A simple man

As he approached our table in our first adventure in eating out with three children, I knew he wanted to tell us something about our kids.  A compliment, a shared experience, an overly nosey inquiry into our family, I have become used to them in the two and half years of being a mixture of blue and almond eyes, pale and brown skin.

I sized him up, the baseball cap, the starched jeans, the tattoo on his forearm, the fact that he was eating alone.  A older gentleman, a southern man, a simple man, a small part of me tensed just in case he had an insult for us, some hatred for seeing a family of different races, white faces loving brown faces.  But then I noticed his eyes, he had kind eyes and I began to relax.

He told us of his granddaughter and how she came to join their family.  He said that he hadn't understood, why would his son and daughter-in-law would want "someone else's child" after all they are already had a son, a real son.  He seemed to be admitting a secret he'd never shared, he needed to confess, he thought they were making a mistake.

"But she has made our family complete."  I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the tears in.  This man who went on and on telling us about his granddaughter, how she is smarter than everyone in her class, how fast she can climb the stairs, the way she looks up to her older brother.  She plays the guitar, she's in second grade, and she knows where everything in that house is.

"You have a blessed family."  A man, who once didn't understand adoption, who couldn't understand loving a child born from another, couldn't hide the fact that the love of his life is a little eight year old girl born in China.  His joy was too big to keep for himself.

It made me smile seeing him there, a simple man, who never would have dreamed his granddaughter would be Chinese, never would have expected that what they're family was missing they would find in opening their hearts to a plan that looked so much different from their own.  A man who wanted us to know, once he didn't understand adoption, but now he does.

Song for fish

You sat in the tub and glanced down at the fish you were singing to and I took in those eyelashes that are much too beautiful, too long, and too dark.  I took in your ten fingers and ten toes, your little finger nails shaped so perfectly, so entirely unlike mine.  The little muscles that are begining to form in your legs and your perfect round belly full of food and all I could think of was her, and does she know.

You looked up at me smiled and went back to your song for fish and I thought, the sound of you eagerly singing your song may be my favorite sound on earth.  I began to cry, this loss that is her's is gain for me and it's wonderful and horrible and beautiful and messy.  You were busy with your song so I allowed myself the thoughts, the pain, the tears.  She is missing all of this, all of it, and will she ever know that God created something beautiful in her body?

The only time she ever looked at your beautiful face was when it bore the evidence of something gone wrong, did she blame herself, does she still?  Oh, to find her and help her lay down her burden, to tell her who you really are.  How you charm people, how people meet you and are taken captive by the joy you carry around, handing out to those you pass.  That already I can't dream of who you will become, for the talents loom, an athlete, a lover of animals, a gentle spirit, a fixer, a helper.  You are a boy who is nothing gone wrong.

Will you find her someday and show her the boy God grew in her womb.  Will you find her and see what her eyelashes look like.  And look at her fingernails for me and see if there yours.  Tell her that when I look at the perfection in you I have always thought of her, her beauty and her pain.  I have always prayed that she would find healing, that she would find you.

My words are left unspoken, saved for a day you will better understand and I smile at your song for fish and begin to sing along, grateful for the beautiful mess.

my red and pink girl

Today was Valentine's day as far as she was concerned.  Today was the day to put on her red dress, her black tights and her pink sweatshirt to top it all off.  Today was the big day.

We drove over to the place where grandmas and grandpas live, as she explained it, to sing them songs about the One who loves them greatly, and I prayed, to be reminded of what we are to be about on this earth.

She sang along with all her classmates, each holding a pink or red ballon, sang about how much Jesus loves them, loves us, loves everyone.  Sang about how someday we're going to heaven.  As they sang I looked over and saw a woman, her eyes closed and a smile on her face.  Her hair was white and deep lines traced her face but when she opened her eyes, I was stilled by her beauty.  In her eyes was what the children sang about, as sure as the sun, there it was, a woman who knows the love of God and has the hope of her future in heaven with Him.

They were to pass out treats to the residents and I went to help give my red and pink girl the courage to love.  I told her to hand them to the grandma or grandpa and to tell them her name, to tell them happy Valentine's day, and to give them a hug.  Around she went speaking to one after another after another, hugging each one, even the ones who couldn't speak, even the ones who made her uncomfortable.

I wanted her to understand something today, I wanted myself to understand something today, that loving people is more important than our own comfort.  That it is in loving the ones hardest to love that we begin to understand God's love.  To start to be able to feel it's weight in our hearts, and begin to be changed.  And when we understand God's love, then the rest will follow, it is then we can be used, it is then we find freedom.

On the way to drop her off for the rest of her school day, I told her again and again, how proud I was.  "Thank you for the way you talked to all those people you didn't know and thank you for hugging them, it was very special for them."  Someday I will tell her, that when I look at her I can already see the gifts He has gifted her with and if she will only let Him, He has big plans for her life, because the the gift I see biggest when I watch her, is His love.

"If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.  If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.  If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing." 1 Corinthians 13:1-3

Need to crave

The sun came out today, with rain the week before and more rain to come, it was a welcome sight, and suddenly going outside to play shot to the top of our to do list.  We spent the morning in our front yard playing with bikes and soccer balls, climbing trees, and pushing babies, but our time was cut short with a fall and a bleeding head.

So that afternoon we ventured out again, this time to a local playground.  They played and I snapped pictures remembering that I have a blog I've been neglecting and the sun was just right to turn children into angels, if only they would hold still long enough.  We played later than planned, it was so beautiful, so many playmates, and a late dinner never hurt anyone.

Some times I dream of California, always a sunny 70 degrees, there I wouldn't have to pop vitamin D and turn on all the lights in my house to keep the blues at bay.  But it's the rainy days, the cloudy ones where the sun seems to have abandoned us, that make me crave.

I need to crave, in the craving I remember what I truly love.  In the craving I am stretched, molded.  The dark, cloudy days remind me, even when my human eyes can't see him, He is there, always there, waiting for me to turn my face toward Him.  As I do, the clouds part, the warmth of his love shines down, and I walk into the Son.

Come

I thought of Peter and how you told him to "Come" and he did, his feet landing firmly on the water.  What must he have felt in that moment, faith, of course, but wasn't there fear too.  For this act of walking on water required him to give himself over fully to you.  And before he was aware of what was happening, the fear won, he turned his focus to self, took his eyes off of you, and began to sink.  I remembered how you said, "you of little faith, why did you doubt?" and it occurs to me, how small is the faith I hold if Peter's was little.  For Peter at least had a moment when his faith was so big that he walked on water.

And you beckon me to come, to walk on the water you have laid before me, and I remind you that I am no Peter.  I am sure that I will sink, my eyes turned inward, the fear is all I have space for.  You call to me again, reassuring me that my part is little, you will do the hard work, my only part is to keep my eyes on you.

So I stand up and I try to muster my courage, I look at you and I lift my foot to step, but my faith is so small, and I can't.  I ask you, to please, please just pick me up and put me on the water.  You remind me of the way You love, you cannot remove my freedom without removing your love, gently you tell me you will always hold my hand, but the step is mine to take.

Maybe I could live on this shore forever I decide.  So I sit down, close my eyes tight, and plug up my ears.  But I find no way to quiet the Spirit, He speaks from within, Spirit to soul, soul to heart, and I feel you tell me, "come."  I don't even know what's out there, I cry, if you could just show me exactly where I'm going then I could do this, but to step into the unknown is too hard.  "I know the plans I have for you," says the Lord, "plans to give you a hope and a future."  My voice rises, a toddler throwing a fit, but I want to see them, before I take my step I need to know where I'm walking!  "That's why I gave you the gift of faith, you tell me, the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen."

The waves crash around and I wonder why you couldn't have asked me to step out onto a calm stream, why does it always have to be so hard.  You remind me that when I am weak, is when I am truly strong, it is then the world looks in and sees not me, but a strong and mighty God.

I breathe in deep and place my eyes on you, I fill my mind with Your truth, I turn my heart towards Your understanding, and I step.  My foot lands firmly and I smile, You didn't let me fall!  And though I'm soon to sink, soon to turn my eyes back to self and all the fear that lies within, in that moment I understand why you said to Peter, "Come."

Two years ago

Two years ago, I did one of the bravest things of my life, I took you from her arms, the only arms you had ever wanted, and told you you were mine.  I held you while you slept.  I held you while you screamed, while you fought with every bit of strength your body had to get away from me.  I prayed over you and I told you I loved you, and when I didn't know what else to do I cried too, and clung to the promises of my Father.  In the end, we had become mother and son, through the fire, we found love and an unbreakable bond.

We got on a plane the next day, you had finally fallen asleep, on this day long journey to my home, our home soon.  I laid my weary head back, closed my eyes, and began to listen to the music I brought along.  The words washed over me as if I had never heard them, they were bigger than before and when they sang of God's grace and mercy, His goodness, and His plans and I was undone.

I looked at you sleeping, memorizing the way you looked, and I worshiped Him.  The words were like good medicine, refreshing me and giving me the strength I would need for this journey, this day long plane ride and this lifetime of questions.  More words were sung, how He holds us in His hands, how big He is, how Holy is our God, and my soul spilled over, poured out tear by tear, the joy was too big to hold inside of me.  God.  Is.  So.  Good.

Two years later I doubt a day goes by that I don't look at you and am overcome with a need to worship.  God.  Is.  So.  Good.  And you my dear boy, are a gift.  I understand the way God loves me more since you came home to me, that He would pick me to raise you, a gift.  That this is the plan God had for me, a gift.

Last week you woke sleepy from your nap and I asked if I could hold you, you said yes and laid your head on my shoulder.  I stood there looking out the window at that gray day, slowly rocking from foot to foot, and He whispered to me, I am using you, this is a good work for me.  This, I asked, this is just love and everything good in my life, this is a good work for you?  Yes, my child, you are walking on the path I set you on.  The tears came again, just as they had two years ago, God. Is. So. Good.

Today, we will celebrate, that on the other side of pain and loss, is a love that makes us a family.  We will celebrate all the mess that is adoption, your birth mom choosing life and your foster mom choosing to love without regard for self.  That you are Korean, that you are American, that you are Jack, and that you are Hyeon-jun.  Most of all we will celebrate our God, that He is good, and He longs to give good gifts to His children.  You my baby boy, are a good, good gift.

Sweetest words

It was that time of year, so the words came in in abundance.  Some written by hand, others typed on keyboard and sent magically straight to me.  Words to wish well, words of pride and love, words to tell me who I am.

And I read them fast, like one eats a candy bar, I took them in quickly, ravenously, barely tasting their goodness, just wanting to know what they said, just wanting to fly on the high of the sweet, sweet words, and float awhile.

I took them out again, later, when the world was quiet, the sugar high had gone and I longed for the sustenance of those words, to read again, who they see when they look at me.  I took them in one by one, swallowed the words whole.

They fell into the cracks, and were smoothed over, making those deep places whole again.  When they see me they see a woman that they are proud of, they see accomplishments, they see the one who makes our family work, and the one who does the hard jobs.

How is it that I always miss those qualities, I see only the mistakes, the setbacks, and the failures.  I feed myself bitter words of how I've failed again and how far I have to go.  But right now I have proof, whole words, to tell me another story.

I will allow them to sit with me this time.  I will fully digest them, till they are known, I will write them in nooks as reminders.  I am a woman, who makes the people around her feel loved, feel proud to call me theirs, who makes it all work and I am a woman who fails, who messes up, and who sometimes falls flat on her face.  The setbacks don't change who I am, they know those things too, and still they chose those sweet words.

And I wonder what words He would use to describe me, and know down deep, that they would be the sweetest words.  Know that if I will take the time to listen, He would speak words that would fill me completely, where no room would remain for the bitterness.  This year I will try, I will work, to see myself through their eyes, through His eyes, to give myself credit, that when I fall I get back up and try again.  Credit that in my deepest place I am trying, to live this life for Christ alone, I am trying to live this life to someday hear, well done good and faithful servant.

Unwrapping a gift

October has been a gift.

Everyday, around each corner another package for me to unwrap and see what's inside.

7 packages containing the most perfect weather you ever did see.  Each one wrapped up in a blue sky the exact color of my love's eyes.

The gift of digging out a light sweater or two, of feeling it on your skin, making the cold as delicious as any chocolate I've ever tasted.

A long talk on the phone with a friend that made me see her anew, that gave me such hope for the type of people I long to surround my children with.  A talk that reflected back like a mirror my passions and dreams.

A bike ride or two, being wrapped around and above and below in a perfect day.  Feeling the wind on my face as we go down a hill and letting go, singing at the top of my lungs of my Father God.

Making a fall all my own, around my door, in my rooms, to remind me of the beauty I left long ago, leafs in all their splendor, red, orange, gold, never losing their affect on me, year after year, that beauty is a gift He's given us.

Feety pajamas on little feet, the way they sound plodding down the stairs, they way they turn my children back into babies, for just a moment, how they scream out to me, come cuddle up on the couch with me mama and let's pass the time in a way that matters.

A garden that is not worn out by sun and heat, producing abundantly, a bell pepper there, a cucumber here, butternut squash to last the whole year through, and the promise of homemade salsa soon.

A day at the park, a sudden plan, leaving behind to-do lists and worries.  Spending hours on the playground and then just when I think I should have brought a picnic because it's too beautiful to go home and eat, a "gourmet" to-go food truck is there to feed us and provide us with a memory, an adventure.

Each day a gift, a love story written out to me, you are My child and you are precious in My sight.

Can you see it?  He speaks in your own language, whispering I am here and you,  you are loved.

The God of the small

Chloe.  My mind needs to be thinking about grocery lists and chores and the two children that already live in my home, but it won't listen, it keeps being pulled back, one name repeated throughout the day, Chloe.

For the first six months of her life, I didn't know yet that she was mine, I didn't know to worry about how much she was eating and sleeping, I didn't know to pray for her to somehow, someway know who I am when I come to get her.

And it is not time to come and get her, is it, yet?  It has been a mere handful of days and already I cannot stand the time ticking away, day one, day ten, she is still not here.

Making a future for her here in her home in her family consumes me.  I have lists for everything that needs to be done in order for my perfect plan to work out.  Christmas lists, the shopping must be done early.  Shopping lists, I will need bottles and formula, and diapers, and something that is only hers.  To-do lists, I need to get her big brother out of her crib and decide what pieces of furniture go where, buy some new pieces to complete the sets, buys some gifts for her second mama, cleaning that won't get done once I am (really) a mommy to three.

My mind spins so I began to walk in little circles, I see something to be done in this room, oh no something bigger to be done in this room, then a child pulls me another direction, and I feel overwhelmed.

I stop and and I pray and I tell Him the truth, the truth is all I have the energy for these days.  I want her home now and it hurts deep down that she is mine and I am not the one to rock her to sleep each night and I am impatient and anxious and doing everything all wrong.

He sends me outside to enjoy the beautiful day, to read a book that will take me far away, he reminds me that He is the God of not just the big but also the God of the small, for it is all the same to Him.  He tells me that He can even handle baby clothes and walls to be built, He will handle papers to be processed and reprocessed when necessary, He will lay out the plan for my life and isn't that what I've been asking for all along.

Then finally I look up at the sky, so blue that it is only of the Creator that I can think, and I breathe in deep and I hear Him.  "Your ways are not My ways, declares the Lord...My word will not return empty, but will accomplish what I desire...instead of a thornbrush, a pine, instead of briers the myrtle will grow."

The hole inside of me is filled with what it was hungry for all along, my mind is stilled, and for now I am able to trust again, in His plan, in His timing, in His goodness.

You gave him life*

Jack turns two this week and I've been thinking of you. The one person, besides Kyle, to whom this day is equally significant. The person who feels everything and nothing I feel on his birthdays. I wonder how you're doing. Do you have peace about your decision? Do you know anything about his life now?

I wish I had a picture of you. Somehow I feel if I just could see you I would be able to know you better, to understand how we came to be tied to each other in this inexpressible relationship of love and loss. I wish I could show it to Jack on his birthday and say, "This is your birth mom, she loves you and is thinking of you today". I will tell him those things, I just wish I had a picture too.

Are you beautiful? I know that you are. I see the little boy who carries part of you in him and he is the most beautiful little boy, he must have gotten part of that from you.

Or your name. I want to be able to give Jack part of you, to be able to tell him your story and I don't even know your name. If I could speak your name to him, I know there would be power in that, it would make you more real to him.

I couldn't love you for a long time, it was too hard, too scary. I realized as I was thinking of you this year that I've learned how to love you. I began to pray for you, for your family, for the little things I know, and I found the love I was looking for. I know I need to love you, if I am to teach him that's it's okay for him to love you he has to see it in me first.

You've given me the most amazing gift I've ever been given and I wish I could tell you that. I wish I could tell you how you changed my life, how much you didn't make a mistake, none of it, it was all part of God's good plan. Thank you. Thank you for giving my son life, you didn't have to, and I wouldn't be me without him.

Most of all I pray that you let the Lord love you, that you accept His gift of salvation, because I'm afraid that heaven is the only chance I will have to know you and I can't imagine not knowing the woman who gave me my son.

* originally posted March 2010

My offering

I didn't bother to tell Him, after all He knows all my thoughts before I think them, He would figure it out.  I was done, there would be no more talking from me.  I was angry, He didn't hear my prayers, or He did but didn't answer them, and then this, You say this is my will for you, my good and perfect will.

We'll see about that.  I find the strength for my best silent treatment.  In the days that follow, I never allow for silence, I might hear You in the silence.  So I sit on the couch and watch stupid TV shows that I have know desire to see.  And then it happens, some cheesy movie makes me cry and I cannot stop.

I cry for what is really making me sad and angry and really let's be honest, scared.  I cry so hard my body shakes and You come to me, You are there as real as ever, holding me, loving me, and telling me, this is Your good and perfect plan for me and everything is going to be okay.

I figure what the heck, You'll never stop loving me, and again You already know what I'm thinking.  I tell you everything.  I tell you how angry I am at You, that this is the path You have for me, it was not part of my plans, I tell you I am scared to death and I tell you why.

You minister to me and heal me and make me whole and I decide it's time.  I tell you my plans every single plan I've never given words to, the marriage I would have, the perfect children I would raise, what our home would look like inside and out, what I would look like, how nothing would ever really go wrong, how we would grow old and boring in the same house we raised our children in.  I speak it all into existence and then hand it over to You.  My offering to You, here is my life Lord, my dreams and my plans, I no longer want them, they are Yours.

You whisper, My plans for you are so much better, so much bigger, they change lives and this world, in them I am glorified.  I accept, the fighting is over, the anger gone, the fear a small thing I will someday learn to fully move past.  I find joy and peace, I find rest in submission.  I no longer have to make a path for myself, but I can walk on the path You've placed me on.  I breath in deep and realize, there is no longing for what I've given up, breathe out and understand what it means to be free.

You are my future

We sit on the couch in a room of white paint done in a hurry, sloppy, and the perfectionist inside of me cringes.  He begins to tell me of his dreams and suddenly I am not there, I am in a magical place, a beautiful place, there is no longer any imperfections, only plans, and a future, and hope.

He will build a bookcase here, and I will paint here, a mantel for the fireplace will make it so much more handsome.  The furniture will go here and it will be both old and new all at the same time, beautiful to look at and comfortable to pass the hours away in.

 We make plans, we leave this time and place and travel together.  We will spend a summer in London and another traveling the US, seeing every national park.  We will grow old in this house and make it ours, we will make the yard something to behold, a place of rest and escape.  We will raise our children well and have a future for two to look forward to.

We will spend long hours sitting side by side in this room, reading, sharing what we've learned, we will drink hot tea, and we will look at each other and still see beauty.  Or we will move to Africa, we will raise all the children that we never brought home, we will tell them Jesus loves them, and will find the strength to be a mommy and a daddy all over a again.

The dreams are just dreams, the plans written with pencil on scraps of paper, for we know they are not real, they are just words that weave us together tighter than we knew possible.  They are thoughts that one person begins and the other finishes.  They are the promise that you are my future, no matter what it might be, it must be you.