No Cure for Orphan Fever (or "Offense Taken")

 Just when you think you've convinced your last fan that you are not a "saint"  a "good person" or "amazing" because you grow your family through international adoption,  it's time to turn the tables and start convincing the world that you are not a "trafficker", a person with "orphan fever" or a "child collector". . .

I think I prefer deflecting undue praise!


A recent article by David French (http://www.christianpost.com/news/left-launches-attack-on-evangelical-adoption-94832/) outlines a new wave of criticism coming from the "naysayers"
and heading straight for YOU,  evangelical Christian and adoptive parent!

What, you might ask, bears defending in the world of adopting children?

Apparently, everything.

In her new book, "The Child Catchers: Rescue, Trafficking and the New Gospel of Adoption", Kathryn Joyce parades, for your reading enjoyment, the worst-case-scenarios in international adoption and makes them seem the rule, rather than the exception. Trafficking. Young mothers having babies stolen from them. Greedy, imperialist Christians buying babies from "brokers" in the name of proselytizing.  An unwillingness to look deeply into their own adoptions for fear of finding . . .dun dun dun . . . THE TRUTH.   Men like Russell Moore and Dan Cruver being held accountable for infecting thousands with "orphan fever".

You can read an article on this very subject by Kathryn Joyce HERE

In all fairness to Ms. Joyce and others who have jumped on the Christ-Followers-Who-Adopt-Children-Are-Worse-Than-A-Case-of-The-Shingles mentality, I have only read large excerpts from her book as my hardcover copy is on it's way.  But the article referenced above does a plenty-good job of giving you a taste of the book. 

And I had to think long and hard about spending money on such negative press but also felt it important investigate fully why giving my sons a name, a heritage and a place to call "home" was such an offensive act.

"Mother Jones" did an excellent job of cluing me in to the foibles that result from my burning case of "orphan fever" on her blog at: http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2013/04/christian-evangelical-adoption-liberia

If that blog post isn't enough to convince you that our very motives are under attack, just do a google search using words like "evangelicals, orphan fever, trafficking in christian adoptions"
and then sit back and enjoy the firestorm.

But, Church, listen up!

Some of the criticism is DESERVED and LEGITIMATE. We need to own it.
There are many documented cases of children being taken from poor women by coercion and sold to American parents. Believers and Non.    This was not something the adoptive parents were told and often these facts came to light after the adoptee executes her own search as a teen or adult.
Anyone remember Guatemala?

Adoption "professionals" abroad have given voice-scrambled expose interviews admitting to some pretty unethical, horrific practices to meet the demand for . . . . wait for it . . . healthy BABIES.
Young, tiny, helpless (most often female) infants.

The law of supply and demand, baybee . .  . plain and simple.

So how can you be sure that your child is a "true orphan"?  I addressed this very issue quite thoroughly (in my humble opinion - ha ha) in an older blog post that can be seen  HERE

 But just in case your "clicky finger" is on the fritz, let me recap:

The best chance of being SURE the child you are adopting is a true orphan comes when you:
1. Adopt from a Hague Convention Country
2. Adopt an older child
3. Adopt a child with special needs (and I don't mean "attached earlobes", folks . . REAL special needs)
4. Repeat steps 1-3

I realize this can and will ruffle some feathers, even among my Evangelical sisters.  Many of you literally do "rescue" children from places where neglect and starvation dominate the lives of these kids and a short life span is due, almost entirely, to the sins of the government and caregivers.  I think those adoptions fall squarely under point #3 above.  Even in a Non-Hague country.

But let's face it, friends.  Even if we are as careful as possible and only adopt from Hague countries and only special needs children and no newborn babies, we will still face criticism.

Why?

Because The Word has told us so.

John 16:33

English Standard Version (ESV)

³³ I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”

And

John 15     18“If the world hates you, you know that it has hated Me before it hated you.19“If you were of the world, the world would love its own; but because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world, because of this the world hates you."

So I join with throngs of other Christ-followers and do that to which I am called: 
caring for orphans, claiming the fatherless, opening our home and sharing what we have with those who have no home, calling my boys "sons" and knowing, in my deepest parts  that it is not the path to salvation for me or them.  It's an honor and a privilege for me.  It's a new family tree for them.
It's the only thing to do when you know . . . the only thing. 


 

Mish Mash

In my almost three years as a blogger,  I have fallen silent on my blog only a few times.

Generally, that happens for two reasons. Either I am dealing with an unusually intense family change (an adoption, most often) or I am in a dismal mood and trying not to cyber discourage anyone.

 This most recent silence is due to a little bit of both.

If you've been hanging with us here for any length of time, you'll know that we've been working to sell our home and relocate full-time to The Philippines in service of visually-impaired orphans.

We just received an offer on our home!

That is a huge praise but with that offer comes additional stresses . . . inspections, negotiations, punch lists, concessions, polybutylene pipes and septic tank talk . . .  hard stuff.

 And, of course, while we seek to serve, the Enemy attacks at every turn. . . annoyances, squabbles,
frustration, insomnia and LIES, LIES, LIES . . .

"You are making the  biggest mistake of your lives. Damaging your children. Leaving 'the good life' for a life of poverty and illness"

But I heard all those lines before in one variation or another.  We are adoptive parents, you know.
So we say "bring it on" . . . not sure if we're being brazen out of faith or foolishness. I guess we'll know soon enough.

So that speaks to the "moody" part of the silence but here is the "busy" part. The part I love.

Homeschooling Lem again.

 Back at my kitchen table again where he belongs.


It makes me busy but it also makes me so very happy.

And, of course, the boys who have been here keeping me teaching are still doing just that . . .

Only daughter handles all of her own schooling at this stage of the game. At night, I grade and in the day, she corrects, reads, learns and reads some more.

Oldest son is working extra hours at his YMCA job and just opened his first mutual fund! We are
proud of the man he is becoming.  Almost ready to "do life" as a grown up.
Weirds me out.   I still remember diapers and training wheels.

But such is life.


In this midst of all the changes and planning, I feel myself pulling back from relationships that are not coming with me.  That's not a good practice.   One would expect to be milking those bonds for all they are worth as they will soon be separated by 8,000 miles.  But instead, I hole up and am slow to answer emails or phone calls.  So, forgive me.

Maybe it's the "Navy Brat" coming out to look after the tender parts.

Because sometimes I think about NOT being here and NOT having these people and I feel a little
panicky.  I have taken for granted so much and so many.  Yes, probably you.

So vetting out what is "normal" and what is "enemy" and what is "hormones" and what is "exhaustion" to put all these things into perspective is proving to be less-than-simple.

And I'm not going to try anymore.

I AM going to keep my heart focused on two things.  TRUSTING and OBEYING.

Jesus said "no one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God".

So let me look forward.  Always hopeful. Ever pressing on. Silencing the doubts with
what I know to be true.

For you, my friends, encouragers, prayer partners, supporters and fellow laborers. I am
eternally grateful.   Please stay.   And pray.

And I will do the same for you.

For HIS Great Fame,
Nikki

Church Outside the Walls

I'm in a weird spot right now.  Sometimes fantasizing about pushing the "pause" button but also wishing "fast forward" was an option.


Last Sunday, some friends hosted a picnic for our family to spend some time together before we go.
The weather was perfect. There were TONS of kids, lots of food, and I felt so contented just looking out at the people that God has put in our lives.  We have done nothing to deserve such supportive, precious friends.  He's just good like that!  I strive to BE as good of a friend to others as these faithful ones are to me.

Our house has been officially "on the market" for just over a week and we're preparing for our fifth showing in just a couple of hours.

Yesterday, our one and only public schooled son said "goodbye" to his friends and teachers. He will begin homeschooling on Monday. I have wanted this for a long time but had no real reason to force him to come home.  He was doing fine and he loves his friends.

I knew he was sad when he came in the door yesterday.  He didn't want to eat immediately after school like he usually does.  He was very quiet in the car as we had to vacate due to a showing.
We decided to go to Wendy's for a frosty,  the whole family.  When just he and I were at the table, I put my arm around him and asked
"Are you okay?".
He said "I might cry".   And he did.
It breaks my heart because he has suffered the most loss in his life of all of my children. I know it hits him hard that this chapter in his life is closed.
I assured him that we will get him together with his school friends very soon.
And I will.
This is a child for whom broken promises have characterized his early years. He still doubts, I think.
 But when I remind him that our move means he gets his Kuya, his big brother, full time, he perks up and eats a baconator, fries, frosty and part of my food.

I mentioned in an earlier post that we had to leave our church of three years (due to some serious integrity issues in leadership) and that whole ordeal comes back and washes over me every now and then.  We have a little of that vagabond feeling as we are terminal "visitors" at churches.
It's tiring and I'm just sad.  Sad and a little mad.

How much do we get involved? We're moving.
How much should we invest? We're burned and cynical.
Do we "join" somehwhere? Start going to a small group?
I think "no" and sometimes I think "never again".

I see why people gravitate to home churches with just a few families.  
But we are part of the People of God and we need to not forsake the assembling.
The Bible says that for a reason and that is the ONLY reason I am rising and going these days.
But it's reason enough.
He said it. We must do it.
 

I don't ever want to become one of those bitter old ladies who refuses to join a church because "someone said something that hurt my feelings 35 years ago".
But gosh, dangit . . . I'm starting to understand those old ladies a little better.  A lot better.

And that is why I have taken to calling my friends my "church outside the walls".  They minister to us and encourage.  They serve us and let us serve them. We talk about the things of God and what we are learning in our Bible studies and it feels more like "church" than "church" does.  

It's hard to imagine leaving the country like this.  But it's even harder to imagine staying.

So I want to thank my friends and family loud and proud . . .
our Church Outside the Walls.
I'm so thankful for that little catchphrase. It's a sweet reminder that we aren't wayfarers.
We are surrounded, protected, and we belong somewhere.

This Side of the Water

Things are moving . . . really moving in terms of our relocation to The Philippines.

All home repairs have been accomplished and the house is on the market. Tomorrow, we will be listed on the MLS.  Oh, how I have waited for this day!
My cute little cottage on the beautiful piece of land that I waited years for will belong to someone
else and I am just fine with that.  My prayer is that the new family enjoys this home and fills it with love and memories.  I pray that the spirit of God is present here in the new owners and that they will take good care of my precious neighbor-friends we will leave behind.
But, dang, I have loved this house . . .  I brought home my three newest children to this home.
I prayed many prayers here and cried buckets of tears, both happy and sad. God healed one of my children from tremendous emotional scars within these walls.   We hosted countless friends and loved ones in these rooms and opened God's word with brothers and sisters at the table inside.
Lord, let the new owners, whoever they are, appreciate the beautiful things about this
cozy house . . .

We have given our one-and-only public schooled son his final date to be a student at his beloved school.  April 15th, his birthday, will be his last day there.  It is the day his group "tracks out" for a month and so we find it a practical, logical time for him to close that chapter in his life.
He is lamenting saying good-bye to some of the great friends he has made and I am
not-so-secretly looking forward to having him all to myself again. I have to admit, I sure do miss
that kid when he's gone so many hours each day.

Do missionaries let their children play with guns?  I'll have to check on that.

And it brings to mind some other questions bouncing around in this frenetic brain of mine.
Like, do missionaries have Pearl Jam and Indigo Girls on their ipods?
Do they have teens with tattoos and piercings?
Do they have children with special needs who divide their hearts and make them afraid they are taking too big a leap?
Do they drink wine with their dinner?  Do they dance to non-Christian music? 

Is there a dress, behavior and conduct code we don't understand that immediately disqualifies us from being taken seriously by our peers on the mission field?

I guess we'll find out.   And I don't really think so.

I've been blessed to spend time with other missionaries from The Philippines and found them to come in all shapes, sizes, ideologies and practices. Pentecostal, conservative, liberal, reformed, dresses-only, blues-guitar-playing, no-mixed-swimming, King-James-only-reading, still-deciding-on-some-stuff people who are working out their own salvations with fear and trembling.

Loving Jesus. Serving the poor and agreeing to disagree on some of the finer points.
I've been "sharpened" by them.

And that comforts me.
Because it's so important that we can carry the gospel message far away and keep being "us".
As long as the "us" we are is not in opposition to the CLEARLY WRITTEN mandates in scripture then I think we are on the right track.

The selling has started.
Oldest-son sold his piano  and only-daughter her drum kit and bass guitar.
They will re-purchase the instruments they miss when we arrive abroad and I am gunning for oldest son to replace that keyboard as soon as possible.  I miss hearing him play in the late evenings while I clean up the dinner dishes.
Only-daughter taught herself to play the ukulele yesterday and oldest-son is proficient on the melodica so, we still have plenty of music filling our home but there's nothing like a beautiful piano ballad to get me through that last scrubbing of the worst pot!

Hubby has dissolved his photography business and sold off a good bit of his equipment.

This is all so real and yet, it feels we have a ways to go.

Sometimes I dream we are already there in the heat and busyness of Manila.  I wake up a little disappointed and a tiny bit relieved that it was just a dream.  Because I know there will be some very hard parts.  And we have so much to learn!

Lord, teach us to lose!


 Matthew 16:24-27

Then Jesus said to his disciples, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it. What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul? For the Son of Man is going to come in his Father’s glory with his angels, and then he will reward each person according to what they have done.

The "Salty" Ones

The family living next door to us
 A friend recovering from a major surgery
 A fellow homeschool mom
An adoptive Mama with whom I've shared many heart to heart conversations about the trials and joys of older child adoption
A woman I've never met who lives in California
A couple of blog readers who don't know my last name
An adoption agency professional who is probably busier than I have ever been
A man who quit a lucrative job to serve the poor in a country in which he was not born
A pretty young, single woman who has dedicated her life to serving young men with difficult pasts
Some members of my own extended family

These are people I call "The Salty Ones" . . .

And for good reason.

On Friday morning as I sat in the waiting room of the oral surgeon's office waiting for my son, Lem, to have his wisdom teeth removed, a troubling message popped up on my ipad:
                              "Hi,need an urgent prayer request:Ariel is in a
                               hospital right now for a possible operation immediately
                               for a bone fracture . . . bone pierced the skin . . . lot of blood"

You get the idea.  If you've been a friend in real life or a bloggy friend, you might remember who
Ariel is to us.  He is the biological brother of our son Lem.  He was not adopted as a child and remains in the capable, loving hands of Believers who run an after care program for street boys.
But since he was fifteen years old and I first learned about him, he has been a "child of my heart".
I have spent much time and energy devising a way to bring him into our home when no legal path seemed to exist.  I have blogged about him often,  in posts like this: http://bringinghomezeke.blogspot.com/2012/12/i-have-wanted-so-badly-to-share-all.html
and many others.

As days went by and Ariel's injury showed itself to be more complicated than a simple "set and cast" break, the expenses for his care began to mount.

Some of you may not know that, in The Philippines, if you don't have the cash money to pay for your medical care, you don't get medical care.  I am not willing to cast aspersions on the way things work over there. It is clearly a necessity that every person needing care not be treated for free or hospitals would go broke. As in every country, the poor suffer greatly when illness and injury show their ugly faces.


And here is where "The Salty Ones" came in . . .

I posted a plea on Facebook for anyone willing to help pay for this surgery and hospital stay.
And THOSE people . . . the ones in the list I wrote to open this post, they gave and gave and gave.
They gave despite their own bills and commitments.
They gave to a young man they have never met.
They gave generously and quickly (within an hour of my facebook post)
and some even checked back to see if more help was needed.
They gave because of all that Jesus gave to them.

They gave because they are salt and light . . .

And don't think for one moment that the kind of radical, selfless, trusting giving that happened last night happened JUST for Ariel's care.
It happened for that, yes, and for a bigger purpose as well.
It happened because many who have not yet come to Jesus are watching and listening.
They are seeing this unusual behavior . . . they are taking note that in a skeptical world where each person has to guard his pennies and check out every "worthy cause" to make sure it isn't a scam, sons and daughters of The Savior of the World just gave open handedly to a handsome stranger who had a need.

And that, my friends, speaks VOLUMES to the lost.  In this tough economy. In this cynical time.

That is how "salty ones" are set apart and make HIS name great.


"YOU are the salt of Earth . . . . YOU are the light of the world. A city on a hill that can
not be hidden . . .in the same way, let your light shine before others that they may see your good works and glorify your father in Heaven."  Matthew 5:13-16

And THIS is how the body of Christ is to love :
" . . . not just with words or speech but with ACTIONS and in truth."

So there, you have it.
Faithful God using a difficult situation to call his children "out of the saltshaker" and make his presence known. 

And that is why being "salty"  is a great honor.  And a humbling privilege.


Thank You.

The Beauty of Three

It is a day for celebration in our busy household!

Today marks three years since our amazing, beautiful wonder-baby, Ezekiel, joined our family and brought us the kind of light and joy that came unexpected and welcome . . .

"Gotcha Day" . . . March 8th, 2010

But his story started long before he made his way down the jetway and into my arms.

Long before . . .

Ezekiel's birth mother had no idea the baby she carried was a child with Down Syndrome. After his birth, she was still unaware. It was not until Ezekiel was two months old and birthmom took him to a clinic for a check up that a doctor shared the news that devastated her and thrust my precious baby into orphanhood.   She was told he had not only Down Syndrome but a heart defect.  For a single mother with another child,  and an ill-paying job, she  knew that a diagnosis like this would be expensive and she could not provide.  So she did an extraordinarily unselfish deed.
She took him to an orphanage nearby in hopes that the people there could afford to fix his heart and find him a family.
But they said "no".
They, too, realized that a child with Down Syndrome is expensive to care for.
And hard to place.
So she journeyed on to try another orphanage and came to Gentle Hands.
She met a woman named Charity, the director. A woman who knows the value of EVERY LIFE . . .
And she said "yes".

This is one of the last photos of birthmom holding Ezekiel on Surrender Day.

This was taken at the orphanage. 

Ezekiel was lovingly cared for and given medications and check-ups at GH. He was mothered by
a woman named Thelma who gave him her heart, knowing it was just a loan . . .

Ezekiel and Thelma 

 Ezekiel grew and thrived at Gentle Hands for more than two years!

He was their first child with Down Syndrome, but would not be their last.  I have a feeling they
learned from Ezekiel the same thing we learned.  Children with Down Syndrome are set apart. They bring unspeakable joy and an adjusting of perspective to all who are lucky enough to know them.

Ezekiel and Charity . . . the one who said "yes" . . .

And this is the very picture we saw  that made our hearts leap for joy because we knew THIS was one of OUR children!  So with the help of many, especially the group started by a precious lady called "Friends of Ezekiel", the concerted effort to bring him home to us met with success!

This is the family that God chose to bless with Ezekiel. 

The brothers who protect him. . .

The people who cherish him . . .

The mother who would do anything for him . . .

The Kuya who adores him . . .

The Ate who takes such good care of him . . .

And the father who let faith triumph over fear to bring home a son who would always be with us . . . 

I can say with complete confidence that in the three years since Ezekiel has been ours, there has not been one regret!  He fits into this family like he has always been here. I have often wondered if God miraculously changed his DNA to mine and his father's.  But I would never want that.
I wouldn't  change one thing about this boy's journey to our family.
Every life he touched needed touching.
Every heart he held needed holding.
Every sacrifice made for him needed making.

It is my heartfelt prayer at this three-years-home celebration that even one mother who has received a Down Syndrome diagnosis for her baby might stumble upon my blog.  She might consider the cost and know the JOY and choose LIFE . . .

Maybe she is afraid that this life will be burdensome.  Possibly someone in a white coat has talked of the heart defects, low intellect and lifetime dependence and she feels trapped.  I won't lie to her and tell her it is exactly the same as parenting a typically-developing child.  There are differences.
But they are not burdens.
They are privileges.

Happy three-years home to my little grace gift . . .

Made in the image of a Holy God . . .

Today

Haunted

I am haunted by a child.
He was mine and now he is not.
I need to find him.

And here is the story . . .

Back in 2002, my husband and I had two precious children, ages 6 and 8.  We felt very stable in our lives and ready to explore adding to our family.

I found out that a place called Falcon Children's Home had a "visiting resource" program and I called them to investigate.  As a visiting resource, my husband and I submitted to background checks, filled out an application and then were given the privilege of meeting the children at Falcon to decide who we would like to host for weekends and holidays.

We went to the home on a warm summer day in 2002.  I asked the house mother which children were still in need of a visiting resource.
The girls were all claimed.
The white kids were mostly claimed.
The boys were chosen last.
The African American boys were chosen absolutely, positively last.

And then I saw Jaquan.  He was a tiny, thin boy with a beautiful smile and in desperate need of some lotion.  I asked if he had a resource family, already knowing the answer.

He sat next to us on a wooden bench and shyly answered our questions.  I asked if he would like to visit our house sometime and play with our children.  He nodded almost imperceptibly.

But that's all it took. . .

The following weekend we picked him up and within moments of arriving home, he was on the trampoline with my two children wrestling and yelling.
He was obedient and precious and charming.
By the second weekend, I was clipping his toenails and learning how to do something with his hair and kissing him as much as he would let me. 

And then it happened.  When we took him back to Falcon after his second visit, he called us on the phone within an hour.  He was crying . . .
                         "I want to stay with y'all"

My heart physically hurt.   Because I wanted that, too.  So much.

We brought him to our home for every holiday and weekend we could for the next seven months. We took him on a trip to Virginia Beach with us. We took him camping and let him chop things up with a hatchet.

And then his social worker called.   The state was willing to split this child up from his twelve-year-old brother if we wanted to adopt him. His brother had been in trouble. I saw no problem with splitting up these final two siblings who were part of an even larger group of siblings.

But my husband did.   So we had to say "no".

Within two weeks, the social worker called to let us know a family in Charlotte NC was interested in both boys.  They were an African-American family.  They had older children. They were better for these brothers.  The boys could stay together. What right did this white lady have to split up siblings and take a child from his "culture"?  

So I called Falcon to bring Jaquan to us one more time.
I asked him if he knew about anything exciting that was going to happen to him and he replied,
                      "I have to get adopted"  with a sad face. 
 I made him a life book of all the fun things we had done together as a family.  I wrote "I love you" on every page.  I put our phone number and address inside just in case . . . 

And now, he is 18 years old.  I have waited all these years to reach out to somebody else's son.
                                            Because he changed our lives.

My hope and prayer is that he has had a wonderful life.
I have found his birthmother's obituary online.
Mugshots of two of his siblings.
But no obituary and no mug shots for this precious boy.

I just want him to know that he taught me that being a mother has nothing much to do with bloodlines or race or geographic location.

I'd like to tell him that he showed me that foster care was not the place for us.  We are not good
"giver backers".

I hope he knows he has been prayed for regularly for ten years and that I have wondered a million times if we should have kept him and let big brother (one of the mug shots) go.

Finally, I pray he was not hurt in any way by the short-term, non-permanent, time in our home. It must have been confusing for such a young boy.

He was a brother, a son, a beloved treasure . . . for not nearly long enough.

I pray this blog post finds it's way to someone who knows someone who knows someone . . .
who will tell him.