Can we just revisit, for a moment, how stupid I find thoughtless vaccine requirements?
I have three children who will have to have yet another dose of DTaP, "due to increasing outbreaks," not only this year, but when they enter middle school and possibly again in high school....against a disease they have ALREADY HAD.
I have four children who will have to be vaccinated, not once, but twice, against a disease they have ALREADY HAD.
And I have two children who will have to be vaccinated again against a disease they are unlikely to ever get because someone in the public health department screwed up in 2006.
Not only that, I have a child that is something like 19 vaccines behind because he a) had a nasty reaction to his first MMR dose. b) had chicken pox (against which we will have to vaccinate him, anyway) when it was time to go in for another dose, which c) may or may not be the cause of the encephalitis he incurred shortly thereafter (the other causes which may have been either the DTaP, or Hep B which he received just before he got Chicken pox)
So no, I'm not rushing in to get their vaccines "caught up" so they can stay in school.
Talk to me about it after you've watched your perfectly healthy little boy go from being able to run and play to stumbling, walking into walls, being unable to climb stairs and unable to lift a spoon to his mouth without tremors causing the food to fall off the spoon.
Brent says I should ask myself if it's worth the fight.
Today I'm feeling like it is.
**sidebar: I have been told that we don't have to do all this if I have a signed note from a doctor saying that my children had these diseases. Interesting process, this. First, when one child gets, let's say, pertussis, it stands to reason that they all might have it. In fact, a mother might not sleep for six weeks solid. So, say, the mother makes one appt. with a doctor, and takes in all three children who are all coughing their brains out and the doctor tests one child and gives antibiotic prescriptions to three plus the two parents.....which child is the documented case? Yeah. repeat for Chicken Pox. Except WHO takes their child in to see the doctor with chicken pox, unless, say said child starts exhibiting other strange symptoms like hand tremors and lack of balance?**
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
Today at Target
The cashier offered to help me open a Target debit card so I could save 5% on my purchases.
I waved my Target card at him.
He said, "No offense, but you should really get the debit card. To be honest."
Sounds to me like Jalen's been though Dave Ramsey.
I told him that as little as I made it to Target, my credit card would work fine today, but that I appreciated his concern seeing as how he was correct and if I was going to use a card, it should be debit. Even though I'd pay today's purchase off when it came due (the 23rd of every month).
Burden of guilt, much? My shame was palpable. But I was also in a hurry and didn't want to bother with the switch.
Way to go, Jalen. I hope you get a raise. You should go far.
I waved my Target card at him.
He said, "No offense, but you should really get the debit card. To be honest."
Sounds to me like Jalen's been though Dave Ramsey.
I told him that as little as I made it to Target, my credit card would work fine today, but that I appreciated his concern seeing as how he was correct and if I was going to use a card, it should be debit. Even though I'd pay today's purchase off when it came due (the 23rd of every month).
Burden of guilt, much? My shame was palpable. But I was also in a hurry and didn't want to bother with the switch.
Way to go, Jalen. I hope you get a raise. You should go far.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
The Way I See It: Fundraising for Adoption
Not that I really think I have a readership waiting with baited breath to see what I think about controversial things, but I have several things on my mind and I keep writing posts in my head, so I might as well write them down. I will title the series, "The Way I See It." Because that's what this is, and I recognize it. It's purely my opinion and no matter how vehemently I profess my opinion, it is still only opinion. I know for a fact that many people disagree with me. They've told me so. They didn't necessarily know they were disagreeing with me. Some of my words might have given them the impression that I agreed. Partly because I am not eloquent with my voice. Partly because I agree on principle, or in general. But, I think better through my fingers where use of a delete button can clear up most misunderstandings before they becomes an issue.
So, without further ado: The way I see it. Why fundraising for adoption makes sense (for some and not necessarily for others).
I've been asked as an adoptive parent whether I think people ought to raise money in order to adopt. Well, my answer, typically, is, "You didn't ask me to pay for your epidural." But that answer is simple in a complicated world. First, I started saying that after I adopted an infant. A healthy infant. A newborn. Because I wanted a baby. While that baby was technically "special needs" because the world is ignorant, he was still my method, per se, to grow my family. For purely selfish reasons.
(People in my past have painted me a saint in regard to this and it's all bumfoodled in my mind so sometimes I believe the self-sacrificing saintly reflection, but most of the time I have to accept that while I have some pretty decent qualities, our first adoption was primarily selfish. But enough about that.)
With this second adoption, I'm riding the fence somewhere between selfish and serving. Am I growing my family for me? I suppose when God places a desire so strongly in your heart, it grows difficult to discern between what you are doing for others and what you are doing for yourself. I can't NOT adopt Iris. I reached a point in which I could no longer sleep knowing she was in the world without a mama, without being in our family. That's it. I leave it up to others at this point to decide whether they would like to help us bring her home. What God places within their hearts is between them and God. I've thought about selling coffee (there's a group that donates $5 per bag sold to your adoption). I've thought about applying for grants. But grants would force me to fund raise. You only get as much money from them as you get from others. It's matching and yes, it would make a huge dent in our bill. Yes, I've even considered leaning heavily on my very popular bloggy friends to see if they would help. But God hasn't released me to do that yet. Not sure why. And I'm OK with that. With whatever. God has this one and I have to trust he knows what's what. Even when air conditioners and garage doors break and tax bills come due.
My point in all that is that this ISN'T a self-serving post on why people should be able to fund raise. This isn't a post based on my appeal for your help for my adoption. That may some day come. This is merely my thoughts on fundraising in general and will not be followed by a passing of the plate.
Here's the thing. There are people in this world who feel passionately about helping with the orphan crisis. Some people feel passionately that they must adopt. Some people feel passionately that they can't, but they can help someone else do it. Some people feel passionately about clean water in India. Some people feel passionately that they should go out to eat Indian food tonight and they can't do that if they contribute to someone's adoption or water fund. I get it.
But there are people out there who have money to help someone else adopt their children and want to use their money for that purpose. When people are having their fundraisers, THOSE are the people they are trying to reach. Yes, they hope that their appeal will reach you, every one of you, because that will help them reach their goal, but what they really want is for you to WANT to help their child. No one is trying to make you feel guilty. (Well, someone might be, but I believe that most of the people I've seen fund raise aren't trying to play the guilt card. If I had to guess, I'd say that you feel guilty for a reason that only you know. Some call that the Holy Spirit. I've felt that "guilt," so I know of which I speak.)
Most people who fund raise aren't adopting a healthy American newborn whom they get at birth and matches them. Most people who fund raise are adopting a child who has been rejected by society. They have no one left to help them. They are dependent upon the compassion of others to reach adulthood. These children come with baggage, attachment disorders, several siblings, birth defects, scars, malnutrition, and/or emotional stuff that no one without a passion for these children would want to deal with. (I also know beyond a shadow of a doubt that those children will be referred to as a gift, a blessing, the best thing that happened, well worth the pain, etc. by their future families.)
Yes, there comes a point when you have to troll some other depths. There are only so many times a single small group wants to purchase your t-shirt or come to your yard sale to buy some piece of junk in support of your decision. Fund raisers have to be creative or have creative friends. And yes, I also know that when you are in the small group, or same small town, or read the same blog weekly, or whatever, it feels like you've given out. You might grow frustrated. You might take it personally when they wonder aloud why No One Seems To Get It and Why Aren't People Giving More. Give 'em a break. They are passionately in love with their child and like the parent of the squashy, rat-like newborn who looks like grandpa did right after he had the flu, they don't understand why others don't think their child is the most perfect ever. It's a mommy thing. Think of it as her ninth month, the one pregnant women get grace for when being a bitch because her cankles are the size of your thigh and she can't even fit into her flip flops. That fund raising mama is having a down day. She isn't attacking YOU. She's frustrated that she hasn't found that annonymous donor who is going to tip her thermometer into a new bracket. If you've given all you can or want to give your friend, be done with it and let her cry. Or have a garage sale and donate the proceeds to her. Or sit with her at her garage sale. Or pray that her anonymous donor will find her soon so you can stop listening to her whine. Or invest in caller ID. (Though I don't recommend this as a friendship promoter.)
So, those're my thoughts on fundraising. Take a look at the family adopting. Take a look at the kiddo they are bringing home. Is it a kiddo that you would easily welcome into your family? (First, if it is, why aren't YOU adopting? And if you are, good for you!) Or better said, is it a kiddo you think the average person would easily add into their family? If (s)he is and you don't feel compelled to contribute, don't. If (s)he isn't, well, think about why you don't want to help. Talk to God about it. Still not compelled? OK.
One Hundred Forty-Seven Million Orphans.
147M
Someone has to do something about it. There are lots of people willing to do something about it by bringing those orphans home. They just need a little help. Someone has done the math and figured out that if 7% of professing Christians would adopt one orphan, the problem would no longer exist. There would be no more orphans. And if you are one of the 93% who isn't called to that do you have a few bucks or a prayer for those who are? At least be a sympathetic, supportive shoulder for them to lean on.
It's a child.
For those of us adopting, it's OUR child. But even so, it's a CHILD. This isn't someone who made a poor choice. This is a victim of a poor choice. And that child needs help.
Sometimes we can't give financially. But often we can. And we don't. I think, in part, due to pride. It's MY money and it's YOUR choice to do this, HOW is this MY problem?
Been there, thought it.
So, I say again, talk to God about it. I am convinced that some of us don't hear what we don't want to hear, but that is my opinion. The rest is between the giver and God (the Giver of ALL GOOD THINGS).
Think about it: if 7% of Christians can take in all 147 Million orphans, 93% at even a buck apiece is a stinkin' lotta cash. And that's leaving out all the non-professing Christians. At which point I can't necessarily appeal to your belief in God, but your humanity. Which, frankly, should work, too.
And that's all I have to say about that...
So, without further ado: The way I see it. Why fundraising for adoption makes sense (for some and not necessarily for others).
I've been asked as an adoptive parent whether I think people ought to raise money in order to adopt. Well, my answer, typically, is, "You didn't ask me to pay for your epidural." But that answer is simple in a complicated world. First, I started saying that after I adopted an infant. A healthy infant. A newborn. Because I wanted a baby. While that baby was technically "special needs" because the world is ignorant, he was still my method, per se, to grow my family. For purely selfish reasons.
(People in my past have painted me a saint in regard to this and it's all bumfoodled in my mind so sometimes I believe the self-sacrificing saintly reflection, but most of the time I have to accept that while I have some pretty decent qualities, our first adoption was primarily selfish. But enough about that.)
With this second adoption, I'm riding the fence somewhere between selfish and serving. Am I growing my family for me? I suppose when God places a desire so strongly in your heart, it grows difficult to discern between what you are doing for others and what you are doing for yourself. I can't NOT adopt Iris. I reached a point in which I could no longer sleep knowing she was in the world without a mama, without being in our family. That's it. I leave it up to others at this point to decide whether they would like to help us bring her home. What God places within their hearts is between them and God. I've thought about selling coffee (there's a group that donates $5 per bag sold to your adoption). I've thought about applying for grants. But grants would force me to fund raise. You only get as much money from them as you get from others. It's matching and yes, it would make a huge dent in our bill. Yes, I've even considered leaning heavily on my very popular bloggy friends to see if they would help. But God hasn't released me to do that yet. Not sure why. And I'm OK with that. With whatever. God has this one and I have to trust he knows what's what. Even when air conditioners and garage doors break and tax bills come due.
My point in all that is that this ISN'T a self-serving post on why people should be able to fund raise. This isn't a post based on my appeal for your help for my adoption. That may some day come. This is merely my thoughts on fundraising in general and will not be followed by a passing of the plate.
Here's the thing. There are people in this world who feel passionately about helping with the orphan crisis. Some people feel passionately that they must adopt. Some people feel passionately that they can't, but they can help someone else do it. Some people feel passionately about clean water in India. Some people feel passionately that they should go out to eat Indian food tonight and they can't do that if they contribute to someone's adoption or water fund. I get it.
But there are people out there who have money to help someone else adopt their children and want to use their money for that purpose. When people are having their fundraisers, THOSE are the people they are trying to reach. Yes, they hope that their appeal will reach you, every one of you, because that will help them reach their goal, but what they really want is for you to WANT to help their child. No one is trying to make you feel guilty. (Well, someone might be, but I believe that most of the people I've seen fund raise aren't trying to play the guilt card. If I had to guess, I'd say that you feel guilty for a reason that only you know. Some call that the Holy Spirit. I've felt that "guilt," so I know of which I speak.)
Most people who fund raise aren't adopting a healthy American newborn whom they get at birth and matches them. Most people who fund raise are adopting a child who has been rejected by society. They have no one left to help them. They are dependent upon the compassion of others to reach adulthood. These children come with baggage, attachment disorders, several siblings, birth defects, scars, malnutrition, and/or emotional stuff that no one without a passion for these children would want to deal with. (I also know beyond a shadow of a doubt that those children will be referred to as a gift, a blessing, the best thing that happened, well worth the pain, etc. by their future families.)
Yes, there comes a point when you have to troll some other depths. There are only so many times a single small group wants to purchase your t-shirt or come to your yard sale to buy some piece of junk in support of your decision. Fund raisers have to be creative or have creative friends. And yes, I also know that when you are in the small group, or same small town, or read the same blog weekly, or whatever, it feels like you've given out. You might grow frustrated. You might take it personally when they wonder aloud why No One Seems To Get It and Why Aren't People Giving More. Give 'em a break. They are passionately in love with their child and like the parent of the squashy, rat-like newborn who looks like grandpa did right after he had the flu, they don't understand why others don't think their child is the most perfect ever. It's a mommy thing. Think of it as her ninth month, the one pregnant women get grace for when being a bitch because her cankles are the size of your thigh and she can't even fit into her flip flops. That fund raising mama is having a down day. She isn't attacking YOU. She's frustrated that she hasn't found that annonymous donor who is going to tip her thermometer into a new bracket. If you've given all you can or want to give your friend, be done with it and let her cry. Or have a garage sale and donate the proceeds to her. Or sit with her at her garage sale. Or pray that her anonymous donor will find her soon so you can stop listening to her whine. Or invest in caller ID. (Though I don't recommend this as a friendship promoter.)
So, those're my thoughts on fundraising. Take a look at the family adopting. Take a look at the kiddo they are bringing home. Is it a kiddo that you would easily welcome into your family? (First, if it is, why aren't YOU adopting? And if you are, good for you!) Or better said, is it a kiddo you think the average person would easily add into their family? If (s)he is and you don't feel compelled to contribute, don't. If (s)he isn't, well, think about why you don't want to help. Talk to God about it. Still not compelled? OK.
One Hundred Forty-Seven Million Orphans.
147M
Someone has to do something about it. There are lots of people willing to do something about it by bringing those orphans home. They just need a little help. Someone has done the math and figured out that if 7% of professing Christians would adopt one orphan, the problem would no longer exist. There would be no more orphans. And if you are one of the 93% who isn't called to that do you have a few bucks or a prayer for those who are? At least be a sympathetic, supportive shoulder for them to lean on.
It's a child.
For those of us adopting, it's OUR child. But even so, it's a CHILD. This isn't someone who made a poor choice. This is a victim of a poor choice. And that child needs help.
Sometimes we can't give financially. But often we can. And we don't. I think, in part, due to pride. It's MY money and it's YOUR choice to do this, HOW is this MY problem?
Been there, thought it.
So, I say again, talk to God about it. I am convinced that some of us don't hear what we don't want to hear, but that is my opinion. The rest is between the giver and God (the Giver of ALL GOOD THINGS).
Think about it: if 7% of Christians can take in all 147 Million orphans, 93% at even a buck apiece is a stinkin' lotta cash. And that's leaving out all the non-professing Christians. At which point I can't necessarily appeal to your belief in God, but your humanity. Which, frankly, should work, too.
And that's all I have to say about that...
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
School Days, School Days
Thus begins a new stage of life; the one in which I actually have to wake my children for school.
I remember my mother going through this stage.
My friends have complained about this stage.
But I, no I have never had to do this.
I do not like it.
I remember my mother going through this stage.
My friends have complained about this stage.
But I, no I have never had to do this.
I do not like it.
Monday, August 22, 2011
I'm a Mess
I know I'm supposed to be thrilled that school is starting in a few day.
I'm not.
I'm filled with dread. I find myself weeping uncontrollably.
I call this progress.
Six years ago I was weeping uncontrollably because I couldn't face the day home alone with my (then) three children. One was wretched. One was potty training (not very successfully). And frankly, I remember very little about the other one, probably due to the other two and their awfulness. The only time I could look at all three of them at the same time and like all three of them was when they were asleep. I was miserable. They were miserable. And I was convinced that God had made me infertile for a reason. I convinced myself that God was pointing and laughing at me, saying, "See? I told you that you would suck and did you listen? No. You made your bed, you lie in it. I'm outta here. Gonna go hang with the good moms."
Hey, when you're in the pit, do you think rationally?
Now, I'm not saying I don't still have crappy mom days, 'cause I do, but Every. Single. Day. Every. Single. Child. brings me delight. And I would just rather have them around.
Today the kids and I were talking about homeschool and why we don't do it, but I think this will be my hardest year yet for packing them off into the care of others.
Excuse me while I go cry for a while.
I'm not.
I'm filled with dread. I find myself weeping uncontrollably.
I call this progress.
Six years ago I was weeping uncontrollably because I couldn't face the day home alone with my (then) three children. One was wretched. One was potty training (not very successfully). And frankly, I remember very little about the other one, probably due to the other two and their awfulness. The only time I could look at all three of them at the same time and like all three of them was when they were asleep. I was miserable. They were miserable. And I was convinced that God had made me infertile for a reason. I convinced myself that God was pointing and laughing at me, saying, "See? I told you that you would suck and did you listen? No. You made your bed, you lie in it. I'm outta here. Gonna go hang with the good moms."
Hey, when you're in the pit, do you think rationally?
Now, I'm not saying I don't still have crappy mom days, 'cause I do, but Every. Single. Day. Every. Single. Child. brings me delight. And I would just rather have them around.
Today the kids and I were talking about homeschool and why we don't do it, but I think this will be my hardest year yet for packing them off into the care of others.
Excuse me while I go cry for a while.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Oh, Eilat...
The recent devastating happenings in Eilat have made me nostalgic enough that I shall subject my readers to further slideshows from Israel. The Red Sea/Eilat portion. I will not apologize. It is one of my favorite places on earth. And is spectacular for people watching, though I have not included most of my people watching/make fun of Mediterranean people photos....today. They have enough issues without me laughing at their hammer pants.
Egypt is in the background.
Egypt is back there behind the buildings.
In the background is Jordan and the Port at Aqaba which was also bombed.
Jordan in the background.
Jordan in the background. Starting to get a clue about how closely these people live and how serious this is?
The Bedouin are virtually the only peacekeeping force in the portion of Egypt which borders Israel right now. Tell me: does this look like a peacekeeping force? Peaceful, yes. Peacekeeping? Um, no.
Broadening horizions increases compassion. Today I weep for Eilat.
 |
| View of the port and Red Sea from my balcony. |
 |
| sunset/night view of port |
 |
| Sunrise view opposite night view. |
 |
| Eilat underwater observatory |
 |
| At the "petting" portion of the aquarium |
 |
| reef at Eilat |
 |
| from the top of the underwater observatory "There's Bill's boat!" |
 |
| Angel, rockin' the turtle eggshell |
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| Smell the Bedouin.....Feel the Bedouin |
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| Cassandra in Stepford |
 |
| Smokin' some serious hooka |
 |
| Bungee cannon on the boardwalk |
 |
| Bridge sign. Speaks for itself. |
Where I Am
I am singularly amazed at how uplifting it is to an email that says, "Your form has been received," or "113 cm, 44 lbs, 46 cm." I got both today.
Translation: bureaucracy is being accomplished and my daughter has grown.
Now, I could choose to be downcast about these two emails and I may yet, but for now I will ignore the fact that due to bureaucracy, my daughter is growing where I can't watch and celebrate the fact that my daughter is GROWING while we wait for government to do its job.
My dossier is being authenticated. My Application for Advance Processing of Orphan has been forwarded. My grant applications.....keep refusing to be submitted which my husband translates to "we aren't supposed to do that." We are in Wait Mode. And school starts next week, which is causing me no small amount of anxiety.
I find myself humming the Christmas in Africa song because, Lord willing, I will experience it.
And come away changed.
Translation: bureaucracy is being accomplished and my daughter has grown.
Now, I could choose to be downcast about these two emails and I may yet, but for now I will ignore the fact that due to bureaucracy, my daughter is growing where I can't watch and celebrate the fact that my daughter is GROWING while we wait for government to do its job.
My dossier is being authenticated. My Application for Advance Processing of Orphan has been forwarded. My grant applications.....keep refusing to be submitted which my husband translates to "we aren't supposed to do that." We are in Wait Mode. And school starts next week, which is causing me no small amount of anxiety.
I find myself humming the Christmas in Africa song because, Lord willing, I will experience it.
And come away changed.
Monday, August 15, 2011
A New Story (by Sarah Beyer)
I have one of those friends that you can show up on her front porch with your four children on a hot summer evening with almost no notice, and after two years of no face-to-face interaction and she will throw wide her door and welcome you with a hug and then stay up half the night taking about meaningful things even when she needs to get up early. A couple days ago, she posted this on her blog and it was so good I asked her if I could steal it. She said yes. She's one of those friends. Sometimes I wonder if we have the same heart beating in different chests. Yes, she is foster-adopting, but you could substitute dossier for 27 hours of parent training, and four children for three etc, etc, and you would have my thoughts put BETTER. So without further ado: Sarah.
A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families… Psalm 68:5,6a
I’ve always felt like the main character in the story of life. I’m not saying that I’ve always thought I was the most important person in the world, but just that I’ve unconsciously run all events and thoughts through the filter of my own experience and evaluated them according to my own feelings. Sometimes I like to people watch and think about the fact that each person that walks by, whether they intend to or not, think that they are the main character in the story. It blows my mind. We are all so in our own brains.
It is very possible that some of you are going to read this and say, “Nope, that’s just you, Sarah,” and I’ll end up feeling like the most self-centered shmuck on the planet, but I’m going to go out on a limb and hypothesize that we are all seeing the world this way. Even when we have compassion on others and step out of our comfort zone to help, those experiences are still written up in our minds as a story about us.
Lately, God has been telling me that He is writing a story in which I am not the main character. I’m a supporting character, I’m privileged to be a part of it, and I’ll forever be changed by it, but I’m not the main character. You see, He has some kids out there that He has big plans for, whom He wants to use to change this world for good, grow up in His Word, and show His love to. He wants to heal their pain, give them hope and prepare them for the world.
They are not a charity case.
They are precious little people.
They are not foster kids.
They are His kids.
Jesus loves them not as an afterthought, but as a primary thought.
He has called Brooke and I to make them a part of our family. Full-fledged sonship. Give them our name, a share in our (small) inheritance, and a place at our table. Pay for their college, their weddings and their tennis shoes. Pray for their hearts, their concerns, and their futures. We don’t know who they are yet, but as we move closer and closer to possibly finding them I am growing more sure that while my role is a supporting one, it is an essential, God-given one. This will not be a story about how much I gave up to rearrange my life for them or the effort that I will now have to put into parenting, as I was so focused on in the beginning. This will be a story about God and His kids and how He protected them and cared for them. It will be a story about all of our children, biological and adopted, and the way God worked to bring them together. It will be joyously about His provision and the way He puts the lonely in families.
Our home study is complete. We are one class away from finishing our 27 hours of training. We are awaiting approval from the Department of Human Services and will shortly, if God wills it, be on a list of families to be considered for adopting children in the foster system whose parents have permanently lost their parental rights. It might be one child or it could be two or three siblings.
As my three biological daughters are preparing to start school this fall and I am trying to figure out all of the uncertainties that accompany that, my heart is burdened for our other children as well. Who is helping them pick out their school supplies and make sure they have friends to sit by at lunch? Who is making sure they go to bed early this week so they can get up early for school on Friday? I hope that they have fantastic foster parents who are caring for them in this way, but I am beginning to long to be the one to do so. I know I won’t always get it right, but with God’s help I will love them as my own. I don’t know how long it will take for Him to bring them home, or how He will provide all we need to care for them in this small, small home, but I am excited to see how this story plays out. I am so excited to meet the little people who will change our family forever.
I would be so blessed if you would join me in praying for them.
A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families… Psalm 68:5,6a
I’ve always felt like the main character in the story of life. I’m not saying that I’ve always thought I was the most important person in the world, but just that I’ve unconsciously run all events and thoughts through the filter of my own experience and evaluated them according to my own feelings. Sometimes I like to people watch and think about the fact that each person that walks by, whether they intend to or not, think that they are the main character in the story. It blows my mind. We are all so in our own brains.
It is very possible that some of you are going to read this and say, “Nope, that’s just you, Sarah,” and I’ll end up feeling like the most self-centered shmuck on the planet, but I’m going to go out on a limb and hypothesize that we are all seeing the world this way. Even when we have compassion on others and step out of our comfort zone to help, those experiences are still written up in our minds as a story about us.
Lately, God has been telling me that He is writing a story in which I am not the main character. I’m a supporting character, I’m privileged to be a part of it, and I’ll forever be changed by it, but I’m not the main character. You see, He has some kids out there that He has big plans for, whom He wants to use to change this world for good, grow up in His Word, and show His love to. He wants to heal their pain, give them hope and prepare them for the world.
They are not a charity case.
They are precious little people.
They are not foster kids.
They are His kids.
Jesus loves them not as an afterthought, but as a primary thought.
He has called Brooke and I to make them a part of our family. Full-fledged sonship. Give them our name, a share in our (small) inheritance, and a place at our table. Pay for their college, their weddings and their tennis shoes. Pray for their hearts, their concerns, and their futures. We don’t know who they are yet, but as we move closer and closer to possibly finding them I am growing more sure that while my role is a supporting one, it is an essential, God-given one. This will not be a story about how much I gave up to rearrange my life for them or the effort that I will now have to put into parenting, as I was so focused on in the beginning. This will be a story about God and His kids and how He protected them and cared for them. It will be a story about all of our children, biological and adopted, and the way God worked to bring them together. It will be joyously about His provision and the way He puts the lonely in families.
Our home study is complete. We are one class away from finishing our 27 hours of training. We are awaiting approval from the Department of Human Services and will shortly, if God wills it, be on a list of families to be considered for adopting children in the foster system whose parents have permanently lost their parental rights. It might be one child or it could be two or three siblings.
As my three biological daughters are preparing to start school this fall and I am trying to figure out all of the uncertainties that accompany that, my heart is burdened for our other children as well. Who is helping them pick out their school supplies and make sure they have friends to sit by at lunch? Who is making sure they go to bed early this week so they can get up early for school on Friday? I hope that they have fantastic foster parents who are caring for them in this way, but I am beginning to long to be the one to do so. I know I won’t always get it right, but with God’s help I will love them as my own. I don’t know how long it will take for Him to bring them home, or how He will provide all we need to care for them in this small, small home, but I am excited to see how this story plays out. I am so excited to meet the little people who will change our family forever.
I would be so blessed if you would join me in praying for them.
I Need Africa More Than Africa Needs Me
I wanted to share something really cool I'm doing to help Africa and I want you to check it out too. I've felt convicted to move from the 'talking' to 'doing' category, and I wanted you to join me and the Mocha Club! You've got to see this video. So, Mocha Club is this website where you give up $7 a month - the cost of 2 mochas - to support a project in Africa. For example, $7 can provide clean water to 7 Africans for one year. Use this link to learn more about it and to join with me. Let me know what you think!
FYI, this, as you can probably tell, is not my wording, but it doesn't negate the message. I'd love for you to join me in providing clean water for Sudan. Go. Watch the video. Be inspired. Join my Mocha Club: Mud is not Water.
FYI, this, as you can probably tell, is not my wording, but it doesn't negate the message. I'd love for you to join me in providing clean water for Sudan. Go. Watch the video. Be inspired. Join my Mocha Club: Mud is not Water.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Thoughts from Branson
I have a raging, uncontrollable bigotry of slow people. It causes me to form instant opinions on their character, worth and personal appearance.
If said slow people text in the middle of a thoroughfare, I have a raging, uncontrollable urge to prod them with a pitchfork.
There is a universal truth that moms all over Branson are thinking, if not saying, "Can we just pack it in and go home?"
I know the above, because I thought it, said it, and overheard another mother yelling it at her husband over her screaming child at the pool.
She cooled off once he left with said screaming child and she stayed behind at the pool, blissfully alone.
If a woman intends to play beauty parlor with her preteen daughter while on vacation, she should have the foresight to bring along nail polish remover.
Chipped aqua nail polish is just plain tacky on 35 year old mothers of four.
Aqua nail polish makes me feel like I'm trying too hard to be young.
Nail polish of any color on my hands is completely pointless as I do dishes all day, every day.
I love screened in porches.
I do not love beach towels that smell like cow barn.
Clearly people who stay in condos with kitchens don't typically cook most of their meals. If this were the case, surely the condo people would provide more than two dishwasher loads worth of soap and/or more dishes than the maximum occupancy (4).
We told them multiple times upon booking that we were 6.
I prepared seven meals and froze them before we left.
It took less than two hours.
It was a week of bliss.
I need to do this weekly.
Someone want to join me?
I'm not sure that any show in the whole of Branson is worth the 90 minute timeshare presentation that would provide us with the 50% discount.
This could be due to the fact that 50% off $400 is still $200 and SOMEONE would need to go potty or be bored halfway though the show.
We are not show people.
Clearly.
We declined the 90 minute presentation deal.
We were disappointed that we didn't see any free shows at Silver Dollar City. We were saving them for the rainy days. Turns out the kid shows ended with "Ride into the Night" last Sunday.
We were very grateful we didn't plan to go to SDC this coming week as it is closed four of the seven days.
Our upstairs neighbors liked to chase chickens at 12:30 AM. The chickens chased them at 5:30 AM.
I didn't get much sleep last week. (see above comment re: going home)
I saw the chicken chasers for the first time yesterday. Their child (ahem, chicken) looked quite a bit older than I expected from her shrieking (ahem, crying).
No, I don't think it was abuse. I think it was thin walls and a child who does not sleep. Or possibly a father with a prostate problem.
My stomach does not like vacation food.
That would be the food I did not cook. The pop, candy and chips I allowed myself to consume in vast quantities.
I walked all over stinking Branson, give me a break.
The best deal of the week was and still is mini golf at Talking Rocks Cavern (with a SDC season pass) where they encourage you to go through the course "at least twice." They also have free spelo boxes and a nature trail where you can find real fossils. And a pretty sweet overlook platform. If, say, you don't have four out of four children having a meltdown.
If you ever get season passes for SDC (cheaper than paying for two days), take the "Season Pass Holders Specials" card with you. Sometimes the partner discounts people don't know about your deals and...ahem...you need to prove it.
The second best deal is Moonshine Beach. $4 a carload.
I'd say SDC was a good deal except....well...farmers, I'm glad you got your rain. Let's just put it that way.
Thinking on happy thoughts, like rainstorms on the screened in porch.
I discovered that I have Travelers Turrets. If Brent and I aren't in the middle of a conversation and I'm not reading due to SOMEONE wanting to be entertained but the same SOMEONE isn't initiating conversations, I find myself reading highway signs and saying things like "Here we are in Dennis, Missouri." And, "Oh, look, The Needle in the Haystack." And, "Parsons, The Town For U." And, "Did you know that if you replace the C with a K it makes your Kampground Kozy?" And, "Do you think we could afford to stay at the Budget Inn?"
I came home to a completed homestudy. A completed dossier. A confirmation that my daughter will have a care package from me in her sweet little hands next week. And my bed, with no crazy chicken chasers above me. Hallelujah!
Hey, go over to Anna's blog and watch the news segment and comment on the post. She gets a dollar for every comment.
If said slow people text in the middle of a thoroughfare, I have a raging, uncontrollable urge to prod them with a pitchfork.
There is a universal truth that moms all over Branson are thinking, if not saying, "Can we just pack it in and go home?"
I know the above, because I thought it, said it, and overheard another mother yelling it at her husband over her screaming child at the pool.
She cooled off once he left with said screaming child and she stayed behind at the pool, blissfully alone.
If a woman intends to play beauty parlor with her preteen daughter while on vacation, she should have the foresight to bring along nail polish remover.
Chipped aqua nail polish is just plain tacky on 35 year old mothers of four.
Aqua nail polish makes me feel like I'm trying too hard to be young.
Nail polish of any color on my hands is completely pointless as I do dishes all day, every day.
I love screened in porches.
I do not love beach towels that smell like cow barn.
Clearly people who stay in condos with kitchens don't typically cook most of their meals. If this were the case, surely the condo people would provide more than two dishwasher loads worth of soap and/or more dishes than the maximum occupancy (4).
We told them multiple times upon booking that we were 6.
I prepared seven meals and froze them before we left.
It took less than two hours.
It was a week of bliss.
I need to do this weekly.
Someone want to join me?
I'm not sure that any show in the whole of Branson is worth the 90 minute timeshare presentation that would provide us with the 50% discount.
This could be due to the fact that 50% off $400 is still $200 and SOMEONE would need to go potty or be bored halfway though the show.
We are not show people.
Clearly.
We declined the 90 minute presentation deal.
We were disappointed that we didn't see any free shows at Silver Dollar City. We were saving them for the rainy days. Turns out the kid shows ended with "Ride into the Night" last Sunday.
We were very grateful we didn't plan to go to SDC this coming week as it is closed four of the seven days.
Our upstairs neighbors liked to chase chickens at 12:30 AM. The chickens chased them at 5:30 AM.
I didn't get much sleep last week. (see above comment re: going home)
I saw the chicken chasers for the first time yesterday. Their child (ahem, chicken) looked quite a bit older than I expected from her shrieking (ahem, crying).
No, I don't think it was abuse. I think it was thin walls and a child who does not sleep. Or possibly a father with a prostate problem.
My stomach does not like vacation food.
That would be the food I did not cook. The pop, candy and chips I allowed myself to consume in vast quantities.
I walked all over stinking Branson, give me a break.
The best deal of the week was and still is mini golf at Talking Rocks Cavern (with a SDC season pass) where they encourage you to go through the course "at least twice." They also have free spelo boxes and a nature trail where you can find real fossils. And a pretty sweet overlook platform. If, say, you don't have four out of four children having a meltdown.
If you ever get season passes for SDC (cheaper than paying for two days), take the "Season Pass Holders Specials" card with you. Sometimes the partner discounts people don't know about your deals and...ahem...you need to prove it.
The second best deal is Moonshine Beach. $4 a carload.
I'd say SDC was a good deal except....well...farmers, I'm glad you got your rain. Let's just put it that way.
Thinking on happy thoughts, like rainstorms on the screened in porch.
I discovered that I have Travelers Turrets. If Brent and I aren't in the middle of a conversation and I'm not reading due to SOMEONE wanting to be entertained but the same SOMEONE isn't initiating conversations, I find myself reading highway signs and saying things like "Here we are in Dennis, Missouri." And, "Oh, look, The Needle in the Haystack." And, "Parsons, The Town For U." And, "Did you know that if you replace the C with a K it makes your Kampground Kozy?" And, "Do you think we could afford to stay at the Budget Inn?"
I came home to a completed homestudy. A completed dossier. A confirmation that my daughter will have a care package from me in her sweet little hands next week. And my bed, with no crazy chicken chasers above me. Hallelujah!
Hey, go over to Anna's blog and watch the news segment and comment on the post. She gets a dollar for every comment.
Thursday, August 04, 2011
On Heat, Rain, Facebook and Other Nonsense
Because not all of my posts have to be meaningful
**
It's been so hot here for so long, that I believe I've adjusted to it. I was out with Brent earlier this week and I said, "I believe it's gotten cooler." To which he responded, "The bank said 109 when I drove by." OK, 109 is certainly cooler than 112, but not enough to be significant enough to comment upon.
**
On that same vane/vein/vain (weird, I have no idea. I'm going with vein.) Yesterday I was thinking that it was downright cool. Drove by the bank. 98. Yup. Adjusted.
**
Last night I saw thunderclouds roll in and though I didn't expect rain, I prayed for it. We sat on the back deck for two hours as it thundered and lightninged and I rejoiced when I began to hear the plink, plink, plink of rain on the windows after 11. I believe it rained for most of the night. I hope it isn't too little, too late for the farmers.
**
I've always thought the conversation about weather was incredibly boring.
**
Last night I noticed that two of my "friends" from my early life were added to the Facebook group, "You know you went to Liberal High when..." I scoped it out, read a few posts, discovered that though I knew what they were talking about, I wasn't missing much. You know, since I didn't go to Liberal High. Though my Facebook status says I did. Because I wanted to be able to find my friends who DID go after I moved.
**
This morning, one of my friends added me. I considered and rejected the post to the wall, "...when you make cheerleader and move three days later by order of your parents, so that you can go be an outcast somewhere else." It really seemed disingenuous considering that, though that was true, I am really quite happy with the way life turned out.
**
I should add that I am still happy I was added to the group. I'm enjoying my friends' memories.
**
Last night I made the declaration that my children were to read for 30 minutes before they cracked out the digital entertainment. This had been a standard rule. Or better, they were just expected to get up and read in the mornings and we wouldn't turn on the TV until after lunch, but somewhere along the way we fell off that wagon. Anyway, this morning they got up and read. And have played and played and played together ever since. I'm telling you, that flickering screen is poison to their attitudes. Or maybe the rain is making everyone nicer.
**
It's been so hot here for so long, that I believe I've adjusted to it. I was out with Brent earlier this week and I said, "I believe it's gotten cooler." To which he responded, "The bank said 109 when I drove by." OK, 109 is certainly cooler than 112, but not enough to be significant enough to comment upon.
**
On that same vane/vein/vain (weird, I have no idea. I'm going with vein.) Yesterday I was thinking that it was downright cool. Drove by the bank. 98. Yup. Adjusted.
**
Last night I saw thunderclouds roll in and though I didn't expect rain, I prayed for it. We sat on the back deck for two hours as it thundered and lightninged and I rejoiced when I began to hear the plink, plink, plink of rain on the windows after 11. I believe it rained for most of the night. I hope it isn't too little, too late for the farmers.
**
I've always thought the conversation about weather was incredibly boring.
**
Last night I noticed that two of my "friends" from my early life were added to the Facebook group, "You know you went to Liberal High when..." I scoped it out, read a few posts, discovered that though I knew what they were talking about, I wasn't missing much. You know, since I didn't go to Liberal High. Though my Facebook status says I did. Because I wanted to be able to find my friends who DID go after I moved.
**
This morning, one of my friends added me. I considered and rejected the post to the wall, "...when you make cheerleader and move three days later by order of your parents, so that you can go be an outcast somewhere else." It really seemed disingenuous considering that, though that was true, I am really quite happy with the way life turned out.
**
I should add that I am still happy I was added to the group. I'm enjoying my friends' memories.
**
Last night I made the declaration that my children were to read for 30 minutes before they cracked out the digital entertainment. This had been a standard rule. Or better, they were just expected to get up and read in the mornings and we wouldn't turn on the TV until after lunch, but somewhere along the way we fell off that wagon. Anyway, this morning they got up and read. And have played and played and played together ever since. I'm telling you, that flickering screen is poison to their attitudes. Or maybe the rain is making everyone nicer.
Tuesday, August 02, 2011
Monday, August 01, 2011
Dear Adoptive Community
Can't we all just get along?
I was on the phone with a friend last spring when she mentioned that they were jumping back into the adopting game again after a two year hiatus. I asked her plans. Her first child was from China, but as China has been more difficult in the last five years, would she try something else? Innocent question.
Oh, the apology that floated across the line on her voice. Or maybe I shouldn't call it apology as much as the detailed preface she gave to her answer. You could tell it wasn't the first time she'd heard the question. Nor were the askers asking as much as opinionating. It seems she'd been getting quite a lot of flack from another adoptive camp that thought her plan wasn't particularly holy.
Some, NOT ALL, people feel very strongly that if a person is going to adopt, that person should do (thus). And I leave the blank unfilled, because there are militant proponents in every area.
I wholeheartedly disagree. With ALL of them that claim any one area is more important than another. God calls each of us to care for the widows and orphans in their distress. He doesn't specify the manner in which we should do it. And He called us each differently.
When we adopted Eldest, we heard from more than one source that we shouldn't "pay for babies."
--first, we were paying for lawyers, not babies. Even people who don't "pay" for babies, but adopt, are "paying" for lawyers. Maybe not out of pocket, but someone's taxes are paying that lawyer. Make no mistake. And yes, we also "paid" his mother. We bought her food during his ninth month of pregnancy so that he and his big sister could grow and develop as his mother was unable to pay for it and his father was incapacitated. She was an educated, working woman who was in a rough patch. It was less money than we spend on food in a month, the way I remember it. I don't see how this doesn't fulfill the "widows and orphans" portion of the command.
We were also told, that "the babies born here will be taken care of, those in (third world country) aren't."
--who, may I ask, is taking care of those babies? Is it not people just like me? Or am I mistaken?
When we started telling people we were going to Ethiopia this round we were asked, by more than one source, "Aren't there any kids here for you to adopt?
--frankly, no. I mean, probably, yes. But, as I've mentioned, we didn't go into this process blind. It started with a particular child and will end with a particular child. I've watched photolistings for several years (more than 12, in fact). Domestic photolisting and international photolistings. The only other child who has called to both my husband and me this strongly was named Rejoyce and we couldn't get her particular case worker to call us back. She must be 14 by now. I still ache for her.
There are/were more comments I could address, but I think I've made my point.
Here's the deal: we're turning our guns on the wrong people. Why all the fighting, troops? Aren't we all on the same side?
You know why those healthy pink babies born here are taken care of? People are lining up to adopt them. Is this not a GOOD THING?
And I'll tell you another thing: some races of babies are being exported at a pretty substantial rate to Canada because people here in the States aren't lining up for them. People here who are adopting those babies, of all races, are doing a GOOD THING.
Do you know why children in the foster care system have a place to go that is better than a shanty built at the edge of a dump in another country? Because people are willing to be foster parents. That is a GOOD THING.
Do you know why people can choose NOT to "pay for babies?" Because other people are. That is GOOD THING.
Do you know why people have the luxury to worry about children in other countries? Because people are taking care of kids here. That is GOOD THING.
Do you know why people here have the luxury to not worry about the children in developing countries? Because other people will. That is a GOOD THING.
I am sick to death of the holiness quotient the people assign to their adoptive process of choice. Some people are called to adopt infants that look just like them.
God bless them.
Some people are called to Foster Care.
God bless them.
Some people are called to Foster Adopt.
God bless them.
Some people are called to international adoption.
God bless them.
Some people are called to adopt trans-racially.
God bless them.
Some people are called to adopt special needs.
God bless them.
Some people are called to adopt older children.
God bless them.
Some people are called to adopt sibling groups.
God bless them.
And, let me add, some people are called to sponsor children in countries were adoption isn't an option. God bless them, too.
Instead of all this infighting (in a socially acceptable tone of voice, I might add), couldn't we spend a little more time encouraging others to adopt in whatever way, shape or form that may look like? We need each other. Stop apologizing and, for the love of God and His mercy, stop making other adoptive parents apologize.
Without all of us doing our part, the worlds 147 million orphans won't be cared for. It seems like we could spend a little less time touting the area of adoption that God has called us to as The Best One and synergize.
Sincerely,
Jamie--selfish and unapologetic adoptive mother of one baby I "paid" for, one that I'm flying to another continent to get, and four sweet children scattered throughout the world that I hope to see on the flip side.
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