One Last Acronym

“T. A.”

If you pray anything on behalf of us this week or next, please pray these letters.  God will know what you mean. 

T.A. stands for “Travel Approval” and it is the very last thing we are waiting for in order to schedule our trip to China!  Hopefully we will leave about 1-2 weeks after our TA arrives.  

We have been through a long list of acronyms: LOI, PA,  i800a, DTC, OOT, LOA, i800… all of this was gibberish to me when we started the process a year ago.  Now I know just how much emotion can be wrapped up into just a few little letters! 

As of today, every paper has been signed, sealed, and delivered to where it needs to be and the only thing left for us to do is wait. One more time. 

We may hear as early as one week from now or it may take 2 or 3 weeks.  All along, we have never had one of our adoptions steps happen quickly so I have literally told God, "Can't you let us have just one fast step? Just one, please!"  

"Let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us."

If you have ever run a race, you may remember what it feels like to be standing at the starting line, ready to go, and waiting for the signal to go off.  You've prepared and trained for that one moment and you know that as soon as you hear the sound, you will take off as fast as you can and not look back.  That is pretty much how things are at our house right now.  We are about 90% packed and ready to go. Seriously, there are suitcases packed and ready.

We decided early on that we wanted to make this trip with Camdyn and Charlie.  We want them to be there from the very first moments that Carter joins our family.  We think it will be good for him to have them there, too.  Maybe Justin and I will be a little less scary and seem more like a legitimate Mama and Baba if we have other children there who also belong to us.  We also want them to experience the places where Carter spent the first part of his life.  We want them to see his orphanage.  We want them to experience China and love it, too.  

Since we didn't want to be in a foreign country and be outnumbered by children, we somehow convinced these awesome grandparents to come along.  (Truthfully, I couldn't imagine becoming a mom for the third time without my mom and dad there for support.  After Justin and myself, they were the first to welcome Camdyn and Charlie into this world and it just seems right that they would be there when Carter officially becomes our son.)

One last thing but one very important thing!  We are planning to take baby items to donate to Carter's orphanage while we are there.  Carter spent the first year of his life in a Lily Orphan Care Center which is a special room at his orphanage that is sponsored by our adoption agency, CCAI. You can read more about them here.  Infants in these rooms have the benefit of lower baby to nanny ratios and are cared for by nannies who have received special training.  They have more one on one attention, more formula, more clothes, and more access to medical care. This is only possible through generous donations from people like you and me.  One thing that led us to choosing CCAI was their commitment to care for orphans in China that extends far beyond the adoptions they help facilitate.  Lily Centers are just one example of the many amazing things they are doing throughout China.  

The Lily Centers in Carter's provence are in need of some supplies and we would love to carry over a suitcase or two of whatever we can gather.  

They have asked specifically for new or gently used:

   winter clothing for children up to 18 months (onesies, sweaters, hats, socks, warms pj's, etc)

   small hand towels

   bibs

   small toys that make sounds

   "nursing pillows" like Bobby's  

If you would like to send items you can send them directly to us, or via my mom and dad. Any donation would be greatly appreciated.  Also, if you would rather send gift cards or money, we will be making a Target run for items to fill a suitcase before we leave.  

Battle of the Ants

“Ants in the laundry room! Ants in the laundry room!!!”

This is an actual text message sent by me to my dear husband this week.  I was about to launch World War III in my laundry room.  The full force of all my fury was getting ready to be unleashed on these teeny tiny little ants that were likely just trying to avoid a late March arctic blast.  

An entire can of Raid later, the ants were dead and I was exhausted.  My rage against the ants had left me totally depleted.  I collapsed on the couch and thought, “What is wrong with me?”  Why did something so tiny (literally and figuratively) generate such a huge emotional response?  I realized that I have been having big, over blown, borderline cray-cray reactions to just about everything lately.  In fact, I’ve been living my life like an all caps twitter feed.


YOU MEAN WE HAVE TO WAIT ANOTHER DAY BECAUSE THE U.S. CONSULATE IS CLOSED FOR A HOLIDAY? HOW DARE THEY!?!

I HAVE ASKED YOU FIVE TIMES TO PICK UP THESE LEGOS!

NO, YOU MAY NOT HAVE ANOTHER COOKIE!

SHE NEVER EVEN SAID, “THANK YOU!”

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, TURN OFF THE TV!!

WHO ATE THE LAST CADBURY CREME EGG!?!?


I realized, after those ants, that I am walking through life like this:

Sometimes, we pick up our swords to fight a cause and we start off with great intentions.  There are battles that need to be fought.  There are wrongs that need to be right.  Some of us become warriors because we have to.  

I know mothers of special needs children who are mighty warriors, fighting to make sure their children get the services they need.  I know social workers and AIDS advocates and legal aid lawyers and teachers and pastors who are warriors, fighting for what is right and good every single day.  

We often become warriors in an instant, because life is fickle and sometimes fate deals an ugly hand.  

When your aging parents need more care than their social security benefits will provide, you become a warrior.    

When your spouse is diagnosed with cancer and there is nothing to do but wipe away their tears and clean up their chemo induced vomit, you become a warrior.  

When your grown up child is lost in a haze of drug addiction and brings home yet another baby for you to raise, you become a warrior.  

When you realize that you have a child living thousands of miles away, going to bed every night without knowing he is loved, you become a warrior.  

This is the great epiphany I had after my epic war against the ants:  Eventually, the battle needs to end and the warrior must remember that before it all began, she was and still is a child of God.   

All of us, even those of us with the noblest battles to fight, eventually need to stop fighting, lay down our swords, and come sit at the feet of Great Warrior.  

When we do this, we remember why we are fighting in the first place: 

We fight not for ourselves but for others because somewhere in our  heart of hearts we heard the prophets sing, “Let justice roll down like living waters,” and our heart sang back, “Yes!”   

We love because he first loved us and this is the truest of true loves- the love that leads us to stand in the gaps, to walk through fire, and to slay dragons without thinking twice.   

We fight because we have encountered the Resurrected One and we know, we know, we know that the battles have already been won.  

This is the God who said to the Israelites,  “Don’t worry about those Egyptians chasing after you with their might army.  I’ve got this.  I will fight for you, just stand still.”   

Stop running.

Put down your sword. (or that can of Raid)

Let go of the fight. 

Take a deep breath.

Close your eyes.

Be still.  

Feel God’s arms wrap around you like a mother holds her child.

Now open your eyes and watch the seas part.  

"Close Only Counts in Horseshoes, Darts, and Hand Grenades"

         My fifth grade teacher, Mrs. McCallister used to be a fan of the saying, “Close only counts in horseshoes, darts, and hand grenades.”   At the age of ten, I had no idea what she was saying except that being near a hand grenade was not something that sounded like a good idea.  I’ve been hearing Mrs. Mac say that phrase in my head a lot over the last few weeks and I think I would reply with a resounding, “Amen, Sister!” if she were around today.  Close doesn’t count when you are a few weeks away from going to get the child you’ve hoped for and prayed for every day for the last six months.  We are so close, so very close, but not really close at all to that little boy whose world is about to be turned upside down.  In fact, we are seven thousand four hundred miles away from close.  Close doesn’t count when the little one you dream about holding is still just that, a little one existing only in your dreams.  

          Close also doesn’t count when you are trying to get what feels like your 300th official piece of paperwork sent from one government agency to another government agency and you realized that they misspelled your name.  

And not even your really strange, hard to pronounce my-parents-are-theology-nerds first name.  No, they misspelled your nice, normal easy-peasy last name.  And so you have a small breakdown and want to collapse on the floor in a puddle of  tears and “Why me, God?!”  -until your wiser than her years ten year old daughter reminds you, “This is just a small setback, Mom.  Some people wait years to get their children.  Think about those people and how lucky we are to be going to get Carter so soon.”  BOOM.  You’ve just been schooled in the most important lesson in life by your daughter.  Who is in the fourth grade.  

(Yes, that's a hamster peeking out of her pocket.)

             But, close DOES count when your heart is weary and your mind is tired from endlessly racing from one task to another and you find an inexplicable sense of peace arise from unexpected places- like washing the dishes.  Close does count when you get an email telling you that your little boy loves to be outside and is happy when he is looking at your pictures.  Close does count when you start to complain about yet another snow day keeping your kids at home until you realize that you’ve been given an amazing gift of fifteen extra days at home together, as a family of four, before it all changes for good.  

          Close counts when you are standing in the laundry room, folding the first of what will surely be thousands of loads of baby laundry, realizing how much you didn’t miss trying to match tiny baby socks, trying not to cry at the realization that you are folding size 9 month clothes for your 19 month old son, and then finally crying because this is the first tangible thing you’ve done that connects you to that tiny body on the other side of the world (and because tiny socks make you think of tiny baby feet that maybe have never been kissed).   

          Close counts in these moments because these are the moments when God has reached down and whispered into my heart, “I’m here.” 

       God, who said, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” (Mt 11:28&29) 

 Wait, did he really say rest?  Twice in two sentences?  Does he know how tired I feel?  Heart and soul tired?  

The funny thing about rest is that it requires you to be still.  To stop racing and pacing.  When you are still, that is when you notice just how close that the gentle-hearted Creator God is to your own tiny little self.  
Close.  
Close in the way that really does count.  

From the mouths of children...

Jesus entered the temple courts and drove out all who were buying and selling there. He overturned the tables of the money changers and the benches of those selling doves. "It is written,” he said to them, “‘My house will be called a house of prayer,’but you are making it ‘a den of robbers.’"

The blind and the lame came to him at the temple, and he healed them.

 But when the chief priests and the teachers of the law saw the wonderful things he did and the children shouting in the temple courts, “Hosanna to the Son of David,”they were indignant.

"Do you hear what these children are saying?” they asked him.

“Yes,” replied Jesus, “have you never read, 

“‘From the lips of children and infants 

 you, Lord, have called forth your praise’"

Matthew 21:12-16

"I don't eat vegetables."

"I can count to infinity. "

"I like you. "

"Are you a princess?"

"My new mom and dad came to pick me up from the foster home and brought me to my new house- I flew the coop!"

"My daddy lost his job and we might have to move. "

"You are pretty."

"Hey, you're not my doctor. You're a girl."

The best part of my job is getting to listen to kids talk.  Four year olds are my favorite. The worst, very bad, no good day can be turned around when a little one says something beautiful and true. Children speak truth.  Truth as they see it. Truth as they've been told. 

Hidden in the gospel of Matthew is a story about children doing just that- truth speaking. I'm not sure why I never noticed until recently. Maybe because we move through the Bible from important event to important event and skim past the parts we don't think matter too much, like stories that involve children.  On Palm Sunday we celebrate the story of Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem by having our children wave palm branches in church. We all know that story. Jesus rode a donkey into Jerusalem while the crowds waved branches and cheered. They sang, "Hosannah to the Son of David!"  They were proclaiming Jesus as the messiah. He was on his way to Jerusalem. The time had come. God was going to do big things. Maybe they thought Jesus would free them from Roman oppression. Maybe they thought this would be the beginning of a new golden era for God's chosen people. I don't know what they thought Jesus was heading to Jerusalem to do,  but I can bet that it wasn't to go to the temple and start throwing tables around, attacking their own way of life. I'm sure they didn't think this new Son of David would go to the temple just to be surrounded by the lame and the blind. Where's the glory in that? How does God's mighty power show up in a man who is telling them they themselves are corrupt (not the Romans) and he wants to hang out with the beggars and broken ones (not the rich and powerful)?

All those people who were waving palm branches and singing praises to Jesus just moments before were now speechless. Their singing stopped. Their questions began.

 But here is the rest of the story- The children kept singing. They watched everything Jesus did in the temple and they kept shouting, "Hosannah to the Son of David!"  The children didn't stop singing when the messiah they praised in the parade was not the messiah that actually showed up at the temple. 

Jesus heard the children proclaiming him to be the messiah and these may have been the sweetest praises he had ever heard, sweeter than the angels own songs. I think his heart was filled with deep, overwhelming joy at the sound of these tiny sons and daughters of God,  declaring the truest Truth for all to hear. They were speaking words of Life. They were prophets, echoing what Simeon and Anna had declared in that very spot decades before.

 Jesus heard them and he knew that they knew.  They knew who he was. For real. 

When the Pharisees tried to turn the children's praise into a mockery Jesus said, "No."  

In that moment, these little ones were the voice of God. The Spirit had given them a song to sing and the praises of  children were called forth from God's own holy dwelling place. 

I believe that's really all that God wants from any of us. To sing God's praises no matter what, without expectations, without agenda. 

Can we still sing God's praises even when God has disappointed us?

When God has not lived up to our ideas of who God is supposed to be?

When God takes us down a path that looks so very different than the one we imagined? 

When God takes a whip to the greed in our lives? 

When God heals some but not others? 

When the miracles are nowhere to be found?

When they mock him? 

When they  mock you for believing in him? 

   When you can see the cross looming in the distance?  

            And you know that there is no way around it.

  

                             No way to skip from Palm Sunday straight to Easter.

In Matthew's gospel this marks the point where Jesus begins to make more enemies than friends and the plans are set in motion for ending his radical ministry here on earth.   God came to be with us, but it was not the God we expected and so we said, "No thanks." Shortly afterwards,  Jesus would be arrested, beaten, betrayed, and hung up on the cross.

 I believe there was a reason that the  last songs of praise Jesus heard were sung by children.  

Could it be that the Spirit-God knew that God the Son, through his suffering and solitude would need to have those sweet little voices singing a song of the Father's love, echoing in his heart? 

Could it be that the Spirit knew Jesus would somehow find comfort in praises from perhaps the only ones among us who are able love without condition? 

Could it be that it is still this way?

 That in spite of all our best planned worship, our most impressive singing, and most inspired sermons, it ALL falls short of what true worship is meant to be.  

Could it be that it is still the children who are the only ones among us who are singing truth, speaking love, and pointing us towards God's own heart? 

LOA and what comes next...

"LOA! LOA! LOA!"

After waiting 72 days, our LOA finally arrived!  Technically it is called a “Letter seeking confirmation”  and was sent by China to us saying that all of our paperwork has been reviewed and we are officially approved to adopt our baby boy.  We are supposed to check the box saying we will accept him as our son, sign it, and mail it back to China.  There is actually a box to check saying that we decline the match.  Can you believe it?  I couldn’t imagine after all this time, checking the “No” box.  

So what’s next?   Now we go through a very convoluted and confusing process of applying for Visa approval for Carter to enter the country as our child (at which point he will become a U.S. citizen.)  After this approval, the US Visa Center, the US Consulate in Guangzhou, and the Chinese government have to communicate to each other that this approval has been granted.  After the last two steps will be when we receive “TA” or travel approval from China to travel to go get our boy.  After TA, we schedule our appointment with the U.S. Consulate in China where all of Carter’s final visa paperwork will need to be issued.  Our trip will be scheduled backwards from our consulate appointment.   (So hypothetically if our consulate appointment is on May 19th, we will leave on May 8th and get Carter on May 11th)

Confused?  That’s ok because you really need an advanced degree to follow all these steps.  Here is a chart that I borrowed from a friend’s blog (not sure where it originated from) that lays out all the back and forth steps.  Essentially we are at step #9, waiting for #10 (I800 approval).  

The short of it is, now that we have LOA, we are past all the big waiting times and should be leaving in about 9-10 weeks! (Maybe longer depending on whether or not we run into a road block during these next few steps.)  We won’t know our exact dates of travel until about 1-3 weeks before we actually leave.  So, if you see a crazy lady in a black SUV running around town in March and April, please just look away.  It is hard to believe but we are in the homestretch of one of the longest, most emotional, and amazing journeys of our life.  It is also hard to believe that on the other side of the world is a precious little boy who is busy being a toddler, learning how to walk and talk, and completely unaware that his family is racing towards him with our arms wide open. 

Please pray that the next steps go smoothly, that we get an update from Carter’s orphanage soon (with pictures!) and that Carter’s heart is somehow ready for our arrival.  I don’t know that you can prepare an 18 month old for something as traumatic as being scooped up and carried away from the only world you’ve ever known.  But at the very least I am praying that all of the pictures we have sent are being shown to him every day so that when he sees our faces he will think,  “Oh, there you are.”  I am also praying for his foster mother who has been caring for him since last summer.  If she loves him (which I believe she does) then this must be incredibly hard for her, too.  I have been praying for her every day since we found out Carter was moved into a foster home.  I know that the day that can't arrive soon enough for us is likely the day she is hoping won't come for a long, long time. 

I Love You More

I have one child who was born wanting to be perfect.  She did everything the way babies are supposed to do.  She latched on immediately and made me think breastfeeding was easy.  She slept through the night and made me think I was the wisest mother in the world.  She walked early, and talked early, and potty trained early.  She was fiercely independent by the age of two and refused to let me pick out her clothes, hairstyle, or shoes from that point on.  We have toed the line in battle about one issue or another for along as she has understood the word “No.”  In many ways she has been seeing herself in my eyes as I have seen myself in her eyes since the moment she first landed in my arms.  In her I see myself as a girl with the same determination, the same independence, the same seriousness, the same anxieties, the same insecurities, always trying to earn love.

I have another child who was born already thinking he was perfect.  He loved people and accepted that people loved him.  If he saw you, he smiled and then you smiled and then everyone smiled.  He is tenderhearted and can get his feelings hurt in a heartbeat.  When that happens he needs my hugs and kisses and I am his soft place to fall.  But just as quickly he is up and running off again, smiling and laughing and talking.  He moves through the world as if it is his playground and everyone loves him because why wouldn’t they? When he came home from his first day of kindergarten I asked him if he had made any new friends and he said incredulously, “No. I’m already friends with everybody, Mom.”  I am perpetually perplexed by this little fireball of a boy and how he lives life in such a self-assured and fearless way.  For him, love isn’t earned.  It’s expected.

And then there is the third child.  The one I love but haven't even met.  The one who will need to be taught over and over again that love does not end, love never fails, and love will make us belong to him forever.  Our love story is waiting to begin.

Be fair.  Be even.  Don’t play favorites.

This is the cardinal rule of good parenting.

Or is it?

I have heard my sweet baby girl complain time and time again that her brother gets away with too much.  We take his side more than hers.  We punish her first.  We don’t see how much he torments her behind our backs.  He gets away with EVERYTHING.  We love him more.

Time and time again I have tried to make her see how this simply is not true.  We don’t have favorites.  We do punish them both.  We do make him leave her alone.  We don’t take sides.  We love the same.

And then one day I heard her say the same thing about her friends.  They don’t want to play with me.  They don’t want to be my friend.  She picked her to be a science partner, not me.   She had a sleep over and didn’t ask me.  She likes her more.

Somehow, somewhere, for some reason, my beautiful and brilliant daughter believes what most girls eventually accept about themselves.  She’s not good enough.  She’s not pretty enough.  She’s not smart enough.  She’s not athletic enough.  She isn’t enough.

I realized that I wasn’t ever going to make her think that I loved her the same as her brother.  If I keep aiming for fair, she will always see unfair.  I have to convince her that I love her more.  In order for her to get past fair, she has to believe she’s the special one.  (The flip side is that my son will probably always believe that he is the favorite.  That’s just how he is wired to see things.)

This is my new philosophy of mothering: when two children have different hearts and different ways of seeing themselves in the world, fair is not what they need.  They need ALL the love you have to give.  They need to be convinced that the fullness of their parent’s love is there for them no matter what.

Then I realized that this is exactly how God loves us.

Story after story in the Bible tells us this truth.  Jesus told those parables for a reason and one reason was to stop getting people to think of God’s love as a commodity that can be earned and equally divided like a big love pie in the sky.  In the story about the prodigal son, the older brother has a point.  His brother squanders his inheritance and then returns and is welcomed back as if nothing has happened! This isn’t fair and deep down we all agree with him in some way. The younger brother had his piece of the pie and he threw it away so why should he come back and take what belonged to the oldest son all along?

God’s love is not the same for you or me.  God’s love isn’t even very fair.  God loves us the way we need to be loved. God loves us when we need to be loved.  God meets us where we are and showers love upon us.  God lavishes us all with love but some of us need more lavishing than others.  Some of us have been broken more than others.  Some of us have had our hearts battered and bruised to the point that we don’t even recognize true love when we see it.  “My grace is sufficient for you” means just that.  God’s grace is just what you need.  Not your predetermined allotment of grace.  Not your evenly distributed share of grace.  Enough grace for you.  Enough for you.  Enough for me.  Enough.

I checked my daughter out from school for a doctor’s appointment today and told her that she needed to keep it a secret, but we were stopping for lunch and a manicure on the way.  “Don’t tell your brother. This is just for us.”  The look on her face said it all and I have decided that she needs to hear more “Don’t tell your brother” and less “I love you both the same.”  Instead of trying to convince them that my love is equal, I want each one of them to think they are loved the most.  My love will never be enough, but maybe it will point them towards the one whose love is overwhelming, can never be earned, is never fair, but is always enough.

 

A letter to my son about the beginning of things....

Dear Carter,

Beginnings can be mysterious things. Especially when there is no one around to tell the story of how things came to be. Your beginning will always be clouded in questions. We will never really know for sure all the answers to our when, where, who, and why questions. You should know that you are not the only one with a mysterious beginning. Other children have stories very similar to yours. Stories of loss and loneliness and missing pieces of their heart. Other mothers have stories like mine. Stories of hope and faith and loving a little one she has never met. The truth is, the universe has a mysterious beginning, too. We can ask when or how this world began but we will never really know for sure. The stories in our Bible weren't told to give exact answers to unanswerable questions. They were told so that parents could give witness to their children about the God of the universe, the three-in-one Creator- Father, Spirit, Son. This is the God I love. And this is my story for you about our own mysterious beginnings, yours and mine, and my faith in a God who is both father and mother to us all....

In the beginning the Spirit-God brooded over the deep waters of our yet to be world. She wove into our universe codes of possibilities. She danced among the chaos and in her footsteps she laid plans for you and me, imprinting us within the world she birthed. She breathed life. In and out. She breathed love. In and out. She breathed wisdom. In and out. She breathed mercy. In and out. Songs of life for you and me were sung by the heavens in the dawn of time.

On the day you were born, when you were taking your first breath and crying in protest the way all babies do at first, She was there. She breathed love over you and She sang the song that was written just for you that very first day at the beginning of all things. Even then, the stars and angels in heaven were told your name.

When you were left alone by your birth mother, an act of sacrifice that must have shattered her heart into a million pieces, the Spirit was there and Her heart was breaking, too. She heard you crying alone and afraid and She sang her song of love for you. She breathed love in and out again. She wrapped her arms around you, she wiped away your tears, and told the stars to sing your song. When you were sick, when you cried just to be held, when you were cold, when you were hungry, She was there. She remembered Jesus' own pain, his own loneliness, his own hunger and She remembered his death. After all, she had felt the Father's agony and the Son's despair on the cross. Because of this, She knew your heart, and you were never alone.

All that time, on the other side of the world, She was also with us, nudging us down the road towards you. She knew you were there, waiting to surprise us, just around another bend in our road. I imagine that She wanted to say, "Hurry up! He's waiting!" She was there when we saw your sweet face and She told the angels it was time to sing again. And so they sang the Spirit's song for you, that song from the Ancient of Days, and with every prayer we prayed we began to hear the Spirit sing. She breathed Her love for you into our hearts. In and out. And the angels danced when we began to sing along, too.

You, my sweet son, know none of this. Every day I pray for you while you sleep on the other side of this big, big world. I tried to tell the Spirit that this journey needs to end. It has been too long and too hard. You are seven thousand miles away and it feels as if we are walking every single mile, one step at a time, slowly getting closer to this child we are called to love. Doesn't God know you've been alone for too long? You need your mother. You need your father. We need you. But then She reminds me that you are not alone.

You have never been alone.

You have never been alone.

So I pray that while you sleep tonight She will whisper your name in your ears. That She will sing a song of a mother's love into your sleeping heart. That while you sleep you will feel a father's arms holding you tight. That running through your dreams are a little girl and a little boy with yellow hair and laughter full of joy. So that when the day comes and they finally, FINALLY put you in my arms, the Spirit will laugh, and the angels will dance, and you will know that we have come for you, just for you, and we have belonged to you since the very beginning, when the Spirit first sang your song.