Quick Adoption Update

The past few weeks have found me in a place I never thought I’d be—chatting with Senator’s aides, writing letters to Congress people, planning a trip to DC to march for a cause.  But this is the fate of a waiting adoptive parent.  You find yourself doing all you can to shorten the distance between you and your kids. 

Oh, and I’ve been on some conference calls.  Major props to working folks like my husband who have to endure large conference calls everyday.  Oh my word.  And large conference calls with waiting adoptive parents means that at least one person doesn’t have their phone on mute.  Most likely this person will be in a windtunnel located inside the Playland at a McDonald’s.  I can find no other reasonable explanation for the constant chatter and babble of small children in the background. 

So what did all of these efforts produce?  Some news that was both encouraging and discouraging at the same time.  We now know that there is no way we will travel this summer.  The US Embassy in DRC does investigations of all adoptions to insure each adoption is done ethically.  This is a good thing.  No, a great thing.  But because of the sequester and the rise in adoptions in the DRC, the embassy is understaffed and under-budgeted to handle the case load in a timely manner.  So we wait.  We knew that because our kids are not originally from the capitol of DRC, that our investigations would take longer.  The DRC is one third the size of the US.  It’s not like the investigators can just hop in a Humvee and trot off to where our kids are from.  It’s 1000 miles away.  But….we do now know that the investigators have scheduled a trip to our kids' hometown to do our investigation and the investigations of other kids from that area.  (Which is a huge praise and one of the things we were lobbying for!  Hurrah!)  However, the investigators won’t be heading out to our region until the end of the summer.  (Sad trombone)  Please pray that nothing thwarts these plans.  Any changes in politics or rebel uprisings could make this trip a no go.   So while three months isn’t THAT long in the US, it seems like an eternity in the tumultuous landscape of the Congo.  

(Why long investigations?  International adoption is frought with controversy and corruption because where there are big-hearted Westerners with money, there are folks willing to take advantage of that.   And while I have entered into the conversation about ethical adoptions in other arenas, community building in 3^rd world countries and the oh so important need for family preservation initiatives, I don’t want this post to go down that rabbit trail.  So if you want to enter that conversation, I suggest you go here, to Jen Hatmaker’s most recent blog post, to discuss that.  Please hear me when I say I am thankful for the extra lengths the Embassy is going to to insure ethical adoptions.  I just wish they had more resources with which to do them.  Hence the lobbying and the march.)

This means that we will most likely travel to pick up our kids in the fall.  Perhaps October?  And we will now need to be in country for 2-3 weeks rather than just 1 week as we had first thought.  Which makes finding childcare for Henry and Grace a bit stickier during the school year and also triples the cost of the trip.  The wait also adds to our expense as we pay for our kids’ living expenses.  And I don’t want to complain about those costs.  Because the transition house where Charlie and Mollie are is great.  But it isn’t a family.  It isn’t our family.  

Sometimes at night I hear Henry talking to Charlie.  Telling him how he misses him.  “Oh Charlie, I will teach you how to make the bed.  Yours will be the bottom bunk.  It’ll be easier to make than my top bunk.”  “Charlie, I’m really too old for this train table, but I told mom to keep it in our room for you.  I will build you tracks and you can play trains.  Did you know there is a Charlie train?  And a Henry train?  There’s even a Molly train.  Poor Grace, she doesn’t have her own train.”  

I hear this and I cry.

Most days, I’m able to go through the day without breaking down.  I trust that God’s timing is perfect and that He is with them in the Congo.  But other days?  Like Mother’s day?  Sweet Moses.  I was completely blindsided by grief.  It was like it was pissed I’d been ignoring it so long and just full on attacked me.  

So that was awesome. 

I’m trying to see the bright side of the delay.  We have the summer.  I don’t have to worry about getting an email or a letter from USCIS or my case worker saying “It’s time to go.”  I can just love on Henry and Grace.  Sloan and I can go on loads of date nights.  We can finish prepping the kids rooms and maybe unpack the last few boxes.  I can relax at the pool.  I can go to the gym and drop the kids off in childcare.  Who knows?  Maybe I’ll go crazy and finally paint the family room bathroom and dining room.  You know, since I’ve got a coupon for paint and all.

Please pray for us to have continued patience.  For us to trust in God to provide for all of our needs.  For the health and safety for Charlie and Mollie and all of the kids with them in Kinshasha.  For me to not obsess over other people’s adoption timelines.  For me to celebrate with my friends at their airport moments when they bring home their kids before we bring home ours, despite them starting their journeys after us.  For there to be no impediments in the rest of our process.  For us to figure out childcare.  For this Momma’s heart who longs to see and smell and hold and kiss her two youngest children. 

Remind me that Jesus sees my hurt and hurts alongside me.  Remind me that God understands a parent's ache for a child in harm's way.  Don't give me churchy platitudes.  Just give me Jesus. 

6

Life has been a whirlwind this past month.  We filed for immigration for the kids.  We had a fundraising auction that raised over 2k.  I've been shipping tshirt orders right and left and plan to get a new printing order in soon as we are sold out of many sizes and colors.  To order, check the sidebar over there <---- .="" nbsp="" p="">
But the bestest thing was celebrating the life of the boy who first made me a mom.  The lone boy to grow in my tummy as opposed to my heart.  Sometimes he feels left out because he only has one Mommy.  But then his darling father reminds him that he has a great Mommy and so that is enough. 

We celebrated with all things Wii and Lego.  I felt like a better Mom when he was obsessed with Thomas and trains.  Thomas is so wholesome while his non-stop chatter about Mario and Skylanders seems, well, it seems like I just let him play video games all day long.  Which is not the case.  (Full disclosure:  it sometimes is the case.  But when it is your birthday, you get to do what you want and the boy wanted to play with his new games.) 

We had a Super Mario themed birthday party at the house for him.  Once again, I was insane and built him a pinata. Some folks said I made the box too strong and feared it would never break.  But EVERY one of the 35 kids got a swing at it.  Henry went first and then we went in order of age.  It broke on the very last swing.  So the point goes to me.  I am a pinata genius.  So there.

 It was question box full of coins and other trinkets.

 And I made a couple pin the mustache on Mario boards.  Which we never even used because playing this game when you have 35 kids at a party is ridiculous.  I am taking it as a sign of personal growth that I was totally okay with scrapping this. 

And we had one up cupcakes. 

We did briefly try a Yoshi egg in spoon race.  But when the kids learned that I'd cheated a bit and boiled the eggs, it quickly turned into a "Let's throw boiled eggs at each other game".  Whatever.  They had a blast.

I did, however, learn a few lessons.  Like if you have a big back yard with a trampoline, a sandbox, a swingset, a sloped driveway and a bunch of big wheels and glide bikes, you really don't need any other organized activities.

Except for maybe a big handpainted Bowser target and some water balloons.  I fear we may have made this now a tradition.  Oh well.  It only took Sloan three hours and 4 Motrin to blow up 200 water balloons and me four hours to paint a target that was completely killed in less than a minute for this fun.

My darling Henry, I pray you always understand that you are loved.  You are a treasure.  You are kind and brave.  Smart and funny.  You tell me no less than 40 times a day that you love me, that I'm the best mom in the world, and that I'm beautiful.  And pretty.  And wonderful.  And kind.  Oh dear one, you are easy to love.  I pray you are always as quick to forgive and love and laugh as you are at age 6. 

Zeta Is Forever

One of the gifts of fundraising for our adoption (aside from God using folks to help us raise the necessary money to fetch our kids) has been the unexpected love and generosity we have felt from friends and loved ones.  Most particularly, right now I want to thank my sorority sisters.  Women with whom I shared my college years are stepping into the gap for us.  And not just the ones I keep in contact with on a regular basis.  Yes, the handful of girls whom I see and chat with have helped.  Of course.  But so have women I haven't seen in 15 years.  Women I wasn't even really all that close to to begin with.

I'll say it.  I was pretty popular in my sorority.  I had friends in lots of circles because, well, (and Sloan rolls his eyes whenever I say this) I am a Ferris Bueller type.  I get along well with churchy types, artsy types, preppies, hipsters, debutantes, immigrants, athletes, nerds, and lushes.  Mainly because I'm a little bit of all of them.  I'm fairly certain I was one of the few sorority girls to work in Student Television.  I mean, I was a debutante who wore sneakers under my ball gown.  I can blend pretty much anywhere.  I tend to be genuine and turns out, most people find that they can let their hair down with me because my hair is always unkempt.  (Ok, so maybe I'm not humble...)  But sometimes these hodge podge affiliations can leave me feeling like maybe I'm just on the outskirts of everything, never really "in" with anyone. 

But my Zeta sisters are proving me wrong.  You guys are donating money, items for the auction, prayers and kind words.  And I am undone.  You are proving all of those haters who say the Greek system is a waste of time and a distraction wrong.  Yes, maybe we did party too much and all wear the same black pants and carry the same Kate Spade purse.  But we care.  You are showing me that we are sisters after all.  That Zeta really is forever.  And for that I am ever thankful. 

Our creed still holds true:

To realize that within our grasp, in Zeta Tau Alpha, lies the opportunity
to learn those things which will ever enrich and ennoble our lives; to be true
to ourselves, and to those within and without our circle; to think in terms
of all mankind and our service to the world; to be steadfast, strong, and clean
of heart and mind, remembering that since the thought is father to the deed,
only that which we would have manifested in our experience should be entertained
in thought; to find satisfaction in being, rather than seeming, thus strengthening
in us the higher qualities of the spirit; to prepare for service and learn the
nobility of serving, thereby earning the right to be served; to seek understanding
that we might gain true wisdom; to look for the good in everyone; to see
beauty, with its enriching influence; to be humble in success, and without bitterness
in defeat; to have the welfare and harmony of the Fraternity at heart, striving
ever to make our lives a symphony of high ideals, devotion to the right, the good,
and the true, without a discordant note; remembering always that the
foundation precept of Zeta Tau Alpha was love, "the greatest of all things".

Why International?

A friend recently asked why we chose international adoption over adopting out of the US foster care system.  Now usually when someone asks me this, it gets my cackles us.  Because the question is typically accompanied with a sneer of judgment from a complete stranger as if to say “Why do you not want to help American kids?”  {Sidebar: one time this nurse at MCV when Grace was teeny tiny and being checked by the specialists said to me, "Oh, I am so glad you decided to help out one of our own kids.  I don't see why so many help those foreign kids when there are kids here to love."  I said, "Um, it's only 9am and I can guarantee that is the most ignorant thing I will hear all day.  Can we please be seen by another nurse?"  Yeah, her jaw dropped and I think Sloan tried to hide under the sink.  But she left the room and we didn't get another nurse but a very apologetic doctor.  My quick wit may get me in trouble A LOT, but don't mess with me where my kids are concerned.  Cause I ain't afraid to cut somebody.}  However, this friend asked it simply to understand, as in she wanted to know how God lead us.  So I will answer.  But get comfortable, because this answer is kinda long.  It was not a decision we took lightly.

For starters, I will say that typically there are two reasons people adopt:  1. to grow a family and, 2. to provide a family.  Sure the latter achieves the former, but the motivation is different.  We adopted Grace to grow our family.  Jesus parlayed that adoption into a passion to see more of His heart for the orphan.  And here we are pining for two Congolese kids.

Initially, we did look into adopting out of foster care.  We have friends who are foster parents.  Sloan has mentored a young man who aged out of foster care and is now in college.  So it isn’t a world that is foreign to us.  The goal of the foster care system is to keep biological families intact.  Sometimes this is a glorious thing.  Parents are able to get their lives together while their kids get a break from the brokenness by being placed in a foster family.  But more often, it is a legal ping pong where there are no winners.  Case workers get frustrated at the judicial system and kids get shuffled.  Foster parents’ hearts get broken.  Kids never seem to have the chance to settle into the security of a permanent home because the next court date may mean they go back into foster care or back to their biological parent.  Therefore, the children who have done this dance back and forth until a judge finally says to the biological parent “Okay, that’s enough, your parental rights are being revoked” are typically much older.  And the state revoking a parent’s right to raise their child shouldn’t be taken lightly.  It’s a big deal.  It’s a broken solution to brokenness.  

For this, I am ever so grateful that Grace’s birthmom made an adoption plan for her.  That she had the courage to put her children’s lives before her own.  She relinquished her rights.  No judicial fight.  Grace and the twins were free to be loved.  Do I sometimes wish that we had known about the twins so they could’ve been placed with us?  Of course.  But I’m grateful to know and love their Momma via facebook.  Apparently, the vanilla versions of Grace have similar laughs and giggles and ridiculous temper tantrums.  

But typically, the children available for outright adoption from the foster care system are older.  They’ve been in the system awhile.  And these families DO need homes.  We simply felt that because Henry and Grace are so young and particularly unable to fend for themselves, it didn’t seem right to put them with an older sibling who, through no fault of his or her own, may hurt them.  A lot of these kids are troubled because no one gets tossed around like that without effect.  They need a family that can love them without abandon or reservation.  Does that make sense?  And through conversations I’ve had with case workers who work in the foster care system, they understand that tweens and teenagers are not the best fit for a family with preschoolers.  Also, when we went to AdoptUSKids to search for how many kids fit our age parameters and were free and clear to adopt, there were 17.  We looked at their profiles and made inquiries, but none of them seemed to fit.

And as to why international?  Because while the US foster care system has serious flaws, the neediness is different and we were drawn to stepping into that need.  I’ll give you an example of what I mean.

Today we got confirmation that Charlie and Mollie have been moved to our agency’s transition house.  Transition House is the term our agency uses to denote the fact that our kids will learn to transition to things that will prepare them for their new lives.  They will be shown our picture and be told about us.  And for possibly the first time in their lives they will live in a home with beds.  With indoor plumbing.  With electricity.  With daily meals.  With access to clean drinking water.  With 24 hour armed guards.  They even have a little swing set and a soccer goal in the front yard of the gated house.  Our agency has a rep in country right now and she took the kids ice cream today.  Seriously, compared with other African orphanages, it is like they are at Disneyland.  

My kids live in a country where close to half of the children die before age 5 due to malnutrition, malaria, and other things that no one dies from in a first world country.  They live in a country where kids not much older than Henry are brainwashed and roped into militia.  Where kids work tirelessly so we can enjoy our cell phones and chocolate.  Where 24 hour armed guards are needed.  Because there are folks coming into orphanages and trying to kidnap kids who have already been adopted to farm out to all of us well-meaning Westerners.  It is scary stuff.  

So yes, kids in the US foster care system need families.  But so do the other 145 million orphans on this planet.  I don’t see why so many like to act like it is a competition between which kids are the neediest.  Where you are born shouldn’t determine whether or not you get to live and be loved.

That’s the long answer.  

The short answer?  Um…we are adopting from the Congo because that’s where our kids are. 

i600 and waiting

Oh my goodness.  So much immigration paperwork.  For each child, there were 64 pages of documents.  Some had to be notarized.  All had to be scanned and apparently I'm an idiot about that.  First off, our old printer was a champ at scanning and the new printer not so much.  Or you have to stand there like an idiot and keep track of what page you are on and do it one.by.one.  So I broke down and went to Kinko's and paid the lovely people that I now know by name from all of our FedExing documents. 

Only to come home and discover that now that all my documents were scanned into one giant document that was too large to email.  Even though I specifically asked Shannon at Kinko's to scan it at a low resolution so that it would be less than 25 MB.  So I tried this Google share thing.  Then cursed myself for spending money on something that probably wouldn't work.  So then, I stood like an idiot, and scanned each document into separate PDFs and then sent my poor immigration helper 6 separate emails (not including the 2 original ones with the Google Share docs and also an email apologizing for all of my emails) with an accompanying 36 attachments.

This is where I'd like to thank the Wizard of Oz, Pixar, Dreamworks, and Disney Junior for parenting my children this past week.  It is incredible the amount of ignoring your "in home children" done just to adopt more children. 

So I sent my poor immigration helper about a dozen emails.  Each containing an apology for all of the emails.  I wanted to make sure all of my documents were correct before shipping them to her. 

Guess what?  She actually raved about my using the Google Share thing.  She only had to open one attachment and was done looking at my documents likety split because she didn't have to open 6 emails and 36 attachments.  (These are actual numbers, people.  Not exaggerations.  36 attachments.  18 per child.)

So of course, I then sent her ANOTHER email telling her to please ignore my other bajillion emails.  This made her type LOL.  So gold star for me. 

My documents looked great and now they are off!  Off to be matched with our translated court documents stating that Charlie and Mollie are all ours for forever and ever.  We will petition the US gov't to list them as our immediate relatives and then request visas for them.  This will take....

wait for it.....



anywhere between at least 4-9 months. 

Because the US State Department is grossly understaffed in Kinshasha and they must investigate every case for fraud and corruption, both of which are rampant in the DRC.  So it is necessary for them to make sure that we aren't participating in any child trafficking but so.freaking.long.

So. freaking. Long.

So maybe don't ask me when we will be traveling.  Because honestly, if they hadn't just changed the investigation procedure, I would've said maybe May or June.  But now I'm just praying to have my kids home by Thanksgiving.  {Actually, I'm praying to travel this summer.  Like all the time.  I may or may not have had to have a come to Jesus meeting with Jesus about this.  He sang me the "Be Patient" song and then gave me this whole Be still and know I am God, I am Father to the fatherless speech.  Classic Jesus.}

I try not to think about the time too much.  How every month they are over there kills me. How an armed militia marched into their hometown and took over the UN Compound this past weekend.  How it finally quieted down thanks to the Congolese guard and some UN Peacekeepers and a healthy downpour of rain.  (Cue Toto's Africa)  But not before 35 people were killed.  How Mollie will most likely turn 2 in an orphanage.  And how that means we will HAVE to buy her a seat on the airplane.  How I have swimsuits for them.  How when I close my eyes I see them and if I try hard enough I can see them running around my backyard in a sprinkler.  I try not to entertain those thoughts because then I just can't function.  So I just try to sell my shirts and find the ones lost in the mail and prep for our facebook auction and feed, bathe, and clothe my family. 

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

MIA

Sooooo we've been busy.  First this happened.

That's a box full of our fundraising adoption Tshirts.  Or, more specifically, the first of two boxes.  This is the box full of the adult shirts sized M and larger.  The other box?  Well...let's just say I know why the US Postal service is going out of business.  The box left Memphis the same time as this one but has yet to be located.  An investigation has been started.  So peeps who've ordered kids' shirts or
 are skinny?  Not to worry.  You'll get your shirt.  You'll just have to wait.  Consider this your opportunity to empathize with us in our adoption journey.  And for folks who haven't ordered yet?  There's still time.  And we plan to put in another order because we've already sold out of some sizes in some colors.  So if you want one that isn't listed, just shoot me an email and I'll mark you down for one in the reorder.

But they look great!

As you can see, the shirts are awesome.  They are super soft.  Like that shirt you "rented" from the gym in college and then you just eventually stole?   Yeah.  They're like that.  I've pretty much worn mine every day.  And they'll be perfect for sticky summer days in Richmond and perfect to take to Kinshasha.  Sorting them and shipping them out, as you can see, has been tedious with my "helpers".  But we still have some left and with each email I get telling me another one has sold, I am encouraged.  Encouraged that we are not alone in pining for our children.  Encouraged that some other folks are stepping into the gap to help us financially.  Which is a HUGE HUGE help.

And we also did this...

 This is Sloan making jokes about getting undressed infront of his wife and another woman.

 So he could do this.
 

So we could get these.  Our Yellow Fever Cards.  We also got our typhoid pills, malaria med prescriptions, and meds for Traveller's GI issues.

What's next for us?  Filling out loads of immigration paperwork, prepping for our Facebook Auction coming up the second week of April (yes, there's still time to donate gift cards, handmade items, and any other thing you have that you might think would bring us some cash), and celebrating reaching the end of our CONA wait period.  YAHOO!

(Oh, and we got a be stack of files from our agency with our kids' paperwork and THEY NOW HAVE THE LAST NAME PHILLIPS!)

Bowl full of grace

This blue bowl.

There’s nothing special about it.  But don’t tell my kids that. To them, it’s the all coveted LIGHT BLUE BOWL.  It is THE bowl from which to eat cereal, goldfish, ice cream.  In the morning, the first words out of each of my kids’ mouths is “I want the light blue bowl!  I’m gonna get the light blue bowl!”  They scurry and flutter to be the first child dressed and down in the kitchen, skidding to the cupboard in their socks, to snag the coveted light blue bowl.

The winning child usually gloats and cuddles the bowl until its filled with Cheerios.  The loser usually falls in a puddle crying, shouting about the injustice of it all.  When the bowl is dirty, it is suddenly my fault that none of the other 15 bowls in the cupboard will do.  It doesn’t help that my response is usually one of complete impatience.

I’m so over the light blue bowl.

My knee jerk reaction was to get a 2^nd blue bowl.  $2 and problem solved, right?  Sloan wants to throw the bowl away.  After all, if your eye causes you to sin, you’re to cut it out, right? However, both solutions are insufficient.

We could make sure they each had their own light blue bowl.  Or we could toss it.  But sooner or later they’d find something else to throw elbows over.  Perhaps suddenly the Spiderman bowl would be all the rage.

But the problem isn’t the bowl.  It’s them.  It’s us.  It’s me.  At some point, we've all got to learn to handle someone else having that thing which we most want or how to be gracious to those waiting patiently.  And perhaps we need to learn that the blessings we have right at our fingertips is all that we really need.

We want a thing so much that we’re willing to fight for it.  Never mind that our having that thing makes our brother cry.  After all, he should not have doddled while getting dressed.  No matter that we promised him yesterday he could have it.  

Or maybe it’s me that is crying about how you have the bowl and I don’t.  Sure, I could get another bowl that’s just as good or maybe even better, but that fact that you want it makes me NEED it.  And to get it I will whine and complain and perhaps even pull you out of your chair to get it.

Most times, I treat God’s favor and blessing like that light blue bowl.  If you have it, then I do not.  Maybe I’ll get it if I just try harder.  Maybe I can guilt you into sharing your blessings with me.  Maybe I’ll just blame God for blessing you and not me.

But y’all, hear me when I say this:

GOD’S GRACE IS NOT A PIE.

We do not get less blessing because someone else seems to have more.  Grace isn’t doled out first come first serve.  It’s not reserved for the most eloquent, spiritual, best dressed, or level headed.  It cannot, in fact, be earned.  Nor is it something to be Lorded over others or clung to, white knuckled, for fear that we might lose it.  Grace is ours to keep.  No take backs.

In God’s economy, grace multiplies when shared.  Even the tiniest amount of grace, when lifted up in thanksgiving and poured out for others, can feed multitudes.  With buckets of leftovers.  

Because GOD’S GRACE IS NOT A PIE.

It’s a person.  And from His fullness we have all received grace upon grace.

So what’s  your blue bowl?