Firsts

I remember, years ago when I was stuck in the wretched "waiting".  Adoptive parents, you know the desolate place of which I speak.  I often let my mind wander, imagining what life would be like when our little Lotus Bud was finally in our arms.  I pictured so many firsts: first birthday home, first day of school, first holidays.  I imagined those beautiful brown eyes gazing up at the Christmas tree, sweet face bathed in the golden light, a look of awe on her face.

My goodness, I'm not sure why I let myself get on the Expectation Train.  Real life is so very different from what I imagined.  I wasn't expecting to have to look quite so hard for the beauty, in her or in myself.  I thought I would feel such strong emotions at this, one of my favorite times of year.  I wasn't expecting to feel so hollow and worn.  But that doesn't mean the moments aren't there.  Joy and beauty are always there for those who are willing to look for it.  Some days, I don't seem to be very willing, but as relentless as that battle is, my Father never gives up on me.

Isn't that what Advent is, though?  The joyful anticipation, the expectancy?

Long lay the world in sin and error pining

Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth

A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices

For yonder breaks, a new and glorious morn 

Joy is coming.  Joy is here.  Emmanuel, God with us.  In the middle of the dirty manger, Hope was born.  

Hope.

Maybe this was our first Thanksgiving all together, and our first Christmas is coming.  But there will be another first: another day when I do feel an overflowing love. Another day when the beauty is so overwhelming that there's no denying it.  Looks like I'm still in the "waiting," even though my waking eyes look upon my daughter.  I'm waiting for God to give me his eyes for her again.  He did it once.  He can do it again.

O come, O come, Emmanuel

And ransom captive Israel

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the Son of God appear

Rejoice, rejoice

Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel     

I'm beginning to see the light

Homeschooling a sensory and ELL kiddo often takes me to my limits in the patience department, even with the very small amount of official school work that we do. But that reality alone makes every victory won that much sweeter.

Up until now, J has learned letter sounds, but could not make the connection of stringing the sounds together into a word. Rather than stress her out, I just started letting her observe N's reading lesson so she could absorb the information without the pressure of figuring out the words on her own. The past few days, I've noticed her whispering some of the answers to herself while N was reading for me, so after N's lesson today, I sent N in to color and decided to try the lesson over again with J. At first, she shut down and gave me the whole, "I can't do it" line. I told her I heard her reading when N was working, and that I didn't expect her to do things perfectly; I just wanted her to be willing to give it her best effort, and I would help her. She went for it, and successfully sounded out multiple words BY HERSELF, and a FOUR sentence "story" at the end of the lesson with a little help from me. We were both teary-eyed by the end. She was just glowing.  

What a sweet connection moment it was for us when I could look her in the eye and tell her how proud I was that she worked so hard, and didn't give up on herself.  I could see her confidence soaring, and she was so proud to tell Daddy about what she had done.  While I normally wouldn't push on reading at this point, the Holy Spirit prompted me to nudge her this time, to let her know it was ok to try and fail, but that it was worth the risk to try.  I'm so glad I listened, and I'm so glad she felt safe enough with me to go for it.  I may have missed her first words, but I feel like I got a bit of that gift back today.

We've also talked this week about house rules.  Fun, right?  I have felt like all I did was correct, correct, correct, all day everyday.  I was exasperated, and the kids must have been too.  So I did some analyzing (and praying).  Was I expecting too much?  Was I being a total Scrooge and trying to micromanage everything they did?  My conclusion was that our most common issues could all be boiled down into five basic rules.  While those rules can encompass many different scenarios, I thought it might be simpler for the girls if I could just remind them of one of the five overarching rules rather than nit-picking every little issue.  So, in no particular order, the house rules are:

1. Speak kindly and respectfully

2. Wild and crazy behavior is for OUTside

3. Practice good table manners

4. Listen and obey the first time

5. Take good care of your things and clean up after yourself

So yeah, rule number two can be used for everything from running and screaming to acting like we live inside a pinball machine.  Rule three is suitable for nose picking, gibberish, squirming, twisting around, not using napkins...you get the picture.  But simply restating the rule causes them to have to stop and think about what they need to correct to follow the rule rather than me having to harp on every little behavior.  I wasn't sure if that was going to make a difference, but surprisingly, it has drastically changed our week from the norm.  They are quicker to get back on track, they are learning to stop and think, and they even seem to be more cooperative in most situations.  Granted, it may be the newness factor, and it might blow up in my face tomorrow, but for right now, I'm thankful that it's working.  It makes all the difference in the world for me emotionally and mentally.  We've also had a lot more time to do fun stuff, and I've been able to reward them with more privileges to go along with those responsibilities.  

It's been a great week, and I'm thankful. 

Time warp

Sometimes I find myself going back to the single referral picture we got in the spring of last year, and I can't seem to reconcile that picture with our current reality.  The child in that picture, in her visa picture (from when she first came to the orphanage at age two) seem like a completely different person: so small, so placid, or was it timid?  Now I look at the gangly, wild six year old whom I call daughter, and I feel like I'm in two different worlds looking at two different children.

Today has been a trenches kind of day.  A run laps around the farm to help get emotions under control kind of day.  An I'm still in my pajamas at 5:30pm kind of day.  A nothing is going wrong now but I'm so exhausted from the last seven hours (and seven months) that I'm struggling to be present in the moment kind of day.  I go back to those pictures and remember that longing, that compassion.  I look at my present and feel frustration and emotional exhaustion.  Will I ever feel like I'm really her mom?  Like she is my precious daughter?

Precious.  That is what she is.  That is how HE sees her, and how He sees me, no matter how many times I fall short.  I require so much grace, and yet I am often so resentful of having to extend the same grace.  Why is that?  I'm so resentful that my life has been imploded, that I'm spread out thinner than I can possibly bear every single day with no finish line in sight, that my darling N is having to process such a difficult situation as well.  I forget what JP has gone through.  In those moments of defiance or chaos, I forget what she has experienced in her short life, and have to force myself to remember that all is not what it would have been if I had carried her in my womb and held her from her first moments on this earth.  Five and a half years.  That's what we missed, and it is such a long road to redemption, on all sides.  And I resist it, because I'm tired, and being refined hurts like hell, because that's what is being burned away, hell.  

I have always identified closely with the apostle Peter.  I understand his impetuousness, his zeal, his propensity for sticking his foot in his mouth, his long road to discernment and listening.  One of my favorite verses about him is Matthew 16:18, when Jesus gave him the name Peter:

"And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it."

As my sister so aptly pointed out to me a couple of weeks ago, the way this verse is worded, "the gates of hell" implies either an assault on the fortress, or an escape from captivity.  I have never been afraid of charging the gate.  Give me my sword.  Well, the gate has been charged and the first battle won.  What do I fear?  A cage.  And the trenches feel very much like a cage.  Sitting with your tail in the mud in an indefinite, slow, steady, crawling kind of battle.  God help me.

God, help me.

The only way to even survive this battle, to win it, is to keep my eyes on him and do every single tiny thing, day in and day out, as though I am doing it directly for him, and no one else.  When I look past the person in front of me and see the face of my Love, all is glorious.  

Lord, let the scales fall from my eyes so I can see you through all this mess.  Open my eyes to see my enemy for who he is and renew my strength to fight him with everything in me. 

"Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me." (emphasis mine)

        

Birthdays, school, and the same ol' same ol'

We are slowly finding our groove in the midst of strange schedules and back-to-school madness.  I've gradually introduced a simple schedule: Bible time at breakfast, reading, math, play, lunch, rest time.  Then we do CC grammar review and handwriting in the afternoon followed by more play before dinner.  That sounds like a lot, but it's really only about 15 minutes per lesson, and it involves lots of singing, manipulatives, and games.  We've had two weeks of our CC tutorial as well, and even though it often seems like things are going in one ear and out the other in class, I heard N singing upstairs during rest time, What are the four types of tissues?  Connective, epithelial, muscle, nerve!  It made me smile.  I think with all the unfamiliar vocabulary, it is mostly passing over JP's head at this point, but at least she is hearing and absorbing the songs and sounds right now.  The rest will come, and we have plenty of time.

We've also had a couple of weeks of ballet for N and gymnastics for JP, which they love.  JP definitely has a tough time listening and paying attention to her coaches a lot of the time (I feel their pain), but I mainly have her in it for the benefit of occupational therapy type exercises at a lesser cost than actual therapy.  She's getting all kinds of vestibular and proprioceptive goodness at a fraction of the cost.  Win!

Last night was our first night back with the youth group, and next week I add in my mom's group (which I hope I will have the time to continue for the semester).  It's amazing how full one's schedule can get even when we're only at the Kindergarten level with one extracurricular activity per child.  I'm mentally sapped and my personal time has basically disappeared since I'm engaged with the kids all morning and a good chunk of the afternoon, but all in all, things are going well, and I'm thankful for structure.  I am reminding myself that doing the work now (sparking a desire to learn and teaching them how to learn for themselves) means there will come a day when they are largely teaching themselves and I am only there to guide, answer questions, and check their work.  Of course, we are also feeling things out in regards to possible learning challenges with JP beyond the obvious fact that she is ELL.  Speaking of which, I just squirreled myself and started looking up how to make no-sew weighted lap pads for school.  Maybe I need one too...

To wrap things up, we celebrated JP's first birthday home on Tuesday.  We are doing a zoo birthday party tomorrow, but we kept things simple on Tuesday with a family celebration.  She got a new doll, and I made a doll size bunk bed for her.  She also got the Frozen version of the classic board game Trouble (you remember the pop o' matic bubble, right??), some books from her grandma, and the promise of a birthday party and more presents at Mamaw and Papaw's house in a couple of weeks.  We took her to an Indian restaurant for a special meal and spent the rest of the day playing with her new toys and games.  She told us that she blew out candles to celebrate her birthday at the orphanage, but she never got presents.  She was pretty excited to open these!  We'll probably let her pick out something at the zoo gift shop tomorrow as well, just to commemorate her very first birthday party.  

I definitely cried more over her birthday last year than I did this year (I didn't cry at all).  I think my brain is just too fried to feel emotions at this point.  I'm really thankful she's doing so well, and that we were able to start making some new, happy birthday memories, but I'm still a little too soul weary to fully appreciate the significance of it all right now.  That's mostly why I write all this down (in what is probably ridiculously boring detail to everyone else).  Someday, I'm going to come back and read this and cry the happy tears I should be crying now.  At least, I hope I do.  In the meantime, I'll just say, "Thanks, God!" and trust that He knows my heart. Happy birthday, JP!        

Home school: week 1, Pockets of Grace

Nearly one week in to educating at home, and we are all still standing.  Not only that, but we are loving it!  I was in denial dreading a little concerned about taking this on, particularly when I am still having a difficult time with attachment, but this past week has convinced me that I did not hear incorrectly.  This is what we are supposed to do, for this season, at least.

Sure, there are moments when I feel like putting my head through the wall.  Sure, I've fantasized about putting JP on that big yellow school bus and having seven hours of relative peace, quiet, and productivity.  But I will say, after reaching a place emotionally where I felt I was moving backward instead of forward in attachment, this has helped more than anything I've done in the six months we've been home to work on bonding.

It's given us focused, interactive time together; it's given me the opportunity to praise her progress and encourage her to keep practicing when she can't do something right the first time.  It's helped to create opportunities for guided fun, which is also educational.  While we still have free play time, there is less time that is completely unstructured, which leaves less room for mischief and confrontation.  When we do have unstructured play time, they even seem more interested in being outside where they can run.  I've even seen it minimize some of the constant, grating sensory behaviors that had me wanting to bury my head in the sand.  We went three whole days without a meltdown (which is good considering we were having them daily for the past few weeks).  We had one this afternoon, but it wasn't nearly has explosive as they had been getting.

And for me, I've been thankful in my own heart to see those little pinpoints of joy peeking through again... to feel for the first time since coming home that not only do I hope and pray for God's redemption, but that I am glad this is our story.  That sounds like such a strange thing to say after fighting for so long to make this our story, but if you have walked this road, you know what I mean.  You know how it feels to want to want to.  You don't love based on feelings, and you don't parent based on feelings, but it sure is a beautiful thing to feel warmth in a heart that has been in deep freeze mode, even if it is only in tidbits.  So I'm thankful for the pockets of grace I have seen this week.

And now, even as I finish typing this, it's time to go do some tough parenting again.  That's ok.  There are pockets of grace in these moments too.  

Bye bye, summer

I think I may have been in denial about school starting this month until the past couple of days.  How can summer already be over?  We've had a blast (most of the time) swimming, playing on the swing set, running through the sprinkler.  I love the spontaneity of summer.  I love not having to be anywhere at any certain time.  I love just being able to play, explore, roam, relax...

Ok, I'll be honest: Those moments were intertwined with crazy meltdowns, moments of sheer insanity, and constant mischief.  Such is the life of a mother with small children.

It's time for structure.  I won't say I'm ready for winter.  I hate the cold.  But I am ready to have a more specific schedule with guided times of learning and play to help reign in all that crazy spontaneity.  I am actually ready to dive into home schooling these two precious hooligans and see how we do.  I've already got my daily schedule outlined, and before you chuckle at my lofty expectations, they are really only four short blocks of school work interspersed with plenty of play, snacks, meals, and other fun activities.  The point is, there will be a specific purpose and direction to each day, and they need that.  I am a firm believer in allowing children unstructured play time to expand and indulge their imaginations, but too many hours of unguided time will end up being filled with normal four and five year old shenanigans.  You know, like squirting yogurt all over the furniture on the porch and licking it off.  

There is plenty of flexibility and extra time blocked into this new schedule, but I am ready to have some structure again and stop feeling quite so scattered and inefficient.  I think it will help minimize the meltdowns that have begun rearing their ugly heads again.  I believe it will provide margin and security.  I believe it will help all of us to know what to expect out of our day.  And somewhere along the line, I hope they learn something, both academic and practical.  Thankfully, they are both young enough that we can ease our way into these waters without the pressure of heavy subject matter.  

Six months in I am still having to leave feelings on the sidelines, rather than freaking out that some days I seem to be moving backward instead of forward in attachment.  It's time to let go of those expectations that have crept back in and just do what needs doing.  So here we go.  Wish us luck.  Pray hard.  Check back in a few weeks and see if this is a success or if I've just managed to find a quicker road to losing all my marbles.  Only time will tell.  For real.  Pray.  Geronimoooooo!      

Decision confirmed

Many of you know that we made the decision to home school both girls this fall.  

Ok, give me a moment to breathe through the fact that I just announced that publicly and I'm committing myself to do this.  

There's a part of me that is so excited about this.  I was educated at home for ten years, and I wouldn't exchange it for anything.  I'm excited to go back and relearn things that have been deleted (One thing drives out another, you know.), to awaken a wonder in my children for God's creation, to cultivate a desire to learn and the knowledge of how to learn effectively.  I am completely confident, especially thanks to the classical program and support system we will have, that I am absolutely capable of educating my children at home.

There's another part of my brain that has panicked over the very distinct possibility that I will go stark raving mad in my attempt to do this with small children.  If you know me at all, you know that little kids and I... well, let's just say being around small children is not my top spiritual gift.  

("Why did you have a kid and adopt?" you may ask.  Because God said so.  And He has a fantastic sense of humor, for which I am truly grateful)

You know what I mean, right?  Those two or three months following Christmas when it's rainy and twenty degrees outside and we haven't seen the sun for four weeks?  That already makes me want to crawl south on my hands and knees to find a place where I can recharge my solar batteries.  Add home schooling two (loud and crazy) littles who also have the winter blahs and are treating our house as though it were the inside of a pinball machine... Well, you get the picture.

But still.  When God says so, you obey.  Maybe you question him on it a few hundred times, but you do what He says, because He can see the whole picture.  

Well, He confirmed that at least for now, this is absolutely the right choice for our family.  This past week the girls were at VBS at a great local church.  It was only 9-11:45am Monday through Friday.  They had so much fun!  Truly, they were telling me all about the songs they sang, the verses they memorized, pictures they drew, friends they played with.  They loved it!  But a hunch I had about JP was confirmed this past week.  Getting her ready to go and out the door (and 9am isn't super early), taking her to a place packed with hundreds of kids, being so excited and wound up... it led to guaranteed major meltdowns every single afternoon.  We haven't had that many tantrums since our first few weeks home.  I don't mean fussing or whining because she didn't get her way; I'm talking full out raging meltdowns over important things like pencils or not being allowed to go down the wooden stairs head first.  Her meltdowns are nearly always triggered by control issues, which is not unusual or unexpected, but still, she is usually much better at regulating or allowing us to redirect or help her regulate.  This week... not so much.  And she was only there for three hours a day.  She is such an extrovert, and she loved every minute of it, but at a neurological level it set her off in ways that she doesn't even realize.  

So then I tried to imagine having to get her out the door even earlier every single day of the work week for nine months straight, going to a place (which she would love while she was there) packed with hundreds of new friends for eight hours a day, where she would be required to sit at a desk and do work (I'm not sure that she could sit still if her life depended on it), miss rest time, and then come home with other assignments to manage before starting all over again the next day.  She would be a wreck.  Our shortened amount of time together would be constantly soured by trauma meltdowns that she wouldn't understand (When she has them, she rarely knows why she's crying).  She would be tired, overstimulated, going full tilt all the time.  

No.  That is not what she needs right now.  Frankly, it's not what we need either.  Our family has had quite enough drama over the past couple of years, thank you very much.  

So there you have it: confirmation.  I know what I am supposed to do, and I'm going to do it.  It's decided.  In a way, it's a huge relief.  I won't worry about the winter blues until I have to, but I am going to start compiling a list of ways to get us out of the house when it's damp and frigid, because that will be an absolute necessity.  Guess I better get my creative juices flowing now while the sun is still shining and the air is warm!

JP is a bright kid.  She learns quickly, is intensely motivated by affirmation, and more importantly, she has a desire to learn.  She just needs encouragement to keep trying when she doesn't get something the first time, because I can already tell that she is a perfectionist when it comes to academics!  It's going to be ok.  The girls are going to do a fantastic job with this rich but relaxed program, and it's going to give them a solid foundation no matter where they go in the future.  Mama is just going to have to be very intentional about self care, and making sure there is time for detox and silence carved into the days and weeks ahead.  

I've always loved Robert Frost's poem, "The Road Not Taken," and it seems fitting to end with his words:

         

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

 

Make new friends, but keep the old

My posts have been heavy these past months.  And I thank you for bearing with me as I verbalize to process and struggle through all of these personal difficulties and adjustments.  But this is not a heavy post.  Today I play scribe to chronicle pure sweetness.

We have been given the gift of a relationship with the family who adopted JP's friend with whom she shared a bed at her orphanage.  Until now, it has been an online friendship: FB messages, an attempt at Skype, pictures and encouragement.  This weekend, we were able to reunite our girls in person, and hug each others' necks for the first of what I hope will be many times.

We only had a few hours together, but they were perfect.  Our families meshed as if we had been friends for ages.  Our girls hugged, held hands, ran through sprinklers, blew bubbles, and rocked the sidewalk chalk in the beautiful sunshine.  

 I am so thankful for those moments, and so thankful that our girls will be able to stay in touch and have a friend who has walked in the same shoes to share joys and struggles with for years to come.  I am also grateful beyond measure for our friendship as families.  It is a huge blessing to have people in our life who are walking the path we are walking, who are doing the same hard work we are doing, who "get" us and the various challenges that come with this specific life changing journey.  The road is hard, but my heart is full.  What a gift this is.     

Five months and a day

It's funny how one can feel like a situation is still so new, and also that it has always been.  We met JP for the first time five months ago yesterday.  We still have such a long way to go getting to know her, but it's also hard for me to remember what life was like before she joined our family.  I'm kind of thankful for that- thankful that our brains create these sort of memory eras where we take away certain broad feelings, but the details of the day-to-day slip away.  I remember very little of my life at four and five years old.  I just remember, from childhood in general, knowing that my parents loved me, believed in me, and were always there for me.  Several shining moments stick out (mostly good or funny) from my later childhood, but not much from the early years.  That makes me so relieved, because I feel like I fall short every single day.  I mean, everyone does, but I look back each evening and wish that I had been perkier, more engaged, less irritable, and just more... fun.  I mean, I'm a pretty fun person, right?  But the reality is, even though things have evened out a lot, and we have a routine, and I smile at you when you ask how it's going and say, "As well as can be expected!"  I'm still in survival mode on the inside.  I'm still treading water.  Good gracious, I hope they don't remember me as this walking shell of a human being that I am right now.   

I remember reading Jen Hatmaker's post about the first year of adoption a couple of months before we traveled.  I had no idea at the time how many tears I would shed going back and nodding in weepy agreement at her descriptions.  I'm pretty sure we skipped the honeymoon phase and went straight into "spaz out".  We've been in "triage" for several weeks now.  We've definitely seen a recurrence in lengthy meltdowns lately, though.  It's usually triggered by something miniscule; not getting what she wants and throwing a fit that somehow escalates way past the realm of the normal little kid I didn't get my way tantrum.  You look at her eyes and suddenly realize that she's no longer with you, no longer concerned about not being allowed to stand on her head at the dinner table.  She's somewhere else, terrified, and completely unable to communicate what is causing her such distress.  In a strange way, I'm thankful that it reawakens those feelings of compassion and understanding whose absence I have been lamenting in the midst of the redundancy of our daily life (I mean really... I've said no acrobatics at the dinner table about a hundred million times in the past five months.  Why am I still wasting my breath?).  If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result, I guess the only thing keeping me out of the psych ward is that I'm doing the same thing over and over again knowing full well that the results are going to be exactly the same despite my best efforts.

Then I have my bio baby, regressing like a champ in behavior, and even basics like potty training (which we have had down for a good two years now).  And what can I do to help her except pray?  I'm 32 and hardly know how to process all of this.  I can't imagine trying to wrap my mind around it at four.  There are so many great big feelings to express.  But my life is exactly as Jen describes it: chaos, anarchy.  

Then the next minute, they are playing fine, maybe even doing something great, and it takes everything in me to go and praise them for it, because it draws attention to my presence when I am contentedly hiding out under the radar in the pantry eating chocolate covered raisins in those few moments of peace.  But you have to water the flowers, not the weeds, right?  Right.  So I hear myself like a robot telling them what a good job they're doing not clawing each others' eyes out playing, because it's the first time in three hours that they've given me an opportunity to do something besides correcting, redirecting, or disciplining.  They can see through these theatrics, right?  Apparently not.  Thank God.  (Yeah, I still hide out a lot when things aren't hitting the fan.  I realize this is an epic mommy fail on my part, but seriously, it's all I've got right now.)

And the thing is, I know I am missing out on what great kids they are a lot of the time.  Whether I can't see it most of the time past my constant mental exhaustion or their ludicrous behavior, I don't know, but then there are these shining golden moments every once in a while that are so beautiful I could weep.  

 That moment at the end of the day when I am done and I can't hide the few tears leaking out of my eyes and N wipes them away saying, "Oh Mama, stop those tears.  I love you all the way to the moon and back, no matter what.  Everything's going to be ok."  

Or that time JP randomly throws her arms around my waist, even remembering to be gentle, and says, "I lub you, Mom."  

Those are the moments that eventually win the day, right?  The ones that stick with you.  Mothers have remarkable selective amnesia.  Somehow, we are given the gift of remembering the smiles and forgetting the pain, because eventually, we start to see the fruit of our labor, whether that is a new babe in arms, or our middle schooler being courageous, or our grown up babies shining a light in the dark places of this world.  I do believe that fruit will be there.  I believe there will be a time when I am not soul weary and bone dry.  It is not this day, but I know that slow and steady wins the race.  

And bless the LORD, the lifter of my head, He has never left my side through all of this, and how gentle He has been as I am refined through all of these daily difficulties.  Just yesterday I went for a run, and as I came up to the split in the road, debating whether to take the shorter route to the left, or the longer run straight ahead, I heard him as if He were next to me, "Take the long road, Love.  I'll run with you."  And He spent the next three and a half miles speaking the most precious words to me.  Words I will treasure for all of my life.  

Epiphany

Sometimes the bunny trails are paths you're supposed to explore for a reason.  As I sat and listened during my prayer time last night, it became clear that this was the case from yesterday's blog post.  Remember how I said that my number one spiritual gift (according to various tests and surveys I've taken for ministry purposes over the years) is compassion, "to suffer with"?  And that that characteristic of my heart seems to be MIA when I feel like it ought to be welling up out of me?

Well, be careful what you ask for.  Because when you ask God questions, He answers, one way or another.  He showed me something pretty revolutionary last night.

While I was listening, I started to think about how the plight of the orphan in general makes me feel: heartbroken.  But if I'm honest, it's in a broad, sympathetic kind of way, not in a gut level, close to home kind of way. Then, I started thinking about N in JP's place: two years old, wandering the streets alone and terrified, hungry, and not even comforted when she was taken to a shelter because she would've been surrounded by strangers. I had to stop my well developed imagination before I got in too deep, because it was more than I could take. I just started sobbing. It made me want to scream and never stop screaming. 

And then God gently dropped this into my heart... Yes, attachment takes time, and that's ok, but knowing how He has wired me, how deeply I feel with others I care about when they suffer, I think there's a part of me deep down that is terrified that if I truly start to feel like JP is my own in the way that N is my own, and my own daughter did experience those heart wrenching things, the feelings that will bring will be more than I can bear. I'm afraid it will undo me completely. That kind of grief can be paralyzing, nauseating, and I don't want to feel that pain after the valley I have already walked through the past couple of years. If only that cup could pass from my lips.  But after I had calmed, and was leaning into Him with those heart groanings that no words can express, He showed me the beauty from the ashes: that accepting, embracing, and willingly walking through that grief in my own heart, and eventually with JP as her journey progresses, is how He will bind us together in exactly the way I was talking about yesterday.  

Does that epiphany change the difficulty of the road ahead?  Nope.  Not in the slightest way.  But there is something freeing about naming a fear, and then relinquishing it.  It brings my vision into focus.  It clears some cobwebs out of my mind.  Not my will, but yours be done.

Oh, how bittersweet is love this side of Paradise.  How deep the Father's love for us.  How rich the blessing of seeing Love revealed.  He is completely glorious. 

Love languages

Was it Plato who said, "Know thyself"?  I probably studied that at some point, but the details have long ago been deleted.  Marriage and parenthood definitely cause one to hold a magnifying glass up to one's life and recognize details that might otherwise have escaped notice.  

I read The Five Love Languages several years back, and it came as no surprise that my love language is Quality Time.  I gave myself a lot of grace when I first got home on the whole attachment thing.  As I've mentioned, I had a bunch of adoptive moms reassure me that my feelings (and lack of feelings) were completely normal.  But now that we are starting to settle into our new normal, and life feels almost mundane again in a new and chaotic way, that wretched mommy guilt is rearing its ugly head.  My number one love language is quality time, and my number one spiritual gift is compassion, "to suffer with".  So yeah... where did that go?  What's with the numbness?  The secret favoritism that I recognize and loathe in my heart?  Some days, I actually feel like I'm ok.  Other days, I'm keenly aware of the fact that I have not recovered emotionally or mentally from last year.  But I sure am doing a lot of soul searching these days in the few quiet moments I can carve out.  And when I say searching, I mean both recognizing things that are there, and actually searching for things that feel lost.  Where is the woman who wept over a child she had never seen?  Where is the passionate activist for orphan care and anti-trafficking?  Where is the girl who felt so deeply?  She must be asleep... or passed out in the bed on a ventilator.  Sometimes feeling that deeply hurts so bad that you have to scab over for a while before you bleed out.

Sorry for the bunny trail.

Maybe I'm trying to justify my many shortcomings, but it occurred to me last night as I was talking to my husband, that quality time and communication are vital for me in feeling connected in any relationship.  Even with our bio four year old, we talk about things.  And I don't just mean eating vegetables and going potty.  She asks really good questions.  She tells me what she's thinking about and how she's feeling.  She tells me stories and listens to me do the same, as long as I keep it to 30 seconds or less.  I've spent four and a half years learning how to read her, growing in my love for her.  My communications with JP, at this point, are basically confined to daily requirements and activities.  While her English has come along very well, and we communicate mostly without a hitch throughout the day, conversation is not really in the mix yet.  I don't know who she is, and only a great deal of time and patience is even going to begin to tell me that story.  I serve her.  I take care of her.  I give her hugs and kisses, read her books, and kick the ball with her, but I don't know her.  That connection specific to my love language is not there yet, and won't be for a long time.  I can only guess at her love language.  

So maybe I'm justifying, grasping at straws here.  Maybe I should be feeling more after almost four months than I do.  Maybe I should just relax about it like I did in the beginning and remember that four years and four months are a totally different ballgame.  Maybe what I'm judging in my own heart as feelings of favoritism are really just the natural feelings that come along with a longer and deeper connection to someone with whom I spend nearly all my days and moments.  But I also know that there's that spark of compassion still in there, that even though it feels like someone outside of me right now, is longing to give what I don't yet have to give her... the deep, instictual, undeniable love of a mother to her children.  The kind of love that no matter how crazy they drive you makes you want to wrap your arms around them and hold them close when you're away from them for a while.  It's just there.  It's in you.  You don't have to manufacture it.  You can't, in fact, because I've been trying to for four months.  Every child should experience that.  And God picked me to give that to her.  I can only conclude, then, that at some point, He will enable me to do just that.         

Three months home

That's hard to believe.  I'm not sure where the month of April went.  We did have some milestone moments since I last blogged, though.  I believe it was the first day of Spring, March 21st that I got my first voluntary goodnight kiss.  JP started pre-K at N's preschool and has loved it.  I remember her second day, she ran out the door with N and Daddy, and paused briefly to look back and shout, "I lub you, Mommy!"  

I think we are finally evening out a bit in the affection department.  She started out completely resistant to it.  She swung the other way once we got home and was utterly smothering in her need to be constantly hanging on me.  That was rough for me, particularly first thing in the morning when I reeeeeeally need my personal space.  But now, she is very affectionate without being over the top.  She loves to hold my hand and give hugs, but she's no longer acting as a third leg attached to my personage all day long.  She's also very affectionate with our family and friends, and it has been interesting trying to explain the difference between friends that are ok to hug, and random strangers that I might smile and speak to in passing.  The other day at Panera, I was taking JP to the restroom, and a lady smiled at us and said, "Your daughters are beautiful."  I smiled and thanked her, and apparently, JP took that to mean that we were now buddies.  As we walked past the woman's table, JP reached out and brushed her face with her hand.  I quickly intercepted, but the woman was very gracious.  I tried to explain to JP that we don't touch people we don't know, and so far, it seems the message has gone through.  Still, any time we have friends over or she sees familiar faces at church, that person better be ready for a bear hug!  I'm very thankful that she is responding well to our family and friends.

I have also tried occasionally peppering in the use of the name we gave her (her first name) in addition to the name she was given when she arrived at the orphanage.  I showed her how N has two names, and explained that we gave her another name so that she could have two as well.  The other day, she used the magnetic letters on the easel to spell out the name we picked, and went around chanting it all day!  Obviously, at five years old, if she wants to be called by her given name, that is totally fine with us.  We just wanted to let her become familiar with the name we picked as well, and make her own decision.  I want her to view it as a gift, rather than feeling like we are trying to take away the one thing she brought with her... her name.  She seems to be responding to both names now, so we will see where that goes.  

All in all, attachment is coming along a little bit at a time.  I still feel very exasperated much of the time, mainly because the girls have wasted no time jumping straight into full blown sibling rivalry.  Two girls, 13 months apart, both strong willed.  It gets a little wild around here.  JP is definitely the instigator, and N retaliates spectacularly.  Cue tattling.  It has been interesting to see them find their balance.  N definitely acts like the first born in most ways, even though she is younger.  They both really enjoy trying to boss the other one around.  Gracious.  Let's just say there are plenty of opportunities for them to learn to navigate conflict and resolution.  Thankfully, hearing other moms of multiples talk (whether adopted or bio), this sounds like completely normal sibling interactions, so I'm not too fussed about it.  I'm annoyed, but not worried. =)  

Last night, as I was hugging JP goodnight, she asked me to pray with her.  My heart just about melted.  It is a blessing to have those sweet moments to remind me that being a mother is about beauty in the middle of the mess.  It's definitely the toughest job I will ever have, but my girls are worth it.

Silver Lining

Goodness, there are so many things people don't tell you about adoption post-airport.  And it's probably because nobody told them about it either, and they're withering under the guilt of their feelings.

Well, you can always count on me to tell it like it is!  But in all seriousness, I don't think I would be making it right now if it weren't for the moms ahead of me reaching back, grabbing my hand, encouraging me to press on and rest in the truth that this is all completely normal and temporary.  Thanks, mamas.  You know who you are.

The thing is, I was as prepared as you can be for trauma, fits, raging, culture shock, grief, for attachment to take time.  What I was not prepared for was how difficult it would be for me to feel like she is mine.  I mean, our daughter by birth drives me nuts constantly.  She is strong willed, stubborn, and bursting with energy.  But at the end of the day, I delight in her, and I know her beautiful heart; she is mine, and I love her all the way to the moon and back.  After all we went through to get JP here, all the battles, all the tears I shed, I did not expect to feel like someone in permanent nanny mode to another person's difficult child.  But again (thank you, adoptive mamas), I've been given the freedom to allow my own attachment to happen in its time.  And each day, I force myself to get out of bed, put one foot in front of the other, and give the only kind of love I can give: the choosing love.  The real love.  The love that only comes from the Holy Spirit at work in me, because I have nothing of my own to offer up right now.  The feelings will come.

And yesterday, I got a tiny glimpse of them.  A fellow Indimama just got word that they can travel to bring their daughter home from the same orphanage that JP was in.  They posted her picture on FB, and JP saw it over my shoulder.  She immediately said the little girl's name and the orphanage name, and started chattering to me.  She showed me how tall this girl was, and how old she was.  Then she started naming her other friends there and showing me their height and ages with her hands and broken English.  It's silly, but I felt myself tearing up.  I think it is the first time in our almost two months together that we simply had a communicative interaction that did not involve a want, need, defiance, or just mindless gibberish for the sake of sound.  She was just telling me a story about something that was important to her.  It made me so happy.  I got to see a little bit of her heart, the real child underneath.  I got to enjoy a moment with her that was just sharing.  I had a little tiny glimpse of feeling my heart swell with love for her as a person, not an idea, not a responsibility, but a person.  Maybe those moments are the exception rather than the rule, but I'll take the silver lining as proof  that the sun does exist behind the clouds. 

One month home

Well, one month plus a few days, but I'm not sure I could accurately tell you the date at this point.  Sometimes I feel very poetic when I write.  Today is not one of those days.  Heck, this week isn't even one of those weeks.  These days, I am mostly living on a dry sense of humor and wine chocolate.  

In all honesty, things are going well for JP.  She is making great strides in attachment.  She constantly wants our attention to show us a bite of food she's taken, another rock she's put in her basket, another streak of color she's drawn on her page... or just to look at her whether she's actually done anything new or not.  She definitely likes hugs now, although she still really doesn't do kisses much.  She and N are playing and laughing hysterically (and loudly) together constantly, until they both want the same toy, and then it (loudly) goes downhill very quickly.  Tantrums have gone from 1-2 per day to one or two every few days.  We have been loving, but very firm on boundaries, and I think she is starting to recognize that consistency.  

Mostly, we have pretty good days.  I can't explain how those good days still manage to be so. stinking. exhausting.  I now carry ear plugs in my pocket at all times, because I reach a point nearly everyday where I have to take the volume down about 30 decibels, or I'm going to lose it.  I occasionally lock myself in the bathroom for a few minutes of relative peace and quiet.  I've even taken to locking my bedroom door too just so that the knocking and fingers groping under the door are not directly visible to me... even if I know they're there.  This is the never ending winter.  It is cold.  And they are loud.  And crazy.  ALL THE TIME.  I love my children dearly, and I thank God for them.  That doesn't stop me from bundling them up and sending them outside to run laps, even if it's 40 degrees.  They have rooms full of toys, but all they want to do are the things we only allow outside: run, and yell.  Something's gotta give.

It was finally sunny and warm today, and we got to go out and play for real.  We spent hours out there, and let me tell you, it makes all the difference in the world.  We all got some activity, and they were able to run, play, and yell as much as they wanted to.  It was glorious. They were tired this evening, which means dinner was actually somewhat pleasant, instead of looking like a scene out of a Looney Toons Taz cartoon.  If Spring will actually stick around, I just might survive these first few months of adjustment.

It's hard to explain how this feels similar to bringing home a newborn.  We definitely have a different set of challenges, and I am getting more sleep than I did when N was a newborn, but good day or bad, I am totally and completely exhausted by bedtime.  It's more mental and emotional than physical, but it makes you feel tired in body when it seems like you've been filled up that morning to literally have every last drop sucked out of you over the course of the day.  That exhaustion lasted for months with N.  I can only imagine it will be a similar run with JP.  She needs us as much as a newborn would, but we have all the parenting challenges that come with a five year old (any five year old) along with the attachment and emotional needs that are specific to her background.  And I'll be honest, the exhaustion has had a large effect on my ability to feel attached to her as well.  I struggle with it daily.  I love her.  But it's not the same yet.  I would have been the first to argue that you can love a child that is not from your body just as much as a biological child.  And I still believe that.  But once they are home, and reality hits, you realize that it doesn't happen overnight, no matter how desperate you felt during the waiting.  She is my daughter, but it doesn't feel like it yet to me.  I've just accepted that for now, my feelings are on hold.  I am choosing to love her and mother her every single day, to wear myself out doing it, then to crawl into bed so I can get up and do it all over again the next day.  Some days I do it really well.  A lot of days, I feel it is painfully obvious that I am barely getting by.  But when people ask how it's going, all I know to say is, "pretty well, all things considered," because well, it is... but I still feel almost numb as I go through the daily motions of motherhood.  Perhaps I will thrive again someday.  I hope that my children will know me and remember me as more than the shell of a human being I feel like right now.  I suppose all this just makes it painfully obvious that I need just as much grace everyday as she does.  Here's hoping the light at the end of the tunnel I keep hearing about is still there.  I just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other until I round the bend and see it for myself.            

Home at last

It's hard to believe that this time last week, we were somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean flying home.  This week seems to somehow have flown and crawled by.  

We were so excited to finally be home, and it was just beautiful to see how N helped JP to open up almost immediately.  The innocent love of a child is sometimes the clearest picture of God's own heart.  N immediately took her sister's hand, and they held hands all the way to the van, and all the way home.  The shyness faded away pretty quickly once we got JP home and she checked out her room and the playroom for the first time!  They were playing dress up in the princess tent almost before I finished my bathroom break.  When S made it home a few hours later, the first thing JP did was grab his hand and take him up to show off her room.  =)  It has been amazing to watch her watch us with N, and really start to see what family affection looks like.  Just within the past few days, she has willingly hugged us (not just "the lean").  She even let me kiss her goodnight last night.  Baby steps.  And we are celebrating every one of them.

I'll be honest, dear ones: Adoption is hard, pre- and post-airport.  I fought for this child, cried for this child, loved her with all my heart for over two years.  You can imagine how terrifying it was to finally be with her and realize those good feelings were gone.  I wasn't attached to her.  I chose love, but I didn't "feel" love toward her.  I felt fear, anxiety, deep sadness.  What if she always resented us for taking her from the only caregivers she could remember?  What if she destroyed our family life?  What if all of this was too much for N at such a young age and had a detrimental effect on her?  There was no end to the "what ifs" swirling around in my head.  I was so thankful for the adoptive mamas who reached out to me, even while we were in India to tell me that all of those feelings were completely normal.  And to promise me that there was a light at the end of the tunnel.  If I ever have the chance to do that for another mama, I will count it as worth it, because I can't tell you how those women quieted my spirit with their honest, loving hearts.

And that's why I will never pretend that redemption is easy, but I will also promise to look for the little victories along the way.  There is much work still to be done, but there is much to celebrate as well, and I find myself stopping to give thanks in my heart over so many tiny things each day.  I have been praying since day one with JP for the Lord to give me a deep love for her, to cause me to see her as He does now that we have jumped straight into the trenches with her.  And do you know what?  He didn't wait long to start filling me with that love.  It's there, renewed every morning, renewed through every testing time and battle of wills, through little moments when she lets me comfort and be close to her as a mother should.  And for that, I am thankful.    

To India, and back again, part 6- 2/7/14

Our coordinator was able to get the negative sputum test reports on Sunday evening, and first thing Monday morning, we headed to the original clinic so the doctor could sign off on JP's medical packet. She got a little teary eyed while we were there. I tried to explain that she didn't have to do anymore tests, bless her heart. I'm glad FIVE negative tests were finally enough to prove to the CDC that she doesn't have TB. Poor baby. 

As soon as we got the medical packet, we rushed to the embassy. We had already done the interview and paid our fee when we were there on Thursday. There was hardly anyone there then. When we walked in Monday it was packed out. The gentleman at the desk knew our coordinator, so he took our paperwork right back. For about an hour or an hour and a half we waited, and wondered, and prayed...and prayed some more. We didn't know if they would issue the visa then or tell us to come back in the afternoon, or, worse, the next day. Finally, they called us up and handed us JP's passport, complete with visa, as well as our official Hague adoption certificate. Thank you, Lord!  

We had to check out of the hotel at 2:00, but our flight out wasn't until 11:35pm. Our coordinator surprised us by giving us a hotel room at his hotel (on his tab) so we could relax before our flight. Of course, there's not much relaxing going on with a hyper five year old in the room, but I was so thankful we didn't just have to walk around the mall for six hours. 

Our driver dropped us at the airport, and we were on our way. I swear we had to go through half a dozen security checks, and everyone was very curious about JP being with us. We got interrogated by airport staff about every five minutes. Thankfully, there was no trouble, and we got on our flight without any problems. JP slept the first seven hours...and climbed the walls for the next eight and a half. Kudos to those of you who take long flights with young children. I hope I never have to do it again, because not only was I unable to sleep, but I was constantly having to keep her from breaking things or disturbing others around us. By the time we touched down in Newark, I was pretty frazzled, but oh, so happy to be back in the good old US of A. We went through immigration without a problem, got the official stamp declaring JP a US citizen, and got our bag to go through and recheck it on home. That's when we found out that our flight home had been canceled, along with hundreds of other flights, thanks to the snow storm that came through yesterday. All of Newark was about to hear this mama ugly cry. 

Initially, they said they couldn't get us home until tomorrow, but after hearing our story, the rep was able to finagle some things around and get JP and I on the next flight out. Husband was on standby, but he didn't make the first flight. Thankfully, he got the last seat on the next flight and was home within about three hours of us. It made me sad not to walk into the airport together for our little welcoming committee, but at that point, we were just so glad to be home, we didn't think too much about it. One battle down. Another beginning.

To India, and back again, part 5- 2/2/14

Friday began with the first sputum test. We had to wake P up early without giving her a bite of food or even a drink of water, get her dressed, and drive 45 minutes to the testing facility. We waited for another 30 minutes for the doctors to arrive. Then we had to walk up six flights of stairs to the roof, and try to explain to this poor, shivering child that she had to hock up a bunch of loogies for us. That was fun. For a while, she looked like she was going to cry. I think she was very confused, even with a staff member explaining in Hindi. But she eventually started hacking and we showered her with praise. I can honestly say that's the first time I've praised a child for drooling. After we finished, we had to get some food in her belly and make sure she got her meds on time. We were back at the hotel by 9:30am, just staring at each other, trying to figure out what in the world we were going to do for the next 10 hours to keep her busy. 

We did the usual rotation of coloring, balloons, and TV, with a couple of attempts in there to walk around the attached mall just to get out of the room. If you know me at all, you'll know how much I love malls (if you don't know me well, that last bit was in sarcastic font). The best part was the three story toy store on one side. We let P pick a toy, and she chose a stuffed lion.  We got N a tiger, because when I asked her what she wanted us to bring her from India, she said a tiger. "A real one??" I asked. "No, Mama!  Just a pretend one, you silly goose."  One pretend tiger. Check. 

That day was when we had our first real dose of defiance. Some of it, I'm sure, was simply her trying to exert control when she feels completely out of control. And I think part of it was just being bored. She's used to a busy schedule including six hours of school a day, so balloons and coloring are probably not going to occupy her mind after that. It was a long day. A very long day. And the next morning when we went for P's second sputum test, I begged our coordinator to take us out later that day. He was happy to get us out of the hotel room, so we went to a local market with items from all the different states in India. I picked up a few more gifts and souvenirs, and then P and I got matching henna on our hands. Karyn Purvis would be so proud. Well, at least about that part.  Probably not so much about the four plus hours of TV per day. But hey, we're not trying to win the Stellar Parents of the Week award here. Right now, we are embracing survival mode, and just rolling with whatever keeps everyone's sanity as close to in tact as possible. We finished up our outing with some authentic Indian food at at local restaurant, which was super tasty. P horked it down like it was her job. Thus far, she's had a healthy appetite, but has not shown any tendencies toward gorging or hoarding food. That's good news. It means she probably did not go hungry at the orphanage. 

This morning (Sunday) we went back for P's final sputum test. Each morning we've gone after the first, they've confirmed a negative result for the previous day's test. She finished her final loogie hocking, and we came back to the hotel for a little bit before going out with our coordinator again. He took us to a historical garden, park sort of thing. There were several dilapidated moseleums with the most beautiful architecture. The hand carved stone and paintings were amazing. It was also nice to walk around in some fresh air, away from the constant yelling, honking, and smoggy air of the city. It was like a little sanctuary in the center of the chaos. Because chaos is really the only way to describe the roads in Delhi (or Mumbai). There are no acknowledged traffic lanes, lights, or signals. They do exist, but no one pays any attention to them. The streets are filled with cars, tuk tuks, rickshaws, motorcycles (with little children riding along- very few helmets), bicycles, pedestrians, and children begging for food at every forced red light. There are no car seats, seat belts, or rules of any kind, really. As our coordinator says, traffic flows like water in India. Well, if water constantly lays on its horn and just goes wherever the heck it feels like whenever it feels like it, then that is true. It is definitely sensory overload up in there, y'all. Still, it's time not spent in our room, so no worries. We ate out again and then came back to await the call from the clinic. Our coordinator decided to go on out to the testing center to "Sit on their heads" to encourage them to work faster. I guess it worked, because he called at about 5:30 to let us know that he had the test results in his hand!  Tomorrow morning, we will go to the clinic to have the first doctor sign off on the medical packet, and then go to the embassy to beg them to give us P's visa. They said on Thursday that they would give us priority (after I stood there sobbing because they wouldn't let me go home). Hopefully they will be true to their word and issue the visa ASAP. Our flight leaves out tomorrow night at 11:35pm. We can't really afford to change it again, so they're just going to have to get it done. I've got P bathed and our bags packed up. I will be tracking our plane as soon as I wake up in the morning. I cannot wait to be home!!!

To India, and back again, part 4- 2/1/14

Day three with JP brought more baby steps forward. We went out to do some shopping. We have to watch her closely, because she does not want us to hold her hands, but she will wander off if we don't keep a close eye on her. Shopping was fun, and then we headed over to the clinic again. The doctor called to let us know that the embassy would also require an X-Ray TB test. That seemed pointless, as the X-ray is only supposed to be necessary if the skin test was reactive. Still we were thankful that the doctor called and told us (which is unheard of) so we wouldn't waste time. After the X-ray, we headed back to the hotel to relax. I got out the bubbles, and JP lit up. She was laughing and chattering away all afternoon. We also started to see her ornery streak come out. That is also normal for a child from a hard place to test you with bad behavior just to see if you'll stick around. It was mostly just mischief, getting into things she knew she shouldn't, but we did have some full out defiance as well. We were so happy with the thought that we would get her test results the next day, and hopefully her visa. We were already looking at switching our flights to leave out the next night, Thursday. 

The next morning, we went back to the clinic to get JP's medical report to take to the embassy. Her skin test was fine, as was her X-ray. That's when the doctor told us that he had discovered a CDC requirement that all people with her specific medical need were also required to take the TB sputum test, no matter what. That test takes three days to collect. We were devastated. I don't think I can properly communicate how desperately S and I wanted to be home. It had been a hard week. We were exhausted. And even though the hotel staff here is AMAZING, we were ready to be in our home with both girls in one place. Our hearts have been split between two continents for far too long. 

We begged the embassy for an exemption, but they did not have the authority to give it. Only the CDC could, and we may as well have asked them to let us go to the moon. The wheels turn oh so slowly with the government, and taking the tests would be quicker than waiting for a response from the CDC. So S and I had another good cry that night, emailed my parents to tell them dad would need to take off more work, emailed our travel agent to try and change our tickets to Monday night in the hope we would have JP's visa by then. And $2,000 later we had changed our tickets and extended our stay with the hotel. 

We put our heads down to push on through, and tried to focus on enjoying our time with JP, even if we were running very short on entertainment and emotional energy. JP is two different people here: quiet and unresponsive around others, boisterous and energetic around us. I can't wait to be home where we can let her run and play in the yard and expend some of that energy! Still, as difficult as it is to be couped up in a hotel room for 10 hours a day with an energetic five year old, we are thankful that she has come out of her shell with us. She is not physically affectionate yet in the form of hugs or holding hands, but it is beautiful to see her make an effort to connect with us in other ways. She will write words, blow up a balloon, or put her jewelry on her animals and then call "Amma!" to show me what she's done. She will offer us the after dinner mints that come with room service, or help us clean things up without being asked. Even seeing her ask me for help in the bathroom or getting dressed is a very positive sign.  She may not be ready for parent-child affection, but she has begun to rely on us and trust us to provide for her very quickly. Those are excellent steps toward attachment. I look down the road even a few months and years, and dream of the child she will become. I pray the Lord gives her joy she's never even imagined, and that she finds her freedom, her identity in HIM, her heavenly Father.  

To India, and back again, part 3- 2/1/14

We were not sure what to expect when JP woke up on Tuesday morning, but after some initial apprehension, she accepted a little breakfast and got up without a fuss. We had to get her ready to take to the clinic for her TB test that morning, and she was mostly cooperative. 

She waits very patiently both in the car and waiting rooms, and we have spent HOURS in both of those places this week. She took the TB skin test without even flinching.   We came back to the room after our appointment, and little by little made some baby steps forward. We got out the balloons, and discovered that they do, in fact, span all cultures. We got our first smiles through playing with them. What an encouragement. Even though we had the head knowledge that attachment takes a lot of time and effort, it's still hard not to feel like your child will hate you forever and destroy your family life as you know it. Perhaps that sounds melodramatic, but I promise you that the emotions and hormones flooding through an adoptive mama's system are very much the same as a mom who has just given birth. I have seen many similarities in my feelings through this week to the feelings I had in the weeks after N's rather traumatic entry into the world. Perhaps it is not uncommon for new mothers to have a sort of "buyer's remorse", no matter how their children enter their families, and no matter how long and hard they prayed for those children.  Or maybe that's just wishful thinking, and I'm a Lone Ranger in those struggles. Either way, it's the truth, and I won't sugar coat this journey and make it anything less than it is. Joy and suffering so often go hand in hand.  I won't minimize the suffering, because it would also nullify the joy. Still, I wouldn't mind seeing some blessings that aren't in disguise at some point!

To India, and back again, part 2- 2/1/14

Is it possible that I have lived a lifetime in the past week?  Because it feels like I have. There may be a time in the future when I come back and write about this in more detail, but right now, I will simply have to type what pours out of my heart. 

We made it to India late Sunday night, and after shuffling through the inevitable crowd of people being herded through immigration, we laid eyes on the outside world of India for the very first time. The word chaos does not even begin to describe that scene. We wandered out into a square surrounded by hundreds of  people, none of which were from the hotel we were trying to get to. After finally asking another hotel driver for help calling ours, and not being entirely sure that message went through, we finally hired an airport taxi and prayed for our lives as we zipped off toward what we hoped was the right hotel. We finally arrived, got cleaned up, and passed out in the bed, hours away from meeting our daughter for the first time. 

Our in country coordinator met us in the lobby the next morning and we left for JP's orphanage. After having a chance to talk with the director about her past, her routine, likes and dislikes, etc., they finally brought JP into the room. I did not expect her to run into our arms, but nothing can really prepare you for that moment. She seemed to be in shock, basically unresponsive even to familiar people. She did not want us to touch her at all. She did not smile. But when it came time to get up and go, she suddenly went from "freeze" to "fight" mode. She fought getting in the car, and in the end, the director had to put her in the car, and I had to physically restrain her so S could get in and shut the door. JP began screaming and pounding my leg with her fists trying to get away from me and climb into the front seat with our coordinator. We allowed that, just to calm her down. She settled down and went back to being sullen and unresponsive. 

It was a long day for everyone. We had to go to the airport to fly to Delhi. She did allow us to hold her hand in the airport, and she did very well on the plane. But when we got to the hotel and our coordinator pulled away in the car, the tears began again. She was wailing for either a caretaker or a friend, I'm not sure, and she was trying to beat down the door to get out of the room. It was utterly heartbreaking. When you have a newborn who cries, you can take your child in your arms and comfort her. When you have a new child from a traumatic background who cries, you can't do that. All you can do is sit there and let your heart break with hers. JP was inconsolable for about 20 minutes, and then finally calmed down, let me put her jammies on (over her clothes), and passed out in the bed. She was filthy, and had some visible nits in her hair, but bathing was just not an option. 

After JP fell asleep, S and I retreated to the bathroom to have a good cry as well. We were both horribly homesick for N, and we were devastated that we couldn't do anything to comfort our daughter here. Again, we expected JP to grieve. And in a way, we were thankful for it, because it shows she was attached to her caregivers. And if she's capable of attaching to them, then that attachment will eventually be transferred to us. Still, no amount of knowledge can prepare you for the emotions of that moment: helplessness, fear, heartache, depression. I say all of these things not to discourage anyone from adoption, but rather to be completely honest about the reality of what redemption and restoration look like. Jesus endured the agony of the cross because of the joy set before him, and so He and we endure the agony of redemption because HE is the joy set before us, and we are willing to do whatever it takes to wholeheartedly run into his arms. What a vivid reminder this is of His work to win our hearts and draw us up out of the pit.

To India, and back again, part 1- 1/25/14

So here we are, stranded in Newark. I should back up. 

We planned our trip, booked flights and hotels, tied up loose ends at the house, and had a strange sense of calm mixed in with excitement as we prepared to leave on Friday afternoon. We were finally on our way to bring JP home. N did great, and this mama's heart was thankful for that. We said our airport goodbyes. She went back home with my parents, and we went through security eagerly awaiting our first leg of the journey being behind us.  Well, I was probably more eager than my sweet husband, who loathes flying. All was well until about a half hour before we were supposed to board, when we realized something was amiss. Our plane out of Chicago was delayed because of weather, and the lav had frozen, so they were awaiting an entirely new plane altogether. 

Long story short (I feel like I'm going to have to say that a lot), our flight was delayed four hours, and yes, we missed our connecting flight to India. And every other connecting flight out of the US. After what seemed like forever at the customer service desk, we finally accepted the fact that the farthest we were getting was Newark last night. So we made it, with gusty winds and a questionable landing. But we made it. They gave us a voucher for a hotel, and somewhere around 11:30pm, we made a bolt from the airport to the hotel shuttle in single digit temperatures. No, we did not bring winter clothes. It's 80 degrees in India. Thankfully, though, international travel has taught me to carry everything I need on my back at all times, and my survivalist packing skills came in very handy. I dug as many layers as I could find out of my bag, and as we wound our way through the icy industrial yards of NJ, I silently thanked the Lord that we had all of our personal belongings. Our single checked bag only holds things we are hoping to have at the Delhi hotel, nothing terribly crucial. 

We'll hang out here until about lunch time when we have to check out. Then it's back to the airport to pray, pray, pray that our flight out to Mumbai is on time and good to go tonight. We should leave at 8:10, which will put us touching down in India about 12 hours before we are supposed to go pick JP up on Monday morning. Our flight to Delhi leaves Monday evening to be there for her medical appointment on Tuesday morning. Needless to say, we do NOT want this to get pushed back, as it will push everything else back and require us to change our tickets home to the following Monday. We are supposed to be home Monday the 3rd around noon, and although I normally enjoy travel, all I want right now is to get JP, get home, and have all of my children in one place with me. It has been a long time coming. 

Yes, I know I need to enjoy this. And while I can't say that I'm necessarily at that point, my faith and trust in the One who has orchestrated this great adventure from the beginning, from BEFORE the beginning, is without question. I have seen him break down wall after wall after wall, and I am confident of this: He will not stop now. As always, your prayers are felt and appreciated. Pray us on to India tonight, friends!  We are almost to our sweet girl!