When abiding is really just hiding with a fancy name stuck to it.

There are many things I was sure I would never do as I set out to raise children. Things like scream at them in public or let them watch hours of mindless television. That was back when parenting was mostly theory and very little reality.

You're with me, right Mama?

Then there are things I was really sure I'd never do. Like give my child an antipsychotic drug because I was afraid he was about to hurt himself.

Ahem.

Raising a special boy is a process. Not only a process in surviving the here and now, but a process of recognizing that I'm not a supreme authority in parenting. Recognizing that yes, I can keep my family safe through my child's violent episode, but really it's just better to have him properly medicated so that the episodes can be few and far between.

Recognizing that I can do all things with Christ who strengthens me, but really it is better to admit there are people trained to educate my child with severe learning issues so I can focus on educating the rest of my children.

Sometimes I think it's easy to hide behind my faith and pretend that if I just stick it out long enough things will get better. For too long I've been clinging to inspirational phrases like Rise up on wings like eagles, be strong and couragous, and He will never leave or forsake and so forth. When in reality God has been using my hard circumstances to tell me that my son's issues are not my problem to fix. That walking humbly and asking for help is not the same thing as admitting defeat.

Raising a special boy has taught me that I am not a bad mom for putting the well being of my family ahead of my pride, and anyone who says differently is a lier. And you know how I feel about being lied to.

My lies

Satan is a liar. We all get that, right? It's not news to most people who are reading this. I'm sure. The fact that Satan still lies to people who love Jesus is hopefully not new to any of you either. We talked a recently talked a bit about the lies I've heard in regards to my son, but those aren't the only ones I've heard lately.

So since I made a pact with myself not to keep secrets with you, and we're already on the theme of lying anyway I thought I'd share another little lie that keeps resurfacing in my heart. Maybe you've heard something similar whispered in your ear and haven't been able to fully process the truth behind it. Lets talk about this together, shall we? 

My next lie that I'm ashamed to admit that I've considered for even a second is that because I'm not some really famous or well respected spiritual leader (the kind with my own radio program, or 14 published devotionals under my belt) that the cries of my heart are less meaningful to God, and are somehow less powerful than they could be if I was "famous".  Therefor my quiet offerings are of a much lower quality than they could be if more people heard the truths that Jesus has shared with me. 

Some days I feel like these quiet offerings somehow make me the Walmart version of a Christian. Poorly constructed, cheap materials, low quality second rate goods. And surely my simple praise offering reflects my second rate status. And there are dark moments when these lies are full force in my face and all I can cry out is that I don't want to bring God something I bought at Walmart, because I'd really rather bring a swanky gift from Dillard's, or Williams Sonoma. Like my simple Jesus loving Mama faith isn't good enough for God. And if a few more people could hear what I had to say, then maybe I'd feel better about my faith. Does that even make sense? It does in my head, and Satan pounds me in the face with it all the time. 

And I hate to admit it, but there have been many many times I wasted a little too much of my prayer time whining. I whine because I don't feel very influential. I whine because my "ministry" only extends to a handful of people. Most times I find myself whining too loudly to hear the truth. But then there are times I remember to shut up for just a few moments the allow the truth to wash over me like a warm bath. My simple-not super influential faith-is exactly what God wants from me. It's far more beautiful to God than anything Dillards has to offer.  Just because it doesn't feel like God isn't using my faith to shake up the world, doesn't mean He isn't. 

What I bring is good enough for Jesus, and what you bring is also.  So there. 

Book Review: Challenge on the HIll of Fire

Today we're talking about the latest installment in Adventures in Odyssey's Imagination Station series. Which just happens to be one of my favorite kids series that my kids and I have read together. And not because they sent them to us for free. Ahem. Today's we have book 10 titled "Challenge on the Hill of Fire".

In book 10 Patrick and Beth travel to 5th century Ireland to get to the root of the Irish folklore. Instead of finding a pot of gold and the cute leprechauns they expected, they encounter dangerous druids as they seek  the safety of the community of Believers who follow the bishop. Patrick and Beth have to wonder who exactly this bishop is, and why isn't he afraid to die for his religious beliefs?

Mom comments: Another consistent performance from the writers of this series. I have loved every book I've read in this series, and this one was just as much of a joy to read as every other I've read in the series. Good stuff. Buy the whole series.

Annie says: The book was fun, I liked the part where they were making a leprechaun trap, and the poison part was interesting too!

Louisa says:I liked it. I especially liked Finn the squirrel, he was very funny!

On moving a mountain...

When I took on raising a wounded child, I had a pretty good idea of what I was getting myself into. 2 hour meltdowns don't scare me, the taunting and threatening words that come with Oppositional Defiant Disorder don't particularly worry me. And now that we have an antipsychotic to give him, I don't have to be afraid of his somewhat dangerous self soothing tendencies either. I'm not too proud to man handle my son to get him to cooperate, I can even do it with a smile on my face, because I learned a long time ago not to take my son's behavior personally. I can do all these things because I put my hope in the fact that God called my son by name, and therefor He has a reason for creating him just as he is.

But the other day, after a particularly frustrating 2 hour long episode, my son whispered words to me that were filled with such pain and hopelessness that my already weakened defense system shut down and I was a complete mess who couldn't take care of her family.

And I put this crazy desperate plea on Facebook for someone to pray cause I'm about two seconds away from walking my son down to Child Protective Services and handing him over with a smile and dismissing wave, because I was just done.

Done wrestling him into submission, done trying to prove that my love is bigger than his pain, and generally just done trying to move this mountain that is clearly not going anywhere. After 14 months of consistant, prayerful parenting my son still does not recognize me as an authority figure, and there is not a darned thing I can do to change that.

And the lies that Satan whispers to my son are slamming me in the face as well. He will never change, there is no hope for this one, just give up on him like everyone else did, every one of your Jesus loving friends would have done so ages ago. In short, this problem is a mountain that you are incapable of moving, because your problem is bigger than God's ability to fix it.

I'm not going to admit how many hours I allowed my spirit to wallow in those lies. I knew they were lies at the time, but knowing something is different than believing it. In order to believe it I needed a little perspective, and a whole lot of truth.

From the outside I have to admit that I'm a little ashamed that my heart ever considered those lies for a moment. From this side of the emotional breakdown I can recognize those lies for what they are and feel justified anger towards them.

I can even go a little bit Mama-bear crazy all up in their face, cause no one lies to Mama, and ain't nobody gonna tell me Jesus can't do anything He wants, including "fixing" my broken baby. And if I use my best imagination I can sort of imagine Jesus going a little Mama-bear over me and my boy, cause I know He totally did.

Why weren't you here?

Dear max

The other day I was looking through old photos to put in a scrapbook when I ran across this one from a few summers back. This was taken the week that Grandma and Papa came with your dad's aunt and uncle. They stopped by to see us on their RV trip to the east coast. The photos from this day are part of a long line of simple every day type memories of family and friends before you joined our family. Normally I have no emotional issues connected to remembering back to our life before you joined us, it's kind of fun to show you what we did and what we were like before you were ours. But this time was different. When I see this picture of your brother and sisters happily smiling for the camera with people they love the grief washes over me like the pounding ocean waves. 

 

Not all of my kids are in this one. One of my babies was far away, beyond the reach of my loving arms. I can't help but ask, Why didn't God let you be with us on this fun day? Why were you alone and sad in the orphanage instead of holding Grandma's hand like you should be? Why didn't you join our family in time to get to know your Papa before he died? You would have loved him.

 

I get that God's plan for you was (and still is) perfect. Everything in me clings to the understanding that you needed to bake a little longer in Russia in order for you to become who God needed you to be. But even with that understanding I can't help the flood of raw emotion I experience when I think about you missing out on sharing sweet moments from my past. 

 

I need you to know that the pain from your story doesn't stop with you. You aren't the only one who cried in the night because the ones you loved weren't there for you. It honestly breaks my heart that I missed 7 years if your life. Your sweet baby sounds, your funny toddler walk, the curious preschool years. I mourn for all of those stages that you went through that I wasn't a part of.  It also breaks my heart that I have 7 years worth of photos that you should be in, but aren't. The photos we have with friends and family members who have passed away before you joined us. The vacations we took to far away places without you. The happy everyday photos of us hanging out at home enjoying life together. 

I so want to grab a magic eraser and scrub out all the painful memories from your past and replace them with the ones in our old scrapbooks. But I know if I do that then I"ll be cheapening the perfect plan God has for you. The beautiful story that is uniquely yours. So cling to your story and cling to your memories. I'm sorry that your memories are different than mine, but I'm so very glad that we can move forward together making a world of new memories together as we go. 

I love you forever, 

Mama

Why didn't he come for me?

Little Max has had little to say about his life before he joined our family. When we adopted a seven year old, I expected to have an inside story as to what life in a Russian orphanage was really like, but so far he hasn't been able to tell me much about his former life at all. Which is a little sad, but mostly just because I'm a nosy nellie.

So the other day when he asked if he could tell me about Russia I was all ears. He took me back to the last time he saw his father. He was five and a half, and his dad was still his hero. Despite the obvious signs of neglect and abuse his biological care givers doled out on him, he can only tell me good things about his dad. Although I'm suspicious of his memories, I can only be grateful that he does have a few happy memories of his father to cling to.

So on this last visit with his father there was all sorts of treats brought into the orphanage by his papa, and paper airplanes made by both. I can only imagine the joy that could have fill that orpahange room as father and son attempted to reconnect, and turn the page towards a brighter future together. At the end of the visit, his father must have whispered to him, "I'll come back and take you home soon".

We all know the crushing weight such words must have left when they obviously weren't fulfilled. But to hear my baby ask me why his dad didn't come back for him broke my heart.

I can't tell him that his father was a jerk and didn't take care of him. I can't remind him of the neglect and abuse that he obviously has burried deep inside his soul. I can only tell him the truth that I know for sure. His dad did want him, and fought to get him back. The fact that his dad was drunk at each court hearing he attended is irrelevent.

And I can tell him that God wanted him to be in my family so we could teach him to love Jesus, and because Alex needed a little brother to play with, and because God needed to use him to teach me how to be a better person.

Celebrating you part 2

So yesterday we took a moment to celebrate sweet Annie, today it's Louisa's turn.


I love that both she and her sister wanted to turn their unused topbunk into a reading nook, which I can now not get them to come out of. Yes, I'm unabashedly jealous.

 I love that the reason their topbunk is unused is because they still want to share the twin bed underneith.

 I love that she thinks a courduroy dress and flannel pajama pants makes the perfect outfit to wear out on the town. No, I don't try to correct her either.

 I never imagined raising twins could be such a phenomenal experience. I never thought that they would compliment each other so well, and bring the perfect balance to the insane task of raising boys. I don't know what I would do without them, they're my heroes, my lifeline to sanity and my breath of fresh air.


They're my girls, and you can't have them. 

Celebrating you, part 1

This week my twin daughters turned nine. Well one turned nine, and the other decided she'd rather stay eight. So there you go. Don't think about that one too hard.

So to celebrate, I thought it only fitting to share a little about each girl and celebrate who they are becoming. 

Since Annie is three minutes older than her sister, and she won the arm wrestling contest, she gets to go first. 

Annie is the quiet hero of this house. She makes my life possible on so many levels. She cooks, cleans, and loves to dust. No, she is not for sale. Or rent. There was a day a few weeks back where she made me breakfast, lunch and dinner. Best kid ever. I know.  

I love that one minute she's making waffles from scratch like a proper domestic diva, and the next minute in the middle of a rough and tumble brawl with her brothers.  

I love that she has a perfect spot on British accent. I have no idea where it came from, or how she managed to nail it so perfectly. 

Mostly what I love, love, love about her is that she would take a bullet for her sister any day of the week. She is fiercely loyal to her twin and will do whatever it takes to keep her sister healthy and happy.

The justified battle

Like most people, I feel like I spend my days trying to convince my children to do what I want them to do. This is especially true of Max, who has been known to climb into our car in his underwear because he refuses to get dressed.

Most days I feel like I'm picking justified battle after justified battle. So to say I spend most of my day fighting with Max would be a bit of an understatement.

I recently realized the folly in my thinking. When I'm fighting with my son over his schoolwork or chores or whatever, I'm not really fighting with him. I'm fighting for him.

I've engaged in a timeless battle that most parents choose to fight for their children. It's not about whether they're wearing appropriate clothing, or practicing healthy habits. It's about whether they are willing to recognize authority and obey without drama.

So later on this afternoon, when Max insists that it is ok to poke his brother until he explodes in an angry fit, I'm not going to argue with him. I'm going to argue with the angry beast (the one who tries to convince my son to pick on people) over whether he can control my son or not.

Today I'm choosing not to fight with my son, instead I'll be fighting for him. What a justified battle that will be.

Identity crisis

Today my very like minded friend Abby agreed to share a few words about life as she sees it. Love her. Love her words. Enjoy!

I, like most of the readers here, have been following the story of Max and his adoption pretty closely. I had the opportunity of meeting the little guy when he first visited the United States with journey's of joy. I started praying then for the Lord to make him a Peterson and the Lord spoke back very plainly into my heart: He already is.

Those words sprang to mind as I was stalking Elissa's facebook page while she was in Russia waiting on the Judge to deliver Max to her, and most recently when I saw this as her Facebook update: "Max bragging to his sister: Mom thinks I'm special!" It seems like maybe Max is beginning to believe the words spoken to a stranger brushing her teeth in her parents house. "That boy is already a Peterson." Of course his mother thinks he is special. He is hers.He always has been.

I don't think that Max is the only one who is having a hard time believing that he is loved, that he is special. I think we all do. I know I do. What is it about us, that makes it so hard to believe what is true about us? What has always  been true about us. Why do we not see what we really are?

It is a funny thing, truth. It can be there, plain as day, waiting for us, but it will not change us until we believe it. My two-year-old is able to get up and down from the booster seat at the table. She does it about fifty percent of the time. The other fifty percent of the time she asks me for my help. When I remind her that she can in fact do that by herself like a big girl, she tells me she can’t, and in that moment she is right. She can’t because she won’t believe that she can.

I have two kids in diapers, a full time job that I love as a high school English teacher and a husband in PhD school. My plate is full in this season of my life, and yet now is when I felt the Lord call on my heart to write. Now is when he is telling me I am a writer, to finish that book I started a long time ago and figure out how to write a book proposal.

I have as many excuses as to how this isn’t true as I do papers to grade and diapers to change. I don’t have enough followers on the blog. I don’t have the time to write. I don’t write as boldly as one or as eloquently as another. There is someone else to tell this story, someone more qualified. Surely Lord, what you are saying isn’t true. But deep in my heart these things He is telling me about who I am and what I am called to pull on something I didn’t even know was there. Something dormant comes alive. Our hearts know the sound of truth, even when it takes a while to believe.

Today, I want to remind you of the truth: You are special. You are the Lords. You are uniquely qualified to raise the children He has given you, work the job you are in, live the life you are living right now. God knows what dreams He has called you to,  how He has created you to be. The truth is waiting for you to believe what your heart already knows.

Tell me, what truths are you having a hard time believing about yourself? What does God’s word say that you don’t always believe? I can’t be the only one who occasionally looks in the mirror and thinks beautifully and wonderfully made is stretching it!

Abby lives and loves in the city of Atlanta. She has two hilarious children and a husband that doubles as her copy editor and biggest fan. If two in diapers and a full time job teaching English at a local high school don’t keep her busy, you can find her blogging at accidental devotional

My interrupted

Three years ago my life was perfect. Our house and income levels were sufficient, and I had three beautiful, sweet children who were the pride of my life.

And it was awesome. My life was exactly as I had always imagined it would turn out to be. But as we all know, what we think will be awesome is never really as awesome as we assume it will be. 

It's true that maintaining a clean house and raising three happy healthy children is the stuff that dreams are made of. But For me it was a cake walk, and I didn't want any cake. I wanted gritty. I wanted to be "all in" for Jesus, but I wasn't completely certain what that was supposed to look like.

So I shopped around. I poured all of my extra into our children's ministry at church, into homeschooling my children, I even dabbled in growing food for our community food bank.

All of those were fantastic, community changing projects. But they were the wrong projects. Each one I tried on felt like a second-hand pair of sneakers. They might look great from the outside, but they were molded to fit someone elses foot. And every step I took reminded me that they belonged to someone else.

This all came to a head in October of 2009. I vividly remember the time my frustration with all these projects came to a boiling point.  It was a warm afternoon and the late afternoon lighting was golden. The kids and I were out in the garden, as we were most warm afternoons that year. They were off running around like yahoos and I was pulling weeds. Well mostly I appeared to be pulling weeds as I yelled at God. It was a "what do you want from me, and why do all of my attempts at being 'all in' feel so wrong" kind of argument.

October 2009 is when Max's biological father lost his custody battle with the Russian court system and our son was moved into the permanent care orphanage in Severodvinsk.

We wouldn't meet this little boy who would ultimately change the course of our lives for another 9 months. And even then we spent most of his 2 week visit assuming God had brought him to us so we could help him find a home with another family. But that's another story entirely.

If you ever wanted an example of what it means to be "all in" for Jesus, just look at my son. My very anxious, attachment disorder-y child who really is much too emotionally fragile to be in public school. My child who would flounder in any other social dynamic than the one he's in. Everything we have is everything he needed most.

And by golly it's hard. I never imagined that being "all in" would mean so much sacrifice. That ultimately I'd end up scrapping all those other "good for the community" projects to focus %100 on this little boy. This child who is so much more than a good deed I did in order to make myself feel like a good Christian.

New Year, same hope

On this bright dawn of a new year it's easy to spout a long list of "I will's" for my next year.

I will take more time for myself
I will accomplish xyz...

But everything in me revolts at the idea of changing my behavior because I changed a the page on my calendar. I learned long ago that God doesn't care so much about what I do, but mostly He just wants me to work on improving who I am.

So with that in mind, we're going to officially drop the notion that New Years means improving my preformance in the ways and activities I choose to define myself. Today I announce that I'm done doing, it's time to start being. It's time to stop freaking out because I didn't do X and don't have Y. It's time to stop doing and start being. I really need to work on being the child of God I claim to be. Here are a few gems that I've come up with over the last few years that help me remember how to be who I want to be. If  you don't mind I'm just going to recycle them again this year:

I want to see the world as Christ sees it, and act accordingly
I want to live a life rich in being, not rich in having
I want to invest in people, not in posessions

But mostly I just want to remember who I am and that God doesn't care what I do.

A day to mourn

If you've spent any time online lately I'm sure you've heard about Putin's final act, signing a bill that effectively sealed the fates of hundreds of thousands of Russian orphans. Children we have personally met, held, and prayed over.

What do you say in a moment like this, when there are no words to be found.   When you hug your Russian born child all day long, as your mourn for his best friends who no longer stand a chance of finding a home in our country?

We do the only thing we can do, pray.

We pray for all the lives affected by such a serious decision. Surely there are millions of souls who mourn with us today - both American, and Russian.

We pray for a spark, a shift in attitude, a subtle change that will reopen hearts that have been slammed closed. We ask for ears that will hear the pleas of the needy and reconsider. We ask that they will think about the big picture of the decision and not see the problem through their own eyes.

We ask that God would draw near to the millions that are also mourning, that He would take this time to pull those in need close to his side. That He would reveal Himself to the lowly, the way He revealed Himself to our son.

And mostly we need to remember that it really isn't our job as Americans to fix Russia's problems. It's not our job to rescue, save, or restore. Those things can only come from the healing that Christ brings. We need to remember to take our loss to the cross and leave it there.

One of my favorite mantras from our adoption process is: God has a perfect plan, and this is a part of it. We don't have to like it, but we do have to accept it. With those words in mind as I spend my day in mourning, holding my son for as long as he can stand me, I'll choose to be thankful. Thankful that my heart was stirred in time to do something about his needs. Thankful that God chose to bring hope to this one. And thankful that God has a perfect plan for the others.

Will you join me?

I just see'd it in my head.

I have been a Christian for the better part of twenty years, I have never once had a vision from God at any point in my walk. I believe that people have them, but apparently I'm just not one of them.

But I'm starting to think that I adopted one.

A few of you have heard the story about Max's angel. For those who haven't he shared the experience with me over lunch one day. Aparently while in the orphanage, he woke in the middle of the night to find someone in his room, dressed in white with something he called a "pharoh" on his head, which I can only assume was a halo. Then poof the stranger was gone. End of story.
That little exchange caused me to come a little untangled. Here we have a boy, who has serious cognitive delays (aka he's not all that intelligent) who has never really been told much about Angels, who can not only accurately describe the form an Angel might have used to present itself, but also knew what it was without any help from any of us.

Cool right?

But there's more. This week we were discussing the story of baby Jesus and how he came to be Max's friend so Max could go to Heaven. I'm standing in the kitchen making lunch and Max scurries in and says "Mom, baby Jesus, is He the one who has ouchies right here, and here?" Indicating his palm and the back of his hand.

And I stare at him slightly dumbfounded, because here we have a boy who doesn't really have the recall skills to remember the Bible story he heard three days ago in Sunday school, that has some how made the leap to connect the Nativity and the Crucifiction. Not only did he have the ouchie's located in the appropriate place, but he knew that there should be one on each side of his hand, where the nail went all the way through.

As if he had seen both sides of Christ's hands.

And so I ask cautiously. Oh so cautiously, "Did you see a picture of that somewhere? Like in a story?" Knowing full well that even if he had seen a powerful picture in a book, read by someone else (because it wasn't me) way back around Easter that there's no way he would still remember that. Not to mention the specific detail about both sides of the hand, cause I really doubt that part would have been in whatever story he might have heard.

And he gives me this grin. It's the "I know something you don't know, don't I?" grin, and says "Nope, I just see'd it in my head." And off he ran to go knock down someone's block tower. And that was the end.

At this point I'm a little glad that God doesn't send me the visions, because getting them second hand is enough to rattle me. This little boy, who is struggling so much as he deals with his attachment disorder, anxiety, and emotional trauma from his history with neglect / abuse. Who tries his best on a daily basis to make us all crazy, is the recipient of these visions. And how highly God must think of this poor little soul to comfort him with such visual outpourings.

And maybe, just maybe, God is giving him these visions to assure me that He is indeed surrounding this little boy with His love and protection. And all I have to do is show up, and let God use me to turn this poor kid to do something amazing.

More than merry...

This is the second Christmas season that we've had our Max, and it's so interesting to compare this one with the last. Last year he totally got the concept of Santa and "pedarky's". It seemed like every time we left the house he'd ask if he was about to see someone who would have a pedarky for him to unwrap, sadly for a time, the answer was usually yes. But beyond the gift giving aspect, he really had no concept of what the season was about.

This year we're really thrilled to take his concept of the season to the next level. To introduce the relational side of the season, about tradition, family and faith. About how Grandpa would really prefer something handmade over another festive tie; and about a baby named Jesus, who would eventually revolutionize the world.

While I help my son unpack the truths behind this season of celebration I have to pause myself and reconsinder my own concept of the season. I've always been the "less is more" type, so we've always gone the simple route with the secular side of our celebration.

But what if I'm done with less, and am ready for more out of Christmas? Not more stuff. Heavens no. More tradition, more faith, more love. These are the things I want to give and receive.

The mall is trying to sell me my "best holiday season ever", but I'm not sure I want what they have to offer. My house is tiny, especially for a family of six, so to say we have a limited amount of storage space is an understatement. If I don't want my house to look like an episode of Hoarders, I have to watch the amount of stuff I buy. Investing in a bunch of earthly possessions just doesn't make a lot of sense for us this season (or ever, really).

But you know what is so darned cool? The heart has unlimited storage. The more love you add, the better it gets. Overflowing closet = eek. Overflowing heart = an outpouring of love. Do you see where this is going? Do you see why I'd rather invest in my children's hearts instead of another electronic device?

So this holiday season, in my attempts to make it "the best Christmas ever" I have a question that I'm using as a filter. Does this particular gift or tradition improve a relationship, show love, or invest in someone's heart? If not, is it a necessary part of my season? If the answer is no, what needs to change so that it does, or should it just be omitted altogether?

Christmas cards sound like such a great way to connect and be all relational, but in reality they aren't. Not for me anyway. Photos of my children sent out were not really an attempt to build relationship, but more like me trying to show off what a good photographer I am. Christmas letters that try to help people catch up were just an attempt to make my life sound prettier and more put together than it really is. Lies and bragging complete with a cute postage stamp. Not a necessary part of my celebration, so they can go. Buh-bye.

They can be replaced with a Christmas craft marathon with my kids. The joy of creative time together is a gift for me, the product of a well thought out, custom made creation for a grandparent is then our gift to give.

This is how we will celebrate this year. More love. More family. More Jesus.

Satisfaction guaranteed.

Creativity for a cause

I recently published an article in Rhythm of the Home titled "How to promote creativity in children". If that article helped you find this blog, welcome, it's so nice to meet you.

While it's true that I am passionate about instilling a love of all things creative in children, I'm even more passionate about teaching children to use their creative pursuits to make the world a better place. Most kids come with a dynamic little package of natural creativity, love, acceptance, and generosity. We, as parents and community leaders, need to capture that energy and run with it.

We need to learn to focus our children's creative efforts outward, not inward. We need to stop thinking in terms of having our children make "Sunday school crafts" or things that they make on Sunday mornings and are thrown away on Sunday evenings, and instead lets turn our energy towards coordinating "creative outreach events".

What exactly would it look like if your child's creativity sessions yeilded more than just a pile of papers to hang on the fridge for a few days before rotating it out for the next project. What if they made their creations as a way to encourage others in their community? Stick with me here, I'm thinking more than just telling them to make something for Grandma and Teacher.

Don't get m wrong, we love Grandma's, we love teachers and principals, they all need to be encouraged. But lets not stop with people we know. Lets take a real look at the big picture and see who really needs the love and encouragement that our children have to offer. What if they took it upon themselves to make something creative to encourage the elderly in the nursing home, or people serving in the military? Do homeless people in your community need a reason to smile? What about those ladies at the battered women's shelter?

In addition to the boxes of stuff we've taken over to the senior center, I personally have had my girls help me make fleece tie blankets for foster kids and battered women. And all of my kids (and my mother-in-law) have helped me make hats and mittens for people living in Pakistan. The sky is the limit as to what your children can create, and the joy that they can bring.

The list of hurting people on our planet far outweighs the tonage of goofy art projects (I mean wonderful acts of creativity) your child will ever be able to make. Look around and identify groups in your community that need what your child has to make. Make some phone calls.

Go forth and create change.

Have ideas for creative change to share? Post a link so we can see how your child's creative expression has changed someone's day.

Homecoming day

So friends, I mentioned yesterday that we've recently celebrated an important milestone in our family. One year as a family of six. One crazy, wild year full of growth and setback, of beauty and pain, of imperfect progress.

As with most adoptive families, we struggled with how to celebrate this milestone in our lives. It's a delicate balance between celebrating the progress we've made in the last year, while not bringing up his painful history. For our family the celebration was fairly subdued. He really does better with lots of small celebrations than with one great big bash. So we spent lots of time with family and friends, we reflected on those first few weeks that were rather horrible, the flight from hell, and how far we've all come in the last year. There has been precious growth in all six of us as we've realized just what it means to love a wounded soul.

Maybe someday he'll be ready to look back at his former self and see his own growth, and maybe he won't, but for now we'll just briefly mention the importance of the day, and celebrate for him. We invite you to celebrate with us, as we all know just how hard he's worked to become who he is, and how hard he continues to work on his journey to become whole and healed.

A letter to my freaked out old self.

 hihiIn honor of the anniversary of our homecoming with little Max, I thought I'd write a letter to myself full of information that I wish I'd had a year ago. If I ever figure out how to travel in time, I'll go back and deliver this to myself. Then I'll go pet the dinosaurs.

K. Here goes.

Dear new Mama to Max,
Welcome to the crazy family of people who have adopted a wounded child! It's a unique brotherhood full of other families who won't judge you when your child comes to church without any shoes on, and doesn't believe you when you pretend everything is a-ok. We are a tight family, and we watch out for each other. We'rere so thrilled you've joined us on this crazy ride.

So since you know nothing about this new kid, let me just pass along a few pieces of advice that will change the way you interact with him. First off, your son has an attachment disorder. It affects nearly every social interaction he has, his learning, his behavior, pretty much every waking moment of his life echoes the fact that no one held him as an infant. Don't assume you can treat him like a normal kid, because it'll end in disaster every time.

When your kid freaks out for no real reason, put him in the shower and let him stay there for an hour or two. Or, drop everything and carry him around like a collicky baby for a while. He likes to walk up and down the hall, or swung around like an airplane. Forget the gym. Just carry your seven year old infant around for a while. Works every time.

Don't freak out about the fact that his math skills are that of a three year old. He will realize there is a pattern to counting, and will eventually figure out that 13 always comes before 14. It will take an entire year for this to come together, but it'll come. Don't bother with subtraction, you'll still be working on that when he's twenty. Oh, and he learns wayyyy better snuggled up with you on the couch than he ever did sitting at the table. It's that whole attachment thing. It really does affect everything.

And when you're sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, holding Max in that secure position he hates because you're afraid he's about to cause permanent damage to someone or something, remember that this little boy is a gift. God brought him into your life to show you just how much you judge other parents with ornery kids. He's here to show you really don't know everything about parenting, in fact you don't know a darned thing. Max wants to teach you that love is a choice, and that you can command respect without turning into a screaming banshee. He's going to turn you into a better person, but it's going to be a long and difficult process. Because you, my friend, are sort of a train wreck yourself, and you don't even realize it. You need your new son to point out your flaws, so you can become more like Christ.

Best of luck!
Signed,
The Mama who knows Max a little better

Book Review: Escape to the Hiding Place

Today we wrap up a 3 days series on The Adventures in Odyssey Imagination Station books. First we read about Ancient Egypt in ... then we read about adventures at sea in Battle for Cannibal Island. Today we are wrapping up with Escape to the Hiding Place.
In book 9 of the series, Patrick and his cousin Beth travel back to the 1940's and a very troubled Dutch community on the verge of World War 2. The duo needs courage to reunite a mother and baby who have been separated.

Mom says: I've probably mentioned this before, but I really love how these books introduce my children to real life Holy heroes that have impacted history. I loved that the characters met up with one of my favorite heroes Corrie TenBoom in this book. This book also served as a great introduction to a sensitive time in history. Loved it.

Annie (8 years old) says: This book is really exciting. I'm glad that no one was hurt in the crash at the beginning of the book. I liked the part about the places to hide. I'm glad Patrick and Beth made a friend, and that they had bicycles to ride in the frightening part.

Louisa (8 years old) says: I liked the secret hiding place and the nice farmers. You should read this book because it is funny and exciting.

Book review: Battle for Cannibal Island

So yesterday we talked about The Secret of the Prince's Tomb, the seventh book in the AOI Imagination Station series. Today we're excited to tell you about book 8, Battle for Cannibal Island
In this story, Patrick and Beth set sail to the south seas where pirates, cannibals and other dangers lurk around every corner. They find themselves in 1852 off the shore of Fiji where the members of the HMS Calliope are stuck in the middle of a battle between the Christian Fijians and the non-Christian Fijians. Along with their new friend James Calvert, the missionary, they try to make peace on the island and learn important lessons living their lives as Jesus would.

Mom says: So when these books arrived at my door, both of my girls squealed with glee and took off for a cozy reading nook. That should give you some indication of the quality of these books. Every single one of them has been a joy to read, and this one was no exception. Two big thumbs up.

Annie (8 years old) says: I liked the idea of them being on a boat. I'm glad no one was eaten by a shark or thrown overboard. 

Louisa (8 years old) says: I thought it was very exciting! There were some really good bad guys in this story, and some funny people too. I'm glad everyone was safe at the end of the book. I thought it was interesting that the cannibals thought the turtle shells were so valuable. 

Please Note: We received this book for review purposes. As always, our opinions are 100% our own

Book Review - Secret of the Prince's Tomb

Last year we were so stinking lucky to receive the first six books in Adventure in Odyssey's Imagination Station series. We were rather sad when we got to the end of them. So you can imagine how thrilled we were a few weeks ago when the publishing company offered to help us catch up on the series by sending us the 3 books that have come out this year.

The first book we read, was The Secret of the Prince's Tomb. In the story Patrick and Beth travel back in time through Mr. Whittaker's Imagination Station to visit Ancient Egypt. After making friends with a young girl named Tabitha it becomes evident that her people are headed for a troubled future full of slavery and corrupt leadership. The cousins quickly realize that the best way they can help these troubled people is by reminding them of their rich history and give them a hope for the future.

Mom says: Can I tell you how much I love the fact that they wrote an entire story about ancient Egypt without rehashing the overdone pyramids and pharoh bit? Love, love, love the fact that they went for a less obvious route and knocked it out of the park.

Annie (8 years old) says: I didn't like it as much as I liked the others I'd read before but did like the part where Tabitha hid in the pot. The prince was funny too. Overall I thought it was pretty good.

Louisa (8 years old) says: I like all of the books in the series. I especially like the part in this book where they trick to guard in the pyramid. The end was really funny. I liked the illustrations too.

Here's what we thought about the other books in this series... 

Please Note: We received this book for review purposes. As always, our opinions are 100% our own

The truth about adoption part 2

So yesterday we talked a little about what adoption really is, today just for kicks we're going to examine the other side of the coin, what adoption is not...

 A hallmark movie. Nor is it a campbells soup comercial. You don't turn a broken child into a healthy well adjusted member of society in less than 2 hours. And tomato soup doesn't fix everything. In fact it doesn't fix nearly as much as chocolate does. Trust me.

It is not bringing a child into your house and expecting them to sit at your feet with their hands folded singing your praises because you are an awesome person for saving them from certain death. It's not even them singing your praises while they run rampant around your house destroying everything in sight. It's mostly that last part without them shouting insults instead of singing. Not so much on the singing.

So there you go. The truth about adoption. Is it hard? Yes. It's the hardest thing I've ever done. But adopting Max has changed his life, our lives, the lives of our friends and family, and frankly anyone who is following our adventure. I don't know how you could hear the story that God has written for
this little boy and not have faith. How you could ignore God's miraculous redemptive hand in his life, and the countless real life illustrations of faith, love and grace that surround him.

With those thoughts in mind, I have to ask... how could we not have spoken for this child? how can we not continue to fight for one of God's chosen? And how can we continue to ignore those children across our nation and planet that are still waiting for someone who will fight for them.

The truth about adoption

It's not a secret. We adopted a "special" kid. Our little Max has all sorts of delays and baggage associated with the neglect and abuse he suffered before he joined our family.  Not all kids who are adopted are as broken as ours is, but most have a significant amount of brokenness boiling just below the surface. It doesn't really matter if they were neglected and abused for seven years, or if the abuse happened while they were still in utero. Nor does it doesn't matter if the abuse happened in Russia, or in New York, it inflicted the same pain. All adopted kids have scars that lead to a certain degree of "specialness".

So with that in mind, in honor of November being Adoption Awareness month, I'd just like to tell you the truth about what adoption really is, and later on this week we'll talk about what it is not.

Adoption is:

Recognizing that the world doesn't really revolve around you, even if you really really want it to.

Realizing that love is a choice. A choice that must be made every single day. Whether your child is spitting on you or not.

Trusting, trusting, trusting.

Learning how to make friends with other parents who can't control their children either, instead of jumping to the conclusion that they are obviously just bad parents.

Taking a life that was so badly broken that it had no chance for a future, and giving it wings.

Rejoicing over the stupidest little victories because you know that every single  one is one that would not have happened if you hadn't stepped up to the plate. - Like the time my 8 year old finally counted to 20. Even though we practiced it every day for 10 months. And he got it mixed up every single day. And I"m looking at my other 8 year twin daughters who could count to 20 when they were four, and making darned well sure they know what their brother just accomplished. And I'm calling all my friends so they can celebrate with us. Because frankly, it IS a big deal that my baby can count to 20. And all the adoptive mom's are out there totally nodding their heads, because they all know.

It is a spiritual battle. It is reclaiming a soul from Satan's hand, knowing that he doesn't give up easily. Knowing that he will constantly remind them of their past, and feed them horrible lies about how meaningless their lives are. All. The. Time. 

Advice not to give the mother of a wounded child.

I don't think I've ever met someone who enjoyed getting parenting advice in the grocery store line. It's funny how people like to be an expert on parenting other people's children, especially when they don't have a clue about the other family's social dynamics.

So here are some of the finer solutions that people have offered me as my wounded child is trying really hard to keep his act together in public, and how I generally respond.

That child is really too big for you to be carrying him.
My choices are carry him or listen to him scream. Trust me, you don't want me to put him down.

Just ignore him, he'll stop.
Ignoring a neglected child DOESN'T WORK. Infact it makes him worse. Far worse.

Have you tried the sticker chart?
It might work if my child had a desire to please me and avoid negative consequences. Neither of which holds any desire in his little heart. He doesn't recognize my authority as his parent, and I'm pretty sure bribing him with stickers isn't going to change that fact.

Just give that kid a swat. He'll stop.
Um, so this kid was probably a victim of abuse, so not only can we not "just give him a swat" but we really can't give our other children swats in front of him anymore either. Besides, I'm never going to give him the type of beating he's recieved before, so my little butterfly swats generally would fall under the category of "you really think that's painful? You really have no idea, do you lady" and therefor not be a deterrant anyway.



and my personal favorite:

That one looks like he needs to have his video games taken away when you get home.
Lets just talk about all the things that life has already taken away from this child. His biological parents, his siblings, his culture, a climate that he's used to, his native language, his best friend Igor, all of his toys, clothes and other belongings - including the shirt off his back, do I need to go on?
I'm thinking losing the ipod for 20 minutes isn't really going to inflict a great sense of loss or deprivation on this kid.

Any other "tips" out there that I've missed? Help me out fellow Mamas who've heard it all...

You aren't going to leave me here, are you?

The other night I was driving around with Max, and he needed a bathroom break. Well, we were out in the middle of no where and there wasn't really anywhere  to stop, so I offered to pull off the side of the road for him, but he wasn't interested.
A few miles down the road it became apparent that he did want me to pull off the road, but something was clearly bothering him. As we searched for a possible location for a pit stop he whispers "You aren't going to leave me here are you?" Alone. By the side of the road. In the middle of no where. How terrified he must have been to think that someone he loved would even consider doing something like that. After a profuse amount of reassurance he agreed to let me pull over in a well lit, but abandoned parking lot.
After our little pitstop, we continued on our way home, and as the miles passed my sorrow from our little verbal exchange passed as well. I was nearly home when the joy hit. My total elation was not caused by my son's pain, but by the fact that he able to put his fears into words.
Normally instead of asking such a question, he would just lie on the floor kicking and screaming for two hours. Which poses an interesting quandry when you're trying to drive, or shop or do whatever. For him to be able to ask me a question like that is huge for him.

Max meets the pumpkin patch. A love story. With bunnies.

I've sort of gotten away from posting about every day adventures in our house, perhaps they were just a little too ordinary to put forth the extra effort when I had a household to run with a screaming 8 year old on my hip.

But this ordinary little excursion was not so ordinary for us. This was the pumpkin patch. The. Pumpkin. Patch. Y'all. A seasonal favorite in our house over the last few years for sure, but that was all before my pumpkin obsessed son joined our family.

Little Max has been so completely obsessed with our tiny back yard pumpkin patch this year that I've been counting the days until we could take him to a real pumpkin farm since, um, June.

So you know what happens when you have take a completely pumpkin obsessed kiddo to a freaking huge patch right? He takes one look at the massive pumpkin displays and heads right towards the bunny barn. Where he parks himself for the entire duration of the stay. Of course.

So here are a few shots of my goofy gang. 

 

 

 Before he found the bunny barn

 

 

 

 

My part time kiddo loves the patch too

The cute bunny. Who wouldn't blame little dude for parking in bunny land.

And another one of my not so photo-genic dude "sleeping" by the most histerical pumpkin I've ever seen. I say it looks like a giant mouth. My 10 year old son? He says it looks like someone's tushie. Ahem. Either way it was too darned funny not to park himself next to for a quick nap.

Revising the story of my broken child.

We talked a few weeks ago about how all of our behavior modification for Max is now attachment based, and I'm back to say that it's still freaking awesome. School has been completely awesome, discipline has been awesome. It's all just awesome. He still has meltdowns, and freaks out for no obvious reason, but viewing those moments as opportunities for attachment time (instead of discipline) has been beautiful. I finally feel like I'm done weathering the storm and I can start feeling hopeful for the future.

So now that we understand how his brain works, and are treating him accordingly, it's time to teach him how his brain works and how he can be proactive in settling himself. Without violence.

Last week I sat down with our therapist to bang out a handful of goals for him. Our first one was to give him words to express how he's feeling, and teach him how to use them. A second goal was to replace negative attention seeking behaviors / self destructive tendencies with positive behaviors that end in the same result.

With those two goals down, I had my mom start the ball rolling by writing him a social story. These stories are a tool that she regularly uses with her students to help them talk themselves through just about anything. So here's the story she wrote for Max who is having issues about visiting the therapist.

I get very big feelings when I go to the doctor’s office.
And I DO NOT like that.
I don’t like it when the grown ups talk.
I might think they think I am bad
I might think they are going to make me go away.
I might think they will hurt me.
I might remember some bad feelings from Russia.
I need some help when I have those big feelings.
I can say to Mom, will you hold me and she will always say ‘Yes!”
I can ask, do you love me and she will always say “YES!”
I can ask, will you take care of me and keep me safe? And she will always say, “YES!”
My Mom and Pop love me and want me to feel safe.
They can help my very big feelings to get smaller. Whew!
That will help me feel better.
I will try to ask Mom or Pop for help when I have very big feelings.

I was a little worried that the story would make him feel threatened, but he loves it. He generally needs to hear it about twice a day. At one point last week after he'd heard the story a half dozen times, he snuggles into me and says "Mom, will you keep me safe?" I about died. I had no idea he didn't feel safe with us.

And that my friends is what makes it all worth it. All of his "something is wrong here, but I can't tell you what" behavior, all of his "I don't care if your busy, you need to hold me NOW" behavior. Every dark moment up to this point has been totally worth it.

I've said all along that this little boy is one of God's chosen and if I teach him nothing else, I'm going to teach him how to be a child of God. He doesn't need to be a doctor, or save the world. But he does need to be able to form positive relationships with people and not spew venom at them everytime they do something he doesn't like.

And I feel like giving him these tools is the beginning of a new chapter for Max. The next chapter in the story of who God really created him to be, and of helping him understand that God gave him such a unique story for a reason. He needs to know that his story is beautiful and inspirational. It has already inspired so many people, and will only continue to do so as it unfolds.  I want him to look past his pain to see the beauty in his story, and giving him these tools to understand himself is just the beginning.