Five Years Strong.

"Fear you don’t own me

There ain’t no room in this story

And I ain’t got time for you

Telling me what I’m not

Like you know me well guess what?

I know who I am

I know I’m strong

And I am free

Got my own identity

So fear, you will never be welcome here"

It’s been a tough season. Tears streamed down my face as this song came on the other day while running countless errands in the car. I began thinking of this current season I am in and how paralyzing fear and unknowns can potentially be. 

Thinking of past seasons and what could have been if we had let fear instead of trusting God take root, I turned around and looked at our Alex. Alex, who is so very quiet, but feels so, SO deeply, watched me, with tears streaming down my face as the words to this song played around us.  My sweet boy, feeling my heart so deeply, also began crying. With silent tears streaming down his face, I pulled over the car, unbuckled my boy, and held him on the side of the road until we both nestled into one another and settled down. 

If we had let fear rule our hearts, I would have never known the depth of a love this deep. 

This boy, our son, whose referral we waited, prayed and waited some more for. This boy who was presented to us with so many unknowns; premature, birth complications, speech and fine motor delays. The paperwork, the waiting, the big business of it all. 

Our boy who arrived and overcame. Ceaseless head-banging, sleepless nights filled with night terrors and uncontrollable emotional outbursts. Delays, and scary diagnoses and evaluations that spoke of autism and cerebral palsy. Neurological evaluations, Growth Hormone tests, speech therapy and occupational therapies….What if fear and the unknowns ruled our hearts?

In the thick of the season of when Alex came home, I could never have imagined half a decade later that we all would have grown so much…he has come so SO far. WE have come so far.

A few days ago Alex and I were in the car yet again and a familiar song came on the radio….

 

"Fear you don’t own me

There ain’t no room in this story

And I ain’t got time for you

Telling me what I’m not

Like you know me well guess what?

I know who I am

I know I’m strong

And I am free

Got my own identity

So fear, you will never be welcome here"

Had you been anywhere near our car you could have heard the two of us belting out these lyrics together. Fear IS NOT and WILL NOT be part of our story. Fear is not welcome here. We may be scared about all of our unknowns but we can remain confident that what we cannot see God can- and he’s got this. 

                   

Hope

survival

NOUN

mass noun

• 1The state or fact of continuing to live or exist, typically in spite of an accident, ordeal, or difficult circumstances.

I see her from a distance- her look of despair, the tears of frustration threatening to become unleashed as she tries to hold her son’s hand. I witness the rejection and the mothers’ features as they slump further forward…her mind going to dark places. 

I see her sleeping in the twin bed in her youngest son’s room because the thought of sleeping next to a stranger who was abusive to her all day was just too much to bear. 

I see her eyes fill with tears at the morning light because she just. Does. Not. Want. To. Get. Out. Of. Bed. To face another day of being screamed at with words she does not understand. The unknowing being the worst. Would it be a good day, or would today be all fight or flight? I see her mind saying the best place to stay is in bed. 

I see her in public places- fake smile barely plastered on as people cheerily ask how it’s going, as they are mid stride walking away, not ready for the response that she can barely make it through the day. 

Lean in! Talk to someone- you can make it!!! You are stronger then this! I want to shout these to her- make her hear that this was not her burden to shoulder alone. 

I could see her desire but felt her shame. 

Shame of feeling the absence of maternal love. 

Shame of seeing a stranger not a son.

Shame at her bitterness, shame at her resentment. 

Shame at her emotional response to a six year old’s rejection. 

Shame of her deep, deep hidden hurts from a far-away past life bubbling and simmering close beneath the surface. 

Shame at saying any of this out loud. 

I see him from a distance, his looks of anger, defiance, fear, and sadness. So many unknowns. So much loss. 

I see him laughing and smiling, desperate to fit into this strange new culture. I see his exhaustion, his lack of understanding,

I see the wringing of his hands, the picking of his nails- wearing his anxiety as a heavy cloak around his scarred body.

I see him clinging to his Baba like a lifeline. This big, strong man before him displaying the character of a Jesus he does not know. I see him looking at this woman who calls herself mama. His insecurity- His uncertainty and silent knowing that she would certainly leave him as many of the women in his life have left him before. 

I see him rejecting her, this woman he calls mama, before HE is the one rejected; his broken heart only being able to take so much.

You are safe! You are secure! Lean in! I wanted to shout this to him, but know these are futile words to a boy who has never had a home or a forever family to call his own. 

I could see his desire and shame like an open wound.

Shame of not feeling as if he is enough.

Shame of his physical aggression and loss of control.

Shame of his inability to love the way he wants to be loved.

Shame of his deep, deep hurts from a not so far away past that is bubbling and simmering close beneath the surface. 

Let me tell you this. The past two and a half months have felt like an out of body experience. I have been floating above myself…watching this dynamic between my son and I. My head knew that this was all going to happen. That adjustment blows. That the language and culture barrier was going to be horrific. That his trauma was going to spew everywhere and leave no prisoners. Knowing and living it out are two different stories.  

This past week I’ve left the house with all the children. I’ve gone to a friend’s house. I’m not retreating, I’m leaning in. I’ve unpacked my suitcase from China. I know. Gross. 

Today? Today he leaned in. He held my face in his hands and my breath caught in my throat. You know what I saw? Hope. 

The Wyatt turns 12

I get super emotional on December 2nd. EVERY December 2nd. 

My boy is getting so very big. Bigger kids= Big momma feels. And let me tell you, it's a weird mix of momma feels. Time, as everyone says, is indeed flying by. I'm not lamenting time lost or shoulda woulda, coulda's.... I'm simply enjoying this fine young man before me.

My eldest is so patient with me as I navigate through these uncharted waters. Everything we go through with this boy is a first. As soon as we think we have this parenting thing figured out, we end of circling back.... Through it all? Wyatt teaches me to be my best self. He accepts my apologies, my requests for forgiveness, and we both try just a little bit harder....(most days!)

I've learned to cherish our early mornings together..replete with snuggles while sharing a cup of coffee and tea through bleary eyes.  

I love his frustration over my lack of fortnight dancing skills..but that he challenges me to epic Just Dance competitions anyway. 

I adore that he'll curl up on the couch and indulge me while we watch yet ANOTHER Hallmark movie. 

His passion and his ability to talk you into tomorrow on any topic whether he knows about it or not brings me to tears of pride and hysteria. 

I love his innate ability to read my emotions; checking in with me, seeing if I'm OK, giving me a hug without being asked, holding my hand in the car during stressful Alex moments, ALL because he notices that his mama has a weary heart. 

I cherish his tender, servant heart and his willingness and excitement to work with the little kids at church. 

His big brother skills? The Wyatt has a unique ability to love his brother in a way that will bring tears to your eyes every. single. time. 

Simply put- Wyatt is one of my most precious gifts and I'm so glad I get to celebrate him today.  

Big Feels

It is adoption awareness month. I feel like I’ve written down my journey and talked about it so many times- but I’m pretty sure the majority of those are the blog posts in my head. If not, perhaps it bears repeating….at least for my mental health. 

Recently I was reminded by a friend that the more we talk about our struggles and are open, others are sometimes better for it. This may or may not be true for some, but at the end of the day I always prefer transparency and honesty to a facade of togetherness. From experience, that wall can only stand on its own for so long before it crumbles to the ground crushing you beneath it. 

If you’ve seen my son- you know that what I’m about to say is true. He is FREAKING ADORABLE. His smile is just…well, it’s just magic. If he shines that grin upon you, you will feel as if he’s given you a special gift. 

I treasure that smile, because some days? Some days are really hard. I say this not to betray my son- but as a way to embrace mama and babas that are struggling to keep it together...Cause I know from experience that when my kid has big emotions,  mine generally follow as well. . I’m still figuring out how to deal. How to help my little guy deal. 

Talk a mental walk with me for a moment. A little glimpse into our day-

I’m up, caffeinated, in my favorite chair, reading my devotions, catching up on facebook, (having already sent Wyatt off to school) when my sweet Alex comes running, “sneaking” around the corner, grinning ear  to ear, bouncing into my lap for 5 seconds while I nuzzle his neck, kiss his face and smell his hair. I savor this moment- because I’m not sure what the rest of the day will hold. But for this 5 seconds we settle into one another; intuitively knowing that this hug is desperately needed to start the day right- if even just for this 5 seconds. Because 5 seconds later, like many 5 year olds I know, this mood can change in an instant. It could be due to offering him the wrong beverage, shirt, or his not wanting to wear socks on this particular day. Really, who’s to know? In this respect he is like every other 5 year old in the world. I know you mommas of 5 year olds feel me on this. 

What sets him apart from many other 5 year olds is his history. The deep, deep layer of trauma that lays bubbling beneath the surface. 

Let’s face it- adoption in itself can be traumatic. Put yourself in that precious child’s shoes for a moment. The separation from the mama's voice heard while in utero…being brought to a place filled with strange voices in a strange place with other children. The lack of necessary stimulation and attention leading to the development of self soothing behaviors,  survival skills and necessary coping skills - just to get through the day. A new family arrives, taking him from the only environment he’s ever known, to learn new things, taste new foods, learn a new language. Exciting things, scary things……his brain is ignited and the stress response ensues. 

Today I turned off the warm shower Alex was under after swimming lessons without warning. 

That action I would pay for for the rest of the day. To do something without warning, was paramount to tragedy in his brain. Often times the fight response is ignited and I have to choose my next words and actions carefully. He is hurting. His developing brain has not learned the appropriate responses because all he was worrying about for the first year and a half of his life was to survive. Sometimes I choose poorly. The good news is...I ALWAYS get a redo. 

I never want to purposely diminish what he views as important compared to what I view as important. There is a significant disparity between what I view as a stressor and what he does. That shower was warm, it was soothing, comforting- and then without any warning it was ripped away. I had not given appropriate warning, I had not verbally given him a chance to prepare that this wonderful relaxing moment was going to end. The fact that we were running late to school and needed to eat lunch, and pick up the backpack I had forgotten at home was of absolutely no consequence to him. I turned off his shower- and he reacted. It is moments like this ALL through the day. Many times in hind site and reflection I can see why he reacted the way he did. In the moment? SO much more difficult. 

I lean into what I know. This. He feels safe with me. He knows I will love him regardless of his behavior. His behavior is NOT who he is. It is a symptom of his trauma that piece by piece we will work through at developmentally appropriate ages. 

Why take the risk on adoption..on a child, whom, in many cases you have no idea a thing about their history, or family background? Why you ask? Because adoption is life transforming. I have a strong faith, and for me, that translates beautifully into the picture of adoption. I have been adopted into the family of Christ. My Heavenly Father has unfathomable love for me. He is my protector, his is my rock, my stronghold. The fact that I can bestow love onto a child that is fatherless is a GIFT. 

The question been brought forth before- What if he turns his back on you one day? Says you aren’t my real mother? Well, I certainly didn’t get into this journey to be loved. It is a hard, yet rewarding road. I’m not in it for the promise of adoration or accolades. Will and I are to love our children well, to spill out the love that we have from our FATHER onto our children. There is never the promise that this will be returned..nor should we ever give with the expectation of getting back. That is not the purpose or intent of this journey. Alex is not lucky we adopted him. We are not heroes for adopting him. We are not good or special for loving our son into our family. The last thing I’d ever want is for someone to say I admire you. Please don’t. 

What I have learned on this adoption journey is for goodness sake, Aly, this is not about you. It has taken me a long time to get to the place (and still!) try not to view his behaviors as a personal attack. He is growing- learning to trust, processing his past, his present…what exactly that all means. When his brain is filled at that moment with all the feelings and all the thoughts, the propensity for him to explode is high. 

What does this mean of me. As a frazzled, emotionally and physically worn down mother...what does this mean? 

It means I need to seek help. Help is not synonymous with being weak. Going to a therapist to obtain more coping skills to help me help my son is planning, not giving up. Joining a support group of parents who get it, all the trials, pain and deep hurts is not weak. Being honest is NOT weak. 

Alex has taught me to love more deeply. He has taught me to be more empathetic. He has taught me patience. He has taught me to rely on my Jesus and not on self help books. He has taught me to slow down. He has taught me better time management. He has taught me to embrace, love and appreciate my family of origin- to appreciate the ability to KNOW them. He has taught me that help is not weakness. He has taught me to be transparent and to open myself up to having deep friendships. I feel that the Lord has used this child to transform our lives. He is so so precious. My heart could nearly burst at what I wouldn’t do for him- and it makes it so much sweeter that my Father feels the same for me. 

So yes . Adoption is not for the weak of heart-BUT... it will break you down and mold you into the best person you could possibly be. Trust me. 

Bringing home Jia Ming...aka Bowman...

I hadn’t slept in like 3 years. It was the end of October at the end of a week where I thought Alex and I may not make it.  I was at my wit’s end. I felt my emotions spilling over. I was thoroughly and utterly depleted. 

The Skype call came in at 2 am.  It was my girlfriend who lives in China. I had met her the previous summer and bonded with her over her adoption stories with her girls. 

I looked down at my phone, wondering if I should pick up…….but she was calling from China. 

I took the call.

I heard the story of Jia-Ming. 

Five years old…aging out of the baby home. She was fighting, advocating relentlessly to find him a family before it was too late. Older children with significant medical conditions are hard to find homes for. Jia-Ming has half a functioning heart…incomplete   paperwork….lots of unknowns. Efforts to find him a family would grow increasingly difficult once he left his current placement.

Here he is right now visiting with us for awhile….he popped onto the screen. 

“Oh friend,” I replied…”I just don’t think so. Surely I know people within my adoption community who may be open to all these unknowns”….Think about it  was the statement posed to me. 

I started the excuse making. My insecurities and shame issues started to creep up. No way. Two kids is my cap. I can’t. I won’t. I shouldn’t. 

Friends…God had other plans. 

My girlfriend had sent me a number of pictures….and videos. It was the wee hours of the morning before I fell asleep..brain spinning, stomach churning, heart fluttering. 

Just mere hours later I nudged a barely waking Will. I told him our friend had called. I showed him the pictures….told him the health concerns..waiting for the definitive absolutely not!!

It never came. 

After speaking more at length, praying, more praying..talking to the boys, we began to pursue Jia-Ming’s file. As I worked the next couple weeks tracking down his information, contacting agencies, sending inquiries to physicians, and starting the process to once again begin the grueling paper trail that I never saw myself doing again, I could not help but simultaneously sigh and chuckle. 

In the midst of breaking down, plaguing myself with negative self talk…the Lord had already been softening my heart. In the midst of my emphatic No’s , he was opening doors that I didn’t see possible. 

If you’ve read my adoption posts before when we were on our journey to Alex, or if you haven’t, but have been on the adoption or foster care journey yourself…you know the path is rocky. There is a delicate balance of the scales….always holding your breath. Emotions are running high. Paper work is filled out. Clearances are run. Checks are sent. Birth certificates are ordered…. Again. More checks are sent out. Trainings are watched. Books are taken out of the library. Children are being prepared. The house is getting cleaned out. Updates are given. Pictures are sent. Pictures are received. Promises are made. Prayers. Prayers and more prayers. Dr.’s are emailed. Cardiac support groups are sought out. Money is raised. Grants are applied for. Little by little my heart is opening. Opening to the hope of a child that is not yet ours. Everything is fragile….anything could happen and in a moment’s notice this little boy…OUR little boy could be ripped away. 

Prayers. Prayers. More prayers. 

Recently I have found so much comfort in this verse. 

“Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be JOYFUL in God my Savior.”

Habakkuk 3:17-18

This season of my life has been about finding JOY in the dry spells. Being joyful in my savior when times are hard because he is there, carrying us through.

Yes. There are unknowns. Yes, the WHOLE process may fall through and It’s hard putting your heart out there if you’re not for sure it can be definitively returned. But the reality is, a piece of our heart is sent out in each document that is signed, notarized and mailed. That is the beauty of hope. That is the beauty and richness in knowing that my faith is filling in the gaps. Our sweet boy is going through this right now as well. A promise…..a promise of family..pictures of brothers, a home…a mother and father who will love him. what must his five year old self be thinking? I pray that he too shares hope and faith that we are fighting for him….preparing a home for him, just as our father is doing for us. 

So many have supported us on this unexpected journey thus far. Many have asked how they can support us. 

Will and I are applying for grants to help ease the burden of the adoption fees in hopes that we can maintain our savings for Jia-Ming’s unknown health and heart condition. Our recent yard sale provided us with a great start up fund for a medical checking account for when he comes home. 

Other friends have generously offered to host parties in which a portion of the proceeds will go towards the adoption. 

At this time we’re not comfortable setting up a go-fund me page. Those who have wanted to make a donation of some sort have contacted me and donations have gone into Jia-Ming’s medical savings account. 

We are overwhelmed by the love of our friends and family throughout this process. We have such an amazing village to raise our boys to be fine men- it makes my heart sing. 

Please connect with me if you have question about our adoption..or anything about the process. I try to be as transparent as possible and would love to chat. 

From one of my adoption sites: He who calls you to this work will be faithful to equip you for the work he has called you to.

“For the God who calls you is faithful, and He can be trusted to make it so.” — 1 Thessalonians 5:24

The Wyatt

I am not a morning person…and yet, this Saturday morning I woke up at 6 AM, went into The Wyatt’s room, scooted him over in bed and held him for a while. Wyatt has always been a cuddler. Me? Not so much. 

Wyatt sunk into his bed a little lower and nestled into me. I closed my eyes and held him a little tighter. I breathed in deeply, smelling his Old Spice Swagger Shampoo…so very different from that little baby head smell of the past.

I have the privilege of having a unique relationship with each of my sons. This guy? I felt The first flutters of life in my womb with this child. Being my first, he is the first to experience ALL my inadequacies and mistakes at parenting. Some days I know he knows the jig is up….I have no idea what I’m doing. 

How lucky am I that he has the ability to love me anyway. The Lord made this child to be a caring, sensitive, funny, and forgiving child. Most days when he sees me struggling, he jumps in, and hugs me…the cuddler that he is. 

Will and I look at him sometimes and laugh because if ever there was to be a combo of two of the most differing personalities you could find, Wyatt would be it. So much of Will and so much of myself combined into a fine young man.  

Holding my Wyatt now does not make me long for days of the past, but yet, excites me for his future adventures and all that is to come. 

He is an exceptional young man and I am forever thankful that the Lord entrusted him into our care.

Happy Birthday my Wyatt. 

Hurdles and Faceplants

Logically, you may know the steps to clear the hurdle

EVERY family has its issues.
Myself? I'm a sharer. I try to be transparent in the realness, because Motherhood can be so damn isolating sometimes. The pressure? It's overwhelming. We are not in this journey by ourselves, so if I need to open my junk drawers or take pictures of the dishes in my sink and share, I'm happy to do it. We can not do all and be all.
Parenting in itself is such an incredible journey...each so unique. Adoption happens to be a part of ours. While our son's social history is not for public consumption, I feel that the hurdles I jump..whether I clear them or face plant, if it can help another momma in ANY way, well- I'll spill.

But this is reality

Adoption is a wild ride.
There are so many unknowns; palpable grief, unanswered questions. There are therapists, counselors, paperwork and phone calls. There are undesirable behaviors, more grief, and more unanswered questions. Medical unknowns are scary. The questions he will ask us one day are unfathomable.
I struggle. A lot.
One of my biggest pet peeves that I totally self -impose upon myself is this. Just because we adopted doesn't mean I can't vent about motherhood. This is a child, that is mine, just like my biological child. Sometimes I feel that there is an undercurrent of tsk tsk'ng as if I brought this upon myself  so I shouldn't talk about the daily challenges. That I signed up for this. That I knew there was going to be struggles.. that EVERYONE knew there was going to be struggles , so why am I dishing about it. Whether imposed or perceived..that's crap. This is why I cherish my support group and why I love support groups in general. You're not alone. The struggle is real.
I remember after I had Wyatt I was a mess. I didn't know what to do. I was new at this mom thing. He wasn't breastfeeding..was that normal? How much milk was I supposed to produce? Not being able to produce milk..was I doing something wrong? Was he going to be more prone to illness because I couldn't breastfeed? He was kind of yellow..that wasn't normal..but what do I do? Do I lay him on his back? On his stomach? Should he sleep in our room? In our bed? Is he breathing? His sleep pattern is all messed up. How long of a nap is too long. Dear God what have I done?? I experienced the mom guilt. I was working. I was going to school at night. Was this a good decision? Bad decision? Was I missing out on critical moments? Should I just quit school and my job and stay at home? Would anyone be happy if I actually did that?? The tears came and they wouldn't stop.
Nearly 7 years later, I found myself in a strikingly similar situation, yet SO different.
I remember arriving to the orphanage as a family of 3 and leaving the orphanage with Alex, stepping into the cab to head back to the station as a family of 4. Will and I kept turning around and laughing nervously. It was a surreal scenario. All the waiting leads to this moment. I think we kept turning around to see if anyone was running after our cab to stop us. That there had been a terrible mistake.
We went back to the hotel that night with our son...who was this little man? What were his preferences? Dislikes? Did he understand us? Should I call him by his Chinese name or his new English name? Would he learn to love us? I had missed all his firsts..I could only rely on a translated document of what he may or may not like. The pressure for attachment and bonding felt overwhelming. Then there were the night terrors- those screams that could pierce through your soul and make you weep the moment they started. That someone so little could emit sounds of such anguish is indescribable. There was the endless head banging, as he could not express himself adequately enough, and would turn to what he knew to communicate a need. I felt helpless. I felt ill-equipped and so, so tired. The tears came and they wouldn't stop.

There are no hard and fast answers. All these feelings of self-doubt, fears, helplessness..well that IS motherhood. You do the best you can with the God given gifts you have. Grace and Truth have been the two ever present themes this past year and in my daily walk. I thank the Lord for this crazy journey I am on and all that he has planned. He is so much bigger then I know, so on the days where I feel like I just can't, I can rest a little easier knowing he can.