This may be my longest absence yet. It is certainly not for lack of things to write, but rather desire to protect privacy and hearts, and find my own feelings about the year.
Little Man has experienced a lot of new firsts in 2017. Now home three years, we finally are beginning to feel the earth solidify under our feet. His multiplying medical diagnoses and unresolved trauma have made it difficult to find our footing as parents. He has been home now longer than he was an orphan and we are beginning to see significant progress in his ability to understand family. Do not misunderstand, we still have multiple, daily struggles as the permanent trauma and the attachment disorders rear their heads and threaten to shake the ground beneath us, but we are beginning to find ways to release our own trauma triggers instead of letting each uprising cripple us in our parenting.
Little Man also started kindergarten at a local school this year! We worked hard at homeschooling for two years but have found this to be a much better fit for him in this particular season of life. His school, and especially his teacher, have been absolutely fantastic about taking the time to listen to explanations about trauma, his many diagnoses, and how they have affected him at home. We were afraid that school would be too much for him, and honestly we (and many of his medical team) thought that we would have to pull him out after about a month, but to our pleasant surprise, he has adjusted beautifully. There have been some very hard days and he still comes home and sleeps for several hours out of pure mental and physical exhaustion, but he truly loves his time at school. It has been a wonderful experience for our family. We still maintain that we will evaluate each of our children's needs each year to determine whether each individual child should do homeschool or the school system. So he may return to homeschool in the future, but this year, we are really pleased with his experience. His teacher is absolutely precious and an answer to the specific prayers of many who have asked God to continue to provide individuals to help bring him to healing.
We were finally able to have our first MRI done for Little Man this fall. It has taken us three neurosurgeons, but we finally found one who was willing to put in significant effort to identify the specific type of shunt he has and determine that the metal in it is MRI compatible. So for the first time in his 6 years of life, we finally have a clear view of what is actually going on in his brain and spine. We found some new things from this scan that will be monitored throughout his life, but we are thrilled to learn that we do not need to pursue brain or spinal surgery right now like we expected. We are pretty certain some surgeries will be needed in the future (to correct his severe scoliosis at the very least), but we were relieved to learn we would not have to replace his shunt just to have a MRI to determine if spinal surgery was also needed.
Little Man has matured a lot this year. His time at school has played a large part in this. He is learning how to write his name, play with peers, and many other things that have been so great for him. He says recess is his favorite because he gets to blow bubbles. Ha! Some days when he mentions this, I have a hard time not flashing back to when we met him in the orphanage and showed him bubbles for the first time. My, how his life has changed! My brave boy wheels off to class each day and tackles this huge world and new experiences like a champ! I am so incredibly proud of him and all of the things that he has accomplished. When we were in the adoption process, I remember reading a blog where a mom talked about how some days parenting her trauma-affected children, she would have to find things to celebrate each day- like them buckling their own seatbelts. On days now when he can fasten the clip himself, I think of just how very far he has come. That same malnourished child who was facing a transfer to an adult mental institution at the age of 5- a certain death sentence in his situation- is now rolling around kindergarten, buckling his own seatbelt, ordering his own food at restaurants, holding his baby sister, and writing his name. What a blessing he is!
We also just recently returned from a trip to Disney World with my family. Watching Little Man try to understand how the princesses were suddenly alive and talking to him was absolutely hilarious. For the first few days, he mostly stared at the characters, mouth open, but by the end of the trip, he was giving everyone he saw his best Flynn Rider smolder. It was a much needed week of fun and time away from the stress of real life for all of us. I think, in time, we will find that some of our favorite family memories of our kids' childhood will be the ones we took away from that trip.
For the sake of transparency, I will admit that this year has given me days that have been difficult to see the blessings all around me. I glanced over my last blog post from January and recalled yet again that my focus for this year was to be joy. Now that we are almost to the end of it, I think that the word that better describes the bulk of 2017 is weariness. There have been many obstacles this year within the realms of family, medical diagnoses, and perseverance in trauma that have threatened to steal that very joy I was desperate to cling to. In this year, most of the lessons the Father has taught me have not focused specifically on Little Man. And so for that, I will be quite open in this post about things in our personal lives that do not specifically involve Little Man.
We buried my beloved uncle the week after Easter. He is my third uncle I have lost to suicide. After I got the unexpected call Easter morning, the Hubs found me crumpled on the closet floor, unable to even find the words to tell him what had happened. In losing this man that I loved so dearly and grew very close to in recent years, I struggled to find God's goodness. I could not wrap my head around a God that did not provide the healing that my uncle so desperately cried out for. The same questions about God's healing for Little Man's physical, mental, and psychological health are continuously raging in my own heart and overwhelm me if I am not careful to deal with them when the grief arises. And now I was faced with a different situation, but the same questions. In my lack of understanding, I have found Him to be faithful. I have found that He can handle my balled fists of rage and sobs. I have found that He has not left me in my grief, for He too stood at the tomb of his loved one and wept. I have found that, fortunately, His faithfulness and goodness do not depend on me in any way.
Six months later, I was standing in an airport, about to board a plane back to Little Man's home country in an effort to follow this same God across the ocean in obedience of sharing His hope with those who have not heard, when my phone rang again. My grandma was calling to give me a few precious moments to talk to my rapidly declining grandfather. I did not know at that time, but those were my final goodbyes to him. I stood in a crowded airport with tears streaming down my face and stepped onto the plane, despite every piece of me wanting to run onto a plane flying in the opposite direction. I heard the gentle whisper in my soul, "And He said to another, 'Follow Me.' But he said, 'Lord, permit me first to go and bury my father.' But He said to him, 'Allow the dead to bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim everywhere the kingdom of God.'"
When we landed, the text came through that he had passed away about an hour into our flight. And I was on the other side of the world. Too far away to be able to sit with my relatives in our overwhelming grief as they buried my precious PawPaw next to his sons.
About a week after we came home from that trip, we received some test results for Little Man that rocked us a bit. Knowing your child's future and hearing it from the mouth of a doctor are two different things. I have had to accept in this past month that what I wanted for Little Man will likely be just out of grasp. And instead of letting it rot inside my heart, I have had to painfully ask God what He is doing with this. I assure you, I'd much rather tuck it away to easily stew and decay inside my soul instead of search for God's goodness while in the midst of the grief in losing two men I love with my whole heart and also facing fear of the future. Taking it to Him means I have to actually acknowledge the reality of it all.
This has not been the year of the joyous triumph I had hoped for. This has been a year of trying to find the courage to keep crawling forward. But I have found that I have a much better perspective of the Creator God in this position. This massive Maker of galaxies and dandelions was not on this mountaintop of joy that I had anticipated this year. Instead I have found Him sitting next to me in the ashes. And I have found joy in His nearness as He binds up my wounds.
This past year has been one of my hardest years yet. I still randomly find myself wiping sudden tears from my face as the reality of losing of two of my favorite people in the whole world catches me by surprise during the day. Big Sister still frequently cries herself to sleep at night, clutching her PawPaw's shirt. This week, as we nestle in the house for a holiday break and I feel the weather finally cool outside while wrapping my hands around a warm cup of tea, I have found that God has met me in this season. He has held me in my grief and anger and lack of understanding. He has gently whispered Truth to my heart that has sustained me. When I was fearful of turning to Him and finding the harsh rebuke of a righteous King because of my own unfaithfulness, I instead found the embrace of a loving and forgiving Father.
As our travels have ended for the year, and we settle down for, hopefully, a peaceful winter, I find myself enjoying the familiar annual longing for Christmas. There is something magical about the advent season. The anticipation. The crisp wind knocking the last leaves to the ground. A dying creation longing for its coming King.
After so much loss this year, I catch myself aching for this birth of the Messiah. I have seen the brokenness in myself and in this world. I have seen the horrible pain of death, neglect, fear, trauma, addiction, sickness, hopelessness, anger, cancer, and forgotten children. How can we survive this kind of anguish without this Savior? This Baby coming to die. This warrior King coming to our rescue. This loving Father coming to heal our brokenness. This Jesus. Precious, magnificent, holy Jesus. How can it be that He would step down from His glorious throne to take on our flesh and our pain? That He would willingly come into this world's pain and take it on His own shoulders to offer us true peace?
The weeks leading up to Christmas are holy anticipation. The longing to meet this Baby at the manger and follow Him to the cross. We are all broken. We are all sinful. Jesus left His place in heaven to take on lowly human flesh, live a sinless life, and endure God the Father's wrath against our sin by allowing Himself to die on a cross. But three days later, he conquered death and rose from the grave. He offers salvation from our sin. We cannot be reunited with God without Jesus. There is no salvation without Jesus. There is no joy without Jesus.
How can we not look forward to His coming when so much is at stake?!
When we see the nativity sets this year, may we look at that manger and see it for what it really is. That manger is the coming cross. It is our freedom. It is our peace. It is our reconciliation with God. It is our joy.
So this year, while it has been marked by much tragedy, is still oozing with unending joy. Because the pain of this year is nothing in comparison of being separated from Him. And because He has come to us, there is joy. Even in the midst of suffering.
Can you feel the weight of it all? He didn't leave us here in this anguish.
He didn't leave us here.
We wait anxiously for Christmas because it represents that He came.
He came.
Our eternal freedom slept in that manger. And so we hold our breath with all of creation, awaiting the angels' song.
Our Joy is coming!
"and though you have not seen Him, you love Him, and though you do not see Him now, but believe in Him, you greatly rejoice with joy inexpressible and full of glory, obtaining as the outcome of your faith the salvation of your souls." 1 Peter 1:8 & 9
Wednesday, November 22, 2017
Friday, January 20, 2017
Taking Back
The start of a new year is always cause for reflection of the past and hopeful anticipation of the future. 2016 was by far the hardest year our little family has ever faced and we are eagerly stepping into the new year and fresh beginnings!
We kicked off the new year with a much-needed checkup for Little Man. In November, we ran some tests and all 3 came back either positive for infection or concerning in some way. One we discovered was a tummy problem that he contracted in the orphanage that causes a lot of pain and difficulty eating. A few days into treatment, he had a pretty significant allergic reaction to one of the medications, so we had to continue treating without that one specific medicine. We just retested this week and are hopeful that the problem has been fixed, even without finishing that medicine. We also ran labs this week to retest "odd" lab result #2, and test result #3 requires a trip to a new specialist a few hours away. So whew! We are starting out with a bang! In addition to that, we are working closely with our pediatrician and other specialists that will hopefully be able to give us some answers about behaviors and struggles that we should have seen more progress on by this amount of time home.
It seems that since Little Man has been home, we cycle through seasons of many, many appointments, new diagnoses, and therapies, and then a short time of adjusting to those changes before discovering new things that must be tackled. A few days ago, I ran a mental list of new diagnoses that we have discovered in the two years Little Man has been home, and frankly, I lost count (or quite possibly fell asleep- that's life with a baby for ya!). The thing about adding a child to your family, whether biological or adopted, is that you never really know what you are going to get! I've heard people say that adoption is a "safer" bet, because you sign papers when you already have diagnoses confirmed, but that's crazy talk to me. I know very few adoptive parents who have not added to the list of needs after their kiddos came home. A hard, traumatic life before a permanent family is considered a significant special need in and of itself.
I often think of a book that several of my friends worked through a few months ago. I am blessed to have friends who also call themselves "moms of kids with special needs," and while all of our kids struggle with vastly different things, we all understand each other on this path that "typical" parents never have to set foot on. The book is called Get Your Joy Back by Laurie Wallin. The title is not meant to imply that special needs parents have no joy, (in fact, the opposite is often the case!), but rather that we are constantly somewhere in the stages of grief. For special needs parents, just when you begin to make peace with something, a new diagnoses or disability may pop up. It isn't just the days that we get a new, scary diagnosis, I've found that I can be blindsided by the sting of grief when I see a "typical" child do routine things during the day that my son cannot. The world, while uniquely beautiful to special needs parents, can be an unending reminder of how different your child's life is. I highly recommend this book for any mom or dad who has a child with extra needs- whether adopted or biological- as it deals with topics such as finding time for yourself, your spouse, dealing with professionals, and a host of other practical things.
One thing that she says in the very beginning is,
"Aging happens as our DNA, the delicate molecular template for life in all our cells, begins to unravel. We all have special structures called telomeres that cap the ends of our DNA strands, stunting the aging (unraveling) process. Unfortunately, stress causes these protective caps to shrink and wear out. In other words, we are actually aging faster than we would have without the chronic, unrelenting pressures of caregiving. Great news, right? In a recent documentary, USCF researcher Dr. Elizabeth Blackburn reported that the length (and thus protective nature) of telomeres is much shorter for parents in our situation. Stanford University neurobiologist Robert Sapolsky added that for every year of chronological age, special needs moms experienced roughly six years of cellular aging."
*Insert shocked emoji* Except not really. Frequent doses of chocolate chips literally kept me awake and functioning today. The amount of wrinkle cream I could go through in a month also speaks to this truth.
So this year, this month even, we begin taking more steps in piecing back together the little boy sitting in our living room right now. He's cuddled up with a pillow as I type, but when my gaze crosses over him, I can see flashbacks of all the pain he has endured. I hear his screams and see his sheer terror as he left the orphanage, the rages, the medical procedures, the sobbing as he recounts his perspective of his story, my own frustration when his behavior is erratic and uncontrollable and so much more. On better days, I can see what was once the shell of a boy, slowly filling with love and peace and life.
Another adoptive mom posted this song a few weeks ago as her family prepares to rescue yet another child hurt by trauma and I haven't been able to get the lyrics out of my head since then. You can listen to it here: Take Back.
The lyrics touch almost every aspect of adoption- the experience we have lived and the journeys we see others embark upon.
We're gonna take back
All the enemy has stolenI think of the things Little Man has endured. Many things were unable to be controlled. In the womb, physical disabilities formed. Because we live in a fallen world, sickness and disabilities are possibilities. But there are things that have happened in his short life that he has been robbed of since his birth. Because we live in a fallen world, sometimes first families aren't permanent. Sometimes kids endure horrific surgeries and recover all alone. Sometimes kids don't have enough food. Sometimes grownups are cruel. Sometimes the horror of our fallen world is too difficult for a young mind to overcome. Sometimes orphanages are overflowing with precious, innocent children whose joints harden in contorted positions, and bodies and minds waste away from lack of nourishment and love.
It's in the blood
Of the One Who's worthy
I know God has not forgotten
All that's lost and broken
So, come and see the turning of the times
When I look at Little Man, I see him and our struggles, but I also see the millions that he represents. The millions still waiting. Waiting and dying. But I know God has not forgotten / All that's lost and Broken / So, come and see the turning of the times.Daily I am filled with hope as I read of families- everyday, ordinary families, just like mine and just like yours- who are stepping, with weak, shaky steps, then with solid paces, then breaking into sprints, racing to these kids. I see the pictures and videos of the broken bodies and traumatized minds as they are carried out of these places. Parents whose arms are strong and sure, and whose faces are set like stone as they walk down orphanage steps to bring their children to a future and a hope. And I see these same parents come home, and do the unimaginably hard work of gluing pieces back together, before doing the unthinkable. Going back for more.
We're gonna plunder the pits of hell
We're gonna plunder the pits of hellI listened to this song a few days ago while I did the dishes, tears rolling down my cheeks. It struck such a chord with me- the rally cry of adoptive moms and dads who have struggles far greater than my own, laying down their own lives to ransom those of the forgotten. And the little boy who was under the same roof as me, napping in his room that day. Safe and full, albeit probably getting into some mischief during that "nap," but loved and known nonetheless. Little Man was fortunate that his orphanage was not as bone-chilling as some of the others I have learned about, but I will never be able to call an orphanage good. To that point, Baby Sister who is currently 9 months old, weighs the exact same that Little Man did when he left the orphanage at 3 years old. I am humbled at the resolve of these parents who are in the process of literally pulling their children out of the pit, and pray for endurance for those of us whose children's minds try to take them back and ensnare them in that pit they left long ago. They are truly plundering the pits of hell, wrestling from the enemy all that has been stolen.
We kicked off the new year with a much-needed checkup for Little Man. In November, we ran some tests and all 3 came back either positive for infection or concerning in some way. One we discovered was a tummy problem that he contracted in the orphanage that causes a lot of pain and difficulty eating. A few days into treatment, he had a pretty significant allergic reaction to one of the medications, so we had to continue treating without that one specific medicine. We just retested this week and are hopeful that the problem has been fixed, even without finishing that medicine. We also ran labs this week to retest "odd" lab result #2, and test result #3 requires a trip to a new specialist a few hours away. So whew! We are starting out with a bang! In addition to that, we are working closely with our pediatrician and other specialists that will hopefully be able to give us some answers about behaviors and struggles that we should have seen more progress on by this amount of time home.
It seems that since Little Man has been home, we cycle through seasons of many, many appointments, new diagnoses, and therapies, and then a short time of adjusting to those changes before discovering new things that must be tackled. A few days ago, I ran a mental list of new diagnoses that we have discovered in the two years Little Man has been home, and frankly, I lost count (or quite possibly fell asleep- that's life with a baby for ya!). The thing about adding a child to your family, whether biological or adopted, is that you never really know what you are going to get! I've heard people say that adoption is a "safer" bet, because you sign papers when you already have diagnoses confirmed, but that's crazy talk to me. I know very few adoptive parents who have not added to the list of needs after their kiddos came home. A hard, traumatic life before a permanent family is considered a significant special need in and of itself.
I often think of a book that several of my friends worked through a few months ago. I am blessed to have friends who also call themselves "moms of kids with special needs," and while all of our kids struggle with vastly different things, we all understand each other on this path that "typical" parents never have to set foot on. The book is called Get Your Joy Back by Laurie Wallin. The title is not meant to imply that special needs parents have no joy, (in fact, the opposite is often the case!), but rather that we are constantly somewhere in the stages of grief. For special needs parents, just when you begin to make peace with something, a new diagnoses or disability may pop up. It isn't just the days that we get a new, scary diagnosis, I've found that I can be blindsided by the sting of grief when I see a "typical" child do routine things during the day that my son cannot. The world, while uniquely beautiful to special needs parents, can be an unending reminder of how different your child's life is. I highly recommend this book for any mom or dad who has a child with extra needs- whether adopted or biological- as it deals with topics such as finding time for yourself, your spouse, dealing with professionals, and a host of other practical things.
One thing that she says in the very beginning is,
"Aging happens as our DNA, the delicate molecular template for life in all our cells, begins to unravel. We all have special structures called telomeres that cap the ends of our DNA strands, stunting the aging (unraveling) process. Unfortunately, stress causes these protective caps to shrink and wear out. In other words, we are actually aging faster than we would have without the chronic, unrelenting pressures of caregiving. Great news, right? In a recent documentary, USCF researcher Dr. Elizabeth Blackburn reported that the length (and thus protective nature) of telomeres is much shorter for parents in our situation. Stanford University neurobiologist Robert Sapolsky added that for every year of chronological age, special needs moms experienced roughly six years of cellular aging."
*Insert shocked emoji* Except not really. Frequent doses of chocolate chips literally kept me awake and functioning today. The amount of wrinkle cream I could go through in a month also speaks to this truth.
So this year, this month even, we begin taking more steps in piecing back together the little boy sitting in our living room right now. He's cuddled up with a pillow as I type, but when my gaze crosses over him, I can see flashbacks of all the pain he has endured. I hear his screams and see his sheer terror as he left the orphanage, the rages, the medical procedures, the sobbing as he recounts his perspective of his story, my own frustration when his behavior is erratic and uncontrollable and so much more. On better days, I can see what was once the shell of a boy, slowly filling with love and peace and life.
Another adoptive mom posted this song a few weeks ago as her family prepares to rescue yet another child hurt by trauma and I haven't been able to get the lyrics out of my head since then. You can listen to it here: Take Back.
The lyrics touch almost every aspect of adoption- the experience we have lived and the journeys we see others embark upon.
We're gonna take back
All the enemy has stolenI think of the things Little Man has endured. Many things were unable to be controlled. In the womb, physical disabilities formed. Because we live in a fallen world, sickness and disabilities are possibilities. But there are things that have happened in his short life that he has been robbed of since his birth. Because we live in a fallen world, sometimes first families aren't permanent. Sometimes kids endure horrific surgeries and recover all alone. Sometimes kids don't have enough food. Sometimes grownups are cruel. Sometimes the horror of our fallen world is too difficult for a young mind to overcome. Sometimes orphanages are overflowing with precious, innocent children whose joints harden in contorted positions, and bodies and minds waste away from lack of nourishment and love.
It's in the blood
Of the One Who's worthy
I know God has not forgotten
All that's lost and broken
So, come and see the turning of the times
When I look at Little Man, I see him and our struggles, but I also see the millions that he represents. The millions still waiting. Waiting and dying. But I know God has not forgotten / All that's lost and Broken / So, come and see the turning of the times.Daily I am filled with hope as I read of families- everyday, ordinary families, just like mine and just like yours- who are stepping, with weak, shaky steps, then with solid paces, then breaking into sprints, racing to these kids. I see the pictures and videos of the broken bodies and traumatized minds as they are carried out of these places. Parents whose arms are strong and sure, and whose faces are set like stone as they walk down orphanage steps to bring their children to a future and a hope. And I see these same parents come home, and do the unimaginably hard work of gluing pieces back together, before doing the unthinkable. Going back for more.
We're gonna plunder the pits of hell
We're gonna plunder the pits of hellI listened to this song a few days ago while I did the dishes, tears rolling down my cheeks. It struck such a chord with me- the rally cry of adoptive moms and dads who have struggles far greater than my own, laying down their own lives to ransom those of the forgotten. And the little boy who was under the same roof as me, napping in his room that day. Safe and full, albeit probably getting into some mischief during that "nap," but loved and known nonetheless. Little Man was fortunate that his orphanage was not as bone-chilling as some of the others I have learned about, but I will never be able to call an orphanage good. To that point, Baby Sister who is currently 9 months old, weighs the exact same that Little Man did when he left the orphanage at 3 years old. I am humbled at the resolve of these parents who are in the process of literally pulling their children out of the pit, and pray for endurance for those of us whose children's minds try to take them back and ensnare them in that pit they left long ago. They are truly plundering the pits of hell, wrestling from the enemy all that has been stolen.
And so we put behind us a difficult year, while straining toward a year that will bring both joy and challenges of its own. There will be more uncharted waters. More diagnoses and treatments, specialists and difficulties. But this year, we also resolve to take back more of what the enemy has stolen. There will be unmeasurable giggles, ice cream cones, Sunday night dinners, academic progress, playful games of tossing socks at each other on the living room rug, uncountable hugs and kisses, renewed strength, and medical marvels. We look forward to many happy moments while also realizing that there is much work to be done. Work that is a bit scary for us. You see, taking back a childhood from the enemy is tedious, exhausting work. It drains everything out of a parent, and is never far from our minds, even in the easy moments. In taking back, there will be tears, exhaustion, temptation to throw in the towel.
But most importantly, in taking back what has been lost,
There will be joy.
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