Knowing Renato

His name is Renato, and he was three years old. His eyes radiated joy, and for my daughter who has spent the last two months in Haiti, he symbolized love as he daily reached his arms to her and said, "Big hug!"

Renato died last night on his way to the hospital, in the arms of his young nurse. Renato was an orphan but is now standing next to his Father, at the throne of God, impoverished no more. Renato's life was not in vain.

When you complain about wait times in your doctor's waiting room, I want you to think about the many Haitian children who die because they don't even have access to simple medical care. When you hug your children at night, remember to count yourselves blessed. When you lift up the handle on your faucet and fill up your glass, think of the millions of people around the world who have no access to clean drinking water. Count your blessings, but don't stop there. Find a mission and commit yourself to contributing to it and praying for it.

Don't feel guilty. Do something.

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God."
--Matthew 5: 3-9


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Response Requested

Yesterday I wrote about how I made the mistake of using a disciplinary system that was inappropriate for my kids and how learning to love my kids first, before expecting any kind of good behavior, really made a positive difference in our family life. Then I explained how God also loves us no matter what.

There's always more to a story than first meets the eye, isn't there? Every fight takes two. Every relationship takes commitment from both partners. Yesterday I wrote my blog on my phone while waiting for one of my sons at an appointment. As I drove home, I decided that I needed to write a part two, the rest of the story.

Learning to See Beyond Red

Back when we first brought Tadesse and Biruk home, we struggled so much to communicate. Behaviors that were acceptable in Ethiopia were not acceptable here, and without the language to explain it, we struggled. There were the big things like hitting and kicking, yes, but also a myriad of smaller behaviors like sitting on a stranger's car or grabbing a toy a sibling was playing with. 

We made a mistake—one of many, in fact—in those early days of our time together. Knowing that elementary teachers use a card system of green, yellow, and red to indicate when a child was doing great (green), when one was starting to show patterns of misbehavior or sometimes pushing our buttons both figuratively and literally (yellow), as well as when the child had really messed up (red), we decided to try it. Once  a person's red card was up, he or she lost allowance for the week. Even without the benefit of a common language, my two new boys understood very quickly how the cards worked.

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.

Atta Boy!

Yesterday afternoon my son Caleb graduated with a bachelor's degree from Iowa State University. Besides the fact that he looked dapper in his cap and gown, I was proud of him for other reasons. His program of study was difficult, and he persevered. He made a series of good choices and now will have a career that is just right for his gifts. Not least, he is a terrific role model for his younger siblings.

During the ceremony, we waited for probably a thousand graduates to walk across the stage before it was Caleb's turn, and in those few seconds, we whooped. We hollered. We whistled. Yes, we lost all sense of decorum because we were so proud. We couldn't contain it, so it just spilled out.

I've been to a handful of college graduations and a plethora of high school graduations before, so this was really nothing new. Let me tell you, though, that it took all the self-control I could muster to not stand up and yell, "That's my boy!" because yes, this was different. This one was my child.

If you know me well, you know that I wake up a lot in the night and think. Something about the quiet evidently spurs my brain to decide now! and my thoughts tend to tumble out through my pen or my keyboard.

In the early hours of this morning, I can't help thinking about what it is like in heaven when any one of us makes our Father proud. Now, we know from Psalms that we have angels sent to minister to us: "For He will command His angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone" (Psalms 91:11).

I like to imagine those angels walking around with cameras to record every moment of goodness: those times when we've encouraged a child, the times we were busy but stopped to help a stranger anyway, the times we've volunteered at a homeless shelter. It makes me wonder: how many times have we made Jesus jump up from his place at the right hand of God, pump His fist, and shout, "Yes! Did you see that?"  Do you suppose there are instant replays in heaven? Does our all-knowing and all-seeing Father gather everyone around to celebrate those victories?

The fact that our Father knows should influence us to act in ways that are pleasing to Him, and I love contemplating how He sees each of us as special and gifted. I don't know about you, but that gives me incredible hope as well as a determination to do my best.

Thank You, Jesus, for my son Caleb. Thank You that just as I am proud of him, You are proud of all of Your children when we do something pleasing to You. Please be with us and guide us, that we will act in ways that are holy and upright and loving. Amen.

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.

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.

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

Pushing Buttons

One of the struggles we've had since coming home with Tadesse and Biruk is their endless fascination with buttons. We brought an iPad (which we have been continuously thankful for) that they played with on the plane and in the guest house. Their fascination with all things electronic has made us laugh on a number of occasions, including in the O'Hare airport when Tadesse was trying to manipulate the graphics by touching the screen of a huge TV. It has also panicked us, like when he pushed the fire alarm, which someone had the foresight to cover with a clear plastic lid.

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.

Not So Speedy Delivery

When I was pregnant with Caleb, our firstborn, Jerome and I were overcome with anticipation. We planned together, I planned more, we bought baby clothes (not enough), and we prepared his room. Because we were expecting him in March and I was a college junior, we thought it prudent for me to take a semester off. In doing this, life felt like it came to a standstill as we waited. And waited. Ten days following my due date, this tardy little boy entered the world and turned our life upside down, transforming these young people into parents who didn't have a clue but who were eager to learn.

Homecoming Matters

This is homecoming week in my hometown, and while I attended the coronation ceremony last night and enjoyed watching some great kids get recognition, I want to speak to the teenagers for a moment.

While those selected should feel honored by their classmates, in the long run this kind of thing just doesn't matter. I graduated almost 25 years ago. Yes, next year I'll be one of those old people riding by on a

homecoming float and throwing candy to the kids. But you know what? At coronation last night I had to look at the program's list of previous masters of ceremonies and homecoming queens because I couldn't remember who was on royalty when I was a senior.

You know those 13 years you've spent with each other? As sad as this is, once you graduate you will never see some of your classmates again, and some of them will remain your lifelong friends, as familiar to you at the age of 42 as they were at 17.

Young friends, these are my former classmates whom I'm impressed with today:

1. Those who have gone on and made a difference. Some have become well educated and are doctors, teachers, pastors, and scientists. Some have become parents and are wholly committed to raising kids  who demonstrate leadership and character. Some have opened local businesses and are generous to our community with their time and resources. Some have gone on a worldwide pursuit of service in the military and as missionaries. All of the people I've mentioned have put the focus on the needs of others and are committed to whatever they feel called to do.

The number two? There isn't one. Because being the whole person you were created to be—one who makes a positive difference in the lives of others—is really the only thing that matters. We're counting on you, young people, to focus on running the race before you with that clear goal in mind.

And please don't forget: we love all of you.

A Sponsorship Story

When we were in Ethiopia, we elected to stay at the Morning Coffee Guest House for a couple of reasons. First, there we would get more insight into Ethiopian culture, and second, because we read that the owners give away 30% of their guest house income.

The main reason we'll be staying there on our next trip isn't because of the great hospitality of the owners, the satisfying meals, or even the wonderful guests we met on our first trip (and hope to see on our second). The biggest reason we'll be staying there the second time is all about life story and missional focus.

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.

Sleepwalking

This is what I woke up to this morning. A Mario Kart top bed sheet, crumpled and thrown down the stairs. I stared at it a moment, thinking, What in the world? before laughing at the thought of Elijah in his late-night sleepwalking, feeling the urge to hurl this unruly, untucked bed sheet downward into our living room.

We had awakened to light rap, rap, rapping (Sorry--English teacher inside joke) on our chamber/bedroom door to find Elijah sitting outside, mumbling gibberish. This has become a frequent spectacle at our home. (Kaylee has caught him on video, but I'm not quite mean enough to post that on my blog.)

His sleepwalking fog reminds me of what I consider one of the most confusing passages of the New Testament, Romans 7: 14-20:

Memory of a Neighbor

Once in a while a memory will come back to me in odd bits, one leading to the next, until a big picture emerges that I hadn't contemplated much before. That happened to me this morning as I was practicing piano.

As I was going over "Threads of Love," I was suddenly brought back to another piano, one that I used to play at my neighbor Phyllis' house. I hadn't taken any piano lessons at that point, but Phyllis would encourage me to play by ear. That's what she was: an encourager.

Do the Right Thing

When I was in high school in the mid and late eighties, lunchtime was rather chaotic. The whole student body would stand in the school hallway, jockeying for position at the front of the crowd as one harried teacher would call out which class was next to get into the cafeteria. Being in close proximity and being teenagers, there was your regular amount of horseplay...as well as some that crossed over the line into bullying.

One day as I stood against the lockers, I watched an underclassman become the victim of pinball, when students take turns pushing the kid back and forth to each other, and they verbally taunted him the whole time. Now, because of some circumstances in my life at that time, I happened to know more about this boy than others did. He came from a troubled home. He alone was responsible for the family finances, the shopping, and other aspects that parents should really be handling.

My Kaylee

My daughter Kaylee often tells me I'm weird. I just laugh. That's just a family trait, one that she has as well.

One of Kaylee's hobbies is to study people's reactions. In fact, many of our outings could be seen as sociological experiments. She enjoys entering stores or other public places wearing her hillbilly teeth. As part of the fun, my role is to walk 20 feet behind her so I can give her the report about the reactions she receives from people after they've passed her. Recently, she asked me to take her to the hardware store to buy an ax, duct tape, bleach, rope, and a shovel—just so she can see the clerk's response. No, I haven't done it (yet).