labels

it was 4 am when the bathroom call rustled me conscious...now it's 5 and the mind won't stop writing. fitting words together, trying to express an honest thought. why now?

throwing on robe, i sneak the computer to a dark corner of the house hiding from any other bathroom seekers. words matter, i guess, and yet they stump me. that is the thought that lures me out of bed to the key pad to write down any sensible thoughts before they vanish like a dream.

words. labels. meaning different things to different people, different cultures. here's a few i'm pondering...

organic - a word worthy of trust? or a new cliche that eases my conscious to consume anything with this label? the mind resists asking if a pocket is growing while mine is shrinking to purchase this label? is pasteurization organic? contemplating if this label organic really means the same thing to all people, all manufacturers. unsure i know what it's suppose to mean, but it's popularity is unmatched, that I know. and a label to cling to when i feel insecure, when lazy parenting finds me unwilling to give focused play. at least they are filled with the organic to guarantee their longevity. right? webster defines it as "of, relating to, or derived from living organisms." this definition describes the water in many countries around the globe yet i know the effects of drinking it. my confusion is honest and obvious. on to another word...

white- the color of my robe and the color of my skin? a color and a person? me? how and when did light translate to white? what is really at the root of this label? is this my identity to the One who gave me life or merely a human label to define something deeper than the outward tent that keeps my organs contained? does it reek of privilege? emptiness vibrates from it as it is void of sharing history or heritage. or does it? and it's counterpart, caucasian, a word beckoning for the use of the spell check every time.

black - i tread upon this carefully for i have never felt the effects, positive or negative, of this word defining me. (remember, i am the white robe??) each morning i lather the beautiful golden brown skin till is glows and wonder why it's called black? or is it? does black define a shade or something more intense with greater emotion? does brown outer tissue make one black? again, i ask this honestly trying to understand the rules of the imposing cultures. am i speaking of one's identity with this word? i seek to understand, to be educated when i use such labels.

educated, healthy, christian, religion, American... more labels... i'll save my questions for another day...

because my dark corner is being threatened by mornings glow and the bathroom is beginning to call little ones too early for my liking. words are a gift. our ability to define is important. labels, while helpful, often prevent the eye from seeing what is truly underneath. sometimes murky waters lie quiet below culturally accepted labels. whether i'm embracing or casting a certain label i must stop long enough to ask why.

a wise women once said "everything will fall under a label eventually" but she also said "don't fence me in."

that day

time didn't stand still...
drivers rushed past...
kids busted through metal school doors...

i shuffled through fallen leaves quickly begging my four-year-olds legs to find common pace...
three older children would have searching eyes for this frazzled, late mama.

my phone was still nuzzled between ear and shoulder...
ears sucking in every word of the voice on the other end...
every day routine collided with a redemptive moment...

the voice on the other end said, "It's a little girl!"
bright yellow school buses idle waiting for return riders...
i wave at parents, friends, that i see at 2:45 each day...
legs walking through a routine day...the mind absorbing life-changing words...

no tears could form...
my older children share hugs, glad to relax their minds...
i grant their request to enjoy the playground with school buddies...
watch my children shed backpacks and run off their days-end energy...

knowing pictures of our new little girl are being sent to my computer screen at home...
I keep the secret and let them run...
attempting to engage in normal conversation with other watching mamas...
a normal November day forever cemented in my mind - it was November 4...

with red cheeks and exhausted lungs I lead the little ones to the car...
how will I break this news...
I hadn't rehearsed this part...
how is one creative when they are barely able to enter reality, soak in the moment...

daddy is waiting at home and has viewed the pictures...
shoes come off, bags are opened, homework pages fan out, snacks are requested...
how do I stop the every-day long enough to share the redemption taking place...
I'm numb...want to hide away and see her sweet little face...
I run with computer to the safest place, the bathroom, to be alone...
begging tears to come, begging time to stand still...

the pictures pull up and there she is...
a beautiful little creation...a world away...living her normal day...
no comprehension that she just changed mine...

my life will never be the same...i will embrace her...we will embrace her...
knocks on the door startle me and interrupt my silence, someone needs a drink...
another has an unsolvable math problem...
all need mama to emerge and solve their seemingly urgent crisis...

it's time to break the silence...
I can't play the game between normal and life-changing any more...
they must know...

bodies lounging in the dining room, waiting for the reason they were beckoned...
little eyes full of question...
creativity in this announcement is out of the question...
"how many kids do we have in this family?" I ask...

oldest daughter anticipates the conversation and stands up...
we open the computer...little eyes brighten...they've all caught on...
oldest picks up youngest and twirls in socked feet creating giddy sounds...
they embrace the answer to my question yelling out "FIVE!!!!!"

nothing is official in the legal world...
but hearts can commit in the waiting and only hope for this to become reality...
people ask, "What was it like when you received the call?"

time didn't stand still...
snacks were still served, dishes were cleaned, table was cleared...
conversations of every day life took place...
but somewhere deep inside I saw afresh the kindness of a redeeming Creator...
I am humbled as I look at her face...
and I will never be the same...

Stay Tuned...

A call from the school nurse a few weeks back scrambled life in our home for days. Bagging up toys, washing clothes, shampooing heads, changing sheets, spraying everything. The dreaded "head lice" call! It eventually creeps into most homes but for some reason we think we're immune until we get the official call. And those little pests know which head is the warmest and thickest. My neck ached and my eyes were crossed by the time I had combed through all the strands of hair in our home. The kids didn't seem to mind so much because they were allowed to watch "Good Luck Charlie" episodes in succession.

Mixed into the head lice scare was a painful bump in Matt's ear. This bump led to numerous doctors visits, two surgical procedures, and three rounds of antibiotics. Poor guy wasn't himself for weeks.

Smashed in with that was a little jury duty action for me that lasted nearly a week. Then to top it all off our life was sprinkled with Matt starting a new part time job. Quite the recipe for a frazzled home. Thankfully God kept our bodies breathing and our hearts pumping without us having to give it a second thought. He kept the world spinning and was faithful to give a morning sunrise and evening sunset each day without our help. He was still in control in the midst of our chaos.

All in all things are slowing down now...only to pick up again. Stay tuned!

Random Babblings

It finally arrived! We've waited for nine months now, made phone calls to check on the status, wondering if we'd done something wrong. But our doubts were calmed when we read the words, "You are to appear on Wednesday, September 21, 2011, to obtain your United States certificate of citizenship." Binyam will officially be a U.S. citizen! I feel excited! I feel sad! Sad because this morning when I opened my email I was greeted with a Happy New Year's card from the Ethiopian Ambassador to the US. Today is Ethiopia's New Year! Two things to celebrate! Two beautiful countries, neither trumping the other. Two countries that will be a part of our lives forever!

On another note...we are waiting for a phone call from our agency telling us they have specific children in need of a family...asking us if we will be their family...waiting...

It could be tomorrow. It could be next month. It could be a year from now. No way to know the timing. So we wait and try not to let the waiting paralyze us from living today...

New Do

Binyam has been growing out his hair for some time and this is why. He calls them spikes, "You Tube" calls them Twists, and the 5 yr-old boy at the post office today called them Noodles. Whatever you want to call this "do" is fine, but he thinks his hair is awesome. He's excited to wear these "spikes" to his first day of preschool on Sept. 6.

Farm's Have Families

We've been in Iowa for 10 days now visiting family, camping, and enjoying the view of corn stalks. Life in Chicago is full, fast, and fun but void of pasture, plush grass to roll around in, and a back yard in which to play car wash. We've been enjoying these luxuries. I'm realizing that Iowa is beautiful. And the kids are appreciating it too. While driving to the town of Boone to ride a passenger train Binyam was noticing the corn fields. We were explaining to him that people living in the nearby farms take care of the corn - planting it, harvesting it, and selling it to have money for their family. He thought about that for awhile, then said, "Hmmm, I didn't know farms had families."

The train ride would have put me to sleep with the soothing rocking motion but Binyam would tap me determined he saw a coyote in the woods. He listed every animal he could think of wondering if they could be hiding in the trees we were passing. Jadyn propped her feet up and let the wind blow in her face. I cuddled up next to her and she said, "This is just so beautiful, Mom." Liberty took over 100 pictures of the scenery, some CLOSE UPS of Grandma and Grandpa, and a few of random passengers. Tait fell asleep on Grandpa's shoulder. It's been a fun trip but tonight Jadyn said she's missing home and Liberty added, "I miss it's smell." Hopefully, she won't be too disappointed with the smell because we have two more days before we head back to the city and I forgot to take out the garbage.

Naked Day!

I finally figured it out! The answer is Naked Day! It's the only way I can beat the Laundry Monster! After three days of trying and failing to get the clean clothes folded and put away before the dirty clothes jumped back into the hamper -it came to me. Naked Day! This is the only way I'll win this silly game I play. If I don't let my kids wear clothes then they can't get them dirty, right? I ran it by my husband today and he only laughed. He's not taking me seriously. Actually, I'm not taking me seriously either. However, the thought of actually implementing this made me laugh! Such a silly thought lightened my spirit while I loaded, unloaded, folded, and sorted...again.

A little later in the day I was quickly filling up the 275 water balloons Binyam received as a birthday gift in between laundry loads. We've been waiting for a beautiful day and in my impulsive way I decided today was the day. So, while waiting for the dryer to do it's thing I quickly filled, tied, and piled the water balloons - one by one - until the package was empty! Did I mention there were 275 of those slippery things? All the while, I was pondering how water balloons and laundry are so similar! A job done only to be undone in moments. The call of motherhood.

My first thought when comparing the two was that at least water balloon fights produce squeals and belly-laughs. But then I remembered Liberty skipping past me this morning after rummaging through her clean clothes pile and saying, "Oh goody, you washed my favorite pair of shorts." I guess both are worth it. This reminds me of a song that I heard for the first time last month and now it frequently circles my minds' play list.



Hope you can smile in your tail-chasing today! And if Naked Day ever is put into effect in your home - let me know how it goes!

From Bull Rider to Bull

Another rainy day. Boys with unused energy. A mom scanning the minds files trying to find something to engage the boys and burn off the Cinnamon Toast Crunch of breakfast. An archived file was retrieved titled "Bullriding." That was it! I had found something that would cause my boys to sweat and keep them busy for at least half-an-hour.

Bull riding was a tradition when my oldest three children were little. I would lay in the middle of my bed on my back and one-by-one the kids would climb onto my legs. As with any good game there were rules involved. Keeping with professional bull riding rules, the kids could squeeze my legs with their legs but they could only hold on with one hand while the other hand flailed around in the air. This game quickly progressed from leisurely bull rides to bull riding tournaments. I would announce the rider, their experience, and the name of the bull they were riding. Each rider would try to last the flip-flopping eight seconds of mom's legs without being thrown onto the pillow-pile at the head of the bed.

My legs would burn as I'd bend my knees back and forth and straighten them in the air, make circular motions, and just go crazy-wild trying to release my little bull rider. Giggles and squeals followed, while the waiting riders cheered on the bull. It was always more fun to see their siblings be bucked off than last the eight seconds.

Black-eyed Bart was the most fierce of all the bulls. If he bucked you off you better scoot off the bed or he'd come after you. They all wanted to brave Black-eyed Bart, but few succeeded.

So, today it was Binyam's turn at bull riding and he thought it was a great idea. Tait resurrected Black-eyed Bart's memory and stacked the pillows to soften the fall for his little brother. Binyam was a tough rider and held on for dear life. Tait and I took turns being the bull and coming up with crazy names. It was my turn to be the bull and Tait was laughing as his scrappy brother hung on relentlessly when he said, "I wish I could still be the bull rider." Time stood still for one moment as I flashed back to my little Tait outlasting his sisters and usually winning the tournament. He rode the bull like Binyam and had the same tenacity. But his bull riding days have passed and he has been promoted to being the bull. No matter how hard he pleaded, I knew my legs couldn't handle his strength and the bull wouldn't even be able to leave the pen. Sweet boy is creeping toward manhood. It was a beautiful moment as silly tradition was passed on from one bull rider to the next. From one energy-filled brother to another. The boys laughed and I pondered the reality of my son being promoted from bull rider to bull.

Hurry up and read this...

Running late the other morning, hurrying to school, and wouldn't you know a car had to park in the right hand lane so I couldn't pull over and turn right. I don't know if that car was even parked legally and honestly I was annoyed. The light was red so the traffic wasn't moving, but I wanted to get into the right lane so I would be ready to turn when the light changed. Frustrated. Late. And then it hit me...why am I in such a hurry to get closer to that red light only to wait? Unlike Iowa, Chicago forbids right hand turns on red and even when the light changes to green the wait continues as all 60,000 people of Albany Park make their way across the street. Again...why was I in such a hurry only to wait?

We did make it to school that day and parked in our usual spot a block away. The van door flew open with a thud and out tumbled my clowns in a full-on backpack-bouncing sprint. Past the big houses, yielding momentarily at the alley, then trudging with weakening legs up to the corner where Angel Food Bakery sits. And there they stop. Slouched over, hands on their knees. Huffs and puffs as they look back in my direction, knowing they too had hurried only to wait for me to catch up so we could cross the street together. What's with hurrying to wait?

This thought sums up the journey of adoption. Paperwork, fingerprints, doctors appointments, social worker visits, and more paperwork. Hurrying only to wait. Many have asked where we're at in the process and my answer is waiting. Eight weeks of waiting for one piece of paperwork. And guess what??? Once we receive that paperwork, it will be submitted and we're back to waiting.

I guess this thought really sums up much of life. Why do I live my life hurrying to wait?

"Be still and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth." Psalms 46:10

Back to "Normal"

Jadyn has returned from China but is having trouble returning to "normal" life. As soon as she got home she gave us the play-by-play as we looked through her pictures. The first few days they did some sight-seeing - The Great Wall of China, The Forbidden City, 2008 Olympic Buildings, and a Flying Acrobat Show - to name a few. Not only did she see these beautiful artworks but she also learned the history behind them. She described the detailed paintings on the buildings in The Forbidden City. She shared with us that it took 14 years of slave labor to complete the entire city and that it was created for one emperor. 14 years!!! (Hopefully I got all the facts right.) She was impressed by the creativity and the effort! We were impressed! We were also amazed to realize it is simply a tourist sight - no one resides there anymore. All that work - just to look at!? Interesting! The artist in her liked it.

But none of these sights, no matter how grand, artistic, or expensive compared to Sage, Vincent, Landon, Angel, Josiah, Claire, Reagan and all the other kids she spent the rest of the week loving. She knew each child's special need, their laugh, and the sound of their voice. She knew where different children had been abandoned, which children had heart defects, which ones had been matched with families, which ones couldn't walk, and special feeding instructions for children with cleft palates. She's not crying because she misses The Great Wall! She's not looking at the pictures of the acrobat show over and over again so she doesn't forget the costumes and amazing acts of bravery. No, she misses the people that she shared her life with. The sweet kids that she most likely will never see again. Tonight we looked at the pictures again, and she cried, again. As a mom, I ache for her. As a mom, I hope her life never returns to "normal."

What do you want to be when you grow up?

What do you want to be when you grow up? All I ever said was a "mommy." Sounded like the best job in the world when I was a little, skirted girl totin' around my brown yarn, piggy-tailed cabbage patch named Yvonne. I was a good mommy to Yvonne. We would swing and I'd sing. Then I'd put her in her little wooden bunk bed with the purple blanket, on the top bunk of course, so she'd be just like me. Sometimes I'd even squish Yvonne into a ball so she'd fit under my dress and give me a round-bellied look. Then, with no effort at all out she popped with a pretend cry. Being a mommy was an easy job!

Now years later, if asked, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" my reply is the same. (And I'm not just saying that to sound all sappy and emotional.) However, reality has punctured my dreamy images of me and Yvonne, because "mommy world" is very hard outside the land of make-believe. Before our littlest was added to the family I remember laying awake at night - afraid. Afraid of being able to love another, afraid my brains capacity to comprehend each child's dreams would spit, sputter, and eventually explode like a microwave exposed to metal. Afraid I wasn't strong enough...knowing I wasn't strong enough...how would I lead them along this bumpy, mean road called life.

That's when these words pushed their way into my worried head and unfurrowed my brow, loosened the tightened shoulders, and brought me peace at 4 a.m. so I could sleep. These words were this... "He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young." Mysterious words when pulled out and added to the middle of a blog. What does a shepherd have to do with anything? And how does thinking about shepherds help one sleep? I thought counting sheep was supposed to help bring sleep? Actually, focusing on the sheep was keeping me awake.

Chicago is full of interesting people with curious style and fascinating skills and careers, but I've never met a practicing "shepherd." Don't really know what kind of skills it takes to be a shepherd. But these words were written to a people that knew the skill of shepherding. It was real to them. The shepherd gave his sheep special attention. It is no wonder Jesus is called the Good Shepherd.

The closest thing I've seen to a real, human shepherd is what you see in the above picture. This was the view I saw every morning as I watched the sun come up in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. And honestly, it was peaceful. I was a silent observer from my hotel window as the animals grazed. I observed a lot from that window but this picture didn't stand out to me until today when I thought again of those comforting words. And it was then I noticed something new in the picture. The little person kneeling next to the animal, hugging him, lovin' on the dirty ol' thing. It's really beautiful, actually. And today I needed that encouragement.

You see, my 11-year-old baby boards a plane tomorrow, headed to China with her daddy. A dream for her. She is going to go love on little sweeties that are in need of a lot, all at her request. She can't speak their language, she's not medically trained to help them with their special needs, but she can love. It's her dream. Many kids have dreams and we know they are just "kid" dreams that will fade. But my baby's dream to run an orphanage in China isn't pretend to her, it's her reality. So they must go. Gently nudged by the Shepherd that this is how we were to guide our young. Anticipating that He is going to give her new eyes to see people as He does - as His creations. Anticipating that He will gently guide her as she helps these young ones.

I hope some day her dream comes alive. I'm glad mine has! Mommy-life is tricky, zany, and crazy hard. But I'm SO glad the Shepherd's there to gently lead me as I lead these little and "not-so little" ones. Like I said earlier, I'm not strong enough to do it alone...

6+2=8?

Simple math for a simple mama tells me that if you have six and add two more you get eight. Eight is the number of legs on a spider and the number on that hard, black ball that you poke with a stick. It's the number of notes in an octave and it's the number of toes on my husbands feet (figure that one out).

Eight...seems like a small number if I'm talking about years of life, or ounces of water I drank today, or the amount of money I've spent on groceries. But my perspective of eight changes when I look at it through the lens of how many chocolate chip cookies I ate today, or how many pounds I gained this week, how many hours in a car with kids, or how many times I wake up in the night.

Eight...
Eight???
Eight!!!

Don't know how eight makes you feel, but this number, lately, can leave me staring at the ceiling at 3 a.m. or it can kick my butt until the last phone call is made and the last paper is signed. 6+2=8. Most of you are familiar with the six - Matty, Stac, Jade, Taiter, Libby Lou, and little Binny. But the two will remain a mystery for a few more weeks, months or even the next year as we sign, stamp, and fingerprint our way through this process. Adoption agencies have given the thumbs up to proceed towards the two, but US Immigration will have the final say. For now we take the next step and prepare our minds and hearts for a family of eight until we're told otherwise. Excited? Yes! Scared? Yes! Worth it? Yes!

...Because they matter!

January 29, 2010
The day we became 6!

Just Another Manic Monday

Life is always unknown but for some reason we live in this pseudo-culture of control. I was quickly reminded of that today when I gave the car in front of me a bumper-shot, slamming him into the the next car. I turned my head to see why my child was crying in the back seat and the rest of the world stopped - collision. Police report written, apologies given, curses from the other drivers, court date set, every one drives away. My scheduled Monday turned chaotic. Their scheduled Monday turned chaotic. Just like that.

Silly that I thought I knew what today would hold. So thankful I didn't know this would happen yesterday.

Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don't get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes. -Jesus

Why blog and why the title?

Braids and Battles accurately describe my daily routine. You may think I wrestle and wrangle my girls to fancify them with ribbons but actually the bathroom conversation this morning began with Jadyn handing me her brush while saying, "Could you do something really cool that you've never done before." Quite a request to give a swollen-eyed, contact free, knotted morning-haired mom. I could barely focus on her hair through the annoying right eye that was twitching due to lack of sleep. But in a matter of minutes my mission was accomplished and she walked out of the bathroom ready to face another school day. The brush was passed to Liberty as the relay race of morning routine continued.

Meanwhile, down the long hall I hear growls and warrior voices from my boys as they try to occupy themselves while waiting to load the purple van for school. Without guided play they'll be wrestling, sword-fighting, or chasing each other with obnoxious passion that usually ends in one or both crying. Love shared between little boys looks messy to me, a girly mom. But, I'm trying to figure out how to fuel the energy and keep them busy before sleepy neighbors find a broom and bang their ceiling in hopes of silence.

This is my life. The movie "UP" says it best: "It's the boring things in life I'll miss the most." Routine sometimes brings feelings of boredom, but in reality I love these moments most. This blog is my attempt to celebrate this gift of life through the beautiful moments and the simultaneous hiccups.