Adoption isn't pretty, but it is beautiful.

Two years ago today, I was goofing around on facebook and my phone rang. I saw an 817 area code pop up on my caller ID and my heart stopped.

It was our referral call.

The next 30 minutes were frantic. I was crying, trying to call Rob to get him to come home, and rushing around the house, putting on a movie for the kids, setting up the video camera so we could record the moment we first saw this sweet face.

Here's a screen shot from the video of our very first look at Amani:

Holy puffy eyes, Batman. I cried tons before I even saw his picture!

 And later, of the kids seeing the pictures:

Riley was really focused on what he was wearing in every picture... particularly the one in which
Amani was wearing NOTHING! :)

And now, two years later, our family has been all together for 19 months. And these three crazies fill my days with light:

I cropped this picture, but this was the celebration of Amani wearing big-boy underpants.
Clearly his sibs understand what a big deal this was! I just love how proud he looks here.

But in the midst of the joy of seeing the face of the child you hope to adopt, there is intense grief. I thought I was prepared; I had read tons of "The Call" blog posts, but I had no idea the depth of grief I would feel for Amani's birth parents. Or the depth of my sadness over what he had already lost, and for what he would lose by moving halfway across the world to join our family.

Some of my adoptive mama friends posted this quote on Mother's Day:

Children born to another woman call me "Mom." 

The depth of that tragedy and the magnitude of that privilege are not lost on me." 

(Jody Landers)

Adoption isn't pretty. It's messy, emotional, full of ups and downs. It is wonderful that children can join families and leave orphanages behind, but they have to go through so much loss to get there.  I think of Amani's birth mother nearly every day. Every time my heart fills with joy over my youngest, there is a shadow of sadness, always followed by a wave of gratitude for what his birth mother has relinquished. She is my silent partner in raising him; I imagine her beside me. I send a message out to the universe to her sometimes, a murmur of thanks, telling her about the sparkle in his eye, the joyful ring of his laughter, how silly he can be sometimes. A whisper of reassurance - we are doing right by him, doing the best that we know how. He is flourishing.

Referral day for us is so close to Mother's Day. Amani's adoption has made my Mother's Days so sweet. I can't get over how incredibly blessed I am to have three children. I weep at the joy of it. But Mother's Day and Referral Day aren't just days of celebration for me. I always need a moment of silence. A moment to reflect on how much my joy is intertwined in someone else's pain. And on the honor and privilege of raising a son of Ethiopia, a precious boy born to another woman. Last night, I sat in my bed and sobbed, overwhelmed by all of the emotion.

Adoption isn't pretty. But it is beautiful. God makes beauty from ashes and I see it in my family. God has pruned my heart through the process; it was painful sometimes, but my heart is more like His because of it. And I'm overwhelmed with gratitude.

Happy Referral Day, my sweet Amanuel. What a blessing you are to our family. We love you so!

They. are. kids.

They. are. kids.

That was my reaction when I saw the pictures of the two suspects responsible for the bombings at the Boston Marathon.

And one of those kids is now dead at age 26. I guess I should call him a young man. His younger brother, only 19, has the entire city of Boston looking for him. I wonder how it's even possible he'll be captured alive. Their family has publicly denounced them, an uncle calling them "losers" on national television.

I'm not saying their age makes what they did excusable. I grieve with the families of those killed and injured. I think what those boys did was atrocious.

But they are so young. And that makes me so sad.

Regardless of what happens as a result of the manhunt, there is no happy ending to this story. The death of the young men responsible for the bombing doesn't bring back the three who died, it doesn't reattach limbs for those who had amputations, and it won't erase the emotional scars of all who were there that day.

This won't be a popular opinion I'm sure, but while I grieve for all those who were lost or hurt in the bombings, I also grieve for the two responsible for it.  I am so sad that the first suspect has died. I am sad that the second one might.  I don't think more death makes this situation any better.

While I can't be wholly responsible for the actions of others, I don't believe any of us acts in a vacuum. I wonder what happened to those kids to make them capable of bombing the Boston Marathon. What happens to a soul to make one able to do such a thing? I have trouble squishing bugs... I can't begin to imagine what kind of soul-twisting would have to happen to me in order to make me capable of willfully harming someone else. How have we failed those boys? It sounds as if their family moved them here in hopes of a better life, a better way for their family.

So today, I'm praying. A lot. I'm lifting up the families of those who were harmed, for the families who are grieving. I pray for the family of the young men responsible - I can't imagine their shock and horror at what their family members have done.  And I pray for the boy on the run. He's a 19 year old boy. And he has done something unspeakably tragic and horrible. And his brother was killed. I pray for peace for his heart, that he will turn himself in, that God will work something miraculous in his life.

Because if you know any 19 year old boys... or any 26 year old young men... you know they still have a lot of growing up to do. We all did at those ages.

And I pray for all of us watching, those of us glued to the tv and internet, watching and waiting. I pray for our souls - that we won't be thirsting for more bloodshed, that we'll all seek the comfort and peace of our Creator and seek ways to treat one another more gently.

I love that dirty water...

I live in the South, with a capital "S." We drink sweet tea, I teach my children to say "yes, sir" and "yes ma'am." Kids attend church in smocked dresses and jon jons (okay, not mine, but most of my friends' kids!). My daughter wears BIG bows in her hair. My kids' words often have extra syllables. We live and breathe ACC basketball and bless each others' hearts.

But I grew up in Boston. And right now, I feel very far from home.

If you aren't from New England, you might not understand what a big day Marathon Day is. You probably think it's called "Patriots Day." Nope - we called it Marathon Day. Marathon Day is, honestly, the only day every year when I wish I still lived in Boston. I joke that I have sold out to the South... but not on Marathon Day. That day, my heart aches to hear someone say "wicked" and they don't mean evil.  I miss the gruff, "how ya doin'" you are likely to get on the street (if you get any greeting at all). Somehow, cuss words only sound right to me when said with a Boston accent. I might even whisper a few to myself on Marathon Day.

Growing up, we didn't go to school on Marathon Monday. We went to watch the Boston Marathon. My family's spot to watch was on Capitol Hill, not far from the finish line. I loved handing out water and oranges to the runners as they passed by. It was like having fleeting contact with a celebrity. We'd stand there, holding out our offerings, hoping upon hope that a runner would come by and grunt a quick "thanks" as he poured the cup over his head, ripped out the orange with his teeth, and threw the rind on the ground. Extra points if you were able to run and pick up the rind!

The Red Sox play at home in the morning, so that you can go to the game AND walk outside to cheer on the marathoners as they pass by at the same time.  The entire city is out, celebrating what it means to be from Boston. What it means to live in a city with such a wonderful history, where people live and breathe the Red Sox and Patriots football.  Where you spend your summers in the cold water on the Cape, go to Cumbies to get a soda, and take the T to Government Center on the green line. Where the letter "R" just doesn't exist.

Yesterday, I was shocked when my mom called me to tell me what had happened at the race. I'd been following along but quit after the winners came in (Yay Ethiopia, by the way).  I cried when I saw the photos of the finish line and couldn't bring myself to watch any of the videos.

And while the bombings will certainly impact what Marathon Day means for Boston from now on, I've never been more proud of my city. My hometown opened its doors; hundreds of people posted that they had space for strangers to stay the night, that they would pick up those who were stranded. Restaurants served meals, telling patrons to pay only if they were able. Stories came out about onlookers who rushed IN to help instead of running away. The perseverance of the 78 year-old man who was knocked down by the explosion but got back up and finished the race.  I know the spirit of a New Englander: tough as nails, intimidating perhaps, but there to lend a hand when it's needed. Loyalty is highly valued in Boston (just look at Red Sox fans).

Today I pray for my hometown. I'm homesick, wishing I were there. Not that there is anything I could do, but just to stand with my city. I pray for the family of little Martin Richard, praying for some comfort for them in their grief, that God will show up for them in an undeniable way. And for the families of those injured and killed by the explosions. I pray that God will make himself known and felt all throughout the city. May he bring peace and comfort where there appears to be no hope of it.

And I know Boston. Bostonians are like weathered old fishermen. Today will not defeat them. Marathon Day is not ruined. It's not stained. Boston will find a way to honor those who were harmed, those who served, and those who sacrificed yesterday. It will be part of the honor and spirit that is Marathon Day. Whoever did this will not win. Fear will not win. Courage, sacrifice and honor prevailed yesterday.

I love that dirty water... Boston you're my home.

Little Black Dress Week

Sorry for the delay on a Dress for Change update... my sister-in-law and her family came to stay with us for a week! Which means we had seven kids in our house for awhile! It was tons of fun and tons of craziness... :)

We love us some Demon Deacons!

Elephant Tracking at the zoo

Cutest kids ever, right?

So anyway, I did it! I wore the same little black dress for seven days! And even sort of halfway managed to look slightly different every day! And while I'm not certain how many dresses will be sent to Little Dresses for Africa for girls who really don't have enough to wear, I was really excited to get to participate in something like this!

So... here's how I started out:

Day One: Okay, so I spent most of the first day in my pj's because I was doing a StreetWatch work day, organizing our storage facility. But once I got home and showered, this is what I wore!

Day One

Day Two: It was spring break but we had two birthday parties this week so I had the chance to see my sweet friend Shannon, who was doing it with me!

Day Two

Day Three: The second birthday party! We look so different, don't we? I can't begin to tell y'all how wonderful it was to have a friend doing it with me! I have another friend in Texas who was doing it too so it was nice to see her picture updates every day, too!

Day Three!
 Rockin' Dress for Change at Chuck E Cheese. Awesome.

Day Four: It stayed pretty chilly during our spring break week so I just added a long-sleeve shirt and a scarf that my mother-in-law gave me from Connected in Hope

Day Four

Day Five: So I'm kinda proud of myself about this one: I altered an old pair of jeans to make skinny jeans!

Day Five

Day Six: I was at the beach for my college roommate's bachelorette weekend! So I didn't get a good color picture, but I was glad I could get the dress to work for me to go out to dinner with these beautiful ladies.

Day Six

Day Seven: LAST DAY! All I had to do that day was drive home from the beach and then chill with my fam, so I didn't worry too much about it. My lovely friend Kerri was nice enough to take the picture with me, since I hate being in photos by myself! 

It really was a great experience... and I've played around some on the official Little Black Dress project page. I'm thinking this fall I might try to organize a month-long fundraiser. So.... friends, be thinking about if you want to join me in wearing the same little black dress for a MONTH this fall! :)

"I have NOTHING to wear!"

Have you ever found yourself staring at your closet, thinking "I have NOTHING to wear!".  Sadly, I have. I've looked at my full-full closet and declared it empty, even knowing that there are people who truly have just a few articles of clothing to wear. sad.

Some friends of mine and I are participating in Dress for Change week starting tomorrow! It's not too late to join me!

Here's the nitty gritty:
This is the senior project of a girl in high school. For every woman who registers, she will make a pillowcase dress and donate it to Little Dresses for Africa, an organization that donates dresses to girls who truly have very little to wear.
Participants donate $5 and agree to wear only one dress for the week of April 1-7.

I'm excited about this week. It's a way I can cultivate a spirit of gratitude in my own life as well as raising awareness about poverty world-wide. And, uh, I'm supposed to be learning something about accessorizing in the meantime (something tells me I will look like I'm wearing the same dress all week, but you never know!)

So from tomorrow through next Sunday, here's what I will be wearing:

Well, or this :

While the point of the whole project is to realize just how MUCH I have, I did order a little black dress from www.elegantees.com. They are an organization that works to get women out of the sex trade in Nepal. Dresses are sewn by women who have been rescued from the sex trade there in Nepal and proceeds go towards helping rescue more women. I thought that was a GREAT reason to buy a new dress.

BUT... if you know me, you know I am awesome awful at technology. So when my new little black dress arrived, I was surprised to find a new little lavender dress instead. I clicked the wrong button! But I love love love the dress, so I'm just gonna keep it.  But I still wanted to blog about it so y'all will go check out Elegantees! They are wonderful!

I resisted the temptation to buy another dress and instead made my own! I have way more fabric than I should just sitting in my sewing room. And I had two pretty big pieces of knit just sitting around, waiting for me to do something with them. So I made two (pretty similar) dresses. I think the black one's going to be easier to wear for a whole week, but help me out!

Which one should I wear??? The black one is shorter, so I can probably wear jeans under it one day as if it's a long top and it has a gathered waistline.  The camel-colored one is longer, I put the pockets in a better spot, and it has box pleats in the front & back.

So cast your vote..... NOW! :)

Mess

I'm a mess.

At the heart of it all, I am selfish, prideful and vain. I screw up constantly: I lose my patience with my kids, I lose my patience with my spouse. I let busy-ness take over my life to the point that I find myself lost in the shuffle. I lie sometimes.

I have skeletons in my closet that would love to claim me. I have some seriously big past mistakes. I have some seriously big present mistakes too, actually.

I have good ideas and do "good things" and then I want credit and praise and recognition for them. So much for selflessness.

But today, Christians recognize the day Jesus died on the cross. He was perfect. He wasn't a mess. He loved people and he made no mistakes. He never lied, he never messed up.

And, knowing that it was MY punishment, my well-deserved punishment, Jesus volunteered for my cross. He took all of the wrath of God that was intended for me. Every bit of it that I have earned with my selfishness, my vanity, my pridefulness. I am so far from perfect and yet the one who was perfect bore my punishment. He took on my shame and left me free.

That leaves me speechless. And tearful. And grateful.

And it's given as a gift. No strings attached. There is nothing I can do to earn Jesus' approval or his love. It is given freely. He already died on the cross. It's done. I am forgiven, even before I make the mistake.

This, my friends, is the heart of my life. I don't follow Jesus for any reason other than this: He has done more for me than I could ever imagine. He has made it so that I can have a relationship with God. I'm too broken, too messy, to interact with the Holy, Perfect, Creator of the Universe.  So Jesus steps in and God sees me through Him. Because of Jesus, God sees me as holy and blameless. I can stand before him without fear.

It doesn't mean I have life figured out. It doesn't mean I'm done making mistakes. But I've given my heart to God and he's slowly, sometimes painfully, re-shaping it to look more like his.

Beauty from ashes. I am so grateful.

Why there are no math symbols on my Facebook profile.

Yesterday, equal signs on a red background started popping up on many of my friends' facebook statuses. Not all, but a good many of them.

But I didn't change mine. Here's the thing about Facebook. In my little humble opinion, it's not a good place for political statements.  There is no space for civil discourse, no opportunity for real conversation. There is no body language, no tone of voice in a facebook status or a private message.

Because of this, I feared that putting up an equal sign would "brand" me.  That people wouldn't understand where my heart lies on this issue.  There are people in my life that I fear would no longer feel the same way about me if I were to change my profile picture.  I totally admit that this makes me a bit of a coward - I worried too much about what some people would think if I put it up.

However, although I don't get body language and tone of voice in my blog, I do get more words. So I thought I'd post about it instead.

Our Supreme Court is considering whether gay couples should have same right to marry and receive the same benefits as straight couples. In short, I think they absolutely should.

But it goes further than that. I am a Christian. I love Jesus more than anything else on the planet. I believe the Bible is true.  I am still wrestling with what the Bible says about whether God blesses gay marriage. I know that's a wimpy stance to take, but it is the honest truth. (I blogged about this here.) But regardless, I know that it is not MY place to judge. I'm not wrestling with what the Bible says about that one - that is quite clear.  And I believe God grants enough grace to cover all of us - I firmly believe gay people can be Christians. And he loves all of us, gay and straight, Christian and not.

And I think gay couples have the right to marry.

Because here's the thing. The Bible does make it clear that marriage is a covenant between two individuals and God.  If Christians are going to say gay people can't get married because it's a religious, sacred institution, then we also have to say that two Atheists can't get married, or two Hindus, or Muslims. That's a very slippery slope, my friends.

Here's what I think should happen: I would love for the government to take their paws off of marriage. I believe it is a sacred, important, covenant we make before God. I don't want the government to have anything to do with what it is or how we define it.  I think we ALL should get Civil Unions from the government. All of us. With the same rights and benefits for all. That's as far as the government should be involved as far as I'm concerned. I do not want the government involved in my faith. Not even a tiny bit.

And then those of us (gay and straight) who want to make a covenant of faith with God through marriage can do so through our places of worship. Churches (and other places of faith) should make their own decisions about whether they will or won't perform marriage ceremonies for gay couples. Some will, some won't. That is okay.

But I don't actually think that's going to happen. Our culture has already changed the definition of marriage. So, based on what marriage means now (two people who love each other who want to spend their lives together), I absolutely support gay couples' right to marry.

But I don't like the "us" versus "them" mentality of all of this. This quote from Jen Hatmaker sums it up for me:
Not every Christian who believes in 'traditional marriage' is full of hate. 
Not every Christian who supports the civil rights of gay folks is a Bible-rejecting defector. 
Not every gay man wears glitter and drag in Pride Parades. 

We are not caricatures. We are people, and life is nuanced. Until we stop assigning stereotypes to each other and do the hard work of actually getting to know one another as friends, or at least human beings, we are going to sabotage every good, productive possibility in front of us.

As a Christian, I am called to love, to stand for justice, to fight oppression, to be a peacemaker. I am to serve all those around me in the same way Jesus did, whether they think like me, believe like me, or even like me.  

So while I still won't change my facebook profile picture to a math symbol, I do stand with those who want civil rights for gay couples. But I would love for ALL of us to open our minds a bit and try to understand one another a little better. If you stand against gay marriage, you are not my enemy, nor am I yours.

I'm in danger of saying I want us all to hold hands and sing "kumbaya."  But I kinda do. Let's stop stereotyping and reach out to one another. We are all sharing the same human experience.

And that should count for something.