybreak.” Genesis 32:24

“…your name shall no longer be Jacob, but Israel; for you have struggled with God and with men and have prevailed.”
Genesis 32:28

“…he wrestled with the angel and prevailed; He wept and
sought His favor.”
Hosea 12:4

However, wrestling is never wasted.

I believe God actually wants us to wrestle. Wrestle with decisions and wrestle with Him. He doesn’t spell out every right answer to every question we face. You just have to look at all the Christian denominations there are to see that people interpret his Word in different ways, all wrestling with what it means to follow Christ. We want black and white, but often we feel like we find a lot of gray, and so we wrestle. We want clear explanations to the struggles we face, and so we wrestle.

It is in the wrestling that we develop a closer relationship with God. There is a closeness – an intimacy – necessary in wrestling. It can also be messy. It is a struggle that brings us near to God and strengthens our faith, changing us as He touches the parts of our character that need shaping.

So, while I still want one right answer to each parenting and attachment question, I’m often times left to wrestle. Wrestle with the choices set before me and wrestle with God, yearning to hear His voice and see his leading. And in the end, praying to be strengthened in the process.

I’m not sure that my desire for the Book of Right Answers will ever go away, my list of questions, concerns and decisions about my children sure isn’t. But, I am growing in my appreciation of the growth and intimacy that comes from the wrestling.

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Blog

Category: Uncategorized

Parenting Backwards {Summer Rewind}

Between Beauty and Brokenness

Why Google Can Never Be a Mom

But God {Summer Rewind}

Two Years In {Madly In Love}

Be a Blessing {A Call to Help}

A Letter to Her First Mother

Once Upon a Time Until Forever {Part Two}

Some Powerful Words of Approval

Wrestling