Embracing Reality

Penny and I danced for 2 1/2 hours straight- not the romantic side to side swaying of eighth graders, not the arms apart kind of slow dancing, not a slow waltz,  not even your typical wedding dancing- but an all out turn the red lights on it's after midnight Saturday in the club kind of dancing. We bounced up and down and spun circles for so long my calves burned and my arms were on fire.

Beyoncé has nothing on Audrey and Isabel's hair flips. The boys all have moves that totally makes me question what goes on in this house especially knowing their home-schooled and we don't have television! I even watched Charlotte move her arms and fingers in a way that made me question her Cerebral palsy diagnosis.

I looked down at the six week old baby with big bright blue eyes staring intently at me..... And while Pharell with his sick beats jammed in the background,  for a moment everything was perfect.

I now interrupt this blog post six weeks late to share the readers digest version of child number seven.

Penelope Ellen Kolanowski was born at home May 7 at 5:15 AM. She decided to grace us with her presence three weeks early and was a little peanut weighing just over 6 pounds.

The day before she was born a wonderful friend of mine stopped by and helped me put a third coat of Tungoil on our newly installed hardwood floors in the living room. She listened to me pour my heart out about how scared I was to have another baby. I had been feeling pretty crappy and told her to keep praying that this little girl waited until her due date of May 25th because we had so very much to try and get done before then. I chatted on and on about how excited I was to go to my favorite garden center tomorrow and get my flowers and veggies. She even brought me a gift knowing how very much I cherished my garden.

All was normal for the evening, but somewhere around midnight that night my water broke. For a good hour I was in denial that this couldn't possibly be happening three weeks early. I remembered how intense my other two births were so I decided to get in a nice warm bath tub and drink a special glass of wine. And there in the middle of the night I cried intensely and poured my heart out to God. And for one hour it was like Jesus sat right there next to me.

I cried because I knew having a baby with these six kids would be impossible. I knew I only had one set of arms but would now have three children that literally daily needed my arms to get dressed to be fed to be bathed to go to the bathroom- and then four more who would need these arms for hugs and wiping cuts and scrapes, for art projects and dinners prepared- six little people already needed me so much and a new little baby was going to need me at all hours all day.  She would need to eat all the time and be held all the time she would cry all the time..... So I told Jesus I couldn't do it.  I told him after my water broke and just moments literally before she was born into this world.  I told him I was an utter failure. And I sobbed uncontrollably. 

After my confession the first thought that popped into my head was how lucky I was to be sipping on such a delicious wine. I thought about what a good God we had that provided just the right soil conditions with just the right amount of water and sunshine with skilled workers and technology that put this wine all the way from Argentina in a bottle and I sit sipping it. A smile slowly cracked my lips. For a moment everything was perfect.

It is now 10:30 at night and the dance party is over. A husband and six children are in bed. The vacuum cleaner is still running and the words of Frankie are quietly playing over the whooshing of the vacuum. 

For six weeks I've held her. I've barely set her down. She's nursed almost every hour sometimes more. Most days I don't get dressed. I am lucky to get my contacts in. Most days someone has had to either help us with dinner or bring us dinner. I have looked up the definition of sleep and I'm convinced that Webster's dictionary lies.

I do not feel pretty. I feel guilty. I feel guilty because I am not giving my other children the attention they need. There's no more 8 o'clock book reading because little Miss Penny from the hours of five till midnight has decided to practice voice training. In the words of a friend she has altitude sickness and does not want to be set down. I've missed therapy for the kids that go for almost the last six weeks. In addition to me having a hard time with this baby, some of the kids are struggling too. Literally I am mommy number five to some of them and Penelope is a threat. They've had to make sacrifices too. I miss the sunshine. I miss being in my garden. I miss the life that I once complained was so hard. Only twice have I been in the car with Penny somewhere. She fusses and cries and is so discontent. 

I received a text today from someone saying they had a friend who was dealing with postpartum depression and asked if I had dealt with that after any of my kids. 

Depression is real. It hurts and it's hard. It makes you want to hide away from the entire world. I have felt lost and lonely. I have felt like I can't possibly go on one more day- even one more hour. I've wished I could close my eyes and when I open them every thing is different. I've asked myself questions like why don't people understand? Why do I feel like I'm the only one? And then after I asked the questions I have dealt with shame and guilt. Guilt over not being a good mommy. Guilt over not being a good wife. Hours after Penny is still crying I have cried feeling like it's my fault. I've cried feeling like my daughter is the only one that's ever dealt with this- I start listing nieces and nephews and friends kids that to my knowledge are perfect and happy and I feel like they all must be throwing it in my face about what a terrible person I am. I feel like everyone hates me because I can't make it to an event or party or Church. I start to feel like everything has strings attached. I feel so beat down that I am on the brink of tears all the time.

Amidst all of these random stories and ramblings there are three things that I'm holding onto.

1. Embracing reality. This is my life right now. There is all kinds of practical wisdom and advice regarding depression - stuff like diet and nutrition,  getting good sleep, exercise, enhancing your gut bacteria, high omega-3's, having help, having a support group, having people to talk to.... The list could go on and on and while all of that is true, important and valid. These things are things I have done and do and I find myself still struggling.

Embracing reality- well.

I need to learn how to handle these hard times sadness and depression and I need to learn to be in this place and to do so well. Which personally I have felt in this culture is counter intuitive. Somehow I have believed the lie that there is no such thing as being sad in a biblical way or being depressed in a biblical way or being in turmoil in a biblical way. Somehow I have believed that the American way and the biblical way is to put a smile on and act happy all the time. And that couldn't be further from the truth. The Psalms in particular are full of emotions and one emotion in particular being depression. Entire books have been written on just Psalm 42 and depression. John Piper has an absolutely wonderful sermon on the subject that I love and have watched and read over and over again. (see below)

Spiritual Depression in the Psalms 

I could share all the ways this has practically helped me, however the point for me to remember is that there is a way to embrace sadness and do so well. That there is a way to embrace pain and to do so well. That there is a way to embrace reality- well.

2. Remembering the little moments.  The dance party and the good wine, those memories I like to reflect on often, and by reflecting on those little snipets of time, that are near perfect, I find I train myself to get in the habit of looking for those little snipets more often. Those two memories are so full of happiness and goodness that they help drown out the struggles. They make the struggles worth it.  Those little moments are really big moments because of how big of a deal they have become to me.

3.  My Identity.  This is the big one.  This is the one for me that I could do all the right things, all the right nutrition, all the right friends, make sure I embrace reality well, and remember the little moments... but... it's the big... but... If I am not secure in where my identity is then nothing else matters.  And, there is only one place that my identity is secure, and that place is in Jesus.

Example:  I find myself getting stressed out to go to the boys baseball game with Penny.  I start thinking of the crying in the car, and how to handle Isabell and Charlotte and Penny.  I find anxiety creeping in with figuring out breastfeeding her.  And then it happens.  I start to think about the things well meaning people will ask me... "Is she sleeping through the night?"  "Can't you put her down yet?"  I start worrying about the looks people might give me as I nurse her in the bleachers.  I start worrying about what people might say about the bags under my eyes, or my lack of makeup and a hairstyle..... 

Why?

Why do these thoughts creep into my mind?  Because I am letting "who I am" be found in things like how nice I look or how happy my baby is... instead of the finished work of Jesus... instead of His perfect life... somehow I get things all mixed up and start thinking it's my life that defines me.  

Galations 2:20 It is no longer I who live but Christ who lives in me...

My life and what I do or don't do does not define me.  My identity is in Christ's life, who now lives in me.

It's sorta become my mantra right now.  My identity is in Christ.  I am getting ready to get out of the car and go the boys game, I take a deep breath and repeat to myself- my identity is in Christ.  Someone stops over, and I'm a mess, still in my pajamas, bed head, and no makeup, I stop take a deep breath and repeat to myself- my identity is in Christ.  I walk out and look at the pathetic excuse of a garden I have this year, I take a deep breath and repeat to myself- my identity is in Christ.

Things are hard right now. 

I am learning to embrace it-well. (More on that subject later.)

I am remembering and finding the little moments that are near perfect.

My identity is in Christ. So much so that I share a picture of me. No makeup, bags and circles under my eyes, a baby screaming in my ear, a messy canning project in the background, hair not fixed, pjs still on, but its okay.

My identity is in Christ.

Am I a Mother?

It seems most fitting that on Mother's Day I personally define who I am.

I scan the pages of an old journal covered in teddy bears and pink ribbons and bows.  The words on the page are quite sobering.

September 9, 1990 (that makes me 10 years old)
" I know that nobody likes me, I wish that someone had."
"I want to be cool and have a friend."
"I wish I was good at sports like all the other kids."

23 years later and it's amazing how some thoughts still creep into the deep crevices of my heart. 

I've spent some time this week reflecting on Mother's Day and reading about the history of Mother's Day.  Most profoundly are two thoughts:  from a personal, reflective perspective Mother's Day forces us (me) into one of two categories- 1.  I am a good mom, and therefore deserve a gift, respect, a breakfast in bed, cards, flowers, etc, etc.  or 2. I fail as a mother, I can't get my act together, my children are heathens all condemned to hell, my house is a mess, I can't ever keep up with laundry or dishes or dust or anything!

It is in neither of those places I am comfortable.  To say I am a "good" mommy never bodes well with me.  As one of my favorite writers says- "I ain't no hallmark mother."  I know the truth.  I know how many times in today alone I raised my voice.  I know how many times I said the wrong words.  I didn't listen to the tender stories being told by my babies, I didn't rock away tears, I didn't speak of the gospel, I didn't play, I didn't teach, I wasn't a good mommy.

Yet, to name all my failures seems to send me into a downward spiral.  A frenzy of pain, guilt, shame, loathing and despair. 

And yet, I desperately want and desire to be a "good" mommy.  I want to be good at what I do.  I want the world to see me as a good mother.  Yet, I am not.  I can't.  No matter how early I awake.  No matter how hard I try.  No matter what I do.  I. Can't.  I. Fail.

How?  How do I, as a woman who spends nearly every waking hour of my life tending to little children , define myself in any other way than a mother?

And to be honest.  If I got a report card on my mothering abilities.  "F."

Big fat "F."

Oh the world might catch glimpses of me.  They might see me calm, or not raise my voice.  They may see me with all my children peering into a basket of newborn puppies, while we all giggle and laugh and relish the joy of new life.  Some may sit at our dinner table and listen to each of our children pray.  They might think they've been taught well.  They may see me hold a crying child and whisper words of comfort.  They might see a lot of me, but what no one sees is all of me.  The truth.

I told a child today they were a "snotty, crabby. whiney, brat, that no one wants to be around."
I rolled my eyes.
I punished out of anger.
I distanced myself from a child that doesn't want to love me.
I didn't listen.
I didn't kiss their skinned knees.
I thought more about my needs than anyone else's.
I didn't tell each and every one of them I loved them over and over again.
I chose myself over each of them.

If a mommy is who I am.  I fail.

To be even more honest.  I am exhausted.  I find "mommy-ing" exhausting.  The potty-training, the temper-tantrums, the learning disabilities, the handicaps, the anger, the tears, the crying, the late nights, the whining, the whining, the WHINING!!!!!

The performance.  The behavior of my kids at the grocery store I feel directly reflects me.  The behavior of my kids at Sunday school directly reflects on who I am.  If my children have manners.  If my children eat all their vegetables, if my children know their ABC's and their colors and their constant vs. vowels.... the performance of my children seems to directly reflect on me... on my skills as a mommy.

And it's all exhausting.  And on Mother's Day I'll wake up exhausted.

I'll feel like I am drowning.  My natural instinct in the words of another favorite author " it is natural to paddle harder and kick faster when you feel like you are drowning."

And I'll wake up tomorrow and feel like I am drowning.

My expectations.  What I expect a "good" mommy should look like, I won't be able to meet. My performance is clearly not that of a "good" mommy.  Tomorrow morning, just like every other morning, if I look on the performance of me as mother, I will see all that I didn't do, and all the areas I failed.  I will see what I wish I was, and see what I am not.  I will feel the burden to be something that I wish I was.  I will feel the burden because my very identity as a mommy is at stake.  I feel the burden because I am a prisoner of my own demands.

Luke 4: 16-19   When he came to the village of Nazareth, his boyhood home, he went as usual to the synagogue on the Sabbath and stood up to read the Scriptures.  The scroll of Isaiah the prophet was handed to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where this was written:

 “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
    for he has anointed me to bring Good News to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim that captives will be released,
    that the blind will see,
that the oppressed will be set free,
and that the time of the Lord’s favor has come

 

So, how do I celebrate Mother's Day then?

By realizing that Jesus came to set the captive free. (that's me)

Free from my own demands.
Free from the pressure of having to make it on my own.
Free from the burden to get it all right.
Free from the obligation to fix ourselves.
Free from the need to be right.
Free from the need to be rewarded.
Free from the need to be respected.
Free from the need to perform for my worth, identity, or value.

Jesus transferred HIS performance to me when He chose me as His daughter.

Jesus won for me by dying on the cross. 

Because Jesus won for me, I am free to loose.
Because Jesus was strong, I am free to be weak.
Because Jesus was someone, I am free to be no-one.
Because Jesus succeeded for me, I am free to fail.


The gospel liberatingly declares, that in Christ we already ARE a winner, strong, someone, and already successful.


Then who am I?

My identity is not in what I do, but in what Jesus has already done for me.

Before I am a wife, before I am a mother, I am a daughter.  A daughter of the King.

My life will no longer be judged on the performance of me as  mother (or wife, or friend, or sister or "_____")  My life will no longer be about what I do. My life will no longer be about what I do not do.  My life is about what Jesus has already done.

My life, my identity, has nothing to do with what I do, my identity has nothing to do with my past, my future, my strengths my weaknesses, how clean my house is, how good my dinners are, how much I weigh, my family background, my education or my performance as a mother but instead, my identity is firmly anchored in Jesus' accomplishments not mine. 

 

 On this mother's day I am free.  Free from what other's think of me, and free from what I think of myself.

My happiness will not be found in anything other than what Christ has already done for me.

May the JOY of what Christ has already done for each and every one of us be what motivates my heart today.

 

To tell the truth...

Five of them.

That's how many drafts of incomplete stories from just the last 30 days sit unpublished.

At the end of a day like today, what could I possibly write?

A dear friend, a much wiser and mature Christian friend told me (and I paraphrase) "Sometimes, if I told the truth, about what I felt and what I did, people would seriously be calling me, wondering about my faith, and questioning my sanity, and surely questioning my ability to be a wife, a mother, and a spiritual leader."

The truth is, I don't want to tell the truth.  I'm okay with telling some of the story, but honestly, I don't want anyone to know the whole truth.  I want to hide away the hurt, hide away the mistakes, the pain, the words, the drama, the big fat mess that my life really is.

I read a lot, and I think a lot.  I've been thinking about the Psalms.  Thinking about the different Psalms.  The ones about pain and hurt, the ones about happiness, about joy, about redemption and peace.  There are Psalms about anxiety, Psalms about love, discouragement, awe, delight and fear.  What a mix of emotions.  What emotional people we really are.  What an emotional person I really am. 

The truth is, I am a bunch of emotions.  To say today was only all about joy and that I was thankful and full, happy and in awe of the gifts and grace my Father bestows upon me would really be a lie.  Ask some of the people who witnessed the anger and frustration of my day.  And yet, today, the same day I received a letter in the mail from my grandma filled with words of happiness and history and pain and sorrow... an excerpt...

"You are a kind granddaughter, never to be forgotten...  Since my husband is deceased, he can't remember me...I remember the times we talked at night...Memories are great."

 

All of the thoughts that overflow.  And the irony is, my grandma has Alzheimer's and when I read the words, I wonder.... will she always remember me?  30-some years later does she miss her husband?  Is there still pain and loss?  I do remember the fun times shared with my grandma.  Doing puzzles, and eating fish-sticks,  really- great memories. Memories that DO make me happy.  How can it be?  All these feelings in just one card, a couple words on a page....

 

I do not know what the future holds.  I don't know exactly if these thoughts, so conflicting, will always rage war in my mind.  Today they do.

 

I fight battles with and for my children.  I think all parents fight battles for and with their children.  Some battles that I fight, I fight because some of my children have been adopted.  Not all parents who adopt fight these same battles.  Not all parents have children who struggle the same.  But some of my hardest battles are because my children come from a broken past.  I firmly believe the enemy, Satan, would love to claim the lives of my children, and from where he was sitting, my children, sitting in an orphanage, with no parents, little food, little clothing, no one to share with them the love of Jesus, no one to advocate on their behalf, no one.... I believe it had to look good, in Satan's favor.  I can't imagine he's happy they are here.  I can't imagine he's delighted that they hear about Jesus every day.  I can't imagine he's happy they have a mom and dad to forever love them, and forever point them to Jesus in any and every way possible.  I fight battles.  I grow weary. 

 

I fight and win battles with Christ.  We make progress. We fight to claim our children, as OURS, as orphans no more.  We fight to erase what they have been taught.  We fight to make them believe they are OURS.  We make progress, we make so much progress.  God is so gracious, so faithful, so beautiful and loving towards us.  We are in awe daily of how HE grows us, changes us, and changes and uses us and our children.

 

Yet, somehow, amidst all the joy, all the change, all the growth, hurt and defeat creep in.  I am amazed though, at what I have found to "kill" me the most.  It's the everyone else. 

 

There are two (okay three... after typing, I had to add another...oops...seriously...   I now have four.... I have a problem, admittedly I do)  practical conclusions that I have arrived at this evening. 

 

1.  Antarctica is cold. Africa is hot.  But... do the people in Africa have any understanding of being cold like the people (if there were ones) in Antarctica?  Do the people (if there were ones) in Antarctica have any understanding of being hot, like the people in Africa?  The point really is, there is something that I very much lack in understanding regarding the things, I have no experience with.  I do not know what it is like to be a widow.  I do not know what it is like to loose a parent.  I don't know what divorce is like.  I don't know about LOTS of things.  I have been hurt many times, too many times, by the ones I love, because I am in Antarctica, and they are in Africa.  Neither hot nor cold is any better or worse in theory.  Yet, because we have and deal with "issues" related to things some have not experienced, it seems a perfect breeding ground for things like anger, frustration, condemnation, and mostly judgement to pop up.

 

2.  I am just as guilty.  I have compassion so much for the new mom with a new baby that doesn't stop crying.  I want to love on the parents who have just arrived home with their newly adopted child.  I want to help the marriages that fight to be set apart from what the world deems as a "healthy marriage".  I have understanding and grace to extend to almost everyone who has experienced any experience that I have personally experienced.  That's it.  Single moms.... probably not on my radar.  Widows, cancer patients, divorcees.... I don't know about that... so I find myself lacking grace, lacking compassion, and surely saying words that hurt, words that cut, actions that at the end of the day, make those whom I've sinned against feel weary and defeated. 

 

3.  I fail to obey and conform to Christ's character.  I have put the recognition and acceptance of other's in the place of Jesus.  In other words, instead of looking to Christ to fill me, making me feel complete and accepted, I have put something else in His place.  I need the gospel.  Every. Single. Day.  It is only in going back to the gospel, going back to what Christ did for me on the cross, that I can be gripped by the reality of what He did for me and who I am in Him.  (awesome article on the subject, taken from here)

 

4.  I have to believe that God has delivered everything I need in the person and work of Jesus.  I have to believe that God's love is a one way love.  His love for me is unconditional.  In Christ, I have all the love, affection and worth I need, based on the person and work of Jesus. All that I tend to seek and need in less places (the acceptance and love of other, friends, family, etc) I have in Jesus.  In Christ, my deepest needs are met. I have found that when I am most resistant to love others, and serve others it is because I am afraid that I may not be loved or served back.  But, the gospel OBLITERATES that fear.  IN CHRIST MY DEEPEST NEEDS ARE MET.  That sets me free!

 

As the clock nears 1:30 am and my thoughts have gone full circle.  I rest in these thoughts.  Pain will happen, weakness will happen, insults, hardships, persecutions, difficulties.... they are all gonna happen.  People will hurt me, the ones I love will hurt me.  But, His grace - the gospel-  the finished work of Jesus on the cross is sufficient, is enough, is completely, 100% everything I need.  The more I focus on the cross, the more I see that a loving and perfect God, whom while I was still a sinner, died for me and wiped the slate clean, took away my sins, made me white as snow.... Redeemed me and has called me His daughter, the more I focus on that, the more He IS everything I need. 

 

 

Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.  That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.  2 Corinthians 12:7-10

One Boy... (part 1 of 2)

There has been so much to learn and change these last 6 months.  Much of our parenting has had to change, again.  Learning how to best parent a little girl who isn't yet quite thrilled with the idea of a "new mommy" has been challenging.  Learning how to go places with 2 kids that need to be held, and one who can't walk has taken some time to iron out the kinks.  Learning to adapt to a little girl who is handicapped has taken some time.  Figuring out sleeping arrangements, eating arrangements, language barriers, therapy, doctor appointments, research, etc- has taken some time.

Most interesting though is the fact that we brought home TWO kiddos in March of this year...

What about Caleb???

He just fits in. 

 

 

Six months home and I may still be in the honeymoon period, or I might have just ruined it all by typing those words, but... he just fits in!
He hugs and kisses and loves to be held, but he loves to run around and wrestle and play cars and build forts with the couch cushions.

 

He loves to eat.  He makes meal time a joy. He eats WHATEVER we put on his plate (with the exception of some fruit.)  He sleeps through the night, he takes awesome naps, he loves baths and swimming, whatever we do, he'll do it too!  When we go places, so long as it's not past his bedtime, and mommy and/or daddy are in sight, he is just happy!  And, if he is having a normal two year old "fit" he doesn't bang his head, or throw his body anymore, no screaming, or hitting, he just puts the cutest scowl on his face, narrows his eyes (so we think he is sleeping) sticks out his lower lip and lets us know he is angry. 

Both Isabell and Caleb sit with us in church.  Mommy is assigned to Caleb, and while he is two, he is the only two year old I've ever had that actually makes it through an entire (that is almost an hour and a half people) service.  When we sing, he loves to squeeze my cheeks and watch my mouth move and randomly plant kisses on me. He spins my diamond on my wedding rings from the front of my finger to the back and then around again.  He plays like he is putting on my makeup, draws smiley faces all over, and eats enough snacks for the entire congregation.

 

 
 


He is just a happy kid.  He shows affection.  He is appropriately afraid of strangers.

Best of all though is how much the other kids love him.  It melts my heart.  Tommy repeatedly says "mommy, I just love his skin, its so perfect", "mommy, isn't he just the cutest kid ever?" He loves to hug him and love on him and wrestle.

Audrey takes Caleb's hand anytime we are going down stairs, at the park, or in a parking lot- to make sure he stays with the group. 

Noah has assumed the "big brother"role, most of the time, and makes sure he is safe and cared for, that he doesn't put toys in his mouth or fall off the couch.

This little boy is such a blessing to our family.

But, this little boy is part of an even bigger picture, a picture of God's power, God's sovereignty and most importantly God's grace.  One child has changed not just this family, not just the people who know us, but an entire other family - which shows me time and time again, God can use whomever He wants whenever He wants....

Part 1 of 2

Where I start isn't where I end

I am having a hard time putting my thoughts on paper.

It seems there are just too many of them. 

They are all so unique, so important, each thought carries complexities of their own. 

I just can't seem to wrap my finger around what is going on.

To be honest with myself, I find myself lacking in so many ways.  I find myself saying words to my husband, children, family, friends, that I shouldn't have.  I find apologies nearly impossible.  I find tears come all too easy.  I find parenting tiresome.  I feel scared.  I feel inadequate.  I find myself struggling to discern "real" feelings, feelings that are warranted, that are genuine that are practical and cautious from the feelings that are crippling.  Feelings that Satan uses to turn me away from the one I need to turn to. 

I find myself in God's word more than I have ever been. Ever.  And yet, my failures, my sin, my mistakes, my conflicts, my sin nature seems to be quite evident- evident in my relationships, my parenting... you name it!

I find myself continually navigating through new waters.  I am reminded that no matter what, we don't arrive, we don't stop growing, we don't stop changing.  Each new day, brings new challenges.  Each hurdle I cross, there is another- brand spanking new one- waiting on the other side of the one I just crossed.

Take today.  I took Isabell for her second opinion at Shriner's.  We are up to four medical professionals giving their advice and opinions, and now we added a fifth.  Background info first though-

 

Last summer Kenney saw the picture of a darling little girl.  A little girl with the sweetest smile, cute piggy tails and pink hair bows.  This little girl carried a BIG diagnosis- clubbed hands, clubbed feet and MOP/FOP.  Well, we got together a bunch of people, researched, made calls, yadda yadda, and came to the conclusion the big scary diagnosis of MOP/FOP (her body turns to a giant skeleton before the age of 20 and she dies) probably really is not accurate.  While we couldn't be certain, we were confident.  Which left us with a little girl with clubbed hands and clubbed feet.  Well, medical intervention and modern day medicine can "fix" those conditions, so much so that you wouldn't even know the problem was ever there...we read that Kristi Yamaguchi (the Olympic figure skater) and Troy Aikman (NFL) had clubbed feet. 

We started to prepare ourselves.  Read up, research, you know, become informed and educated, because that was so important.  We kinda had a black and white reasoning.  On one hand, her issues were nothing really, simple, fixable, some work, time involved, maybe a couple of years, but then its all better and we can "forget" there ever was a problem.  On the other hand, it was terrible, nothing we could do, no interventions, she'd have to live her short life in a bubble, we'd pray for her, love her, and she'd loose her life early on to her disease.

Today again.  I took Isabell for her second opinion at Shriner's.  I spent hours talking about wheelchairs, mobility devices, braces, splints, OT and PT until she is an adult, surgical options, all kinds of things to consider, choices to make, weighing the odds of different quality of life scenarios, I met another little four year old girl with Arthrogryposis.  Every where we went were kids in braces, wheelchairs, missing limbs, walking with mobility devices.  Today Isabell was another one of those kids. 

I drove home mostly confused.  Not confused about moving forward.  Not confused about what the doctors said.  Not confused because I was sad or scared (however those feelings were there too.)  But confused because I had no idea how I got here. 

I remembered praying for clarity and wisdom.  I remember wise godly people saying they didn't think they could adopt a child with a blank disorder.  I remember weighing our options.  I remember praying, praying, praying.  Looking for open doors, closed doors, cracked windows, you name it.  Yet my heart is and was sinful.  I still put conditions on my unanswered questions.  I still focused on what "I" wanted.  I prepared myself for what "I" thought God wanted for me.  I almost chuckle to think that I even thought to think I knew what all the options were.  I actually thought I had it figured out.  I thought I could prepare myself.  In no way am I knocking preparation, readiness, knowledge, etc, but I am laughing, mocking myself for thinking I could even know all of the possible outcomes.  I was the kid that read all the possible scenarios in the Choose Your Own Adventure Books, and then went back and re-read the story and read it exactly how I thought fitting.  I'd sometimes choose a bit of struggle, excitement, some problems for character building along the way, but in the end it would end up just like I knew I wanted it to.

I just spend so much time too much time weighing all my options, and forgetting that God may have a completely different direction to send me in.  I am continually reminded that no matter how much I research, think practically, pray for wisdom or seek guidance- God's word says:

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the Lord. "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." Isaiah 55:8-9

I am at that place again where I realize I am incapable of managing my family, my children, my spouse, unless it is Christ in me who manages all of this.  All the practical advice in the world will and can not save me or my children.  I am working on five years of practical parenting advice, and while it is practical and important, it does and will not do me any good without the mercy, grace and love of Christ working in me.  My kids don't always (but should) follow the rules.  They don't always eat well, sleep well, handle their problems well... etc... but even if they did... if they did so without having Christ's love in their hearts... it is of no use.  I re-read 1 Corinthians over and over again.

I begin to realize over and over again that without Christ's love, without His mercy, without a faith that saves, without a savior, myself, my children, my husband... we are all doomed....nothing, not rules or behaviors, not walking or talking, nothing is profitable if I don't have Christ's love.

I have felt the failure of my parenting. But, with Christ, I can mimic the gospel.  I want to bring that to my children, because I have been given that gift, while still a sinner, every day.  I want to give that to my children because it has been given to me.  I do not want my children to see me wallowing in my own self-pity, I want them to see the forgiveness and the joy that only Christ can give. 

On a car ride home, confused about mobility devices, God reminds me I need to bring these things to Him with open hands.  He reminds me that the Spirit in me can parent my children.  He reminds me the Spirit is God, and God can do anything. He gives me the courage I find I do not have.  He gives me the grace I can not find anywhere else.  He gives me the encouragement I can't find.  He gives me the unselfish love that nothing can compare too.

Where I think I am going, well, it just may not be where God sends me.  Just a bit like this post-where I thought I would end-I didn't. 

I ended on my need for more of Christ and less of me.  It is where it seems I keep being brought to.

John 3:30  He must increase, but I must decrease

Isn't it ironic?

A full week has passed since we've been home from China.  I've been thinking so many thoughts about so many things, it's truly a tornado inside my brain.  Then again, when isn't it!

Mostly though, what I think about most, is how adoption changed my world.

The changes though, are not what most would expect.  Before we adopted any children we went into adoption blindly.  To be honest, we thought adoption was a good thing.  We thought we were making a difference in the life of a child.  We read cliche quotes like the following and gave a loud resounding AMEN!

"I can not make a difference in the life of all the children, but in the life of one child I made a difference"

(note, these things and quotes may all be true, but there was an aspect to adoption we were totally missing)

We thought we could parent a hurting child and make it better for them. We thought we would hold them, and care for them, and their world would be a little bit better. When we thought about the impact a child would make on our lives, we thought about therapies for them, help for them. We would do whatever it took to help them. As my friend stated;  "the healthy helping the unhealthy, the strong helping the weak."

We brought our second son home, and were wildly mistaken.  We were faced with parenting a child with pain, abuse, malnourishment, loss, and fear.

Let me tell you, all our initial thoughts could not have been further from the truth!

We came face to face with brokenness, and we realized we couldn't face our son's brokenness without coming face to face with our own gross, ugly brokenness too.

again, in the words of a friend...

Fear, shame, pain, anger, and  insecurity cause my child to break down and lose it.  My own fear, shame, pain, anger, and insecurity fuel my embarrassing responses to his behavior.  To say this isn't how I imagined these scenarios playing out pre-adoption would be laughable.

Before adopting I thought I'd be here for my child, the instrument of help and healing to my child.  The real truth is, I'm simply here with my child.  Walking through our hurt and dysfunction together.  Holding my child after an episode that leaves us sweaty and breathless admitting that we're both a wreck in need of healing.  In need of a miracle.

Me, needing to be parented by God while I attempt to parent.

Me, a child of this fallen world and thus a child of trauma to some extent, attempting to parent a child of trauma.

And that is where the change in my world came in. 

Prior to adopting I thought we would be bringing hurt and pain into our story, but now I realize hurt, pain, trauma, dysfunction, lies, fear, and hate were ALREADY a part of MY story.

We thought prior to adopting that God would use us, we would be His hands and feet, all to bring healing to a child.... and yet adoption will forever be the reason healing, redemption, and restoration began in my own life.  In the words of Alanis Morrisette... "isn't it ironic?"  In this midst of a heartfelt story, I want to note, I secretly do still like her, ah yes, I am multifaceted!

So we bravely and courageously decided to adopt two more kids, we went into it, again like my friend said...

 "we're already imperfect in this house, feel like fat parenting failures most days while raising kids without a lot of emotional scars, and yet we're willing to rearrange our own dysfunction to make space for another life filled with hurt and fear."

What adoption has done for me, is brought me to my knees.  People say all the time, "how blessed these children are to have us."  They do not realize how blessed I am to have them. These children have shown me myself.  They have revealed the sin in my life.  They have brought me out of my middle American ways.  They've allowed me to see things I have and would have never seen before. They've given me a chance to live real Christianity, not a watered down version.  Who Christ is has been revealed to me in these last years, more than my lifetime.

It doesn't take a family adopting to realize our fallen state, the sin, the pain, fear and suffering we all have in our hearts.  For me, for this family, I am thankful He brought us to adoption, without it, I have no idea where I would be.  I fear it would be drowning, but the worst part about it is, I would have had no idea I was.

 

How Are Your Tomato Plants Doing?

A word of caution- a disclaimer if you will- I like tomatoes, and even more so I like analogies. If you do not like either of those, you will probably find most of anything I have to say annoying! Proceed reading at your own risk!

I haven't weeded the garden for two weeks. It has rained nearly every day, and when it's not raining the mosquitoes take so much blood from me and the kiddos, I would just assume give blood in the conventional manner.

I weeded the garden today. Scratch that. I tried to weed the garden today. The tomatoes are gorgeous, they have beautiful little green orbs just waiting to be kissed by the sun and drip with juiciness! The leaves are green and nary a bug, fungus, or disease in sight!  

But the weeds, they are starting to take over. Yep, two short weeks, and the weeds are staking claims.

Should I have gotten to the garden sooner? Yes. I rationalized why I couldn't get to it, but I should have. Will I loose my tomato plants? Most of them, no. Some of them, maybe. At least one of them, yes. Could they be better?  Yes. Will I still have a harvest? Yes. Is there still hope for my tomatoes? Yes.

I weeded for hours. I recruited help. I will weed again tomorrow. If I make sure to not let the weeds take over for the rest of the season, they just might all be okay. If continue to neglect my tomatoes I just might loose them. I will fertilize them, and do whatever extra I can do to make up for my mistakes, my laziness, my poor rationalizing.

Analogy to follow... again, proceed at your own risk!

Take out the word "tomatoes" and insert children.  Make the weeds the "world" the biblical use of the word "world". Let the "fruit" be the fruits of the spirit.

Proverbs 22:6  
Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it

Do I pull weeds for my children? Am I fertilizing them? Do I tend to their tender hearts, growing so rapidly, on a daily basis? Do I neglect to do the things God wants me to do for my children? Do I rationalize it away? Do I assume Sunday school, grandparents, or friends will teach my children to love the Lord, and grow for His glory?

Lord, help me pull weeds for my children. Help me love them like YOU do. Teach me to teach them. Remind me daily I am here to give YOU the glory.