Day 29: A Name

IMG_8161-12 copy

There are some people that when you meet them you feel you already know them.  And that they know you.  

Today’s post comes from my friend, Jen, sister to one of my dearest friends – Stephanie…mentioned in Seeking Christmas.

After you read Jen’s words, please spend some time on her blog reading her beautiful words. She has a gift that blesses anyone who knows her.  Her words touch you in the deepest places. Her photography captivates you.  Her videos tell a story in a way it should be told.

Guest post by Jen Hunt:

The only thing that I ever really remember wanting to be when I grew up was a mama. I was the kind of girl who had an entire section in my journal dedicated to a list of baby names for ‘some day’. I knew that I didn’t want anything too cutesy or too trendy and nothing that reminded me of the nose picker that sat beside me in Mrs. Keniston’s fifth grade class. In my earliest journals I found that I was extremely troubled while trying to settle on a boy’s name.

According to my ten-year-old self, I was planning on marrying Kirk Cameron. The fact that he didn’t know I existed should have probably played a starring role in my dilemna but it wasn’t even on the playbill. My perceived problem (that took up many a notebook page) was that his last name was also a first name and so I’d have to choose very carefully as to not confuse people as to which name was which.

Well, years passed and Kirk got married to someone that was not me, which thankfully relieved me of the first name last name burden. I married a boy who both knew me and loved me well. We wanted to have a house full of children, and over the next seven years our notebook of names grew and changed, but the babies never came. But, on the  eighth year, by way of a gracious Father and the gift of adoption a three-year-old and five-year-old did.

My daughters arrived with one suitcase of clothes that didn’t fit, a plastic mermaid whose face was artfully scribbled on and a matted, yellow teddy bear. I was hushed by their perfectness.

Another thing they came with was names. Names that I didn’t pick. Names that weren’t mine to change.  Someone else had named my children. It’s no big deal I tried to tell myself. After all, these were girls that I had ached and  prayed and begged for. I certainly wasn’t going to spend one minute pouting about something as small and insignificant as not getting to choose their names. But it seemed that this little hurt began to sneak up on me more often than I was comfortable with.

When I introduced my girls to new people, when I filled out paperwork at the doctor’s office, when I took in a beach towel to be monogrammed, when a pregnant friend announced the name of her unborn child, I would feel my heart twist inside of my body.

I felt ridiculous, shameful and so ungrateful. I tried to guilt my heart, I tried to bribe her and will her into obedience. She crossed her arms and dug in her heels and refused to be ignored.
And so I did the only thing I knew to do, I brought my heart to Jesus. I thanked him for these precious gifts, for his faithfulness, for his rescue of my girls and for his relentless pursuit of me. I brought him my hurt. I wept as I told Him how sad the loss of not naming my children was making me. I confessed at how silly and how selfish I felt.

The sweet thing about Jesus is that he didn’t get uncomfortable in my pain. He never tried to rush me through or distract me away from it. He simply held me in his love.

Skip ahead to our first Mother’s Day where I find myself reading on a blanket happily tangled up in the olive skinned limbs of my daughters. They pull out a box for me and inside is a necklace. A tiny bird with only four letters on it: Mama.

‘Do you see what it says?’ my littlest asks as she pulls herself onto her knees in front of me. Her wild, brown eyes meet my blue ones. Her gaze is both foreign and so very familiar, and I don’t want to look away. Something inside of me stirs, and I know that Jesus is close by.

‘It says Mama,’ I answer and she bites her lip the way she does when she’s trying hard not to smile. My throat tightens at the sight of her. I can see how proud she is that I belong to her and she to me.

She dangles the necklace on her sparkly painted fingernail and softly chants my name, ‘mama, mama, mama…’ I cup her face in my hands and breathe in this daughter of mine. She smells like sunshine and sugar cookies and the intoxicating aroma of mercy.

She wants me to put the necklace on, and when I’m finished she brushes the hair off my shoulders. She says it’s because she doesn’t want the bird to think my strands of hair are sticks and try to build a nest. I make a mental note to splurge on better conditioner, and I pull my girl onto my lap.

Her name. It’s not that it isn’t lovely or even that it doesn’t suit her. It’s just not the one I had picked out to name a daughter of mine. I’ve grieved the loss of not naming my girls and God has used that pain for my own sanctification. You see,  it’s not in the naming of my daughters that God has changed me,  but in their naming of me.

Hailey and Hannah call me Mama, and I will never be the same.

[box] Jen has stories to tell. Stories that move you. When you have time to linger, would you pop on over and read some of my favorites?

A glimpse of the pain before the girls

A Christmas video of their first Christmas

Read this and you will love this sweet man

[/box]

[box] This is Day 29 in a series, 31 Days to Get Uncomfortable With God. Please click here for a listing of all posts in this series. If you would like posts delivered to your inbox, please click here.[/box]

Day 28: How far can I go?

DSC_2858

[box] T.S Elliot “Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.”[/box]

As a runner I must push myself.  To go further, to go faster, to increase endurance.  Pushing through a run is anything but comfortable.  At times it’s nothing short of pure misery.  I’m not a good runner.  I only push when someone is pushing me.  It’s easy to quit when I am alone.

Satisfaction comes at the end.  When I can look back and see the distance covered, see the effort exerted and the benefits I received.  It’s a risk.  To push myself I risk injury.

It’s a risk worth taking.  How do I possibly know how far I can go if I don’t take the risk.

Am I willing to take a risk for God?  To expose my heart – giving it over to the breaking?  To crack the shell of pride?  To fight lies that tell me playing it safe is best?  To discarding the notion that the discomfort won’t make a big difference so just ignore it?

I can’t ignore it.  I want to see God at work.  I want to see Him.  So I need to go with Him.

[box] This is Day 28 in a series, 31 Days to Get Uncomfortable With God. Please click here for a listing of all posts in this series. If you would like posts delivered to your inbox, please click here.[/box]

 

 

 

Day 27: A Journey of Refining

Our journey is one of never-ending refining.  He takes His created and molds them, shapes them, refines them in order that they become a creation that glorifies Him.

photo-49

We watched the blacksmith at work.  His simple tools, his block of metal, and the fire.  When he started he took iron that appeared useless.  He heated it up then went to work.  Hammering, twisting, chipping away.  When he was done, he had a creation that served a purpose.  Some were knives, some were forks, some were letter openers.  Each different, each unique.  One common theme – they were put to the fire and molded into their purpose.

We are daily being molded into our purpose.  To glorify God.  To allow ourselves to be put to the fire, we need courage.  The fire is hot, sometimes the discomfort seems unbearable.  But He is there.  We aren’t alone in the fire.

[box]Psalms 66:10-12

For You have tried us, O God; You have refined us as silver is refined. You brought us into the net; You laid an oppressive burden upon our loins. You made men ride over our heads; We went through fire and through water, Yet You brought us out into a place of abundance. [/box]

[box] This is Day 27 in a series, 31 Days to Get Uncomfortable With God. Please click here for a listing of all posts in this series. If you would like posts delivered to your inbox, please click here.[/box]

 

Day 26: A Peace of Uncomfortable

DSC_0627

To move with God, to get uncomfortable, takes courage. But. He gives us peace through it all.

John 14:27, NIV

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”

Wishing your weekend is filled with the peace that comes only from the hands of God, not the peace the world offers.

[box] This is Day 26 in a series, 31 Days to Get Uncomfortable With God. Please click here for a listing of all posts in this series. If you would like posts delivered to your inbox, please click here.[/box]

Day 25: The Deep End

1414904_10151717055608157_1847390756_n

[box] Today’s post is from a dear friend- who is in the process of adopting Viktors right now. Paula contacted me the night before Viktors was to leave us. She had found my blog about him and felt the prompting of the Lord. Her family was uncertain at the time what role the Lord had for her family, she simply knew the Lord was leading and her family was following. This family has become a HUGE influence in our lives as we watch their family follow God straight into unknown territories.[/box]

Guest post from Paula Sloan:

Uncomfortable. I actually had a friend tell me that she thought orphan hosting would be uncomfortable. “How can you bring a child that you don’t know into your home and have him live with you for 5 weeks? You know you have to send him back right? I couldn’t do that; it would be too hard to let him go back. And how are you going to communicate with him? He doesn’t even speak English!” I thought for a few minutes and said “Yep! It’s going to be GREAT!”

I’ve always been a jump right in kind of girl. I remember bungee jumping when I was 18: I leaped off that platform with arms spread wide and enjoyed my moment of flying (okay, it was freefalling, but it felt like flying). I jump into the pool before testing the water; I never go down the stairs. It’s too painful as the cold water from the pool inches up my legs with each step. Nope, that’s not me. You’ll find me down in the deep end, probably lining up behind the kids, waiting on my turn for the diving board.

That’s how I felt when we decided to host (with the intentions of adopting) Viktors. Viktors had been hosted twice before, but had not found his forever family yet. After some time talking with my husband and a lot of prayer, I got that YES! From that moment on, I was all in. If you needed me, I was totally treading water in the deep end and never looked back to that dry ground. Our family has been down the adoption path before; it doesn’t scare us. We’re educated on children from hard places, attachment, and the trauma that orphans – especially older ones – have encountered. We’ve got several tools in our tool belt to help children who have experienced abuse, neglect, abandonment, and attachment issues and we choose to step into those hard places with our kids to help them find healing and the purpose that God has for their life. I had never been so sure about anything in my life. We were moving forward.

It was a warm night in Atlanta, GA and after his flights being delayed for hours, we found ourselves in the airport surrounded by other host families holding their “Welcome to America” signs at 1:00 am as we all waited for our host children to arrive.  It was go time; there was no turning back. I will never forget the nervous feeling I had. Will he like us? Will he be happy with us? He loved his former host moms; will he wish I were more like them? Will he say he wants to go to them instead? These are just a few of the thoughts that were going through my head.

And then we saw him. Wearing that bright green t-shirt and his swim trunks. He made eye contact and we smiled at each other. He looked at the sign we were holding to confirm that we were indeed his host family. He pushed his way through the crowd and made his way to us. Immediately, I threw my arms around him and gave him a hug. The rest of the family followed suit and the next thing you know that little seventy-six pound twelve year old was getting a good old fashioned, southern welcome in the form of (way too many) hugs. We stood in line, waiting for permission to leave (as it was now 2:00 am and the poor child had been traveling over 40 hours), he looked up at me and said “mom, me shower.” Fighting back the tears, I knew that everything was going to be okay. I tried to hold it together while my insides were screaming “Oh, my heavens! He called me mom!”

We got settled into our hotel room and after a quick shower and a snack, that boy was tucked into a bed right next to his brothers for the first time. I couldn’t sleep; I just wanted to watch him.

The days passed with ease and he seemed to fit right into our everyday life. Going to the pool, the park, the zoo, playing video games, watching movies, and playing soccer. It seemed like he had always been here. It was hard to imagine our lives before he came. With the passing of each day, he became more and more open about his life back in his orphanage in Eastern Europe. He talked about his birth family and let me in a little to the mystery that is this amazing boy.

But the words that shook the ground I walked on came on a rainy afternoon while we were snuggled on the couch. “Mom, I have a brother in my orphanage. Can he come to America too? He loves America. It is his dream also.” I can probably count on my fingers the number of times in my life when I literally felt speechless. I managed to get the words, “Really? You have a brother in your orphanage?  I know you have an older brother who is no longer in the orphanage. You have another brother?” He confirmed that yes; he indeed did have a brother in his orphanage. He told us so much about his brother and he spoke of him fondly. He told us that his brother is kind and funny; he told us that he protects him and many of the younger children from the older bullies in the orphanage. He explained that his brother was his half-brother and that he would be sixteen in September.  He told us they often talked and dreamed about a life in America together one day. He said, “mom, my brother is good and I love him. I want him to come to America one day with me.” I smiled, fighting back the tears, and said, “That would be awesome. I hope that can happen one day for you both.”

 

Uncomfortable. For the first time in a long time, I was unsure. We didn’t sign up for a sixteen-year-old boy. We signed up for a twelve-year-old boy (who physically is the height of my ten year old, weighs the same as my seven year old, and honestly acts like a seven year old too.) Were we sure we heard God right? We couldn’t separate them. Brothers. I look at my boys and can’t fathom them ever being split up; he has lost so much already, he shouldn’t lose his brother too. He’s the only biological family he has left. But how are we going to do it? We’ve never parented a sixteen year old before. This is unfamiliar territory. Each night after we tucked the kids in bed, we hit our knees. We talked and prayed and sought the Lord for answers. He’d brought us this far. We knew we heard Him call us to host and adopt Viktors, but now there was another twist in the road and we can’t see around the corner. We were unsure of how we could and would proceed. We loved this kid as our own. He was tucked in his bed upstairs as we sat crying in the living room and praying for God to somehow make this all come together.

 

With about 1 week left of summer hosting, we both felt we knew what the Lord was calling us to do. With our arms open wide, we are jumping in, trusting Him, knowing that He is going to catch us and hold us up. Both. God was calling us to both boys. One we had loved all summer in our home and one we had come to know through his little brother. I can admit that there are still times when I am not comfortable with the thought. We recently attended our first parent meeting for the youth group at our church. We didn’t realize we’d be thrust into the youth group scene quite so quickly, yet here we are. Research on high school credits, ESL programs, and driver’s licenses is what keeps us up late at night now. No, we don’t know what we’re doing, but we can trust the One who does and we’re letting Him lead the way. Honestly, this is so far out of my comfort zone, that it is almost comical. I laugh because we know we would have NEVER signed up to host/adopt a 12 year old and a 16 year old, but God had a plan all along. He knew that sweet boy would capture our hearts and then make a way for not only him to join our family, but his big brother too.

 

I praise Him because He is so faithful. He has been good to us and has blessed us with not only one new son, but two. And as we step into the world of parenting teens, we step outside of our comfort zone and there is where He meets us. In my inability, I find His ability. In my weakness, I find His strength. In my fear, I find His faithfulness. Over the last few months, I’ve come to learn that God’s ways don’t always make sense and doesn’t always feel comfortable, but I’ve also learned that there’s no place I’d rather be.

[box] This is Day 25 in a series, 31 Days to Get Uncomfortable With God. Please click here for a listing of all posts in this series. If you would like posts delivered to your inbox, please click here.[/box]

Day 24: When an orphan enters your life

Last Christmas our family experienced the power of God when we left our comfort zone to show Christ’s love to an orphan.  We didn’t intend to leave our comfort zone.  It was uncomfortable, yes.  But it wasn’t an intentional move to get uncomfortable. God met us in our discomfort and revealed Himself in ways we never imagined.

An 11-year old orphan entered our lives for 4 weeks last year and my heart will never be the same.

This was my post from December 29, 2012 – Day 13 with Viktors.

random_dot_stereogram

(autostereogram image by John Hsu)

According to Wikipedia “An autostereogram is a single-image stereogram (SIS), designed to create the visual illusion of a three-dimensional (3D) scene within the human brain from an external two-dimensional image. In order to perceive 3D shapes in these autostereograms, one must overcome the normally automatic coordination between accommodation (focus) and vergence (angle of ones eyes)….. A hidden 3D scene emerges when the image is viewed with the correct vergence.”

Some of our days look like one of these images.  When viewed from afar, it appears to be a picture consisting of a bunch of tiny dots, a big mess of something that you can’t quite figure out.  Chaos.

There is something captivating about an autostereogram.  You know that within the picture, another picture is hidden.  It is so hidden that when viewing it without  really looking, you will overlook the bigger picture completely.  However, when you pause, when you focus, when you concentrate, you see it.  You see it so very clearly.  In fact, it will jump right out at you, and you will wonder how you didn’t see it immediately to begin with.

In order to see the beauty of the moments we are sharing with Viktors, we must overcome the “normally automatic coordination” between our focus.  We must shift our focus.

You cannot watch our moments and use the focus you are used to using.  If you do, you will miss the beauty of the moment.  The beauty of this picture.

If you adjust your focus and change your angle, you will see the beauty that is emerging.  It’s a beauty that can easily be overlooked.

I’ll admit we had some extremely rough days.  Days where Steve and I lost our focus.  We were staring at the 2 dimensional image using the wrong focus and nothing but a jumble of mess was jumping out at us.  For the sake of Viktors’ privacy I won’t divulge the details, but they were mild compared to what they could be.  Honestly, they were mild considering this boy is an orphan living in an orphanage in Eastern Europe.  His bad moments could be drastically worse.  But this is a child who is waiting to emerge.  The beauty in him is so close to the surface and each day we see a little bit more of what’s inside him ready to come out.

This child at his core is a good, good child.  He is a good boy.  He is honest, so very honest. Even when I give him things that are mine, he won’t take them.  When he saw me chewing gum at the skating rink, he asked me to spit it out when he saw the sign that read “No chewing gum.”

My 3D  moment for the day came twice today when I saw the image within the image emerge.

I imagine in a orphanage there is very little alone play where a child just uses his imagination and directs play for himself.  I imagine they have freedom within their rigorous schedule, but likely spend it playing with other kids.  Viktors always wants someone to play with him.  We entertain him a lot, the boys keep him busy or we go on outings.

He and I had a moment of correction where I had to explain why what he was doing was wrong behavior.  Honestly, it wasn’t anything bad, it is just he has never been corrected in this area.  When he feels he has done something wrong, he typically retreats to a hiding place.  A place he can feel safe in what he feels is an unsafe world.  When I correct him, he casts his eyes down immediately, withdraws into himself slightly, and seems to try to shut me out either by covering his ears or by pretending not to listen.

“Viktors,” I softly spoke as I gently lifted his chin.  ”Please look in my eyes.  I need you to see my face so you can understand my words.”  I needed him to see the softness of my eyes in case he couldn’t understand the words I spoke to him.

His eyes darted up and down.  They would meet mine, then meet the floor, back and forth again and again.  ”Please, keep looking at my eyes. I am not mad at you.  Look at my face.  I’m not this,” I said showing him an angry face with arms crossed.  I smiled and continued, “I corrected you because I love you.  If I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t correct you.”  He just shook his head.  I don’t know if he shook his head because he didn’t understand or he didn’t believe.  Either way, I hugged him and said I loved him and walked away.

For the first time, he went to our toy closet and got out cars and sat and played by himself for 30 minutes.  I have tried to get him to sit and play by himself for 2 weeks.  He finally did it!  I loved listening to him in there using his imagination with those cars.  Even though I knew he was upset, I was overjoyed that he was playing in an unstructured environment without us directing the play!    For me it was a 3D moment!

Then a few minutes later he joined me at the table.  He was back.  His pouting has now almost disappeared.  It surfaces periodically, but it is so incredibly short-lived compared to only 2 short weeks ago.  This boy has made amazing progress in 13 days.

Our 2nd 3D moment of the day came when he asked for something he knew would be an automatic “No”.  He asks anyway, he asks for things all the time.  But even that is lessening.  When I said no to him, he started to begin begging, which has been typical.  He will say, “Please, please, please” over and over again.  I spoke with him about this and asked him to stop begging that when I said no, I meant no, and I expect him to stop asking at that point.  When I gave him the “no” he said, “Pl…” and he stopped himself!  He stopped himself.  Let me repeat…he stopped himself.  And he gave me that sly 1/2 smile and walked out of room saying, “Ok.”

That was a 3D moment in my book.  Self control.  He’s getting it.

To do this orphan hosting thing, our focus has to be completely unconventional.  Every single second we have to pray that God gives us compassion, grace, and mercy.  And He does.

We are entering week 3.  The week that according to training is to be our best week yet.  The week that the testing has ended and our bonds are there.  Trust has been earned and love is evident.  So far Viktors has behaved exactly like they said he would in training.  And he is responding even better than I hoped.

“A hidden 3D scene emerges when the image is viewed with the correct vergence.”  Vergence…the angle of one’s eyes.  A hidden child emerges when we view him with the correct vergence, the correct angle of our eyes.   An angle that comes from compassion, patience, understanding, and love.

[box] Our experience with Viktors changed our lives in ways we didn’t expect. I’m committed to supporting New Horizons for Children, an orphan hosting program, with the sale of Seeking Christmas. If you would like to read about our time with Viktors, please begin here. This story isn’t over. God has brought forth a family pursuing the adoption of both Viktors and his brother. We witnessed an eternal impact through discomfort and for that I’m eternally grateful[/box]

[box] This is Day 24 in a series, 31 Days to Get Uncomfortable With God. Please click here for a listing of all posts in this series. If you would like posts delivered to your inbox, please click here.[/box]

Day 23: Changing Perspective

DSC_5803

I love new adventures.  I really love change.  (We have moved 7 times in 13 years- and loved it.)  Steve loves change too.  This makes for a great match as we usually get the itch together. Keeps life fun and exciting.  Our kids are a different story.

Some change is comfortable for me.  Like moving houses, moving states, or making new friends.  Some change is highly uncomfortable.  Like the change that needs to happen in my heart.

Perspective is an area I’ve been trying to grow in.  Steve does a great job in helping me here because he seems to always look into a situation from a stance of all positions.  This doesn’t come naturally to me, but I’ve seen God growing me here over the last year.  He likes to give lots of practice too.

Recently, I was at an event and I overheard a conversation between a grandmother and her grandchild.  The grandmother offered a particular snack and the little girl politely declined saying, “My mom doesn’t like me to eat those things.”  The grandmother snapped back, “Yes, I know.  Your mother grew up just fine eating these things.  But it’s not good enough for you now I suppose.”

Now since this wasn’t happening to me, and I was an innocent bystander, I had a completely different perspective of this situation.  Here was a grandchild who was politely declining out of respect and obedience to her parents.  And here was a grandmother who had formulated some ideas that she was letting seep out to her grandchild.

I don’t know these people so maybe there have been heated discussions about health and nutrition.  But I couldn’t help but feel sad for both the grandmother and the mother who wasn’t around at the time.  The grandmother seemed to believe that her own mothering skills were under attack by choices her daughter had made that were different than the ones she had once made.  I wondered if the daughter would have seen the situation completely differently.  More from a stance of ‘my mom did the best she could with the information available to her.  I don’t fault her at all.’

Maybe she didn’t feel that way, but I wondered.

And I wondered how many times in relationships I’ve made assumptions I had no right to make because my perception of the situation was off course.

Hearing this conversation from afar really opened my eyes to the situations I take part in where I don’t have the vantage point of an outsider.  When we are in it, sometimes our emotions outweigh logic.

Changing our perspective is uncomfortable.  Sometimes it forces us into confrontation, but sometimes it saves relationships and the heart.

[box] This is Day 23 in a series, 31 Days to Get Uncomfortable With God. Please click here for a listing of all posts in this series. If you would like posts delivered to your inbox, please click here.[/box]