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.
     

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.

This is Better

     I sent Etienne to school with 2 apology notes and a check today.  One was regarding a broken bookshelf and a shattered box, the other a Junie B Jones book (who lets him check that out anyway? Really?!).  His report card was less than stellar and he was angry at us for going to a Maroon 5 concert without him.  All that is okay.  Sure, we expect him to be respectful, to represent Christ to his teachers and his peers; and I am pretty sure Jesus wouldn't crash into furniture, leaving it shattered but still "being the first in line, Mom."  (Insert Molly trying to tell him about the "first shall be last" here).  But....this is better.
    Thursday night, Etienne sat in the bathroom, praying, as I sat exhausted on the floor listening.  He had been more than a little insecure about his brother having a birthday and a lot of extra attention.

 "God, thank you for my warm house and for mac and cheese.  And please help me be potty trained.  Please strike life into people. Amen."

     I thought I misunderstood him, so I asked what he meant about striking lightening into people.  

"Not lightening, Mom! Life! God can strike life into people and that is what I was thinking when I told Keagon about God."

           "Huh?" Me, still on the floor in the corner, wishing someone else was hearing this.

"Well, everyday when I am telling Keagon about God, that is what I was praying.  He thinks we came from Adam and Eve, but I keep trying to tell him.  Tomorrow I have to tell him about Jesus on the cross."

     He went on to tell me his conversations with his friend that had been going on all week.  This child, this 6 year old, this boy that probably wore his  teacher out today, exasperated his sister and had me praying aloud for patience.  This kid who just a few weeks ago (!) never said he loved me and absolutely doubted his worth in Jesus.  This boy that can't sleep through the night and worries about a hangnail yet gets his hand stuck in the van door without a flinch.  This is our son that we have been fighting for.  Sharing  the gospel at recess.  Holy awesome!   There aren't words.
     I tear up thinking about this battle and how God always, always wins.  There have been many times in the last couple of years that I have physically found my own fists clenched and ready to fight for this child's heart;  I have felt so strongly that there was a spiritual battle going on for his soul to be all ours.   We know that God has plan for each of his children, and we have known for some time that someday, Etienne's redemption story would blow people out of the water.  The water is rippling here.
     So I know that we need to deal with the broken furniture and missing library books, but I don't care.  In the big picture (as my dad says), it doesn't matter.  Etienne has found love.

 

Tuesday Topic: "Fun Mommy"

     I thrive on a little chaos.  Really, anyone with 4 children does.  And delivering babies for a living isn't much of a desk job.  Ask me to get on a roller coaster or ride a motorcycle and I will run the other way, but a part of my soul does indeed flourish with the unpredictable.
  That's why it pains me to have to yell things at my kids (okay, my boys).  In the past couple of days, these are true statements that have come out of my mouth:

"Stop playing with the trash."

"Get off your brother's head."

"Put down the couch." 

      When kids are toddlers, I think that most parents feel that some days, they just play the bad guy.  Saying "no" all day long is no fun.  Well, at our house, it's like one of our kiddos is perpetually stuck in that stage.  And I have seriously pondered if I was crushing his spirit (I know, cheesy, ridiculous) by constantly stopping him.  But when I don't, things like this happen.

      

     Pulled an organizational hook unit right out of the wall, despite the mother of all anchors that Ryan had installed it with.  Nuts.  I should have said no sooner on that one.

     It's a fine line being, as my hubby says, "fun mommy."  I often have ideas that in theory are good and in reality, very, very bad.  Usually there is paint and googling involved.  The guilt of stopping the boys from running, than sliding across the floor in nylon clothing with the intent of crashing into the door is about equal to cleaning up a kitchen full of water based paint and hand prints.
     I really want to be present and hands on with my kids.  Most of the time, I feel like it is there world and the rest of us are just in it.  Games and crafts and books and puzzles? Check, if you can find all the pieces or pages.  Snuggling and kisses and prayers and bonding? Absolutely, but it will probably end with a tangled pile of kids on the floor.  It's just not that Hallmark around here.  And that is okay.  I am not the mom at the playground riding the down the slide with her children.  I'm the one on the bench, catching my breath and checking my email.  That's real life here.
     So my solution is to pick my battles.  If there isn't blood or tears, I try really hard to pretend that I don't notice running, crashing and wrestling.  It's a mama of boys thing, I suppose.  We don't get too worked up about a little nudity or noise.   Truthfully, if they find new ways to get from the top of the stairs to the bottom, I want to see how it plays out.  Yet holes in the walls, dents in the wood work or extreme embarrassment of big sister aren't allowed.  Using a nylon tent to ride the stairs is okay.  Drawing or writing (even it is FINALLY a letter, praise God) on any surface of the house will always have a consequence.  Carrying your brother on your head, "Rwanda style" will not.  See how this works?  It's a fine line, a very fine line.
     Is this how it is with all girls?  What about families of only one or two kids?  I don't remember a little chaos with only two children.  Do I not have enough rules?  How do you handle constant noise and mess?  Am I the only one that has given up having furniture in descent condition?