Tag: children

Deep Thoughts at the Zoo

One day while visiting the zoo, my kiddos started to engage in a conversation about being babies. My 3-year-old daughter said something to the effect of “when I was a baby, I was in mommy’s tummy.” In an instant, my 5-year-old son, said “No, when you were a baby, you were in your birth mom’s belly.” The conversation kept going from there and my son gently reminded his sister that she really was in her birth mom’s belly. My husband and I would acknowledge them from time to time, but also took the moment to try to gauge what their level of understanding of their own history is.

All of these deep thoughts from two preschoolers while eating ice cream at a zoo quickly caught the attention of a young couple sitting at the table next to us. I noticed they were trying to listen, but also did not want to make it obvious. Every once in a while they would grin at things my kids would say. I suspect perhaps they have never heard young children talk about birth mommies and adoption before.

Life as an adoptive family is different from biological families. The topics of birth parents and adoption pop up at various locations and times in our lives. Sometimes the questions and comments made by our children are random and occur when least expected. Other times, we will purposefully engage them in discussion about their unique stories as adopted children.

We try to take advantage of these teachable moments if we can. For example, my kids were playing with a baby doll one morning in our living room. My husband asked, “Did you adopt that baby?” My kids replied “Yes!” They were so excited to proclaim this. Adoption is exciting. It should not be something that is a hushed topic in the home. Children might just perceive it to be something shameful if adults act like it can never be talked about.

We are not experts on adoption. We are just two parents who love our children with everything we have. We want to make sure they appreciate their histories as much as we do. Honestly, sometimes we feel the need to have teachable moments as adoptive parents!

It scares me a little to wonder if at any time in their lives they will resent being adopted, feel insecure about who they are, or even about the love we have for them. The more we can grow their roots with love, honesty, stability, and grace, the better off they will be to face anything in the future. I know this is what parents strive to do for all children, but as an adoptive parent, I’m a little more sensitive to the need for this.

Recently, my daughter said to me “one day you will show me a picture of when I was in a belly right mommy?” Sadly, my answer was no. I do not have any pictures to show her of the time she spent in her birth mom’s belly. Sometimes, I wished our lives of mommy/daddy/children-hood were not so complicated. Sometimes I wished we didn’t have to talk about adoption and birth parents or any of that stuff; yet, I believe these things are also what make our family special.

I’m finding that the older they get, the more they want to know. This only makes sense. I wish I had a way to read their minds – get into their heads fully so that I could explain it all to them in a way that brings clarity and comfort. I try to take my cues from them. Often, I can sense where the conversation is going but that doesn’t mean my words are eloquent. My words, regardless of how well they are used to explain things, may never completely fulfill my children’s longing to know more.

Words may never fill in the cracks of their histories for them. How could my words do this when I do not even know all the necessary information to give them a complete history of their birth families? It does not seem fair that children who are born into the world, separated from their birth families, and adopted end up losing so much of their roots and family histories.

Then there’s my history to take into consideration when talking about their adoption. My surgery and inability to have children is obviously a part of the story. But, I never want them to think that the only reason they are my babies is because I could not have a biological child. I never want them to believe they are second choices…never. They are not. They are here in my life by the works of God and by the hands of many.

Perhaps I’m just over-thinking it all. I don’t know. All I can do is pray about it, learn from others, model honesty and grace to them and take it one day at a time.

…and…maybe just learn from them while they are sharing their deep thoughts at the zoo.

Fearfully & Wonderfully Made

It is hard being a kid these days.  Their actions are usually fairly age appropriate, and yet, they are told to work on their “behaviors” on a pretty consistent basis.  I really do not recall as a child being reminded to “make good choices” or being told “you need to work on that behavior”.  I was disciplined and taught the correct way to interact with others, but it was done from the perspective that children will be children.  My actions as a child were not taken so seriously and certainly were not thought to be truly indicative of the adult I would end up becoming.

My son is precious, but boy he is a pistol!  High energy, fearless, creative, smart, and strong-willed are a few of the words that define him.  Let’s just say he has had his fair share of “behavior management” in preschool.  I often wonder how his perception of himself has been shaped by the continual reminders in the preschool setting to make good choices, earn rewards, “stay in the green pocket”, or any other motivational system put into place to keep kids in line.  I’m NOT saying that I disagree with these things as I know they have their place in helping children.  I just feel we expect children to be little adults far too often.  My son told me one time that he gets stressed out about school…seriously.  He’s not even in Kindergarten yet and has already felt stressed by the expectations of the academic setting.

Back in 2010 when he was close to four years old, we were painting together at the table.  He had been having a difficult time socially, didn’t mesh with the teacher, and was actually asked to leave the preschool.  In an effort to comfort him, I said “You know mommy loves you very much.” He said, “I know”.  Then it hit me.  I told my kids all the time how much I loved them, but far too often I failed to tell them why I loved them and what makes them unique.

In that moment, I grabbed the paintbrush, piece of construction paper, and started to paint a flag for him.  When he asked me what it was, I said “It is your flag.”  He giggled as he was not really sure what to make of it.  After I was done, I explained the meaning of it to him.  The blue represented his favorite color.  The middle letter in the flag is the first letter of his first name.  Above his name is a pink stick figure which represented the fact that he is a good big brother to his little sister.  The cross in the corner was because he loves going to church and singing about Jesus.  The orange dog symbolized how much he cares for our pets.  The bike below the dog was there because he loves riding his big wheel and really anything that has wheels.

The music note was for his love of singing and enjoying music.  The happy face was because he makes so many people smile and laugh.  The star represented the fact that he loves outer space.  And, the heart, well, it was not only because of how much he loves his family, but because of how much love he has brought to our home and to our hearts.

After explaining this, my curly, blonde-haired cutie could not stop grinning from ear to ear.  He grabbed it, ran to his daddy, and said “Daddy!  Look at my flag!”.  I know I am not the best artist and the flag is quite elementary, but it did so much in that moment to lift the spirits of my child and show him the reasons why he is loved so much.  Afterward, we went to his bedroom and hung the flag on his bulletin board.

Two years later, the flag is still there.  It still serves as a reminder to him of the unique factors that make him who he is.  I am not a perfect parent and I certainly fall short many times on having the best words at the right moment with my kids.  But, there are those times when the right opportunities come along to make an impression on my kids that will not be about their “behaviors” but, more importantly, about their beings.

That simplistic paper flag that is tacked to my son’s bulletin board holds a deeper meaning than it appears.  It reminds my son of the time his mommy painted his flag.  But, most importantly, it serves as a visual reminder for me to show through my words and my actions that they are fearfully and wonderfully made.

“I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” – Psalm 139:14

Dear Infertility

Dear Infertility,

Hello, it’s me again. You know…the little girl you once made to feel inadequate, the teenager you once strived to isolate, and the adult you almost accomplished stealing joy from. Well, I’m here to tell you what you cannot do.

You cannot diminish moments of laughter that echo in my mind for days following. You won’t determine my capacity to love other people and children. You no longer make me feel less of a female or parent or anything else you once tried to convince me of.

You don’t stalk me like you used to. I don’t think of you when I see babies anymore. I actually enjoy going to baby showers now. You used to tag along uninvited just to make me feel uncomfortable.  You are not invited, anymore.

You no longer cause a wedge between me and the loving Father I believe in. You used to do that, you know. I used you as an excuse to not listen to Him. He is bigger than you will ever be.  He reminds me what His plans are for my life, not yours.

You cannot take away forgiveness. You do not replace hope. You obviously offer very little grace, but I do not look to you for it anyway.

For the most part, you were one of my darkest secrets. I hid you away for so long.  Funny thing now is that I’m exposing you to the world. You have become my motivation to write, to reach out, and to love.

At one time, I was incomplete. You filled an ever-growing void with even more sorrow, but not anymore. I will never use you again as a way to justify my lack of purpose or meaning in this life.

Dear infertility…this is not goodbye. I can still use you to be a more passionate person. I can still reminisce of you as a reminder to try and love my children more each day than I did the day before. I see you trying to pull others down and I recognize you right away. I use this as motivation for being a more genuine and empathetic listener. The tears I cry now are not for me, but for those of whom you are trying to take over.

Dear infertility…you have not stolen my ability to have a bountiful life. I have a full, rich life that involves children despite your attempt at taking that away. My life is no longer barren. You did not create a wasteland in me. Oh, I won’t forget you. How can I really? You have traveled with me the vast majority of my life, but you are not my life. Ironically, you have caused me to view life as being precious.

Dear infertility…this is not goodbye. This is me saying hello to all the things that you will never be.

Give You the World

My children, if I could give you the world, I would. I would grab hold of the Earth, squeeze out the sourness, cruelty, hatred and pain, and then wrap it up in a tight bow and hand it to you. I would take an extra measure to carefully hand pick all the beauty and wonder that makes up the land we call home.

I would make sure the leaves of the trees are so fresh and green that you could smell them. The flowers would always be in bloom and the ocean would be filled with lavish fish that reflect the colors of the rainbows. The mountains would stand real high for you and the valleys would invite you to come explore them.

The sands of the desert would spell your names when you walk by. The tall grass of the plains would blow just enough in the wind to make you think they are whispering to you. The snowy and icy parts of this world would be comprised of the perfect snowman-making kind of snow. The jungles would be ripe with magnificent flowers made up of all your favorite colors. The animals would fill your eyes with splendor.

If I could go ahead of you each step of your lives to clear the path, I would. I would make it to where you never had to feel the sting of pain, the loss of love, and the agony of despair. Or if you did, it would only be the kind of pain that stretches and grows you into more whole beings. Your good dreams, the ones that leave you breathless with joy in the morning, would come to life and every spark of imagination would light a fire in you to create, live, and be anything you want to be.

You would find friendships in all places. Kindness would be the only word used to describe your interactions with others. Everyone would greet you with a smile and tell you how much you mean to this world.  Empathy would be common-place and you would always have a shoulder to cry on. You would never struggle with addictions or anything else that diminishes who you really are. Faith, hope, and love would wrap around your bodies, encompass your hearts, and defend your minds.

I suppose I’m just like most mothers. I want to believe that I will always be just one step ahead of you leading and loving you along the way. I hope that the fond smells of home and the love you feel will never be far from you. I pray that visions of you dancing, laughing, and playing will always reflect in my eyes.

My children, if I could give you the world, I would.

Broken Pieces

One of my favorite songs is “All the broken pieces” by Christian artist Matthew West. Nearly every time I listen to it, I think about my life and all the times when it was nearly shred into pieces by the ways of the world and the hardship that life on Earth can bring. My surgery, the aftermath of it, the poor choices I made because of it, the anger I spewed out at times due to it….all of these things are just shards of what makes up my being.

My children also come from broken places. Their biological families have been torn apart by worldly challenges and poor choices. Broken homes, unhealthy relationships, and crushed hearts made up my children’s existence before they were even born. They got off to a pretty rough start in life. They were robbed of a normal, healthy pregnancy. They were immediately separated within a few days of birth from their birth mothers by being brought into protective services. They were placed with foster families and then a legal battle ensued for them to have what every child should and deserves to have – an unbroken, un-abusive, love-giving kind of home. Although they eventually (legally) got this, it was still a start to life that no child really deserves. Let’s face it, my family was put together by the falling apart of other ones.

I’ve always heard and agreed to some extent that it doesn’t matter how hard we fall, it’s how fast we get up that makes the difference. I believe this in most situations, but there are times in life when the breaking of our hearts, our minds, and our bodies requires more than just a quick jump up. There are moments when sorrow nearly brings us to our knees, stomps on us, tramples us, and leaves us in the pit of despair. It is during these times that we may question where God is, and why in the world will He not “fix” things for us, or cure the diseases, or take away the addictions of those we love.

Isn’t the world really full of broken pieces? We all at various times find ourselves searching for just one sliver of goodness to call our own. There is so much hurt out there. I cannot even imagine what the Lord must feel day in and day out watching His children break each other’s hearts.

My favorite part of the song by Matthew West goes like this:

I can take even your greatest mistake
every scar; every tear, every break
And I can turn it in to something more beautiful
than you have ever seen
so lift them up to Me

My children, and many children before them, may have started out in the world with fractured families. If left alone, I get the sense they may not have ever truly experienced stability, hope, and the substance of God. But, He took what could have been used as an early path to destruction and built up a road that led to the wholeness they so deserve. I know He has mighty things in store for them.

The scars, the tears, and the breaks are all put back together to make us whole in Him. He has taken the shrapnel of my wounds and the ugliness of my sin to build me back together again. He poured out His love on the cross. He was broken so that I would not have to be.

Some fortunate people go through life with barely a scratch; while others seem to be continually reminded that flesh is truly only flesh. I guess I fall somewhere in between the two. Flesh may fallible and vulnerable, but the spirit which dwells within us, is mighty. Our spirit is a survivor. God wants us to survive. He wants us to be resilient; He wants us to need Him, and to choose lightness over darkness.

I used to believe that I was just a broken girl….missing a uterus, having to be on hormones, not having babies…etc. Well, truthfully, I was broken. In the fragmented relationships, shattered dreams, crushed hearts, and broken bodies, God is able to sculpt healed relationships, better dreams, loving hearts, and whole bodies. I am a broken piece of this world.  In my weakness, I found strength in the One who put me back together.  Only God can create beauty out of ashes.

 

God deserves an Oscar

God deserves an Oscar!  The way He scripts, produces, and directs our lives  is better than just about any Hollywood version of the latest headline or novel.  He has written us with great richness.  His works are emotive.  His set (the world) is extraordinary, and his story-lines are filled with drama, passion, love, and loss.

I love the thought that adoption is a predestination set out by God Almighty.  It is truly awe-inspiring to know that while I was still being formed in the womb, He had already written the script of my life and my children were written into it.  Talk about having a purpose and a design!  It is almost unfathomable to think about it.  Yes, sad and tragic things had to happen in all of our lives so that we would be together, but God knew what He was doing.  The fact is that we all are together and that is good enough for my soul.

I am filled with wonder every time I think about my children and their lives.  How are their lives going to affect others?  Will they adopt or foster children?  Will they trudge through uncharted territories to reach the “unreachable”?  I hope so.  If their mission field is here at home or in a far-off corner of the world, I pray they grow up with the knowledge that God has designed them with a passion and the whole word in their runway.

For the most part, this aspect of my life – the medical/barren part – has always been something I’ve kept to myself. I’m learning though that the more I speak about it, the more I write about it, and the more I share it with others; the more God reveals to me…not just about myself but more importantly about Him. I used to wonder what my purpose was.  Why in the world would He allow me to lose the ability to have babies?  I don’t think that anymore.  I know now that my story – better yet – His story written for my life, is exactly what it is supposed to be.  My children are proof that God’s plan is perfect, His will intentional, and His mercy never-failing.  My God has truly blessed me through all of the suffering.