Colorblind

We have family photo that was taken at a wedding a few years ago, when our tenth child was just a month old. Today my eldest was looking at it with the four year old, pointing out each person in it. Of course he could identify everyone except the baby, who he assumed, as all people his age do, that the baby in the picture was the now baby, #12. She said, no, that's not him. His next guess was #11.

Funny thing is, #11 is adopted. She has rich beautiful brown skin. The baby in the picture was quite fair. She has tight black curls, the photo baby was bald. She has eyes the color of dark chocolate dreams. #10 has almost transparent blue eyes. If he thinks about it, he knows this. He probably remembers she had darker skin even when she was tiny. But it didn't make it to his conscious thought. She is his sister, same as the other one. He is colorblind.

Last night around 9:30, my husband took a kid from our neighborhood to his sister's house, where he was to stay. He didn't take his fancy GPS smart phone, only a dumb phone - just for calling and texting - and he got turned around (a.k.a. "lost"). He drove a bit before getting his bearings, and in the process found himself in a less happy part of town. At one point, he was talking to me on the phone and said three men had approached his car, and one was yelling at him outside his window. They were not colorblind. My husband was a man who reminded them of people who have treated them or someone they know poorly, he was in the wrong place, and he was not welcome.

We have been going through our books, and my second daughter was telling me about a book she read recently, The Well, describing it as a good book. Do you think your baby sister would like to read it when she is older? Probably not. How did it make you feel? Not good. We decided that I should read the book to decide, but I know that some of the characters are not colorblind.

I have been told that I will need to prepare my beautiful daughter for the day that may come when she is judged based on someone else's experience or knowledge regarding people who look similar to her. I have to prepare her for the fact that the world is not colorblind.

And while I am sure that is right, I will need to give a similar lecture to my other children. Someday, you may be judged by someone who doesn't know you, but assumes you are like other people they know, or have heard about, people who look or act something like you.

You may be hated or despised or looked down on. You may be judged because you are White/Black, or homeschooled, or are not fashion conscious, or not peer driven, or because you have never been kissed or had a boyfriend or seen THAT show.

But you will also be weighed someday by One who measures rightly, and if you are weighed according to your own merits, you will be found wanting. Only by being seen through the blood of Jesus will you measure up.

And the cool thing is that, not only does He give us His righteousness, but He also gets that 'being judged' thing. He was weighed and measured and found wanting, and crucified. He was despised and rejected of men. He made Himself of no reputation. He endured the cross for the joy set before Him.

Jesus was hated by His own, His people, His leaders, even by His brothers, for crying out loud. He knows about racism, about slavery, about oppression and discrimination. He was a man who walked here and felt all those things.

So, while I will train my children to be prepared for different kinds of persecution, I will, more importantly, teach them that there is a Redeemer, a Savior, a great high Priest Who identifies with us in our affliction. He gets it. And His love is big enough to heal every hurt. Mine isn't, but His is.

Creme de la creme

On Wednesday nights, we drop off 9 children at Awana Bible club at a nearby church and then run errands with the three youngest. We talk about just having one of us stay home and the other one go to the stores, but neither wants to be the one to stay home, and I want so badly to have some time with my husband that I'd rather take 3 babies to Walmart or sit in the van with them while he runs into other stores than not go.

Which means, we walk around the stores with 3 very small people and attract sometimes a large amount of attention. Especially from Black people who notice our 11th child who is adopted and has beautiful brown skin.

To tell the truth, she has beautiful everything. She is stunning. Her eyes, her hair, her skin, her smile, her personality and temperament - she is exquisite. She could not be more spectacular in any way.

And people notice this, and comment. Of course, for those brave enough to ask, the first thing they want to know is why we have so many in a short span, and are we babysitting or fostering. But when the reality dawns on them, as it did last night when my husband said, no, they are all ours, they say something like, "Wow. Somebody gave up a beautiful baby."

And I feel bad about it. I feel guilty. Like it would be okay if I had adopted an ugly baby. But I didn't. I adopted the creme de la creme. The cream of the crop. She is as beautiful a baby as I have seen in my life. And she is the most pleasant, delightful, easy to parent baby we've ever had in our family.

It doesn't matter to the strangers who comment that we said yes to her before she was born. We knew she was a girl. That was all. When we walked into her birthmom's hospital room and met her for the first time, we were both struck by how beautiful she was. But it didn't matter. We were already committed at that point. Healthy, sick, weak, strong, physically, mentally, spiritually perfect or marred, we were in.

It is the same with our other children. We have 12 healthy, beautiful, wonderful children. People like to call us lucky. I don't believe in luck. Luck is a way we account for good or bad things without crediting or blaming God. To say God has given us 12 blessings is to acknowledge that He is also involved when someone tries to have children but doesn't, or has a miscarriage.

If someone survives a disaster and we say they were lucky, that's okay, because the people who didn't survive just weren't lucky. But if we say God protected them, we acknowledge that He allowed those who perished to do so. He didn't protect them.

No one is comfortable with the idea that God is involved in that way. Believers don't like to think about a God who gives to some and not to others. Luck is a much easier friend/villian. And some feel God is as unpredictable and unworthy of trust as is Luck.

How deeply involved is this God? Big things, small things? Stock market, tsunami, card games, ball games, regular season only, or championships as well?

I think He is very involved. I am uncertain what is caused and what is allowed, but the fact that He CAN prevent or protect or provide and sometimes doesn't makes that somewhat of a mute point. If He didn't cause Job's family and fortune to perish (and I think an argument could be made that He did pick that fight), but could have prevented it from happening, it makes precious little difference if He is passive or active - His passivity is itself an act of indifference.

Or is it?

This is what I am certain of.

1. God is good. He is only, always, ever good. He cannot be anything but what He is, and that is good.

2. He loves me. Not only that, He loves every single human He made. He IS love. He is a more true definition of love than any feeling or relationship or experience any of us have ever known. Every manifestation we know of the concept of love we know because of a creation of His that gives us a glimpse of love, but only a shadow.

3. All power is His. He is God. He can do anything. Nothing can oppose Him.

Since He is good, He is love, and has all power, I trust Him.

You might say, "Well that's easy for you, everything goes your way. You have healthy children and food to feed them and good health insurance." And that would be a legitimate point. Satan made it, regarding Job. Of course he trusts God, he has everything. But, take away his wealth, his children, his health, and then what will happen?

I don't want to take that test, but I hope I would pass.

I don't know why God has blessed me. I don't know why some ask for children and don't have them, but I have a full dozen. But I believe God gives them and knows what He is doing. Children are a blessing from the Lord, and the fruit of the womb is His reward.

As for our adopted treasure, we said yes. We showed up. A young woman was unintentionally pregnant and felt the best thing she could do for her daughter was to place her for adoption, and eventually decided the best place for her was in our family. She had every opportunity to change her mind. She didn't.

I don't want to spend my life apologizing for God's goodness in my life and trying to explain what He did or didn't do for someone else. He is good. In the end, every eye will see and every mind will know His goodness.

For now, I just have to say, yes, we are ridiculously and inexplicably blessed by God. Not only do we have an abundance of biological masterpieces, we also have the Mona Lisa of adopted babies. We said yes. Over and over, we have said yes.

Lotion and hairspray and formula, oh my!

Here are the things that are different with my adopted baby from my collection of biologicals:

Her amazingly beautiful brown skin needs lotion every day or it gets dry and loses pigment when her jammies get crunchy around her face from formula dribbles or when her sheet is not soft from having been spit up on.

Her lovely black curls look better if they are sprayed regularly, and her head gets dry and flakey if we don't do that also.

She would probably have breastfed nicely if I were able to make enough milk for her, she latched on well, but being pregnant, I couldn't pull it off. Thus begins the formula adventure. We have tried a few different varieties, Parent's Choice (Walmart generic) Enfamil, Similac, Enfamil Gentlease, Sam's Club, and have landed on Parent's choice version of Gentlease. All of that to manage constipation. But we also have an aspirating problem (undiagnosed . . . I talk to my doctor about medical questions, I talk to other moms about mom questions - so when I noticed her coughing and spurting and gagging and needing a ridiculous amount of burp breaks when feeding, especially at night, I asked other moms who I knew had dealt with that and followed their advice. Had she been wheezing, or if it didn't work, I would have brought the pediatrician in on the deal) so she gets 1 teaspoon of rice cereal per ounce of formula mixed in the bottles, and instead of the slow flow nipples we were using (that helped some but eventually not enough) are feeding it to her in Avent with the size 4 nipples. We still have to shake it up a little, but her poops are good and soft and her feeding is soooo much better (night vs day).

I also feel a greater desire to make sure she knows I love her, make sure she feels loved. I am more conscious of milestones. I am waaaay more aware of things like smiles and recognizing faces, etc, especially since I'm still filling out monthly forms on how we're bonding and attaching, and still having home visits.

I am normally pretty committed to my rebellion against the whole "back to sleep" movement. Here's why: most babies that die of SIDS (which isn't something you die of, it is a statement of not knowing why a baby died - they died suddenly as an infant, but SIDS isn't a disease or even a collection of symptoms - it is a mystery) die between 2 and 4 months of age, last I read. Now, back in the day when my older kids were younger, it was a normal developmental milestone to roll over during that time period. However, since the advent of the "back to sleep" model, the milestones have changed. Babies are deliberately being trained NOT to develop normally, out of fear. The idea of tummy time is supposed to compensate, but we don't really want them to develop the normal amount of upper body strength, because then they will roll over in their sleep and not be on their "backs to sleep". I also don't like the flat-head syndrome that happens when they are on their backs all the time. Sorry, I am flabbergasted that we have to make our babies weaker, on purpose, because we are afraid they might lay on their bellies and die of an unknown cause. SIDS is not caused by tummy sleeping. It is unknown. That's what makes it SIDS!

(tangent - sorry)

Anyway, because I have an adopted baby who is not yet officially mine and who I am more afraid of screwing up, she has slept mostly on her back and sides. Babies spit, I prefer to have them at least on their sides. The whole point of this discussion is to say that because she is being adopted, I am a little less confident, a little more chicken, a little more likely to play by the rules. Instead of just answering to my husband and God Almighty, I am also answerable to the home study agency, the adoption agency, and the states of Missouri and Florida, at least until finalization.

I am a little more worried about the long run. Will she like us? Will she feel uncomfortable as one brown face among so many cream colored faces? Will she struggle with her birth mother and/or birth father not being in her life, and their reasons for that? Will she struggle to find a like-minded spouse more than my other children? And my only answer to questions like that is Jesus. She, just like my other children, will need Jesus.

Anyway, those are some of the differences I am experiencing, along with things I've talked about in other blogs.

It has happened!

It's a little thing, not logical, may not mean anything to anyone else, but something I was worried (worried is a huge over statement - I just wondered and hoped and didn't know) about. A thing has happened with my adopted daughter that is true of my biologicals. I shall attempt to describe.

When I look at my eldest and my seventh, I can get lost in their freckles. I simply love the varying sizes and shapes of golden brown flecks on their noses, faces, and on my daughter's lovely lips. I love my little one's curls on the back of her neck, love to play with them and touch them. I derive great pleasure from kissing my oldest son's cheek and having his moon-worthy dimple cave in under my lips. My 3rd daughter doesn't have one dimple, she has six or seven! I love my children's smiles, the way they dance, the sound of their laughter, the different colors of their eyes, grayish blueish green (like the sea after a storm, said Buttercup), or chocolatey brown, or hazel like mine, or blue in a way that makes me want to go swimming. I love to look at them and explore their features, awake or asleep, at work or play. I love my children.

Today, sitting in my room, near the cradle made for my husband by his grandfather before he was born, I sat and watched my newest daughter, the one born from someone else's womb. And this is what I was thinking. My baby girl has THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SKIN - I could just sit and enjoy the color of it for hours and days. Beautiful beyond words that I know. I'm trying to quantify the tone, what does it remind me of? There is no food that comes close. Probably there is a specific rich wood that might somehow begin to portray, I don't know. The beauty of it is a wonder and a joy to me. I LOVE to look at her.

I didn't know if the kooky way I feel about all the biologicals comes from finding myself or my husband in them, if it is some narcissistic instinct, or if it is just the familiarity, they are mine. It isn't. It is just the joy of a mother, marveling at the beauty of God's creation. Certainly I marvel also that He made That in Me. But I am also in awe that He made this lovely, lovely darling baby with the most beautiful skin, deep unfathomable eyes, ringlets of soft black hair, tiny long fingers and an exceptionally cute brown bottom, He made her and somehow out of the riches of His grace and mercy, saw fit to place her in my care, in my arms, at my breast, in my heart.

And that is delightful too.

Oh please, God, bless her birthmom today. Give her strength, heal her heart and body, open doors, give her favor and wisdom, give her big dreams, a hope and a future. Mostly, Lord, I pray that she would know You, Your comfort, Your strength, Your friendship, Your presence, Your forgiveness and salvation. Amen.

Are you my mother?

It was one of my favorite books to have read to me as a child, and is a favorite to read to my children. And it is how I wonder if my recently adopted daughter feels when she looks at me. I know it isn't. She isn't thinking, "who are you?" She is still limited to thinking, "this feels good," or "this feels bad". She doesn't even know the name of what feels good or bad. If she could speak, she isn't self aware enough to say whether it is a messy diaper, empty belly, gas bubble or exhaustion that is causing the "bad" feeling.
I guess it is possible that she connects my voice, smell, feel to "feels good" or to "the end of feels bad". I think she is comforted by me the way newborns are comforted by their mamas.
She doesn't know she's in the wrong (right) family. She has no idea that she is the lone black child being raised by a pack of wild caucasians. She doesn't know she's beautiful, doesn't know that she has an umbilical hernia, doesn't know she's constipated, doesn't know she has a dry scalp. She doesn't know that I don't know what I'm doing, even though she's the 11th child we've brought home.
But I know. And I feel a little inadequate.
Some adoption situations seem easier for the mind to fully embrace that this child belongs to the new parents. A child from an orphanage, for example, or a child who was likely to be aborted. But my little one was loved, and desired, if not to raise, at least to live. And there were people in her world who wanted her. Perhaps her birth-father, if encouraged, would have wanted to keep her with him. My situation is not as easy as a baby who has no one.
What I have is that her birth mom believed that our home was the very best place for her to be, superceding culture, race, geography, faith, socioeconomic status, and, ok - I'll say it, common sense. She believed that no matter how it felt or affected her, that putting this baby girl with us was the very best thing for baby girl.
She had a miserable nasty crappy time. Magnesium sulfate for 5 or so days, no food, transfusions, no epidural, emergency D & C afterward, ICU, headaches, nausea, vomiting, blurred vision, not to mention frustration, anger and lack of understanding from her "support" network as they processed her decision with difficulty. And after all the horrible week she spent in the hospital, her reward was to go home with empty arms and a necklace she said was too special to wear.
And now I'm here with her incredibly beautiful darling baby girl, feeling inadequate, trying to figure out which formula to give her, and how to deal with the rash she has on her face and if it is normal baby stuff or if I'm showing my 'caucasian' ignorance of the needs of the skin of persons with African ancestry.

I love this baby. I love her mother. I love that Jesus gave her to me. After all she went through, our birth mom still chose us, chose adoption. But I'm horribly aware that all of who I am and can be as a mom, all of who we are and can be as a family, even all of who my wonderful husband is and can be, it's not enough. We can't bridge the gap between what is and what ought to have been. Her birth father and birth mother, loving her, loving each other, caring for her, bringing her up in her own family and world. We cannot heal, cannot forgive on her behalf, cannot fill the hole left.
We can overwhelm her with love and kisses and with the glory of us, but that cannot be enough. We cannot fill in the cultural blanks (that is a whole. nother. blog.), cannot heal the racial tension in our land that she will face someday.

What we can do, is show her at every opportunity, good and bad, that she has the option of giving it all, pain, confusion, whatever, to a perfect Savior-Redeemer-Healer. We can lead her to the cross. Over and over and over.

And I suppose that is where my adequacy, legitimacy, peace lies. I want to somehow reach across the nation and heal her mom, her dad, her mom's friends and family. I want to make it all better for them, but how can I, when I have the sweet spot, and they have a hole where she should have been?

This yoke is not mine. Even my daughter's happiness is not my responsibility. It is between her and the Lord. What is my job? Do justly, love mercy, walk humbly with my God. Pray without ceasing. In everything give thanks.

ruth's vow

where you go, i will go
where you stay, i will stay
your people will be my people
your God will be my God . . .

your problems will be my problems
people who mistreat you, they mistreat me
the prejudiced treatment you receive, it will be mine also
places you can't go, i won't go
places you aren't welcome, i will abandon
movies that hurt you, i won't watch
books that inflict damage to you, i won't keep

i will learn with you to hide in the Shadow of the Almighty
together we will take our pain, our rejection, our weaknesses to Him and find healing
together we will learn to lean on the One who knows our pain

to adopt a child of another ethnicity
is to take on all the racial issues that ethnicity deals with
it is to choose to identify with the way that people group feels
the struggles they face
the obstacles they encounter
the prejudice their world might have against them

if i adopt you
a beautiful brown skinned baby
a baby God chose to make
even though no one wanted you to be made
but i did
i wanted you
if i am given this chance
to welcome you into my world
with my arms
my love
my heart
i am not just bringing you into my world
i am consciously entering yours
i am deliberately leaving my little white privileged world
and (even if it doesn't want me) entering a world
that has known so much heartache
i'm taking on all the enemies
the people with brown skin
known as African-Americans
have known and will yet know

where you go, i will go
where you stay, i will stay
your people will be my people
and my God will be your God

i am certain of His faithfulness
there is nothing He cannot do
He delights in you
as do i