Hard stuff

     I haven't written much lately because I am just worn out.  We've had a lot of battles to fight.  Hard stuff with Imana Kids.  Hard stuff with our house that won't sell (and deciding to let that battle with the "renter" go).  Hard stuff with our jobs.  And a few weeks ago, hard stuff with my health.  Don't get me wrong; we know our cups run over with blessings.  But we could really use some good news.    
     Sometimes we try to control the hard stuff.  Do we do something, try to move forward, fix it?  Or do we try to rest in  Him?  I often wonder how to find the balance between being God's hands and feet but also being still.  Waiting on Him.  Our adoption has taught us over and over and over again that we have to wait on Him.  We don't have a choice; we can't quickly heal or erase the hurt that orphanage life imprints on a child's heart.  Only our heavenly Father can do that.
     Tonight Etienne was on his second meltdown of the day.  When he gets to spiraling, I've gotten to this place where I can physically separate me from myself...like I watch me in motion.  I think it is the only way that I can respond in an attachment way rather then being angry and mean.  Don't let me fool you, in my head I am screaming and it sometimes takes all my willpower not to swat him.  I made the mistake (again and again) of trying to hold him.  He pushed me away harder and looked panicked.

I said "E, stop, why are you pushing me like that?"  

He said "When I am mad I have to protect myself from you hurting me."

     Kick in the gut.  And the heart.  We've been loving him for almost 5 years. 5 freakin' years.  And still.  His gut instinct is to protect himself from me.  His mama.  Ugh.  This is hard stuff too.
     Do I overreact? Yup, been doing it for years.  Do I get emotional? Always.  Am I a yeller? Not usually, but more now than before I had 4 kids.  Do I hurt my kid?  Oh my.  I pray, no.  But hearing my boy say he has to protect himself from me makes me replay every ugly scenario we've lived.  And people wander why we haven't started spanking him "yet".  Is it my words? Am I mean? Am I over correcting and nagging and ugly?  Sigh.  
     So once again, I am resting. I am waiting.  Be still.  Psalm 46:10..."Be still and know that I am God.  I will be exalted among nations and in the earth."  I have got to let this one go.  I've been trying and trying to be hands and feet to my son but even my hands holding him aren't going to fix it all my son's wounds.   My son whose heart is on the mend.
     

Turning Away

  For 2014, our house has been talking a lot about repentance.  I really like this definition:

Repentance: to turn away, in both mind and heart, from oneself to God

 For my non-Christian loves, Webster's Dictionary defines it like this:

Repentance: 1. deep sorrow, compunction or contrition for a past sin, wrongdoing or the like.  2. regret for past action

     I think all of us would agree that it's really difficult to change a behavior if we just don't care.  Isn't that why I still drink Vanilla Dr Pepper?  I know it's the same reason my pregnant smokers still smoke. We just don't care enough to turn away from past mistakes.

     For Etienne, Ryan and I have really prayed through accepting how some things will always look or (dys)function.  We really don't want to spend our lives nagging and disciplining and running ragged because our son won't change.  Yet we know his loving, squishy heart and we desire for him to live in a way that allows others to see that heart too.  

     Forget the attachment models.  I'm tired.  I just want redemption in one area of our crazy life.  So we've been giving examples of repentance ("see the snot running down Zeke's face from his sobbing? He's sad that his ninja moves took out the plant"), of conviction when we are wrong ("This mama was wrong to freak out about pooping with the door open, it doesn't really matter, it's just gross.").  We've been working on memory verses in the bible.  And, more than anything, we've been specifically praying for Etienne to repent.  

     Friday night Etienne put a hole in the drywall in the bathroom.  Since he's done this a time or two before, Ryan has gotten fairly skilled at the patchwork and repair.  I can sand and paint.  But GEEZ WE JUST DON"T WANT TO SPEND OUR TIME AND MONEY DOING SO!!!!

     When E did the damage, I didn't lose my cool like i did in the above sentence.  I told him I was angry that he did something he's been asked by his parents not to do many, many times.  I made him clean up the immediate mess on the floor.  While he was sweeping the crumbles, he started crying.  Not his fake, manipulative whine but real snotty tears.  He began telling me how he knew dad would be upset when he got home.  I sent him to his room to pray and then I held him on my lap until Ryan got home.

     This is a big deal.  I realize my skeptics will speculate that he cried because he's afraid of his dad.  He's afraid of his dad being upset.  Any of you who know us know that Ryan doesn't raise his voice, we don't physically discipline E and I can count on one hand the times I have seen my man really, really mad.  I don't care about skeptics though.  I care that I saw and heard a little piece of repenting.  Whatever the root of the reason, it doesn't matter.  We start little and we grow these things big.

Baking Bread and stuff

     Etienne's been having some rough days (and nights).  My E has been home from the orphanage for over four years.  But every moment that he was lying in that cold metal crib, away from my arms, damage was done.  We are still reminded of it.  When he stares right through me and tells ridiculous, absurd lies.  At 3 AM, when he wakes us up because's he's taken his shirt off and undone his bed; my brain flashes back to a memory of rows and rows of cribs, all full but silent.  Our poor kiddo, he knows somewhere in his brain all the things he should not do, but he does them anyway.  His lack of self-control makes me sad, and truthfully, fearful of adolescence. The constant battles he fights, they suck.  It's ugly and it's not fair that everything is so hard for him.
     Honestly, it also infuriates me too.  Remember when you were chasing after your two year old all day, keeping them from hurting themselves and constantly finding a nice way to say "no"?  Yes, that.  There are days that I want to scream that he  is still not convinced of our love.
     The thing that helps is those ugly memories of his first home stop.  Thank you God that I can't forget.  Thank you God that You can make good out of the bad.  Thank you God that I today I found empathy with those memories.
     Trying to embrace the attachment thing, even though it makes me want to pull my hair out.  That means E stays by my side.  We decided we'd do some baking.  Molly made bread, E made banana bread and Zeke and I made sweet potato soup.  All at once.  Music blaring, flour flying, everyone talking at once and no one really listening.  It was a blast.  The only thing he broke was eggs.  Lots.  But no lies were told.  He smiled at me and I wasn't pushed away once.  We laughed that Molly's bread tasted like glue and rotten bananas are fun to squish.   We talked about birth moms and yeast and how the Oscars are stupid.  It was messy and loud and grand.

Birthday Boy

Today Ezekiel is 6.  I can't get emotional about it.  I just can't.  He's my baby.  Our last one.  Sniff.  He's also especially quirky and easily celebrated (most of the time).  If you don't know our Zeke, here's a few highlights of his character:

• For his birthday, he asked Ryan and I to sleep in his bed with him.
• The boy can't walk.  He runs, jumps, hops, skips or falls everywhere he goes. 
• Ezekiel's first six weeks home he cried.  If he wasn't crying, he screamed or he hollered.  It was awful.  His eyes were flat and lifeless.  Then, mid cry on Oct 23, 2009, he stopped, looked at me, smiled a goofy grin and reached for me.  He's been our "sparkly eyed smiley face," as Molly calls him, ever since.  It was such crystal clear evidence of God's grace.
• Ezekiel loves spicy anything.  For real.  A lot of children with sensory issues have somewhat subdued or delayed taste buds.  No joke, we are getting the kid a ghost pepper for his "Spicy Party" tomorrow and his cake has a jalapeno on it.
• Yesterday, Zeke got $5 in the mail.  He turned around and tried to give it to Molly for her Rwanda trip.  We stopped him.
• The boy repents.  Big, huge, silent tears.  It is beautiful and genuine.  
• We're still smitten.  Every single day I am so, so grateful that I get to be his mama.

First meeting.  Terrified little buddy with "mzungo" mama.

"Sparkly eyed smiley face"

This is actually a normal nightly tuck in.

Zeke: 47 lbs  Blake: 41 lbs

Wanted.

I asked Ezekiel how his day was.  He said (in his Barry White voice), arms crossed, scowling,

"Great until I got mad at my friend!"

It is really hard for Molly, Blake and me not to giggle when he gets angry.  It's that voice, it kills us every time.  Molly rubs his little dreads as we sit down to get the whole story about why Ezekiel got so mad.

"I was telling all my friends about how I have a birth ("berf") mom in Rwanda.  Then ___said I wasn't wanted by her!"

Ugh.  Another kick in the stomach. Knowing my Zeke-ee baby, I had to remain stoic and play off his reaction.  He gets really emotional ,or really not, depending on the weather.  I decided to hold my own gut wrenching inside for a moment.

"So I told him 'MY MOM STAYED UP ALL NIGHT LONG WORKING TO GET ME AND MY MOM WENT IN AN AIRPLANE FOR 2 DAYS TO GET ME!!  MY WHOLE FAMILY WENT TO BRING ME HOME!!!"

Oh sweet Zeke.  He's been listening.  All the nights that we tell him how much we wanted him. All the snuggles and stories of working extra hours, of waking up early to check our emails, of aching arms as I rocked in my chair, praying my boys home.  He was listening.  I am so grateful that my Zeke is confident in his place in this world.  

 

Can't buy me love (or friends)

It has been a week since our terrible day, as E calls it.  The one where Etienne's friends mocked his black skin and all that crap.  Sorry, but it is.  If you missed it, scroll down to the previous post.
Here's the rundown in the last week.  His teacher and the other parents think he's fine.  No big deal.  Whatever.  We know that  is how our boy copes.  In his life, he has learned to deal with pain and his defenses are crazy high right now.  Poor E is having a rough time sleeping, leaking through his layers, then not going back to sleep and he's all cleaned up.  He's bullying his brothers and making ridiculously stupid choices.  Totally spiraling.  There is a connection with his behavior and the stress in his life.
Last Wednesday, he tried to sneak food into his bag to give to other kids that had made fun of his skin.  He said "I just want to give this to them so they know I am nice."  Friday, he attempted to sneak his piggy bank to school to give his money away.  During the Super Bowl party, he wanted one of the other little boys to have his watch.  We are telling him over and over again that our friends love us because we are kind and fun to play with.  In his confused, hurting little mind, he can't separate this mess out.
I am kidding myself and others if I say I have found peace with this.  I keep thinking about how the other little kids, yes, they felt remorse.  Yes, they "learned their lesson," they'll never mock or tease a black kid again.  It's great that these kids were molded but it was at the cost of Etienne's heart.  Only God will be able to erase E's memory of the conversation, the tears and the pain.
God found glory in this still.  Last Wednesday, as I was waiting to get my E, a woman approached me, tears streaming down her face.  She said "You are E's mom, right?"  Then she went on to apologize and to express the grief that she and her husband were feeling that their child was a part of the conversation with E.  She said "I know your son won't forget what the other kids said, and I am so sorry.  We are so sorry and we are so sad."  I hugged her and I told her I forgave her and that E had already forgiven his friends too.   She got the enormity of what went down at lunchtime that day.
We've learned a lot since doubling our kids.  One thing I know is that no matter how much suffering we go through together, we always, always feel God with us in the midst.  Our praying together is peaceful and renewing, even if it is just tears and mumbling.  On days like this, the days when E needs crazy amounts of one-on-one time; it just so happens to coincide with Blake wanting to lug Zeke around everywhere while Molly desires to play art teacher with them.  There's no mom guilt when the other three don't want me around.  And for any parent that has more kids than grown ups in the house, we can all agree that is a gift.

We knew it would happen someday.

    I missed a phone call from the Principal today.  A voice mail said that I had nothing to worry about, "E is fine, just an incident over lunch time."  Before I had a chance to return the principal's phone call, Ryan called me with update on what went down.

Our E was mocked because he is black.
His friends told him kids from Africa are toilets.
They said because he's adopted his real mom didn't want him.

     I hung up the phone and puked.  Then I cried and I prayed for my son.  After that, I put on my best face and headed to get my kiddos.  The principal and his teacher told me that he "handled it well."  By the time he went back to class, he only mentioned to his teacher that a couple of other kids had been good friends to him when he was sad (thank you, God, for this).  Sweet boy.
     But his daddy and I both know how he internalizes everything.  After school he came up to me and pushed his head hard against my stomach, his form of affection.  Everyone climbed into the car, all chattering at once and no one listening.  I asked E if he wanted to talk about what happened.  He started to cry and told his siblings about his bad day.
     Ezekiel cried.  Blake yelled that he wanted to beat the kids up.  Molly hugged him and told him how much we wanted him even before he came home.
     We decided that we would sit in the van, in the school parking lot, and we would pray for those kids.  So we did.  E said he had already forgiven them.  We talked about how God love those kids too.  And that we have to forgive because God forgives us.  E's so awesome sometimes.  Then everyone cried some more together.  Molly and Blake both prayed again for how thankful they were for their brothers.  Followed by McDonald's for ice cream.  I can't even believe how the four of them handled this.  All of them lost a little of their innocence today.  Those bullies, they hurt all four of my babies with their words.
     Sigh.  To be honest, it was hard for me not to show how pissed off I was.  Now I am just sad.  These classmates, they've heard my adoption speech.  They've all had E help them tie their shoes and hold the door open.  And still, this.  We knew that someday our black boys would face racism.  I think that I had convinced myself that our family's presence, our feel-good adoption month speeches and our frankness at discussing our various shades of color would somehow avert my boys from the sin of the world.
     Really, a parent can only protect their child for so long.  It sucks to see your baby hurting.  It sucks even more when it is because of discrimination.  And it reiterates my belief that being "color blind" is stupid.  I won't fool any of my children into thinking that race doesn't matter.  Because, unfortunately, as we were reminded today, our family's love is indifferent to skin color, but the world's is not.
    The only remedy here is God.  Those parents and their children, we can try to remold their stereotypes;  kill 'em with kindness.  Ryan, Molly, Blake and I can tell our boys over and over and over again how much we want him.  We can take E to a black barber shop, we can move into an all African town, we can read every book written on trans racial families.  Yet until Etienne and all of his little classmates know their worth-that Christ died for them- then I don't know that much will change.  Come Lord Jesus, come.