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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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.

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

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.

...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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Playing My Part

Last night I had a dream. I was back in my high school band during a concert and was sitting next to my friend Kristin as the band performed an energetic piece of music. Kristin and I weren't playing, though. We had a problem: no sheet music. We glanced at each other in a panic, and that's when I noticed that her trombone had two mouthpieces.

Of Yarn and Quarters

On my way home from a trip to Wisconsin Sunday, my gas guzzler on "E" and my mouth craving a little Diet Pepsi, I  stopped at a gas station along the I-90 interstate for a quick fill-up.

Standing in line near the counter, I glanced around at the snacks and the odds and ends for sale when my eyes fell on a small display box on the countertop. In downhill handwriting with X's over the misspellings, the box's sign read something like this: