Mother's Day

I have to admit that it was hard for me to fully live into the bliss of my motherhood on Sunday because I have not forgotten how painful that day was for me; the reality that the day was still bringing with it grief for so many women was not lost on me. I think that's okay though. I try not to put pressure on myself to experience something that I think I should be experiencing. True joy isn't pretending, is it? I think we find true joy when we open our hearts to the reality we find ourselves in and just simply ask God to reveal himself there.

Strangely enough, on Sunday God revealed himself to me as I pulled up two pairs of underwear over my little boy's bum.

He's potty training- Arie, that is- and we were 4 days in on Sunday. I waited until he was good and ready so it hasn't been that hard but we've had our share of accidents and I'll tell you it is nothing short of pure frustration when your kid is "going to the bathroom" while he's telling you that NO, HE DOES NOT HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM. 

I don't know what I hate more- the defiance or the laundry. Probably a tie.

Well, I have three pairs of extra thick potty training underwear which I like for him to wear "out" so that if he has an accident say... at church- while the pee will still require a change of pants, it won't make a puddle on the plush cushioned chair beneath him.

As we got ready for church on Mother's day I found I only had one clean pair of the thick undies left. They were decorated with tiny pale yellow turtles and therein lay the problem. In Arie's mind those tiny yellow turtles just could not compare to the big bold swinging monkeys that adorned the other clean pair of underwear in his drawer. The other thin, non-absorbent, pee goes right through 'em without so much as a hesitation, pair of undies.

As Arie sat grumpily on the toilet no amount of Oh look at these yellow turtles! You love turtles! Just like the ones at the library! How cool are these??? could convince my little man. Instead he grew increasingly agitated, insisting louder and louder to his apparently deaf mama that turtle underwear was not happening. Thankfully it was a cool day outside and the bathroom window was closed, otherwise my neighbours would have started their sunday with a rousing rendition of, "NO TUTAS MAMA!!! MONKEEEYS!!! NO TUTAS!!"

So in true moment of motherhood brilliance, I told my little man that boy was he lucky because he was going to wear TWO PAIR OF UNDERWEAR TODAY!!

Worked like a charm. Monkey undies on top.

As I was pulling up the double pair of underwear on my little man, his arms wrapped around my neck for stability, I was hit with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. The LORD's voice steady in my heart, reminding me that last year on this day I was crying for this little boy and now here I was pulling up his underwear.

That was my Mother's Day joy: a reminder that God has granted me the desire of my heart and that my little blessing is here with me, making laundry and peeing on my floor. I'm not saying I'm going to start rejoicing in those motherhood messes, but I'm going to try and remember to ask God to show himself, even there.

xo

Our "Yes but not yet" adoption journey (guest post)

"We hope to adopt someday, too!"

Sometimes when John and I share our adoption story we get this response and I love hearing it. Every adoption story begins with an act of imagination. You imagine your family looking different- another face in the family photo, another pair of hand prints smudged on the front window, another space in your heart for both joy and sorrow, and another reason give thanks to the Giver of life.

Arie's hand print on our front door. An adorable smudge.

Over a year ago my friend Leanne wrote a post in her blog about this act of imagination and I have been wanting to ask her to guest post for me ever since. Well, the day has come and Leanne has agreed to share with us a bit of what it is like to feel the call to adopt but know that the time has not yet arrived. I'm so honored to have her words appear here because I know that so many of you will be able to relate:

*

I’ve read somewhere that if something makes you cry, it’s because your heart is
connected to it. It’s part of it and within whatever it is lies a resonance you shouldn’t
ignore.

This concept perfect fits my heart for adoption. I can’t talk about it without crying and I
can’t relay my friend’s stories of adoption joy without tearing up. I often envision our
future family portraits on the mantle and they have a couple more children in them, and
they’re not necessarily ones I gave birth to, and I love that.

I’m currently not in the process of adoption, but I wish I was. I am however an adopted
Aunt to an 8 year old Ethiopian boy named Fetinet and my daughter started calling him
her brother without any prompting from us. He comes over on days when his school is
closed and he’s so comfortable in our home that he bosses my kids around a bit, but
that wasn’t always the case.

Leanne's husband Kel and daughter Leanne welcoming Fetinet home!

Again with the tears, I often tear up while I make him a turkey wrap for lunch because
he’s only been here for 9 months and is was just this past July that he was so
overwhelmed with his adoption that he wouldn’t speak to anyone, not even his adopted
mom, my dear friend Joely.

I remember the first evening he came over and fell asleep on our couch for the fourth of
July. He watched the rest of the kids swim in the pool and sat next to us in silence. I
couldn’t imagine how overwhelmed he was that night, I’m not sure if I would have
spoken either.

But now? Now he informs me that I buy the wrong eggs at the store and have dirty
ceiling fans. He bounces around our house and holds my children’s hands when we go
grocery shopping. He gets excited when I pick him up from school, he’s a part of my
heart forever and always, I love being a part of his story.

In the evenings my children and I pray for orphans around the world, “children without
mommies or daddies” in 3 year old speak. A few months back we sponsored a child,
Jhon, from the Phillipines. I may have oversold it because my daughter spent weeks
telling people about “Jhon who has a mommy and daddy but had to eat food out of the
trash... but not anymore because he’s on our fridge.:

I don’t want them to think we’re American superheroes swooping in with money to
save, but Christian brothers and sisters, mommies and daddies running in to help
children in need with hands full of God’s love.

I’m an orphaned adult, our children have no biological grandparents alive and yet we
don’t lack love or a place to go on holidays. Why? Because we’re an adopted family,
God works through love thicker than blood even when no legal documents are in place.

And I want to spread the adoption love around, like right now. When I see the photos
and hear the statistics my heart is frantic to help. I want to bring these children home
yesterday, or preferably sooner. Yet I know how long the road of adoption is and I know
that we’re simply not ready to start today.

I wonder how long it will be until another set of Pajamas jumps into our laundry routine.

I imagine the sound of a new set of feet bringing their unique chaos and cadence to our
breakfast routine.

I know that there are too many unknowns for us in the next few years, we are moving
1,000 miles next month and my husband may be starting grad school. I know that the
call to adopt is wild and real, yet I know that God’s words for us right now are: wait guys.

So I wait and I wonder about those little people of my future, have they been born
already? Are they mere miles or massive continents away? Can they feel God’s love
through surrogate hands? And am I making excuses or listening to God’s timing for our
family?

Anytime I go to the airport to help welcome home a sweet new child I find myself a daze
on the way home. Crying (of course) and wondering when when it be our day to adopt.
Will it come through international adoption or foster care? And as always... am I doing
enough now? Should I have gone out to dinner or given than money to help so
and so’s adoption?

For now I have to be content knowing that my calling to help orphans is real, but for now
it must lie in a supporting role. For now I offer prayers to God, Advocate with passionate
words and support adopting and Fostering families directly through friendship and
fundraising help.

Every part of life is a season, one which comes and goes, and this is my waiting,
wondering season when it comes to adoption. It will pass and give life to something
new, probably something terrifying and full of paperwork.

*

Leanne Penny is a full time wife, mother and all around creative spirit who spends her days raising two beautiful children and trying to find a quiet time to think in between sessions of coloring and matchbox cars.  She also loves to write and does so often on her own blog in addition to writing occasional pieces for online magazines and blogs.  Her favorite writing topics are grief, grace, motherhood and redemption.

Follow Leanne at her blog leannepenny.com
You can also find her on twitter and facebook. 

Summit 9

“And once you live a good story, you get a taste for a kind of meaning in life, and you can't go back to being normal; you can't go back to meaningless scenes stitched together by the forgettable thread of wasted time.”

― Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life 

When I read Donald Miller's book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years it changed me forever. It showed me how I want to live my life: like it's a really good story. If I could boil down the message of the book into just one sentence it would be this: to live a really good story, you have to want something and then you have to go and get it. 

I put this hypothesis to the test with our adoption journey and it came out strong and true on the other side. I wanted Arie and the journey to go and get him made a really good story. I've never felt so alive, so purposed, so fulfilled as I did when we were working to bring him home. Though it was impossibly hard at many points along the way, it was entirely meaningful and the richest experience of my life so far.

The Christian Alliance for Orphan's Summit this weekend reminded me of that in a powerful way. In the three or four weeks leading up to the summit I was starting to fall into that awful state of being called boredom. As I prayed to God and shared my heart, Psalm 27:14 kept coming to mind, "Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord." I told John that I was expecting God to move in my heart at the summit and move He did. 

9+ hour drive. Trip up was nearly perfect. Trip back... was not. But still: worth it!

(Pit stop.)

We've got some juice, some marker, some ground-in playdough and a little puke on our shirt here. Tie-dye. 

Being at the summit with two thousand other people was like being surrounded by two thousand really good stories. A Baptist church in Nashville hosted us and every space of that church from the sanctuary pews to the classroom lecterns was filled with a person who wanted something and then went and got it. 

These were people who want Jesus and for his Kingdom to come. These are people who see so clearly that in God's kingdom, no child is an orphan. They are people who know that to participate in God's kingdom means to take of the orphan in her distress. 

Jedd Medefind, the president of Christian Alliance for Orphans, said something truly valuable about participation in this kingdom: "For the Christian, love for the orphan doesn't rise merely from duty, guilt, or idealism. Rather, we are simply responding to the lavish love of the God who pursued us when we were destitute and alone." During the final general session Pastor David Platt echoed this same idea saying, "We do not care for orphans because we are rescuers; we care for orphans because we are the rescued." I share these two statement because it is so crucial for me to remember that my story life story will not be something new and I will not be walking a path untaken. Rather, if I want to live a really good story I simply need to copy the story that has already been told of me. 

David Platt. My husband was in his glory, hearing him speak!

Jedd Medefind, president Christian Alliance for Orphans

The incredible story told of me is that what God wanted was me and that he sent his one and only son to get me. The story we are invited to tell with our lives is to be imitators of that great love by setting our sights on the least and the weakest in the world and by showing them the same unwavering love that has been shown to us. 

After only the first day of the two day summit John and I walked down the church hallway, pushing Arie in this stroller, and John said to me with a smile, "Well Jill, I've decided that this (orphan care) is what our family is going to be about. And I'm really hoping you agree so I can actually say "our."" Of course I laughed and agreed. We don't have a plan of attack but we have something that might be more important: a prayer that God will break our hearts for the orphan and give us a way to share the love he's shown to us. 

Stealing our chips at lunch!

Here are a few things to give you a taste of those thousand beautiful stories that were walking around Summit 9 last week: 

This clip is from the Today Show and tells the story of a town called Possum Trot (seriously) in Texas that has incredibly adopted over 70 children from foster care. Bishop WC Martin, who you will see on the clip, was a summit speaker. (I really hate that this clip makes Walmart such a hero at the end but it is the best one I could find about the town.) 

This video was made by Anthony Salem, husband of adoption blogger Adeye Salem at nogreaterjoymom.com. It is truly amazing how adoption changes lives!

Finally, this is the story of the Twietmeyer family who I look up to greatly! I had the opportunity to meet Carolyn at the summit and it was the highlight of the week for me! 

Carolyn is the founder of Project Hopeful which advocates and educates for the adoption of children with HIV.

Incredible stories. These people inspire me so deeply because they want Christ's kingdom to come and they're doing everything asked of them to go out and get it. They are the rescued, imitating the rescuer. 

That's the kind of story I want to write with my life. I'm coming away from this incredible week with a renewed purpose and great expectations for where the Lord will call us next. 

xo

On beauty and a word to mothers of sons

I took Arie shopping with me this weekend to get a few new spring clothes for myself. As we browsed the racks of clothing, he reached out from the cart to tug at various shirts and dresses, all the while exclaiming, "Mama!! Mama!!"

At home when he sees my clothes on the floor hanging in the closet he does the same thing. His little brain is making connections about this new life, including the fact that he now lives in a place where certain clothes belong to specific people (something he never saw in the orphanage where clothes belong to a common closet). It's mostly cute if not somewhat annoying when you're trying to browse the blouses at Target.

After the seventeenth, "Mama!! Mama!!" I finally stopped to give him my attention and I asked him, "Should Mama wear this?"

"Yeths!" he replied.

And then I asked him something very intentionally, "Would Mama look so beautiful in this?"

He looked at me quietly and I leaned in to whisper a secret. "Arie you should always tell the women in your life how beautiful they are."

"Oh! Mama ble-lo-fu!"(It's a hard word.)

One of my mothering goals is to raise a man who knows how to make a woman feel beautiful and it's because of the way being made to feel beautiful has impacted me.

Three years ago my Opa surprised my Oma with 75 roses for her 75th birthday!
Presented by three granddaughters; setting the bar high for future spouses!

Lately there's been a video by the Dove Campaign for Real Beauty floating around facebook in which a number of women are asked to describe themselves to a sketch artist. Their portrait is also drawn (by the same artist) as described by someone the women briefly met. When the women describe themselves the portraits come out harsh and pinched, a little fatter or a little sadder than they really are. In contrast, the portraits of the women drawn based on a description by a stranger come out kinder, happier, more forgiving. More beautiful. The conclusion, as stated by Dove: you're more beautiful than you think.

I thought the video was a poignant illustration of on obvious truth: women are usually too hard on themselves. I watched it, reflected for a few minutes, and went on with my day.

But then a facebook friend shared this article, citing a statistic that truly shocked me:

"Only four percent of women globally consider themselves beautiful."

What? 

Four percent? 

As in 96% of women do not consider themselves beautiful?

Even if we are looking at "the world's" perception of beauty: tall, thin, shiny hair, smooth skin, high cheekbones etc., surely more than 4% of women meet that criteria. Obviously the problem, like the Dove video suggests, is in our perception. Self perception.

When I look in the mirror I don't see the world's most stunning woman, but generally I am happy with the way I look. Sure I'd love to loose the 10 pounds I've put on in the last five years (but then again I've had a lot of really good food in the last five years and some of those pounds might be worth it...). I have good days when I'm happy with the sheen of my hair or the fullness of my lips and bad days when I'd really love to shrink my nose down a few sizes, but honestly if I had to check "yes" or "no" on a survey to answer the question, "Do you think you're beautiful?" I would check yes. I think I'm beautiful and I'm really surprised that only 4% of women are in this camp with me.

Now there's a lot to be said for inward beauty and focusing on the heart. That's where we should always start and where we should land. But you know we are physical people and it's important to feel beautiful outwardly, too.

As I've been reflecting on how I managed to get into this ridiculously small percentage of women who think they're beautiful, my thoughts keep returning to the men (boys? guys?) in my life who've told me about my beauty. I remember those ugly tween years and I remember the first time a guy ever said I was beautiful. He was the son of my mom's friend. He was much older than me and there was nothing romantic about it, but still- it changed my self perception forever.

My mom went to visit her friend Lyrinda for Christmas and took me along. As Lyrinda chatted with my mom about "boring" things, her son Donny compassionately struck up a conversation with my 13-year-old self about something non-memorable. Maybe Christmas plans or the weather.  Two days later I was sitting in the middle row of our van, when my mom suddenly told me from the passenger seat, "Oh Jillian! I talked to Lyrinda on the phone last night and she said Donny commented that you are becoming so beautiful."

Beautiful. Wow. Somebody saw the way I looked and thought I was beautiful. It was almost beyond comprehension. But it was true.

While I didn't have a long string of beaus though high school there was always a boy or two to tell me I was beautiful. I was one of the lucky ones who didn't get told that as a manipulation tactic. Mostly. As an adult I now attribute this to their mothers, but they were good boys- and now good men I'm sure- who told me from a place of genuine affection.

Today I'm married to a man who thinks I'm beautiful and has never said a negative word about those extra pounds. He thinks I'm beautiful in a grab my butt at the kitchen sink and kiss me now Song of Solomon kind of way. Thank God.

I bet there are a dozen or more tactics to take and issues to address when it comes to addressing the 96% of women who don't think they're beautiful. One of them is teaching our sons to speak honestly and truthfully about the beauty of the women around them. They will practice on us as mothers. They will learn with their sisters. Cousins. Friends. And one day, girlfriends, fiances, and wives.

I want to raise a man who knows how to make a woman feel beautiful. Some of you might read this and ask what about intelligence and personality and giftedness? I say yes! to all that as well, but nothing about being being strong and capable negates beauty. To be smart and kind and beautiful- that's what I want for myself and that's what I want for the next generation of women. 

No woman needs to be the most beautiful but we all need one person to think we are. To those of us who are raising little boys, let's raise them to be men who know how to make a woman feel beautiful. Men who know how to complement, how to make their girlfriends walk taller, fiances smile brighter, and wives want to check "yes" box in the are you beautiful survey.

It's not the whole answer, but it's a piece.

Maybe I'll age as well as my grandmothers have but if not then someday I'll be old, saggy, and gray; I hope by then I'll still feel beautiful, especially when I look in my husband's eyes. By then perhaps Arie will have married and I'll have a daughter-in-law. I hope she grows up with men speaking beauty into her life. I hope she hears about it every day from my son. Maybe I'll even get lucky and hear her tell me thank you. :-)

xo