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.
     

Stateside

     I couldn't write in Rwanda.  I didn't have the words and I couldn't put my finger on what was going on.  I could share a lot of stories, pictures and feelings with you but it would not be enough.

     All I can do now is share that this is where Ryan and I met our future.  I can see clearly that God has been leading us here all along.
     The years of struggling to know how to love without restrain our Rwandan sons.  It was all for this.  Kimisagara is filled full of boys and young men.  The ones too big to hold and too grown up to tickle.  I was overwhelmed by the need to love them.  And even more overwhelmed that He has put that same urgency to do this in the heart of my husband and my D.
     What's really amazing is how God has orchestrated all this.  Let me tell you first about my D.  Dieudonne is a college kid in Omaha.  My brother introduced him to me years ago, when he was 18, because he thought maybe at the time he wanted a career in healthcare.  Dieudonne ended up at college near us, so we often would pick him up from the dorms and bring him to our small group for dinner.  I need to mention that D is a Burundian refugee and his story is his to share.  But obviously, he looks like some of my children, he is a great role model for all of them and his history overlaps with Rwanda's.  Last year, when we decided to lead this trip, we invited Dieudonne over.  When he said he wanted to go, we felt like he absolutely, positively had to be on our team.  He could interpret for us.  He could be an example and relate to these children more than anyone else, maybe ever.  And it would be an opportunity for him to return to his home (or close to it).  There were hurdles like crazy to get him back to Africa.  God opened windows when doors shut, He moved mountains and He cleared a path.  Dieudonne's presence in Kimisagara has been priceless.
     Midway through our time in Kimisagara, Dieudonne and I began talking about how every one of the older kids and men wanted to be in school.  We started asking about the cost.  We made a plan.  Our team began taking portraits of every single child and young adult in the orphanage.  We went back to our guest house and did this.

    With the help of all our team and the staff at the guest house, we created a spread sheet and gave every face a number.  Then we went back.
     Dieudonne and I sat on a stone ledge over a cliff in a hallway.  And we started to ask questions.  We wanted to get every face a name and a story.  It was hard.  Really hard.  But that is a story for another day.  What happened when we asked these questions was that this place became holy.  I took off my shoes as I listened.  Sometimes I would look at my D and he would say, "Did you expect this to be different?"  and we would continue on.  It felt like the most important thing I have ever done.

They stayed near us even after we finished.  Every now and then, Dieudonne would strum his guitar.

     We are spending this time now praying and waiting on God.  Next week, we will begin to write the stories out.  And we both know that our path is together, following God, in the future with these children.
     Then there is this man that I married.  I know we both assumed that he would be the man in charge of the money, keeping to schedule and generally balancing me out.  What we didn't expect was for God to shift Ryan's heart parallel to mine in so many more ways.  "Don't tell Kara, but this place does kinda feel like home," was his FB status when we landed in Rwanda.  He loved without restraint.  He found those children that stayed back, the ones with the downcast eyes in the shadows. He held their faces so that he could look in their eyes and he told them that they were loved by God and that they mattered to us.  At night, he knew when to comfort the team and when to challenge them.  He cried. A lot.  And he promised them that he would be back soon.  Ryan was he first person to enter Kimisagara and he was the last person to leave.    He has also informed me that he's ordering "How to Speak Kinyarwandan" on Amazon.  And he is always, always a man of his word.

Speaking truth to the fatherless. This is God's hands and feet.

     My boys at home didn't miss me at all; an answered prayer.  They did great.  We came home to them asking us what we were going to do next in Rwanda.  They just got it.  To us, this is more evidence that we are headed exactly where God wants us to be.  Remember, I am the mama that previously had drama filled weeks following a just a change in her work schedule.  This is big.  This is God.

     Our team included my parents.  To see their hearts break and to watch the physical and emotional stress that they endured humbled me so much.  Having my mom and dad love the least of these in Rwanda gives me confidence to carry on down this uncertain path.  It comforts me to know that they can truly understand why we feel called to this place.

     The rest of our team, I previously called it a band of misfits.  We could not have created a more mismatched-yet perfectly placed-group of people.  Each person had heart to give. No one hesitated, not once, despite conditions worse than anyone should ever live in.  They were beyond great.
     There aren't any words to describe Kimisagara. It is set apart from every other orphanage in that is it physically one of the most unsafe spaces I have visited but it also is the most love filled.  I saw God in the big kids that carried the little ones on their backs.  I felt love in the joyous singing that spontaneously erupted.  I witnessed young men, orphaned their whole lives, snuggle babies just because they could.  Not only that, but women began to trickle in, telling Dieudonne and me that this place welcomed them when their husband's left, when no one else would.
     That's why I took off my shoes.  Holy ground.  True religion.  Widows and orphans in their distress.  

This is my favorite.  My sons were never held like this.  And the walls above them didn't have this beauty.

   

Geniune

     Yesterday afternoon I had just arrived home.  Ryan and I were sitting, having a semi-stressful conversation on the edge of the bathtub, still in our work clothes.  Both of us were preoccupied and distracted.  Etienne walked in and leaned against the wall and watched us.  For a moment, he was quite and still.
     I told him, "Buddy, you are so handsome."
     He walked slowly up to his mama and daddy, leaned into us and wrapped his arms around our necks.  Then he stayed there, quiet and calm.  Geniune.  Real.  My eyes teared up.  My husband's too.
     A real hug and a moment that wasn't forced.  We didn't initiate it.  He didn't crash into us and he didn't do it because he was trying to manipulate us or get out of something.  As I type, I am crying for thankfulness.  Hugs are not taken for granted here.

"To give them beauty from ashes..." -Isaiah 61:3

Pop!

       Life post adoption for this entourage has been peaks and valleys.  The valleys are pretty dark but let me tell you, the view of our Heavenly Father on the peaks takes my breath away every time.  Its exhausting, exhilarating, emotional.  It's worth it.

      Last week we walked with Etienne through some sad days, thinking about his birth mom.  We shared a lot of tears and uncertainty and new emotions.  We shared his grief that sneaked up on him while working on a family project.  Friday morning our mailman delivered just the gift the boys needed after an emotional week.  My close friend, Laurel Greer's husband, Peter, wrote a book entitled "Mommy's Heart Went POP!" , an adoption story specifically regarding a Rwandan little boy...blonde mama, sister and brother waiting at home, big blue gate, Ethiopian Aire.....it's our story too.

Zeke studying "his story."

    The boys and I snuggled up on the couch.  I cried through our first read.  Zeke was really quiet and he immediately started the book over, looking intently at the pages.  As I snuggled close to him, his big eyes filled with crocodile tears and he started crying and crying.  He buried his sweet self into me and said, "I'm just sad that I wasn't always with you and daddy."  Oh buddy!  Some of this was probably a reaction to Etienne's rough week.  Some of this is my baby boy's squishy heart full of love.  We read it again, looking for the hidden hearts on each page and I reminded him that this is a love story!  Our happily ever after.  He decided he needed to carry "his story" with him all day, taking every moment to look closely at each picture. By the time he showed it to his big sister and brother, his sparkly eyes were back.  

     Later that night, we all climbed into bed together to reread it again with Daddy (funny side note, the bed broke and we all crashed to the floor!).  As Ryan read through it, my eyes welled with tears again because I could feel my heart racing at the site of that blue gate and my heart popping as I held my boys for the first time.  

     We came to the page where the mother wonders who is singing lullabies to her Rwandan child.  Etienne nonchalantly commented, "Well God sang to me."  No big deal, just stating a fact.  The coolest thing about this fact is that Etienne has told me this  before.  He has very clearly sang an old children's song that he said "that Jesus whispered in my ear."  This is a boy that lies all the time for attention, out of jealousy, spite or fear but I knew then and I knew while we reading that this wasn't a lie.  This is my sweet boy's memory of his time before his mama could sing him lullabies and kiss his ouchies away.  His memory is that God was with him before his family brought him home.  That is the greatest gift I can give to any parent that is waiting for their adoptive child; the comfort that my child can say without a doubt in his mind that God was there in the dark rooms full of cold metal cribs and mosquitoes buzzing.  God was there each time he fell on that hard concrete slab.  God was there before me.  How cool is that?

     I am so thankful that God's timing is always perfect.  We didn't orchestrate making a family poster followed by grieving birth moms followed by getting our adoption story in the mail ALL THE WEEK OF MOTHERS DAY. Are you kidding me?!?  Like I said, these peaks are amazing.  

Remember when.

A couple nights ago, Zeke asked if he could see the pictures from when we adopted him.  Actually, his words were, "I want to see when you went on the airplane and you sang that song about the mountain moving and than God did."
Zeke is my baby but he isn't a baby anymore.  We frequently forget.  I tried to pry open his little brain to figure out where this idea spun from, but all I got was "My friend Mason doesn't have brothers or sisters, that is so boring."  Zeke and his one liners kill me.
So 5/6th of us  cuddled up on Zeke's bed and watched those sacred moments again.  So sweet and still so awe inspiring at God's love for us.  Seeing the picture below, Blake said, "Molly, I love you."  Be still my heart.

It's not like Molly was doing something remarkable, but Blake must have some sweet memories of this moment with her.

Making birth mom, adoption and orphanages a part of our family's normal language and dialogue has served us well.  There is no shame or sadness in "before you came home," conversations.  I really think E and Z look at their adoption as something normal, natural and that God did it.   And He did.  Don't get me wrong, we are fully aware that at some point, probably during the angst of middle school, there will be resentment and there will be questions.  At least the two of them will have each other and at least in their core they will know they have always been wanted.  

Rwanda to Russia

  It's only Thursday, in the midst of a very long week.  My E has thrown a curve ball the past 4 days.  His behaviors are mirroring the classic attachment disorder list as much as they ever did a year ago.  Lying, hurting others, being destructive and having a very flat affect about all of it.  By the end of each day, Ryan and I are wiped out physically and emotionally.  Probably what wears on us most is that we were sort of cruising this past month; E was having more good days than bad.  Tuesday evening, I said "I am so thankful for a job I love that I can go to tomorrow to get a break from this." (I only work part time, sharing patients with 6 other AMAZING babycatchers).

  So I show up to my clinic yesterday ready to face N.  N is an older teen, pregnant and approaching her due date.  Last week, N had kept me late because she had been telling the other midwives in my practice some crazy, over the top lies and I knew I would be seeing her next.  These were lies that were ridiculously obvious, like "I've never had an ultrasound," (we have reports from two ultrasounds to pull out of her chart), "My parents are dead...I don't live with my parents, but they are in Omaha." "I am placing baby in adoption but I have never talked to a social worker(social worker is outside the door of the exam room).  I geared up to face this lying, confused kid that I was the last of our group to see.  As I walked in the room, there sat a tiny, hunched over girl.  I introduced myself, hugged her and told her that all the midwives in our group know her well, we care for her and we keep track of her AND her baby.  Than I asked her to tell me her story.  She said, "I was adopted from an orphanage in Russia when I was 13, but I haven't talked to my adoptive parents in over a year."

  I felt a knot in my stomach and my heart melted.  We finished our visit, I left the room, sat down at my desk and sobbed.  Attachment disorder.  Of course, the lying over obvious truths, the avoidance, the disinterested body language and flat affect.  We decided that it was best for me to be the only CNM to see her until she delivered because I know "the language" of orphans.  

  I am sharing this because God is using my little boy in so many bigger ways than I can imagine.  I am broken, again, at the behaviors he uses to protect himself from our love.  But I am also motivated that E is giving me the tools to love this girl well in the place she is right now.  If Etienne hadn't given me a year of ugly RAD behaviors, I probably wouldn't have been able to recognize, like the rest of the staff, that our lying teen was struggling with RAD because she doesn't know what it means to be wanted, loved, cherished.  Beauty out of ashes.  

How long?

  This past weekend, Ryan and I were a part of a dear friend's wedding.  It was beautiful, nostalgic and joyous.  Many of the wedding party didn't know us and, of course, when a stranger asks us about our family, it goes a little like this:
"Do you have kids?"
"Wow, four?! How old are they?"
"You look so young to have four!"  Here's the part where we have a couple options. We can A. Say, thanks and leave it at that. B. Explain that our two youngest are adopted.  To me, this always feels like a fork in the road.  Do I want to open that Pandora's Box?  Depending on the examiner, the conversation could go a lot of directions from here.  
  The woman quizzing me this weekend, she had small children.  And she followed her question with "Tell me what the orphanage was like."  At this point, I feel time freeze because I really feel like this is pivotal.  I know that our adoption isn't new to us, but to strangers, our story is always new.  I feel really called to the plight of the orphan.  And I know that adoption is not for everyone.  Yet I am plagued with memories of the Home of Hope and I can't walk away from that question.  So this is what I said.

I can't tell you a lot about the Home of Hope.  I can tell you that I believe the nuns did the best that they could with the resources that they had.  The first day that I picked my little boy up, he was being bathed.  On a slab of concrete, with a bucket of cold water and some lard soap.  And then they wanted to feed him before he left, so they shoveled whole sardines into his mouth.  That is how I found my little boy to be surviving.

  This answer is harsh.  It's vivid and jarring and any mother who hears that story is going to take her breath away.  I don't know if it was too much, but I felt like is someone asked such a specific question, I owe it to every other child without a family to give an honest, yet protective answer.  She teared up.  She said her heart broke to think of a child that way.  I teared up too and I always do.  I don't know how long it will be before I don't cry when I am asked about my boys adoption.  I pray, never.

Sleep is overrated anyway.

About 6 weeks ago, I posted that once we gave Etienne permission to get up and use the bathroom at night, the soaking through his nighttime layers of diaper/pull-up/plastic cover pretty much stopped. Ha! That was a short lived thrill for him. Needless to say, now he gets up many times a night to "use" the bathroom (code for look out the window, turn the faucet on and watch the water, sit on the potty and sing) AND still have a wet bed in the morning. Besides the trips down the hall, our 4 year old has been taking several hours to fall asleep again, like he used to do. He plays, climbs, talks and just can't stop his muscles to sleep.
Security items aren't helpful. Etienne got a stuffed lamb when we brought him home. See July 2010 for pics of what he did to it at night. He has gone through security blankets/shawls made lovingly by his Nana and his Grandma. Friday night, his pillow pet was next next victim; unstitched by his restless fingers that night. So after the pillow pet was undone, we decided to put him back in our bedroom until he could show us we could trust him in the big boy room with Blake. So sad for him. I sat and watched him try to calm his muscles down and read some Psalms to him. His fists were clenched tightly. He kept saying, "I wanna be with Blake."
As Ryan and I sat replaying our nights and our rituals, trying to figure out why E was having a hard time sleeping again, we realized the problem. Blake, being older, has been allowed to stay up to watch the Royals with his dad a few nights a week. Those are the nights Etienne won't sleep. I am pretty sure that E is on guard because Blake isn't in there and by the time Blake is, E is too worked up to go to sleep.
My suspicion was confirmed yesterday. E and Zeke had a physical and Ryan and Blake waited in the car. Etienne kept saying "Where is my brother? When is my brother coming back?" By the time we returned to the car, he was sobbing and asking for "my brother." Last night, when we said prayers, he said "Thank you that my brother was waiting for me. Thank you that I can sleep with Blake." Holy cow. Special daddy time for Blake= fear and uncertainty for Etienne.
Can you imagine sharing a room with 50 kids? Whenever you roll over, you see another friend's face. Do you think it was quiet? I don't think a room full of preschoolers can ever be quiet, even if they are asleep. I am told that kids in institutions have a hard time ever getting into the restful, REM sleep and yet I still forget. I still tuck him in his big boy bed alone. With music playing and the soft glow of the hall light, I expect this to be reassuring. Geez. How quickly I lose my grace toward him when my own routine is rocked.
So we will figure out a new way for Blake to get alone daddy time and we will give Etienne is security item, that skinny blonde skater boy. And this mama will keep praying for grace no matter how little sleep there may be...

Flip Side of this life..

What Etienne's Mama saw:
So many kids and so few adults! The orphanage was filled with kids of all sizes running around, half dressed and half fed. Those sweet sisters, they are doing the best with what they have, but the smell of diapers is overwhelming. There isn't any crying. Then I see a child fall off a concrete wall, into a ditch, and hit her head. No tears because there isn't anyone to wipe them away. It is loud and hectic and heartbreaking. My beautiful boy needs held, scrubbed, kissed. I need to teach him how to wear shoes, how to leave them on. How to walk with us and not run away to climb, jump, punch and touch everything he sees. My heart is breaking with joy and with sadness but now he can come home to his family.

What Etienne saw for 3years:
I share a room with all my buddies. I roll over, and there is a playmate. I wake up and I can run. I scream, climb, jump, tackle, wrestle, skip and yell a little louder. It doesn't really matter how much clothing I wear because it isn't cold and nobody cares. Being clean is relative; pottying my pants isn't a big deal because my pants already have potty in them anyway. All day long, there are lots of friends around. I LOVE all the other kids laughing at me; friends are around to cheer me on, do what I tell them, when I tell them. All I do is to play all day! When I fall, I pick yourself up and run a little harder.
Then one day, some people come and hug and kiss me and cry a lot. They visit and bring toys. After a few days of playing, they take me with them. At first, it's exciting. Pepperoni pizza! So much to see and hear and touch! But than, I don't get to go back to my friends. All of a sudden, I am sleeping in a small, quiet, dark room. There are only a few people around. The new place has a roof and walls. Lots of things I can't do and not a lot of noise. Not too many kids around to laugh at me. There are baths, forks, unlimited water to drink and too many things. I lost my friends. My roommates. I was the boss and now I am not in charge. I lost the only home I knew.

So what kind of mama would I be if I expected my beautiful boy to jump into his new life with ease?

I have come to decide that adopting a child is a little like marriage. You have to get to know someone and it takes time. My E and I are still getting to know each other. And I am realizing, this far out from our Gotcha Day, that E lost his world when he gained his family.