Little Man has been home for 9 months now. I marvel at the changes we see in him on a weekly basis. It seems that things have truly settled into a normal routine. Things do not feel "new" anymore. Instead, life has become a beautiful phase of rest in the new-found security of our relationships with each other. We no longer feel that Little Man sees us as strangers who have captured him, but I believe he feels now as we do- that we have been a family all along.
I say these things remembering that in the very recent past, I thought we would never make it to this point. While Facebook is overwhelmed with pictures and stories of smiling children, the events taking place behind closed doors was drastically different. I have mentioned before the trauma that is in the hearts of little ones who have come from the "hard places" but the extent of it is so far-reaching, that it is impossible to describe without damaging relationships. We are incredibly thankful that the Father has seemingly healed Little Man, to an extent, from some of this past trauma. Many children express that trauma in different ways, and normally in a complex combination of those. Some experience severe depression, acting out, anger, and anything else you can imagine. I would say that the underlying expression we have witnessed is rage. The walls of our home have witnessed so many episodes of screaming, violence, anger and tears, that it would stun those who see our son on a regular basis as a happy, smiling miracle boy. Do not misunderstand. He is those things. But trauma is a very real, intense, and many times a private, process that most eyes don't witness.
One of the things that we have recently learned about is Secondary Trauma. This is basically a term that describes how people intimately involved with others who have experienced trauma can absorb that trauma into their own hearts and lives, and in turn, potentially act on it. This is why many adoptive families experience depression, PTSD, and a host of other complications after bringing home these precious, yet wounded, little lives. Have you ever wondered how trauma counselors are able to cope with their daily lives? How do they function after hearing stories of horrendous abuse, neglect, etc.? And how can they possibly witness the effects they have on their patients' lives and in turn be able to help them find healing?
The answer is they go home. They emotionally pull back. They have to be able to separate these things in their own minds so that they do not crack. For adoptive parents, this is not an option. The hurt is at home. When you see the devastating effects of trauma, there is no opportunity for parents to process and compartmentalize it on their way home from work. Instead, you must pick up that child and continue on with your daily routine, meeting all of these very intense needs for love, sensory processing, and attachment, as well as feeding them dinner, bath time, play time, and laundry.
Adoptive parents: you are my heroes. And the longer your child has been in an institution, the more and more respect I have for you. If you also have to juggle severe medical needs and appointments in addition to all of these things, I don't even have words to describe my admiration for you and your resolve.
My news feed has changed drastically over the last two years. About 50% of the stories I see are of children who are coming home or who have come home from these hard places. Each picture and story I see causes my heart to break, knowing what life behind that post looks like, but I also rejoice with these families, because I know that it. is. worth. it. Most of these friends I have never met, but often after our children are asleep, we chat and find strength, hope and encouragement in each others' stories. So for all of you adoptive families, this post is for you. I too have had my parenting judged and questioned. I've been told I am "exaggerating it," just as you have. But know this: You are so loved. And your role is so important. You are making a difference. I thank God upon each remembrance of you. And don't ever forget that He. sees. you.
I hope that this sheds some light on how difficult the adoption process is for those who have not adopted or are waiting for their babies to come home. Adoption isn't just the act of bringing that child home, but the continuous process of making that child a son or daughter.
We have seen tremendous improvement in Little Man's ability to function, but I am learning that the trauma that grips his heart so tightly doesn't seem to ever go away completely, it just loosens its grasp over time. As recently as last night, I spent the better part of an hour attempting to regulate his breathing from his hysterical screams, while holding his hands tightly to prevent him from pulling out his hair and eyebrows.
While adoptive families are learning to navigate these very new waters of trauma parenting, they are also trying to form their own attachments to these children they now call their own. I know well the feeling of overwhelming, all-consuming love that possesses you when you see the first photo of your child. But I also know the confusion between your heart and brain when you attempt to snuggle this new child and he doesn't smell like your baby. God has orchestrated so many beautiful things into the heart and biology of a mother that enables her to attach to and love her new baby, even in those first exhausting, sleep deprived days. He causes the scent of your child to be intoxicating as you breathe her in. The shape of her face is etched into your heart as you trace those chubby cheeks with your finger during midnight feedings. There is a bond that is formed, and I'm convinced it is stronger than any other force on earth, when your baby gazes into your eyes as you cradle her.
But for adoptive mamas, many times your new child is unable to even look into your eyes. His scent is foreign to you and reminds you of the heartbreak of your time spent in his orphanage. The curves of his face are unfamiliar, and he can't tolerate being touched as he falls asleep, much less snuggled.
So in addition to the traumatic behavior that makes you want to run for the hills some days, you are fighting biology to form your own attachment to this new child. Your heart screams, "This is my child." But your brain whispers, "You don't know this person."
My dear friends, THIS is the miracle of adoption. That the Father can bring hearts together from across oceans and weld them into a family. He alone can master biology- for He created it. He alone can make the stranger a son. And He alone can mend the broken pieces of a little boy's heart, for He makes all things new.
This is why our hearts beat so strongly for adoption. Church, we simply can not be content to go about our lives while these little hearts are crumbling. Their very lives are crumbling. Their bodies wasting away. Is adoption hard? YES. Is it necessary? YES. We cannot leave these babies confined to their cribs and institutions when we have the room and love to give away. Christian, the Father has given you love in abundance. It is not for us to hoard away for ourselves. No. It is to be given away. After all, we can't out-love the Father.
So as we reflect on our last 9 months together, and I look down and see Little Man scooting his way across the floor, I can confidently say that we love Little Man, as if he had been born to us. Our journey to bring him into our family is an ongoing reminder of what a blessing he is. As we dig our heels in and fight to redeem the shattered pieces of his heart, we remember that the Father fights for us as well. He fights for us and He fights for these kids. What a beautiful thought! The Holy King going to battle on our behalf.
And He is always victorious.
Friday, May 29, 2015
Friday, April 24, 2015
Then they will be brave and free...
Little Man has been in our arms for just over 8 months now. Can you believe it? I can't. He has learned SO much in the last two or three months. We were recently at an appointment with a new doctor when he remarked, "Wow! That's amazing that they taught him English in the orphanage." We chuckled a little and said, "They didn't." He was dumbfounded that his language skills were so strong after only learning English 8 months ago.
Little Man has started attending physical therapy regularly and he seems to enjoy most of it. He can cruise in his walker without much assistance, which is amazing to me! To remember that he could barely sit unassisted a few months ago and now see him walking down the hallway is a miracle! Even in the midst of tantrums, I sometimes can just almost hear a gentle, "Take up your mat, Little Man, for I know the plans I have for you..."
We have gone through multiple transformations of our own as well. The Hubs and I see the world entirely differently than we did before the adoption. I feel like a completely new person. And I'm grateful. Three years ago, I probably didn't think I needed to evolve very much. Now I can't imagine God leaving me in that place. It is painful to grow and change, but now a welcome necessity in our home. I think the most notable change we see in ourselves is love. We love more deeply and sincerely than we did before, and it is not just the love for the four souls that reside inside our walls, but all people. We see the nations differently- not as groups separated by borders, but as individual people, stories, and hearts, all with the same need for a Perfect Love.
I think we sense the Father beckoning us again. This stage of life has settled into some kind of "normal", so of course there is another stage right on its heels. I have no idea what He has in store for our future, but I can't imagine that He intends to teach all of us lessons and not use them. Loving Him has become like a dance in my mind. He extends His holy hand. A decision must be made. Will I stand against the wall or follow Him to the dance floor? If I decline, I will simply watch as others complete the dances He destined for them. When I choose to take His hand, He gently leads me, and I must completely trust His ability to guide me. If not, I will stumble or crash into someone else's waltz. Each stage of life is like a different dance. Just when you think you have mastered the steps for the waltz, you realize the music has become a tango. But there He is. And He knows all of the steps for each dance. Yes, He has choreographed each one before time began, so we must trust that He can lead us through each step, each dip, and each turn. I think all of these dances have one subtle but mandatory thing in common: each one requires movement. You can't enter the ballroom unless you dare to move your feet. What a beautiful picture I see painted in my mind of all of His children dancing with the Father in time together! As we each dance our dance simultaneously, we work together to complete the breathtaking choreography He planned long ago.
A few days ago, I was driving the kids to a physical therapy session and the song I have fondly named "Little Man's song" came on the radio. I don't hear it played much anymore, but a lump still catches in my throat every time it comes on. For anyone reading who has not been a part of our journey since the beginning, the Hubs and I were praying about adoption and were hesitant to take that step onto the dance floor. One day, I heard Audio Adrenaline's "Kings & Queens" on the radio and I almost had to turn off the road to pull myself together.
Here is the song. Go ahead and listen to it. I'll wait:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rAlE2EnUP5A&list=RDrAlE2EnUP5A&index=1
This is the part that completely wrecked me:
"Little hands, shoeless feet
Lonely eyes looking back at me
Will we leave behind the innocent to grieve?
On their own, on the run
When their lives have only begun
These could be our daughters and our sons"
I knew in that moment, I couldn't sit idle. Would I be content walking in circles for the rest of my life if it was Baby Girl who was waiting for a family? NEVER. So, what made the lives of other kids any less valuable? About three days later, the Hubs came home and with tears in his eyes said, "I heard a song on the radio. It's time." The line that got him was:
"And just like a drum
I can hear their hearts beating
I know my God won't let them be defeated
Every child has a dream to belong and beloved"
And that was the beginning of Little Man's adoption story and the birth of this blog.
Every single line of that song can still move me to tears, but I realized something a few days ago that I haven't caught before. When we were adopting, I always held onto how "when we love the least of these" they become kings and queens (princes and princesses of the Father King, if you will), wrapped in His majesty. Loving a forgotten child gives him the opportunity to hear the name of Jesus, and to one day choose to be adopted into His family.
But the next lines made me catch my breath this week.
"When we love, when we love the least of these
Then they will be brave and free
Shout your name in victory
When we love, when we love the least of these"
You see, this Sunday, Little Man will be able to participate in his own baby dedication- a very special event in our church where parents promise to raise their baby in a house that loves God and to teach their baby about His perfect love. There is not really any specific significance to this event; any parent could decide to raise his child this way. This is just a special way to introduce your baby to people who attend your church who may not have met him and celebrate his life.
The reason that this Sunday will be so very special for Little Man is because he is not a baby. He has grown into a wonderful little boy. We grieve that we were not able to present him as a drooling infant, because we missed those very precious moments in his life. But this will be a wonderful way for Little Man to know that his life is valuable. That he is wanted. That he is loved.
In addition to his baby dedication, Little Man will also have a very special opportunity to lead everyone in a precious song. For me, this is the completion of his adoption song. He will be brave, not the terrified little boy placed in our arms 8 months ago. He will be free, not confined to a crib or a mental institution- his former destiny. And he will shout His name in VICTORY, because He has conquered and declared Little Man victorious.
Praise God for His glorious grace that redeems us!
Little Man has started attending physical therapy regularly and he seems to enjoy most of it. He can cruise in his walker without much assistance, which is amazing to me! To remember that he could barely sit unassisted a few months ago and now see him walking down the hallway is a miracle! Even in the midst of tantrums, I sometimes can just almost hear a gentle, "Take up your mat, Little Man, for I know the plans I have for you..."
We have gone through multiple transformations of our own as well. The Hubs and I see the world entirely differently than we did before the adoption. I feel like a completely new person. And I'm grateful. Three years ago, I probably didn't think I needed to evolve very much. Now I can't imagine God leaving me in that place. It is painful to grow and change, but now a welcome necessity in our home. I think the most notable change we see in ourselves is love. We love more deeply and sincerely than we did before, and it is not just the love for the four souls that reside inside our walls, but all people. We see the nations differently- not as groups separated by borders, but as individual people, stories, and hearts, all with the same need for a Perfect Love.
I think we sense the Father beckoning us again. This stage of life has settled into some kind of "normal", so of course there is another stage right on its heels. I have no idea what He has in store for our future, but I can't imagine that He intends to teach all of us lessons and not use them. Loving Him has become like a dance in my mind. He extends His holy hand. A decision must be made. Will I stand against the wall or follow Him to the dance floor? If I decline, I will simply watch as others complete the dances He destined for them. When I choose to take His hand, He gently leads me, and I must completely trust His ability to guide me. If not, I will stumble or crash into someone else's waltz. Each stage of life is like a different dance. Just when you think you have mastered the steps for the waltz, you realize the music has become a tango. But there He is. And He knows all of the steps for each dance. Yes, He has choreographed each one before time began, so we must trust that He can lead us through each step, each dip, and each turn. I think all of these dances have one subtle but mandatory thing in common: each one requires movement. You can't enter the ballroom unless you dare to move your feet. What a beautiful picture I see painted in my mind of all of His children dancing with the Father in time together! As we each dance our dance simultaneously, we work together to complete the breathtaking choreography He planned long ago.
A few days ago, I was driving the kids to a physical therapy session and the song I have fondly named "Little Man's song" came on the radio. I don't hear it played much anymore, but a lump still catches in my throat every time it comes on. For anyone reading who has not been a part of our journey since the beginning, the Hubs and I were praying about adoption and were hesitant to take that step onto the dance floor. One day, I heard Audio Adrenaline's "Kings & Queens" on the radio and I almost had to turn off the road to pull myself together.
Here is the song. Go ahead and listen to it. I'll wait:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rAlE2EnUP5A&list=RDrAlE2EnUP5A&index=1
This is the part that completely wrecked me:
"Little hands, shoeless feet
Lonely eyes looking back at me
Will we leave behind the innocent to grieve?
On their own, on the run
When their lives have only begun
These could be our daughters and our sons"
I knew in that moment, I couldn't sit idle. Would I be content walking in circles for the rest of my life if it was Baby Girl who was waiting for a family? NEVER. So, what made the lives of other kids any less valuable? About three days later, the Hubs came home and with tears in his eyes said, "I heard a song on the radio. It's time." The line that got him was:
"And just like a drum
I can hear their hearts beating
I know my God won't let them be defeated
Every child has a dream to belong and beloved"
And that was the beginning of Little Man's adoption story and the birth of this blog.
Every single line of that song can still move me to tears, but I realized something a few days ago that I haven't caught before. When we were adopting, I always held onto how "when we love the least of these" they become kings and queens (princes and princesses of the Father King, if you will), wrapped in His majesty. Loving a forgotten child gives him the opportunity to hear the name of Jesus, and to one day choose to be adopted into His family.
But the next lines made me catch my breath this week.
"When we love, when we love the least of these
Then they will be brave and free
Shout your name in victory
When we love, when we love the least of these"
You see, this Sunday, Little Man will be able to participate in his own baby dedication- a very special event in our church where parents promise to raise their baby in a house that loves God and to teach their baby about His perfect love. There is not really any specific significance to this event; any parent could decide to raise his child this way. This is just a special way to introduce your baby to people who attend your church who may not have met him and celebrate his life.
The reason that this Sunday will be so very special for Little Man is because he is not a baby. He has grown into a wonderful little boy. We grieve that we were not able to present him as a drooling infant, because we missed those very precious moments in his life. But this will be a wonderful way for Little Man to know that his life is valuable. That he is wanted. That he is loved.
In addition to his baby dedication, Little Man will also have a very special opportunity to lead everyone in a precious song. For me, this is the completion of his adoption song. He will be brave, not the terrified little boy placed in our arms 8 months ago. He will be free, not confined to a crib or a mental institution- his former destiny. And he will shout His name in VICTORY, because He has conquered and declared Little Man victorious.
Praise God for His glorious grace that redeems us!
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Sanctification
Hello, friends!
Tomorrow will mark 6 months since Gotcha Day for Little Man! This is the marker I have been waiting for. Half a year. We have survived half a year. Most experts say by six to twelve months home, we should be settling into some kind of "normal." Although, for the life of me, I don't know what normal is anymore.
I haven't posted since Christmastime because, well, life. Christmas was a whirlwind of activity, and honestly it hasn't been until the last two weeks that I've felt that Little Man has completely recovered and adjusted back to "normal." Day to day has begun to have some type of rhythm again, with his outbursts becoming less frequent and less severe. He still has a lot of things he struggles with, but I pray that over time, those will become easier for him as well.
In about 3 weeks, we will be going back to the specialist to pick up new equipment to help him WALK! When we went for his appointment in January, they had some impromptu braces and walker for him to see if he could manage. Since he did so well, they decided he is ready for the real deal in bracing. We had him measured and they should be ready in a few weeks! I know he is so desperately ready for independence, and I am ready for him to have it!
We discovered that his scoliosis is more severe than anyone realized, so he will also have a brace for his back.
As I have been turning this post over in my head for the last few weeks, knowing this 6 month mark is coming, I have been trying to compile all of my thoughts into a nice, neat little post on what I have learned and what adoption really is. But honestly, the last six months have been a roller coaster. We have had some major highs, and some very low lows. In the last month, I think we have finally grasped just how far-reaching institutionalization and adoption are in the heart of a child. We have seen him struggle to process things because his brain has been conditioned to think certain ways. There is a long list of examples, but I'll spare you. It is very difficult and exhausting to try to predict what sensory triggers will send him into panic which will sometimes require days to adjust back to normal, or how his mind will process every day activities. Church nursery is fun for most kids, but to Little Man, that looks an awful lot like we are dropping him off at an orphanage. Most kids love to be swung around in the air, but Little Man is certain we are doing it out of anger and to hurt him. There is so much we have to gradually expose him to, sometimes even nudge him out of his comfort zone a little. We have had to learn what type of discipline will be effective for his tender heart. We have had to push him to be a little more independent, because he would rather live in his little bubble for the rest of his life. There are a lot of little things that are just COMPLETELY different for a child coming from an institution than a child born to you.
There is little in our life that has been the same as 6 months ago. We are different people than we were. We have a different marriage than we did. We are different parents than we were. We love differently. We minister differently. We are different.
Several people have approached me privately to say they are considering or beginning an adoption process. The one thing that I tell them consistently is that they will learn things about the Father that are impossible to learn any other way. I'm sure the same is true for a lot of different paths in life, being married, being a parent, a missionary, a pastor, etc, as well, but it is certainly true for adoption. If you ever want to understand the Gospel, adopt. If you want to see the Father's heart for the nations, adopt. If you want to see how unbelievably loved you are by a relentless Father, adopt.
I understand better now why Christ's coming was such a monumental event. I don't only see Jesus sacrificing Himself, I also see a Father, in agony, waiting to bring His children into His arms. I see now that He thought I was worth pursuing- that I was worth giving everything for. His ransom for me was His own Son. Do you want to feel the depth of that? Here:
Would you give the child in your arms in exchange for a child on the other side of the world?
For a child who doesn't even know what he is missing? Would I have given Baby Girl as the ransom for Little Man? This Father's love is RELENTLESS.
I have decided now that adoption is sanctification. Sanctification is the process of being made holy. It is quite literally sanctification, being that as He makes us His children through adoption, He makes us holy, but also in physical adoption in this world. During that actual adoption process, I was certain that I could not possibly grow any more. He was changing me. He was changing my heart. I could not be stretched any more than that. I would break.
And then Little Man came home.
God clearly thinks I have more changing to do. Frankly, it is the most painful thing I have ever endured. He has brought to my attention the darkest things tucked away in my heart. And now I have to stand face to face with who I actually am. It isn't fun. Honestly, it is embarrassing to see the things I didn't even know were swirling in my own heart. But as I stand ashamed in front of the Holy King, He gently reminds me of the lessons that He just taught me. He knew the depths of my sin. And He came for me anyway. He paid the ransom. For me.
When we picked Little Man up from the orphanage, we weren't allowed to take him away in the clothes he was wearing. We had to give the nanny a new outfit to dress him in before she would bring him to us. I thought it was odd then, but now I see.
I kneel before the Holy King and He casts off my filthy wretchedness and clothes me with mercy and grace. No longer unwanted, now a daughter. Nothing but the memory of my former self can be left.
I have learned that He must break us in order to build us into who He has destined us to be. I have a long way to go in understanding the totality of who He is. I would say that the one thing He has shown me repeatedly in the past two years is His faithfulness. He has proven it to me again and again. And yet, sometimes I still shake with fear at the unknown. As the full extent of Little Man's struggles are revealed to us, I sometimes want to crumble. Struggles that only we see. The hubs and I sit at night sometimes and talk about what the future will look like for our family. As we kneel in the trenches of this adoption and parenthood, sometimes we can't see past next week. How can I possibly parent a child who needs so much? Do I even have enough to give him? What about everything we have planned? Will the lives we envisioned ever even be possible?
I told Hubby one time that I feel like I did once at the beach as a little girl. Playing in the shallow water, I was knocked down by a wave. Close to the shore, the waves come so quickly and powerfully, that sometimes when you are down, before you can even stand up, you are tumbling again. I can remember rolling around, flashes of light from the sun just above the water, darkness of the sand beneath, and salty water stinging my eyes. I couldn't tell which way was up and which way was down. The whole episode may have lasted all of 5 seconds, and I seriously doubt I was ever actually in danger, but it was panic enough to leave the memory of it. Some days I feel that same way. I feel like every time I am getting my footing, another wave comes from out of nowhere and I'm tumbling around wondering if God will ever bring us to steady waters.
I heard a song on the radio a few weeks ago, and the first few times it played, I didn't really like it. But as I have heard it more and more, it has begun to really resonate with me.
You Make Me Brave by Bethel https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGvqcjIZKTA
As Your love, in wave after wave
Crashes over me, crashes over me
For You are for us
You are not against us
Champion of Heaven
You made a way for all to enter in
God has shown me that His love and faithfulness are more constant than the waves. The waves come, but His faithfulness is our rock on which to stand.
As I look to the future, a lot of times the overwhelming feeling I have is fear. There are so many unknowns. But He has been so faithful to remind me that He is the same Father King who invites me to sit in His lap as He commands the winds and the waves from His throne. How could I feel anything but courage knowing the One who paid my ransom is the same one that causes men to look around and say, "Who can this be? Even the winds and the waves obey Him!"
For those who know me well, you know that I am a very timid person by nature. I can force myself outside of my comfort zone, but naturally, I want to mostly stay curled into myself. As I stand on this shore and see the waves rolling in, I want to panic. I know they can knock me down. What if we drown?
You make me brave
You make me brave
You call me out beyond the shore into the waves
You make me brave
You make me brave
No fear can hinder now the love that made a way
His love has already made a way. He has already made a future for Little Man, for us. No fear can hinder now that His love has made a way.
Tomorrow will mark 6 months since Gotcha Day for Little Man! This is the marker I have been waiting for. Half a year. We have survived half a year. Most experts say by six to twelve months home, we should be settling into some kind of "normal." Although, for the life of me, I don't know what normal is anymore.
I haven't posted since Christmastime because, well, life. Christmas was a whirlwind of activity, and honestly it hasn't been until the last two weeks that I've felt that Little Man has completely recovered and adjusted back to "normal." Day to day has begun to have some type of rhythm again, with his outbursts becoming less frequent and less severe. He still has a lot of things he struggles with, but I pray that over time, those will become easier for him as well.
In about 3 weeks, we will be going back to the specialist to pick up new equipment to help him WALK! When we went for his appointment in January, they had some impromptu braces and walker for him to see if he could manage. Since he did so well, they decided he is ready for the real deal in bracing. We had him measured and they should be ready in a few weeks! I know he is so desperately ready for independence, and I am ready for him to have it!
We discovered that his scoliosis is more severe than anyone realized, so he will also have a brace for his back.
As I have been turning this post over in my head for the last few weeks, knowing this 6 month mark is coming, I have been trying to compile all of my thoughts into a nice, neat little post on what I have learned and what adoption really is. But honestly, the last six months have been a roller coaster. We have had some major highs, and some very low lows. In the last month, I think we have finally grasped just how far-reaching institutionalization and adoption are in the heart of a child. We have seen him struggle to process things because his brain has been conditioned to think certain ways. There is a long list of examples, but I'll spare you. It is very difficult and exhausting to try to predict what sensory triggers will send him into panic which will sometimes require days to adjust back to normal, or how his mind will process every day activities. Church nursery is fun for most kids, but to Little Man, that looks an awful lot like we are dropping him off at an orphanage. Most kids love to be swung around in the air, but Little Man is certain we are doing it out of anger and to hurt him. There is so much we have to gradually expose him to, sometimes even nudge him out of his comfort zone a little. We have had to learn what type of discipline will be effective for his tender heart. We have had to push him to be a little more independent, because he would rather live in his little bubble for the rest of his life. There are a lot of little things that are just COMPLETELY different for a child coming from an institution than a child born to you.
There is little in our life that has been the same as 6 months ago. We are different people than we were. We have a different marriage than we did. We are different parents than we were. We love differently. We minister differently. We are different.
Several people have approached me privately to say they are considering or beginning an adoption process. The one thing that I tell them consistently is that they will learn things about the Father that are impossible to learn any other way. I'm sure the same is true for a lot of different paths in life, being married, being a parent, a missionary, a pastor, etc, as well, but it is certainly true for adoption. If you ever want to understand the Gospel, adopt. If you want to see the Father's heart for the nations, adopt. If you want to see how unbelievably loved you are by a relentless Father, adopt.
I understand better now why Christ's coming was such a monumental event. I don't only see Jesus sacrificing Himself, I also see a Father, in agony, waiting to bring His children into His arms. I see now that He thought I was worth pursuing- that I was worth giving everything for. His ransom for me was His own Son. Do you want to feel the depth of that? Here:
Would you give the child in your arms in exchange for a child on the other side of the world?
For a child who doesn't even know what he is missing? Would I have given Baby Girl as the ransom for Little Man? This Father's love is RELENTLESS.
I have decided now that adoption is sanctification. Sanctification is the process of being made holy. It is quite literally sanctification, being that as He makes us His children through adoption, He makes us holy, but also in physical adoption in this world. During that actual adoption process, I was certain that I could not possibly grow any more. He was changing me. He was changing my heart. I could not be stretched any more than that. I would break.
And then Little Man came home.
God clearly thinks I have more changing to do. Frankly, it is the most painful thing I have ever endured. He has brought to my attention the darkest things tucked away in my heart. And now I have to stand face to face with who I actually am. It isn't fun. Honestly, it is embarrassing to see the things I didn't even know were swirling in my own heart. But as I stand ashamed in front of the Holy King, He gently reminds me of the lessons that He just taught me. He knew the depths of my sin. And He came for me anyway. He paid the ransom. For me.
When we picked Little Man up from the orphanage, we weren't allowed to take him away in the clothes he was wearing. We had to give the nanny a new outfit to dress him in before she would bring him to us. I thought it was odd then, but now I see.
I kneel before the Holy King and He casts off my filthy wretchedness and clothes me with mercy and grace. No longer unwanted, now a daughter. Nothing but the memory of my former self can be left.
I have learned that He must break us in order to build us into who He has destined us to be. I have a long way to go in understanding the totality of who He is. I would say that the one thing He has shown me repeatedly in the past two years is His faithfulness. He has proven it to me again and again. And yet, sometimes I still shake with fear at the unknown. As the full extent of Little Man's struggles are revealed to us, I sometimes want to crumble. Struggles that only we see. The hubs and I sit at night sometimes and talk about what the future will look like for our family. As we kneel in the trenches of this adoption and parenthood, sometimes we can't see past next week. How can I possibly parent a child who needs so much? Do I even have enough to give him? What about everything we have planned? Will the lives we envisioned ever even be possible?
I told Hubby one time that I feel like I did once at the beach as a little girl. Playing in the shallow water, I was knocked down by a wave. Close to the shore, the waves come so quickly and powerfully, that sometimes when you are down, before you can even stand up, you are tumbling again. I can remember rolling around, flashes of light from the sun just above the water, darkness of the sand beneath, and salty water stinging my eyes. I couldn't tell which way was up and which way was down. The whole episode may have lasted all of 5 seconds, and I seriously doubt I was ever actually in danger, but it was panic enough to leave the memory of it. Some days I feel that same way. I feel like every time I am getting my footing, another wave comes from out of nowhere and I'm tumbling around wondering if God will ever bring us to steady waters.
I heard a song on the radio a few weeks ago, and the first few times it played, I didn't really like it. But as I have heard it more and more, it has begun to really resonate with me.
You Make Me Brave by Bethel https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGvqcjIZKTA
As Your love, in wave after wave
Crashes over me, crashes over me
For You are for us
You are not against us
Champion of Heaven
You made a way for all to enter in
God has shown me that His love and faithfulness are more constant than the waves. The waves come, but His faithfulness is our rock on which to stand.
As I look to the future, a lot of times the overwhelming feeling I have is fear. There are so many unknowns. But He has been so faithful to remind me that He is the same Father King who invites me to sit in His lap as He commands the winds and the waves from His throne. How could I feel anything but courage knowing the One who paid my ransom is the same one that causes men to look around and say, "Who can this be? Even the winds and the waves obey Him!"
For those who know me well, you know that I am a very timid person by nature. I can force myself outside of my comfort zone, but naturally, I want to mostly stay curled into myself. As I stand on this shore and see the waves rolling in, I want to panic. I know they can knock me down. What if we drown?
You make me brave
You make me brave
You call me out beyond the shore into the waves
You make me brave
You make me brave
No fear can hinder now the love that made a way
His love has already made a way. He has already made a future for Little Man, for us. No fear can hinder now that His love has made a way.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
The Light of the World
Today is 4 months since Gotcha Day! It honestly feels like an eternity ago. I don't really even remember life with just one kid, although I am trying to figure out why I used to think I always had my hands full then. I had NO idea. Ha!
Things with Little Man have been going really well. He is processing his grief better and is beginning to learn acceptable ways to show his emotions. He likes to give me a play by play for everything he is doing, "Mommy, I ate a cracker!" "Mommy, I play da drum!" "Mommy, I drink juice!" It can be amusing at times as he wants to show me his empty mouth after each bite or wants me to watch each time he hits the toy drum. He so desperately craves praise and validation. It is a joy to see him light up when we acknowledge a job well done.
We are preparing for Christmas, and I have to admit that I have been looking forward to this Christmas for two years now. Two Christmases ago, we were praying about adoption, and wondering if we had a child alive somewhere else in the world. Last Christmas was so, so painful. I can't really even describe how difficult it was to exchange presents while being completely preoccupied with the knowledge of Little Man spending the holidays in a crib. This Christmas, we celebrate the birth of the Son, our Messiah, but we also celebrate the "re-birth" of our son. I find myself humming Christmas carols about how God promised His salvation, and thinking that he has indeed kept His word- not only in the salvation of our souls, but the redemption of this precious little life of our son.
On our first trip to meet Little Man, I remember being so overwhelmed when they first brought him into the room. He looked squarely at Hubby, pointed, and screamed, "Daddy!" I remember thinking in that second, "You are fatherless no more." That moment was the pinnacle of everything we had prayed and waited for. It was everything. I went back to the hotel and posted a very small update on Facebook that I had finally been given the honor of holding my son for the first time. I included a song on that post that had been in my head the whole day. It is a Christmas song, but I couldn't think of anything more appropriate for a little boy who had never known the love of a dad, and was now, not only in the arms of his earthly father, but also hearing whispers of his worth to The Father for the first time.
So needless to say, this song is incredibly emotional and special to me.
Here are some of the lyrics:
He is the song for the suffering
He is Messiah
The Prince of Peace has come
He has come
Emmanuel
Glory to the Light of the World (4x)
For all who wait
For all who hunger
For all who've prayed
For all who wonder
Behold your King
Behold Messiah
Emmanuel
Emmanuel
(You can listen to that song here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_cLhaZIBSpo. I assure you that you need to listen to it before continuing to read. Perhaps open it in a new window.)
I remember thinking that if Jesus came for anyone, He came for Little Man. He came for a little boy who had known suffering. A little boy who had waited. Who knew hunger. And here we were, simple people, given the beautiful privilege of introducing him to the King for the first time.
Emmanuel. God with us. God in us. I don't think there is anything left to say but, Glory to the Light of the World.
I have been turning this blog post over in my head for a few weeks now. I told the Hubs that sometimes I write just for an update, but other times words come to me over a period of time that are so intimate, that I can't do anything but write them down in order to process their depth and impact in my life. I guess that is one of the curses of this century- that I have the ability to write these things for all the world to see. But perhaps, it can also be a blessing.
We have been very intentionally protective of Little Man's past. Our main reason for that is because he has nothing else that has ever been entirely his own. He wasn't even allowed to leave the orphanage with the clothes on his back. So for us, we have decided that we won't share the details of why he was placed for adoption or anything else we know about his past because that is his story to tell. One day when he is old enough to decide, he may choose to share it, but we will leave that choice to him. So for now, we speak in general terms about why many kids in his first country are placed for adoption, but never his true, personal story.
I have discussed with the Hubs if this next bit would betray that gift we have chosen to protect, and we don't think that it will. I think it will speak to the incredible testimony that Little Man has and the intricate Majesty of our God.
This Christmas, I have had many more things to ponder than years past, and this year, I think I may actually understand the Christmas story in ways I never could have before. One particular area that has struck me is the humility of our Savior's birth. I always considered the Messiah being born in a stable to be symbolism of just how far He was willing to go in leaving His throne room, but now I see that humble birth in a new light. I see that birth reflected in my own son.
I ache thinking that perhaps there were no balloons or "It's a Boy" cigars passed around to celebrate the significance of his first gasp for air. And I think about the donkeys that must have snorted hot, thick breath at the first cries of the Messiah.
I think about the hours I spent studying and memorizing Baby Girl's tiny fingers and nose, and I realize that Little Man spent his first days and weeks undergoing major surgeries, and recovering alone in a crib.
I marvel at the Savior's poverty in having pigeons or doves sacrificed at his dedication, and Little Man's shunt being donated because orphans aren't granted the privilege of that lifesaving surgery by the government.
I groan wondering if Little Man was warm. And I see images of my Lord wrapped in rags.
I weep wishing I could have been there- that it could have been different- that I could have protected him. And I fall to my knees under the realization that the King of Kings would choose such a humble entrance to the world.
Behold your King
Behold Messiah
Emmanuel
The biggest lump in my throat comes when I survey all of these details, and I look in the eyes of Little Man, knowing that at his birth, he was given the name Jesus. Jesus.
We were told that when an orphan is named Jesus, it is typically given to mean, "Only God can save you now." Although if that is meant as a prayer or a curse, I do not know.
Do you know what the name Jesus means?
The LORD rescues.
For all who wait
For all who hunger
For all who've prayed
For all who wonder
So this Christmas, we hold a little boy whose very name is a cry for salvation. Salvation from despair. Salvation from hopelessness. Salvation from hunger. Salvation from brokenness. A cry for salvation.
And we have the incredible honor of carrying him for the first time to the manger, where a baby sleeps. A baby who shares the same name, but a baby who is the fulfillment of a promise.
The LORD rescues.
Jesus.
Emmanuel.
Glory to the Light of the World.
Things with Little Man have been going really well. He is processing his grief better and is beginning to learn acceptable ways to show his emotions. He likes to give me a play by play for everything he is doing, "Mommy, I ate a cracker!" "Mommy, I play da drum!" "Mommy, I drink juice!" It can be amusing at times as he wants to show me his empty mouth after each bite or wants me to watch each time he hits the toy drum. He so desperately craves praise and validation. It is a joy to see him light up when we acknowledge a job well done.
We are preparing for Christmas, and I have to admit that I have been looking forward to this Christmas for two years now. Two Christmases ago, we were praying about adoption, and wondering if we had a child alive somewhere else in the world. Last Christmas was so, so painful. I can't really even describe how difficult it was to exchange presents while being completely preoccupied with the knowledge of Little Man spending the holidays in a crib. This Christmas, we celebrate the birth of the Son, our Messiah, but we also celebrate the "re-birth" of our son. I find myself humming Christmas carols about how God promised His salvation, and thinking that he has indeed kept His word- not only in the salvation of our souls, but the redemption of this precious little life of our son.
On our first trip to meet Little Man, I remember being so overwhelmed when they first brought him into the room. He looked squarely at Hubby, pointed, and screamed, "Daddy!" I remember thinking in that second, "You are fatherless no more." That moment was the pinnacle of everything we had prayed and waited for. It was everything. I went back to the hotel and posted a very small update on Facebook that I had finally been given the honor of holding my son for the first time. I included a song on that post that had been in my head the whole day. It is a Christmas song, but I couldn't think of anything more appropriate for a little boy who had never known the love of a dad, and was now, not only in the arms of his earthly father, but also hearing whispers of his worth to The Father for the first time.
So needless to say, this song is incredibly emotional and special to me.
Here are some of the lyrics:
He is the song for the suffering
He is Messiah
The Prince of Peace has come
He has come
Emmanuel
Glory to the Light of the World (4x)
For all who wait
For all who hunger
For all who've prayed
For all who wonder
Behold your King
Behold Messiah
Emmanuel
Emmanuel
(You can listen to that song here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_cLhaZIBSpo. I assure you that you need to listen to it before continuing to read. Perhaps open it in a new window.)
I remember thinking that if Jesus came for anyone, He came for Little Man. He came for a little boy who had known suffering. A little boy who had waited. Who knew hunger. And here we were, simple people, given the beautiful privilege of introducing him to the King for the first time.
Emmanuel. God with us. God in us. I don't think there is anything left to say but, Glory to the Light of the World.
I have been turning this blog post over in my head for a few weeks now. I told the Hubs that sometimes I write just for an update, but other times words come to me over a period of time that are so intimate, that I can't do anything but write them down in order to process their depth and impact in my life. I guess that is one of the curses of this century- that I have the ability to write these things for all the world to see. But perhaps, it can also be a blessing.
We have been very intentionally protective of Little Man's past. Our main reason for that is because he has nothing else that has ever been entirely his own. He wasn't even allowed to leave the orphanage with the clothes on his back. So for us, we have decided that we won't share the details of why he was placed for adoption or anything else we know about his past because that is his story to tell. One day when he is old enough to decide, he may choose to share it, but we will leave that choice to him. So for now, we speak in general terms about why many kids in his first country are placed for adoption, but never his true, personal story.
I have discussed with the Hubs if this next bit would betray that gift we have chosen to protect, and we don't think that it will. I think it will speak to the incredible testimony that Little Man has and the intricate Majesty of our God.
This Christmas, I have had many more things to ponder than years past, and this year, I think I may actually understand the Christmas story in ways I never could have before. One particular area that has struck me is the humility of our Savior's birth. I always considered the Messiah being born in a stable to be symbolism of just how far He was willing to go in leaving His throne room, but now I see that humble birth in a new light. I see that birth reflected in my own son.
I ache thinking that perhaps there were no balloons or "It's a Boy" cigars passed around to celebrate the significance of his first gasp for air. And I think about the donkeys that must have snorted hot, thick breath at the first cries of the Messiah.
I think about the hours I spent studying and memorizing Baby Girl's tiny fingers and nose, and I realize that Little Man spent his first days and weeks undergoing major surgeries, and recovering alone in a crib.
I marvel at the Savior's poverty in having pigeons or doves sacrificed at his dedication, and Little Man's shunt being donated because orphans aren't granted the privilege of that lifesaving surgery by the government.
I groan wondering if Little Man was warm. And I see images of my Lord wrapped in rags.
I weep wishing I could have been there- that it could have been different- that I could have protected him. And I fall to my knees under the realization that the King of Kings would choose such a humble entrance to the world.
Behold your King
Behold Messiah
Emmanuel
The biggest lump in my throat comes when I survey all of these details, and I look in the eyes of Little Man, knowing that at his birth, he was given the name Jesus. Jesus.
We were told that when an orphan is named Jesus, it is typically given to mean, "Only God can save you now." Although if that is meant as a prayer or a curse, I do not know.
Do you know what the name Jesus means?
The LORD rescues.
For all who wait
For all who hunger
For all who've prayed
For all who wonder
So this Christmas, we hold a little boy whose very name is a cry for salvation. Salvation from despair. Salvation from hopelessness. Salvation from hunger. Salvation from brokenness. A cry for salvation.
And we have the incredible honor of carrying him for the first time to the manger, where a baby sleeps. A baby who shares the same name, but a baby who is the fulfillment of a promise.
The LORD rescues.
Jesus.
Emmanuel.
Glory to the Light of the World.
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
You Make Beautiful Things
We have been home with Little Man for just over three months now. I fully intended to post regularly on this blog, but it seems that each month-iversary is the best I can manage. Ha!
Life has settled into a much better routine. Little Man has a firm grasp on what is to happen each day and is now able to express when he wants to get out and do different things like church or going to the store. Baby Girl seems to have completely accepted him as her brother as the sibling squabbles are becoming more regular.
The sheer number of things he has learned in such a short time astounds me. He is speaking in full sentences most of the time now. He wasn't even doing that in his native language when we picked him up. He can hold a simple conversation with us. He can not only say the words "sad" or "happy" etc, but he can identify those emotions he is feeling and verbalize them now, and most of the time, can say why he is happy or sad. He can count to ten by himself! He asks to sing specific songs and can sing them on his own. He has a favorite TV show: Daniel Tiger. In the past month or so, he has begun to ask for things. That sounds silly to count that as a major milestone, but it is huge for a newly adopted child. It signifies that he trusts us to ask for things like juice, food, or to go bye-bye. And not only that he feels safe to ask for things, but assured and confident that we will give him all of the things he needs. That is a REALLY big deal for him.
His physical strength has improved drastically! He can sit up with out propping up on his arms. In fact, last night, he took his first bath without his bath chair. That takes a lot of core strength and balance to sit upright in the tub, especially while everything is slippery- strength and balance that he did not have three months ago. Last night I chuckled to myself at the dark-haired kid splashing and popping bubbles when I thought about how different this was from his first bath. The day we brought him out of the orphanage, we gave him a bath in the hotel and he cried through the whole thing. He was petrified! I am not sure he had ever been in water before. I know that most kids coming from orphanages only stand or sit under a shower head, however often they are bathed, but because of his disability, I think it is possible he only ever had sponge baths.
He army crawls through the house like he owns the place! ;) His confidence is growing, which is wonderful to see. I was amazed at how easily he can do a puzzle on the iPad, and how proud he is when he does it by himself. "I did it, Mommy! I did it!" He is currently scooting around in a circle on the floor screaming, "Watch me! Watch me!" In the last few weeks, he has even managed to get up onto all fours and rock back and forth! Honestly, we didn't know that was physically possible for him. We are so proud of his determination.
Little Man has developed a little attitude along with that confidence. I am sure Baby Girl would adamantly deny that he could have possibly learned that from her. :)
While he has made tremendous progress, there have been struggles. As the weight and finality of being ripped from everything he has ever known begins to drop onto his little shoulders, we have seen his behaviors change some. While he is a happy little guy, we do see the emotionally scarred, terrified child with a past of hurt, come out sometimes. He did so well after we got home, that all of the social workers we work with warned us that the "honeymoon" may be over soon and without warning. One social worker reminded us that anything could trigger a memory of his past and cause him to act out in grief. It could be a happy memory, or a very sad, hurtful memory. Unfortunately, there is no way to predict what will trigger a memory or in what moment his brain will again process all of the changes he has had to undergo. It is agonizing to watch your baby sob and ache over pains he can't express, or bite his tongue to the point of having sores, bang his head against furniture, or slap his own face and know that, in that moment, you can't heal the hurt. That is a pain that, as a mother, is impossible to describe to someone who is not walking the same path.
When a child is physically born into a family, there is immense pain and a messy, but glorious intertwining of lives as a baby becomes family. When a child is adopted, there is pain for all members of the family, especially the child, and a mess that cannot be washed away with water. Only the blood of Jesus Christ can clean this kind of mess.
The depths of the pain that comes from a child being displaced from his birth family, whether by death, abandonment, or legal intervention, is so tender that I don't think it is possible to be written. In the adoption process, there is a longing so intense that it can't be put into words. That waiting for Little Man was easily the most difficult and painful thing I have ever done.
But this mending of broken hearts that we are living now is so intricate and raw that it was impossible to comprehend in the waiting. It is like walking straight into a burning building to salvage the life inside the crumbling walls. We knew that any child we adopted would have struggles related to coming from the "hard places", as the experts call it, but now that it is not just a child and it is instead our child, the intensity of the flames brings us to our knees at times.
I say all of that to be somewhat transparent about what adoption is truly like. But also to say that it is completely worth it.
In many ways, it feels as though Little Man has been here all along. There are painful reminders of that untruth though that seem to appear, especially in moments that I am unguarded. Surprisingly, decorating the Christmas tree was bittersweet. I had been looking forward to that for almost two years, anticipating the glow on his face as the lights blinked on for the first time. But instead, we pulled down a box of ornaments collected over the years that reminded us that for three of those years, Little Man was alone. We have matching ornaments with our names on it, but none for Little Man. Of course, that is an easy fix, but still a quick stab to the heart. It is different for other families, I am sure, who have birthed new babies over the years, for those children simply didn't exist. Our little boy was breathing, alone in a crib while we unwrapped presents and celebrated in years past. It is hard enough for a Mama to experience that pain, and if I'm being completely transparent, that guilt, but when your son looks at pictures of Mommy, Daddy and Baby Girl, and asks, "Where's 'Little Man'?", that's when fire burns in your heart like the tears in your eyes.
Our hope is this year we can give him enough Christmas experiences to make up for a lifetime of none. Of course it is impossible to actually regain those years, but I think that is a reality that all adoptive families eventually have to accept as reality. Unfortunately, I don't think there comes a time when the child (or parents) "come to terms" with the pain caused by needing adoption, and therefore it is a lifetime of balancing grief with blessing.
As we learn to walk in this grief, we are learning what redemption really looks like. Church folk talk a lot about becoming a new person, but this front-row seat God has given us to watch Little Man transform from a file number into a blossoming child is beyond words.
We are seeing that where grief is, redemption runs deeper.
At church on Sunday, one of our friends sang "Beautiful Things" by Gungor. There are several worship songs that really resonate with me in relation to Little Man's adoption. But this one. It got me.
All this pain
I wonder if I'll ever find my way
I wonder if my life could really change at all
All this earth
Could all that is lost ever be found
Could a garden come up from this ground at all
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us
All around
Hope is springing up from this old ground
Out of chaos life is being found in You
I know the song well. For a time, it was the only thing Baby Girl would fall asleep to, but this time, hugging Little Man, reflecting on another week of watching him become a new creation, was humbling. It was humbling, not only to see the work God has done in his life, but to also see a very tangible example of what He has done for us. In His perfect love, His nail-pierced, ransoming hands reach down and lift us out of our cribs of certain doom and bring us home. He transforms us from dust, from nothing, into sons and daughters.
You are making us new.
Hallelujah.
Beautiful Things
Life has settled into a much better routine. Little Man has a firm grasp on what is to happen each day and is now able to express when he wants to get out and do different things like church or going to the store. Baby Girl seems to have completely accepted him as her brother as the sibling squabbles are becoming more regular.
The sheer number of things he has learned in such a short time astounds me. He is speaking in full sentences most of the time now. He wasn't even doing that in his native language when we picked him up. He can hold a simple conversation with us. He can not only say the words "sad" or "happy" etc, but he can identify those emotions he is feeling and verbalize them now, and most of the time, can say why he is happy or sad. He can count to ten by himself! He asks to sing specific songs and can sing them on his own. He has a favorite TV show: Daniel Tiger. In the past month or so, he has begun to ask for things. That sounds silly to count that as a major milestone, but it is huge for a newly adopted child. It signifies that he trusts us to ask for things like juice, food, or to go bye-bye. And not only that he feels safe to ask for things, but assured and confident that we will give him all of the things he needs. That is a REALLY big deal for him.
His physical strength has improved drastically! He can sit up with out propping up on his arms. In fact, last night, he took his first bath without his bath chair. That takes a lot of core strength and balance to sit upright in the tub, especially while everything is slippery- strength and balance that he did not have three months ago. Last night I chuckled to myself at the dark-haired kid splashing and popping bubbles when I thought about how different this was from his first bath. The day we brought him out of the orphanage, we gave him a bath in the hotel and he cried through the whole thing. He was petrified! I am not sure he had ever been in water before. I know that most kids coming from orphanages only stand or sit under a shower head, however often they are bathed, but because of his disability, I think it is possible he only ever had sponge baths.
He army crawls through the house like he owns the place! ;) His confidence is growing, which is wonderful to see. I was amazed at how easily he can do a puzzle on the iPad, and how proud he is when he does it by himself. "I did it, Mommy! I did it!" He is currently scooting around in a circle on the floor screaming, "Watch me! Watch me!" In the last few weeks, he has even managed to get up onto all fours and rock back and forth! Honestly, we didn't know that was physically possible for him. We are so proud of his determination.
Little Man has developed a little attitude along with that confidence. I am sure Baby Girl would adamantly deny that he could have possibly learned that from her. :)
While he has made tremendous progress, there have been struggles. As the weight and finality of being ripped from everything he has ever known begins to drop onto his little shoulders, we have seen his behaviors change some. While he is a happy little guy, we do see the emotionally scarred, terrified child with a past of hurt, come out sometimes. He did so well after we got home, that all of the social workers we work with warned us that the "honeymoon" may be over soon and without warning. One social worker reminded us that anything could trigger a memory of his past and cause him to act out in grief. It could be a happy memory, or a very sad, hurtful memory. Unfortunately, there is no way to predict what will trigger a memory or in what moment his brain will again process all of the changes he has had to undergo. It is agonizing to watch your baby sob and ache over pains he can't express, or bite his tongue to the point of having sores, bang his head against furniture, or slap his own face and know that, in that moment, you can't heal the hurt. That is a pain that, as a mother, is impossible to describe to someone who is not walking the same path.
When a child is physically born into a family, there is immense pain and a messy, but glorious intertwining of lives as a baby becomes family. When a child is adopted, there is pain for all members of the family, especially the child, and a mess that cannot be washed away with water. Only the blood of Jesus Christ can clean this kind of mess.
The depths of the pain that comes from a child being displaced from his birth family, whether by death, abandonment, or legal intervention, is so tender that I don't think it is possible to be written. In the adoption process, there is a longing so intense that it can't be put into words. That waiting for Little Man was easily the most difficult and painful thing I have ever done.
But this mending of broken hearts that we are living now is so intricate and raw that it was impossible to comprehend in the waiting. It is like walking straight into a burning building to salvage the life inside the crumbling walls. We knew that any child we adopted would have struggles related to coming from the "hard places", as the experts call it, but now that it is not just a child and it is instead our child, the intensity of the flames brings us to our knees at times.
I say all of that to be somewhat transparent about what adoption is truly like. But also to say that it is completely worth it.
In many ways, it feels as though Little Man has been here all along. There are painful reminders of that untruth though that seem to appear, especially in moments that I am unguarded. Surprisingly, decorating the Christmas tree was bittersweet. I had been looking forward to that for almost two years, anticipating the glow on his face as the lights blinked on for the first time. But instead, we pulled down a box of ornaments collected over the years that reminded us that for three of those years, Little Man was alone. We have matching ornaments with our names on it, but none for Little Man. Of course, that is an easy fix, but still a quick stab to the heart. It is different for other families, I am sure, who have birthed new babies over the years, for those children simply didn't exist. Our little boy was breathing, alone in a crib while we unwrapped presents and celebrated in years past. It is hard enough for a Mama to experience that pain, and if I'm being completely transparent, that guilt, but when your son looks at pictures of Mommy, Daddy and Baby Girl, and asks, "Where's 'Little Man'?", that's when fire burns in your heart like the tears in your eyes.
Our hope is this year we can give him enough Christmas experiences to make up for a lifetime of none. Of course it is impossible to actually regain those years, but I think that is a reality that all adoptive families eventually have to accept as reality. Unfortunately, I don't think there comes a time when the child (or parents) "come to terms" with the pain caused by needing adoption, and therefore it is a lifetime of balancing grief with blessing.
As we learn to walk in this grief, we are learning what redemption really looks like. Church folk talk a lot about becoming a new person, but this front-row seat God has given us to watch Little Man transform from a file number into a blossoming child is beyond words.
We are seeing that where grief is, redemption runs deeper.
At church on Sunday, one of our friends sang "Beautiful Things" by Gungor. There are several worship songs that really resonate with me in relation to Little Man's adoption. But this one. It got me.
All this pain
I wonder if I'll ever find my way
I wonder if my life could really change at all
All this earth
Could all that is lost ever be found
Could a garden come up from this ground at all
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us
All around
Hope is springing up from this old ground
Out of chaos life is being found in You
I know the song well. For a time, it was the only thing Baby Girl would fall asleep to, but this time, hugging Little Man, reflecting on another week of watching him become a new creation, was humbling. It was humbling, not only to see the work God has done in his life, but to also see a very tangible example of what He has done for us. In His perfect love, His nail-pierced, ransoming hands reach down and lift us out of our cribs of certain doom and bring us home. He transforms us from dust, from nothing, into sons and daughters.
You are making us new.
Hallelujah.
Beautiful Things
Monday, October 13, 2014
(Almost) Two Months Together!
It has been almost two months since we "busted Little Man out of the orphanage," as Baby Girl so delicately phrases it. We have changed SO much more in the last two months than I think we realized we would. We have become closer as a family, dealt with new struggles, had major victories, and morphed into a new family with four members who have all learned to adapt, grow, and love more deeply than we previously thought possible.
I would say that Little Man adjusted and bonded to us very quickly, but the last two weeks or so, we have noticed that he seems to have an even firmer attachment to all of us. As less things are "new" and most days have some type of routine (although some days, I use that word loosely!), his ability to trust us seems to deepen. He has learned that when Mommy goes to the store, she always comes back. He has learned that Daddy can make him belly laugh, and is the best encourager as he works towards more mobility and skills. And he has learned that Sister is going to tackle and hug him more than he would ever like, and sometimes it is easier to just hug her back than try to get rid of her. ;)
I would venture to say that most adoptive families have more struggles in attachment than we have had. I can't really pinpoint what has been different for our family. A lot of the attachment process has been easy for us. I think there were a lot of factors that have played a part in that. He had a nanny in the orphanage who truly loved him. He is fairly young, having just turned three. There has been a lot of prayer wrapped around us during the last year. (I add this point to prove the power of our God, not to say that families who have more struggles are lacking in prayer or faith. Surely the LORD of the universe has a different path for each family to walk, and His denying an easy journey is NOT evidence of Him being removed from other families.) I will also add that many families experience a lot of tantrums which can involve hitting, biting, scratching, etc. Physically, Little Man isn't really capable of throwing himself around like that in the way many physically healthy children are. He does have "institutional behaviors" that are apparent, but if he is angry, it is easier for him to resort to those or crying, since physically thrashing around is somewhat impossible. We did so much training and preparation for the attachment stages, even more than was required of us by our agency, I was expecting it to be harder. Our social worker has warned us that we are likely "honeymooning" with Little Man right now, and that we may begin to see more severe issues arise in the coming weeks and months, especially as his medical intervention plays a more steady role in our day to day. But for now, we continue to praise the LORD for His mercies and focus on being extremely intentional in how we continue the bonding process with Little Man.
All of that does not mean that we have not had really hard days since we have scooped up Little Man and fled the orphanage. In the early weeks, he refused to be out of arms' reach of me, and would not allow anyone else to hold him, even Daddy. (Which sounds ridiculous to complain about that being "difficult", but I assure you, when you are physically and emotionally exhausted, sometimes you just need a minute without children or dogs trying to be physically touching you 24/7!) When he seems stressed or on "high alert" sensory-wise, we still notice him drifting into those tendencies. For the most part, we have allowed family and friends to hug and play with him, but we allow Little Man to dictate how much he can tolerate. If he wants a hug, great! But sometimes, all he wants is a high-five. And sometimes, even that is too much. We are getting better at reading his cues. And if we notice he is slipping back to not wanting to go to Daddy, we have to cut off all touch from others.
I would say that the biggest issue we encountered was after he was sedated for his CT scan, he woke up in the initial recovery room alone (I was not allowed to be there- despite desperate attempts to explain how very psychologically scaring that would be for him). After kids are sedated, they are taken into a room with only medical professionals to ensure that they can be woken up. Typically, they are so groggy from all of the medication, they fall right back asleep and are immediately taken into the recovery room where mom and dad are waiting. Well, Little Man woke up initially, realized he was alone and drugged, and LOST IT. I could hear him screaming from down the hall. They finally brought him to me, but the damage had been done. While most kids would typically doze back off and sleep for most of the afternoon, Little Man was awake until after midnight that night, terrified of going to sleep. (Of course, we had just effectively "taught" him that it was possible for him to fall asleep with mommy holding him, and wake up alone and drugged with tubes coming out of him.) That was a VERY rough week. It is difficult to be able to re-train a child to trust you when you have limited language ability, and he isn't capable of falling asleep with you holding/touching them. We spent many hours laying on the floor next to his crib, whispering promises of our love and devotion to him.
Even despite those setbacks, it has somehow forged a stronger bond as we actively seek out opportunities to prove our "forever-ness" to him.
Several people have asked about what Little Man's medical situation looks like, now that we have been to all of the specialists. And as a nurse, I would be curious too. ;)
We will have a long few years ahead of us. There will be long hours of therapy, countless pieces of equipment to help give him new mobility and also to correct what three years of being mostly in a crib has done to his little body. His knees and ankles are contracted (meaning that they don't bend and straighten completely) from lack of being worked with over the last years. He also has severe muscle weakness, especially in his trunk and legs. And he is very underweight. Even though Baby Girl is 6 weeks YOUNGER than he is, in pictures of the two of them together, you can easily see just how tiny he is.
So after being to several specialists, we have found that his shunt (for his hydrocephalus) is working perfectly! He has been fitted for several different things to help correct some of the above issues. Currently, he sleeps in knee immobilizers, which help keep his knees from bending up in a "frog" position, which they naturally do from years of lying on his back. This is what they look like:
We will go back to the doctor to pick up his other pieces of equipment in the next few weeks after they are made. (They have to be made specifically for each patient, which takes a little time.) He will be given something called DAFOs, which will help re-align his feet and ankles to the correct position. Currently, with they angles they are in, it is impossible to be weight-bearing. Here is what they look like (except his will have fun jungle animals on them, if I remember correctly!):
Next, he has a very special piece called a parapodium on its way. (I still call it the stand-y-up-y-thingy, because I can never remember the word parapodium. I think that is more medically correct anyway.) This will help ensure that Little Man is UPRIGHT for practically the first time ever! Here is what that looks like (many thanks to the child on Google for making such a cute picture):
Now, he won't be able to walk in this, but it will help him be upright and weight bearing, which is a HUGE thing for him both medically and socially. He will be able to stand next to a table and play play-doh with his sister, color, eat, and do all sorts of other fun things that he has only been able to do lying on the floor or sitting in his high chair.
We were able to find some more reflexes in his legs and feet. His muscles have been very affected, but it is difficult to tell how much of that is from the Spina Bifida and how much is from institutional delay. Ultimately, it doesn't really matter. What is nerve damage from the SB is pretty much permanent, but we can help him develop muscle mass and more range of motion in his joints.
He has gained a whopping 3 pounds since pick up! So he is now weighing in at 20 pounds and 15 ounces!
Now for the news everyone is probably trying to read between the lines for: The doctors to think that he WILL be able to walk some day!!! At this point, we aren't sure if that will be with crutches or braces on his legs, but the plan is to move forward aiming for that goal! But we are thrilled that all of the different specialists are in agreement that walking is a realistic goal! It will probably be several years from now before we get to that point because we are working from more set-backs than a newborn with SB that immediately goes into therapy. We have 3 years worth of extra issues to correct before we can start tackling walking. But none of that surprises us. We were prepared for this type of timeline when we committed to Little Man a year ago, although we weren't even sure if walking would ever be a possibility. Now it looks like it is the most likely outcome!
So hooray for these extra blessings! We not only have the most amazing son God could have blessed us with, but now we have such huge victories to work toward! We have learned SO much about Little Man, not only medically, but also about his personality. He is so sweet and loving, and a little mischievous too. ;) He is the perfect fit for our family! Only an all-knowing and all-loving God could have pieced all of these pieces together. (Seriously though, as a small example- only God could have told me to go to nursing school, even if it wasn't in my plans, then encouraged me to trust in Him when I whined about how much time and money I spent on nursing school just for Him to tell me to be a stay-at-home mom. I imagine He grinned a little when it clicked in my head that I had to become a nurse to be able to navigate all of the future things with my son, who was already alive on the other side of the world, even though I had NO CLUE!!! Why do we struggle against Him? He ALWAYS knows best!)
With almost two months under our belts, we have had a lot of time for reflection. I told the Hubs the other day, one of the biggest lessons I have learned is about the Father. It is a common saying that "Children are just on loan to us from the LORD." Meaning that God gives them to us to love and raise, and return to Him, because He alone is the Creator and Master of life. It is our job as parents to provide, love, and cherish these precious babies, but ultimately release them to fulfill the destiny that He has planned for them.
But the pain of seeing how much we have missed in Little Man's life is just a very blatant reminder that my children are not my own.
They are His.
He alone is the one who sustains them.
Little Man didn't have Mommy and Daddy for the first three years. But, he did have a Father, who can sustain, love, and protect him like we will never humanly be able to do. So now I look at Baby Girl and think, I have been here all along, but you have always belonged only to Him. It is certainly a humbling place to be when you realize that the Giver of Life is truly in charge, no matter how many phonics videos or healthy meals you give to your kids. In some ways, it will make that day that I have to let them grow up and leave the nest somewhat easier. (As much as the mere thought of that day already makes me weep.) I know I will not be "releasing" them. They are already His. I don't give them to Him suddenly when they turn 18 and want to move away. I must surrender their lives to Him every day.
They've both been His all along.
I would say that Little Man adjusted and bonded to us very quickly, but the last two weeks or so, we have noticed that he seems to have an even firmer attachment to all of us. As less things are "new" and most days have some type of routine (although some days, I use that word loosely!), his ability to trust us seems to deepen. He has learned that when Mommy goes to the store, she always comes back. He has learned that Daddy can make him belly laugh, and is the best encourager as he works towards more mobility and skills. And he has learned that Sister is going to tackle and hug him more than he would ever like, and sometimes it is easier to just hug her back than try to get rid of her. ;)
I would venture to say that most adoptive families have more struggles in attachment than we have had. I can't really pinpoint what has been different for our family. A lot of the attachment process has been easy for us. I think there were a lot of factors that have played a part in that. He had a nanny in the orphanage who truly loved him. He is fairly young, having just turned three. There has been a lot of prayer wrapped around us during the last year. (I add this point to prove the power of our God, not to say that families who have more struggles are lacking in prayer or faith. Surely the LORD of the universe has a different path for each family to walk, and His denying an easy journey is NOT evidence of Him being removed from other families.) I will also add that many families experience a lot of tantrums which can involve hitting, biting, scratching, etc. Physically, Little Man isn't really capable of throwing himself around like that in the way many physically healthy children are. He does have "institutional behaviors" that are apparent, but if he is angry, it is easier for him to resort to those or crying, since physically thrashing around is somewhat impossible. We did so much training and preparation for the attachment stages, even more than was required of us by our agency, I was expecting it to be harder. Our social worker has warned us that we are likely "honeymooning" with Little Man right now, and that we may begin to see more severe issues arise in the coming weeks and months, especially as his medical intervention plays a more steady role in our day to day. But for now, we continue to praise the LORD for His mercies and focus on being extremely intentional in how we continue the bonding process with Little Man.
All of that does not mean that we have not had really hard days since we have scooped up Little Man and fled the orphanage. In the early weeks, he refused to be out of arms' reach of me, and would not allow anyone else to hold him, even Daddy. (Which sounds ridiculous to complain about that being "difficult", but I assure you, when you are physically and emotionally exhausted, sometimes you just need a minute without children or dogs trying to be physically touching you 24/7!) When he seems stressed or on "high alert" sensory-wise, we still notice him drifting into those tendencies. For the most part, we have allowed family and friends to hug and play with him, but we allow Little Man to dictate how much he can tolerate. If he wants a hug, great! But sometimes, all he wants is a high-five. And sometimes, even that is too much. We are getting better at reading his cues. And if we notice he is slipping back to not wanting to go to Daddy, we have to cut off all touch from others.
I would say that the biggest issue we encountered was after he was sedated for his CT scan, he woke up in the initial recovery room alone (I was not allowed to be there- despite desperate attempts to explain how very psychologically scaring that would be for him). After kids are sedated, they are taken into a room with only medical professionals to ensure that they can be woken up. Typically, they are so groggy from all of the medication, they fall right back asleep and are immediately taken into the recovery room where mom and dad are waiting. Well, Little Man woke up initially, realized he was alone and drugged, and LOST IT. I could hear him screaming from down the hall. They finally brought him to me, but the damage had been done. While most kids would typically doze back off and sleep for most of the afternoon, Little Man was awake until after midnight that night, terrified of going to sleep. (Of course, we had just effectively "taught" him that it was possible for him to fall asleep with mommy holding him, and wake up alone and drugged with tubes coming out of him.) That was a VERY rough week. It is difficult to be able to re-train a child to trust you when you have limited language ability, and he isn't capable of falling asleep with you holding/touching them. We spent many hours laying on the floor next to his crib, whispering promises of our love and devotion to him.
Even despite those setbacks, it has somehow forged a stronger bond as we actively seek out opportunities to prove our "forever-ness" to him.
Several people have asked about what Little Man's medical situation looks like, now that we have been to all of the specialists. And as a nurse, I would be curious too. ;)
We will have a long few years ahead of us. There will be long hours of therapy, countless pieces of equipment to help give him new mobility and also to correct what three years of being mostly in a crib has done to his little body. His knees and ankles are contracted (meaning that they don't bend and straighten completely) from lack of being worked with over the last years. He also has severe muscle weakness, especially in his trunk and legs. And he is very underweight. Even though Baby Girl is 6 weeks YOUNGER than he is, in pictures of the two of them together, you can easily see just how tiny he is.
So after being to several specialists, we have found that his shunt (for his hydrocephalus) is working perfectly! He has been fitted for several different things to help correct some of the above issues. Currently, he sleeps in knee immobilizers, which help keep his knees from bending up in a "frog" position, which they naturally do from years of lying on his back. This is what they look like:
We will go back to the doctor to pick up his other pieces of equipment in the next few weeks after they are made. (They have to be made specifically for each patient, which takes a little time.) He will be given something called DAFOs, which will help re-align his feet and ankles to the correct position. Currently, with they angles they are in, it is impossible to be weight-bearing. Here is what they look like (except his will have fun jungle animals on them, if I remember correctly!):
Next, he has a very special piece called a parapodium on its way. (I still call it the stand-y-up-y-thingy, because I can never remember the word parapodium. I think that is more medically correct anyway.) This will help ensure that Little Man is UPRIGHT for practically the first time ever! Here is what that looks like (many thanks to the child on Google for making such a cute picture):
Now, he won't be able to walk in this, but it will help him be upright and weight bearing, which is a HUGE thing for him both medically and socially. He will be able to stand next to a table and play play-doh with his sister, color, eat, and do all sorts of other fun things that he has only been able to do lying on the floor or sitting in his high chair.
We were able to find some more reflexes in his legs and feet. His muscles have been very affected, but it is difficult to tell how much of that is from the Spina Bifida and how much is from institutional delay. Ultimately, it doesn't really matter. What is nerve damage from the SB is pretty much permanent, but we can help him develop muscle mass and more range of motion in his joints.
He has gained a whopping 3 pounds since pick up! So he is now weighing in at 20 pounds and 15 ounces!
Now for the news everyone is probably trying to read between the lines for: The doctors to think that he WILL be able to walk some day!!! At this point, we aren't sure if that will be with crutches or braces on his legs, but the plan is to move forward aiming for that goal! But we are thrilled that all of the different specialists are in agreement that walking is a realistic goal! It will probably be several years from now before we get to that point because we are working from more set-backs than a newborn with SB that immediately goes into therapy. We have 3 years worth of extra issues to correct before we can start tackling walking. But none of that surprises us. We were prepared for this type of timeline when we committed to Little Man a year ago, although we weren't even sure if walking would ever be a possibility. Now it looks like it is the most likely outcome!
So hooray for these extra blessings! We not only have the most amazing son God could have blessed us with, but now we have such huge victories to work toward! We have learned SO much about Little Man, not only medically, but also about his personality. He is so sweet and loving, and a little mischievous too. ;) He is the perfect fit for our family! Only an all-knowing and all-loving God could have pieced all of these pieces together. (Seriously though, as a small example- only God could have told me to go to nursing school, even if it wasn't in my plans, then encouraged me to trust in Him when I whined about how much time and money I spent on nursing school just for Him to tell me to be a stay-at-home mom. I imagine He grinned a little when it clicked in my head that I had to become a nurse to be able to navigate all of the future things with my son, who was already alive on the other side of the world, even though I had NO CLUE!!! Why do we struggle against Him? He ALWAYS knows best!)
With almost two months under our belts, we have had a lot of time for reflection. I told the Hubs the other day, one of the biggest lessons I have learned is about the Father. It is a common saying that "Children are just on loan to us from the LORD." Meaning that God gives them to us to love and raise, and return to Him, because He alone is the Creator and Master of life. It is our job as parents to provide, love, and cherish these precious babies, but ultimately release them to fulfill the destiny that He has planned for them.
But the pain of seeing how much we have missed in Little Man's life is just a very blatant reminder that my children are not my own.
They are His.
He alone is the one who sustains them.
Little Man didn't have Mommy and Daddy for the first three years. But, he did have a Father, who can sustain, love, and protect him like we will never humanly be able to do. So now I look at Baby Girl and think, I have been here all along, but you have always belonged only to Him. It is certainly a humbling place to be when you realize that the Giver of Life is truly in charge, no matter how many phonics videos or healthy meals you give to your kids. In some ways, it will make that day that I have to let them grow up and leave the nest somewhat easier. (As much as the mere thought of that day already makes me weep.) I know I will not be "releasing" them. They are already His. I don't give them to Him suddenly when they turn 18 and want to move away. I must surrender their lives to Him every day.
They've both been His all along.
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
One Month Home
Today Little Man has been home for one whole month! I can't believe how fast the time flew by! In some ways, I feel like we just got back, but in other ways, I feel like he has been here for years.
Little Man is losing his "orphanage" look. He looks much more relaxed around us and our routines, and he seems to be comprehending that Daddy will come home each night, and there will always be food whenever he wants it. A routine is definitely important to him, as I'm sure there were not many days in the orphanage that did not have a very strict schedule. We can tell he is definitely on "high alert" if we are in a "new" place with "new" people. He is starting to get more relaxed at church, which is great, because we spend a good bit of time there each week. When I mention the word "church," he immediately starts yelling his friends' names. "E!" "J!" It is very funny and also exciting to see that he is relating faces and names, and he associates both with being happy.
He is learning a lot of new words. He will repeat anything we ask him to, but he is starting to say English words without being prompted. A few things off the top of my head that he says on his own are, "hello", "bye-bye", "mommy", "daddy", "BabyGirl", " 'caroni" (macaroni), "yummy", "chicken", "yucky", "diaper", "night-night", "belly", "nose", and a few others I'm sure I'm forgetting. He knows all the names of our immediate family (aunts, uncles, grandparents, etc.), and a few of our close friends that he has started to see regularly.
He LOVES to give and receive affection, which we learned in our training could be very difficult for some newly adopted children. He wants to be held, cuddled, tickled and kissed all the time. In fact, some of our sweetest moments so far have been at church. During the adoption process, I would sit in our usual pew at church and long for the Sunday that he would be in our arms to sing with us. I can remember, on several occasions, being moved almost to tears at the realization that he was on the other side of the world, but several times God whispered that I would hold him in that very spot as we all worshipped together. So now, we stand in our usual spot and hear the same songs that spoke of God's faithfulness, songs that held us together as we clung to His promise that He would set the lonely in families. We stand on the same spot of carpet, by the same chairs, singing the same songs, but now, I hold in my arms God's faithfulness. I get to literally cradle His promise to us. It is overwhelming to stand there, with Little Man in my arms, singing of His faithfulness, while Little Man puts his tiny hands on my face and tries to sneak in kisses.
The Lord has been so faithful to fulfill His promises to us, we can't help but rejoice at His love.
As we get to know Little Man better (which has been a fun journey- it is very different from a newborn who doesn't already have years of experiences and preferences and likes and dislikes), we see more and more of his physical conditions. We are seeing challenges just related to being in the orphanage for so long that make every day life different for us. For example, he does not know how to chew. We have managed to teach him how to move his jaw, but it is difficult to explain to a 3 year old with minimal language understanding how to use your teeth to grind food. So choking is something we have to watch for very carefully. He wants to eat solid foods like his sister, so we allow it, but it is something we have to be very careful about since he swallows everything whole. (Of course, we do give him as much pureed food as he will take, but mostly he wants solids- especially macaroni!)
We have been very open with explaining to people that Little Man was born with conditions called spina bifida and hydrocephaly. If you don't know what that is, or to help the next few paragraphs make sense, here are two quick explanations:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Ii_v3t9hpU
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ouMi5z1vwbE
Today has been a little more difficult for me than any of the other days so far, I think because tomorrow will be his first specialist doctor's appointment. Up until now, we haven't had to accept what a specialist has to say about his potential to walk, but tomorrow, I know that is coming. Honestly, I don't know if I am ready to hear the truth. I was venting to a friend last night and said that most pregnant mothers, if told something would be "wrong" with their babies would spend the next months praying and anxious to prove the doctors wrong at the babies' births. For me, the adoption was the same. I have spent so much time begging God to heal Little Man's legs, and I had no reason to believe He wouldn't. Don't get me wrong, of course we looked at his file intently and decided over a year ago, that regardless of whether God would heal him or not, he was absolutely our son and we would love him no matter what his level of functioning would be. As I have prayed over the past year, I knew that God may choose to not heal him, and I have accepted that.
BUT all that being said, when we finally got to spend hours, days, and weeks with our child, the reality of his disabilities became much more evident and real. (If that makes any sense at all.) It is becoming easier to see, to some extent, what is related to delay from the orphanage and what is a physical issue.
From what we can tell, he has no feeling below his knees. He does have a small reflex in each knee, but neither foot. His little knees and ankles are contracted from years of not being used and worked with. His knees do have some movement, they just don't straighten completely. His feet have almost no movement though. All of that means that he has no control of his muscles below his knees, so he can't move his lower legs or feet on his own, but even when I move his knees or ankles, they do not have the full range of motion that an average, healthy person has.
None of those things stop him from wanting to try everything his sister does, but it does sting my mama's heart to know that, currently, this is his reality.
We were at a church event this weekend that had bouncy houses. He pointed to them after watching Baby Girl jump for some time. I know he wanted to get in, but at that point, there were too many kids, most much older than him, and he would have been hurt. I walked away with him to find something else to do, secretly wondering if he would ever jump in one.
~
I know that all of this may sound ridiculous to many people. I'm sure many are thinking, "Well, you signed up for this!" "There is no reason this should be difficult because you walked into this journey with your eyes wide open."
And all of that is true.
We did "sign up for this", in the sense that we chose Little Man, specifically. We didn't just accept someone's recommendation of him. We specifically sought him out.
We did walk into this with our eyes wide open. We had access to every bit of his medical information before signing that we wanted to pursue him.
But none of that excludes us from the grieving process as we begin a new medical journey with him. Now, he is MY son. My little boy. And I never want to see him suffer. I don't want him to have to undergo the tests and scans that are scheduled for this week. I don't want him to have the future surgeries we know will happen. I don't want him to have to pull himself across the floor with his arms. I want him to walk. I want him to run and play. I want him to jump in every bouncy house he sees.
It is an odd place to be, this balance between falling deeply in love with your child, and still grieving the medical difficulties you see for the future. I certainly didn't expect these emotions. I also thought I had come to terms with all of the emotions related to having a son that will have physical challenges. But now that he is home, it is real. And the grief is a part of that.
Please don't misunderstand. I wouldn't do anything differently. Little Man has been our son since we first saw his picture, and in our hearts, even longer. We love him as much as we love our biological Baby Girl, just as if he had been born to us. But it is difficult to not be a little sad wondering what his future will look like in terms of mobility.
~
Thankfully, I know that the same Sovereign God who provided a way for Little Man to come home, is the same One who sees his every need. We serve a mighty God, who is ALWAYS victorious. He is victorious in life, and victorious in death. So we know that He alone has the victory in everything between.
I have hope in the risen Savior. And I know that this Savior takes great delight in telling the lame to take up his mat and walk.
I also know that this Savior sits on His holy throne, regardless of whether He chooses to heal or not.
Therefore, I know the victory is His.
The victory will be His in a wheelchair. Or the victory will be His in a bouncy house.
~
So as we begin the medical phase of this journey as a family, I ask that you continue to keep us in your prayers. I ask that you pray for Little Man's heart to be calm and trusting of us (which is a lot to ask so soon after coming home) as he is put to sleep for various tests. I ask that you pray for our hearts to cling to the hope that is in Christ Jesus alone, not in a doctor's opinion. I ask that if this week we weep because science and biology say the odds are against us, you remind us that the victory is already won.
Little Man is losing his "orphanage" look. He looks much more relaxed around us and our routines, and he seems to be comprehending that Daddy will come home each night, and there will always be food whenever he wants it. A routine is definitely important to him, as I'm sure there were not many days in the orphanage that did not have a very strict schedule. We can tell he is definitely on "high alert" if we are in a "new" place with "new" people. He is starting to get more relaxed at church, which is great, because we spend a good bit of time there each week. When I mention the word "church," he immediately starts yelling his friends' names. "E!" "J!" It is very funny and also exciting to see that he is relating faces and names, and he associates both with being happy.
He is learning a lot of new words. He will repeat anything we ask him to, but he is starting to say English words without being prompted. A few things off the top of my head that he says on his own are, "hello", "bye-bye", "mommy", "daddy", "BabyGirl", " 'caroni" (macaroni), "yummy", "chicken", "yucky", "diaper", "night-night", "belly", "nose", and a few others I'm sure I'm forgetting. He knows all the names of our immediate family (aunts, uncles, grandparents, etc.), and a few of our close friends that he has started to see regularly.
He LOVES to give and receive affection, which we learned in our training could be very difficult for some newly adopted children. He wants to be held, cuddled, tickled and kissed all the time. In fact, some of our sweetest moments so far have been at church. During the adoption process, I would sit in our usual pew at church and long for the Sunday that he would be in our arms to sing with us. I can remember, on several occasions, being moved almost to tears at the realization that he was on the other side of the world, but several times God whispered that I would hold him in that very spot as we all worshipped together. So now, we stand in our usual spot and hear the same songs that spoke of God's faithfulness, songs that held us together as we clung to His promise that He would set the lonely in families. We stand on the same spot of carpet, by the same chairs, singing the same songs, but now, I hold in my arms God's faithfulness. I get to literally cradle His promise to us. It is overwhelming to stand there, with Little Man in my arms, singing of His faithfulness, while Little Man puts his tiny hands on my face and tries to sneak in kisses.
The Lord has been so faithful to fulfill His promises to us, we can't help but rejoice at His love.
As we get to know Little Man better (which has been a fun journey- it is very different from a newborn who doesn't already have years of experiences and preferences and likes and dislikes), we see more and more of his physical conditions. We are seeing challenges just related to being in the orphanage for so long that make every day life different for us. For example, he does not know how to chew. We have managed to teach him how to move his jaw, but it is difficult to explain to a 3 year old with minimal language understanding how to use your teeth to grind food. So choking is something we have to watch for very carefully. He wants to eat solid foods like his sister, so we allow it, but it is something we have to be very careful about since he swallows everything whole. (Of course, we do give him as much pureed food as he will take, but mostly he wants solids- especially macaroni!)
We have been very open with explaining to people that Little Man was born with conditions called spina bifida and hydrocephaly. If you don't know what that is, or to help the next few paragraphs make sense, here are two quick explanations:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Ii_v3t9hpU
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ouMi5z1vwbE
Today has been a little more difficult for me than any of the other days so far, I think because tomorrow will be his first specialist doctor's appointment. Up until now, we haven't had to accept what a specialist has to say about his potential to walk, but tomorrow, I know that is coming. Honestly, I don't know if I am ready to hear the truth. I was venting to a friend last night and said that most pregnant mothers, if told something would be "wrong" with their babies would spend the next months praying and anxious to prove the doctors wrong at the babies' births. For me, the adoption was the same. I have spent so much time begging God to heal Little Man's legs, and I had no reason to believe He wouldn't. Don't get me wrong, of course we looked at his file intently and decided over a year ago, that regardless of whether God would heal him or not, he was absolutely our son and we would love him no matter what his level of functioning would be. As I have prayed over the past year, I knew that God may choose to not heal him, and I have accepted that.
BUT all that being said, when we finally got to spend hours, days, and weeks with our child, the reality of his disabilities became much more evident and real. (If that makes any sense at all.) It is becoming easier to see, to some extent, what is related to delay from the orphanage and what is a physical issue.
From what we can tell, he has no feeling below his knees. He does have a small reflex in each knee, but neither foot. His little knees and ankles are contracted from years of not being used and worked with. His knees do have some movement, they just don't straighten completely. His feet have almost no movement though. All of that means that he has no control of his muscles below his knees, so he can't move his lower legs or feet on his own, but even when I move his knees or ankles, they do not have the full range of motion that an average, healthy person has.
None of those things stop him from wanting to try everything his sister does, but it does sting my mama's heart to know that, currently, this is his reality.
We were at a church event this weekend that had bouncy houses. He pointed to them after watching Baby Girl jump for some time. I know he wanted to get in, but at that point, there were too many kids, most much older than him, and he would have been hurt. I walked away with him to find something else to do, secretly wondering if he would ever jump in one.
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I know that all of this may sound ridiculous to many people. I'm sure many are thinking, "Well, you signed up for this!" "There is no reason this should be difficult because you walked into this journey with your eyes wide open."
And all of that is true.
We did "sign up for this", in the sense that we chose Little Man, specifically. We didn't just accept someone's recommendation of him. We specifically sought him out.
We did walk into this with our eyes wide open. We had access to every bit of his medical information before signing that we wanted to pursue him.
But none of that excludes us from the grieving process as we begin a new medical journey with him. Now, he is MY son. My little boy. And I never want to see him suffer. I don't want him to have to undergo the tests and scans that are scheduled for this week. I don't want him to have the future surgeries we know will happen. I don't want him to have to pull himself across the floor with his arms. I want him to walk. I want him to run and play. I want him to jump in every bouncy house he sees.
It is an odd place to be, this balance between falling deeply in love with your child, and still grieving the medical difficulties you see for the future. I certainly didn't expect these emotions. I also thought I had come to terms with all of the emotions related to having a son that will have physical challenges. But now that he is home, it is real. And the grief is a part of that.
Please don't misunderstand. I wouldn't do anything differently. Little Man has been our son since we first saw his picture, and in our hearts, even longer. We love him as much as we love our biological Baby Girl, just as if he had been born to us. But it is difficult to not be a little sad wondering what his future will look like in terms of mobility.
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Thankfully, I know that the same Sovereign God who provided a way for Little Man to come home, is the same One who sees his every need. We serve a mighty God, who is ALWAYS victorious. He is victorious in life, and victorious in death. So we know that He alone has the victory in everything between.
I have hope in the risen Savior. And I know that this Savior takes great delight in telling the lame to take up his mat and walk.
I also know that this Savior sits on His holy throne, regardless of whether He chooses to heal or not.
Therefore, I know the victory is His.
The victory will be His in a wheelchair. Or the victory will be His in a bouncy house.
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So as we begin the medical phase of this journey as a family, I ask that you continue to keep us in your prayers. I ask that you pray for Little Man's heart to be calm and trusting of us (which is a lot to ask so soon after coming home) as he is put to sleep for various tests. I ask that you pray for our hearts to cling to the hope that is in Christ Jesus alone, not in a doctor's opinion. I ask that if this week we weep because science and biology say the odds are against us, you remind us that the victory is already won.
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