Birth Moms

     I swear that the kids save up their most awkard ("Mom, where do you catch the baby out of?), embarrassing ("LOOK! That man looks like Chunk!) and heart stopping (see below) conversations for when Ryan is at work.  I get to be the one to fumble, usually tearfully, through these moments with them.
     To be honest, Blake has been a stinker this week.  That kid is either really, really good or really, really bad.  Luckily, he's usually great.  Not so much this week.  Being the instigator that he is, Blake had managed to get his brothers naked, screaming and running circles around the dining room table.  At one point, I hollered in my toughest voice something about birthing Blake into this world and taking him back out of it.  Don't judge.  You weren't herding loud, nude boys.
     A short while later, as I was lathering lotion on the now clean, naked boys, Ezekiel began to cry.  Really big tears rolled down his soft cheeks.  Sweet boy said in his deep voice

"Mommy, I don't know if I am supposed to love you or my birth mommy more."

     Oh my heart.  I wrapped him in the biggest mommy hug I could and rocked him.  I told him that there is room enough to love us both.  That sometimes he may not want to love her at all and that's okay.  That sometimes he may not want to love me and that's okay too.  He just cried harder and said

"Keep hugging me, Mommy."

     I reminded my Zeke that his birth mom could not give him clean water or food or a safe place to live.  He asked if she was dead and I was honest.  I said I didn't know, that only God really knew.  I said that it really stinks that we don't know for sure but that we do know for sure that I am his real, forever mama.  That God made us family.  Then Molly, whom by this time was rubbing Ezekiel's back, said

"Zeke, remember how God loves us all so much? Remember how He doesn't love some people more than others?  You can have a different kind of love for both your mamas and it doesn't have to be more or less."

     She rocks that big sister thing.  I realized later that my lame comment about birthing Blake must have stuck in sweet Zeke's head.  Ugh.  I always knew that this conversation would come up.  This is one that I've said over and over to myself, in my head.  But saying it aloud to my son as his big body shook with tears wasn't something that I could ever really prepare for.  It's the sin of the world that there are orphans.  That birth moms can't or won't keep their children.  But then there is that thing called grace. Once again,  I was reminded how sacred and precious and-holy cow!-huge this life we live is.  How blessed I am to be the one to guide their little hearts to Him.  

Molly walked Ezekiel to kindergarten but he would not let her hold his hand. Sniffle, sniffle.

  

 

 

 

#DreamDay

    This week commemorates the 50th anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr's"I have a dream" speech.  I know you all know that.  What I also know is that some of you don't have is the perspective that I do; raising black children in the United States.  I'm not gonna lie.  The footage of Lincoln memorial, the images of Birmingham, Alabama, the words of Dr King's message, they all rock me to my core.  This is more than my country's ugly history; it's raw and real to me in ways I didn't previously understand.  Let me tell you why.
    Earlier this summer, from the back of the mini van, Etienne said "I don't think a lot of vanilla people like brown people."  Out of the clear blue sky.  We were seriously on the way to my brother's house.  Hadn't been in public, Ryan and I hadn't had any lively debates on racism.  The television was off.  This kind of statement, though we thought that we had prepared ourselves for it, shocked us and saddened us.  Our son is around other African Americans but he does not live in a predominately African American part of the country.  Our son is routinely around a community of trans racially adopted kids.  Yet he feels racism.  He doesn't have words for it or even a moment that he can pin point.  He just feels it.  Doesn't that make your stomach churn?  He is first grader in a middle class family surrounded by a lot of hipster educated, typically PC, sometimes pompous but always well meaning people.  Unbeknownst to E, his statement happened the same time that the jury reached a verdict on the Trayvon Martin trial.  I was already wondering if Etienne and Ezekiel how we would counsel our beautiful brown boys on image and style and racial profiling.  My heart hurt to know that someday, when my beautiful boys were young men, there would be people that would be judge them for their skin color.  Etienne's comment has haunted me since.
     Here's the other thing.  I know many white Americans believe that racism is pretty much dead.  I think that there are many people, even those that I love, that have cutesy Pinterest "Love is blind" pins and they listen to JayZ and they believe that all Americans have equality.  But being "color blind" is only avoiding that although Dr King's dreams are almost realized, we aren't quite there yet.  
      Last night, as Ryan and I were tucking Etienne into bed, he began to cry.  He said "I wish I looked like everyone else, Mom.  Some kids don't like my hair.  And I don't feel like the blonde kids don't like me."
Tears.
Probably some of the worst words my child could say.  There is absolutely nothing that I could do to really fix this or to comfort him.
    So I told him that a long time ago, I began to know with all my being that God had extra special plans for Etienne.  I said that there was purpose in his struggles.  I told my E that right now his heart is a squishy ball of play dough. That God is just squeezing and shaping Etienne's play dough heart so that when the time comes, his heart will have more space to fit in all the other people in the world that have hurt and trials like him. Then I just held him and cried with him.
     Blake was on the bunk above us, hearing this conversation. He skittered on down and laid himself flat on Etienne.  Then he took E's face in his hands and he said

"E, don't you know that you are the strongest kid in the school?  You can run faster then everyone else.

"E, you can see your muscles without even trying. And your eyebrows catch sweat so you can see the football."

     Thank God for brothers. Thank God that Blake could meet Etienne where he was; speaking on his brother's level.  Our tears quickly turned to giggles.  Sigh.  
     It get's messier. This morning, Molly laid her head on my lap and sobbed. She sobbed because her heart broke to know that her brother felt racism, that her "ancestors" persecuted others, that she can not do a whole lot about any of it.  The boys, meanwhile, were engrossed in MLK Jr's son on the Today show; whether he was "kind of strong or kind of fat?"  All this before 8 AM.
     So you could argue that Etienne is just insecure (which he is, duh.).  You could say that I am more sensitive (of course I am, you would be too.).  But the fact is that my son's perception is that he is disliked because he is African American.  And that is the problem, isn't it?
     I will continue to acknowledge Etienne's feelings when he believes that he is judged by his skin tone.  I won't ever be that mom that gives false assurance on things I don't  know full well.  But I will tell Etienne that I know kids like him because he is the one to tie their shoes, to sit next to them when they are alone, to be a friend to them when they are lonely.  I will tell him that he is wanted, that he is loved and he is his Father's child.  And that he has the biggest, squishiest play dough heart ever.

 

  

 

The Other Shoe.

     We've been waiting for the other shoe to drop since returning from Rwanda.  And guess what?  It hasn't.  That stinkin' shoe hasn't even slipped loose.
     For real.  Pinch me.  There have been countless moments when I have thought to myself "this is the best summer we have had since 2009!"  I can't tell you how many times my eyes have welled up with tears as Ryan and I sit on our red bench, watching our kids play baseball or catch fire flies.  I have not sat on the steps outside the boys' room, crying, once this summer (since '09, I would almost nightly collapse in tears next to Ryan on those stairs).  We are entering our last week of summer here...I think it's safe to say that we stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop.
     There is zero logic in our plan. Zero.  Who goes to the other side of the world to find healing for their son's hurt heart?  We haven't gone to therapy, there aren't any new supplements or theories or attachment techniques.  It's just another chapter that God has written in Etienne's life.  And I am so, so thankful for this illogical twist.
     We still have our wet beds, our crashing into everything, our general random-weird-post institution behavior.  But the dark, flat stares, the manipulating lies, the hurtful actions are nothing like what we've survived in the past.
     Part of it is that I have embraced that my E will never function  like other kids.  Don't judge-let me explain.  For example,  I know Etienne's cues these days and I'm meeting him where he's at.  If he's been out of his comfort zone, over stimulated or tired, it doesn't work to try to snuggle him or even to have him nap.  Instead, we've taken to running together.  The physical exercise helps him regulate himself as well as taking him away from the stimuli (or the grown up that is low on patience).  So when he's starting to do flips off the furniture (I'm not kidding) or laughing his high pitched tired scream, I make him run five laps around the perimeter of the house.  Corporal punishment? Nope, he likes it and we call it "preseason conditioning."
     School starts soon.  E says he could "stay in summer forever."  I'm not gonna lie; I have my own fears about him returning to sitting in a desk, in a classroom with people that don't know his heart.  I get nervous to think that the expectations of the school are going to be really, really challenging for him.  But then I go the grocery store and another mother tells me that E was always the boy that tied her son's shoes.  Or we work in the school garden and his old teacher shares how he always offered to pray for his classmates.  And I know God is using my E in that public school to bring Him glory.
      I think back to a few months ago, when we were so afraid of the aftermath of going to Africa.  And that aftermath has been the best summer of our lives: a swimming, books, ice cream, tan lines, s'mores, road trips, fire flies,  bare feet kinda summer.  It was worth it.  The last four years of feeling like we were just hanging on.  They have been worth every moment we have savored this summer.  So bring on first grade! (Gulp.)  

Partnering with Visiting Orphans

   


     Some of you may know that Ryan and I are team leaders for an organization called Visiting Orphans (VO).  This is an amazing group of people that we are proud to be a part of.  VO works to send teams into orphanages in all corners of the world with the intent to simply love on children.
     This is especially near to our hearts because we have survived 4 years post adoption with two beautiful boys that started their lives not knowing love.  Eye contact, touch and even direct conversation with my sons sent them into survival mode.  Etienne would snuggle up to any stranger on the street; oblivious to whom it may have been.  Zeke sobbed every time I looked into his eyes.  That is what a lack of love looked like.
     Visiting Orphans does not install wells.  They don't build medical clinics.  They love the least of these.  And that is messy, complicated work.  You may read or hear conversations about whether this is harmful or not: to give kids touch and attention and then to leave again.  Here's the deal.  We are at this point pretty knowledgeable on the subject of vulnerable children.  And we ask you this: what is the alternative?  To turn away?  To do nothing?
     Ryan and I will partner with VO for as long as they will take us.  We love their hearts, their mission and the direction that they allow God to lead them.  Our team from June has launched a foundation, Imana Kids, as fruit from their trip to Kimisagara.  Lives are changed.  People are moved.  God is at work.
     So read the blogs if you want.  But please know that VO trips are with leaders that are trained and knowledgeable on vulnerable children, on the culture and the people of the countries they serve and most especially on the children that often have deep wounds and attachment issues.  It is not easy work.  But it is advancing His kingdom; it's messy and beautiful and meaningful and lasting.
     Our goal for Imana Kids is that as families and individuals sponsor children, they may partner with VO to visit their sponsored child; investing long term in the life of a child.  We are open to questions, to information and even to skeptics.  In the meantime, check out this video.

Saying "yes"

     I can see it in their eyes.  The people that know our family from a distance.  Neighbors or coworkers that have maybe seen a glimpse of the state of stress that our home has (frequently) been in for the past four years.  I sense the judgement; how they believe that we are nuts when we say we have launched a foundation.
     Their questions: Why would they commit to more? Because God has blessed us with a team of resources.   Don't they need to focus on the kids that they already have? We want our kids to learn to obey God even if the world does not. What do they know about a foundation? Nothing.  But we are quick learners.
    I imagine that when Simon Peter threw aside his nets and gave up his life as a fisherman, the guys in the next boat raised their eyebrows.  Don't misread me here.  There aren't plans to quit my day job.  I am just having a new appreciation for what it feels like to say "Yes!" more loudly and bolder than we ever have before.  To not get too comfortable.
     When I was younger, I was the kid that volunteered to host the party, make the extra posters, run for the next class office.  Somewhere between there and here, I stopped saying yes to others.  It was the most liberating feeling NOT to sign up to bring cupcakes or substitute for Sunday school.  I know that is a bold statement but you have to understand that my saying yes was to please those around me.  My identity isn't in whether the rest of the moms think I have it all together.  My identity is in my maker.
     Standing at the gates of Kimisagara, I could hear God shouting at me as I watched my husband hold those sweet faces in his hands and tell them that they had a heavenly father.  I felt God tapping on my heart as my only daughter sobbed as she said goodbye to Rwanda.  And being home to some of the most calm, RAD free days in four years just makes His plan that much more clear.  Our future is with these kids.
     We have some amazing, amazing team members that are doing this with us.  Our family has given us their back yards, their time, and most importantly, their blessing.  Those that know us well-and know that God is the creator of some of the craziest story lines-are right beside us in this.  We are one blessed family to be loved like this.
     There won't be a finished basement, a weekend away or a new windshield on the van.  As Ryan reminded me, none of those are advancing the kingdom of God.  I love it that this is the man that leads my family.  And I'm not gonna lie, he's leading me where I have always hoped to be!  So yes, we are saying "yes."  Besides, Blake, E and Zeke reminded me tonight that if you say no to God, you may end up in the belly of a fish.

Updates

     Today I heard a sermon about worship that focused on Psalm 95.  Part of worship is being in awe of how big God is.  How little we are.  Maybe it's looking at the Rocky Mountains, hearing the waves of the Pacific crash onto the shore or watching your baby breathe his first breath.

     For me, I am living in awe right now.  It's like a light bulb came on in our house after all these years of having it blink on and off.  Let me explain.

     A month ago, when we were preparing to leave for Rwanda, we got a lot of questions about our trip, leaving our former orphan to return to his country, would effect him.  How he would cope and what the aftermath would look like for us.  The first of the awe was that I had zero, zero, worries about this.  I felt totally at peace and there wasn't an ounce of anxiety regarding Etienne or his brothers.  Wow, this felt good. It feels good to feel good!

     Here we are, three weeks after coming home, doing great.  DOING GREAT!!!  Our first night home, Etienne said the dinner pray.  It was eloquent and beautiful and thoughtful.  That first night, he prayed for the kids we left behind.  And since that night, he is still on board.  No lying.  No destruction.  No all nighters.  It's like God had been working Etienne up for this too.

     So I am in awe.  I am in awe that God could take all our years of struggle to shape us for this.  I am in awe that He has given Etienne a peace that only He can give.  I am in awe that us leaving the continent for many, many nights would result in....healing.  I am crying as I type that.

     That is worship.  The awe at my family and what God is doing.  Every theory, every book, every support group; none of it has had the outcome of Ryan and I returning to an orphanage in Rwanda without Etienne. That is God.  That is awe.  That is my worship.  

Goofball is a fish.  The mask is for effect only.

     Wait, there's more.

     Our foundation is taking off.  Imana Kids is the real deal.  I mean, God is moving.  Things are coming together and they aren't stressful or hard or frustrating.  Babies aren't being born while I am on call (more time to work on bylaws and such!), necessary documents are easy to find, people answer their emails, the kids get along while we write.  Who knew a college kid, a couple of teachers and a midwife could figure out a non-profit?  We have 4 kick-off parties with a goal of $10,000 by Labor Day.  It's big.  God is bigger.  That's awe.  It's worship; my life is worship.

     

We'd Like to Share....

   

Welcome to Kimisagara. Watch your step.

Because of this compassion.

Because of Anasis.

Because my husband's heart broke.  And mine was already in pieces for Ismail.

Because of my boys.

     It became very clear during our time at Kimisagara that God had big plans for us.  For once, I didn't have words.  I couldn't write and I couldn't put my finger on it.  Ryan had a full heart and a much more clear vision for what work needed to be done.
     Dieudonne and I agreed that we would wait one week.  During that week we would pray and we would listen to God for direction.  That was Thursday.  By Saturday morning (7AM, we were still on East Africa time), he was texting me about the kids.  Here we are, a week later.  This is what we've got.

IMANA KIDS FOUNDATION.
   We have a name.  A 501c3 submitted.  3 conference calls, a lot of cell phone minutes and an inbox full of God screaming "YES!THIS IS WHAT YOU NEED TO DO!" in the form of agencies, partners, mentors and people that know more than us.  We also have our team.  Dieudonne, Kayla, Ryan and I spent today getting coached by His Chase .  We are ready to share our mission:

1. That every child of Kimisagara Orphanage shall know that they are a child of God (1 John 1:3)
2. Every child of Kimisagara will receive the best education for them.
3. That basic needs including clean water, food and shelter are met.

     What makes us different then every other non-profit?  It isn't us that is different.  It's Peter, Claude, Ismail, Issa and Gloria.  It's how Inasis stopped kicking around a ball to pick up a crying toddler.  It's about how these kids can sit on their dirt play space and overlook the world; hearing and seeing the schools and homes and safety that is all out of reach.  And yet they wrote this:

   To be honest, we are overwhelmed but incredibly encouraged and confident.  The plan is written and it's big.  Our goal is to have every child over the age of 10 sponsored and in a boarding school by the first week of January (when the new school year and term start).  Sponsors will have the option to visit their child each summer with Ryan and me.  We also plan to have an option for those that have excelled academically and socially to participate in an exchange student program here in Council Bluffs.  Ryan's school has been DHS approved and the initial I-20 documents are ready.  Room for more, right?
   It's a lot.  It's going to require some launch parties, some return travel to Rwanda, a lot of prayer and a ton of support from our community.  Kayla, D, Ryan and I are confident that our community is big.  We are the body of Christ and we are commanded to do this.  So let's go.
PS  Website up soon.  Invites in the works.