Melik

March 25, 2014 The first time I saw my son was on a Tuesday afternoon. I am not certain of that, however, Tuesday seems to embody: normal, average, day. My oldest daughter and I had returned the day before from seeing my brother in Brussells, Belgium. We were so jet lagged. My husband and I had a week left until our Foster care license would expire. Honestly, we were waiting for it to run out. Our four daughters were keeping us plenty busy. We had discussed adopting again, but honestly, Greg was already working two jobs and our house was bursting at the seams. Abby and I awoke from our slumber and decided to make a Starbucks run. As I was driving down our main street in town, my phone rang. You guessed it. Our case worker, and friend, was calling to see if we would be open to a two week long placement. “It’s a boy!” she said. “And he’s African American,” which we had requested on our profile. Parenting black children, one who was markedly darker than the other, had convinced us that we should be specific on this application. “He’s been with a family member for two weeks and he’s four months old. Our plan is to clear another family member for placement.” Wow. So we would be this little guy’s 3rd home in his short little life. “Ok. Well, let me call Greg.” Before I go into the phone call, let me give you some insight into the way we think and live. It has been the norm in our almost 20 years together, that we have not had to have long, drawn-out, discussions over major events in in our marriage. The big decisions seem to come to us already made. We can have a “ruin your date night” discussion over where to eat, bringing stray dogs into the house until the pound can pick them up, or my anxiety over his driving. As to buying houses, cars, adopting children; not so much. I do see the irony, or lunacy, in this as I type it. However, it is what it is. So I call Greg and say, “Here’s the deal, blah, blah, blah, what do you think?” He says, “Well, he’s 4 months old so he’ll sleep a lot, which will allow homeschooling to not be interrupted. I think that sounds good. And, it’s only for two weeks! What do you think?” I said, “Yeah, I think we should be alright.” Now, for those of you who over-spiritualize how this works, there is little time for prayer in these moments. The praying has to be something that is being done before and consistently. Like breathing in and out. Emma, our case worker, needed to find a home for him quickly. He was being moved out of his first placement because it was proving to be a threatening environment. So my final words to Greg were, “Ok, I am calling her now so don’t call me in thirty minutes and say you’ve changed your mind.” He assured me that that would not happen. And that was that. My two older daughters and I drove down town and rode the elevator to the 4th floor. We told the receptionist that we would like to see Case Worker X. She came out and we told her that we were going to be the foster family and we wondered if we could see him. She told me that she would be bringing him to our house in a couple of hours but she would let us see him. She disappeared behind a glass and came back holding this little bitty baby. Melik weighed 9 pounds at 4 months old. My oldest daughter was 9.5 at birth. By 4 months, she was like a toddler. He had new born eyes and a soft, silky, head full of hair. He was still curled-up, as if someone had just unwrapped him in-utero. He was someone else’s son, and although I was taking everything in, I was just the babysitter. Short-term at that. He will never know me or have any memory of me. I will be a link in the chain of healthy-attachment. He came to our home shortly after that. Some of his clothes were in a duffel bag and others were in the Luv’s diaper box. He had a bear that his aunt had sent with him that said The Lord’s Prayer. He was precious. We signed all of the paper work stating that we would do everything that we had been trained to do, and the case worker left. Several days passed and real life set in. I began to wear Melik. I would tie him on the front of my body in the morning, and unless I was driving or in the shower, that is where he stayed. After all of his records had been transferred to our pediatrician, which was his 3rd, I discovered that he had been born 2 months early. His first home was the NICU where he lived for his first 8 weeks. After going home, for a month and a half, he was removed and placed with his aunt for the next two weeks. And now he would be with us until his new home could prepare. You know, all removals are not the same. His mom truly loved him, and loves him, to the best of her ability. However, she mentally could not shoulder the responsibility of a child. She should have never been in this situation. She was not protected properly. Yet through this turn of events is born a beautiful little boy. Her son. I cannot forget to tell you about the Skype call we had with my mom who was still in Brussells. She would not be returning to the States for another week. She and my brother’s family answered our call thinking that we would be checking in to report about our flight home. When we told them that we had a surprise for them, something we wanted to show them, they were expecting a ferret. You know, I hate rodents or anything resembling rodents. One of my children became fixated on the idea of getting a ferret while I was overseas. Every call was about this ferret and the leash that she was told that she could walk him with. She had this entire life planned around this loving, and playful, rodent. That being said, when Melik’s little face came on the screen they began to laugh and coo at the same time. Around the third week we begin to hear that the family was not panning out as anticipated. Contrary to popular belief, there are lots of details that go into placement. Although not a perfect system, our experience with CPS has been positive. CASA was heavily involved in home visits, as well as CPS. It was a consensus that he not be moved. Weekly visits were now happening. I would take him, drop him off for an hour, and the case worker would bring him home. This was proving to be more difficult for me, emotionally, because I had bonded with this child. It is so taxing to keep these boundaries in place. Why should anyone have the right to tell me when he can get a haircut? I’m raising him. Why would anyone care what kind of clothes he wears to a visit? They are clean and new. Who has the audacity to question what he’s eating? I’m not just giving him the right kind of formula, but he’s finally gaining weight. All of these uncensored thoughts flooded my mind daily. Me. The foster parent. After months of trying unsuccessfully to keep him with his biological family, word came that we would have the opportunity to adopt him. This was a fantastic day in my life. I honestly felt as if the Lord was blessing me with too great a gift. One main event that I will never forget, as long as I live, was the day that Greg and I sat down with Melik’s birthmother and talked. We were in a small room with case workers, CASA workers, me and Greg, and his birthmom. She was a noticeably nervous. She had the mental capacity of an 11 year old, maybe. With assistance, she had written a list of questions for us. She wanted to know if we were to adopt him if we would let him wear t-shirts that had cartoon characters on them. She was curious about our daughters. She liked the fact that Greg was a Pastor because she wanted Melik to be “raised up Christian.” She also wanted Melik to remain his name. Her Grandmother liked that name and wanted that name to be used. I promised her that his name would remain. We took pictures together and hugged. When she left the room it was completely silent. Several reading this blog were there and can attest to this. I bowed my head and allowed the locked up emotions to come out. The gravity of what was taking place in that moment was so overwhelming. Shortly after that meeting, I got a phone call that she was there wanting to relinquish her rights as his legal parent. The day that she stood before the Judge to say that this was her decision, was another monumental day. We had a long break so she and I decided to go have lunch. We went to Sonic and grabbed some burgers. On the way back to the courthouse, Bill Wither’s came on the radio singing, “Ain’t no Sunshine.” She sang at the top of her lungs. Innocent as a child, she sang freely and passionately. And I became engulfed in emotion as she sang. She rocked slowly, forward and backward, singing, and feeling whatever it was that she was feeling. I was wondering what she might be thinking about and how things might have been different for her. I was wondering what I was feeling. I knew then that she would always be a significant part of our son’s life and our life, too. And I felt again the sting of adoption. What was redemptive in my eyes, from my perspective, was a jail sentence to her. She, in spite of her limitations, loved him. And he would call me Mommy. This has proven to be a difficult scenario as he still sees her. However, it is one that we are willing to push through because it is important and we have given her our word. We finalized our adoption shortly after, on my 40th birthday. So today, Gregory Amos Melik Fields, on your 3rd birthday, here is MY prayer for You: I pray that you will know that you have always been loved. From birth until now, you are fiercely loved and treasured by two sets of parents. I pray that you will always honor your Mother. Both of them. I pray that you will grow to be a strong man of God who breaks the patterns of previous generations. I pray that you will live with the same passionate, freedom that your birth mom sang with. And I pray, that like your Daddy, you will not sweat the big stuff…because we would have missed out on so much joy if he had!

Yukon Men

I am addicted to other people’s lives. I must confess, I love to watch people and see how they live. When roaming around Facebook looking at pics I find myself always looking past the object in view to see the background. A person’s house, chairs, laundry and blankets; all of this is so fulfilling to me. It seems to paint a more robust story. And if I look at a picture that appears staged, I don’t want to look at that person’s pictures any more. Bizarre, I know. I seem to enjoy looking at situations that normalize my life. It’s easy to idealize other people’s lives and homes by looking at masked snapshots through social media. In the idealizing I can believe that my circumstances are marginal because I don’t have a turquoise Kitchen Aid mixer. I recently watched a show about two families who are completely self-sustaining in Alaska’s wild frontier. It was fascinating. I loved when we were given glimpses into their homes. One young couple amazed me. They had minimal “things” in their house. There was an altar. I’m assuming they are Buddhist. Vibrant colors plastered the walls. Herbs hung in the simple windows. The underground cellar was so unique. In it they kept all of their freshly canned meats, fruits, and vegetables. They also smoked hundreds of pounds of fish that they had caught, in a short three month period. That fish would sustain them through the nine months of hard winter. Greg and I sat there dumbfounded. He looked at me and said, “There’s no way that we would survive there.” I answered back with an affirmative, “Right.” Disappointment swept through our house when the last episode was watched. Much to our surprise there was yet another Alaskan reality show. Yukon Men was similar but it focused on a community of people as opposed to individuals. One episode confirmed our belief that we would die in a day if left alone in the icy outback. The last episode we watched focused on a dad and his 14 year old son. The son looked exactly like the kid from the animated movie Brother Bear. The father goes to him and tells him that they are in need of more meat. He then tells the kid that there has been a bear spotted a couple of miles up the road and ask him if he knows how to use the gun. Come again? We were freaking out. Did he just ask his son, who is as old as our oldest daughter, if he could hunt down a black bear, by himself, and kill it? The boy responds by saying soberly, “Yes sir. I’m going to make you proud.” I used to be 14 and I dunno, but no. The dad has his 30 second sound bite where he looks into the camera and explains that living in Alaska is difficult and laborious. He says something to the effect of, “We all have to work together here or we won’t survive, and he knows this (referring to his son), because it’s how he’s been raised.” I have had this episode on my mind for about a month now. Managing 5 growing children is difficult. Some do it better than others (me). However, it’s my first time to do it! One of the reasons that we chose to open our home to the fostering process was because we had an easy life. We were raising two kids in a safe, comfortable, environment and I remember thinking, “This will be a way for our whole family to share in the suffering of another.” I had absolutely no idea what I was talking about. We were extremely naïve and young. Julia Roberts in August: Osage County says, “It’s a good thing we don’t know the future. None of us would ever get out of bed.” My dad had a phrase that he used to say to me and Greg when we were first married: “You two are going to live on love and starve to death.” His point? It takes more than love to survive marriage. The same is true in raising children. It takes more than desire to parent. It takes more than a desire to ‘help the kid from a hard place’. A camp high will not be enough to sustain your desire while sharing in the suffering of a kid with fetal alcohol syndrome. I have days, like every parent I’m sure, when I feel desperate. I do not want to think about how things are going to turn out in some situations, however, to avoid those thoughts seems irresponsible. To not go down the road a little way, in order to divert the direction or destroy the path, is to choose my own comfort over the healing and protection of my child. However, to go down that road means that I must engage emotionally and relationally in ways that are horribly uncomfortable for me. And what is harder? I have to choose to engage in these thoughts and actions when things are calm and manageable so that I have the energy to change, prepare, and parent my children rationally and thoughtfully. If not, we will all starve when the first snow storm blows in. Sitting in the Psychiatrist office today I felt alone. I had a child that did not feel like talking about hard things because it would lead to feeling more difficult emotions. What set her off? She didn’t get a doll that she wanted. After she decided to go into the office I sat against the wall, beside a fake plant, looking at the dust that covered the bottom half of the sofa table. My eye hurt and my stomach was revolting. I prayed silently, “Lord, we never have an easy day. I’m so exhausted. Please help my kids. They never get an easy day either.” I know that easy is relative, but truly, it’s never easy. Oh my. I do not want to be that mom. God, save me from myself. On the drive home my older child sat in the back seat and played dolls with my younger child. This de-escalated an already 5 hour long episode. She was not begging to do this nor did I make her. But, guess what. She did it because she knew. She knew what many other kids her age do not. She knew that her 20 minute engagement would provide an evening of peace. She lives with a kid from a hard place. She recognizes dilated pupils, sullen expressions, and vacant responses. She knows that her sister does not have the capacity to work through disappointments like she should. She loves her sister. She does not remember a time without her. I felt like a wet wash cloth on the drive home. I was heavy, used up, and ready to be rung out. I feel like I always hear Story in the weirdest places. This time: One Direction. Really. The kids were in the back role playing with their Barbies when the song began. “Written in these walls are the stories that I can't explain I leave my heart open but it stays right here empty for days She told me in the morning she don't feel the same about us in her bones It seems to me that when I die these words will be written on my stone. Written on these walls are the colors that I can't change Leave my heart open but it stays right here in its cage I know that in the morning I'll see us in the light upon your ear Although I am broken, my heart is untamed still The story of my life I take her home I drive all night to keep her warm and time is frozen The story of my life I give her hope I spend her love until she's broke inside The story of my life” I am unable to explain how fitting this song is for someone parenting a child that they feel they cannot reach. But I know that you know. Because we all have these moments. Later that night, I thought back over the last nine years and how far we had come. I talked to my child who had had the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. She asked me what was wrong with her brain. She knows that her thoughts are like a torn apart jigsaw puzzle. I told her, “I don’t think you have a brain problem.” With her hand in mine, and her black eyes staring into me, I told her the truth. “The truth is: You have a heart problem. Your heart has been sad for a very long time.” One, little, tear pushed and fought its way to the corner of her eye and rolled effortlessly down her cheek. We talked for about five minutes, as something else had already sucked her into its centrifuge. “Squirrel!” When she left I sat on the little couch at the foot of my bed. It is tattered, torn, and comfortable. It keeps lots of secrets. I just sat there realizing how much I love this child. My mind was racing with scenes from the past. Running, escaping, yelling, fighting, pushing away, spitting, and destroying. She has no memory of any of this. Then my thoughts poll vaulted into the present. Sitting, talking, spontaneously saying, “I love you, Mommy.”, reading well, questioning God, trusting God, and finding her voice. We are more than survivors. We have done more than “weathered well” over the past decade. We have conquered. We have shown Light into dark places. We have stalked the bear and shot it.

mixed emotions

happy & weird. we are so happy for one of our girls who heard her birth mom's voice for the first time in her life yesterday. she said, "i'm a little nervous since i've never met her in my...well...entire life...ever." if you are a parent imagine what it would be like to hear your baby's voice for the first time as a 9 year old. it's a little overwhelming to think about. it was a sweet conversation. when her mother answered the phone i said, "she's a little nervous to talk to you...ok? but she's just going to ask you a bunch of questions. are you o.k.," i asked. "Well, i'm nervous too." she said. i handed our daughter the phone before i lost my composure. it is a little surreal to hear your child tell the God-ordained woman, who chose to give her life and not abort her, that she "would need to ask her parents before she could meet her face-to-face." it's such a messy world. but thanks be to God that He is already all we need. sad. we are so sad for another daughter who was crushed by her own sadness in realizing that her birth mom is not in a place where she can make contact right now. she pretended for a moment that she was her birth mom and tried to imagine why she was unable to make this connection. "maybe she's scared," she said. "maybe she has other kids." "maybe she..." she searched for reasons. "what do you think we can do about this?" her daddy asked. "maybe we can pray for her." she stated -feeling defeated and alone. "maybe we can call the agency again." sounding a tad more hopeful. the sad fact, however, is that she knows that their is a mom- her mom-that she has never seen. as she, my insightful 7 year old, says, "imagine you were born and you never got to open your eyes and see her face." those words, from her, make my heart implode. heavy and crushing. no matter the circumstances...i wish she could see her. there is no way to prepare yourself for the emotions that you feel on the journey of adoption. you can prepare for it about the same way you prepare for a traumatic birthing/c-section experience. a lot of techniques and ideas. they are helpful but still lacking. we are doing things now that we swore we would never do. why? because it is best for our children. inconvenient? yes. messy? yes. best? yes.

Almost Amos.

i used to have a difficult time understanding the Biblical concept of "the now and the not yet." when we began our journey of adoption, and i must say-that's exactly what it's been: a journey- the clouds began to part for me. It is a very odd reality. to be living as a parent but to not really have the final say on anything concerning the child that you are parenting. it is an emotional roller coaster...even when you're prepared. living in the in-between is exhausting, testing, joyful, fulfilling and sad- all at the same time. knowing that we are nearing the end of our fostering and turning the corner to adoption is just the same. i want to use this post to pull back the curtain a bit. i have never found joy in a birth parent's final visit. this reality is a dichotomy. one can know all the facts about a situation and know that the child would be best in another home and still grasp the sad truth that a mother or father is saying goodbye to their child. walking away differently. some will never look back. others will. someone can be on drugs, be unable to parent, or mentally handicapped and still really love their child. it is very difficult for those of us who function somewhat normally to understand this...and i get that. however, we were made to live for more than any of us are living for! any of us, had we had different parents, an adult that didn't protect us, made a decision toward addiction or immorality, or a God that didn't save us- could be in the same position. and the odd thing is- when i look at my child and she asks me, "do YOU love my birth mom?" i have to answer "yes...because they are a part of you and i. love. you." God help me if i ever loose compassion for the mother or father of my child. that being said...WHY i have to have permission from a birthparent who has made 3 visits in 7 months if i can cut my foster child's hair will forever baffle me...really. when i hear people say, "i could never be a foster parent because i would cry when i lose the kids." it frustrates me. i have never typed that before because i feel like it will really hack people off. but it's true. that is exactly the type of person who needs to do foster care! these children need connection. and really- it is hard. not just when they leave...but while they are in your space. when you are taking them to visits and helping them learn how to live in community. the odd thing is- during all of this "difficulty"- you connect. you grow to love the child. therein lies the roller coaster. there is such a great desire for people to value and love the child as much as you do...and that doesn't always happen. and guess what- you carry that pain for them - just like you do with your birth children. in 2004, greg and i were discussing the possibility of opening our home. we had our idea of what we wanted. guess what- we didn't get a phone call for who we thought we were going to get. we got a call for a sibling set that was just a little younger than our girls. we had to decide quickly. i will NEVER forget the phone conversation we had concerning these kids. i remember us coming to a point of saying, "if our kids were in cps custody, and a couple like us was called (christians, mom stays home, modest house but enough space) and that couple said, 'well, we really had this other kind of kid in mind -so no' we would be devastated." thinking about these kiddos as if they were your own will truly change your perspective. it was through that foster placement that our third daughter came home to us. PTL for His sovereignty in spite of our stupidity. when those children showed up at our house we cried with them because they were so frightened. i am sure our case worker thought we were total whack jobs. and when she left we cried because we thought, "what did we just commit to?" But guess what- in two weeks everything seemed normal again...it just took a little time. when we got the phone call from a private agency concerning our fourth daughter i remember them telling me about the adoption cost and i replied, "reeeeally?" when i communicated our financial angst the sweet lady on the other end- she said, "do you have any savings?" to which i replied, "well, let me put it to you like this-my husband's birthday is this week and we are going out to eat at On The Border and that's a big deal for us...so no, not really." little did we know that the deacons at our church were going to believe that the foster care epidemic is the church's problem and offer to pay all of the legal fees and that a couple of days later the agency would grant us the adoption of our precious baby girl...that we thought was a boy! God worked all of that out without any of our help. SO after planning for 2 kids and maybe adopting one boy...we now had 4 girls. we doubled in less that a year! and now...we have a little guy whose entire status is changing right before our eyes...and he knows nothing of it. unbelievable. there are no words that due justice to this remarkable occurrence. he is almost amos and i am almost his mom. greg is almost his daddy. and four girls are almost his sisters. we are almost home...not yet...but almost!

Adoption is...

difficult.

we are in our 9th year of foster/adoptive care. i must say that we were completely ill-equipped to enter this ministry. i hope that you find encouragement and comfort in those words. seriously, if we can do it- anyone can. that being said-it's not for everyone. i have friends in the adoption world that will completely disagree with me on that point. they hold to the conviction that as long as they have an empty bed and there is a child that needs one- then they should adopt them. i am not criticizing their view because my friends who believe this way are not idiots. they are not uneducated. they just believe differently than i do.

today was by far the most difficult of all days.

when people say, "I've had my child since birth" so as to eliminate themselves from the difficulties concerning adoptees- they are naive. their child has been carried in the body of another woman for 9 months. they share the same everything. they have the same neurochemistry, same DNA, they have eaten the same foods, listened to the same music, and they recognize their mother's voice. they can be soothed by simply being laid on their mother's chest. Every child has a history- even if they come home at 41 weeks. For some of them, their mom's have been in turmoil since the day they discovered that they were pregnant. For others their was addiction. Some of the mom's & dad's loved their child so much that placing them was the most difficult & most responsible decision that they ever made. But they were with them...inside of them...for 9 months.

our children have no memory of their birth parents.

we have always been open with our kiddos concerning their story. it is theirs. i would want to know my story. imagine knowing nothing about your family and trying to piece together anything. Not knowing who you resemble or the details of their life. not understanding the "whys" of your placement. wondering if you've seen your birthparents unknowingly. it's all very overwhelming when you think about it. we share any pictures, memories, special gifts from relatives, etc. with them. and we talk it to death...when they need to. and when they "need to" can be completely unpredictable.

today was one of those days.

i went to the grocery store early this morning. when i returned, greg was in the middle of "redirecting, re-doing, time in" with said child. it was a battle in process. by the time it was over all was good but i knew something more was evolving. one of the many things that we have learned after much reading and many hours of training is that when children from hard places act crazy-they are usually scared. when they act angry- they are usually sad. we have seen much anger in the last several months. we discussed it last night and came to the agreement that age, felt safety, and several other factors are producing more of these outburst. 15 minutes later and we were right back in the vortex. i directed the child to the living room where we sat on the floor and i began to probe. "Why do you think you're feeling so angry?" She answered harshly with, " Everyone is mean and i feel like a piece of trash that's been thrown out." That's pretty complex & descriptive for someone who was just suppose to be finding their flip-flops. "Well, it sounds to me like you're sad. What do you think you could be sad about? Sometimes when we're sad we treat people the way we feel." it was instantaneous. She softened and began to weep. She said, "I don't want to hurt you, but I i just want to go to (city) and find my birth mom and tell her that i love her and i want to make sure that she's not making bad choices." For the record- we have NEVER said that she made "bad choices". We have always talked about the great choice that she made to "place her with us." She wept for close to thirty minutes. I held her and wept with her because you know, when you are a mom, you hurt when your babies hurt...especially when you can do nothing about it! I prayed with her that "her mom's heart would be changed and that she would, if it was God's will, call the agency and ask for everything that this child has sent to her." after a while we went to the table for her to draw a picture. i thought this would help her to calm down and hopefully serve as therapy in some way. She said, "I want to draw a picture of me & her to sleep with under my pillow." After a bit, she was through and the "moment" was over.

It comes on fast, and ends abruptly.

She had a snack and the rest of her day was pretty rough. Around 3:30 I made her lay down for a nap because I was so emotionally drained. She slept until 6:30. After dinner I spent some exclusive time with her in order for her to know that we were okay. It ended with Junie B. Jones and a bowl of chips.

To say that I love her is an understatement. I was born to be her mother.

So why do I post all of this?

Because it is important for everyone to know that this is what it looks like. Real life is messy. It is important for you to know that my child is grieving. not symbolically- in real life. she is grieving someone that she has no memory of...and she really loves her...and she knows that she is her "real" mom....and she knows that she is not with her...and that's a very difficult reality to compartmentalize. it bleeds like a crazy cut to the jugular and it soaks to the core of every aspect of her life...and by our choice...ours too! if we do not embrace her suffering and help her carry it- she will stop talking and she will bleed to death internally. It is so important that our families, churches and schools understand what is going on in their little brains and it is important for us to make space for them to figure out their place in the Greater Story.

Life is short....engage.

Isn't it amazing how the most difficult circumstances are usually accompanied by the sweetest gifts. Mother Theresa said, "Suffering is the kiss of Jesus." Sharing in His suffering brings sweet intimacy with Him.

New Places

My girls are growing up. I was talking to a friend tonight relaying our "happenings" for the weekend. I was pulling into Starbucks kid free. Ellie was spending the night with a friend. Abby had gone to a church event with a friend. Lu & Zoe were about to go to bed and Greg was finishing up the sermon for Sunday. She said, "Wow." I had not really reflected on how quickly time had passed. 5 years ago last month we were finalizing an adoption with a little one who was going to take a lot of attention and energy for the next several years. There really hasn't been much time to stop and think about how far we have come as a family. We are functioning- healthy, happy & grateful - in awe of the goodness and grace of God.
My five year old is giving us glimpses into her "more developed" personality. She has a large vocabulary with absolutely no concern for context. It has been interesting to watch her try to find her place in this white family without the ability to fully process her unique situation. She knows that she's not white. She knows that she's brown. But she's just not sure if it's okay to call attention to our obvious differences. She carries many unanswered questions with her everyday. Sometimes they slip out in my presence however, most of the time she whispers them to her imaginary friend. I think that she is making sense in her own way and in her own time, i pray, that she can see the blessing of that is her world.
Ellie, my 9 year old, is still with me everyday. My home school experience with her has not been difficult at all. She is a hard worker who knows that if she'll just get in there and get everything done- then the rest of the day is hers. She has such a compassionate heart and seems to connect the dots effortlessly. She has an ability to take an abstract concept and apply it in real life. She is going to start volunteering some this year and i am excited to see her interact with other people on this level. She's so fun to have around.
There is really too much to say about this little muffin to sum up in one sentence. If you've read my blog for anytime at all you know that Lucy has come SO far. She is about to start reading. She meets with a friend of mine twice a week who is working with her on some educational goals. She stopped taking her supplements about 18 days ago and she is doing maaahvelous! i am so happy to see her "fully present". I have no idea what to attribute this too other than growth spurts, prayer & her feeling of safety. That probably makes no sense to any of you unless you have walked down this same path of foster and adoptive care. i am praying for her continued growth and stability. She loves to sing, learn and dance. She is a JOY!
My oldest, Abby, is teaching me everything about parenting & and is breaking me in pretty quickly. She is almost 12 and is growing up to be a fantabulous person. FUNNY, easy to spend time with and a gentle spirit. She is about to finish 5th grade at the Christian school. She wants to live everyday of her life. It kills me that i can look at her today and see glimpses of the woman that she will soon be - the way she looks, laughs, talks, etc. She is fun to hang out with. In fact, as i am typing this she is trying to make me laugh by lip-synching the title song from Dog the Bounty Hunter.
My point in writing all of this is just to reflect on 1) How quickly life happens & 2) How gracious the Lord has been to us to give us this great life with these great kids. As many of you know, our home is on open status again for foster/adoptive care. I am excited to see who the Lord will send our way. What kid will change our lives by his/her presence in the world? What child will continue to mold & shape us into who we are to be? The Lord is so dynamic. He is always working His good will and pleasure. What an exciting time to be alive.

It's almost 2011

So i have done an awful job blogging for the last several months. honestly, we have been a little busy. we have had such a great opportunity to speak at some remarkable events concerning foster care, hospitality, orphan care & racial equality this past year. we very seldom say no to these opportunities because we are truly concerned & driven by the lord to do so. also, in trying to be involved in our community, we have committed to some local "causes" that we are passionate about. advocacy is such a key-phrase that is used today, however, there are some categories of humanity that Christ specifically mentions all throughout scripture- the sojourner, the impoverished, the widow, the orphan (fatherless). we do not have to look far to identify these folks. what is a sojourner? a person who stays for a time in a place or lives temporarily here. as americans, we tend to view investment in what it will yield us. If someone tells you, "I'll only be here 6-8 months" you might be tempted to not give all that you have because you will not be the one to benefit from the fruit of your investment. in leviticus (holy bible) we are told to leave a portion for the sojourner -more than once. truth be known- anything we give has been given to us. we are always giving as receivers. the freedom and blessing in understanding this is transformational. we create space for others in our world. this is not a discussion on boundaries - obviously there are priorities rather it is about not making excuses in community-living. i am raw with awareness since my brother and his family moved 4,952 miles across the ocean. i pray everyday that a family will open their home to them. that a person will help them, teach them, include them and reassure them that they are "seen" and valued.
who are the widows? a man or woman who has lost his or her spouse by death and has not remarried. we all have parents, family members, neighbors, church family members, who are alone. this is where we start. going out of our way to include, care for, have in our home for meals, special occasions, holidays, sunday lunch, shopping, grooming, appointments, taking to them to sonic or starbucks, etc. this is not an easy task. sometimes, most of the time, it is a very mechanistic endeavor. it is one that crushes Me. not all widows/widowers are old. some are younger and full of energy. some are deeply depressed and struggle to survive under the weight of loss and grief. some need to be reminded that they are not forgotten and that someone hears their voice and that someone sees them in their hopeless state. our culture is geared toward couples. we should work to include, befriend and value the single in our world. we were created to live in relationship to one another. i have often thought of a widow that i know, who has a grown child with special needs. she will never have grand children and she will always have her child at home. who will assume responsibility for her child when she dies. how does she deal with the grief of knowing that she will never engage in the "grand-children" discussion with her peers? she has little common ground with anyone, other than her deceased husband. how can we offer hope? how can we engage and include her? what can my children do consistently to shed light on her?
who are the impoverished? those reduced to poverty; deprived of strength, vitality, creativeness, etc. i tend to believe that the impoverished includes those with special needs or mental illness that are lost in society. they are under the care of the state: nursing homes, group homes, or homeless. i feel a real ripping, tug-of-war going on inside of me concerning how we "deal" with these people. we were laughing at a status update from one of our friends the other day who said that he heard some college students call a homeless person a hobo. it made me wonder if that student had any friends or acquaintances who were homeless or hungry. please hear me- this is not an indictment on you if you do not. it is however a plea to "open your eyes". many of the people that we have befriended don't really want anything from us. they usually don't want us to find them a place to live or to try and "fix" there situations. honestly, some of them cannot survive in the everyday maintaining of a stable environment. not always...but that has just been my experience. most just want a friend. they might need help in some scenarios, but not always. some just need friends in the same way that you and i need friends. these relationships can be exhausting - for one person. however, we are called to them- as a people, a body, the church. our church body befriended a man. he lived at our church building for several months, worshiped with us, ate with us at the building and in our homes. cooked meals for us in mutual fellowship, he did his laundry and took his showers in our elders' homes. and one day, he left. and guess what- he stole nothing. he destroyed nothing. he lived and moved on. i wish that he would've stayed and grown with this body, but he did not. was it for not? i think not. i had a brother who was homeless for half of his life and died a homeless alcoholic on the street. my prayer would be that the body of Christ would have made an attempt to be hospitable, compassionate, neighborly and moved by grace to embrace him, care for him and encourage him. he was a believer with numerous addictions and failures. just like me. thanks be to God that i am not homeless and that my addictions have not overtaken me.
who are the orphans? a child who has lost both parents through death, or, less commonly, one parent. according to scripture, it is a child without a father. oh my. we shouldn't have to look far to find an orphan. a man, who i have much respect for, who is retired, has recently started a non-profit to place children of imprisoned parents in stable homes, until they are released. there is a great need for parents in our society. one of my friends, who is single, had a 2 year old placed in her home the week before Christmas. a family that we worship with weekly, after raising their bio children, adopted 10 kids. why not? seriously. why would you not give your life for these? it is a great question that we all should ask ourselves. greg and i have many times discussed this idea. we hear so many people say,"i could never" or "i don't have the room" or "there's no space" or "i don't have the money". in our estimation, most of these are excuses. there are some legitimate concerns to think about, however, most of the time it causes one's brain to hurt to think about all of the re-orienting of their time, the shaving away of their vacation and the energy that they must exert to really invest in the life of another. the understanding that "visit the orphan" that James speaks of is more than just a "visit" as you and i define "visit".
i am wresting with ideas of how to work this yeast into the dough of my girl's lives. project-less living. an issue-free, Christ-centered, gospel- fueled, people-embracing life.
i am a complete failure on all fronts. many times my actions are full and my heart is empty. but the one thing i know is that i was a slave, i was an orphan, i was impoverished BUT God, being rich in mercy, rescued me.