when Christmas sucked.

When all I could do was breathe. And breathing even hurt.

Last Christmas sucked. Just sucked. From the outside I am sure I gave the impression that everything was amazing. I had just returned home from Uganda with our newest son and we were one happy, send out Christmas cards to pretend we were, happy family. We lied. I lied. It was me. I lied to save myself. To save myself from all of you knowing that we were falling apart. And by we, I mean me. I was falling apart. I couldn’t breathe. It hurt too much. I cancelled Christmas. I literally cancelled going home for the holiday. I could not imagine being in a room full of people that wanted to love me. When I could not even stand the thought of a person hugging me much less wanting to talk to me. I could barely get dressed. I felt like if I brushed my hair and my teeth it was a productive day. People wanted to visit. It was torture. Torture to pretend that life inside our house wasn’t falling apart. Torture to pretend that I wasn’t broken. A broken mess of a mom not even trying to be a wife. I could not tolerate who I was or who I was pretending to be. It felt like my skin was crawling and I wanted to run away. But I was too afraid to even leave my own home. I became obsessed that something horrible was going to happen to me and my kids. And I thought that if I just removed myself from the equation that everyone would be better.

That is just the tip of the Christmas package of pain last year. Under many more months and layers of therapy we uncovered deep fears and anxiety that suffocated who I was for months.

So sweet one….I get it. I get that Christmas may be excruciating for you. That you just want to wake up and it all be gone. The expectations that others place on you or worse yet, those that you put on yourself will never be met. And it’s ok. It’s ok to be in pain. It’s ok to be lonely. It’s ok to say out loud that it sucks. That is hurts. That you can’t find the joy. That it hurts to breathe.

Just know that you are not alone. I get it. And I am sure if we were all more honest and didn’t send out “everything is sunshine and my life looks like Pinterest” Christmas cards, we could all start to breathe. We could all start to heal. And give each other grace that where you are this Christmas is enough.

The emptiness that screams….

There is this void inside of me. I think if we are honest with ourselves, we all have this.

I think I’ve always known mine was there. An emptiness that screams. Like me. Need me. Invite me. Laugh at me. Hold me. Notice me. Love me. Listen to me. Hear me. Believe in me. Trust me. Walk with me. Dance with me. Pick me. Don’t leave me. Want me. Fight for me.

When I returned from Uganda a year ago I came home with a chasm of emptiness. I am sure all that were there noticed it when I walked through the gates at O’Hare. Although I am sure it was masked by the fact that I was looking just so ravishing after traveling 26 hours straight with a child that was bighting me .

After being in Uganda for over eleven weeks and only released from the country because a certain large organization was called in, you could say I came home with some “issues”. One of the biggest issues was my overwhelming sense that I didn’t belong. I didn’t know how to fit back into my own family. I had left that role for so many months that my family didn’t even know where I belonged. And I had this devastating ache that I would not be able to ever reconnect with my friends. That we would never see things in the same light again.

It wasn’t until recently that I could voice exactly what that need was, I wanted to be heard. Really heard. But I couldn’t. I wanted others to understand the depth of what I had been through. I wanted them to see international adoption in the same revealing way that I now am understanding it. I wanted someone to tell me that they understood the deep pain that suffocated me. I wanted someone to realize that I missed out on three months of all of their lives and felt like I never caught up. I wanted someone to see that I was struggling to know what my role was in the home. The older kids had to be in charge so many times that they had a difficult time letting me be mom again. And here I was scared to be mom because I carried so much guilt around for being gone. I wanted someone to know that I needed to reconnect. And I didn’t know how.

In retrospect I know this wasn’t fair. To them. To me.

I wanted others to fill a deep longing. A deep pain. A deep fear that only Christ himself could heal.

This morning it was apparent I still have parts of the emptiness that are still exposed. I was feeling so alone and disconnected from others. I was drawn into the lie again that they will fill the emptiness that only He can fill.

So in the emptiness I will cling. In the emptiness I will heal.

In the emptiness He will make me whole again.

an open letter to those thinking about adoption…

If there is one piece of advice I would give to those thinking about adopting it is this.

YOU NEED COMMUNITY.

You need a group, a group, not an individual that will walk with you through this. And not walk away.

You need people in your life that will stand in your kitchen after you have returned home after being gone for three months and say “you’re wondering why you did this, right?”.  And loving you in the answer.

You need people that you can lay on their couch and cry knowing that you don’t need to say a word you need to just be.

You need people that will bring you meals and not try to hold your child or give your child anything. They understand that attachment is holding on by a thread.

You need people who get what the trenches look like. They are an ugly dark place filled with loss and grief.

You need people who give you space to feel what you need to feel.

You need people who will fight for justice for the orphan not their happiness.

You need people who will cover your house with prayer and pray the darkness away from you.

You need people who will stop and actually want to know how things are.

You need people who know what to do with hair, skin, rashes etc.

You need people who are in your corner no matter what.

You need people to shower you with grace when make a decision that you stand alone in.

You need people who understand that the health department and the social worker coming on the same day deserves a good cry and a latte, if not a bottle of wine.

You need people who are not afraid of the truth. You need people who fight for your family.

You need people who know what it’s like to try and collect bodily fluids out of your child is draining every last ounce of sanity you think you have.

You need people who understand that you cannot spank your child when he misbehaves. Knowing and respecting that this just sends them into a tale spin of shame.

You need people who realize that adoption can bring out the ugliest part of you. Parts that even scare you.

You need people who love you through your own tantrums.

You need people who understand that at least the first year you are in your own bubble of adjustment.

You need people who understand not to take things personally when you don’t return phone calls, much less remember your birthday.

You need people who except that your family looks different. You need people who celebrate that.

You need people who continually lead you to the great Healer.

You need people who want nothing but healing for all of you.

This is my prayer for you. That before you decide to bring another child filled with trauma into your home that you would have these honest conversations with yourself and those you love. That you would ask God to begin to heal the hearts and lives of those around you so they can be your people.

more elmo less emailing.-things I am learning from just being present.

Last night while riding in the car with my oldest she asked how she could be praying for me. Now before you go all “my kid never asked me that before! I can’t even get a full sentence out of my teenager!” You need to know that the youth pastor just minutes before had given all the kids an assignment that night to ask their parents the same question. And if they were too nervous or weren’t on the same spiritual walk as their parental unit that they could ask God to bless their household.

It wasn’t long after she asked that I knew what had been on my heart for a while now.

“To be present. With you. With all of you.”

I have a close friend who has five little bambinos. She has told me on numerous occasions that she does not volunteer for any projects outside of her home at this time in her life. And without even questioning it I completely agree with her. This sweet one has her hands full and then some. I have never viewed her as selfish or self -centered. She is basically the opposite. She pours her heart and soul into what is before her. That happens to be five precious blessings at her feet. In fact I would never think of asking her to head up a project or expect her to ever be on a team for anything.

A few days ago though the thought came to my head as I was dropping off my fifth child at school for 2.5 hours. I have five kids! No it’s not a surprise to me. I know how many kids I have. And although they are not all little they are still a lot of work. At times I think that having teenagers and toddlers at the same time is the ultimate parental test. Although the needs are different they still need me, the needs just come in hormonal waves. When I had one child I went to play dates, story times, watched Elmo, read book after book after book, and took naps. I did not volunteer to be any more than who I was. Yet now with five I seem to think that I can do all of that and take on any and every project that comes my way. While the projects may be good. I am learning again it is not good for my soul.And its not good for my families soul.

I have come face to face with the reality that I have limitations. I need breathing room. I need quiet time. I need to exercise. I need to lay my face on the floor before my God. I need to talk to my husband. And this is hard to do with the phone ringing, email sending, text answering life I have been trying to keep up with. I do not thrive on this. Others might. I don’t.

I need to do laundry. I need to clean the house. I need to prepare meals. Grocery shop. Make and go to doctor’s appointments. Sporting events. Concerts ( and yes that included the infamous recorder concert, don’t be jealous). Sporting awards. Mowing the lawn. Shoveling the snow. And try to catch the stupid dog that ran away again. Somewhere in there bring all the kids to school and remember to pick them back up again.

I need to be present. I crave it. To be all there. If I am not there and I am everywhere else I start to fall apart. I start to get anxious. I start to catch my breath. I start to get really ugly with myself and with others. I start to lose sleep. I start to forget things. I start to think that these other things are more important that the five little (some not so little) at my feet. So why is it ok for me to give grace to others who have multiple children and forget to look in the mirror and breathe grace in for myself?

It’s not. So I am choosing grace. Just grace.

this is why. (truth about what Christians did in the name of adoption….and why I don’t agree)

I know this topic stirs up controversy in the adoption world. I am not claiming that this is your story. This is our story. But do not think that it doesn’t happen. It happens all the time. And we believe it just makes the problems worse for anyone that comes after you in the adoption process. It only hurts the kids that are left because of our greed and American narcissistic demands. This is our truth.

There have been moments this past year when Jesus so gently has whispered to me ….this is why. This is why you needed to suffer. This is why your family had to be separated for so long. This is why you saw what you saw. This is why you needed to obey.

This past August we began the process of adopting our sweet boy stateside. Because he came from a country that grants guardianship with the intent of adoption, we wanted to begin the next process as soon as we were able to. We handed all of our paperwork and documents over to our lawyer who presented our case to the judge. On a beautiful day in Chicago we stood before a judge as a family of seven and knew without a doubt that this was the final step.

Yet three weeks later we received a phone call from our lawyer. The lawyer that was representing our son in the case was contesting the adoption. During the nine phone calls back and forth that Friday afternoon I felt like the floor was falling out from under me. Tim and I cried and prayed and set up a plan. We knew we could not share this information with our families. The past year had been a year of so much uncertainty and fighting for us, that we could not bear to put another burden on their shoulders. His lawyer was stating that with all of the publicity of child trafficking happening in Uganda our case would not be granted. She was certain that our case was the one that was going to help her “make a name” for herself. Our lawyer was furious. She had done her research . She knew our case backwards and forwards and knew that there was no room for argument. We continued to fall to our knees and just pray protection over our family.

In that moment Jesus again said….this is why.

This is why you were in Uganda for three months. This is why you waited so long for a passport. This is why I let you fall in love with the people of Uganda. This is why you saw others leave the country within weeks and had no idea why. This is why you were at the passport office watching as other “Christians” offered to pay off officials in order to “get out of there”. This is why, when you were asked to pay a significant person in the adoption for documents on your first week there, you immediately walked out of the room and never looked back. This is why you cried yourself to sleep at night after witnessing people tracking down officials and persuading them to do what they wanted, when they wanted. This is why you came home from Uganda knowing that you never gave a cent to anyone to obtain any part of the adoption. This is why you came home so angry and disappointed at what “Christians” will claim and do “ In the name of Christ”. This is why you lay awake at night so disappointed at what you saw unfold before you. This is why this story still brings you to tears and makes your blood boil. This is why when someone accuses you of anything illegal in your adoption you can hold your head high. This is why sweet girl. This moment. This moment is why. You obeyed. You may have had to be apart from the rest of your children for three months but this is why.

This moment when we knew we could go before the judge with a clear conscience and know all we did for Christ was obey.

This past Monday I came home from a weekend away to find a large envelope from our lawyer. In it was the final ruling of our judge. The judge had decided that what his lawyer was presenting held no merit.That our family was a family of seven. Our sweet boy is ours. Officially ours. Forever ours. This is why.

assessments.

This past week Ephraim’s teacher came for a home visit. The program that he is in for early intervention has it as one of their requirements that they visit the homes of their students. There is a higher risk of child abuse and neglect when the child has special needs or is labeled “at risk”. I was looking forward to her seeing how well he has integrated into the home environment. What I wasn’t looking forward to was the acting out that occurred the entire time she was here. He kept covering my mouth telling me to be quiet. He wanted her all to himself. He asked her to move in. It really was a highlight of my mothering career. My two other children home at the time then proceeded to answer the phone and play the bongo drums at the feet of the teacher. It felt like I was being taped for my own reality TV show on a network that no one would watch.

The report from the visit wasn’t what I was expecting. She mentioned several times how she was concerned how far behind he was. His language fluency as well as his social skills in comparison to his age was not measuring up. At first I was a little disturbed by her assessment of our sweet boy. And I wanted to say yes I know he is not at the correct developmental age. However, he is not even close to where he was a year ago. In this mama’s eyes he has come leaps and bounds from where he started from. And to compare him to a child the same age that was born and raised from birth with two parents in a first world country is just unfair.

Yet, this is how I compare myself. Daily I compare myself.

I love reading blogs. I am a bit of a blogaholic . There are blogs that I run across that I make a note to read later and then there are blogs that my smarty pants friends post and write that I learn so much from. But then there are the blogs that I follow religiously .They make me laugh and contemplate life and faith. For a long time though I only read adoption and mom blogs. I wanted to know that I wasn’t alone in the struggle. But you know what I kept feeling? I am not good enough. I don’t homeschool my kids anymore. I am homeschool dropout. I must not love my kids enough then. I don’t make my own detergent. Therefore I must not care about the environment or the stench of store bought detergent on my children. My children also do not match. Like ever. I shop at thrift stores and clearance racks. That is it. So I must not care if my kids never make the GAP adds. I also am not a size 4. I think I was a size 4 in elementary school for a month or so but I will never be small. So that means I must not care about my health or how attractive I am to my husband anymore. I know this is not true. I do.

But this is what I do, I compare myself to standards that don’t make sense. They are not even in the same ballpark. Making assessments with women I don’t know. Trying to assess where I am today with women that I discovered are at least ten years younger than me. Here I am sitting in my self- examination pity party trying to mirror the lives of people that I have no business holding my worth up against .

I am basically telling God that where I am today is not good enough. That how far He has carried me . Emptied me. Healed me. Transformed me is not enough. And that is just not acceptable. Where I am is not where I’d like to be. But from where I was a year ago is only by His grace. And His grace is enough.

faithful.

Today was the National Day of Prayer. I didn’t stand by the flag pole or go to any ceremony of special significance. I instead went to be with some of those that have been instrumental in these past few years. Women who prayed fervently for me when I didn’t know what to pray. Women who prayed for our sweet youngest before we even saw his face. Women who get all the “adoption issues” and laugh when there is nothing left to do. On this day of prayer though I am reminded while scooping out buttered noodles for all of our little ones to eat, that our God is so faithful. Nothing like buttered noodles and a house full of little children from all over the world to bring the National Day of Prayer to another level.

I was reminded so clearly this past Sunday about how far He has brought me. It was four months ago that I was dreading going to a large gathering at church. I didn’t want to go; I was afraid to go. The people. The questions. The answers I couldn’t give. The eye contact . I would have rather just hidden in the ladies’ room all night and hand out towels than have an adult conversation. I dreaded anyone asking about adoption. Uganda. My life. My heart. All of it made me want to wear a sign on my forehead that said “now an introvert” or “too damaged; stay away”. But I went and made it through and begged God to start healing me.

And then He healed.

Last Sunday as we gathered for our church’s corporate prayer and worship services I stood with arms open wide ready to receive what that Spirit has in store for me. I was no longer crying the whole way there trying to conjure up a story as to why I couldn’t speak with anyone. I still didn’t talk to as many people. And I am ok with that. I know what healing feels like. I don’t know the exact moment it happened. It took weeks, months, and long nights. I do know what it is like to not be afraid to wake up in the morning. I do know what it is like to have God so intimately speak to me and show Himself to me that I only I could see it. I do know that it is like to lay everything down at His feet. I do know what it is like to speak the darkness out loud and it lose its power over me. I do know what it is like to bathe myself in Scripture day after day just to be able to breathe. I do know what it is like to ask for help. I do know what it is like to feel the hand of Jesus lift me from the pit. I do know what it is like to have people I have never met in person before reach out to me and just encourage at just the right time.

I do believe in a healing God. I believe that HE heals. I do also believe that we need to participate in the healing. That we need to be honest with ourselves and others; that we need to die to ourselves every day. I believe that part of healing is realizing that I needed to take better care of myself. I had been separated from my kids for so long and then came back in a depression that I no longer wanted to miss out on life. Part of that is knowing that God gave me this body and mind and I need to take care of it. It honors God when we take care of what He has given us. I do know that He heals. I have felt it. I have seen it. I am a product of it.

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This song has been my anthem.

washing feet at 15.

When she was five I found chicken eggs in her closet. Not real chicken eggs. Like from the grocery store eggs. Right out of the carton eggs. You would think that I would notice that a dozen were missing. Beneath princess blankets and stuffed animals were straight from the fridge, eggs packed together neatly .And a five year old looking on as I tried to hold in the puke while removing them from her closet. She started crying ,carrying on about how “all her life” she had wanted baby chicks. And this was her only ticket to getting one. She promised that she knew what she was doing because she had watched her kindergarten teacher do it weeks before, so she must be an expert. She had a need to care for something for someone. Even if it did come from the fridge.

By the time she was in late elementary school her course of action changed and she wanted nothing more than to be a veterinarian. She would beg us to look up petfinder.com to find our newest pet. She would dream of living on a ranch where she would feed her own horse and groom it as soon as she returned home from school. Her dreams had clearly exceeded our pocketbooks and the house in the city.

She has always had a gift of loving others. But it wasn’t until this past fall in Uganda that I got to see what God has done in this little girl who wanted to hatch eggs in her closet.
It was a quiet afternoon and things around the guest house were settled down. After putting her brother down for a nap I asked my friend where she was. She pointed to the front porch. I stood in the doorway and watched what I can only describe as humbling. There was my sweet baby girl washing the feet of the women that took care of us. That walk miles to work each day in the red clay. That never utter a complaint. They spend hours scrubbing the floors, making beds, cooking amazing meals with smiles always across their faces. They are there before we even wake in the morning and go home well after dark to then take care of their own families. These women are the epitome of strength and courage to us. But there she was. Kneeling before them washing, talking, laughing, and listening. To their stories. To their lives. To who they were. She in that afternoon became an image of humble. A servant of the King. She was becoming the girl, the young woman, that God has been making her to be. I stood in the doorway with tears running down my face. I have never been more sure that God has unbelievable plans for her life.

Happy birthday my sweet girl. At 15 you make me more proud to be your mom.

stop trying to be laura ingalls

One of my mentors recently called me out on some things. Okay, perhaps not so much as a mentor but my therapist. Don’t go all “judgy judgy” on me, we should all pay for some sound advice sometimes. She let me know that I was not Laura Ingalls and needed to stop acting like it. Ok. Perhaps she didn’t use those exact words it was more like “why are you acting like you can do everything for everyone all the time?”

I look at Pintrest and see all of these amazing ideas. I scan Facebook to see supermoms making their own detergent, homeschooling, and still taking a shower every day and I wonder where did I go wrong? Ever since I came back from Uganda I have felt this overwhelming need to “make- up” for all the time I was gone. I have been determined to be a better mom. A better wife. A better friend. And apparently the measure all of that was figuring out what everyone else was doing better at. So I had been cooking these amazing meals with all the food groups included. Packing lunches that the kids would love to eat. There would never be the infamous cafeteria trading going on with my kids. I even have been making our own bread. From scratch. Like I forgot they made bread and sold it at the stores already sliced. Telling myself that this is how I was going to show my kids that I loved them. That I was sorry I had left them for so long. That I would never leave them again for so long. I thought that I was speaking their “love language” of non- processed foods. You can imagine how well this all went. It took about one month. One month of non -processed foods, amazing dinners, a prescription of Xanax and too many trips to the therapists office to discover I had hit rock bottom.

Apparently when you have five young children, your hormones are a wreck, you are reintegrating into your family and world, it is not a good time to raise the standards on yourself. And the standards that I had set for myself were beyond unattainable or even acceptable. No one ever told me that I needed to do all of these things. This is just what I had told myself. That in order to obtain my position as a loving mom I needed to at least do as well as all the moms on Facebook and Pintrest. But there I was flat on my face in a pile of flour wondering who I was supposed to be. And then I learned this. Again. I just needed to be present. Just there. I just needed to breathe and be in this moment. Not the moments that I lost. Not in the moments that may or may not happen. Just the moment of now.

So here we are. I bought bread. And they really like it. And I am present. And it is just where I need to be. I don’t need to make my own detergent to be a good mom. I can decide that some of my kids need to go back to public school. I can make macaroni and cheese from a box. And they will be ok. They will thrive. Because I am here.

home.

Grateful.

This thanksgiving means something completely different this year. I can honestly say I have never been more grateful. 12 weeks ago Tim and I left our four blessings and traveled over 22 hours to meet our newest blessing. Ephraim Kwagala James Massie. And just five days ago I arrived home in Chicago with him. This journey has been the most difficult yet faith stretching path we have ever walked. As I learn to adjust to the time zone and our “new normal” I will be able to communicate the stories and struggles that God has carried us through. Until then I just wanted to say “thank you”. As my blessings start making their Christmas lists I made a list of my own….

My grateful list.

-our son. He seriously has brightened our family. He will forever be loved.

-my husband.He is a rock star. He held this house and home together for over two months. He constantly encouraged me to bond with Ephraim and not worry about life at home. I am so proud to be his wife.

-prayer. To those of you that carried us daily in prayer. Believe me I felt it in my soul on the days I thought I couldn’t handle one more disappointment.

-meals. My family tells me that they have never eaten better. For this mom’s heart it makes me so happy. To know that every night they sat down to a meal made with love.

-help. To my family and friends that took the time and the resources to travel here and take care of my blessings and home I am so overwhelmed humbleness. I know that you are all so busy with your own families but you sacrificed and gave anyway.

-letters. The letters that were sent were my daily connection to you. I re-read every letter many times. I needed to know I wasn’t alone.

100 other more things….(believe me there are so many more…)

To everyone who has given of their time,prayers, resources to help bring this little one home I am so grateful for you. You have in your own way cared for the orphan. Just know that as I bow my head to pray this thanksgiving each and every one of you I am thankful for.

Blessings to all of you….

too good not to share

one of my dearest friends recently received this video. it is the day she met her daughter therese in burkino faso, africa. this was december 2010. less than one year ago. just take a moment. watch the video. read her story. feel your heart change.


http://http//solgosfamily.blogspot.com/2011/09/meeting-therese_06.html