A Quiet Week – A Quiet Heart
My Learning Curve: As Soon As rather than Not Until
Refreshed
A New Song
Honeybee’s First Email
Tell it Well, Part 5: Bitter
Grandparents
Sunday Visit: Mark Schultz and His Adoption Story
Doing my Best to Tell it Well
I think a lot about words. Words have power, both written and spoken, so we have to be wise when we open our mouths or put our hands on the keyboard. Earlier I wrote a post about using the word “and” rather than “but” when speaking to my children. It is a good tool for me.
Here is another one.
Have you ever had somebody in your life who was difficult to like? I’m not talking about love – love and commitment come naturally to me, especially when it involves a child. I’m going to go out on a big limb and confess that I have a child I love and am fiercely committed to, but sometimes genuine liking has been tough. I know, some of you may gasp and think I’m a terrible mother, or perhaps you’ll understand but find it hard to believe that I am admitting it.
Christmas morning
“Use the word ‘and’ not ‘but’?”
I had to pause and think about that.
I took this photo of Dimples as she was getting ready to head out the door yesterday morning. She was decked out in the new scarf and hat from Eby and Little Man, and her new snow boots that came last week. She looked very cute, especially with the sweet smile on her face.
If you look closely, you might notice something else.
Thanksgiving break was tough for Dimples, and Christmas break is twice as long. I spent a few weeks worrying about the break before it arrived. Then I decided to get practical and make a plan. Dimples loves school. She loves being with friends, doing structured activities, having lots of movement and action. She does not like having to figure out what to do with her time and is happiest when it is decided for her.
There she was, with her beautiful long hair, lying all alone in the uncomfortable, hospital bed. She was dying of HIV/AIDS and unable to speak to me, I felt so much sorrow as I watched her lose weight because she could not eat. In 2003, in Mekelle, Ethiopia, I was a six year old, second grader when this all happened. Himonnet is my mother’s name and she was the best mom. Not because I say so, but because others also said so. My mom used to laugh all the time and was good at comforting others. This was the most difficult year that I ever had, that no one also could imagine.
Last Friday night was the University Christmas concert and Aunt Michele invited the girls to go. In general, they are excited to go nearly anywhere and do just about anything, and they love Aunt Michele. They also love to stay up past their bedtime, so I thought they would be thrilled.
Dimples first response was, “Will there be food there?”
I wrote this post months ago, and it sat in my “Drafts” folder as I contemplated whether I should post it. I read it again last week and the timing was perfect because I was discouraged at the moment, and weary, and feeling like life was just harder than I could manage. My own words smacked me right in the face. I must have been very fired up when I wrote this – that’s all I can say. If you think you are ready, read on.
When we adopt children from “hard places,” we are willingly devoting our lives to a challenge. We must prepare ourselves for battle, not with our child, but for our child. We may find ourselves fighting for her physical health, emotional health, and mental health. Without a doubt we will be fighting a spiritual battle like none other.
It is Thanksgiving week and while I am sorely tempted to spend lots of time writing, I know what I most need to give my family is my presence. This doesn’t mean sitting with my laptop while they play games, it means me being fully present. At the moment, my children are all still sleeping, so here is my quick thought of the day.
Holidays are loaded with triggers for kids from “hard places,” and this week marks the beginning of a long stretch of holiday celebrations. I know I struggle when forced to face disappointments, so it is no wonder that it is very hard for Dimples. Her therapist helped her make a “Disappointment Card” to keep close (in her pocket, perhaps?) and use when the moment calls for it.
