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.