Advent thoughts

Last November I read a great post about Advent - "Advent, Not Christmas" - and I've been thinking about it ever since. I don't recall learning much about the liturgical calendar as a child, so I always thought of Advent as a countdown to Christmas, often involving chocolate! I have learned that it is much, much more. In Stacey's own words:

Christmas is a season of triumph and joy. We rejoice in the coming of our King; we rejoice in the knowledge that God lowered himself, and took the position of a human baby so that we might know him better. Advent, by contrast, is a time of sober reflection and preparation. Advent is the experience of waiting with Israel for the Christ – and waiting together as the church for the second coming of Jesus. It’s the fast that makes the feast taste extra good.
What are we missing when we skip over Advent?
The fast before the feast, yes – but also something else. Advent gives us the opportunity to tell God that things are still not right down here. We weep over the state of the world; we bring to God those things in our own lives that aren’t right. Advent establishes in the people of God a renewed sense of longing for Christ’s second coming – for the day when all things shall be renewed under the lordship of Christ. As we wait with Israel, we feel some of Israel’s pain and desperation – and we join our own pain and desperation to it. We see oppression, war, and hunger in the world and we acknowledge that this is not the way things should be, that this is not God’s intention for the world. We stand in the face of injustice, sorrow, and sickness and say: “Come, Lord Jesus, come.”

Things are still not right down here. Those are exactly the words I need right now. I was feeling a little overwhelmed with sadness last night... Four families I know and care deeply for have experienced the loss of a loved one in recent days. A couple we met a year ago are ready and willing to bring 4 precious children home from Uganda, and they are facing delay after excruciating delay. Other adoptive and foster couples are sharing their hearts with us, opening up about the difficulties and heartache and despair of raising children from hard places. And then there are natural disasters, and school shootings, and it feels like too much. However... when I read Stacey's words and I think about the season of Advent, I realize it's okay to be desperate and hurting right now. This is not the way things should be. Families should not be facing such tragic losses. Children should not be falling asleep tonight without knowing the love of a family. So we bring all these things before God and we tell Him about it. We mourn and grieve and get mad and wonder how these things can possibly be happening...

But Advent is not all about darkness and despair. We acknowledge our pain and our desperation, and we also look forward to the coming of the One who will make all things new. We celebrate the birth of our Saviour, the One who is already and always in the business of rescuing us. We give thanks that He is present, that He is with us, in the middle of our despair, and that He has a plan to redeem it all. In the words of Sally Lloyd-Jones in The Jesus Storybook Bible (as she paraphrases Revelation 21:3,4):

One day, John knew, Heaven would come down and mend God's broken world and make it our true, perfect home once again.
And he knew, in some mysterious way that would be hard to explain, that everything was going to be more wonderful for once having been so sad.
And he knew then that the ending of The Story was going to be so great, it would make all the sadness and tears and everything seem like just a shadow that is chased away by the morning sun.

So, we wait. We acknowledge the darkness and we look forward to the time when the Light of the world will dispel the darkness forever. O come, o come, Emmanuel!

(illustration on pg. 185 of The Jesus Storybook Bible)

Living Out the Incarnation

I just read an incredibly beautiful post by Sarah Bessey. All of her stuff is beautiful, but this one is especially gorgeous because it's about the incarnation and that's one of my favourite topics, especially in December! It's a post about not sanitizing the Christmas story, and about being real, and about seeing beauty and redemption and love in the middle of the messiest situations. I loved it!

The only part that didn't resonate with me was the giving birth part. Even though I've processed some stuff related to infertility, it still hurts sometimes. This was one of those times. As much as I loved what I was reading, there was still an ache in my heart as I realized I couldn't identify with this part of the Christmas story. And then I reflected on these words of Sarah's, written to articulate why we avoid the messy humanity of the Nativity:

It’s too much pain, too much waiting, too much humanity, too much God, too much work, too much joy, too much love and far too messy. With far too little control. And sometimes it does not go the way we thought it was supposed to go and then we are also left with questions, with deep sadness, with longing.
 

She was talking about childbirth, but it struck me that this is universal. I'm a part of this. Any human being in relationship with another human being knows this - the pain, the messiness, the joy, the love, and the lack of control. As an adoptive mom, I know this. I have waited, uncertain. I have known pain, confronted with the messiness of our children's histories and the grief and loss that will always be a part of their stories. I have questions. Things have not gone the way we assumed they would.

But this is where the incarnation really starts to take on profound meaning for me: I have the opportunity to live it out. As Jesus chose to enter the world and redeem it in all its messiness, so I can choose to enter in to life with my children, and parent in ways that will bring healing and redemption - recognizing always that only God is the true Healer, and I am but the one He has chosen to do this work, with these children. I am humbled and awed as I realize that I get to be a part of this. As I strive to "be with" those I love - to be fully emotionally present - I am participating in the redemptive work of Christ in the world. As I learn to lay aside my expectations and my preferences, and learn to parent in a way that takes my children's histories into account, I am living out a bit of the incarnation. And as I celebrate this Advent season, I am looking forward to the day when the Great Healer will return. As Sally Lloyd-Jones puts it in The Jesus Storybook Bible, the return of Jesus will "make all the sadness and tears and everything seem like just a shadow that is chased away by the morning sun."

Until then, I will celebrate Emmanuel - God with us - all year long. Laying aside, living it out, and longing for His return.

(http://www.thatartistwoman.org/2008/12/how-to-make-nativity-silhouette-art.html)

Crazy?! Definitely.

Why do difficult parenting moments have to happen at church?! In theory, I'm all for keeping it real and letting other people see us as we really are, I just wish it didn't feel so uncomfortable...! Take Tuesday morning, for example. We had a very busy weekend with family and friends in Saskatchewan, and we probably should have stayed home for the day, but I had already missed the previous week's study and I really wanted a little time away from the kids. Everything went well until one of the boys dug in his heels and refused to go in to his class. This happens with this particular child once in a while; I'm still trying to figure out what motivates it. Sometimes I wonder if he's over-tired, other times I sense that he is needing extra closeness - perhaps because we got a little tense and impatient in the process of getting ready to go to church?! This particular morning, I suspect he was needing a quiet morning at home (as quiet as it gets at our place, at least) and some cuddle time with mommy.

Even though I knew what was likely motivating his resistance, I still felt frustrated when I saw his little body flop to the floor and his bottom lip jut out. My mind quickly calculated how many minutes of "me time" I was going to have to sacrifice to get him to a point where he'd be willing to go in to his class. I tried a few potential quick fixes, hoping that if I stayed connected and compassionate he'd hop through that doorway and I'd be free. No luck. By this time, a couple of kind souls had already tried to cajole him in to detaching from me, but this just made it worse. He responds to those types of interventions by burrowing his face in to whatever part of me is closest, and I respond by getting defensive and annoyed. I was now finding it extremely difficult to stay compassionate to my son's emotional state because I was busy imagining the mix of pity and criticism with which other people were viewing the whole situation. Wondering if I'd have to just pack up and go home, I decided to try one more thing. I put on my mental blinders in an effort to shield myself from my perception of other people's opinions, and headed down to the cafe. I bought a coffee for myself and a yogurt for the boy, and we sat down at a table. I'd like to say it was a warm and fuzzy time of connection, but it wasn't. He ate his yogurt while persisting in his insistence that he wanted to stay with me. I drank my coffee while persisting in my efforts to not let self-pity and frustration overwhelm me. Within 10 minutes he agreed that he could probably go to class, so maybe low blood sugar was part of the issue. Whatever it was, I was finally able to drop him off and join the ladies at my table.

At some point in the morning, our conversation turned to the topic of how critical and judgmental we are of each other as parents. We talked about the pressure to be "Super Mom" and how none of us feel up to that challenge. We agreed that we all feel judged (at times) by others, and that we are all prone to feel critical (at times) of others. I think that if we are serious about pursuing deeper relationships and developing our ability to treat others with grace and compassion, we need to deal with both ends - our tendency towards both superiority and inadequacy. Parenting isn't a competition; it's a relationship. And if I'm caught up in the trap of comparing myself to others and worrying about what they're thinking, then I'm not free to be fully present for my children, and my relationship with them will suffer.

As I practice keeping my focus on my children and what they need, I am encouraged by the example of Jesus in John 4:6-42. While resting at a well, a woman comes to draw water and he engages her in conversation, asking her for a drink. She is surprised and his disciples are shocked that he would speak to a woman in this way, let alone a Samaritan woman. But that's one of the many cool things about Jesus - he doesn't let the opinions of others, even his closest friends, stop him from seeing and meeting the needs of hurting people. The fact that he sees this woman (and offers to meet the deepest needs of her soul with grace and love) changes her life and the lives of many in her village. It's a beautiful picture of just how crazy he is about us - that he would risk acting scandalously to bring healing and hope to our wounded souls. I'm pretty crazy about my kids, and my prayer is that I will keep my focus on what's most important as I parent them.

The Pursuit of Comfort

I really had no idea that becoming a parent would involve learning so much about myself. I was prepared to learn about my kids, to learn some strategies, even to learn about God. I thought I knew myself fairly well... turns out I've got a lot to learn about a lot of things!

One area I'm learning lots about these days is just how much I like being comfortable, and how my pursuit of comfort manifests itself in different areas of my life. I try to avoid discomfort in all sorts of ways in my parenting. I find it uncomfortable to move closer to the kids when I need to talk to them; I'd much rather holler from a distance. I don't really enjoy bundling them up to go outside on a snowy day; I'm much more comfortable indoors. Learning how to stay connected with my kids in the middle of the most trying moments has certainly been rewarding, but I wouldn't say the process of un-learning and learning different ways of parenting has been comfortable; it's distinctly uncomfortable at times. And here's one from this morning: I dislike offering sincere apologies to my children when I've screwed up. I find a certain comfort in the "I'm right, they're wrong, and they deserve what's coming to them" line of thinking; it's easier than humbling myself, acknowledging my harsh words and actions, and asking for forgiveness. I've written before about my love of comfort as a parent - apparently it's time to work on it again... and again...

What's really been hitting me the last while, though, is how very dangerous the pursuit of comfort can be. The consequences are fairly easy to see when I reflect on my relationships - an unwillingness to practice humility and 'inconvenience' myself will limit the depth of those relationships. But what happens when my unwillingness to step in to uncomfortable situations motivates me when I'm confronted with suffering in the world around me? Will I be too busy making myself comfortable to make a difference? Will I, like the priest and the Levite in the story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10), avert my eyes and walk by because getting too close to suffering is inconvenient and painful? And what happens when entire groups of people - churches, cities, nations - actively pursue comfort? Is that perhaps, in part, what is perpetuating the inequities and injustices present in our world today?

This has been a bit of a journey for me. After meeting a man named Roy last July, I've had a number of interesting encounters. And it's all felt, well, uncomfortable. But I think that's the point. I think that growth, especially the kind of transformation Paul talks about in Romans 12:2, is going to feel awkward and even painful at times. Whenever Jesus spoke of the cost of being his disciple, he painted a pretty grim picture - see Luke 9:57-62 or 14:25-27, for example. And I don't think any of us can do this in our own strength. Learning how to see and think and feel and act differently will take a lot of hard work, but we're not alone - thank God, we have his Holy Spirit empowering us!

So, I'll press on. Daily, moment by moment, trying to remember to lay aside my desire for comfort, and replacing it with the pursuit of discipleship. Turning into, instead of away from, the messiness of life. And maybe, after a few thousand (million?!) baby steps, being uncomfortable will start to feel a bit more natural. And then I guess I'll have to step it up a notch - wouldn't want to get comfortable...

More mess, less math

I have a sneaking suspicion my left brain is a tad more well-developed than my right. I love predictability and order, logic and lists. I love that when the left brain is described, four words are used that all start with the same letter: Language, Linear, Logic, Literal. Alliterations please me. As do numbers that are the same forwards as they are backwards. Just ask my husband, my brother or my high school bff how happy I get when I see a number like this on my odometer:

(And please ignore the fact that my van was obviously not at a standstill when I took this picture. Clearly, I am not well.)

Math was one of my favourite subjects in school. Okay, I'll be honest, I just loved school. (Almost all of it - the relationships stressed me out, but that makes sense since relational stuff like nonverbal cues and emotion are part of the right brain's domain.) So it's not surprising that I've approached parenting from a left-brain, mathematical mindset. Deep down, I believe that if I can just do everything correctly, then I will get the results I want with my kids. Take sleep, for example. I find it somewhat distressing that no matter how hard I try to make sure I've done everything "right" (good food, physical activity, fresh air, little/no tv...) I still can't guarantee a good night's sleep for my kids. Shouldn't  A + B always = C?! And what about those dreaded transitions - if I give a certain son gentle reminders and a 5-minute warning, and I keep my voice calm, then he should be able to get his little behind into the van without stalling. If only parenting neatly followed "If, then" logic!

I am slowly discovering just how much my frustration level is linked to my belief that parenting can be reduced to simple arithmetic. I am learning that relationships are often messy and unpredictable, and that intimacy doesn't always take logical, linear paths. So how do I move from a left-brained approach to a more integrated approach? How do I parent in a more balanced, holistic way? Paying attention to the underlying beliefs that are driving my behaviour is a good place to start - my children are precious human beings with their own thoughts, feelings, and expectations, not numbers that can be manipulated to meet my need for order. As I am more intentional about embracing the right-brain stuff of life, such as emotions and nonverbal cues, I'll become more attuned to my own needs and the needs of others. This will enable me to know others and be known by others on a much deeper level - and that sounds like somewhere I'd like to live... A place where I'm known and loved, and am free to know and love others because of it. I've been warned that living like this takes a lot of hard work, and that it will often look a little messy, but it's like Curt Thompson said at the Tapestry Conference this past weekend: "Life is not about not being messy. It's about being creative with the messes that you have." So, here's to embracing messes as opportunities for creativity, something the kids in our lives already know how to do really well! Apparently this messy hall closet is actually a gondola (in case that wasn't immediately obvious)!

Now to convince the left side of my brain that it really will be better off if it works in harmony with the right side now and then. Remember, it's not a mess - it's an opportunity for adventure and creativity!

The Love Train

I follow a few blogs. (Surprising, I know!) Today, I came across a beautiful idea to help children cope when they're having difficulty handling being separated from someone they love. The context was helping children cope when a parent can't be with them, but it could be applied to any separation. The blog is written by Lisa Qualls - you can read the entire post here. She writes about how difficult it can be for children from hard places to believe that their parents' love is constant, that even though they're apart, they are still loved. She shares a strategy called "the magical cord of love" which reminded me of "The Kissing Hand"!

We're expecting a lot of snow tonight, and Brian's going to leave really early for work tomorrow. It's been quite a few months since our early riser has slept through his daddy's departure - and we're praying he sleeps through it tomorrow. In light of everything we've dealt with in this department, we thought we'd forewarn the guy. So, we explained the circumstances and gave him something to look forward to (namely, that he'll get to see Brian at church). Inspired by Lisa's blog, we talked about the fact that we always love him, even when we're not together. I also encouraged him to draw a picture of him and Brian, joined with a rope of love - something tangible to help him remember. He drew a picture of the 2 of them on a train, and then he asked me to draw a heart in the center - he practiced a few hearts but couldn't get it quite right!

Notice how he and Brian are holding hands! So sweet. (Apparently Logan's the driver.) Here's hoping the message starts to sink in. It's such an important message, too. I so desperately want him to have the security of knowing that we love him no matter what. I'm convinced that kids can face a LOT in life if they have an unshakeable conviction that they are loved, that they are precious, and that the love we have for them is but a shadow of the great love of our Heavenly Father.

And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God's love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow - not even the powers of hell can separate us from God's love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below - indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.
~Romans 8:38,39 NLT

A difficult day

Yesterday was tough. It felt like I was doing battle on multiple fronts - first there was the kid who refused/is unable to keep his seat belt snug. (Public transit seems like a viable option right now.) And then there were the two trouble-makers who conspired to empty a bottle of lotion, smeared it all over themselves and a bathtub, and left a few globs on the carpet, just for good measure. (Did I mention that I discovered the lotion disaster just as I was getting ready to leave to pick up my oldest from school?! I still haven't cleaned out the tub.) The after school/before supper stretch remained bumpy. Bumpy actually doesn't quite describe it - it was more like I was living in a game of Minesweeper, and I kept landing on mines and having to start all over. Thankfully my supper plans consisted of dumping a couple cans of mushroom soup on some chicken and sticking it in the oven, to be served over minute rice. I know, I know, I'm quite the gourmet cook!

As I reflected on my day after the kids were in bed, I realized that there were a number of small (yet huge) victories. Two stand out - first of all, I managed to stay fairly calm while dealing with the lotion incident. This was a tricky one to navigate. Had I vented my anger, one of the culprits would have ended up in his room, curled up in bed. I was able to express my frustration and disappointment without triggering a monster pout or causing them to lash out at me in self-defense. And we made it to school just a few minutes late!

The other victory came as I was trying to halt the downward spiral we found ourselves on after picking up Kolbie from school. I was unsuccessfully avoiding landmines, and wondering how I was going to get that chicken in the oven without facing more overturned toy bins and laundry baskets (or worse, injuries to siblings). At that moment I realized there was an internal battle waging. I knew what I should do - invite him in to the kitchen to open cans for me and help me get supper ready. But this was not what I wanted to do. I wanted to punish him by removing anything that could possibly be enjoyable to him. I wanted him to feel the strength of my disapproval - as if that would somehow get us back on track. I fought with myself - and did what I knew I should do. And we enjoyed a few minutes of peace and connectedness in the midst of an otherwise chaotic mess of an afternoon. I still ended up asking Brian to come home a few minutes early (which he did) and we still ended up dealing with a sizeable meltdown before supper. But we were able to restore our connection, and by the time we tucked the kids in to bed, we were all at peace with each other.

Isn't it funny, though, how so much of our kids' behaviour depends on how we behave? Who knew?! I certainly didn't expect to have to un-learn so much of what I thought I knew, and learn so much new stuff. I definitely wasn't expecting to have to fight my instincts - I figured nurturing my children and helping them grow to be secure beings capable of navigating the world would come a bit more naturally. I did not expect to feel like a failure on such a regular basis. Yet as I look back on days like yesterday, I am so grateful. I'm grateful that it hasn't been as easy as I thought it would be - how else would I learn humility and be able to extend grace to others? I'm grateful for answered prayer - how often have I prayed for patience and self-control and the ability to love others the way God loves me? I was kind of hoping those traits were available in the form of a speedy download, but I'm realizing they grow in me as I depend on God and practice, practice, practice. I'm grateful for the beauty emerging from the mess.

Difficult days are about so much more than survival. They are opportunities to grow and thrive and learn and love. After all, love that disappears on the hard days isn't worth as much on the good days.

Getting Back on Track

Well, that was unexpected. Looking back, it makes perfect sense, but it's taken me a couple weeks to wrap my head around exactly what's been happening. Our summer was going along swimmingly - we've had amazing weather, and the kids are at an age where we can be out and about for longer periods of time. It wasn't exactly monorail smooth, more like a rickety old steam engine on dilapidated tracks, but we were moving forward. Every once in a while we'd back up a ways, repair a stretch of track, and continue on. Then, a few weeks ago, we derailed. Completely came off the tracks. Behaviours that were rare became common again. I felt like I had to be super-vigilant all the time because I never knew when peaceful playing would turn into war. The level of disrespect and defiance sky-rocketed. Any little disappointment could send our oldest into a tailspin, and he was starting to take the whole house with him.

I knew that I should be handling it with compassion and sensitivity, but I was mad. I was ticked off that we were dealing with all this junk again after all the hard work we had done to move past it. I felt entitled to more, and as long as my focus remained on myself, we remained off track.

Exhausted and desperate, I finally confessed to Brian exactly how I was feeling. As I talked it out with him, I realized just how disconnected Kolbie and I had become. And I remembered an important piece of information from our Empowered to Connect training: positive stress can load in our children's systems in the same way as negative stress. In other words, Kolbie's extreme excitement about our houseboat holiday and the beginning of kindergarten could be turning off the rational, higher-level regions of the brain and sending him straight to the primitive, "fight, flight, or freeze" regions of the brain. Everything began to make sense. He'd been operating in survival mode, and I'd compounded the problem by responding with anger and impatience.

Once we had a diagnosis (or at least a plausible working theory!) I knew what I needed to do. I needed to shift my focus and give my son what he needed, not what I thought he deserved. He needed a "high structure, high nurture" environment. I had to set my anger and self-pity aside (not easy) and look for opportunities to connect - little chunks of time to read a book, play some lego, build a few train tracks. I started a day plan on a little whiteboard and gave him a heads-up every morning so he knew what to expect. I went back to navigating transitions with his needs in mind, and remembering to communicate my expectations clearly in advance. And, slowly but surely, we've seen little improvements. In both of us.

Clouds in the Forecast

A couple of crazy storms moved through Calgary yesterday. There's something about a surprise summer storm, complete with wind, rain, hail, lightning, and a 12 degree drop in temperature, that reminds me of how quickly and dramatically my 3-year-old's mood can change. She can go from happy to miserable in milliseconds, and the resulting destruction might make you think a tornado had touched down!

I've been following Annie McClellan's blog posts on Tapestry's website this summer, and I really appreciate the insights I've gotten into my children's brains. In "Name It To Tame It", we are reminded that a child's feelings are often overwhelming and confusing for them, and that by teaching them how to put into words what they are feeling they can learn to manage intense emotional states much more successfully. In "Let the Clouds of Emotion Roll By", we learn that children may need help recognizing that emotional states come and go, and that we can do this by acknowledging their current feelings while reminding them of a time when they felt differently.

I love the idea of acknowledging a child's emotional reality. It seems so respectful, and honouring of them as people. It's how I want to be treated when I'm having an irrational overreaction to something. And I think it's important to treat our children this way as well. As with most good parenting ideas, though, it's easier said than done. The last thing I want to do when dealing with a meltdown is get down on one knee and communicate to my child that I get where they're coming from. Especially if we're in the grocery store! I'd much prefer to tell them to snap out of it, get over it, and generally move on. Sometimes I feel like laughing at how ridiculous they're being. What I'm trying to learn to do, though, is teach them to communicate respectfully, even when they're really upset. And the only way they're going to be able to do that is if I can show them how.

As I was thinking about emotions and how God invites us to share all of ourselves with Him, I was reminded of the conversation between God and Moses at the burning bush in Exodus 3 and 4. God wants Moses to go back to Egypt and lead the Israelites to freedom, but Moses is reluctant. He is afraid that he'll be rejected and unsuccessful, and he tries to convince God that he's not the one for the job. God goes to great lengths to assure Moses that he'll be given everything he needs, that the plan will work, and that God is good, strong, and trustworthy. He does not dismiss Moses's fears, and He certainly doesn't ridicule them. I like that. A lot. I like that we can share our fears with our Father and He will not brush our fears aside. Even though our fears (or whatever emotional state is overtaking us in that moment) must seem ridiculous to Him, He invites us to trust and assures us that He will be with us (Exodus 4:12).

Much of my parenting journey has involved learning about God's great love for me, and then striving to show that love to my children. One way I can do that is by seeking to understand how they're feeling, which will teach them to trust me with their feelings, which will enable us to move forward together.

The Early Riser

It's 5 am. I hear the familiar footfall - feet frantic to find out if Dad's still home.

"Mom!" (It's funny - I always called my mom first, too.)
"Yes, Kolbie?"
"Is Dad still home?"
"Yes."
"Oh, good." And his feet carry him back to bed. He'll get up every 15 minutes or so, just to make sure he hasn't missed Brian's departure for work. But, for the most part, he'll be quiet and everyone except me continues sleeping.

I am often annoyed by this interchange. Nine hours of sleep is not quite enough for a growing 5-year-old boy who frequently has difficulty controlling his impulses when he's angry. I have to remind myself of a couple things, though. First of all, we've come a long way. This is the same boy who used to wake up in the middle of the night and stay awake for a couple hours, doing his best to wake the entire household. When it first started happening, we didn't know everything we know now, and we didn't respond with compassion. Once we realized that anxiety might be driving his sleeplessness, we simply made a bed for him on our bedroom floor and calmly welcomed him into our room when he woke up too soon. It took some time, but we finally got him sleeping through the night again. We experience little setbacks now and then. Currently, he seems to be reacting to Brian's summer hours. In the past two months he has slept through Brian's 6 am departure a handful of times, and he seems determined not to let it happen again.

The other thing I have to remind myself of is that it's a deep-seated fear that is bullying him into waking up so early every morning. It's not really his fault. He seems to have an extremely strong sensitivity to loss and separations. The stuff we've learned since adopting leads us to believe that it is the loss of his first family that impacted him so deeply. He was 13 months old when he came to live with us, and already securely attached to his foster family. The loss of his family would have registered as a significant trauma in his young brain. You'd think that the fact that he can't remember any of this would make it easier to get over. I wonder if the opposite is true: his lack of conscious memory of this event actually makes it more difficult for him to recover.

In Anatomy of the Soul, Curt Thomson describes memory as being composed of 2 kinds: explicit and implicit. Explicit memory consists of facts and experiences - stuff we are consciously aware of knowing. Our brains start forming and storing explicit memories between the ages of 18 and 24 months. (p. 73) Implicit memory is the earliest form of memory in the brain. Thomson asserts that it is present at birth, and may begin to develop as early as the third trimester of pregnancy. It is largely unconscious, and involves the more primitively developed regions of the brain. (p. 67) Implicit memory is at work every time we walk across a room - we don't usually consciously pay attention to the act of walking, and most of us have no memory of learning how to walk. Implicit memory can also come in the "form of perceptions, behaviors, emotions, and bodily experiences." (p. 68) This has enormous implications for children who experience loss/trauma before their brains are capable of storing explicit memories. The memories that are stored are unconscious, and may be highly emotional and stored in or close to the regions of the brain largely responsible for survival.

For Kolbie, this means that waking up in time to see Brian before he leaves for work may feel like a matter of life and death. He may genuinely (and unconsciously) believe that his survival depends on waking up early enough. Despite the fact that he has experienced Brian coming home at the end of the work day at least a thousand times since his brain became capable of storing explicit memory, it's not enough to override his more primitive, implicit memory of losing his parents. As his parents now, it is our job to figure out how we can help him heal. I've been learning a lot from Annie McLellan's blog posts on Tapestry's website. She's been writing about what she's been learning from her reading of The Whole-Brain Child by Siegel and Bryson. Our brains were created with incredible resiliency and potential for healing, and I'm so grateful that we have the privilege of being the agents of that healing for our children. We will continue to do our best to respond with sensitivity and compassion when Kolbie wakes up ridiculously early. We will also continue to take advantage of opportunities to learn how we can help him recover from his early losses. Here's hoping his healing includes the ability to sleep in once in a while!!

(Here's a little cuteness from WAAAY back when he was 2!)

Roy

I met a man named Roy one Saturday. Had it been any other Saturday, our meeting would not have impacted me as much as it has. But it happened that Saturday. The day I seriously started praying that God would show me how to live with my eyes wide open.

I should back up a bit. We (Brian and I) have felt, well, kind of restless for the last while. Like there's more to life than what we've been living. We've felt a tension, an uneasiness, a sense that something needed to change. We've been increasingly, uncomfortably aware of just how easy our life is compared to the difficulties so many face. It's been kind of like the freezing wearing off after dental surgery: a throbbing ache, a growing awareness of pain that hasn't stopped us from going about our daily life - it's just thrown us off a little.

Then I started reading Jen Hatmaker's stuff (7 and Interrupted), and finished Mercy Triumphs, Beth Moore's study on the book of James. The discomfort grew. I was becoming more and more convicted that I'd been somehow missing the point of how I was supposed to be living. That too much of my time was spent perpetuating my family's comfortable lifestyle, and not enough time was spent in using our abundance to help those who really needed it.

So, after I finished reading Interrupted, I felt that I needed to get serious about praying for clarity and direction from God. If He was truly leading me to make significant changes, then I wanted to know what the next step would be. I decided I'd stay off facebook for a couple days (sort of a fast) and every time I felt the urge to check it, I'd pray instead. I started praying that my eyes would be open to opportunities right in front of me. I figured I probably walk past hurting, vulnerable people every day, so I just prayed that I would be able to see the needs around me and have the courage to step in and meet those needs. After all, James 4:17 informs us that "if you know the right thing to do and don't do it, that, for you, is evil."

Enter Roy. I was at Chinook, having coffee with a friend, when another friend (one I haven't seen in years) approached our table with her mom and an older gentleman. She introduced us to Roy and explained that he had lost his wallet and his keys, and that he was rather distressed about it. She was glad we were there because he needed a place to sit while she went to try and find someone who could help. I was astounded that God had worked this quickly. (My actual thoughts went something like, "Seriously, God?! I'm half a day into my fast and you've already placed a vulnerable person in need in my path?! Wow.") What happened next revealed to me just how inexperienced and ill-prepared I am for all this.

As Kate walked away to find someone, the inner debate started. I felt a strong desire to do something to help. After all, it couldn't be mere coincidence that Roy was sitting at our table! But isn't that the kind of thing security is supposed to look after? It's their job, I reasoned. Wait a minute, isn't that the kind of thinking that's gotten us to this place of keeping ourselves distanced and insulated from suffering in our world?! Smarten up, Colleen. So we conversed (awkwardly) with Roy. Kate returned, unsuccessful, and attempted to get a phone number from Roy. She called it - no answer. When security staff came, they got an address from him. Immediately, I thought that maybe I should give him a ride home. But what if he's just pretending to be helpless? What if I'd be putting myself in danger? And what if the address he gave us is incorrect? I'd be stuck with him for who knows how long. We soon discovered that he still had his bus tickets, so he would be able to get home. I felt instant relief. The security personnel had left a message at the phone number Roy had given, and they assured him they'd check on him again in an hour. We made sure that he had something to eat and drink, and went on our way.

Driving home, I continued to wonder what else I could have done. Did I do enough? Should I have offered him a ride home? What would have been some way to help?? Then it hit me - I could have waited with him. If someone I knew and cared about was alone and vulnerable, I would have waited. But waiting would have made us late for church, I argued. This next thought slammed into my brain with the force and speed of a wrecking ball: Is it more important to sit in church, or be the church? Ouch.

I have two main thoughts after meeting Roy. First, I'm going to have to change the way I see and think about the world. Other people's pain and discomfort are not necessarily someone else's responsibility. There may be something I can do to help. At the very least, I can dignify the suffering of others by being aware of their existence. Second, I'm not nearly as smart as I thought I was. I know very little about how to actually live moment by moment with eyes and heart wide open. I'm going to have to approach this with a little humility and take advantage of opportunities to practice being the kind of Christ-follower I believe I'm called to be. It's time to be the church.

Staying hydrated

Wow, has it ever been hot the past few days! As tempers flared at our house this afternoon, I started thinking about how much harder I have to work to keep my cool when it's hot outside. As voices rose and toys flew, I hurried to pour some iced tea for everyone, and I wondered - hydration must be just as important emotionally and spiritually as it is physically. It was a good reminder. Have I been watering my soul? Have I been nourishing the part of me that can dry up at least as quickly as the potted flowers on my deck?

 I've been watering these every day, and they still look like they're taking a bit of a beating from the sun. I'm not much of a gardener though, so be gracious with the analogy!! If I'm not tending to my own emotional and spiritual needs, then I'm likely to dry up a little. And if I'm dehydrated, the people who live with me are likely to feel the effects of my parched spirit.

Jesus said, ..."Anyone who drinks the water I give will be an artesian spring within, gushing fountains of endless life."
~John 4:13, 14 MSG

Sounds good.

Consequences and Quick Fixes

I've had this post lurking in my brain for a few months now. Hanging out at the edge of consciousness, choosing inopportune moments to attack, guerrilla-style, reminding me that my actions are not reflecting my beliefs. It's a tricky issue, though, so I've been procrastinating. I haven't really wanted to face my own inconsistencies. However, if I'm serious about being intentional with my parenting, and if I believe that our children have unique needs and require a well researched and well thought out approach, then I think it's time to try to unravel it all and see if I can unify some of the voices in my head!

First, allow me to set the scene (one of many I could share):
Everyone is dressed, hair combed, and out the door with a minimal amount of stress (YAY!) but then they get in the van and chaos ensues. They're playing with the lights, and fighting over the remote for the garage door opener, and climbing everywhere but where they're supposed to climb. My default reaction is impatient and irritated, so I pull out the bribes and threats. (I'm such a slow learner sometimes - this never works when they're in fully monkey mode.) I start saying things like, "Hey, let's get into our seats so we can watch a movie!" and "Whoever gets into their seat first gets to close the garage door!" Now I'm 1/3 of the way there... I start to get more annoyed - "I'm going to count to 5 and if everyone's not in their seats there will be NO movie!" This just results in 2 of them ganging up on the lone remaining rebel. Great, even more discord. By the time we finally get going (with no movie) we're all annoyed and upset.

As part of our Empowered to Connect training, we have been challenged to re-think our use of consequences as a discipline strategy with children from hard places. The idea being that it puts us in an adversarial stance against our children, when what we really want is a sense of being on the same team, of advocating for them. When we enforce consequences too readily, particularly those that affect the future in some way, we run the risk of damaging our connection with our child and losing the joy in our relationship. Rather, we are encouraged to pursue an approach that brings full resolution to each situation, then moves on. (Watch Michael Monroe explain this more fully.)

Well. I have no problem agreeing to this concept in theory. But this is not an easy principle to apply. We've been practicing connecting while correcting for quite a few months now, and it is transforming us as parents. But there's still a part of me that wants a quick fix. And when I'm faced with stubborn disobedience, I still find myself resorting to bribes and threats in the hope that using some sort of leverage will get speedier results. And even when the situation is moving toward resolution, I am often tempted to enforce a consequence as a way to punish. I feel an unholy urge to vent my frustration by taking something they value away from them just so I can make my point. I am fighting my way through it all - striving to find a way to love my children unconditionally and sacrificially while correcting, guiding, and teaching them so they can grow to be the people God designed them to be.

So where does this leave me? Should I never use incentives or rewards? Must I abandon all consequences? How on earth am I ever going to get my kids to listen to me?! As always, I must come back to the truth that parenting is a relationship. With any strategy that I use, I must ask myself if it builds trust. Does it result in deeper connection, contentment, and changed behaviour?

Of course, part of guiding, teaching, and correcting will involve recognition and use of consequences. But it must be because that is what's best for my child, not what's easiest for me. It must help us solve the problem both now and in the future. And it must not be motivated by spite or a desire to punish on my part. It should be something that will truly help my child be more successful in the future. Far too often the kids and I arrive at a place where I feel that the only way out is to enforce a consequence - in reality, it is my own impatience and lack of connection with them that has driven us there. I am finding that when I am intentional about engaging playfully, am making an effort to stay connected and attuned to their feelings, and am honestly looking for resolution, I am no longer resorting to consequences out of desperation.

Getting in the van to go somewhere has begun to take a different turn lately. I've been trying out a new strategy or two. As I mentioned in my last post, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, and talking through my expectations before we get in the van helps immensely. Since I am forgetful (and often running late) and still find myself trying to coax wild monkeys into carseats at times, I've started saying something along these lines: "I don't want to get stressed with you guys. What can I do to help you get in to your seats more quickly?" The responses have been most interesting. The first time I tried this, Logan said, "Sing a song." Too frustrated to feel like being creative, I asked him what song I should sing. He made up a silly song on the spot, which I repeated, and he promptly hopped into his seat. I know many people would view this interaction as inappropriately democratic - I can almost hear the critique, and I imagine much of it would be related to issues of power, control, and manipulation. In response I can only say that many of my default strategies are manipulative, and I am trying to weed out those tendencies in myself that are less than ideal. I am striving to build a relationship with my children that reflects how God parents us: one in which they trust me to meet their needs, they know that I want what's best for them, and they believe that I am on their side. I am finding that as I more consistently practice staying attuned and connected while correcting, we are all getting better at doing things a little differently. It's certainly no quick fix, but I think it's going to be worth it in the long run.

Walking a Tightrope

One of the more difficult aspects of my parenting journey thus far has been unlearning and relearning parenting strategies. I'm finding that many of my automatic, default reactions are (NEWSFLASH!) not gentle, kind, patient or loving. I'm finding that when I am inconvenienced, embarrassed, or otherwise frustrated by my children's misbehaviour, my instinct is to do something that will make them as miserable as I'm feeling in that moment - withdraw my affection, take away something they enjoy, lash out in anger so they realize just how serious their infractions are... you get the idea. Giving in to my initial instinct may cause a temporary course correction, but I'm finding that we end up much further off-course in the long run - less connected, and not much better behaved.

So, I've been trying to unlearn my natural tendencies and relearn correcting strategies that keep me connected to my kids. The learning curve is steep - most of the time I feel like I'm trying to swim uphill through mud - but the view is increasingly spectacular! One of our recent issues has been learning the art of departing well. Whether it's Heritage Park, church, or Grandma & Grandpa's house, the kids have been digging in their heels when it comes time to go home. Since I don't believe that forcing them in to their carseats is going to bring about the long-term results we're hoping for (read: they're getting bigger and stronger and can get themselves out of their carseats), we've had to dig deep for a strategy that will keep us connected, but will result in actually being able to leave a fun place in a sane manner. We tried bribes and threats (stay tuned for a future post on the use of consequences!) but found that the only thing that mattered to them was squeezing a few extra minutes out of the experience. I tried a creative approach - I suggested that we could pretend the van is a train and they could be the passengers waiting on a platform. The flatbed trailer at my parents' place was the perfect pretend platform, I figured... This approach had minimal success, as once they were on the trailers they couldn't quite see the point of getting in the van.

Time to dig a little deeper. In the process of preparing to teach Empowered to Connect, I was reminded of the importance of being proactive in our parenting. We need to prepare our kids for transitions. Practice beforehand. Think ahead to difficult situations and talk through how they're going to go before we get there. As the old adage goes - "an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure." I'm trying to remember to discuss my expectations with the kids beforehand, and ask them for ideas as to how we can make it go better. We're starting to see some encouraging results.

The other thing that has occurred to me is that leaving somewhere they really love (like grandparents' homes) could feel like a huge loss to them. We see Brian's parents a few times a year, but those months in between could feel like an eternity to a pre-schooler. We have the privilege of living 15 minutes away from my folks, and we usually see them at least once a week. In the winter, though, they head to Phoenix to escape the cold and we only get to see them on Skype while they're gone. Perhaps the kids have a subconscious fear that saying goodbye to Grandma and Grandpa could mean a really long separation. While this is not an excuse to be stubborn and disobedient when it's time to go home, it can help us as parents be understanding and compassionate as we seek to correct the behaviour. We're currently experimenting with a 'leaving ritual' that involves remembering our favourite parts of the day and looking forward to our next visit. Hopefully that will help a little.

In the meantime, we will continue to walk the tightrope between nurture and structure. Striving to maintain our compassion and understanding as we guide our children. Reminding ourselves of their preciousness when we are faced with their naughtiness. Building healthy boundaries and firm structures that will encourage good behaviour. And every time we fall off the tightrope by losing our compassion or by neglecting structure, by the grace of God we'll climb back on and try it again.

Someday...

Brian and I were in BC, on the lower mainland, for an adoption conference this past weekend. We found ourselves starting sentences with "Someday..." We talked about our 10th anniversary, only 2 years away. We talked about holidays we'd like to go on with (and without!) the kids. In short, we were dreaming. Thinking of all the great places in the world we'd like to see and experience.

Then we heard some amazing stories. One woman in particular, Kim England, said something that made me stop and think. She was telling us how God led their family to adoption. And how, with 4 biological children, they adopted a sibling group of 4 boys! She shared some of the craziness, then she told us what her husband says when they are faced with the reality of how much their life has changed. He says, "Living out a miracle is way better than living out a dream." I started thinking, and the more I thought about it, the more I liked it.

I thought about the typical dreams many of us have. Dreams for ourselves and our families. Dreams about vacations and homes and wardrobes. Dreams about fame and fortune and accomplishments. Then I thought about the lives that inspire me. People who have sacrificed comfort and "freedom 55" and many other things we've been taught to expect. People who have stepped in to the brokenness of our world and are making a difference for the hurting and the vulnerable. People like Kim and her husband who are witnessing miracles - watching the transformation as children learn to trust, experiencing the love of their very own family.

I'm not against dreams - they can focus, motivate and challenge us. I'm just wondering if our dreams are too small, if they limit us sometimes. Are we so focused on where we hope to be in the future that we're missing out on stuff right now? Are there miracles right under our noses? My prayer is that my eyes will be opened to what God has for me today, that I'll be able to see and be a part of the miracles He's performing, and that my dreams will start to reflect His heart.

The TALK

It finally happened. The conversation I've been having with my oldest son in my head for months and months finally became reality yesterday. We had the big adoption talk.

Some of you are likely wondering what took me so long. Didn't he already know he's adopted? Well, sort of... Every time we looked at pictures of the kids as babies, I'd point out the ones of the weekend we met the boys, and mention how they used to live with Dawn and Jerod and Nolan until they came to live with us. And how I'm so glad God chose us to be a family. Every time we read a picture book like "Julius, Baby of the World" by Kevin Henkes, I'd pause after the first page and wait for a question such as, "Did I grow in your tummy, Mommy?" But the follow-up questions never came. So, I kept opening the door and waiting, figuring it was probably best for my somewhat-anxious eldest to allow him to set the pace of disclosure in this particular matter. (I also have a theory - one of many! - that the kids should have a secure sense of belonging in our family before we put too much emphasis on the fact that they haven't always been with us. I know this doesn't work for all kids and all situations, it just seemed the best path for us at the time.)

I was, however, beginning to feel a tad impatient. He's starting kindergarten in the fall, after all, and I thought it might be a good idea if he was able to articulate the fact that he's adopted with some level of comfort! So, when the kids wanted to look at their baby pictures again yesterday, I gladly huddled around the laptop with them (I've almost given up on scrapbooking) and started scrolling through the pics. We giggled at the fact that they all used to wear diapers, and they shook their heads at how babies are born without teeth, and we oohed and aahed over their unbelievable cuteness. Then I deliberately brought up the pictures of our first weekend with the boys and mentioned that they used to live elsewhere. This time, Kolbie took the bait. "Why, Mommy?" he asked. With a little bit of trepidation and a fair bit of relief, I embarked on the "tummy mommy" talk. He took in the fact that he grew in someone else's tummy (we chuckled at the rhyme) and I again pointed out how glad I am that God chose me to be his mommy for always, his "growing up" mommy. He quickly got stuck on the "But why?" loop so I asked if it made him feel a little funny to think that he hadn't always lived with us. He said it did, so I was quick to reassure him that I could understand why he'd feel funny, and we moved on.

From the beginning of this journey, I've been aware that adoption is not all joy and gain. It begins with and will always contain a great deal of grief and loss. From the grief of infertility, to the incredible loss and trauma our kids' birth mother has suffered, to the fact that the kids will all have their own grief and loss to work through - it's a bumpy emotional landscape. To say the least. Despite the rough road, there's nowhere else I'd rather be. I am inexpressibly grateful to have the privilege of being "Mommy" to these kids. I am humbled by the responsibility of helping them navigate through life. I'm glad I had a "heads-up" about the grief and loss aspect of adoption so that I can manage those tricky conversations with some degree of insight and sensitivity. I never want to lose sight of the fact that what was a joyous day for us marked a day of traumatic loss for our children. I want them to know that my heart aches for them. That anytime they find themselves feeling sad about the adoption facts of life, I'll be right there with them. Hurting and weeping and asking God why there is so much brokenness in our world. Then, together, we'll allow His unfailing love and mercy to wash over us once again.

For now, I'll look forward to the next opportunity I have to help the kids make sense of their start in life. About an hour after our chat yesterday, I asked Kolbie if he had any questions or wanted to talk more about it. He said, emphatically, "I do NOT." And that's just fine. I'll keep opening the door, ready to go wherever I need to go with them, as many times as I need to go there, to help them heal.

Stopping to Smell the Flowers

"Her name must be everything she is," said her mother.
"Her name must be absolutely perfect," said her father.
And it was.
Chrysanthemum. Her parents named her Chrysanthemum.
Chrysanthemum grew and grew and grew.
And when she was old enough to appreciate it,
Chrysanthemum loved her name.
She loved the way it sounded when her mother woke her up.
She loved the way it sounded when her father called her for dinner.
And she loved the way it sounded when she whispered it to herself in the bathroom mirror.
Chrysanthemum, Chrysanthemum, Chrysanthemum.

Chrysanthemum is one of my favourite Kevin Henkes books! I love the way he captures the perspective of a little child - the simplicity, the charming self-centeredness, and most of all, the overwhelming need for love and security. Before I became a parent, I'd read passages like the one I quoted above and think, "I'm going to be that kind of parent. The one whose kids know she loves them just by the way she says their names." After I became a parent, reality hit. Believe me, I still want to be that kind of parent. I'm just finding out that wanting it and being it are two different things. Especially when I'm tired and stressed and frustrated. Too often I hear myself saying their names impatiently. Sometimes my voice is dripping with sarcasm. Or disappointment. No matter how much I say "I love you" I know that those other, life-sucking moments are speaking loudly.

We've been busy lately. Busy with lots of good things, but busy nonetheless. The last few days I've hit the "crying-over-spilt-milk" stage of tiredness! Quivering lip because I couldn't light the barbecue. Struggling to keep my composure when the ground beef got a little too crisp. Clear signs that it's time to recharge! So I was incredibly encouraged when I sat down for a little facebook/catching up on blog reading time last night, and read Jen Hatmaker's latest post - On Empty. She wrote so eloquently about exactly how I was feeling. Spooky. And so wise. In her words -

The night is upon us; our hands are spent from work. The only sane thing to do is rest. God sometimes does His best work while we entrust ourselves to his overnight keeping. Our responsibility is laying down the tasks, setting aside the duties, which is much harder than it sounds. There is never an end to the work; just an end to the day. Sometimes the very hardest obedience involves stopping for the night.

I read this while fretting about all the stuff I still needed to do before I went to bed. Good timing! Then, this morning, when I woke up still tense and tired, I read Ann Voskamp's blog entry - The 1 Reason Why You Have to Slow Down. I'm starting to think God's trying to tell me something! Okay, I know He is. If I want to recover my joy and peace, and be able to be fully present for my family, I'm going to have to slow down. I'm going to have to take a few minutes to count gifts. I'm going to have to cross a few non-essentials off my to-do list. And focus on the really important stuff, like making sure my children know how precious they are, and how much I love spending time with them. And I will make sure they know this not just by my words, but by how I say all my words. By the delight on my face when I look at them. By showing them the joy I feel in their presence.

As I write these words, Logan walks into the kitchen and says, "Mom! I made an amazing surprise for you! Come see!" Not sure what to expect, I walk into the dining room with him. All proud, he shows me where he coloured with marker on the hardwood. In what universe is that an amazing surprise?! Actually, in his. So, I take a calming breath, smile at him, and say, "That is certainly a surprise! You know you're not supposed to draw on the floor, though. Here's some paper. Can you draw another surprise on the paper for me?" I walk back into the kitchen. He draws on the paper, happy. I slow down and give thanks for him. And for the wisdom of the words I read in the last 2 days, encouraging me to slow down and re-focus. Marker wipes off the floor; harsh, unloving words leave harder-to-clean messes. I also give thanks for Rylie's cold - not for the fact that she's feeling yucky, but for the fact that we've been forced to slow down and stay home more the past few days.

The words of Ephesians 6:4 have been rattling around in my head: "Don't exasperate your children by coming down hard on them. Take them by the hand and lead them in the way of the Master." (MSG) Who is the Master? Jesus. And what is His way? Love. A love that pursues, restores, redeems, makes whole. I will strive to love my children in a way that brings wholeness today. In order to do that, I'll have to slow down and play. Looking forward to it.

[in?]fertility

Ever since I can remember, I've wanted to be a mom. "Wanted" isn't nearly strong enough for what I felt! Forget teen mom - I used to daydream about having a baby in elementary school. I'd imagine elaborate scenarios in which babies I knew would get deathly ill and only my presence by their crib would give them the will to live. I practically stalked new moms at church, hoping like crazy they'd see me lurking behind them and ask me if I wanted to hold their baby. It was a bit of an obsession, to say the least! In addition to wanting a baby, I naturally became fascinated with the idea of romantic love. Traditionally, one needs a man to experience motherhood.

So you can imagine my disappointment when I entered my 20's without any prospect of marriage. I allowed myself to become discontented, which led to turning my back on God and getting involved in a relationship with no real prospects of motherhood. When I finally got right with God, got out of the relationship, and met Brian, I had surrendered many of my expectations to God. I was so grateful to be back on track with Him, and experiencing His presence in my life like never before, I figured I'd be all right even if I never got to be a wife and a mom. And I have no doubt that I would have found joy and fulfillment had that been my path.

In the middle of my newfound contentment, however, I met Brian! We were married within the year and my dreams of being a mom were brought back to life. It soon became clear that conception would be difficult, so our hearts turned towards adoption, and the rest of the story is familiar. It all happened so quickly, and we felt God leading us so strongly, that I didn't really take the time to explore any unresolved grief over my infertility. There were physical factors that had prepared me to expect difficulty getting pregnant, and adoption had always been something I wanted to do regardless of biological children, so I didn't dwell on it for too long.

Lately though, as I've been practicing gratitude in all things and believing that we are to find a reason for joy even in the midst of difficult circumstances, I've been thinking about my infertility. And my thoughts have taken an interesting turn. In the past, I've always summarized my feelings on infertility by saying, "Sure, there's a part of me that will always be sad I didn't get to experience the whole pregnancy thing, but I'm so incredibly grateful for the kids we do have that I'm not hung up on it." I'm wondering if there's more to it than that. More than just "infertility sucks but we've got great kids so it all balances out." What if we had never adopted? Would I still have been able to be grateful? Find joy? I have to believe that there would have been a way. That the promise of Psalm 30:11 applies to this: "You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy." (NLT) We don't merely dance while we're mourning, or put joy over top of everything else. (Although this kind of intentionality and discipline can be a part of it.) It seems that the source of our mourning can literally be transformed into joy.

One of the movements I've been following is called "People of the Second Chance." They ran a recent campaign called "Labels Lie" and I started thinking about the label of infertility. Is that a label I need to wear for my whole life, or is this something that can be transformed? Redeemed? Replaced with a truer identity? If labels do lie, then could I be considered fertile?! According to the free online dictionary, fertile can mean more than just being capable of reproduction. It also contains the element of growth, maturity, and productivity. It is often used to describe things other than reproductive ability, as in "She has a fertile imagination." I wonder... I think about my life. I have grown a LOT in the last few years - spiritually, emotionally, relationally. A feeling of increased maturity has accompanied this growth. Then there are the little ones in my care. They are growing and maturing. I must be providing fertile ground for their growth. As for productivity - I have written a lot in the last year! I am involved in a brand new adoption and foster care ministry in our church, and we're preparing to teach the Empowered to Connect material to a group of parents in a few weeks. My days are marked by a certain productivity, even if much of it is forced by the physical and emotional needs of the kids! I feel productive, most days. As I explore these definitions and reflect on my life, I realize that "fertile" is a more apt description than "infertile."

As I start to embrace my fertility, I realize that much of what has happened in my life would not have happened without my inability to conceive. There's the obvious - we wouldn't have the 3 great kids we do! But there's more. I wouldn't have trusted and depended on God in nearly the same way. Once again, surrendering 'Plan A' forced me to trust in God's goodness and His plan for my life. I am closer to Him as a result. Had I conceived biological children, I likely would not have seen my family grow from zero to three children in less than 1 year. This has forced a daily dependence on God as I deal with the demands of parenting 3 so close in age. I have been humbled. Many times. And I have learned to be more patient, not to mention more gracious with others! I have learned about sacrifice as I daily put the needs of others before my own. I have felt the thrill of being a part of something much, much bigger than myself as I've watched the birthing of a new ministry. I've felt completely overwhelmed with the knowledge that God has placed me here and now to accomplish His purposes in the world. I get to be a part of a growing movement that will see more families open their homes to children who need them.

Joy and gratitude flood my soul as I consider my infertility! I could laugh out loud over all the ways my life has been made fruitful. Fertile. Full of growth!

You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy, that I might sing praises to you and not be silent. O LORD my God, I will give you thanks forever!
                                                                             Psalm 30:11,12 NLT

Grace, Gratitude, and Joy

Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy.
~James 1:2 NLT

Studying the book of James has been... convicting. To say the least. Then I started reading One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp. I'm getting the impression that I'm in need of a dramatic attitude adjustment! My experience at the zoo on Friday confirmed this for me. Friday was the day of the grand opening for the new penguin exhibit. When we arrived, we were greeted by an impenetrable wall of people. We were told by zoo staff that we'd have to wait, unable to view any of the exhibits, until the grand opening ceremony was finished. A wait of a few minutes, maybe half an hour, no one knew for sure. I was instantly annoyed. I was frustrated that they hadn't figured out a way to let people get past who simply wanted to see the rest of the zoo. I was also disappointed that I was being delayed in meeting up with my friend - a total waste of prime "just got to the zoo and the kids are still calm" visiting time. I let the zoo person know I wasn't impressed. I wasn't overly rude, I simply communicated my displeasure. (I think I said something like, "Well, that's a hassle," and walked away in a huff.) But was my negativity necessary? Did I really need to turn a minor inconvenience into a reason to be grumpy with someone who was simply doing her job? How could I have changed my attitude?

Reading One Thousand Gifts has challenged me to re-think everyday annoyances and frustrations. Turn them into a gift, a thing of beauty, something for which to be grateful. As James says, consider it joy. I'm thinking this isn't going to be an overnight transformation. It might be a bit more difficult than putting on rose-coloured glasses and deciding not to let my circumstances affect my attitude. This is starting to remind me of my post on patience - it sounds like a whole lot of work. But, if intentional gratitude is the path to joy-filled living, then it would be worth the work. So here's my attempt to turn some of my recent frustrations into opportunities for gratitude and joy.

1. Logan moments - My tactile/kinesthetic learner provides plenty of practice in turning frustration into joy. My initial response upon seeing rice krispies (or water, or dog food, or playdough, or toilet paper, or stuffing from the couch) scattered randomly is instant irritation. My response to situations like this is super important, though - I do not want my son growing up thinking there's something wrong with him. That his desire to experience life with all 5 senses all the time is something of which to be ashamed. So, as James instructs, I consider... My beautiful boy is a glorious reflection of a creative God. He learns through touching and moving. I give thanks for his curiosity, his mischief, his creativity. He is a good gift. (I am also grateful for the patience and humility that are being birthed in me as a result of being his mom!!)

2. Bedrooms converted to swimming pools - Again, frustration is the easy default. It's messy, potentially dangerous, and creates extra work at bedtime. But when I stop and consider... They're being creative, they're co-operating, they're taking turns and having fun together. They're getting exercise. There is much beauty in the middle of this mess. And in a little more than 6 months, my oldest starts kindergarten. Scenes like this will start to become more rare. I will miss our long days at home with no agenda, the endless adventures 3 siblings can dream up. I am grateful for this mess!

3. Kids waiting for Dad to come home at the end of a long day. A Saturday, in fact, and he's working much later than I had expected. Anger is my default reaction. But this does no good - I do not want him arriving home to a grumpy wife. I stop and consider all the gifts in this situation for which I can be grateful. He has a job, one he loves, one that challenges him and gives him opportunities to use his gifts and abilities. He is a strong, loving, good man who works hard to provide for us. And no matter how long or tiring or stressful his day was, he always greets me with a smile and a kiss and an "I love you." Always. I am grateful.

Thinking back to my day at the zoo, I had so much to be thankful for - a warm, sunny day in February to marvel at God's creativity in the animal kingdom. A good friend to spend time with. No diapers or strollers to haul around! And I was cranky because I had to wait for 20 minutes longer than I was expecting... I ignored all the goodness, and focused on the one negative. I need an optometrist for my soul.

As I've started practicing gratitude more intentionally, I've noticed that anger, frustration, and resentment evaporate in the presence of thankfulness. As I focus on those things in any given moment that are good and beautiful, I am less at the mercy of more hurtful and counter-productive reactions. It's all about my focus, training my eyes to see the beauty and the gifts. I have also found myself operating less in survival mode - as I embrace the discipline of seeing God's goodness in all of my moments, I find my days more enjoyable. I am not wishing away this time and constantly looking ahead to future stages of life as somehow holding the key to joy. The joy is here and now, because God's goodness is everywhere!

It's hard work though, and not all moments are as easy to find the good in as my examples. I am trusting God that as I practice with the little things, the mundane and everyday things, that the eyes of my soul will be wide open when much harder things come. That I will be able to find joy in the middle of true hardship. That's a goal worth working towards.

Learning from Emmanuel, and "being with"

I was 15 years old, and I desperately wanted to see Robocop. Well, I thought I wanted to see it. I'd been invited by my mom's youngest 2 siblings, who were actually more like my big brother and big sister than uncle and aunt. I think I mostly wanted to hang out with them, and I felt quite flattered that they would include me. To my utter devastation (I was 15, remember), my parents decided that I couldn't go. With the benefit of maturity and hindsight, this was the right decision. That movie would have been way too violent for me. I did not have the benefit of maturity or hindsight back then, so I threw myself a lavish pity party in my bedroom! In the middle of the melodrama, my dad knocked on the door. He had come down to say he was sorry. He hadn't changed his mind - they still thought it was best that I didn't go - but he was sorry that I was taking it so hard. I remember seeing a look in his eyes. A look that said, "I'm hurting because you're hurting." And it kinda took the wind out of my sails. I was still sad, but I wasn't really mad at my parents anymore.

This ability - to see, think and feel from another's perspective - can be difficult to practice as a parent. I often find myself so focused on what my kids should be doing that I neglect to consider why they're doing what they're doing. Picture this: a small for his age 4-year-old boy is scream-crying in a van, doing everything he can to avoid getting into his car seat. He even runs to the back of the van and starts pounding on the rear window with his little fists. His parents try a series of tactics to persuade him into his seat - he resists them all. (If only this was hypothetical!) Before I had kids, I would have raised my eyebrows at this scenario. Wondered why the parents were letting this little hooligan get away with such antics. What I wouldn't have known is that the boy in distress had just said goodbye to his aunt and uncle, and he was quite upset about it. It may have reminded him of how much he was already missing his grandparents.  Maybe he thought he should have given one more hug or blown one more kiss, and the adults hadn't paid enough attention to his needs.

In moments like this, when I'm feeling frustrated and impatient and completely out of ideas, I need to remember what it's like to feel really sad and out of control of my circumstances. I need to dig deep for a little empathy, look at the situation through my child's eyes and ask myself, "If I was him, what would it take to calm me down?" Looking back, I suspect that waiting a few minutes until he was ready to be consoled and acknowledging his sadness and frustration would have helped. Again, hindsight... Why am I always in such a rush? Why do I feel like I have to prove something by insisting on immediate compliance with my wishes? Sigh... If I want my kids to develop empathy for others, I need to model it for them. I need to acknowledge their emotional reality even if I can't give them what they want in that moment. Often, that means slowing down long enough to look in their eyes and let them know that I'm with them. That if they're hurting, I'm hurting. That I don't want to ride rough-shod over their hearts just because I'm on some schedule.

This idea of "being with" is modelled so perfectly by Jesus. I am overwhelmed when I think about God becoming one of us. He came to be with us - to feel what we feel, to see, hear, taste, smell and touch life with us. "He had equal status with God but didn't think so much of himself that he had to cling to the advantages of that status no matter what. Not at all. When the time came, he set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave, became human!" (Philippians 2:6,7 MSG) To follow His example means that I must ever strive to be with; to understand, as deeply as possible, where my kids are coming from. I must learn to put aside my pride and my parental ego and stop clinging to my preferences. It's not all about me.

They say learning isn't so much what's taught, as what's caught. Let's hope my kids catch this one.

Compassion?!

I feel like I'm losing it. Not my sanity, although some moments I think that's probably gone, too! No, I'm talking about my compassion. I've found myself easily frustrated and irritable with the kids the last little while, and I've been wondering where my compassion has gone. When I force myself to stop and think about the losses our kids have experienced, it's easy to feel compassionate; they've all experienced the loss of the woman who bore them - her warmth, her voice, her being. In addition to that, the boys endured the loss of their foster family. Although they were too young to have conscious memory of it, they lost a mom and a dad, and two awesome big brothers. Kolbie came to us after he had already securely attached to his foster family... not an insignificant transition. This is a lot of emotional upheaval for a growing brain to process - so it's really no wonder that we're dealing with a few things that seem to be related to these early losses.

So why am I losing it?? It seems I suffer from a sort of amnesia when it comes to this stuff. It's easy to remember all the reasons my kids have for feeling sad and fearful and out of control when I'm talking to other adults, or when they're all sleeping and looking like perfect little angels. But put me in a room with them when I'm over-tired, dealing with a migraine, and wishing I had an extra pair of hands to clean up the most recent mess while keeping one of them at arms' length from the other, and I'm just annoyed. Frustrated, even. Okay, I'm angry. Compassion?! Forget it. We just had this discussion last week/yesterday/five minutes ago. It is NEVER okay to whack somebody in the head with a hard toy because they didn't get out of the way fast enough. Never. At these moments it takes every ounce of self-control I have (and sometimes I don't have enough) to not turn in to a 3-year-old and vent my frustration in a decidedly child-like manner. I've written before about how hard it is to show love when they're misbehaving, and I'm discovering it's a theme I need to re-visit.

So, what does love look like when I'm dealing with my kids' misbehaviour? I believe it looks self-controlled and respectful. I'm pretty sure I should try to do what I'm asking them to do - express my feelings and make my point in a way that doesn't hurt or coerce anyone. I know I have to remember where they've come from, and that they may be reacting to my voice and body language with fear and anxiety. "Love is patient and kind... It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged." (1 Corinthians 13:4,5) Darn. I do impatient and irritable so well.

So, how am I going to remember all this the next time I feel like stomping my feet and indulging in a little temper tantrum?! Practice, practice, practice. Remember the re-do? Turns out it's not just for kids. And I'm hoping that the more I practice, the better we all get.

"Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance."
1 Corinthians 13:7