Growing Family

Keeping a Big Heart

Beyond the busyness of life and birthdays, we have faced some challenges lately that had me feeling like I was totally at capacity (or beyond), when it came to "coping". It is amazing how one day you can feel strong and capable, and the next the rug has been completely pulled out from under your feet.

We are regaining our balance, and I found one specific thing key to keeping my head above water.

Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life. Proverbs 4:23

 When I woke up in the morning feeling like I was in a dark place even before my eyes opened, I started grabbing truths from the Bible and holding them with both hands. I lay in bed quietly speaking scripture into my mind and heart until I found the strength to get up and face the day. 

Living life in friendship and connection with God, I have so many wonderful promises to hold onto, especially in difficult times. Choosing to actively connect with positive truth in the midst of negative circumstances is really hard. I think that's why we're told to "guard our hearts." Guarding our hearts is actually really hard work. It can be a very active and intentional thing.

When my heart starts to get down, my whole perspective goes down really fast. The Captain and I laugh at me sometimes (I have learned to see how obvious the pattern is!), that if I am feeling low about one thing, before you know it my whole life seems to be falling down around my ears...sometimes just because I am exhausted or hungry.

I need to do this in my life. I need to guard my heart to make sure that the life coming out of it is the life I want.

Another way I need to guard my heart is to keep it open and generous. I seem to be constantly adjusting the balance - protecting my little family and the individual hearts in it so that everyone feels loved and supported and empowered, and also reaching out to others and relying on the inbuilt strength we've established in our kids to carry them over while I lend my strength to others for a season.

So, with this balancing act in mind, we are preparing for another foster care placement. This time it will be a little boy, about 21 months old. We expect him to come to us in July, after his current carers move overseas. 

Learning from our last two experiences, and from some discussions with our kids, we think it is important for foster kids to have their own room so that our kids are able to maintain some continuity with their personal space that doesn't change repeatedly. The Sprout, in particular, really seems to need things to stay "the same", and struggles with change. She is the one who has shared her room two times, and who still really mourns and misses the first baby we cared for. 

To that end, we have a carpenter coming in to make our open plan office into a bedroom. Like Sprout, I find that having new children sharing our bedroom is stressful for me, so I'm thankful we have some flexibility with our room arrangements to dedicate a new bedroom.

I met the sweet little boy this week. Adding a fourth child, going back to diapers, strollers, baby food, and all the extras that come with a child who has experienced trauma and abuse or neglect, requires me to stop and choose to open my heart. I have to guard my heart so that my own selfishness doesn't mean I ignore another's need. At the same time, I have to recognize my own needs and make sure I take care of my own person.

In our small group through church, we've been talking about what Jesus payed for when He died on the cross. The fact that we have access to so much freedom through Jesus doesn't mean that we don't have to reach out and grab it with both hands. He gave us the ultimate gift, but it is up to us to accept it, unwrap it, and use it. Easier said than done!

 

Back on my High Horse

Several years ago, pre-earthquake, I went through a season where I was reading a lot of blogs about the conditions for orphaned and abandoned children in Haiti. The stories were intense. The images were graphic. Often children died. 

I'd follow a story of a child coming into a clinic malnourished, or burned, or suffering from kwashiorcor. I'd rejoice when, after a few months, they would show before and after pictures and those same children would be moving towards health.

Other times I'd just shudder and cry when they died. 

I couldn't stop reading. I hated reading. For those of you who aren't on a faith journey, this will sound nutty, but it felt like Jesus just wanted me to see what He sees. When I wanted to look away He kept bringing me back. It was a season where I experienced a breakthrough in my awareness of children in need. Since then, children in crisis aren't too far removed from my thoughts, even while I'm living my comfortable life.

One of my friends was watching those same blogs. One night she and her husband made a decision. They decided to adopt one of the kids they saw on the blog. I thought Jamie Ivey was crazy. Not for adopting a child in need, but for throwing herself off the approved path. We had completed "normal" adoptions (Deacon and Small Sun) in the same time frame. I don't even think they qualified for the guidelines for the Haiti program. And if there is one thing I learned about adoption when I was volunteering in an agency office, it is that you can't fall in love with a kid in an orphanage somewhere and then adopt them. It just doesn't work like that. There are protocols and rules and, and, and, what were they thinking?

I think sometimes when Jesus pulls you into His world, and you make decisions based on what you're seeing from His angle, it just looks crazy from the outside. 

If you are interested in orphan care, and children in need, please go read Kristen @ Rage Against the Minivan as she talks about the situation for orphaned and abandoned children in Haiti 2 years post-quake. Watch the videos. Read up on UNICEF's position on international adoption and how those policies are playing out on the ground.

Right now it's like I see Jesus sitting under a tree looking at something. I want to go sit next to Him and see what He is looking at. I'm getting drawn back in to seeing the need and the devastation and the hope all tangled together. 

I heard Jesus say something to me this week that made me nervous. He said "your stomach is made from iron, and you are a lot stronger than you think you are." (And yes, now you can all really think I'm crazy if you don't believe Jesus talks to people! I'm okay with that.)

I filled out our Expression of Interest to Adopt today. I think it is Step 2 of 11. The first time we adopted we were open to any race, but wanted a healthy baby. I can tell you that the boxes we checked today were very different from the boxes we checked back then. It felt like one of those times where you just close your eyes and jump. 

 

Changing the World

When I was in junior high I was part of a church youth group that was experiencing a lot of growth. Kids were just pouring in and latching on to the message that was being championed by the leaders. They said we were world changers, that we would make history, and that we would do amazing things for God - even bigger things than their generation had done.

Life goes on and we grew up. We struggled through high school and choosing college or YWAM, missions trips and backpacking Europe, and choosing a major. We all knew we were supposed to do something amazing. Something absolutely ground-shaking. I couldn't find anything at school that seemed to fit that description.

In the face of real life, life that didn't look exciting or important, many, many of the kids who grew up hearing that message threw in the towel when it came to believing they would impact the world for Christ. It was a phase that they went through. It wasn't real in the long-run.

They were waiting for something electric, but it didn't come. What they didn't know, what the youth leaders didn't tell us, is that each life lived for Jesus changes the world, and even the most meaningful life can feel mundane.

When we first accepted Baby into our home in June, for the first time I felt that I was absolutely doing what I was meant to do with my life. It was a life-altering experience. 

I really wish I could show you pictures. When Baby came I didn't know if he would make it through the night. His pacifier covered 1/3 of his face. He was grey. I knew with every fibre of my being that I was fighting for his life. More than any person on the planet, I was fighting for him. Because I fought for him, he has leaped up the growth charts. While he is still facing challenges that we have yet to diagnose, he is fat and pink and happy, and he blows raspberries. 

I was living on a high, feeling that what I was doing with my life really mattered. I could physically see the difference my life was making. I grew into a new understanding of my purpose. It was amazing.

I still know all that to be true. I have crossed a line in this foster care experience where I have a new level of clarity about what my life is for. I feel so amazingly purposeful.

At the same time, even though I am doing this great thing that I am so excited about, it still boils down to the routine of diapers, bottles, tummy time and rocking, which aren't exactly thrilling activities. 

I am changing the world, I am making history by changing the course of this one life, I am giving my strength to my Father in Heaven. This is my sacrifice of praise. 

It doesn't always feel amazing. Sometimes in the night I can't get my eyes to come unglued while I'm feeding Baby. Other nights my spirit is on fire, interceding on his behalf. 

Changing the world doesn't always feel like something special. That's the bummer about what happened to so many of my friends from way back when. They kept waiting for some trumpet from heaven to tell them when they had really finally done it - when they had changed the world.

But changing the world isn't like that (most of the time). 

While I've become an advocate for foster care (and adoption, with a strong dose of "only if you've got a fire inside you"), I'm not telling everyone I meet that they should go out and foster or adopt.

I think each of us has something inside of our hearts that makes us sing, something that ignites our energy and passion. Something that we can't let go of no matter what. That thing is the thing we should be doing. For me it is connecting with children in need and nurturing a child that is hurting.

It doesn't have to be "important" or "spiritual" or fit in a church shaped box, it just has to make us come alive.

I wish I could go back in time and add a couple more layers the the message we received as kids. I would tell us to not worry about finding the thing that we think will make God happy with our life. I would tell us, instead, to go out and try lots of different things to look for that one thing that keeps bringing us back, messing with our heads, and pulling our hearts. It's when we partner that passion with the power of heaven that we have a life that changes the world, whether we feel electric or not.

 

Foster Care

Today we had our last interview session before we get approved to become foster carers. All that is left is for the agency to type up their recommendation, submit it to the board, and then we get the official letter of approval. I think it is pretty much a done deal. With my background in child development and social work, our experience with adoption and all the dynamics surrounding that, as well as our parenting experience, well they're ready for us to start taking placements as soon as we have the final green light.

This week I went to several baby superstore type places in search of a booster for Small Sun. Oh my goodness, so much cuteness! I've been so stressed about having a drug-affected baby that won't stop screaming, or a violet toddler, that I didn't even stop to realize the real potential for enjoying that sweet baby stage. 

I slowly walked the aisles of new and amazing baby paraphernalia, trying on slings, and folding and unfolding this amazing crib that I wanted so badly! I love baby gear.

I never could justify splurging on lots of clothes and flash baby stuff for my babies. I went for good quality, and got a lot of things second hand. For foster care, I think that these babies deserve to have nice things. Not everything has to be new and fancy, schmancy, but I don't want them wearing out-of-fashion, faded baby clothes passed down from ten years ago. 

Hm. As I'm saying that my brain is doing a little spin. You know the sound when a disk is spinning up in the computer and the program hasn't popped up yet? My brain is doing that.

Maybe most of these babies will be coming from humble circumstances, and me insisting on a level of "nice stuff" for them is potentially alienating them from their families? I'll have to think about this some more.

Anyway, I told The Captain that I nearly got pregnant just looking at all of the cuteness. The clothes! The strollers! The lambskin stroller inserts! Burp cloths! I love little flannel burp cloths! I just wanted to get a cart and start shopping.

So for the first time since we started this journey towards foster care it crossed my mind that I might actually like this! It might actually be fun! I hadn't thought of that before.

Looking over all of the baby things and feeling that excitement also kind of jolted me into realizing that one day, I don't know when, it will be time to add another child to our family, and that will be such an amazing and exciting thing. For all of the potential drama and stress of a new baby or child, there is also that pure energy and excitement of a new addition to the family. Am I making sense? I hope I don't sound too negative about all of this. Life has been hard these last couple of weeks and I'm worn thin.

We are requesting that we have babies about eighteen months and younger placed with us. We will probably decline extreme drug-affected babies until we have some more experience. We are doing temporary emergency foster care and the placements can range from several weeks to two years. Babies will leave our care to be reunited with their mother or father, or to enter a permanent care situation through foster care or adoption. I'm terrified.

In the meantime, we are caring for a little three year old friend of ours, on the weekends. His mother is recovering from a very serious spinal cord operation and will need constant help for eight weeks. Four kids five and under is challenging, and we're going to need a lot of strategy and patience to make the next eight weekends strong ones. 

In other news, in a month our live-in babysitter leaves (sob), and my parents arrive (cheer). I know that I am hosting them, but I think I might fall down in a heap when my mom arrives, and just wait for her to make me a cup of tea and scrape me off the ground. Sometimes I'm so busy trying to beSuperMom, that I forget I need my SuperMom. I can't wait to see her. 

Parents coming, and school holidays while they're here - two things to be looking forward to. In the meantime, I'm reaching deep for the courage God told me I needed this year. I'm finally starting to need it. 

 

Sarah

Right now we're enjoying school holidays before starting the fourth and final term of the year. This will be Small Sun's last term of preschool. After summer holidays (and Christmas!), he will start kindergarten and The Sprout will go to (a new) preschool three days a week. I might not know myself! Times are a changin'!

I can see the end of the year out in front of me. It is a little wobbly, like heat rising off the tarmac distorts the lines on the road, but I can see it there, finite, limited.

I'm planning a lazy summer. The last summer they're all here together before Small Sun becomes a school boy. We'll fill up the kiddy pool, do the slip 'n slide, and eat popsicles every day. We'll go to the beach and get permanent tan lines. We'll listen to the cicadas hum in the trees and eat boxes of peaches, mangoes, and cherries. We'll go barefoot all summer long, except when the ground is too hot to stand on. We'll love and laugh and fight and play.

I can see it all, out in front of me.

But when the year started I heard God say "big changes" and "a right hand turn you can't anticipate" and "build up your courage, you'll need bravery this year."

I'm standing looking at the end of the year, and looking at those words I wrote down from the Lord, and scratching my head a little. No, make that, scratching my head A LOT. 

Imagine a rope bridge across a rushing river. Actually it is just two ropes for the feet, and two for the hands. When you try to cross it there is nothing to hold the two sides together so you end up in some kind of crazy splits before you crash into the water. That's how I feel right now.

We've heard two distinct and clear things that we are supposed to be doing with our lives. But those two things don't seem to be connected. We're supposed to be diligent with both, holding onto both, making place in our hearts and heaven for both, engaging both. But both things don't seem to go together. I'm losing my balance trying to be two places at once. Inside I'm doing some crazy gymnastics trying to hold both those lines. You might not see it on the outside, but inside I am stretched so thin!

I keep trying to find a way to make the two come together and what I keep hearing in my head is "don't pull a Sarah". You know Abraham and Sarah in the Bible? Well God gave them a promise. God told them that He was going to give them a son and make their offspring like the stars of the heavens. Problem was, that was pretty much impossible because Sarah had already gone through "the change" and I guess once you change over, you can't change back. 

So Sarah took that promise from God and did some gymnastics of her own to make it work. She got Hagar, her servant, and Abraham to shack up to make God's promise happen for her. She took God's promise, and when she didn't see how it could happen, because it didn't line up with her circumstances, she manipulated the circumstances to produce a result that looked like God's promise, but wasn't God's promise at all. 

"Don't pull a Sarah." "Don't be a Sarah." It is the word of caution that is living in my heart these days.

Because, like Sarah, God has spoken to my heart that I am the mother of many children. But my current circumstances aren't backing it up. I am living in a place where I'm holding on to the promises of God, and being faithful with where He has placed me, even though the two cannot currently co-exist in my understanding.

As itchy as I feel, as frustrated as I am, as much as my heart is fighting for Belief, I will. not. move. until I see the cloud moving, and I will. not. be Sarah, God help me. 

Under the Wave

I watched a video on Rage Against the Minivan that made me all shivery and inspired. Every once in awhile I read (or in this case, I heard something read) that penetrates the mundane to expose the beauty of heaven. It is in those moments that I want to be a writer and I decide to keep coming back here to try, again, and again, and again, to connect.

It also touched on something I believe so deeply and completely: I believe that being a mother who stays home with children is a massive and stunning life choice. It may be difficult to maintain identity, and to delineate appropriate boundaries, and to stand tall as a person without a "career", but those are just roots for us to trip on while we are in the midst of doing something messy, influential, and immense. It's not for everyone, but for those of us who have it in our hearts, it is something worth doing with every fiber of our beings.

Today my house succumbed to the jumbled play of three children held indoors by rain. There were blocks and animals dominating the living room, left abandoned when I forced the older two to the back of the house while Finch slept at the front. That's the rule around here - outdoors when it is dry, and dining room and kitchen play only when it's wet, while Finch sleeps.

The table was a mess of paper scraps (we're working on scissors skills at the preschool's request), confetti from a hole punch, markers, and lego. The dining chairs were rearranged to create a fort and the old iron cooking stove that is built into the wall became a reading nook with a pillow and books. 

I waited until the children settled deep into their pretend play before slipping out to work on readying the guest room for my cousin who is coming to nanny while I'm gone. The play went awfully quiet at one point but the alarm that registered in my brain wasn't strong enough to motivate me to leave my task. Once, when I checked in on them, I puzzled over the long blond hairs stuck to Small Sun's head. "How odd." I mused, before continuing on with trading curtains out, fluffing pillows, and doing the gymnastic dance that is stuffing a duvet into a silk cover.

When I returned again to the dining room I saw it on the sideboard - a pile of golden hair, and one clump of tight dark curls, and nearby...the scissors.

They practiced their cutting all right!

They told me cheerfully, with no guilt whatsoever, how Sprout wanted to cut her hair, so she did! And she wanted to cut Small Sun's hair too, so she did! She cut it here (a bald place on one side), and here (a top chunk sticking up on the other side), and here (a jagged slash right at the front)!

I did my best to explain the gravity, the seriousness of the offense. When I confiscated the illicitly used scissors, she fell down crying passionately, mouth wide with teeth gaping in protest. How could I take her precious scissors??? The lesson was lost on her, I think.

The guest room finished as Finch awoke, I turned to vacuuming, alternately holding the little imp on my hip, and working in slow motion as he stood, clutching my leg or the body of the vacuum. Between the children's room and mine, I set him on his feet and held out my hands. In the middle of vacuuming, magic happened - the first step! Standing, he stepped his little foot out, then grasped my hands in glee. I saw it. The first step was all mine. Small Sun and I whooped and hollered a little celebration right there in the hall.

Right there, in the middle of the mundane, the curtain flapped and we saw heaven. 

Pillow forts and impromptu haircuts, first steps and hot towels smelling of lavender, fresh from the dryer on a rainy day, it's perfect, and today it's enough for me.

A Stone's Throw

It is amazing how little I actually know. Sometimes I am just shocked when I think I have things all figured out, and then the situation spins and I get a peak from another angle and realize, I had that so wrong. 

In the last three days I have discovered that there are three transracial adoptive families living on our street and a street in our neighborhood. Two are across the street from my house. Literally, I could hit them with a stone's throw. How did I miss that?

How often are the things we need in life right under our nose?

So there's this family that sometimes comes to stay across the street from us. I'd noticed them before because it's not every day you see a black woman with dreads, and a white man with long hair, and a beautiful, brown curly headed child walking down our street. You other transracial families will know what I mean when I say they showed up on my radar! Anyway, they come and go, and eventually I learned that they are the children and grandchild of the retired couple who lives across the way. Recently we bumped into them when my children were hanging out in the eucalyptus tree in front of our house. Their daughter came over to play "monkeys" for awhile and we promised we'd hang out again soon.

That was several months ago but this week they came back to stay for a bit. In the last three days we've probably spent a cumulative six or seven hours together. We've been on long adventures in the reserves around our neighborhood, and had relaxed cups of tea on the verandah. My new friend has worked her way into my baby's heart even though he is reluctant of strangers. 

Yesterday we were at the park and Small Sun was talking to The Mom about a movie character and saying, "you know, he's brown, like us..." How often will my son get to have a brown "us" to identify with? It thrilled me, and brought me pain at the same time. As I pushed the stroller with my two light children, and her daughter and my brown son ran ahead, I felt the pang as people smiled at them charging by. Any casual observer would probably think they were both her children.

To be honest, I have had very, very few moments where I felt like I missed out on something by not being Small Sun's biological mom. I've heard lots of other mothers through adoption talk about little stings and pains they experienced, and I really haven't related. In that moment though, when I assumed that other people thought that The Mom was Small Sun's mom because they were both brown, it hurt me. For once I felt that there was something I missed in not being genetically linked...for once I found myself wanting to "match".

Imagine my surprise when today The Mom told me that her daughter also joined their family through adoption. I just assumed that they "matched". It never crossed my mind that The Mom and I might have so much more in common than I thought. It really just astounded me how inaccurate my perceptions were.

In my whole experience as a mother through adoption (a sage five years, next month), I've read and read and thought about what my son "needs" to be a healthy, well rounded individual despite being transracially adopted. In my head there's this formula: x number of same-ethnicity mentors, y percent saturation of people of color in main environments, + parents who are completely educated on every important piece of African American history and literature, EVER = happy, well adjusted adult. I'm being silly...but I'm not. 

Recently I had the thought "what if instead of coming up with what I think Small Sun needs, and asking God to provide that, I ask God to meet Small Sun's needs without dictating what those needs are?" 

At our church's weekly gathering to encourage and connect women, the speaker taught about directing our own "self-talk" to be empowering us rather than tearing ourselves down. She said "when you have attempted something and given it your absolute best effort, it is WRONG to then berate yourself for not having done it better or achieved more." Of course we are always trying to improve and grow, but hating on ourselves for the distance between the mark we're hitting, and our ultimate goal, cuts our feet out from under us. I was so convicted when she said that.

There really is a big challenge for me there, to have my goals in mind, but to also pray with God for His goals for my son (all of my children, but I'm talking about adoption here). And while I'm praying, to not direct my focus on where I'm not, but rather on where I am going. 

My perspective is so narrow, and limited. And sometimes, like this week, I get shaken and spun, and it all ends up looking so different than I thought it did. 

Hearing from God

After my "Eyes on the Cloud" entry, Mayhem Mama commented:

"How do you find the darn guide points? I feel like I'm constantly trying to rub my eyes clear so I can see the cloud or pillar that I know is supposed to be there."

I wanted to respond to that. For the first several years of writing here I didn't talk about my faith much. I didn't want to be pigeon-holed as a Christian blogger. At the moment, I don't care so much about what people assume about me. I'm too busy living my life to spend time on that.

My faith is a massive part of my life and at this point, to leave it out of my writing is just...dishonest. And, if you've been here for awhile, you know I crave honesty.

There are two parts to my answer for Mayhem Mama.

First, I think "finding the guide points" comes down to hearing from God, right? To me, the most essential bit in hearing from God is whether or not we believe that God speaks to us. Most Christians believe that God speaks to us through the Bible, and that's true. But I also believe that God speaks to me, personally. I think that He wants to talk to me and is talking to me. If I believe God will talk to me, I listen for what He might say. If you don't believe He talks, well then you don't listen, right? Easy enough.

Second, I think God can speak to us in so many different ways. People who grow up in the church have probably heard the "still small voice" description. I hear from God that way. Other ways I personally hear from God are that when I'm focused on hearing, I can close my eyes and watch images play like a movie. The images have meaning and communicate something to me. I might read something in the Bible that stands out to me. I might read or hear something where a certain part is almost highlighted, drawing my attention.

Most of the time when I hear from God, it's not from the Bible or "religious" books. Because, honestly, that's not where I spend most of my time reading. God just points stuff out to me everywhere. I think God can speak to each person in a million different ways, and if we are listening, we are likely to hear all kinds of things from God.

On the "Eyes on the Cloud" topic, the Lord reinforced that message to me again last night, at the movies.

The Captain and I went to see It's Complicated. I didn't go there to hear from God. That movie was so wrong, and so funny, and I just laughed and laughed. I really love houses and real estate and gardens, and design so I noticed a lot of details about the main character's home and property. It was a really beautiful house set in Southern California.

Part of the storyline is that the main character is planning an addition to her house. In the last scene (no spoilers here), it is raining and the contractors and heavy equipment are moving in to start the ground works for the addition. Suddenly -WHAM- I felt the Holy Spirit say "hey! pay attention!" and I almost said out loud "look, she's going to tear up her beautiful house and garden and it's going to get all muddy and wrecked...so that she can build something bigger and better for what's next in her life."

Like I said, I didn't go out to the movies looking for God to speak to me, but I left the movies almost dizzy with being smacked upside the head with the same message God has been speaking to me for weeks. Because I believe God speaks to me, I listened when I felt that nudge, and I'm just adding that to the other things I've heard from Him lately. It is not all hushed and holy. It is just life. God speaks to us in our regular lives. We can set aside special focused time just to listen to God, but we can also just hear from Him in the little things.

What do you think?

School, Church, and Other Stuff

Forgive me for writing this without much forethought (okay, any forethought). I thought I'd just kill two birds with one stone - do some processing and voila! a blog post.  My previous post should be explanation enough to why the blog is mostly quiet these days!

When we first got married, The Captain and I lived in Holland for six months while he finished his Bachelor's degree. Then we lived in Nashville for eight years before coming here. A pat answer we give to people inquiring about our motivation to move here is "we lived in Holland, then the States, and thought we could get one more country in before we settle down with the kids in school." Since we moved here, my focus has been on the two year marker, which is how long we said we would stay here before deciding to go anywhere else. Suddenly, with the end of this year in sight, a different marker has popped up on my horizon and my world is a bit quaky. (Do you like that? Quaky?)

Small Sun starting school! The school year begins here in February. We have the option to send Small Sun THIS February, or wait a year. We are opting to wait. My calendar is all booked out until after Christmas, when suddenly, it will only be a year until my baby goes to SCHOOL! Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! Who ever said he could grow this fast?

Having school on the horizon is kind of a big deal for me, beyond the obvious "my baby is growing up" reason. I had imagined that by the "school years" we would have it all figured out, where we'll be and all that. The time up until school was adventure play time, and then we were supposed to have it all together! While I believe kids are resilient and can thrive despite huge moves, I think it would be irresponsible to move the kids more than is absolutely necessary. Small Sun is four and Sprout is nearly three. Small Sun has preschool and they both have close friends and a whole life here that they are very much involved in. When we moved here Small Sun was nearly three and Sprout was only a year an a half. While they missed their friends for awhile, and took a while to adjust here, I think a move NOW would REALLY affect them much more than the last one did. Even a move from one house to another would be a big deal. 

With school approaching I feel a greater need to make some decisions about our future. However, suddenly I'm not wondering about the merits of Australia vs. Holland vs. The States, I'm wondering about Gladesville vs. Ryde or the Inner West vs. other areas of Sydney. Once Small Sun starts school, I don't want to have him changing schools. He is already going to be meeting a whole new peer group at kindergarten since he is going to preschool outside of our school district. And with all this thought about school starting I'm feeling so very established here.

Moving on to the church part of this post, our church has several main campuses as well as extension services all over the greater Sydney area. We go to an extension service and once in awhile we attend Sunday evening services at the main campus. I went up by myself tonight, while The Captain carried the home load. If our extension service is diverse, the main campus is even more so. I love being there. Tonight I was watching a boy of about 14 years old worshiping down in the front. He looked a lot like Small Sun, with similar coloring and hair texture. His style was little bit punk and he just looked so happy with his friends (a diverse group themselves).

When we were living in Nashville, I couldn't really visualize our future there. In our environment I couldn't see families that looked like ours; I couldn't see a place for us on either side of the color line. Tonight, sitting in church, I could see ten years into our future, where Small Sun could be happy in his skin, in his group, and in his church. I could see in the shades of brown skin around me that there is not one way to be black here. There are Africans in traditional dress, kids with hip hop style, skaters, and clean cut kids. There are braids and afros and locs and in between textures of hair. Skin tones range from very fair to ebony. And I'm only talking about the people of African heritage, not even about all the other ethnicities and cultures represented. It just feels like there's room here; room for young black people to take their time trying on so many different expressions on their way to finding who they are. I'm not saying that back in Nashville there was just one way to be black, but I didn't see many black kids exploring alternative style like skate and punk looks. I just love that room to explore.

So as my eyes start to focus on the next marker out ahead of me, I am seeing a real future for us here. I am trying to relax and trust that if being here is what is best for our family, that God will help us work out the issues of adopting and being far from family. I'm just trying to hold it all loosely and be present in my life. I want to have an eye towards the future, but not gaze at it so intently that I miss what's right in front of me now.

Speaking of now, my smallest baby is twelve weeks old and outgrew his bassinet. His legs hang off my lap when he's nursing and tonight he's lying in the crib, stretched out like a starfish in the newly expansive space. My little Australian son, who is currently without Dutch or U.S. citizenship. What a family we have, and what a life we're living.

P.S. It's the dead of winter here and today is was 28 (82) degrees. Yea baby!

How Wednesday Got to be the Best Day of My Week

I think I will forever be very conscious of the fact that from about the age of 11 to 15, I was really horrible to my mother. There were influencing factors, of course, but responsibility for my actions still lies squarely with me. I know I was mean and petty and hurtful and I still grieve those choices.

When I was 15 we were living in Russia, and I was being horrid to my family. My dad took my brother and I on a trip from St. Petersburg, where we lived, to Odessa, on the Black Sea. It took 3 full days by train and that journey is still pure magic in my mind. I hope I never forget the golden light on the quivering aspens, as long as I live.

In Odessa we worked at a cultural and spiritual conference and I met kids there whose parents were doing the same work as my parents, in different cities all over the former Soviet Union. When we had worship time I would watch those kids out of the corner of my eye. They were into it. It meant something. It moved them. It was in getting to know those kids that I decided to live a life of faith.

When I decided to try to follow Jesus, changing my attitude towards my parents was one of the first things that I made an effort to change. It was slow going, but I really made a sincere effort. At 19 I got married and moved to Holland with The Captain (with my parents' blessing). By that point I think a lot of the damage to my relationship with my parents had been undone, but not a lot of further progress had been made. I spent my high school years trying to dig my way out of the hole created by my poor choices.

When we returned to Nashville later, in 2001, only expecting to stay until I finished school, I decided to commit my time in Nashville to building a relationship with my parents. And when, in 2005, we adopted Small Sun, we made it a clear priority to cherish the time we had with my parents before we would move on from Nashville. 

Everyone knows the scripture from Deuteronomy 5:16:

"Honor your father and your mother, as the LORD your God commanded you, so that your days may be long and that it may go well with you in the land that the LORD your God is giving you.”

I guess since it talks about your days being long, I had this idea that you do what your parents want while they are alive, and then you get to do things your way after they've passed. Morbid, I know! I think I also read "honor" as "obey" which can have a loss of personal power as part of its connotation.

Even as I made the decision to honor my parents, I did it because it was the "right" thing to do. The thing that God would want. In reality, I didn't expect it to benefit me much.

When we adopted Small Sun my mom dedicated Wednesdays to be a day she came to help me. The initial idea was that I would run errands, do the shopping, or get some "me" time, while she watched Small Sun. I found myself hesitant to leave. On Wednesdays we talked without distraction. On Wednesday my mom would bring a ripe avocado for sandwiches, or a perfect cookie she'd saved for me, or some other little treat. Each and every Wednesday I was assured of my mother's love and care for me. It was on Wednesdays that I really got to know my mom.

From time to time we'd "reassess" if Wednesday help was still necessary. I got my feet under me as a new mother. My need for practical assistance wasn't as great, but Wednesdays carried on. Small Sun grew, I grew with The Sprout, then I needed help in earnest with two under two years old! But whether I left the house or stayed, Wednesdays became the best part of my week.

Now, 13 years into my walk of faith and 8 years into my commitment to grow a meaningful relationship with my parents, I am surprised at the results. The blessing that comes as a result of honoring my parents isn't some future promise. I am living it now.

I never really understood how some people stayed in their hometown their whole lives, or even lived next to their parents! Now I realize the gift of a Wednesday mother is so precious, and raising my children near their grandparents is trumping nearly every desire on my life list.

I believe it is the supreme kindness of God for me to experience such a change. So on this Mothers Day I want to thank my mom for waiting for me to come around, and for being there for me when I did. Wednesdays will never be the same again.