Our Girl is Two!

This week my baby girl turned two years old. When we first laid eyes on our daughter she looks so much like she does today...if only we knew who God was giving us.

The first time I laid eyes on her.

Only love...

We celebrated her first birthday only 3 weeks after we came home. My poor baby never had a cupcake in her life. But she loved it!

All chunks and rolls. And sugar.

I think she liked it. Only 2 teeth on her first birthday.

Thursday morning before I got her out of bed, I heard her talking Judah's ear off [per the norm]. The first word I heard her squeal was "MINE". Her first word on her second birthday. Of course.

In celebration of her birthday and life, here are a few things that make our little girl exactly who we love and who exasperates us daily...

• My favorite words she says these days are: "wa-wee" [water] which she seemingly drinks by the gallon, something that resembles "here ya are, mommy", and "daddy's silly". Totally endearing.
• She just as enthusiastically will tell her brother [or her parents, truth be told!], "[s]top it!" Lord, have mercy.
• Playfully yet filled with unknown authority, Addise will point her finger at anything breathing and exclaim, "jeeba boba gee...". Or something like that. We have no idea what she's saying but she's preaching it. That is for sure.
• Though fearless in situations she should have fear, she's terrified by an stray fuzzy on her hand. 
• She's still topping the height and weight charts. She's venturing into 3T clothes as a new 2 year old. 
• She kisses daddy profusely, even without request. And when I ask for a kiss, she'll often give it to her daddy instead and giggle in defiance at my desperate plea.
• Addise loves lifting her solid body off the ground - jumping up and down over and over again. She thinks she's quite funny and clever.
• She's drama for her momma - passionately crying for a little "owie", shedding crocodile tears when her feelings get hurt, and doubling-over in laughter at the silliest trick.
• We tried for about 24 hours to potty train our smarty pants and she wouldn't have it. She was content peeing down her leg and standing in her own urine pool. Unashamed. Uninterested in sitting on her potty chair, unless she was fully clothed. 
• She's also very intrigued by all her arms can accomplish, mainly hitting and throwing. She prefers to hit her brother for any reason [unacceptable and results "trouble"] and throwing her toys across the room [same result as above].
• Perhaps my favorite and best descriptor of my girl is the common scene of her running laps around our living room/kitchen in her pink, bedazzled, costume shoes roaring like a lion. Take a moment to fully imagine that scene.

She is truly sugar and spice. Recently the word "FIERCE" has been used to describe her personality. I couldn't agree more.

Yet, in all things adoption, on her birthday I couldn't help but to think of the woman who gave birth to our daughter. Forever I am grateful that she bore Addise Aster Tarike into this world. As I carry our second son today, I also wonder about Addise's 9 months in the womb, her birth, and first months in this world. Though I can never fully understand her birth mother's sacrifice or Addise's story before God brought her to us, I stand in wonder at this amazing little girl and our redemptive God who gave her to us.

Happy Birthday, Addise! We adore you.

We love you with an everlasting love for all you are 

and all you bring to our lives.

Captured on Balboa Pier

Color Matters

I love the color of my children's skin. I love that their skin is different than mine and their daddy's. I cannot get over how smooth and rich and dark it is. I love the contrast between my hands and their hands.

I love how their hands and faces and bellies speak to their culture and their history. Their skin declares, "I am Ethiopian! I was born in Africa!" Their chocolate color speaks of a creative God with a colorful palette who wanted us to celebrate the uniqueness of our cultures, races, and countries of origin. Their color speaks of their identity and from where they were called.

Sometimes I just stare at my kids and feel almost worshipful at how gorgeous they are and how different we look from each other. That God would take such care and consideration in the formation of even our skin...WOW! That is one attentive Maker.

Some would say that they are color blind, that they don't see color of skin but only the heart of the person beneath the skin. Some inter-racial families would say that skin color or birth country doesn't matter because "my kids are my kids" and "I love them the same as if they shared my DNA".

But I think we miss so much of the person and the Creator when we disregard someone's skin color and make them just like everyone else. Being Ethiopian doesn't define my kids, but it is a meaningful and significant part of their identity. Being black isn't the summation of who they are but it is a piece of what makes them an individual connected to a people and a part of the world that's "beautifully and wonderfully made".

The truth is that color does matter in this world. It's a source of massive conflict, stereotypes, stigmas, bigotry in families and nations. Color may not matter to the majority race, but it matters to the minority. Color matters when you're the only one in the room who looks different from the others. It matters to the ones who have jokes made about them or suffocating stereotypes associated with them. It matters to a person who loves their heritage and celebrates their culture.

And I believe with my whole heart that it matters to a God who took pride in creating the spectrum of our skin colors. So instead of ignoring or minimizing each others color, 

• what if we took time and care to get to know what that color represents and means to that person? 
• and what if appreciating each others differences was an act of worship to God? 
• and what if as we honor every part of each other we also help heal the world of some bigotry and hurtful stereotypes?

What if...?

5 months

Today marks 20 weeks pregnant with our son. I'm halfway there!

To be honest, though, this has been the roughest month of pregnancy for me. I've experienced more physical discomfort, pain, exhaustion, stretching, and nauseous that my first 4 months combined. Vomit, gas, indigestion, utter exhaustion, and physical depletion have all been a major part of this past month of pregnancy. It may have some to do with 2 weeks of holiday traveling, my belly growing, caring for 2 toddlers, and a few very emotionally exhausting work weeks, but I'm desperately praying this isn't a trend for the remainder of my pregnancy. The past couple weeks have involved a LOT of tears, Tums, careful eating, desperate prayers, silent fears. If you need further proof that we are less-than-perfect, the Christmas tree wast just taken down 4 days ago and is still sitting in our living room in it's box.

REDEMPTION. Instead of working a satisfying and FULL work day today at my church, I spent the day in bed. I woke up and knew I wasn't feeling ok. But I pulled myself out of bed, took a shower, starting putting on makeup, and then sent a text to our [male] lead pastor and [male] co-worker that I was feeling awful and needed prayer. The next 5 minutes of text exchanges lead me to literally weeping in my bathroom: "rest with joy", "we are a team", "we got your back", "take care of yourself and baby". While wiping away hormonal tears to read the texts, I realized the tears were both present and historic.

Present because THIS has been the worst week of pregnancy. I've felt terrible most of the week and by yesterday felt utterly discouraged at the feat of carrying my son for another 20 weeks. I've tried to tough it out this week - at work and at home - while still quietly attending to my body and baby. It's left me exhausted.

But my tears also opened up a historic wound and fear in my leadership journey. Since the early days of ministry, I've been afraid - rightfully and imagined - that my being feminine would eventually place a ceiling on my influence. I felt that most acutely as a mother. So, too often I've erred on the side of not crying on the job, faking feminine pain, speaking like a man when my feminine voice is more needed, not talking about my infertility or kids' latest accomplishments, etc.

However, being on staff at Newsong for nearly the past 8 years has been very healing and freeing for me. Our mostly-male leadership has affirmed, blessed, promoted, and stood by me in the most unlikely times - like this morning. Receiving texts like these this morning - when all I wanted to do is suck in my protruding belly, push through the yuckiness, and pretend to be Super Momma-Pastor - they didn't let me. They didn't ask invasive questions or challenge my plea for prayer. They didn't ask if I thought I could still fulfill my significant responsibilities today or ask that I find replacements. They simply blessed me and prayed for me. My risk to be vulnerable was monumentally healing for me and, I believe, restoring for the community I lead in.

LIMITS. If there's just one lesson to be learned in pregnancy for me, it's accepting my limits. Today was a clear example but there's been a hundred over the past few months. Some close friends gently, firmly, and compassionately chastised me a couple weeks ago that though the demands of my job and motherhood are evident these days, there is nothing more important than caring for the little man growing inside of me. I only get 1 shot to be pregnant, only 9 months to set him on a developmental trajectory that will impact the rest of his life, only one shot to "enjoy" these 9 months. It was a reset of my limits and priorities that I think about every day. Though I may not be able to work 12-hour days anymore or throw my babies up in the air, I must care for this little being consuming my womb and every conscious moment. I'm the ONLY one who can do this job.

As for a picture of my belly, here's a picture I took a couple days ago from our HORRENDOUS women's restrooms at work. The background is an atrocity and it's a self-portrait into a mirror, but at least it captures nearly 20 weeks en utero for our son.

I have to say, maternity pants are the BEST! So comfy and no zippers and buttons to deal with when going to the bathroom. BONUS!

NAMES. Also, on a very random note, we have no idea what to name our son. We have a few names in the queue but no glorious moment affirmed by singing angels. Again, naming Judah and Addise was borderline divine and simple. For this baby, we had the PERFECT first AND middle name selected. I even have back-up girl names. But to name this boy feels impossible. I've resorted at this point to reading movie credit names and listening into stranger's conversations for tips. Our major problem is the 1) we want a creative and somewhat unique name, like J&A, and 2) it must be highly meaningful and somewhat prophetic for our son's life. That eliminates about one million names. And once you start looking for names for YOUR child, you realize how many names you hate.


Again, if you have any suggestions on where to look for names let me know. And you'll get bonus points if you can direct me to a place where I can search for names by meaning [ex: names that mean "restore" are...].

Thanks for hanging with me in the sob story of today. And for praying. I know it changes things, especially me.