Dads . . . Heroes . . . Smile

Nathan goes to a University Model School where he studies in class 2 days a week and works at home the other 3 days. I love the extra time to spend with him.

Last week he was working on an assignment: Write a 5 paragraph essay on a hero you know personally. Like most 12 year old boys, he chose his dad.

Then the teacher mentioned that you could always choose Jesus (it's a Christian school.) Poor Mike. For a while, Jesus trumped Dad.

But in the end, when Nathan sat down to write, he changed his mind again and wrote a sweet tribute to his father. It's a little over the top, but that's the way we usually see our heroes. So with Nathan's permission, I share it here.

When thinking about heroes, famous military leaders and fictional superheroes often come to mind. My hero, however, has never been in the military, nor is he in a comic book. My hero is my dad. He helps spread the Gospel all over the world, generously helps others, and sacrifices for my family.

Traveling far and wide, my dad proclaims the word of Christ. He records and translates the Jesus Film, a revolutionary movie that is transforming lives around the globe. Undeniably, this is risky work. Once, while secretly recording in a closed Southeast Asian country, angry communist authorities attempted to arrest him. Forewarned by some friends, he and his recording team narrowly escaped. Nonetheless, the danger does not deter him. He now works primarily in . . location deleted for security reasons . . .in hope that more people will come to know Christ.

My dad eagerly serves others. When somebody needs help repairing something, he gives up his time to assist them. For example, he helped a neighbor fix a satellite dish during Hurricane Francis! Even as I was writing this paper, my dad was spending his Sunday afternoon fixing a young man’s ancient, broken-down car. Going out of his way to help others, he listens endlessly to people’s problems. Since he does these things, he is a light in the darkness.

My dad sacrifices many things for my family. After working all day, he comes home and continues to work. In many foreign cultures, men don’t work at home. Instead, at night, they go out with friends and enjoy themselves, leaving the women at home to take care of the children and work like slaves. When a Thai Buddhist woman stayed in our home, she was curious. Seeing my dad helping my mom with menial, household chores, she asked if he did it because he was American or because he was a Christian. Impressed by my dad’s humility, her interest in Jesus grew. I’m sure my dad would like to do the things he wants, but as a father he has a choice to make. My dad chooses sacrifice.

Finally, through spreading the Gospel, helping others, and sacrificing for our family, my dad is a hero. My dad is an example of what it means to be a father. He also is an outstanding example of godliness in my family. As far as I am concerned, he is an unrivaled warrior for Christ. He is my hero. He is my Superman. He is my dad.

Christmas Card Ordered - Check!

Finally, it's done!

Now on to decorate that nine foot tree that's calling my name. Oh, and I guess everyone expects to have dinner tonight.

Classic Damask Frame Christmas

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National Adoption Month: Processing What I've Come to Believe

November is National Adoption Month.  I love adoption, and I love my precious son who came into our family through adoption.  And yet, some parts of the adoption culture in America make me cringe. As we've navigated through the adoption process, I've learned the importance of thinking with both my head and my heart, and along the way, I've developed some pretty strong beliefs about adoption.

National Adoption month seems to be a good time to try and voice my thoughts.

Adoption should be about finding families for kids; not finding kids for families.
If you google adoption, you will find agencies promising to find you a healthy baby in a short amount of time.   Personally, I would run from those agencies.  Why?  Because it sounds to me like they are in the baby business.  They are promising to provide a product - a child.  And children are not products.

I hold to this so strongly because of something else I've come to believe through our adoption process:  If at all possible, parents should raise the children born to them.  Put another way, I believe the best place for any child is with their birth family - provided it is safe and loving.  In a perfect world, that's what would happen.  Every time.

Of course, our world is far from perfect, and every child isn't born to parents ready to give him or her a safe and loving home.  Sometimes babies and kids of all ages need to be placed for adoption.  In those cases, adoption becomes a redemptive response to the tragic loss of a child's first family.

Personally, I would never "pray" that a birth mother would give up her child.  Why would I pray for a woman to find herself in a situation so desperate that she couldn't keep the child she carried for nine months and then labored to bring into the world?  Why would I wish upon a child the loss of his first mom?

But I would pray my heart out for the child whose mother felt she had to give him up.  I would pray for that child to be placed in a loving home with wise godly parents who would help him process his unique history.  I would pray for healing in the first mom's heart.

Do you see the difference?  A family for the child.  Not a child for the family. 

A few years ago, contemplating adoption, we found ourselves at an adoption fair at a local church.  I'll never forget a conversation I had at one of the booths.  The staff person for this private adoption agency introduced me to one of their adoptive moms and asked this mom to share her story. 

Glowing, she shared how her sweet son came into her family through adoption, but the longer she talked, the more uncomfortable I became.  She was particularly critical of her child's birth mom.  Apparantly, after introducing them to the birth father, a few months later the birth mom showed up at the hospital in labor -- on the arm of a new boyfriend.  "Oh, that's really common," the agency worker chimed in.  "They do that all the time." 

I couldn't figure out for the life of me why it was necessary to deride this child's birth mother to me, a total stranger.  Was she trying to let me see how better off her adopted child was with her?  I wanted to scream, "That young girl you're so smugly belittling gave you HER CHILD!"

This agency seemed very confident in their ability to talk young girls out of their babies and deliver their product to us, the adoptive parents.  I sensed a superior attitude, a sense of entitlement.  As we walked away I told Mike, "There's absolutely no way in the world I'd ever work with those people."

In our first interview with the agency we eventually used, we were told, "We find parents for children, not children for parents."  That's what I wanted to hear.

Even with that confidence, during the adoption process, our agency came under scrutiny as they were accused of unethical "recruiting" methods in Ethiopia.  We didn't know what to do.  We'd already been matched with Wenxin and were in the process of bringing him home.  And yet, the accusations were just too serious to ignore.

To be fair, we listened to our agency's side of the story.  I talked with our social worker.  By this time I had formed some online connections through message boards and adoption blogs, so I was even able to contact some of the families involved in accusations against our agency.  The internet can be an amazing tool!

We did more research and found no complaints about our agency's China program.  And by that time, Wenxin was our son in our hearts.  He'd spent a long time in the orphanage and we wanted to bring him into our family as soon as possible. 

So finally, shaken, we proceeded.  And Wenxin came home.  For good. 

We live in a fallen world and often the adoption process is flawed.  It's not a reason to "not adopt." But please, please, please think with both your head and your heart as you enter the process.

National Adoption Month is a time to highlight children who need families.  It's also a great time to open the discussion about adoption.  It's a great time to break the silence and voice honest questions, honest concerns.  Using our heads and hearts, we can make a difference.

It's A Birthmark

"This is going to grow, " the pediatrician told me back in 2002, when she noticed a tiny birthmark on Julia's two-week old arm.  "It's called a hemangioma.  We won't need to do anything about it," she said.  "It will eventually go away."

By age six months, the hemangioma was bigger than my baby's arm. 

Because of the birthmark, I dressed Julia in long sleeves for most of her baby pictures.  Even though it was part of her, I was afraid if the birthmark showed in a photo, it would be all anyone would notice.  On just one occasion, I had her photographed with her birthmark in plain view.  As she grew older, I wanted to remember everything about her baby years - including her birthmark.  I wanted her to know that I wasn't ashamed of how God made her.


Everywhere we went, people stared.  Some asked questions.  Occasionally kids were mean, but most of the time they were just embarrassingly honest.  My standard line was, "It doesn't hurt.  It's a birthmark and it will go away on its own when she's older."  My matter of fact response was mainly meant for Julia's ears.

Nine years later, Julia's birthmark is almost gone.  The doctor was right.  The huge mass has mostly vanished and it's no longer bright red.  What's left is mostly stretched-out, loose skin on her right arm.

Today I asked her if she'd like to have the loose skin on her arm removed by a surgeon.  Her response was priceless.

"Why?" she gasped.  "This is how God made me."  She seemed appalled that I'd even suggest such a thing. 

"This birthmark is something special that God gave me.  When God looks at all the people in the world, this birthmark is part of what makes me, me. . ."  She stumbled for the right words.  "Why would we want to remove a part of me that God made?"

"Do people ask you about it?"

"All the time."

"What do you say?"

"I say, 'It's a birthmark."

Well, there you go.

Sometimes the Pictures Say it All

I'm finishing up Wenxin's 12 month post placement report.  For Wenxin's adoption, China requires updates at 6 months and 12 months.  These updates involve having a social worker visit us in our home and write a report on how we are all adjusting.  We also have to include photos. Tomorrow, we are mailing our last report!

On this momentous occasion, I feel I should write a deep insightful post about our first year together.  And I'm officially stumped.  How do you put it all into words? 

Our family's journey has best been told in stories from our day to day life.  I've tried to tell them honestly.  I've tried to paint a picture of what an older child adoption looks like in real life. 

So for today, let's just let the photos do the talking.

That was then. . .

And this is now. . .

Processing

Fall.  Four home schooled kids.  Three soccer teams.  One Boy Scout troop.  A husband who travels.  And a mom with a broken foot.

It doesn't leave much time to blog.

But some things are too encouraging to leave unrecorded.

Last night, Wenxin and I were lying on my bed just having some talk and snuggle time before bed when he looked up at me and asked, "Do you think if another mom had adopted me, I would love her as much as I love you?"

It was a great opportunity to talk about how God works in our lives.  God knew what kind of Mom Wenxin needed.  And he knew what kind of son I needed.  God led us together and we are perfect for each other.

What We're Reading at My House Today

Where the Wild Things Are, by Maurice Sendak.  Doesn't Max look a lot like Wenxin?

And, How A House is Built, by Gail Gibbons. 

Thanks for all the encouraging comments after yesterday's post, Pass the Grace, Please.  I should clarify that my experience is more one of  "fearing being judged," than actually experiencing "being judged."  And honestly, that's more my problem than the problem of those around me.