The Nitty Gritty of Adoption.

I've heard something like "you can be a hero once when you adopt, but from that point forward it's called parenting". Two and half years ago my husband and I adopted Judah (then 2.5) and Addise (then 11 months) from Ethiopia. Adopting never felt heroic. We don't believe we saved our kids from anything. Becoming their parents always felt like a gift, an obedience to a calling. These days it feels like parenting with as much obedience as we can muster on any given day.

Parenting adopted kids is no joke. Granted, parenting my biological 1 year old son is no joke either, but he hasn't come into our family with a host of deficits, needs, trauma, and core pain. Our biggies have and it manifests itself every day, whether we have the eyes to acknowledge it or now.

The nitty gritty truth of adoption is every aspect of adoption is painful, and will forever be painful. My sense is that "others" think after your adopted kids become a part of your forever family and you grit through those first blurry-eyed months of transition that your family is normal, just like regular families. It's not.

We just celebrated Mother's Day. It was over-the-top joyous for me, but there was a deep, unspoken, and unacknowledged ache in my heart as I remembered Judah and Addise's first mom. Every birthday is a reminder of what was given and then lost. Every time we're at the doctor and are asked questions about their history I have to shrug through my smile and I'm brought back to the unknown of my children's past.

We watched our "Meet-chya Day" video for the first time with our kids this past Mother's Day. Judah was eerily quiet and confused. He was entranced while watching the first moments when our family was introduced. I know he was trying to process what was going on. I anticipate his questions in the days ahead. 

Where are the pictures when I was a baby? Why were you crying, mama? Why was I wearing that girl shirt? Why was I born in Ethiopia? Is Addise my "real" sister? ... GULP.

A few months ago we had lunch at our local Ethiopian restaurant and our server, named Aster like our daughter's middle name, began asking questions to Judah in Amharic.

Aster: What's your name? Judah: My name is Judah. 

Aster: Is she your older sister or younger sister? Judah: She's my little sister. 

Aster: Do you want that to drink? Judah: Yes, I want the orange juice like them. 

Aster: Thank you for coming here today. Judah: Thank you.

In a state of utter shock, I asked Aster if he really understood her: "Of course. Once he knows Amharic, it's always in there." she nonchalantly replied. I could hardly process what was happening. My son lived in Ethiopia for 2 1/2 years and has been home for nearly the same amount of time. For nearly half his life he's barely heard Amharic. But it all rushed back to the surface.

It's different with our daughter. She doesn't have the conscious memories, she has visceral wounds. She's oddly clingy and frequently reverts back to baby-like behaviors. Recently, she's been fearful of us leaving her. Her reactions to discipline are disproportionate. These are the wounds she carries and we have the opportunity to help her heal through.

These reminders of their loss and trauma and past are all too often. Many days we just are doing our parenting/life thing and then a trigger will pop up from no where. Some days we feel like a normal family (whatever that is) and then reality smacks us across our face. And we are humbled at the privilege and responsibility of parenting our children in and through their whole story.

This is why I'm so excited about Idea Camp in September. Adoption is a privilege, a calling worth giving our life to but we need support and we need others to get it with us so we don't have to explain every single thing. Parenting is exhausting enough without having to educate the world.

I'm not sure I can attend/participate at Idea Camp Human Care this September (ya know, with the "3 kids 5 years and under" thing), but I certainly hope you can. These are good people. Smart people. Humble people. Active people who are as committed to listening and question-asking as they are to doing something. I trust founder/CEO, Charles Lee, and believe this conversation is important not just to the Church but to our lives. 

Find out more here: http://theideacamp.com/. Or simply register here: http://ideacamp2013.eventbrite.com/#.

Once an Ethiopian...

Addise wore her bright yellow, traditional Ethiopian dress. Judah wore his Amharic, "Ethiopian" t-shirt. It'd been too long since we've had Ethiopian food so we joined some African-loving friends for a traditional meal. We were greeted in warm, Ethiopian hospitality by Aster, which happens to be Addise's middle name. Aster lit up when she met our kids and I asked if she would speak Amharic to our kiddos throughout our meal. She enthusiastically agreed. What happened next nearly gave me a heart attack...

I greeted our friends, corralled Judah and Addise to the table, and began taking our seats. Aster was already leaning over, speaking to Judah in Amharic. She was talking to him and then I heard him say in English, "My name is Judah."

What?!?!

Tears flooded my eyes and I'm sure my face looked like I'd seen a ghost. I gasped at Aster, "he understood you?!?"

"Of course. Once he knows Amharic, it's always in there." she nonchalantly replied. I could hardly process what was happening. My son lived in Ethiopia for 2 1/2 years and has been home for over 2 years. For nearly half his life he's barely heard Amharic. But it all rushed back to the surface.

After an eternity of seconds I pulled myself together and begged her to speak more to him. She joyfully obliged. Throughout our 2-hour lunch Aster asked Judah in Amharic...

"Is she your older sister or younger sister?" ... "She's my little sister."
"Do you want that to drink?" ... "Yes, I want the orange juice like them."
"Thank you for coming here today." ... "Thank you."

A few weeks after this lunch, I'm still overwhelmed at what happened. First of all, my son is smart. Second, he's lost so very much. He lost his language (I'm confident he's lost two: Amharic and his tribal language) at an age when language was so important to his development. Third, we have an opportunity to preserve remnants of his birth language through experiences like this with Aster.

Lunch was amazing. Look at the beauty of Ethiopia through these pictures...

Set-up for a traditional coffee ceremony...a very special Ethiopian tradition.

Addise pretending. Judah indulging her.

True Love.

Traditional Ethiopian meal: doro wat, beef tibs and vegetables on injera.

Judah INHALED the lunch and ate just like an Ethiopian, with the flick of his wrist picking up the doro wat with a hunk of injera. It was food to my soul to watch his roots come to life!!!

After lunch was over we splurged on the coffee ceremony, which includes burning frankincense and nibbling on popcorn. One of my favorite things about Ethiopian culture!!!

Empty coffee cup with the colors of Ethiopia and the Lion of Judah. Full heart.

We will be back for more. Often. Soon.

Court Anniversary

This week is so ridiculously full of meaning, I fear I'm not capable of capturing all it means to us and all it means in the heavens. So, I bought a $3.99 bouquet of fall flowers .

This past Sunday was November 6th, one year since we first held and kissed Judah and Addise on our first trip to Ethiopia. [Read about that day HERE] This past Sunday we also dedicated J&A to God at our church...on Orphan Sunday. A separate blog post is coming on this momentous, epic day.

Here's a sneak peak of Judah's dedication...

If you wanna take a walk down memory lane with me, check out our Meetchya Day video...

This whole week I've found myself drifting back to those days in Ethiopia: The rich, historic Ethiopian culture. The sounds of Amharic rolling off tongues, animals passing on the street, and cars honking at everything. Our guest house. The American friends we met who were also adopting and our new Ethiopians friends, whom we fell in love with.

Of course, my heart mostly remembers those precious hours at Tikuret Orphanage where we began bonding with 9 month old Tarike and 28 month old Abebayehu. I remember how stoic and somber Addise Aster Tarike was, and how she was totally unsure of Brian. However, she always fell asleep in his arms. I remember that sweet pink polka-dot sweatsuit she wore and how she loved kissing my lips [that 30 second video is HERE]. I remember being amazed with how chunky and strong this "little orphan" was.

And I remember how shut down Judah Abebayehu was. Brian and I commented and cried over what a locked up little guy he was. His big eyes searching for understanding and meaning. His body small and recovering from malnutrition. I remember a few times when his eyes lit up and he bravely showed us his bright white Chiclets teeth [here is proof in a quick 40 second video]. I remember how our 2 year old calmly sat on our laps, barely moving. We both remember praying so much for his healing and health. Even writing these words on my couch with my ever-so-talkative son sitting next to me, giggling while watching Dumbo, I'm tearfully in awe at the healing God's done in his little soul these past 12 months. Judah is a different little boy. Praise God!

Today, November 10th was the best and worst day of my life [Read about that day HERE]. Today is the day we went to court to testify before an Ethiopian judge our promise to love Tarike and Abebayehu forever. After our court appearance, Brian and I were gifted with some unexpected time with their birth mothers. Still, one year later, words barely form as I reflect upon these women, our mutual love for the same little boy and girl, and the impossible choice they made to give up their children because they could not care them. It is a mother's love beyond human capacity. Today, I think about their birth mothers and wonder if they are still alive and healthy. I'm aware that as I've held and loved and raised J&A, they've probably thought about them millions of times. And wondered if their offspring are well loved and care for. I pray God would speak to them and assure them.

Only hours after our court date, we kissed them goodbye as we left for the Addis Ababa airport without confirmation that we passed court. I sobbed leaving the orphanage. I got physically sick as our plane took-off out of Ethiopia. It was an entirely good, yet completely unnatural day.

Tomorrow, November 11th Brian and I were spending a few reflective and carefree days in Frankfurt, Germany. We received an email that we were dying to read: "THEY ARE YOURS." In the eyes of Ethiopia, we were Judah and Addise's legal parents.

A year later, we cannot believe all God has done and is doing in our family. It's beyond our expectations and imagination. I never imagined how many poopy diapers I'd changed (including one that's smelling out to me at this moment]. I never imagine how much they'd make me laugh and show me a mirror into my own character and soul. I never imagined how many kisses I'd give, or hair product I'd use, or cheese sticks they'd eat. I never imagined how angry they'd make me.

Yet, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'd love them as my own, that they'd forever change me, that I'd be grateful for our devastating infertility that lead us directly to these specific children. Forever we are grateful. Tonight, I'll tuck them in a little tighter, kiss them a few more times, and whisper a few more prayers to God for them. Thank you, Jesus, for the miracle of adoption.

Today. Home. Forever.