Right Perspective

The time is 12:23 am and I am breathing deeply as this day finally ends. My desire for a week or so has been to finish a blog I'd written called Perspective. This writing time is food for my soul, so I felt happy to spend a few moments to rewrite. In the midst of reshaping a few phrases, I hit an obscure command that should be labeled “black hole” and now, my Perspective is lost.

Perhaps my weighty analogies of “rain-soaked day” and “sunlight filtered through delicate branches” spoke less convincingly of my subject than my computer-illiterate action of cleaning the slate. My own perspective can easily be lost by a difficult morning with my littlest team-members. Day before yesterday, Emmaus, who not long ago told me, “Mommy needs to obey Emmaus!” (isn't his English excellent?) offered me an unopened silver nail polish bottle. I was thrilled that he'd come to me without opening the container first. He was immediately followed by Zion, who also held a nail polish container in his hand, this one, a candy-apple red. The brush, however, hung precariously from his teeth! Only weeks before he had highlighted the tips of Ezra's hair with hot pink! [And no, I have no idea why the toddlers find nail polish everywhere!]

I certainly find ample opportunity to “look at the bright side” when disaster seems to lurk around every giggling corner! Yesterday, at the pediatrician's office, I kept losing a child or two, to the brilliant distracting escapades of the third. I now feel I know the entire reception staff far better than expected. “And how does this copier work?” Zion was certainly wondering. The office goldfish, I am thankful to report, remains alive, though perhaps in a state of shock. Such excursions leave me weary and wondering at my own capabilities. I know that love covers a multitude of my inabilities. So when, in the sweet moment of my question, “Who is beautiful?” they all cry out, “I AM!” I realize we will make it!

And, in the odder moments when I forget the power of my influence, Salome' reminds me. I made a strange comment on some fluffy shoes at the shoe store. I thought they should be “worn by someone drinking a martini!” Salome' didn't miss a beat, she pulled on a pair of teal boots and announced, with an aire of sophistication, “These boots make me feel like I should be drinking hot cocoa!” On another day, her comment was this, “Why are you so beautiful Mommy? It must be because God made you!”

So I leave you with the right perspective tonight. You are beautiful, because God makes only beautiful people! Just ask Salome', resident expert on shoes, people and perspective.

Our Umbrella

Umbrellas live short, exciting lives in our household, but are rarely used for rainy day outings. We spin them, use them for boats or dance routines and cross them in elegant sword fights. But mostly they are Malachi's instant shelter. An invitation to dine with Malachi, often consists of a blanket, crackers, cheese, olives, apples and juice somewhere under an umbrella - currently, a cheetah patterned one, with a fantastic wooden curved handle. Recently, I found him sitting under its gentle canopy for shade, amidst a lovely row of pansies growing in the cracks of the paving stones. We sat together to admire the turned up faces of each unique flower. When two are lying chin to ground under the shade of one umbrella, the amazing tiny world of under-foot- dwellers takes center stage. Little industrious insects crawl about, others alight and then disappear, oblivious to our presence. On closer view, not only had pansies bloomed in the stone crevices, but also blue Jack Frost and a robust strawberry vine. In the centimeter wide space between pavers a whole living world thrives together, softening and beautifying each sharp edge and tight space. They are the joyful example of living in community.

Last weekend we celebrated Gabriel and his graduating class. Teachers, classmates, neighbors, friends and family joined in fellowship on Saturday evening while three dear musician friends filled the house with music. We were an ecclectic group gathered side by side in the like minded purpose of celebration and launching, each fulfilling our own niche in close community. The blessing of God's intentional relationships has covered this short season like an umbrella. I must remember the intent of raising my children is to release them. As seeds scatter, so must they; strong and vibrant, ready to inhabit their own new world of possibilty and purpose.

Bringing Out the Best

Zion is the type of guy who can walk around with a pebble in his shoe and not notice. This morning at 6 am he exuberantly downed two tangerines, half a glass of orange juice (while the other half spilled down his pajama shirt), and a sugar cube dunked in my tea. A dribble of tea mingled nicely with the orange juice stain as he climbed onto my lap, tightly holding his monster truck with both hands, content and quiet for a split second. A loud noise from outside caught his attention, he plowed straight through the block box and onto the little table to peer out the window. With furrowed brow, he said in his deepest toddler tone, "[S]cawy,cawy twuck!" For all his toughness, spiders and loud noises terrify him. On the other hand Emmaus fears neither of those things, but a spot on his clothes, wet sleeves or dirty feet are completely unacceptable. His new term is, "Aszolutely not!", which seems to apply to everything!

On Thursday afternoon during a brief pause in his tricycle riding, Emmaus suddenly became chauffeur to Zion. With a determined grip, Zion held firmly to the back of the trike while Emmaus cycled faster and faster to rid himself of his brother-baggage. As the speed increased Zion laughed wildly, finally winning over his brother's mood and the two brought out the best in eachother.

Yesterday, the happy twosome became a threesome. I ran upstairs from the back deck to grab the ever-sustaining cup of coffee. In my brief absence, all three toddlers scaled the glass table and shrieked with laughter as they tossed fistfuls of popcorn to the ever-waiting audience of open mouthed labs.

Ezra seems to bring out the best in most people. She loves to serve and in fact one day, she carefully squashed a spider with a plastic bag after seeing Zion's worried expression. Last night at Mags' violin recital, Ezzie was the only one allowed to come as ambassador for the toddlers. When Magdalene began to play, Ezra stood on my lap and silently reached out her hand in a gesture of solidarity to her sister.

Raising these three, or for that matter eight, is a challenge and a joy, but my mountain is finding the time and energy each one requires individually. I'll never forget the words of my sweet girlfriend, Jodi, "It is not how many children you have, but what you do with them that matters!" So my daily hike is making time for each one, setting up boundaries for the family and myself. This is what I do and if any outside activity takes away from this one job for which I am accountable, it must go! The life I lead "between my ears" as another girlfriend, Anne Ortlund, said, must contain right thinking, right actions, must be swept clean daily of wrong thoughts and must be filled with good things. Prayer is the tool for this!

Good friends who treasure our thoughts are the safety net for catching us when we stumble. We all need people who challenge and bring out the best in us, who will not be shaken by the difficulties of life. The sweet fellowship that comes about from reaching our goals together strengthens us daily to plow through the toughest of times.

Bloom

Have you ever smelled a camelia? The fragrance is soft and almost unnoticeable unless you hold the blossom up close and breathe in deeply.

One afternoon, when I was four and a half, my mother was late coming home. I sat on the curb for a while, waiting. The world felt very big and scary in those few moments so I ran next door and slipped under the camelia hedge. Our neighbor, Uncle Gene, had pruned his beloved plants in such a way that they had formed a tunnel. Under this dark, quiet canopy of flowers I felt safe. The wide blooms hung heavily, generously blanketing my hiding place in a subtle fragrance. Childhood comforts remain strong.

We have thirty-six camelia plants along our neighbor's fence now. Last week all but three of them bloomed. The vibrant red, pink and blush-white flowers covered each bush in a lush extravagance. The branches eventually began to bend, barely able to hold the weight of their beauty. As each blossom fell to the ground it was at its loveliest. For a few days the sharp, gravel strewn pavement became a soft carpet of vibrant petals.

As I sat on the swinging bench with all three of our littlest ones sharing sips of tea, I thought of those bending camelia branches and how God designed them to hold the weight with seeming effortlessness. They remind me of the beautiful people who spend their lives selflessly for others. One woman who came to mind is Joy. She was to spend the evening with us, sharing tea and encouragement. But tragedy struck Joy's life yesterday; she lost her 27 year-old son.

As I pray and weep for my friend I know that there are three camelia bushes standing in full bloom outside our front door. It is almost 2 am. I cannot see the late bloomers or smell their fragance, I just know they are there. This is their time to bloom. Their presence and purpose are comfort to me.

Joy is an extravagant gift. She bends her life for the Lord's purposes. Our precious Zion, Emmaus and Ezra are ours through her selfless adoption work. But Joy's life is not her own, she has given it to Jesus Christ. He is her Savior, the quiet canopy of comfort in this sorrowful, gravel-strewn world. He is her blanket of love and hope. The promise of everlasting life is in Him. Yesterday, was Joy's son's day, his day to enter Eternity. Joy remains here, for a time, as do we.

Let us hold our loved ones close, breathe in deeply and spend our lives well.

Broken Rings

Our two grandfather clocks used to chime, not simultaneously however, they were never as precise as some might prefer clocks to be. No, they rang in answer or anticipation of the other, not for the benefit of the observer. Each clock offered a unique ring, intertwined as if they played separate parts of the same song. They were a consistent, predictable presence in our house but, they need work now and stand solitary in separate rooms. Like many broken things, they can be fixed, but I have to be willing to take on the difficult task of doing so.

On Wednesday, Zion broke a large, blue, glass bowl. It was too heavy for him to carry alone, yet he was determined. When the bowl hit the floor it produced a strange ringing sound, then splintered into hundreds of jagged shards. The bowl was more fragile than it appeared and of no great value, unlike the clocks which were crafted by a master to last for centuries over a hundred years ago .

For many years my wedding ring was a simple, thin gold band. It had no great value in itself, but four tiny prongs held an exquisite cashmere sapphire. Three times, the weak prongs failed and the stone was lost then later found. Finally, I tucked the ring away, fearing I'd otherwise lose it forever.

The year was 1999. Our healthy marriage of nine years had come to resemble my ring. The exquisite parts kept vanishing from sight and the rest felt weak and broken. I began to fear loss of our marriage as well. We were living in Memphis. Dennis worked 120 grueling hours a week between six hospitals in his cardiothoracic surgery fellowship. He was emotionally and physically exhausted. He came home empty and angry and I mirrored his emptiness. Magdalene was our youngest then and I remember kneeling on the floor weeping as she would lay her head in my lap with her big blue eyes searching my own, pleading, "Mommy, please stop crying."

I was done. I did not recognize this angry man or his sorrowful wife. I wanted to be free of the stress; the strife of our burdened marriage was far too heavy for me to carry alone. We were like the clocks, separate and broken with no song between us. I asked the Lord for my freedom, but He answered me with a question, "Do you remember your promise?" Unconditional love is just that, love without conditions. The incredible man I married, who'd always loved me so well had changed. Did that change my commitment to him and our marriage? Before God and everyone we'd promised to love, honor, and cherish each other in sickness and in health... as long as we both should live. I wrestled with my promise, which had never been tested. I was failing miserably.

During this time I met two beautiful new friends, Rochelle was the older and Jeanene, the younger. They barely knew Dennis, but they loved and respected him. Dennis gave me permission to share our struggles with them and they spoke life, hope and truth into my heart. They listened to my allegations but answered with words to encourage me to hold the course. They never spoke ill of him and helped me continue to love the man who seemed so lost to me.

During that time, Dennis rarely requested anything extra of me. Yet one evening, he asked me to take my broken ring to a jeweler. I reluctantly did so the following day. I knew that the cost of repair was far too great for our tight budget. I prayed for God's help and provision. The next morning the jeweler called. My ring had disappeared. I thanked him, believing my prayer had been answered. Bob Richardson, the jeweler, was amazed at my yielding response and quickly explained that the beautiful stone was preserved, the setting alone had vanished. We were directed to meet him in the shop and Dennis, miraculously, had a pause in his schedule. Mr Richardson placed four stunning settings before us. We expressed our thankfulness, but said that we could not accept any of the rings to replace the lost, simple gold band. He replied, "No matter the value, you entrusted us with your wedding ring, we lost that which was precious to you. Therefore it will be restored." The new setting was made of platinum with two half carrot diamonds on either side. The value was far more than that of the original. Mr. Richardson restored the gem to the new setting and gave us the ring.

It is wonderful to see how the restored is often more beautiful than the original. One evening at 10:30 pm Rochelle and her husband Jim came to counsel us. I felt relieved that justice would be served. Dennis would finally understand how poorly he had treated me. I had done nothing wrong and had endured so much. Jim's first question came to me, how long is your list of grievances against your husband? How many hurts have you stored away in a deep place of unforgiveness? Does Dennis know what he has done? To my horror I realized I'd allowed my heart to collect only my husband's flaws. There was no grace, no mercy and very little love. There was no room for good, only evil. I held every ugly thing as a triumph and had therefore forged my own rings of captivity to my own misery and Dennis'. Jim asked me to name a few offenses for which I felt Dennis had not been appropriately repentant. I had to release him from each offense, but the shock of my own guilt broke open the darkness in my heart and restoration began that very night.

Our marriage, which appeared to be as fragile as the shattered bowl, was abundantly restored by the end of our two years of fellowship. The timelessness of God's promises of hope and joy following forgiveness are real. We cannot understood the power of His presence between us without the pain of our struggles. My ring is our daily reminder of restoration and the power of unconditional love. God is the most powerful, predictable, presence in our marriage, the Master and restorer of all precious things.

Words to Speak

Wednesday afternoon Zion gathered up the three ceramic garden frogs and took them for a spin. It was a short ride, as Zion has not yet mastered the pedals of his trike.

"Fwogs!" he kept repeating to himself, glad to be in good company.

Another name Zion particularly enjoys saying is Magdalene's nickname, "Mags", only it comes out quite clearly "Mike". Combine that with Salome's "Dave" instead of Gabe and we have two new family members to whom I don't remember giving birth or adopting!

As our little ones learn to speak, their language is their own. I am often delighted, other times disheartened and sometimes rather stunned at the things they choose to say, once they have words to speak. It is a daily decision to speak words of life to equip their minds and fill their tanks as their language develops. Saying sentences like "You are always...!" or "You never...!"is damaging and it seldom produces good fruit. We choose to say, "Sometimes you..." or "Sometimes you don't..." This opens an arena in which we can work through difficult habits, attitudes or past struggles with the underlying belief of success. We want our children to know who they are in words of value and how they can change by hearing encouragement. Comments such as, "You are acting unkindly. You are not an unkind boy, do not act that way!" or "You are acting in a lazy manner. You are not lazy, do not act that way!" give boundaries not condemnation. Being lazy and acting lazy are different. If I know I can change the way I act, I'll try. If you tell me I am something terrible I may bear that weight my whole life. If I know you see something good in me, I can see it too.

Mean-teasing (words used to hurt) is as destructive as deceit, it produces wounds that fester. These words are unacceptable and must be called so! We all need to know we are gifted and flawed, so that we have an healthy self awareness. Mean- teasing disrupts this balance. Thinking too lowly of ourselves is as bad as thinking too highly. It is a lesson I learned from our friends, Jim and Rochelle, about myself and I strive to communicate this to our children. If they do something poorly, we say,"That is not your thing! But you do this other thing very well!".

Before words, groundwork is laid by action. We teach our babies to ask forgiveness early by taking their hand and running it softly across our cheeks. "I forgive you," is given voice with eyes to eyes and a nod. Giving and asking for forgiveness fuels freedom, without it, we are lost. Acting lovingly doesn't have to be word based. Emmaus voiced his language of belonging by covering his sleeping brother with a blanket the other day and getting an extra eggcup to share his chocolate chips with Ezra. Dressing the boys alike produces words from others. They ask, "Are they brothers? Twins?" Instead of, "Are they yours? Which one is..." We speak joyfully about adoption, but our face to the world must first say we belong together!

We have no rules for topics in this house. There is freedom to question, voice frustration, be angry and disagree. It is not what you say, but how you say it that invites others in or closes the door. Little ones learn early, which environments are safe for thoughts to become words. They need space and time to express themselves. And just like the rest of us, their thoughts are to be respected. As each child is in process, so are Dennis and I. Open communication helps us understand each other. So when Emmaus says, "Hold you!" with arms outstretched, we know exactly what he means.

Incidentally, two of the" fwogs" wintered under the California Lilacs. The third rested heavily amidst a few stoic yellow tulips. When Zion picked up the last one, we found a tiny, pinched colorless flower under it. By Monday this same tulip stood almost straight in vibrant magenta. It is a strong example to me of the weight we hold or the freedom we wield with words.

Today we made cake.

Emmaus and Zion made sure to share licks with the labs, Pax and Hope.

Ezzie dined in style in her new-old vintage dress (thanks Naomi!)

On cake-filled, sunny afternoons or tearful, rainy ones, every child deserves a home.

I enjoy sharing the adventures of ours with you.

Some interesting thoughts in a Christianity Today editorial on orphans and adoption posted this afternoon.

Several strongly debated issues involving international adoptions are addressed.

Good thoughts if you are interested.

Blessings friends!