Vacation Perfection

This morning I am writing my blog from vacation, from one of my favorite spots: Leech Lake in northern Minnesota. We're over halfway through our week here, where my mom met my dad over fifty years ago, and where we have taken periodic family vacations as far back as I can remember.

I love the sounds of the loons and the lap of the waves on the beach, especially as I'm sleeping. I love the sunrises and the sunsets. I love the giggles from the kids as they swim, kayak, and tromp around the cabin and the laughter from the adults as they play cards into the evening. I love watching my brother-in-law taking pictures of every bird he spots. I love sitting around the fire with my sisters and mom as we chat and read. I love feeling the tug on my line as I fish, and I love the warmth of the sun. If you haven't figured it out yet, I love everything about this place.

The problem: it's hard to go back. Even before we'd left home, I felt this uneasiness because I knew that just when I would be getting used to the feeling of being here, it would be time to go home. Home isn't a bad place to be; it's just that this setting is idyllic. It's the stuff songs are written of.

Here, one can be a kid or an adult.

Here, I don't have to pay attention to my calendar because frankly, this is what it looks like:

Is it possible that that this is God's way of hinting at what heaven will be like? Do you suppose an angel is standing there with a checklist, something like this?

Yes, I'm being facetious. 

While I can't stay at this lake forever or pack my life in a box and move it here, God promises me (and you) a place even more peaceful, more joyous, more complete. While I have a lot I want to accomplish and experience here during my life, it brings a certain serenity to know that this vacation is simply a taste of what is to come.

"Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb down the middle of the great street of the city. On each side of the river stood the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be any curse. The throne of God and of the Lamb will be in the city, and his servants will serve him.  They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. 5 There will be no more night. They will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will give them light. And they will reign for ever and ever." Revelation 22: 1-5

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.

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

Beauty through Snowflakes

This morning I had to be in Sioux Falls early. As I listened to Christmas music on the radio while I drove, I moaned out loud when the sky started spitting, and I focused my eyes in the darkness, wondering if I was seeing snow or rain. Soon enough, the splatting on my windshield turned into the tic-tic sound of snow.

I really don't like winter.

Football and Faith

My brother-in-law Jason and I have a good-natured debate going on. He is a die-hard football fan. I am not. On Sunday afternoons he loves watching a good game of professional football; I enjoy watching the backs of my eyelids. He is determined to catch me in a moment of football fandom.

...And Now, for the Rest of the Story...

In my last blog, I explained my awakening in recognizing that both my husband and my God have my back, so today I'm going to explain how letting some of that baggage go has lightened my load. So as Paul Harvey used to say, "And now, for the rest of the story!"

Here's what's happened since:

1. I quit my job in teaching and reviewed my calling. First, I was a marketing editor for a few years (a job I loved, by the way), and then I decided to stay home. When people ask me to introduce myself, I no longer say, "I'm Tami and a teacher" or "I'm Tami and an editor." Most the time, it's just "I'm Tami," and people think I have this deeply mysterious quality about me. (Okay, that's not true, but it sounds intriguing, doesn't it?) In identifying myself as my career, I took the me out of it, and you know what? I missed the me.

2. My family thinks I'm a new and improved person. I still hate to cook. I wouldn't know what to do if you put me in front of a sewing machine. My garden is still a couple of wilting flowers in an expanse of weedy mulch. (I didn't say I turned into Martha Stewart. Give me a break here.) I do, however, have more patience, more time, and more creativity. I pay attention to the casual conversations instead of trying to multi-task all the time.

 3. I am gaining some guts. Since I have time, last year I took up piano lessons again and this year I started taekwondo. I used to constantly fear looking foolish, and I guess that was pride. Now I'm starting to see that a person may look foolish for a while, but he isn't as foolish as someone who is too scared to try. And did I mention we're adopting??!!

 4. This blog has become more than a casual friend. Sometimes I feel absolutely driven to write, like I'm going throw up words if I don't quickly get them out. (I bet that conjured up some great images.) While we're on the subject of my blog, I apologize if I over share. Someone who loves me once cautioned me to protect myself a little more because people may judge me by the feelings I confess. Here's what I believe: I can't afford not to be vulnerable. First, if you like me, I want you to like me for who I truly am. Second, if my life circumstances or thoughts help you overcome something, then that gives me—and my middle-of-the-night thoughts—purpose. Your encouragement over the past few years has really helped me to continue with this writing. Thanks. Also thanks to my husband who, when I ask if he cares if I share one of our personal conversations, swallows and says "Go ahead" because he, too, hopes it will help someone.

 5. It has helped me step out in faith. My earnings from work were our consistent income, and Jerome's income was of the sometimes-here, sometimes-not variety. It was scary to give that up and quite difficult for me (still) to think of the farming income and lifestyle as ours instead of my husband's, which brings me to number six.

 6. My marriage has improved because we are more of a team. I hit the jackpot when I married this man; I really did. This man has patience with my weaknesses and shouts my strengths louder than anyone I know. He is compassionate and sensitive and strong all at the same time, and he sometimes knows what I'm going to feel even before I feel it. I used to think of his job as "the other woman" and was completely jealous of the time "she" kept him away from me. Now I realize that she is merely a tractor, a field of corn, or an engine with an issue, and I am able hang out with Jerome whenever I want (and he kinda likes it when I do).

7. Finally, I realized that I determine my level of joy. I can be a pessimist or an optimist. I can be a complainer or an uplifter. I can have the can-do attitude or the poor-me attitude. I can choose to love people and life or just see each day as an obstacle to get over. I have to think about this when my attitude heads south or my heart is heavy with painful thoughts. I am choosing contentment.  I am happy to be here. Right here. Right now. And I'm happy you're on the journey with me.

Home

I have so many wonderful memories from childhood. Most of them are tied somehow to this place, the only house I remember living in until the day I was married. My room was on the second level on the front side of the house and was a bright yellow, and one wall had wallpaper with yellow flowers and a white lace bedspread. Now, I've never been a yellow-room kind of person, but this was the design of the previous occupant, my oldest sibling June. (Thanks, June. No sarcasm. Really. Okay, maybe a little bit.)