Merry Christmas 2024

Every year my mind swirls with thoughts of all kinds.

How challenging is it to ride a donkey for miles…while pregnant? Did the animals recognize this baby was special? What would it be like to birth your Creator? Thank God this only happened once - He only needed to come once - God came to earth as a man!

What is my response? Thankfulness, so much thankfulness, whether breakfast is on time or not. Thankfulness even if the tree is dead and gone, which it is, hanging on by a few needles. The tree that reminds us how our Creator spent His first days as a human in a manger, and was later hung on another tree - taking our sins with Him forever.

I hold our infant and think of Mary, what amazement she must’ve felt. I watch our older kids open their gifts and shout for joy, smiling big, and I wonder what God thought as He watched the shepherds and wise men excitedly search for His Gift. The best Gift. What joy!

Merry Christmas, friends. God is so kind.

The End Better Than The Beginning

There’s a sobering weight that settles over a parent driving away from the hospital with their first child. Am I even mature enough for this? Who is allowing this child to come home with me?! I don’t know how to raise a child!

It seems like yesterday that we buckled in a little boy we didn’t know and drove away from the cradle care home. Suddenly the burden had shifted: the generous, exhausted caregivers had given him their final hugs and kisses and welcomed the reprieve, while we assumed the weight of it all.

I looked back from the passenger seat to smile at our older boys, scared that we were about to ruin them. I glanced over at this foreign, flapping, huge diaper-wearing three-year-old and tried to catch the eyes that didn’t want to connect. Lord, maybe this is too much. Are You sure? We could turn around…

We drove for hours and arrived at our rental house. After a whirlwind of a couple weeks we now had to slow painfully down. The days ahead were empty, left for us to fill with who-knew-what while we waited for paperwork to be signed and the green light to leave the state. We got things put away and explored the backyard, hopeful that the physical activity would help everyone sleep well that night.

The next handful of nights were nightmares. It started with brushing teeth and would end sometime in the early hours of the morning. Cup after cup of strawberry milk was made, diaper after diaper changed. Back rubs, relaxing lotion, the fan and sound machine on – we had no clue how to decode the screaming and crying and thrashing. Nothing seemed to diffuse the intense emotions this little boy felt, and he had no other way to tell us what he was thinking.

Those two weeks were full of challenges and beauty: trips to the store that ended with screaming; comments from strangers that brought tears, because you can’t possibly explain your situation in 15 seconds; bright sunsets with horses in the foreground; giggles from three little boys and joy in their faces as they jumped around with baby goats.

Up until then, life was fairly easily curated. Planned. Predictable. Learning curves came in stages, with end dates somewhere on the horizon. But this little boy who’s world had been rocked came in and shattered much of what I knew with breakneck pace. All of a sudden, life was messy and I couldn’t do anything about it. Things I never anticipated began happening left and right. He’d wander down the driveway, fall over constantly, make one guttural “ooh” sound all. day. long. There were a lot of little, probably petty things – like ripping books and smearing poop on the windowsill. But it all broke me. What hurt most was the reality that many adoptive mothers experience – pouring yourself out for a child who desperately needs your love and stability but cannot process it, and will push it – you – all away. The poop on the windowsill would’ve been easier to handle with a smile if this little one could have told me what he needed. The ripped books could’ve been tossed with less heartache if I knew he understood boundaries and the concept of possessions.

There were a few days, and many nights, I spent in tears genuinely questioning our decision. If we had said no, God would have brought someone else to take him. Right? God would still have cared for him. We could have waited, maybe taken an infant or at least a child with fewer needs and hangups.

And here we are, officially one year later.

We could’ve said no; we could’ve asked God to send another family. But we would’ve missed all that He wanted to do.

The stretches of good nights, the daily walks that did us all good physically and mentally. The day Kash looked me in the eyes while he was flapping, indicating that he wanted to let me into his world. The countless conversations with our sweet Levi and Caleb, answering their many questions and being humbled by their love for their new brother. The sheer joy as all the boys wrestle together and giggle, as they run outside and balance on the obstacle courses they’ve made themselves. The day Kash came padding into the kitchen to see what I was doing, interested in something other than himself and the object he held. The day he tried to crack an egg into a pan. The fact that I can now read him like a book, without many words. The day, a couple weeks ago, he looked at me and called me Mama when I got him up for breakfast.

We don’t know where Kash would be if God hadn’t placed him here. But we do know that God plucked him out of a life of pain and struggle, drugs and instability, and gave him a fresh start. We have watched his body heal, and we know he feels the difference. We have seen Kash emerge, leaving his autistic behaviors and traits behind. Oh, how much we all have learned!

“Every good and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning.”
James 1:17

Early on we received a frame from an adoption organization with this verse scripted inside, and I hesitantly found a place for it. I knew Kash was a gift but truthfully, it was hard to accept that as fact. Are gifts supposed to weigh you down and make you lose your mind?! Turns out, sometimes the answer is yes. Sometimes the story God is writing makes no sense and your job is to be a good character anyway. I’ve learned to laugh more, relax more, take each day as it comes knowing that the Lord will provide for my every need (and those of my children!). God gives us gifts as He sees fit, whether we recognize them as gifts or not. Kash certainly is a gift to each of us from Him. He is now naturally part of our family and we couldn’t imagine not having him here!

Who knows what the next year will hold. Without a doubt there will be more sanctification, and Lord-willing we will come out even more refined and joyful. We genuinely look forward to the things to come because we know that God works all things for our good and His glory – we have seen this proven time and time again. He is good. One year down, many more to go!

“The end of a thing is better than its beginning; the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit.”
Ecclesiastes 7:8

We Call Him Ours

Nine months.

Nine months, to the day. Nine months ago we took a chunky little three-and-a-half-year-old boy overnight and he has been with us every day and every night since. And today, he became a permanent part of our family.

Praise the Lord, He has given a needy child a home! Praise the Lord, He has equipped these otherwise-incapable people with the strength and wisdom to do the job!

The analogy isn’t seamless, but the significance of this timing isn’t lost on me. For nine months, we have carefully gotten to know each other. Like a baby in my womb, this little one has grown and stretched me and I have felt his kicks. He knows my voice and without him speaking, I know his personality. I have wondered who he will grow to be, and he has slowly awakened to the world outside of himself.

And today, we have another son and he has our last name. On Josh’s birthday nonetheless, what a gift! And what a gift that Kash has a dad who will always remain in his life, who will continue to play with him and teach him and protect him. He has a dad who will continue to point him to his Heavenly Father, the One who can heal his wounds and give him purpose. The Lord has taken Kash out of a life of brokenness, away from dangers and hopelessness. How humbling it is to see that He has placed him into our family.

Today, Kash has two brothers who love him for better or for worse. They have nine months behind them of getting to know each other, learning from each other, understanding new aspects of this life we live together. When asked if all the boys get along, I answered that they act like brothers - truly, they have melded together and while it’s been rocky at times, none of us could imagine Kash being anywhere else but here with us.

Today, Kash has a mom who will stay steady for him. Since we took him in, I have cared for and loved him - though it has seemed like caring for someone else’s child. Today, I can call him mine. I have prayed for God to make this shift for me mentally, and He has done so in the last couple days. He is gracious!

Kash, my sweet boy - you are a gift. God plucked you out of harm’s way and has shielded you from experiencing more of the world’s brokenness. And as you know, our family is broken too; we will fail you at times and you will see our flaws. We are human and faulty. But by the grace of God, you will know stability, joy, and peace. You will see forgiveness, in the big things and the little. You will hear of God’s goodness, as you have many times already, and you will see how He can heal the deepest parts of each of us.

Your previous caregivers and your tummy momma are never far from my thoughts. I don’t know the roads they’ve walked, I don’t know the struggles they’ve had. I hurt for them and I pray for them often. Have they ever known stability, or the comfort or peace of God? Have they ever been nurtured or protected? Only Jesus can heal them from their addictions, only He can give them hope. May He do just that for each of them.

You are home now. Settle in, little one. Your things have their places, your schedule will remain consistent. And while I know you are getting comfortable, and healing has begun, I know the ache isn’t gone. When the memories are too painful and the loss to great, we will still be here to hold you. When you are able to speak, I pray that you will trust your dad and me to tell us the stories your life has held. We will be here to share in your giggles and rejoice as you learn new things. We will be here to encourage you and support you.

You are loved, sweet boy. God has started this good work, and He will see it to completion. Let’s praise Him together.

Steady

“What makes an ‘uh’ sound?”

“A ‘u’, that says ‘uh.’”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, what are you trying to write?”

I listen to my older boys as they work together writing cards. Day after day we practice sounds, working our way through a textbook and sounding out signs and words we read while out and about. My heart swells, I am so proud of their efforts to learn and be independent. I kiss their sweet heads more often and hug them a little longer these days. My first babies.

The leaves of Fall have come and are on their way out. Tarp-full after tarp-full has been raked and dragged out back to the ever-growing pile. The blue jays are picking away at the gutters and the squirrels are storing up acorns. The same scenes every year are magnificent and comforting.

Weeks ago we spent a couple days in hospitals with Kash. A UTI that reached his one kidney; grounds for getting really bad, really fast. He lay on the hospital bed in and out of sleep and fevers, in and out of pain and anger and fear. He couldn’t tell us where it hurt and why. Couldn’t answer our questions. Always on high-alert and pleading, “ah dah, ah dah!” All done, all done. Praise God, at least he had those sounds to tell us he wanted to go home. They strapped a board under his arm and wrapped the IV tightly to it so he couldn’t pull it out as he thrashed. He screamed and screamed, his terrified eyes begging us to understand.

My mind raced back to the previous to hospital trips we’d had with our now-middle child, Caleb. Was he scared? Absolutely. But he knew we were right there, and that comforted him. There was chaos but his world was still steady.

How different life is for Kash. I’ve counted seven different homes he has lived in, for various amounts of time. Some long, some very short. Some probably trying to be stable, but unable, and some quickly passing him off to the next. How does a delayed, nonverbal child process trauma and insanity?

Josh stayed at the second hospital with Kash while I went home for Levi and Caleb. When we were finally able to drive up and get them, I admit I was nervous. Did Kash believe we had done all this to him? That we’d made him wallow in pain and purposely terrify him in a hospital? It had sure seemed like it. Would he be angry to see me? Would he even want to go home, to our home, or would he be anticipating another drive to somewhere new?

I parked in the parking garage. We had bought special donuts to share with Daddy and Kash and I prayed they’d at least spark a smile. We walked around and waited outside the elevator doors. Finally, Josh came out carrying Kash. What a long few seconds it was, watching Kash’s confused little face as I smiled and tried to determine what emotion he was feeling - if he even knew what he was feeling. They came closer and stopped next to me and the other boys, and slowly… Kash leaned out of Josh’s arms and into mine. I hid a tear and held him as we walked back to the car. Lord, thank You.

Something changed for him in the hospital. He began following me around like a lost puppy. Anywhere and everywhere I went, he went. His little hands held on to the kitchen sink as I did dishes, his long lashes and nose sticking out from under his full head of hair, watching intently. “Uh pah, uh PAH,” he would ask every few minutes. Up, up. Had he ever been snuggled and nurtured as a newborn? There are so many gaps. I held him close.

He jumped ahead a bit developmentally, and we were stunned. Then came some of the hardest days yet. I thought it would be hard to beat the intense struggle of that first month he was with us, but I was wrong. Night after cruel night; day after day he and I limped to the finish line. Days when Levi would rub my back and Caleb would come to me with pained eyes, “Mommy, don’t cry anymore.” I held them close.

Someday my older boys will understand. For now, they just know that there are days when we all struggle and there are days we all are light as a feather. They know that Kash pushes me in ways no one else has, and they are the first to remind me - “Don’t be easily upset, Momma.” We go for walks and breathe in deep. We open windows and sing worship music. We stop mid-meltdown and ask Jesus for help, and oh how He does. We find things to laugh about and places to jump and climb and explore. One day at a time, our spiral is moving upward.

Someday, Kash will talk. And maybe someday, he will share his story. There are many more things I don’t share here than things I do. His story is his, and I pray the Lord saves his soul and gives him joy in his testimony.

The blue jays find seeds and fly away. The squirrels bound across the yard, mouths full of acorns. The earth keeps spinning; its rhythmic, routine course. Such comfort our Creator instilled in our universe. I hear all three of my boys laughing and giggling… my heart swells.

“You are worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honor and power;
for You created all things, and by Your will they exist and were created.”
Revelation 4:11