This Is It

Our house is chaotic. While there's a TV blaring in one room, there's an argument going on in the next, and someone's listening to music in the next. Quiet, meaningful conversations usually take place in one of two locations: in the bedroom right before bedtime and in the car away from most of the distractions.

One day when we were alone together in the car, Biruk asked me why I adopted him when I already had three kids. I thought on that a moment, and simply said, "God told me to." Now, I don't have any more direct line to God than the rest of you do. I pray. I try to listen but am often left wondering. I've never heard God speak to me out loud, but I've experienced some series of coincidences that seem like pretty good indicators of what God wants from me.

And so it was out there. I didn't tell Biruk that I was sad because I only had three kids when I wanted five because I wasn't...and I didn't. I told Biruk that I loved my kids and that when Jerome and I kept coming across Bible verses about adoption, we decided we were meant to adopt. I told him that I knew I would love as many kids as God placed in my home.

A few nights later, as is Biruk's thoughtful custom, he questioned me more: "Mom, why are you here?"

Suddenly I felt emotionally naked. How did he know? How could he have figured out that this has always been my question, that my brain was a confused jumble of Am I supposed to be teaching? What am I missing? What is my purpose? Who does God want me to be? Is it to be a stable wife to my busy husband? Is it to write something that inspires? Is it to be a good friend? Who am I, anyway?

In that very moment, the answer became clear. I looked at his trusting brown eyes and said, "Biruk, I'm here because I was supposed to adopt you. I am here so I can be your mom."

He was easily satisfied with that answer and wandered off about the house to do something else. Later that evening, in the quietness before bedtime, he said, "Mom, I know why I'm here. I'm here to help the people in Ethiopia who don't have enough to eat."

Sometimes as moms and dads, we think the mark we make needs to happen at work. We need to make a name for ourselves, make some decent money, earn the respect of others. We forget that those we influence the most are those within our own homes, those God has entrusted to us. 

Tonight when you kiss your kids goodnight, why don't you tell them why you are here? I'm guessing it's what you need to say and probably exactly what your kids need to hear.

Blessings, friends.

Something More

Today I am going to share something with you that I said I wouldn't. We had planned to keep Tadesse and Biruk's past mostly a private family thing for their protection. However, they have been very forthcoming about those details to many people. This is a good thing since it helps us all to deal with what they have been through.

Tadesse and Biruk were orphans not because their parents died but because they were given up by their mom Alem. She did the most loving thing she could do by getting them into a safe place with food and where they would have opportunity. Alem and Tadesse and Biruk's sister Yeshiwork are alive and living in the small town of Wuchale, in northern Ethiopia. (Yeshiwork was not given up for adoption.)

Jerome and I have told Tadesse and Biruk that we will go back to Wuchale sometime, that we will try to find their mom* and sister so they can have a reunion. At first, this seemed to scare Tadesse. Now that he understands that he is an American and would only be visiting, he can hardly wait to go. First, though, we need to wait for them to be thoroughly attached to our family in America. (If you want to go with us, start saving your money. I can't imagine how wonderful it would be to take 20 Americans to a place that needs so much help.)

Tadesse's mom is never far from his thoughts. Over the past few weeks, he had a few dreams that are so telling of where his heart is. One was that he was Superman and saved Alem from being stabbed by bad guys. Another was that he rode into Wuchale on a horse, and he handed out $50,000 to people who needed money for food. Then Sunday he showed Jerome and me this picture that he drew of a robot:

Jerome said, "Tadesse, what can your robot do?"

Without hesitation, Tadesse replied, "This robot can save my mom."

Remember the blog I wrote while in Ethiopia about the thought that we needed to do something more, that we needed to think about all the people left behind? We feel more than ever that we can't pull our two sweet boys out from that beautiful mountainside village and forget about the people still there.

We cannot send Alem money, though that seems like a logical thing to do. It's ethically questionable (and raises red flags for international adoption) because it would look like we paid her for these two precious boys. But we can do something more. We can somehow help that community.

Enter the chicken coop.

Biruk asked for eight chickens. Don't ask me why he wants chickens! He's eight. Little boys like livestock, I guess. So Jerome ordered 70 chickens. With the gift of an old shed on skids from Jerome's mom and dad, this chicken coop is going to be pulled around our farm, and Biruk is (supposedly) going to do all the chores. I think I am the crazy nut getting stuck with washing the eggs. While most American boys would be seeing dollar signs, Biruk just wants to contribute to the farm.

As Jerome and I thought about it, we decided that this may be a way for the boys to help their old hometown. When I brought up the idea of getting donations for Wuchale, Biruk's eyes lit right up, and he said, "For the old people?" Of course, I asked about the old people, and Biruk said both old people and babies die in Wuchale due to hunger.

My boys have seen way too much.

I can't help but hope that my boys will sometime have a Joseph-like experience, where they can see their loved ones, old friends, and even old bullies again and provide them with basic needs so they will not go hungry. I hope by then they can articulate that it is not because they are wealthy Americans. I hope that they can deliver the message of the Gospel to those who haven't heard it, and tell them that they have returned because of their faith and God's calling on their lives.

For now, we are trying to figure out what the community's specific needs are so we can ascertain what would provide the most practical assistance. Perhaps it is a well or clean water, or maybe it's food that we can get directed there. Friends, here's how you can help: besides buying a dozen eggs from Biruk occasionally, you can pray for us until that something more becomes clear. We know God always has a plan. We just want to find our place in it.


*We don't bother calling Alem the "birth mom." We just tell Tadesse and Biruk that they have two moms—one in America and one in Ethiopia.

The Difference

Before adopting Tadesse and Biruk, I felt rather confident in my parenting skills. I am far from the perfect parent. Jerome and I have just taken each day and made the best of it, often making mistakes, apologizing, and starting over. We grew into the parenting thing slowly, coming home a little nervously with each tiny baby, carefully bundling each in the winter, outfitting our house in those ridiculous outlet plugs, and blocking the stairways with baby gates.

As Caleb, Kaylee, and Elijah got older, we gradually took away the safety gear. We taught them how to crawl down the stairs backwards. We even let them get bruises and scrapes along the way, considering it all a part of the learning process. We've been heard to say, "That's the last time he'll make that mistake!"

And now we have Tadesse and Biruk. Now I find myself reading book after book about parenting. I evaluate and reevaluate every decision. I feel myself go into crisis mode for every tantrum, wondering how exactly I should handle this and even contacting child therapist to evaluate the situation and the appropriateness of my reaction —or whether I should be reacting at all. (Since when did my parenting become an exact science, a vocation filled with impending traps and disasters instead of the adventure it was meant to be?)

Perhaps you are wondering why there is such a difference between my biological and adopted kids, and I think this is it: by the time my other children were this age, I felt a certain sturdiness around them. With Tadesse and Biruk, though, I suppose that somewhere inside I still worry that I am going to break them.

Remember that first time you held a newborn baby, when your mom reminded you to support the baby's head, to speak softly, and to sway slowly back and forth? Newborns are physically fragile. My default setting is to assume my Tadesse and Biruk are emotionally fragile. The truth is more likely that they are the strongest of  all my children in some ways. They have faced grief and fears and hunger and want, yet here they are. I so want to give them a perfect life to make up for all that they've experienced, but I can't. Try as I might, our family has its own brand of dysfunction, just as every family does.

At times I lack confidence to just raise them, pray for them, and watch them metamorphose in front of me. Instead, I look for my mistakes to manifest themselves. See that greed for stuff? That's because we gave them too much at Christmas. See how he feels like he doesn't belong? That would be because I left those pre-adoption family photos up too long.

Still, when I went to supper with Biruk tonight, I asked him what he likes about America and about living with us. He said, "People. Houses. Clothes. Shoes. Food. Beds. Mom, Dad, Elijah, Kaylee, Caleb, Tadesse." He doesn't seem to feel like he is lacking anything.

Sometimes (yes, all the time) I over-complicate things. It could be a lack of sleep or a lack of chocolate or a lack of faith. Regardless, it's time for me to let some of this go—to remember that if God brought us to it, He will bring us through it. We cannot quit working at our relationship building, but we can be at peace through the process: watching the unfolding lives before us and remembering constantly to give God thanks.

What I Know

We are in the midst of a difficult week. Behaviors seem illogical and we are often left scratching our heads, trying to make sense of things far beyond our understanding.

I may not know a lot, but here's what I do know:

1. I cannot control someone else's attitude, but I can control my own.

"Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you" (Philippians 4: 8-9).

2. I do not need to own someone else's problems, but I can help when he is ready.

"Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up" (Galatians 6: 9).

3. Prayer is effective.

"Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know"(Jeremiah 33: 3).

4. Worry is not.

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid" (John 14: 27).

5. God is in control.

"Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you" (Deuteronomy 31: 6).

6. God's timing is perfect.

"He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end" (Ecclesiastes 3: 11).

7. I can't expect to know all the answers, but I can rest in knowing that God does. 

"Great is our Lord and mighty in power; His understanding has no limit" (Psalm 147: 5).

8. I must strive to be patient.

"Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer" (Romans 12: 12).

9. My love may not be perfect, but I need to love anyway.

"Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins" (1 Peter 4: 8).

10.  I can find blessings in the little things.

"Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus" (1 Thessalonians 5: 18).

11. I am loved.

"This is how God showed his love among us: He sent His one and only Son into the world that we might live through Him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and His love is made complete in us" (1 John 4: 9-12).

Tough Times and God's Grace

As I read through the Bible, I frequently come across a story or a quote that reminds me how I should respond to situations in my life. Many times as I put my Bible down and stand up, getting ready to start my day, I feel convicted to a particular action or to a more positive attitude.

Once in a while, though, it works the other way, and my daily life helps me to understand the Bible.

Adopted kids and biological kids are different. Raising them is different. Praying for them is different. If you are considering adoption and think that you are going to come home from the airport, have a little party, and resume life as normal, you are simply mistaken. 

As much as I get frustrated with behaviors and attitudes, I have to remember to love first because without love and grace, nothing will change for my son.

When we adopted our boys, we did so knowing that they came from a tough place. We won't go into specifics (and don't even know that many), but life in rural Ethiopia is wearisome. Everyone must work to provide for the family. No one seems to have enough food. So we adopted these boys knowing they would have some issues with trust and attachment, fear and control. We decided that we would love them first, then work on the rough places together.

Today I was told that we are a "bad family" and that my son wanted to return to Ethiopia. (Insert long pause and sigh on my part.) This is all expected behavior, and though I can pretend it doesn't hurt when I am in front of him, a lump forms in my throat as soon as I walk away. I wish I could say, "Don't you understand how much I love you?  How much I have prayed for you? How hard this is on all of us?" And in my more selfish moments—"How much I have done for you?" Yet this boy cannot feel my love because he is swimming in a sea of hurt and rejection. He feels lost, abandoned, and alone in his feelings.On top of that, he has no words with which to explain his pain. Do I wade out into those murky waters and pull him in to safety, understanding that it may pull me under as well? Do I stand where it's safe and just keep throwing out the lifelines, hoping one of these days he will grab on?

And then I remember God and His love for us: "But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us" (Romans 5:8). That means he died for  adulterers, gossips, overeaters, liars, alcoholics, drug addicts, thieves. He died for you and for me. He died for my son. To comprehend that love, I make comparisons in my own life and find that the closest thing is the love that I have for my son, although my version of agape love is so inferior to His. 

When Tadesse asked if he could be in football this summer and I said yes, he looked at me with a far-off look in his eyes and said, "And Mom--you look? You say, 'Yay, yay'?" Of course, I answered, because that's what moms do. They celebrate every personal victory. Moms root for their kids no matter what. My kids don't always hear Jerome's and my conversations about them. We talk about improvements in language, the smiles and hugs we receive, progress and success in school, the way they are growing into their sibling roles. And when they struggle, we struggle. Although I can acknowledge that his inner turmoil is his to own and overcome, I still hurt when he hurts.

It's impossible for me to truly understand God's role as our Father—that our struggles are His struggles, that as we cry out in prayer, He is vigilant. He counts our tears. When we emerge, victorious from life's difficulties, He is that cheering parent on the football sideline. He is the one saying, "I knew you could do it!"

My kids aren't perfect. I'm not perfect. I guess if we were, God would have no reason to sacrifice His Son for us. We have so far to go, but it comforts me so much to know that my Father is cheering at every eked-out moment of patience, every gift of grace, every time we choose love over anger. I rest in His promise:

In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God. And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose (Romans 8:26-28).

Simple Progress

Well, friends, I think this is the best weekend we've had so far.

Biruk, Tadesse, and Jerome playing Sorry.
By the way, my husband is a pretty awesome dad.

I finally feel like Jerome and I are starting to figure our boys out. A few illustrations: Tadesse and Biruk are competitive—HIGHLY competitive. When I really need them to hurry, I make it a contest of first (champion, "wiener"), second, and third places. That kicks Biruk up a few notches since he is a natural lollygagger. Elijah, who knows exactly what effect I'm looking for, continues to get ready at his pace and just says, "Slow and steady wins the race." This morning Elijah got third place.

Adoption: What I've Learned So Far

Tadesse and Biruk have been home for 74 days. Every day we are learning something new: sometimes about their resilience, sometimes about our resilience, sometimes about the capacity of the human spirit to be loved and to love.

1. Grief is real--for everyone. Our first couple of weeks home, we had enough family tears to  last a lifetime. Some days it was my turn because I could not fathom how to meet everyone's needs at the same time. Some days it was Elijah's turn because this place where he had always been so safe suddenly became emotionally unstable and draining. Some days it would be Tadesse's turn because these strange people have strange rules and strange foods. And some days it was a rough day for us all.

See How We've Changed

Since October 19, 2013, the day we brought Tadesse and Biruk home, our lives have changed more than you can possibly know. Yes, I know you are thinking about the big things: family dynamics, grocery bills, stress.

Today's blog is just a series of pictures of the little ways that life has changed, but the little always adds up to big, doesn't it?

After

Tender Mercies

As usual, I had to have a rough evening before I could experience the blessing of the next day.

Last night I was tired. Lately I've felt like I could sleep 24 hours straight, yet my body only lets me sleep about seven hours, even when I take something like Advil PM to help me sleep. The result of going to bed early is waking up at 3:30 or 4:00 a.m., still feeling exhausted and emotional.

Lead Me to Your Heart

Today is morning four in Ethiopia, Sunday, and my heart has broken.

The morning after we arrived in Addis Ababa, we drove to the remote village of Wuchale, where our boys were born and where we met them at their orphanage. This trip was long—10 hours by rented blue Toyota van, roads full of hairpin turns, oxen, mules, camels, and laughing children.

The Way It Should Be

When I was a kid, one of the things my parents insisted on was being responsible. Mom left us a list of chores to complete every day in the summertime while she was at work, and oh, we knew better than to have some of that list uncompleted by the time she got home! Mom and Dad insisted on being on time as well (or better yet, ten minutes early) because being late was a sign of disrespect toward the others who were left waiting. We were not reminded of homework or observed while we completed it. We were expected to get it done promptly and to do our best, so we usually did. Pleasing Mom and Dad was important because they were also the first people to celebrate our successes.

Mom and Dad were right. Responsibility practically guaranteed success. Today, though, my system-hungry and responsibility-conscious self struggles with those areas where responsibility + hard work ≠ success. (Did you see that, kids? Mom just did math!)

We were told on our first adoption trip that the system in Ethiopia is broken. That's why we needed to stand in line two hours at the ticket counter in the Addis airport. It's why there are beggars on the street who would love nothing more than to have a real job. It's why electrical lines run through mountain passes while two-thirds of rural families have no electricity and even more than that carry their own water. It's why there's exceptional cell phone coverage while a number of people with leprosy are ostracized and live at the dump. It's why people like you and me are needed to adopt kids.

In my organized, logical, and very idealistic heart, I want go cry out that moms and dads should be able to raise their kids. Kids should be able to play and go to school, not work the fields and tend to the animals all day. If a person works hard, she should be able to eat, wear clothes, maintain a home, and feel safe. If responsible choices are made, success should not only be possible, but likely!

But it's even bigger than responsibility; it's idea that everyone deserves justice, a certain fairness in life that means that every person—every person—is valued. And I don't think it comes from some government program or health care or welfare or food bank. Those things are just tools that sometimes work and sometimes don't. Instead,  I think it comes from where our hearts are—deep down in our subconsciousness—on that ladder of where we place ourselves and where we place others.

Perhaps this disparity in justice is part of what the Bible means when it mentions original sin and the very earth's groaning for things to be set right again. It's pretty easy to feel hopeless about it all, to shrug our shoulders and continue on, oblivious to the plight of others. But let's not do that.

Today I challenge you. Take a look outside your neat little life and let it get a little messy, disorganized, and chaotic. Reach out to someone—anyone—whose life lacks the justice he deserves. Your acknowledgement may come in a kind word of encouragement or a grocery gift card, but it could also mean taking an Esther-like stand for those whose story is not being heard. Let's just agree on one thing: we refuse to sit on our hands any longer.

Why I Won't Promote Adoption

Here we are, only a few weeks from picking up our two beautiful children Tadesse and Biruk from their orphanage in Addis Ababa. Some friends are excited to ask me all sorts of questions, but some hang back, likely afraid that I'll corner them into adopting for themselves.

But I won't. Because I'm not like that. Instead, I'm going to tell you why you shouldn't.

Adoption Update - June 10

For the past couple of weeks, the Van De Stroet home has been a flurry of activity. We received a referral to adopt Tadesse and Biruk a couple of weeks ago, and if that wasn't enough, we found out that we would likely be making our first trip to Ethiopia this summer before the adoption court is scheduled to close (generally August-September). So we painted the bedroom. We talked to our travel agent. We went senior picture clothes shopping and scheduled senior pictures for Kaylee. We made lists upon lists. We underlined and starred items in our travel documents and ordered a map of Ethiopia and Amharic-English dictionaries. We bought travel supplies and Ethiopia-appropriate clothes.

Now, for an Attitude Shift

I was wrong...about everything.

You'll probably be hearing that from me often–—daily—–as we go through this adoption process.

As we go through the various workshops, literature, and videos that are required of adoptive parents, it sometimes feels that every reason for adopting is the wrong reason. Your children are growing up and you have room for more? Don't look for a child to fill your needs. You want to help others? Don't think of yourself as some savior. You have infertility issues? Don't look for a child to fill the grief of not having your own biological children. There appears to be no right reason for adoption.

A Few More Details about Adoption

First, if you are tired of hearing about our adoption process, stop reading this blog right now. I have a feeling that my blog will eventually morph entirely into a record of our experiences in this process.

Our caseworker (a wonderful person, by the way) recommended that we start filling our family and friends in about a few things. Here's your rundown:

And Now an Announcement from the Blogger...

Okay, so I'm struggling. I've had a secret for some time now (okay, a couple of months), and if you know me at all, you know that I'm pretty much an open book. If something is going on with me, you and my other twenty best friends know it, too. That's why all of this has been a little difficult.

So here's the announcement: our family has applied for international adoption through Bethany Christian Services.