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.