Adoption Costs

Friends of friends are adopting 3 little girls from Africa.  In their efforts to raise the money it will take to bring them home, they detailed the fees involved as follows: 

$250 Application Fee
$500 Dossier preparation, review, and processing fee
$4,750 Agency Services Fee
$1,000 Community Development for the DR Congo
$6,500 Foreign Services Fee (Part One)
$5,500 Foreign Services Fee (Part Two)
$15,000 Adopting two biological siblings of child #1
$1500 Three Congolese passports for our girls
$1750 In-country travel and administration fee for escort of our children to the capital.
$1500 Kinshasa emigration assistance
$600 Medical exams for all three girls required for Visa by US Embassy in Kinshasa
$500 DRC Consulate Legalization Fee
$250 Dossier Translation Fee
$720 USCIS I600A Filing fee
$170 USCIS Fingerprinting for both parents
$1200 US Visa fee for adoptive children
$300 Accomodations in Kinshasa per night
$50 Mandatory Airport Exit tax per passenger. Paid at airport in Kinshasa
$4000 Two round-trip tickets to DRC; one per parent
$4500+ Three one-way tickets to US for our girls!
Total: $50,540

Over fifty-thousand dollars!!  Following Jesus is costing them.  And that's just the *beginning* of their parenting journey with their future daughters. 

I studied the list.  While I understand medical exams, plane tickets, and legal fees (to some extent), I have no idea what the $12,000 of Foreign Service Fees are.  Who gets this money?  The officials in the country?  For what?  Their own gain?  So that they will be empowered to live in luxury while they let their citizens literally rot away in cardboard shanties without food, water, or medical care? 

It hurts my heart to think that greedy men somewhere could profit from the sale of the impovrished children to wealthy Americans.  If that's the case, what makes these precious babes any different than slaves? 

Immediately my heart felt hard.  I wondered if this is something we should even be apart of.  Empowering wicked men to continue in their wickedness?  At what price will these three girls be rescued from loneliness?  How many children will be left behind to reap the harshness that $12,000 brings to the hands of thugs?  Is supporting that the Christian thing to do?

But isn't that was Jesus did? 

My heart hurts just thinking about it.  Ultimately, I know our job is to love as Christ loves, no matter the cost, no matter the consequences.  No matter who seems to reap the rewards of evil in the meantime.  God will tip the scales in the end.  It's so hard to remember sometimes.  And at others, it's plain ole difficult to wrap my my around -- how to have enough faith to keep believing, press on and do good for the *one* you can save, in spite of it the rest of it.

Just a Phase

I have only been at this wonderfully trying, refining thing called motherhood for 843 days.  I had no idea what I was getting into that Sunday morning when Ethan entered the world, which makes me absolutely certain I have no idea what is still to come.  But I'm stopping to takes notes along the way.  To pep talk myself with the tiny bit I've realized this far:

It's all a phase. 

During Ethan's first few months of life, I spent my days engulfed in a state of loneliness I thought would never end.  I thought having a newborn was going to open my eyes to a glorious, rich new world, and instead, I was birth-maimed and in pain, alone all day in a with a babble-less baby and an unfathomable amount of laundry.  I lamented my state (but never my baby!) and thought surely my soul would rot along with the poop-smells. 

But it was just a phase.

A season later, when Ethan would kick and squirm and wrestle me through every diaper change, I thought I was going to lose my mind.  I was quite certain he'd overpower me, leave me with black eyes and broken bones while he ruled the roost alfresco.  But he didn't.  And a few seasons later, he stopped fighting.  It was a long, annoying phase, but it was just a phase.

Each phase has plenty of irritations and requires certain sacrifices.   Being tied to the house for nap-time, packing diaper bags, traveling with Pack-n-Plays, being confined to wearing clothes that allow easy access for feeding,  not being able to relaxingly eat dinner in public.  It requires such a heart-battle to willingly, joyfully give all of myself away, even when I'm giving to those I love most.

But now, I know it's just a phase, and that makes the surrender so much easier..  I don't need to wallow in pity like I did before.  I don't have to worry myself silly over schedules or getting everything just right; I know now that the second I finally feel comfortable with life, the boys will grow, their needs will change, and I'll have to adjust all over again. 

I know now that while there will be new difficulties, there will also be new reasons to celebrate.  And when the current difficulties fade, some of the previous things I've cherished will vanish with them. 

Ethan's only two and already I ache with the knowledge that childhood is so, so fleeting.  Every day has moments to cherish, and I'm fighting with all that's in me to ensure I don't miss them.

Minimzing Regret

Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one whose heart still hurts over dumb decisions.  Trivial things like wearing my headgear to a sleepover when I was in eighth grade or later, at fifteen, trying to turn a Lisa Loeb song into a monologue for Advanced Theater.  (Since that abysmal, face-reddening ordeal, I haven't been able to listen to a single song of hers without feeling ashamed.)  The events weren't near as ridiculous as how deeply they're etched in my memory.  I'm probably the only person on the planet who remembers.  But for some reason, it still embarrasses me to think about them.

I've made some other, more consequential stupid moves, too.  Lots of lost friendships through clumsy ignorance and entirely too much self-seeking.  I never intended to be a crappy friend, and I didn't even realize I was being one until it was too late.  I always only wanted people to like me and for *me* to feel appreciated, loved, wanted.  And in that me-centric world, I blindly didn't consider that other people had needs I could be meeting.  And I shuffled through friends (much in the way that first-friends painfully shuffled through me), then I ran away to college and repeated my bad behavior on new hearts.

So, I have regrets.  I don't want to make more.  

Since wisdom comes with age, I've been studying the moms ahead of me.  I make a mental note when I read about a mother who said she never thinks back on her children's youth and wishes she'd vacuumed more.  I read and listen; I hunt for simple ways to to implement all the things my heart wants for my kids.  Just this week I added to my (very long term) to-do list the invaluable practice of praying with the boys as I drive them to school.   

There is so much I don't *know* to do that I sincerely want to do.  I don't want to screw any of this up.

I want to raise my kids to love Jesus.  I want to help them sift through what the world offers and cling only to Truth. I don't want to be so wrapped up in my own plans that I waste away the days on memories that won't satisfy.  I want to be present, to be entrenched in enjoying their world, their laughter, their warmth.

I don't want the death of friends-of-friends tiny sons and tiny daughters to make me pause, realize them important, and hug my sons tighter.  It's my goal to always live with the knowledge of death.  And to *always* (even in the frustrating moments) see my children's presence as a blessing.

Blowing Off the Dust

As I sit here wondering how to start this entry, I hear the lyrics "You can start over again" repeating in the background. Seems apropos.

When I was in college and wondering what to do with my life, the deep in me wanted to write. But after my parents talked me out of a career in acting (hindsight shouts, "Thank goodness!!"), the increasingly practical part of me decided it wasn't wise. Plus, everyone's a writer. The girl across the street, my dad's best friend's daughter, all of those smartie-pants, ever referencing the vague, poet-types in my lit classes. Who was I to write? And anyway, hasn't it all been said already?

So, I stuffed it down, moved into the shallow end, began to write about the day-to-day, then eventually quit my blog. And life happened. I got a job, quit a job, got a new job, got a husband, a house, a dog, deployments, baby, another baby, and a whole lot of tiny people's bodily fluids to clean up.

I didn't even have time to shower more than 3 times a week. Why would I even consider these keys?
Then Lent happened. And while I've never practiced it before, I missed the regular, purposed fasts at our church in Augusta and decided to partake in the soul clearing.

It started so simply:  Give up screens during naptime; replace them with Jesus.

And what I found is that there *is* room in my life for Him. For peace. For rest. And for the cultivation of my soul. For reading, journaling, writing... and even sometimes vacuuming.

I've been trying to listen to the wisdom of the women in my world, who tell me what it's like to look back on these years. Who know what's really important. Who would tell me to stop running around the house like a maniac trying to Clean All The Things during the eye of the storm that we call naptime. Who would tell me to just REST. And enjoy my life. Enjoy Jesus. Enjoy the sun pouring in the windows.

(Ann Voskamps, "Only amateurs hurry" keeps coming to mind.)

So, I have been. And as cheeseball as it is, I feel my heart... blooming. And I find myself looking at the world differently. The way I used to, when everything was a metaphor and a lesson from God. When my ordinary moments turned parable for something greater, about Someone greater.

And it makes me want to write. Not for other people to read it, but just to write, to chronicle this journey He has me on, so that I'll remember it happened. So that I remember that when the boys are older and they help me pull weeds that I want to share with them what Jesus said about the seeds in soil. So that I'll have clarity, focus, purpose. So that I don't waste my life in shallow ground.

As the pollen count tops 9300 this week, I'm blowing the dust off these keys and writing. Making it a point to write. For me. For Him.

Funny guys

Today I took the little boys to the doctor for Zachary's 4 month well baby visit.  We saw a new-to-us PA, Julia.  And she. was. awesome.  She let Ethan play with her stethoscope when she wasn't using it, and Ethan did his part by cracking us up with the way he played.  He started out with the earpieces wrapped around his waist like a belt and held the circle part up to his heart.  Later, he tried to put them in his ears, but somehow he ended up with the sticks crossed and clamping down on his chubby cheeks.  I'm sure that's one of those "you had to be there" things, but if you could see the mental picture I took, you'd laugh, too.

When Julia listened to Zach's heart, super-ticklish Zach naturally started giggling. Ethan, who usually ignores Zach all day every day, stood there studying what was going on, then cracked up and laughed with him.  To some moms that might be cute, but Ethan's brotherly interaction is so rare that those moments are extremely precious to me.  Happiness!!

After Julia left the room and we were waiting for the nurse to come back in for shots.  Ethan saw the used tongue depressor still on the table and snatched it.  Then, he started looking at his fingers and counting them.  Well, trying to count them.  (He still requires a weeee bit amount of coaching, in the form of me repeating everything he says.  He can get to 10 that way! Silly kid still hates saying two things in a row without some form of interruption.)  Anyway, he counted to three, and I counted up to five, then he opened up wide, put the stick on his tongue and said, "AAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"  It was so unexpected that I couldn't help but laugh.

Anyway, it was a good morning.  They both made me so happy that we even stopped and got Chick-Fil-A on the way home for lunch!  Wee!

13 Months!

If I wrote down every cute or funny thing Ethan did, I wouldn't have time for anything else in life.  He's just hilarious, surprising and tons of fun.

I've started taking him outside to play more since we've had some warmer days lately.  He really loves the giant, new playground here at Fort Gordon.  He doesn't like it as much for the equiment (99% of it is still too big for him), but he absolutely loves being around all the other families.  Yesterday, he personally greeted everyone that came to play.  He'd penguin-walk up to them, raise an arm, and shout, "Aah!"  or"Oh!"  or giggle.  It's fun to see social inhibition in him since I'm so insecure and shy when it comes to meeting strangers.  I'm thankful to have him as the perfect ice-breaker!

Today, we took Daddy to the playground with us.  It was a beautiful day and the playground was PACKED.  Ethan found a group of about eight seven-year-olds and hung out with them in a little play cave.  He sat there, smiled, and laughed and tried really hard to not get run over by them.

It made me a little nervous, but he was happy and holding his own, so I tried to not be *that* mom.  I know that having a little boy is going to test my heart as he gets older and more dare-devily, so I'm trying to practice understanding "boys will be boys!" while he's young.

Some friends were at the playground, too, and I chatted with my mommy friends while Josh chased Ethan around.  By the end of the day, Ethan had given one elementary school girl a high five and another pre-teen girl took a picture of him.  Eventually he got so tired that he just laid on the ground.  Two other little girls came over to him, tickled him, and commented on what pretty blue eyes he has.  He's a charmer, that's for sure! 

Haha... Right now he's walking around with the dust buster.  Hopefully soon he'll learn how to turn it on and suck up crumbs.  That'd be the most useful game ever! 

We're raising a human!

The other morning, Ethan was playing after having his bottle (Oh. My. Gosh.  Can I just say how awesome it is to have a weaned child?!) when he started walking down the hallway.  I asked him, "Where's Daddy?"  thinking that he would keep walking to our bedroom where Josh was still sleeping.  Instead, he quickly turned around and very purposefully walked over to a framed picture of Josh, my dad, and Brownie.  He picked it up, pointed at Josh and proudly proclaimed, "DA!"

The next day he walked up to me whining and saying, "Mamamamamama" very pitifully.  Taking my best guess, I asked, "Are you thirsty?"  He announced, "WAWA!" and marched straight to the refrigerator.

Crack me up!  Every day he turns into more of a big kid.  Watching him make new discoveries and learn to communicate is so fun. I'm loving life with a toddler!  If only it weren't so messy... haha!