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.

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.

More Than Enough

A dear friend of mine and I have been talking much about excess these past months. We discuss Americans' dependence on stuff while people like those in Ethiopia and Haiti seem so happy with so little.

Then I go out and buy a new pair of Asics because my soles are just starting to show wear. Some people we know take us out to eat, and I order an 8 ounce filet mignon, which costs $33, and that's with no side dishes included. My daughter requests $30 for a class car, and I refuse. (Who in their right mind would spend money on a car just to destroy it, anyway?) And then I buy another $20 book to devour in two days. I am ridiculously fickle.

Living ...with Style

I have an odd—maybe vain—habit. When I've practiced a piano number to almost error free (See my previous post about that), I record myself to listen for inappropriate pauses, tempo changes, and my muttered frustration at mistakes. Then I work to fix those areas.

Today when listening to Lorie Line, who wrote most of the music I'm attempting to play, I didn't hear her correct notes. I heard her style. Her playing didn't resemble piano key-plunking as mine often does. Her rhythm didn't seem tiresome and rigid. It flowed. And her dynamics? Well, let's just say that I pretend mine are always mezzo forte, and something is lost in my interpretation.

Here and There

My week in Ethiopia has given me much to be thankful about, namely

1. Tap water with pressure. Every day in America—and sometimes twice a day—I am relieved to step in to a steaming shower with water so pressurized that it feels like a massage. We don't recognize that many of the world's people lack clean drinking water, and I saw countless people hauling water who didn't have running water in the house. That's a daily chore in the rural areas of Ethiopia.

2. Toilet paper and sewer systems. Enough said.

On Forgiveness

I've been writing a lot about choices lately, choices to be thankful, choices to look at the truth instead of what we really want to hear. Today, though, I want to discuss one more, and that is the choice of forgiveness.

I know every one of my readers struggles with forgiveness, whether it's forgiving someone who has hurt you, someone who won't forgive you for a mistake, or perhaps even forgiving yourself. 

And so I want to tell you my story. It's not a story that defines me because I've found that we create our own definitions of self, that choices made by others cannot define us unless we go through life seeing ourselves as victims. This is not a story that I'm willing to give any more power over my life. 

Lessons Learned at 42

"Not to be offensive or anything, Mom, but how does it feel to get older? I mean, can you really tell?"

This is how the conversation with my 21-year-old son Caleb started, and it ended with my rather simple answer: "Besides my back getting a little sore sometimes, Caleb, I feel better than I have in years." 

In 1999 Robert Fulghum published the book All I Really Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. The book was a best seller, and I loved it. There are a lot of things, though, that I didn't learn in kindergarten, that took me 42 years to understand, and still many more that I'm trying to figure out. Please blog with me by sharing in the comments section the lessons you've learned.

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.

The Right Tools for the Job

Yesterday was a frustrating day. I enjoy learning how to do new things, but right then I was feeling inept and unequipped  for the tasks that were before me. As I dwelt on it (and my attitude began its expected downward loop), I compared it to learning a new vocabulary word when I was a kid, only to find out that the definition of the word I was looking up included three more words that I didn't comprehend.

Early this morning, I awoke to mull over yesterday's emotions and feel sorry for myself. I decided I really just need my Swiss Army knife.

My Swiss Army knife is no simple Swiss Army knife. It's a fancy one. It has a magnifying glass, scissors, Phillips screwdriver, regular screwdriver, pen, ruler, fingernail file, and a toothpick, among many others.¹ The truth is, I don't even know what half of the tools are, but at least I'm ready!

Just Fix It

My role at work is to fix mistakes. From removing the extra space that people sometimes put between sentences to fact checking to revising wording, my job is to make sure that copy is as accurate as possible before it leaves my desk. Of course, I'm more successful at some times than others, but that was the focus of previous blog.

Now, I happen to work with an exceptional group of people. Their creativity simply stuns me. I sometimes envy those talents, but I don't know that I could ever perform like they do, with creativity on demand.

Occasionally I wish that my editing job could be a little more glamorous. I feel a little like Walter Mitty, daydreaming about the ways my role could feel a little more heroic. Perhaps I could have a plane fly over with a sign that says, "1,000th Fix!" Okay, I am being facetious.

I'll admit that once in a while, the error-fixing and wording improvements get tedious. Sometimes I really want to roll my eyes and say, "Really? Again?"¹ At those times, God allows me to run something with a mistake so I have to acknowledge that I'm not perfect either. (Thanks, God — I think.)

Tonight these all-too-human feelings of self-pity have led me to remember another fixer. This particular fixer  accepted the weight of the world's sin as He staggered under the weight of the cross on the road to Golgotha. This fixer allowed Himself to be persecuted and in the midst of it all cried out, "Father, forgive them for they do not know what they are doing" (Luke 23:34a).

This fixer offers forgiveness of sins to all who call upon His name.

Jesus Christ makes me realize just how insignificant of a fixer I am. Though I am sometimes tempted to point out errors (okay, not just point them out—but point them out with attitude), that's when God nudges me and reminds me that I need to work on fruits of the Spirit, including self-control.

Thanks be to God that He's not just forgiving...but persistently so.
 



¹Disclaimer: Yes, I did already admit in a previous blog that I'm impatient at times. Still working on it.

In Control

Today I joked with a friend that I should have named my blog "Woulda, Shoulda, Coulda" because I felt that my first four blog posts had taken on more negativity and sadness than what I wanted. I would love to tell you that I just don't do negative, but I do have my days!

One of my infamous roles in our house is the clutter Nazi. No, my kids didn't give me that name, and I'll thank you not to mention it to them. Anyway, very few things irk me so me much as when I've been at work and come home to a recently demolished living room, a sink full of crusty dishes, or a laundry room floor covered in dirty laundry.

I've been known to walk in the door, and the first words that come out of my mouth are, "Who left these shoes here? Whose glass is that sitting on the table? Do you guys think I'm just here to pick up after you?" No "hello." No "I love you." Instead, the first words that spill from my mouth are condemnation for what hasn't been done.

Have I told you that patience isn't really one of my virtues? It's not that I'm a neat freak; I'm a little messy myself. What I am is a responsibility freak. When my temper rises, my kids don't jump their feet to fix everything. (Keep in mind: this happens too often.) When I'm quick to anger, they just think I'm mean.

No matter how much I try to hand everything over to God, I have to admit that I need to accept that I have full control of my attitude. My attitude is a choice that I make every day—every minute—and regardless of my current circumstances, the moods of those around me, or even the cleanliness of my house, I need to keep it in check.

I'm convinced that my kids will forget that I'm a reluctant cook, and I'm pretty sure that they won't care that my garden is overrun with weeds. The memories my children and other people around me will keep are the feelings that I left with them: whether, on a daily basis, I made them feel valued or worthless.

Today seems like a good day to start.