sometimes when God is quiet

it's the rainy season again.  the skies have been beautifully intense- layered and complex - like life.

home schooling with a much littler child at home who craves attention and is finding her place in our family, is also layered and complex.  homeschooling someone who still struggles with regulation- who wears shorts and a tee-shirt when it's 50 degrees outside and then sits covered in goosebumps, complaining about something irrelevant because she is cold but doesn't know it- is intense. 

this is life.  and i sit in it wondering what will come of it?

how do you teach someone to understand and attend to the primal feelings in their body of hunger and heat and cold? especially when they don't want to learn? when they think it's "help".  i guess this is the expected regression in the presence of number four.

this mornings readings were about when God is silent and we are hurting.  or when God says 'no' and we are scared,  or 'not yet' and we are suffering.  when there is waiting. quiet. unrequested lack of response. 

as a parent, i think i understand God a little better.  i mean i see things from another angle- that i couldn't have known fully before.  i see silence differently. 

sometimes i let my kids try things that could result in injury because i think discovery is important even if it hurts. 

today rose tried to climb the bunk bed ladder.  she got stuck a few times- and made that anxious panicky sound- that 'i'm afraid i'll fall' sound.  i stood behind her- knowing if she really fell i would catch her- but i didn't rescue her- i told her she could do it- i encouraged her- and she climbed to the top bunk. 

but other times i watch my kids from a far. i'll watch through the window as zoe struggles to do her copy work.  i'll watch silently and let her battle through it alone.  i'm there ultimately if needed- if there is full decompensation- but she needs to know she can handle it- work it out herself- not rely on me to bale her out. 

and sometimes i won't even watch at all. jude learned to ride a bike this weekend, the next day i let him ride our dirt road unobserved- i knew he'd probably fall- but that he'd be okay.  he came home with a bunch of scrapes and a lot of dirt, but even more self-confidence.
"mommy- you should have seen it! i wiped out- but i was fine!"
he had a story of his own.  he knew himself better. 

but whether i'm standing behind someone on the bunk bed ladder, or watching from the window, or not watching at all but knowing the situation- i'm still there.  i still love them all the same.

sometimes growth hurts- sometimes it's scarey- sometimes it requires a lot of us and we may feel alone.  this is how i feel God some days. i'm on a dirt road having just learned to ride and i fall.  i cut my knee.  my bike is heavy- it fell on me too. i can't see anyone watching.  i wish someone could pick me up and carry me- but my mom is inside (doing something extremely important:).  so i have to do it by myself.  i lift the bike, i have that hot feeling in my slightly abraded palms, i dust off my cut and i get back on my bike and ride. i'm okay.  i did it.

some days i feel pushed beyond my limit, or what i thought was my limit.  some days i don't want to be alone with my copy work, or i want to feel a hand on my back when i climb.  but. on those days, i know more about life and about me and about other people's experiences. 

so i will try to remember that quiet isn't always bad.  that silence isn't absence. that 'no' or 'not yet' can be big opportunities for my heart to grow into a new place- or to make room for understanding someone else- or that if i wait, if can be still- i might even be able to feel the closeness of God's eyes and hands. 

what four means

here is what four means.  four rhymes with more for a reason.  there is a lot more of most thing- more mess- more noise- more opinions- more laundry- more fighting- more crumbs- more spills.  there is also more singing, more laughing, and more 'i love you's'- and those are worth much more.

i've come to realize that whenever there are more of somethings- there are less of others.  it's a bit of a closed system.  so now there is less quiet- less organization-less toilet paper- less alone time. actually maybe no alone time-for now.

we are all in equilibrium as we adjust to four.  i'm working on being okay with more mess- in whatever form that is- crumbs, forts, spills, toys, paper, clutter.  i'm remembering to dissect the noise- to listen to what is hidden- what is being said- or shouted- or sung- those little clues into my children and their process.  i'm trying to help with what is behind the fighting and yelling- because often it's someone hugging someone too hard- or giving an unrequested kiss- because learning to share is really important- and knowing that someone is there to hear you or defend your cause is important- because knowing that the rules don't change when you add another player, and that the rules are the same for everyone is essential.

and i'm learning to SAVOR the few quiet moments when lunch is over, rose has finally gone down for a nap- and the other three are off playing elsewhere and the dishes are done and the brownies are out of the oven- and i can just be still.  take a breath.  and be thankful for four and all their more.

saturday morning with rose and a poem

BONE

 

1.

 

Understand, I am always trying to figure out

what the soul is,

and where hidden,

and what shape

and so, last week,

when I found on the beach

the ear bone

of a pilot whale that may have died

hundreds of years ago, I thought

maybe I was close

to discovering something

for the ear bone

2.

is the portion that lasts longest

in any of us, man or whale; shaped

like a squat spoon

with a pink scoop where

once, in the lively swimmer's head,

it joined its two sisters

in the house of hearing,

it was only

two inches long

and thought: the soul

might be like this

so hard, so necessary

3.

yet almost nothing.

Beside me

the gray sea

was opening and shutting its wave-doors,

unfolding over and over

its time-ridiculing roar;

I looked but I couldn't see anything

through its dark-knit glare;

yet don't we all know, the golden sand

is there at the bottom,

though our eyes have never seen it,

nor can our hands ever catch it

4.

lest we would sift it down

into fractions, and facts

certainties

and what the soul is, also

I believe I will never quite know.

Though I play at the edges of knowing,

truly I know

our part is not knowing,

but looking, and touching, and loving,

which is the way I walked on,

softly,

through the pale-pink morning light.

from Why I Wake Early (2004)

mary oliver

counting my chickens

i shouldn't count my chickens before they hatch- but i will because it was a glorious day.
after three long years of playing the parent/ teacher role (perhaps better verbs would include 'attempting' or 'pulling my hair out in')  zoe might be going to school next year.  but the decision largely hinged on today- on her performance on a math test- not just the answering ability, but how she would do, sitting and taking a test with out me.

this week was exhausting. on monday we met with the boys school and the newly hired special education teacher- on tuesday we met with rose's birth mom, and today we returned with zoe to the boys school to see how she would do on this test. knowing that zoe has a hard time with tests, and with finishing anything without multiple prompts, and being distracted by almost most sound and new places- i gulped when i heard this was a part of the plan, and then just to be sure i said,

"so you want zoe to sit by herself for an hour and take a math test?"
"yes"
"with out me sitting next to her?"
"that's right."
"okay, but it most likely won't be a reflection of what she knows.  i mean, don't be surprised if after an hour, she's answered nothing but drawn 'littlest petshop pets' all over the paper."
"we'll just have to see." said the head of the school.

gulp.

if i were being graded on parental faith in their child- i would clearly have failed.
but it was defensive- for both of us- and i was staying true to my new years resolution- lowering the expectations.  it's hard to do worse than no answers and a paper covered in cartoons - although if someone happened to vacuum during the test.... yes.. that would definitely be worse.

i figured i'd downplay the whole thing to help her potential anxiety.
"honey, just do your best- it really doesn't matter if you get the answers right- but try to stay focused."  (i resisted the urge to say 'try to do math on the math test- not art' mostly out of fear that i'd plant an idea.)

on the morning car ride i fained full confidence but inside i was having a conversation with God. it went something like this- this is your child and i trust you but really, i'm so scared that she is going to flop and fail and i'll be left holding her bits again- i'm so scared that she'll be afraid and talk incessantly and flap her arms and throw her pencil and use the wobbly voice - i'm so scared that they will say 'no way.'- well- you know all this- so please- just HELP! help her. help me.  and if she's going to crash and burn- i'd rather know now than in the middle of next year- but i'd rather not have that happen at all so- PLEASE help! and there might have even been a little bit of come on- you owe me thrown in there by accident- but of course He doesn't.

we got to school at 7:30 in the rain- me and my four kids in their raincoats. zoe went off to find some friends-which she did.  then she begged to join the year 6 class for 15 minutes before assembly - which i reluctantly let her do- realizing i needed to let her go in order to let her grow.  in the assembly the year 6 teacher asked me if zoe wanted to join the class on stage in a small performance - which of course she did- and loved it.  when the assembly was over- she hoped off to take the math test with the head teacher.

gulp.
"we'll see you in a while!" the teacher said.

40 minutes later- while rose and i watched the bunnies- they emerged both smiling.

"she did great!!" the teacher said. 
"really??" i replied trying to shove the total shock out of my voice.
"really.  no problem."
thank you! i mumbled under my breath.

"so we'll see her next week for the reading part, but i think she will do fine here next year- i think we'll be able to make it work." the teacher said.


then i had one of those moments when i wondered for a second if i was in someone elses life - because mine doesn't usually go like this. it was a moment of pure joy and astonishment and awe - that this might work- that God is good- that she could be back in school- learning with other kids, learning things that she especially needs, that we can't teach at home- like not disturbing others during class, and following directions, and working in a group. it was a moment that i hadn't counted on ever- and hadn't waited for, or even really looked for- because the school offered to try to make it work for zoe. 

i'm not really counting my chickens yet- i'm just so very thankful that the eggs are looking warm and that i can see progress and potential.  thankful for this day.  for those moments.  for zoe's joy and pride in her accomplishment.
"zo, i'm so proud of you!"
"why did i get 100?" she said hopefully.
"not quite, but you focused! you did the test! you didn't get upset, you did your best! that is why i'm proud!"
"you know mom- i think it's because i'm done with homeschooling. it's hard for me to focus with just you and dad. i need to be with other kids."

it was music to my ears.  i hope she's right.  we'll see how next week goes.



 

just pictures tonight

bryn's best friend at school lent him his balance bike for the week.
it was so cute.  i've never seen that kid smile so big.

these pictures are of him with the bike on our dirt road and rose tagging along behind him.

today with my girls

well, i think the honeymoon period might be over. they say that in adoption there can be this period of dreamy behavior, when the child is trying really hard to guarantee their spot- to make a good impression- to not make people mad. the last two weeks have gone by with relative ease.  now, after sleeping like a charm, and no potty accidents, rose is remembering how to be a real two year old (if she's two, otherwise a bratty three year old.)

last night i heard my name: "ah-ma-ME!" loud and clear at 1 am.  i went to her room. not there.  i looked in the bathroom, in her brothers room, in the living room- not there- at least i thought she wasn't there because it was really dark and she is hard to find in the dark.  so i turned on the kitchen light and she was standing in the back by the washing machine. we had a few rounds of going potty, going to her bed, to our bed, crying, singing, and back to her bed. after about an hour- mike held her and she fell asleep.

and today, after never having a single accident since being here, she has peed through four outfits- the last two of which were without underwear. and i might care a little less if we didn't have a non functioning dryer because the plug melted. yes. it smoldered and smoked and melted.  and because it's raining out so the the clothes won't dry on the line.  which is kind of funny- that today is the day that she keeps peeing in her pants.  now she is wearing pajamas.

of course in might not be the end of a honeymoon period, alternatively, it could all be a punishment for yesterday- for sitting through a confusing two hour meeting with her birth mom- hearing three languages and wondering where she'd end up afterwards.

it could be a test- "are they going to keep me even if i keep them up at night and pee everywhere?"

or it could be because she has been following me around all morning, speaking luganda and getting "oh, u-hun, good!" in response, while i attempt to homeschool zoe.  not exactly the focused attention she is wanting. 

i don't know her reasons, but yes dear rose.  we will stay up, and change your pants all day, and love you the whole time.

meanwhile, zoe.

she has had a pretty easy homeschool day.  i taught her about how the eye works, we baked and measured for math, and i let her do playdough while we did history. and then it came time for the dreaded copy work. oh. my. word.

i have been unsuccessful in making rose take a nap- in other words- i've decided to not spend 20 minutes with her screaming, and then zoe fake screaming- and opted instead to have a more crabby kid from 4-6.  not sure which is the worst of the evils. so, i had no alone time with zoe. i had her melting down about copy work- and rose trying to show me the piles of peanuts she'd put into various containers that she'd been collecting all day.

it wouldn't have been so bad, if i hadn't been envisioning the rest of her life again.  or even just the next year.  but i was.  see, we're are moving into being done with home schooling- i am, zoe is.  it's just time.  the boys wonderful little primary school is starting a special education program next year and they are considering having zoe do a combination of regular class with support and pull out for certain things that are hard.   this is all very exciting, actually, more than that- it's an answer to prayer as it would be a great place for her to 'practice' re-integrating into a school environment, in a very emotionally safe way. it's also very terrifying because... what if it doesn't work? because what if i have settled in to work again- in a full time sort of way, and get called by the school- told it's not working- that i'd better come pick her up- what if i have to return to plan "b"?

this is where i was emotionally as she sat there unable to focus on writing anything  and blaming her bad mood on rose for crying last night.  i wanted to scream, "you'd better get it together girl and not blow it!!"  i wanted to grab her by the hair and tell her that i was done done.  because emotionally, i was in that place of "oh dear God- i can't go back to 3 years ago."  and because we have a practice morning on friday at the school to "see how it goes".

so i handled it all very maturely.  i told her she needed to leave the house immediately and go anywhere that was far away from me. and as she put her shoes on i added that i was considering sending her back to america to live with her ama because i was done.  see, mature.

she went about 30 feet away and asked for another chance.  which i gave her because i'm so mature.  as she returned to her pad of paper- i realized that she is giving me an opportunity to help her with what she needs most.  help regulating- knowing when she's off-sticky- stuck- and then knowing what to do to get out of it.  this is the key to her ability to not just be in a school class room next year- but to live her life.  so i sat beside her and asked what she needed to do to get to a place where she could write.  she grumbled and fought and i told her that it was her life- but i was pretty sure that she knew what to do.

25 jumping jacks, 114 sit-ups, 15 'super mans', 20 cross-crawls and 15 'star-fish' exercises later - she sat down and finished her story. and then she left to most likely get much needed space from me. 

i sat down and thought about what i need to focus on for the rest of this home-school season.  what i need to do help her get ready to try and be in a classroom again.  what i need to do for myself to be okay with it not working, if it doesn't work - with being somewhere again- that i don't really want to be- because that could happen.

at 4:30 i got to snuggle my sweet little girl who finally fell asleep in my arms for her much needed nap.  at 6:30 my sweet big girl came home refreshed and apologizing if she was late for dinner.  so everyone had an enjoyable and regulated evening.

the meeting

this is a story.

it's a story of God taking a mess and making art.
of broken being way more than fixed, but shiny.
that is where we are. 

last night though, i was so stressed out about today's meeting with rose's birth mother that i couldn't do anything.  we couldn't even talk about it, we couldn't even pray about it- all we could do was mutter, "you know the deal- it's complicated- HELP", and watch 30 rock to distract ourselves.

i woke up. all. night. long. and prayed. mostly for rose, that she wouldn't feel fear, or abandonment, but that she would know she is loved by many.  i prayed for her birth mom- that she would know what she wants, that she would feel safe and good- and know that rose is loved by us.

i woke up to the alarm and no electricity.  i cooked porridge on the stove and made toast in the oven.  we ate by candle light and got dressed with headlamps and i had that sick feeling like i did before jude had his mri's- like the rug might be pulled out from under me.

the meeting was crazy weird cool.  nine people from different corners of the world with a shared purpose- doing the best we could for rose. four people from a remote tribe way up north- with patterned scarring on their faces- two highly educated muzungus holding the small girl birthed by one of the four- and the social workers and lawyer. the languages blurred around us- lunganda, karamajong and some english.

we introduced ourselves.
"i am kristen reid", i said.
her birth mom laughed as she nursed her new baby.
that is roses birth name- "kristen" the translator said.

she knew what she wanted. she wants us to raise rose, to educate her, but to still know her- to be able to see her.  she wants us to journey north together with rose- to the village- to the grandparents- to the clan elders.  we are literally going to a tribal council.  that is how things happen - it's not just a birth mom's decision, it's a clan decision.  we are now connected- is what she said- we are now friends.

this story is beginning- it's early on- chapter one. a story from abandoned sick on the street, to growing up loved by two families.  and somewhere in this other things will grow and bloom because that is the way God works.  He loves complicated.  He loves confusion and not easy and especially hopeless and what seems doomed.

those hours before the meeting i kept thinking how i wished i would feel in my heart what i knew in my head.  that i should be really excited for what was about to take place- that when God is running the show- really amazing things happen- things we can't even fathom sometimes. 

it's all pretty amazing. that rose will know her birth mom- her grandparents- her people, in an ongoing way.  that we have been invited to raise her- we've been trusted with her- we've been asked to come to their village- to meet the family- to see and feel and taste and smell the place that she comes from- a place so far from what she will know most of the time.  a place that we want to know, to share with her- to be a part of us, as she is.

i think maybe the world just got a little bit smaller.

equilibrate

i'm listening to norah jones and watching the kids re-equilibrate with the addition of rosie. 
we're out on the porch on the coolness of this sunday morning after church.  zoe is playing with a bug, rose and the boys are climbing a small tree.

i'm watching them move and find their bearings,  on the branches, with each other. 
i can feel the pull of one, the push of another as they shuffle and adjust.

equilibrate.  to bring to a state of balance.
a place where things work, make sense.
isn't that what we are always trying to do? in life. in work. at home. in our relationships. we want to avoid the opposite- instability, wobbliness.

i had a moment yesterday.  i was in a post-migraine daze, not feeling great, looking at old pictures on the computer.  i found myself walking through the rooms of our old house - noticing things like, where the laundry basket was, what books were on the table.  then i moved on to our street, the neighborhood.  i remembered our rainy days, the path to school, the color of fallen leaves in puddles and the hum of cars that work well, with intact exhaust systems, running on roads with out potholes- the almost sticky sound of tires on wet pavement. 

i came to some pictures of jude and bryn at their lemonade stand from last year.  they are on the sidewalk in front of our yard.  behind them is our huge water oak, and our new honda pilot and our house.  they have giant smiles with missing teeth and very blonde hair and are holding their sign proudly.  that is when my moment came.

it was all-so-normal. expected. it made sense.

and i looked around at now.  the pictures of our life here.  the constant red dirt.  the ramshackle make shift houses, the wild collarless dogs that all look the same, the broken down roads, the trucks that can barely make it up the hill with their load of bananas.  it was all so not normal- so out of the ordinary- not expected.

then i looked my fourth child, left on the street with her beautiful dark chocolate skin and her giant eyes; and at the constant greenness of the yard and the flowers; at the red feet of my children as they role in for dinner after an afternoon running free; and while it wasn't necessarily expected, it somehow makes sense.

it is somehow a big messy balance. it's wobbly but it works.  things are in constant shuffle and life here is in a mild state of disrepair, but it's good in it's weirdness. we wiggle and adjust and try and screw up and try again.  today it feels right- sometimes it doesn't- shift left, i'm back. there is the living.  in those movements of response and regulation as we do our best to equilibrate.  in the moving, the adjusting, in the things that throw us, is the joy.

this weeks three favorite signs

bryn's first completely independently written sign- sounded out.
"bryn's house: keep out!"
 love it!


this magazine advertizement was all over kampala billboards:

you know you're in uganda when the popular bridal magazine's cover shares your worth- in cows.



not sure this is the best motto for kampala university- but at least they're honest

lowering the expectations- pays off again

i need to give a shout out to zoe, jude and bryn for how well they have handled the transition of having a little sister.  especially a little sister who begins at age two and doesn't speak english and never has had to experience other children having ownership rights over their toys.

thanks to my new years resolution of lowering the expectation, i had been prepared for the worst.  i'd assumed that everyone would wet their beds on the first night; that zoe would return to talking in the wobbly voice, that jude would have school anxiety as a manifestation of home anxiety, and that bryn would start sucking his thumb to remind us that really he's the baby.

but no.  not.  nada.  dry beds- even rosies diaper was dry.  no wobbly voice, school's been great, and bryn acts more mature- getting up, dressed and teeth brushed with out being asked.  i mean the three of them argue over who gets to help rose to the bathroom, to brush her teeth, or to take off her shoes.  they disagree over which one of them rose likes best- or has received more of her hugs.  i mean- they have way exceeded my expectations.

and rose? well she's done pretty well herself.  aside from having to spend the past three days mostly with me- when i know she'd much rather be with the her siblings- she's done great. she wants to learn, she wants to please, to help, to know what is expected of her.  if it's at all not clear, she pushes the boundary to see if we stand our ground. am i really going to take away her giant bag of peanuts so she doesn't eat herself sick even if she throws a tantrum? yup. am i going to follow through and take away zoe's littlest petshop pet poster if she tries to draw on it? yup. 

i secretly love these moments.  because while i hate to hear her cry, and it gets the other kids all riled up, it helps her to feel safe when she knows that we are actually in control and love her even if she messes up and spits the peanuts out on her lap to show me how mad she is that took them away.  she needs to know that we've got it- we've got her. that home is safe.  that rules are consistent. that consequences are consistent.  that things are pretty fair.  because knowing this will help put her at ease, will help her relax- will help her trust.

it was a much better day :)

the other side of the coin

what a day.  a humbling day.  a day when i know i am so not superwoman. a day when i forgot to ask God to walk with me.

today i had to drive back to kampala, back to the doctor, after being there all day yesterday with rose because they couldn't do all the tests they needed.  so i had rose and jude- both needed blood work and rose needed 3 immunizations.  of course yesterday they irrigated her ear, which she loved, so she knew there was trouble when we drove up. 

now i was supposed to arrive with a stool sample in hand- however as much as i tried to get her go this morning in the little potty- i failed. 
"rosie can you caca?"
"ahn ahn!"
"please?"
"ahn ahn!!"

"thankfully" at the doctors office, while jude and i are with her in the bathroom, she needs to go.  so i say,
"oh quick!! grab me that envelope out of my purse" and i'm fumbling around trying to catch it, but end up having to fish it out of the toilet, at which point jude starts to gag and runs for the door.

"this is true love kid!" i said as i washed my hands.

we dropped the sample and headed to the nurses station.  they got ready to draw her blood and she began to scream. she screamed so much that jude didn't even notice getting his blood drawn. she screamed so much that when it was over, she turned around and clung to me and then vomited all over me.  all over my shirt, and my pants, it was even in my underwear. and we still had three shots to get through- and the rest of the  day of errands.

"this is really true love kid!" i said as i went to find the bathroom.

to make it slightly more stressful, while covered in vomit, i was waiting for her HIV test results- as in- i was watching it like you watch a pregnancy test. 

thankfully, it was negative. phew.

on the way to the car, we were chased down and told we needed to wait because her stool "was positive" aka- infected. 

this wasn't even the bad part.

we had to go to the orphanage to give them a copy of our foster care order.  i really didn't want to bring her- but i really had no options.  well she got upset as we drove in, and then even more upset as we drove away (after being hugged by one of her favorite caretakers there).  who can blame her? the poor kid- three vaccines, a blood draw, an ear infection, infectious diarrhea, a confusing trip back to where she just lived for 8 months, and no nap. 

it was kind of awful for everyone; as i'm driving away, she's bawling, jude is asking if she likes the orphanage better than us, i smell of vomit, still need to go buy the chemo and bring it to the hospital for this boy who we are helping, no one has had lunch or slept in the car and it's 1:30. and i'm thinking, as i reach across the car to hold her hand and tell her that i love her- i chose this.  i chose this.  this is hard. but i chose this. 

when we got home, rose refused her antibiotic- or spit it out all over both of us.  (thankfully i still was wearing dried vomit shirt). then she decided to test the boundaries in any possible way-  refused her lunch, spit her milk, and took everyone's toys. perhaps she was punishing me for the day i put her through, or for the last 9 months of her life that she didn't sign up for.

but i did.  i signed up for all of it. all of this. all the crazy.  that is the thing about adoption- you do it on purpose.  it's not like you have some crazy sex and 9 months later something comes out that kind of looks like you and you're hormonally ready to feed it and love it. what i mean is you really sign up for it- literally.  you sign a million forms, you  pay various fees, you have a ton of opportunities to convince people that you want to do this- that you should do this- that this is your dream.  and sometimes you are fortunate enough to be able to choose the child.  of course then you really did it on purpose- specifically and on purpose.  

we chose rose.  we chose her and her messy complicated situation.  in many ways i think of adopted children as extra wanted- extra chosen- and extra special in that way, but it's also a lot easier to question our choices more than we question the things that 'just happened'.  in some ways we 'trust fate' more than we trust ourselves. 

so as i'm cooking rice and beans for her dinner (knowing she wouldn't eat the take out pizza i'd brought home), and thinking about the day, and what i signed on for,  i get a text from the social worker saying her birth mother wants us to bring her to the orphanage tomorrow morning so she can see her.  and even though i'd taken a bath and changed in to clean clothes, even though rose had too, and people were playing nicely- the thought of bringing her back there tomorrow- adding to it a visit with her birth mom- and mike is going out of town, so i'd be doing it alone- well, it made me slightly overwhelmed. 

i stirred beans and thought about what to do.  what is best for rose? what is best for us? what is best for her birth mom? and i was just befuddled.  thankfully,  mike came home and reminded me that this is not an emergency (which is really what it felt like to me- as in i frantically texted my poor social worker neighbor that i was in fact, having the social work equivalent of a 'myocardial infarction').  mike reminded me that we can not and do not need to rush over and bring her back there tomorrow.  that we will happily set up a meeting for next week, when we both can go, when we can give rose a bit more time to settle.  it seemed so simple- maybe because it was.  he told me it was going to be okay, that rose would be okay, that we would be okay.   and maybe if i hadn't had so much bodily fluid exposure today, i would have come up with that myself.

then the lawyer called and said the same things mike did- she'd set up the meeting, with everyone, next week, and that it would be okay.

we had a good dinner.  rosie took her antibiotics and her ear drops. everyone was bathed, brushed, in bed, sung to, and told they were loved by 7:30.

this is the other side of the coin.  the hard stuff- there will be more coming.  but she is a little ball of love and we want to help her navigate this complicated world- this complicated situation that she didn't ask for- but we did. 

and tomorrow i won't forget to ask God to walk with me (even though i know He's always around, there is something in the asking).  maybe tomorrow, i'll just skip ahead and ask him to carry me. 

good night :)

 

9+/10

someone emailed today and asked me 'how is it going with rose on a 1-10 scale'.

i'd have to say 9+, and the only reason it's not a full 10 is not because of her, but because of me.  because following around a 2 year old all day is tiring!! especially at 41. 

last night she slept all night.  i didn't hear a peep- to the point where i was waking up worried that she wasn't breathing- like i did when my kids were newborns.  she was a champ, and her diaper was dry.

she ate eggs and toast for breakfast.
she played with the kids all morning.
she ate rice and eggs and pineapple and bread for lunch.
she slept for over 2 hours at nap time- only because mike has the magic touch and gets her to lie down with him and she falls asleep. she LOVES "tata".
she played all afternoon with the kids. 
they did art.

and tonight she's is falling asleep in her own bed!
it's only 8:24 - i'm not holding my breath......
but i'd say, this girl rocks!

night one

it's 8:15.
all the kids were so tired that they got ready for bed and went to bed practically with out being asked.
except for rosie.
who appeared terrified.
i mean she was not about to lie down in that bed in the dark. even with a lantern. even with zoe beside her.
it was not happening.
i walked around the house with her singing the two swahili lullabies that i know (kind of know) and every time i came anywhere near, any bedroom, she began to wail and cling to me. so i came into the living room where mike was typing on the computer and held her on the most comfortable chair i could find.  she nestled into me, head on my chest, hearing the breathing and the heartbeat, until she feel asleep.

i was so thankful for those minutes.  i wondered when the last time was that she was held until she fell asleep?  i wondered if her birth mom sang to her?
i rubbed her little foot with my thumb and felt her scar on the top of her foot.
just like mine i thought.  except mine is a birth mark and hers, a tribal marking.

i'm sure she will wake up soon, and be terrified.  i'm hoping we'll be able to get her back to sleep.  that she won't feel betrayed that i put her back in her bed after she fell asleep- that i won't have messed up trust.

someone asked me how long it would take for me to love her as much as i love my other kids.
is it weird that i already do?  that i did even before today?

day one

it started with the boys getting up, dressed, teeth brushed, beds made- with out being asked. 
and zoe fake crying like an infant.
hmmm.
everyone was SO excited.

it's friday the 13th.
as soon as we got the orphanage, it started to pour down rain.
the social worker was not there. they thought we were taking rose out for lunch.
but they called her and straightend it out.

she didn't cry or run away, she was happy.
and so were we.
no one screamed in the car on the way home.           

everyone slept.

we got home and ate lunch.

she learned where the potty is and has gone about 25 times- washing her hands thoroughly after each time. 
she learned to say potty.
she learned to say "apple".
she learned that we sit down in the bathtub- after zoe showed her.

now she'd clean, pajama-ed and listening to guster with zoe by the window.
we're about to eat dinner.
i'm exhausted.
everyone is exhausted- but happy!
thanks for your  prayers and support!

the day before- in real time

have i mentioned that i'm really bad at waiting?
like really bad. like obsessively bad.  like- check my phone a million times an hour to see if i've missed any calls even though the phone is in my pocket- bad.

so today, while waiting, i've tried really hard to just be in my day, to play and to have fun, and it's been much better.

i walked the boys up monkey hill for an hour.  i played soccer with jude for a while. florence taught me how to make red beans for rosie.  i took the kids down to the canteen and met mike for lunch. 
that is when i was called by the lawyer who told me the court order should be approved today. that i'd be called later - today.  and i could see my anti-waiting mode jump to the surface.

"definitely today right? he'll bring me the paper today?"

see- obsessive.

but then she told me that the social worker at the babies home is away until monday.

to which i responded:

"but we can call her right? i can reach her and she can tell them it's okay for us to pick her up tomorrow-right? we're still on for tomorrow?"

trying to keep the panicky sound down and the calm self controlled sounds up.

so i reached the social worker, who said yes. she'll have rose ready for tomorrow. 

phew! great!

now if i can just get that court order in my hot little hands......

then i thought about tomorrow.  about all of us driving into town with our empty car seat and a little bag of clothes to pick her up, and all my anxiety and panic about not being able to get her, turned into anxiety and panic about being able to pick her up. 

what if she cries and screams and holds tightly to her caregivers?  what if she hides or runs away? what if she says she doesn't want to come with us?  what if they force her into our car and she cries the whole way home? should i bring her a toy? a stuffed animal, a comfort item? should i put her in a diaper just in case? should we drive straight home? or stop to get ice cream?

so i did what i always do when i'm grappling for some control- i went to the internet and googled "how to bring home your foster child" and "day one of international adoption". and i found some good things like- "yes" to the transitional object, and "no" to the ice cream. "probably" to the diaper.  i got, expect tears, or hiding or anything else you might see or hear from any of your children- because anything goes.  because transitions are hard.  because she's leaving 'home' for her and that is big and scary and unknown.  because they speak her language and we don't. because they look like her, and we don't.  because emotionally, familiar is almost always better than new. 

and then when i didn't feel much better on the inside- i texted my friend here who is also an adoption social worker, begging her to talk with me today.  attempting to gather information- to know what to do- to do the right things- to not mess it up.

then the probation officer called and told me he had the court order.  i could come get it.  it was ready.  it was official.

then i did what i always finally remember to do when i'm sort of scared or anxious or grappling- i fell on my knees. and said, 'thank you!' and 'help!'

and then we had a conversation.
i said, 'i feel like i don't know what i'm doing- but i love her.'
he said, 'good, 'cause that's enough.'

i said, 'it's quite possible that all four kids could fall apart tomorrow night'
he said, 'yup. and that's okay.'

i said, 'what if this is a bad plan? what if she's better off there? what if we're not ready?'
he said, 'what if it is the right plan? what if i want her with you? what if you are ready but you're just a little scared?' i'm pretty sure i heard him mutter 'as usual' under his breath.

and i remembered what my oldest friend said about our fostering/ adopting of rose, "i guess that is how you are meant to come by your children; blood, sweat and tears." 

it's true- they have all come with hard stuff- so number four will have her own story of tough things.
but they have all come with such love, and with such a deep desire for their being. 

that is how we will pick her up tomorrow- nothing that happens will change that love or desire.  we will be patient with each other and gentle and withhold expectations and have faith.
and that will be enough.
so. excited.

moments

the other day i had a moment.  i was sitting in the living room in the late afternoon, feeling kind of bored and mildly dissatisfied. it was really hot and there were legos all over the floor, and plastic bullets and all the things i wanted or needed to do required too much effort.  i was in the mood to eat chocolate chip cookies but not to make them; i needed to think about dinner, but didn't want to get up and look in the fridge.  so i sat there in that chair and stared out the window at our yard that i noticed was filled with trash- or junk- that our kids have collected for their little community store game that has been going on all week.

then i had an ah-hah moment. i realized that things are pretty darn good, in fact, they're fabulous.  outside i could hear my kids playing- no one is sick.  no one is starving, no one is hiding under their desk. 

i thought about how quickly life can change.  how in one second, someone could be hit by a car, get a diagnosis, become excessively and incapacitatingly anxious.  i thought about how i could be sitting in that living room stressing, or crying or worrying, or missing someone so much that i would give anything to have one more minute of listening to them laugh outside, that i would get up and do anything to smell their little kid head again, to step on a lego, to look at their yard junk.  and i thought, how dare i take this for granted?  how dare i not sit here fully satisfied and so so thankful?

because i've been in some of those moments.  i've sat on the couch and cried about someones anxiety.  i've sat on the couch and cried as i nursed my baby after getting his bad diagnosis, wondering how it could possibly feel any worse than i felt in that moment, but knowing that the grieving would be worse when he wasn't there for me to hold while i cried.  and i know that those moments will come again. 

i want to enjoy the now of it- now.  lego pieces and plastic bullets and yard trash.  i want to enjoy the laughing that turns into yelling that turns into crying- because it's here and it's alive, and not everyone has that, and if it were gone i'd miss it like nothing else.

so i began to savor the normalcy- the routine- the hum-drum- the 'dinner, call the kids in, wash-the-hands, sit at the table, napkins in the lap, who's turn is it to say the prayer-ness' of my evening.  i began to laugh at how many times i had to tell people to stop talking with their mouth full of food. 

because my kids are here- they are happy- they have food to eat- and things to say that are so important that they can't wait until they swallow their mouthful. and that is all good.

waiting...

we're back.

we've got her bed.
we've got some shoes-

but we don't yet have the court order.
it's begun, but won't be finished until tomorrow.
it's so perfect. it's so uganda, that it's somehow comforting.
so we're waiting.
hoping for tomorrow and to pick her up friday.
hoping.....

bring it!

i'm here with mike on the nile river.  it's a little cloudy and there is a breeze and we are taking tea and no one is asking for juice or to play legos, because we are having a kid free getaway before the crazy starts- or the extra crazy. 

on thursday we are picking up rose, assuming the court order to foster her goes through.

i have never adopted a child before, or fostered one, but i've birthed three and with each of them the last month of pregnancy was all about nesting.  i used to think it was hormonal, but now i think it's just maternal.  and it feels animal maternal- instinctual- unavoidable.  so for days i was nagging mike to rearrange the furniture in zoe's room to make room for rose.  i was washing and sweeping and buying toothbrushes and potties, because that is what you need when you bring home a three year old instead of a three day old. and i folded all the little clothes we've bought her from the second-hand store at the orphanage (where all proceeds go for the kids medical issues), and pulled out 'good night moon' and 'the run away bunny' and put them on a shelf that she could reach.  i'm. so. excited.

last friday when we went to visit, we took her over to the little store to pick out her clothes and she was a trooper.  zoe, jude and bryn were all flocking to her with various pieces to be tried on- ranging from sun hats to halloween costumes.  no fuss, no tears, she loved the attention. 

they are a little blurry, but you get the idea.

so this is our last hurrah for a while. before we begin getting up in the night, and buckling people into  car seats and trying to understand what someone wants when they don't yet speak english.  it's our night away before we go from three to four, from five to six. 

the room is almost ready, there are even little shoes, and i'm ready too.  i'm going to learn how to make millet porridge and cook red beans and carry a child on my back with out a baby bjorn.  and i'll probably have less time to write, but possibly more things to say. 

bring it!

easter

today we awoke to a very disappointed jude,

"guess what? .... the easter bunny didn't leave us any easter baskets!"

"really? i don't think you looked hard enough." we said.

"i looked everywhere, the kitchen, the living room, the table..."

"what about your bedroom?"

he runs out of our room.

"ohhhh,  that's my easter basket."

today my kids couldn't find their easter baskets- they actually walked over them- because they lacked the colored tinfoil wrapping and the cellophane straw- it was just some regular candy in a regular basket, with some homemade 'peeps' (about which bryn asked, "did you color some marshmallows with my crayons?").

it is easter in uganda!

here the holiday is much less obscured by chocolate bunnies and jelly beans, because it's more about the cross, the resurrection, and the promise fullfilled. 

and i think maybe because here, a loving God is more important than colored eggs.  when death is closer, when illness, accidents, and violence are very present, and suffering is normal, when poverty and loss are routine; there is no illusion of control.  it is not hard to admit that we need God- not chocolate.

but for all that need, for the mass of sorrows, the joy is abundant.  i mean- really- could we please take a lesson in praise from the african church?  today my favorite part of the service was the time allotted to "praise the Lord with dance".  two women on stage shaking it for Jesus -to the sound of african hymns.  now that is joyful.  now that is easter.

and this is the easter season.

in this season, i want to remember what kathleen norris says about prayer; that 'prayer is not asking for what you think want, but asking to be changed in ways you can't imagine.'  i want to pray that way.  i want to be changed in ways i can't imagine. 

for these 40 days, the days of God showing up- days of fulfillment, i want to keep my eyes open, to look for Him, to give Him my hand and ask him to walk with me as i stumble along.


"God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.


These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.


Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.


Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going.  No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.


Nearby is a country they call life.
You will know it by it's seriousness.


Give me your hand."
Rainer Marie Rilke

happy Easter!!

the day between

there are seasons. and there are days.
this is a season of goodness for me.  a season when it's easy to be thankful. when i feel like my cup is overflowing with blessings. but there have been others when i was holding the pieces together, my pieces, while everything was trying to fall apart. 

this is a strange day.  the dark day between good friday and easter.  the day of absolute let down, the day of hopelessness, the day when a dream was gone, when belief was shattered.  a day when the people who followed Jesus questioned everything they'd been living for, questioned the small and the big, the 30,000 foot view.  they had no idea that easter was going to happen.  that on sunday morning the tomb would be empty, that their Lord had risen and returned. 

there are many who are in a season of saturdays.  many who today, right now, only feel the deep sadness of the day in between.  who are living in a place of hopelessness, a space of questioning everything they thought they knew to be right.  and this is a hard hard place to be, this is a hard day. 

how do we find peace in these days? especially when they last. for. so. long.  when they aren't just days, but months. 

how do we find peace when there is cancer? or illness of unknown cause that knocks us down again and again? or when our children are sick?  or when they aren't meeting their milestones? or when we don't have a job? or when we are just scared and maybe we don't even know why?

i remember when jude was a baby and we were dealing with his having hydrocephalus and a tumor, we always had his MRI scans on fridays.  that was the day allotted for pediatric imaging.  our appointment with the neurosurgeon was always on monday afternoon.  those were hard weekends.  those were days when i could feel the time, feel the space.  i would hope things were fine, but prepare for life changing news.  i would wonder if these days were really days to embrace ignorant bliss- days when there wasn't news of worsening pressure, or a growing tumor, days when i could just be with him.  sometimes i wanted those days to actually stretch into longer- so i could hold the unknown because sometimes the unknown is better.  the unknown is better than bad news.  in these times, sandwiched between a test and the results, there is waiting, there is in between, but there is an end.  like it or not, monday afternoon always arrived.

with zoe, our hard days, our hard seasons, they don't have a monday afternoon.  they are lived in the present, remembering the past, with no idea of what tomorrow or next year will be like. and this is harder. but this is what it is to be human.  we only know what is in today and yesterday.  we can't see tomorrow. 

i wonder what those 12 followers thought on that saturday long ago?  i wonder what they did?  did they hike up mountains and cry? did they write, did they go look for a job? did they meet together and complain? or did they wait. did they anticipate a good ending? a return? redemption? did they marvel at a God who was willing to fully experience humanity? who was willing to experience death? a God who loves us that deeply?  who gets us, who knows.

when it was so hard to wait for jude to come out of that giant magnet, to awake from anesthesia, cold and smelling like sterile, what i held onto was the knowledge that God experienced suffering, that she gets it, knows it, and holds me while i go through it.

the hope, for me, comes in the past and the promise.  there have been seasons of dark and stormy- but in some form the sun comes.  there will be more days of pain and deep sorrow, but i will remember they. do. end. eventually.  sometimes when life breaks us- we have to hold on to the pieces of goodness, small as they maybe, and not let go until the sun comes.  because it comes. 

we are not consumed.
the sea is parted.

we are not abandoned.
 our houses are passed over.

sunday happens. 
easter comes. 
today is just saturday.

washing the feet

 today is holy thursday, the day before good friday, the day of the last supper, the day that Jesus washed the feet of those who followed him.


as i sat outside in the coolness of the morning after a night rain and read the story, i was most struck by the part about peter.  because i'm like peter. 

Jesus is kneeling before him, with the basin of water, lifting his very dirty feet and peter says 'no'.  peter refuses the gift, the sacrifice, the humility of his Lord.  he thinks he's doing the right thing, playing the right card, that his will be the right response, maybe this is a test to see which disciple will turn and wash Jesus's feet instead. 


but.


he is wrong.  Jesus says 'unless I wash  your feet, you can have no part of me.' 


this is hard to wrap my mind around.  shouldn't we be doing the washing?  shouldn't we be doing the bending?  shouldn't we be on our knees with a basin in hand?  shouldn't we be caring for others needs first? 

this is where peter is going, where i usually go, but it's out of order.  Jesus says 'wait', 'not yet'.

before we can wash the feet of others, we need to accept our need to have our feet washed- our submission to this is humility, not the other way around.  allowing the gentleness, embracing the gift of our feet being washed by Jesus, is the beginning of transformation. 


then we know we are deeply loved, even with dirty feet.  we know God isn't afraid of our messes, not afraid to put his hands on the yucky parts.  and this is fantastic because my feet are usually dirty, especially here, and they are often tired.  because most of us walk a lot and our feet take us places and sometimes they take us to places we shouldn't be, and we get muddy or bruised or even bloody or stung by hairy caterpillars.  because sometimes we are embarrassed about our feet, or where they've been.

but. 

He doesn't care.  He wants to wash them all.  that is what Easter is about- accepting the gift, the gentleness, the sacrifice- even and especially with our very dirty feet.

holy week

this is holy week.  a week that ends in Passover and Easter and is full of remembering the faithfulness of God.

this week i was in mbarara with a beautiful friend from residency. she was sharing her research findings from a study done here, to the people who live here. she is not just my friend, she's a 'big wig' - she is a research success story- big people in big places want to hear her thoughts on things- she is invited to important meetings in exotic places because she's really smart and really kind and most of all, really genuine.  she does work involving the social factors that affect disease. she thinks about things that matter. i love her heart and what she does matters and when I listen, a part of me gets really excited that we're finally tackling the right things, those foundational things that affect health. things like hunger and stigma and risky behaviors.

this week i was able to be connected with my old life, while in my new life.  academics and africa. it was exciting and energizing but it also made me see how different the world looks to me now.  here i see how hard life is, how many barriers exist, how in research you can 'control' for one factor to see the results of another - but not in life.  here on the ground, poverty looks big and heavy and hard to move.  while study interventions may help for the year of funding and good data is collected and lives are impacted, what about all the years? how do you change poverty? gender roles? stigma? 


and it brought up a lot of issues, and i had a lot of thoughts and i've had many conversations and i have no real answers.
except time.
except commitment. 
except that it's holy week.
and that in Passover and Easter things got really ugly before God brought redemption. things seemed pretty hopeless, and over and done.
but they weren't.  there was protection, freedom, and life.

so however we tackle the world- as big wigs or small, smalls; in large scale or doing for one, i will hold onto the promises of this week.  i will try to live in them. i will remember that God is faithful.