Waiting For One More Knight

A Picture of our Newest Additions

2012-01-23T19:15:00.000-08:00

Tiger painted this picture of his new brothers and sister. He pulled the picture out of his dreams, so he says; (He actually saw it in our referral) and he put it on paper to keep his brother, the wanderer, “in his daytime eyes.” Tiger is one of the 6 who cannot wait to hug the terrific trio tight in their arms. Thanks Tiger for loving what is to come!

Melkam Timkat

2012-01-20T09:06:00.000-08:00

I wish I were there, home in Ethiopia, for the feast of Timkat today. I can almost hear the hum of the orthodox prayers and melodic chants and the heavy smell of incense. My mind recalls the hoards of people who gather in the streets, in the churches, and at home to pray and honor the work of Jesus. I love that Ethiopian holidays are based on actual Christian events. I love that these events are not diluted by the pressures of culture to commercialize it or inflate it to a play day. I ache for that culture that celebrates/worships the sacrifice of God's son through setting holidays. Timkat, an Ethiopian Orthodox celebration, marks the baptism of Jesus in the Jordan River by John the Baptist. The significance is not lost. Just imagine:

Last night, on the eve of Timkat, clergy donned their ceremonial robes, bright, colorful, and opulent (not for the sake of being showy rather as an act of honoring the one they worship).

Men and women clad themselves in shamma, traditional Ethiopian garb, and children chose colorful hats and crowns to wear as they joined in the festive processions. Breathtaking.

These throngs of people, wrapped in white, worshipfully flooded the street, abandoned sleep and food, and in reverent silence join the priests. The priests wrapped the Tabot, a symbol of the Ark of Covenant containing the 10 Commandments, in sumptuous clothing and paraded it from the church through the city streets and back. The hoard followed. Praying. Chanting. Worshiping. On they proceeded to a chosen lake, river, or pond. The priests and Orthodox Ethiopians celebrated the Divine Liturgy near this body of water at early dawn after the long procession. Finally, the priests blessed the water. The crowds that gathered were sprinkled with the hallowed, holy water. Then, as though in reckless abandon, some in the crowd chose to immerse themselves in the water as a symbol of renewing of their baptism. I wish I were there.

Melkam Timkat.

One Family, Two Fountains

2012-01-17T09:35:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, the kids and I explored a book on Martin Luther King, Jr. in an attempt understanding the social injustices of that time period. We didn’t discuss slavery. We didn’t assess blame. We did discuss the isolation of a race in terms of education, social engagement, relationships, culture, and worship. We did postulate on the long-term effects on a person’s spirit when they are so discarded by humanity. There were so many questions… questions I couldn’t answer, but only discuss. Our older children kept inquiring how a government made of brilliant, elected officials, supposed to be the best representatives of the populous, and some even boasting to be (and undoubtedly were) God-fearing men could accept an idea that separate was in any way equal or that segregation represented modern, Christian thinkers. The conversation itself and the kids ability to express their thoughts impressed me.

Tiger, obviously a bit young for this thought pattern, sat and listened. He chimed in all of a sudden, “Two fountains? We are one family, but we would need two fountains if we lived in Mr. King’s time?” When I gently explained that before the integration we wouldn’t be allowed to be a trans-racial family, Tiger shook his head. “No mama. Not this family. Not just us. God’s family. Remember, one God, one, one spirit, one cross, one body, one family. How could we be one family of Jesus and need two fountains?”

That sweet boy. At five, he could see how social injustice undercuts our ability to represent the gospel that Jesus came to live. His words and thought patterns were more juvenile. He couldn’t wrap them in linguistic parades or rhetorical arguments, but he got it!

For this family, MLK Day is less about the man, Martin Luther King, and more about fighting for social justices around the world but not simply for the sake of social justice. It is for the sake of the gospel lived out in us testifying to the world of a love far greater than humanity will ever extend. I’m praying God will continue to soften hearts in all areas so there is no need for two fountain in the body of Christ.

MY Emo Man

2012-01-12T14:12:00.000-08:00

Having children excites all of us, but women in particular seem to revel in the joy of new additions to the family. Most of the blogs I follow are written by women, who publicly pour out their emotions. I’m sure men feel these feelings… granted it’s sans the estrogen and progesterone emo surge of “I-am-going-to-rip-off-someone’s-limbs-in-order-to-hold-my-child moments, but surely they experience this? Right??? And I hate that these strong men, who lead us so well, are so capable of the decorum we as moms seem to lack. It must be why my heart swelled with pride and the “you, too, moment” when I read the preamble of my husband’s email to our caseworker.

For every dad that has ever rejoiced in his children, longed for them, or had a melancholy cry over the child/children he anxiously awaits, enjoy! To each mom, whose heart swells when her husband leads the way into adding to their family, swoons with ardor when he empathetically cries with your children, or stands frustrated at how well he keeps the “waiting” crazies at bay, take a moment to peer into the exposed heart of MY Emo Man. Little did he know how much it would bless me.

Dear “K”,

I am completely beside myself that this once far-fetched dream is now REALITY. It is amazing that God would choose ME to be the dad of THESE three children from the other side of the world. It is amazing that I would have this privilege. I just wanted to take a moment and tell you THANK YOU for all you have done (as a part of God’s plan) to bring my family together. You are very good at what you do, and I THANK YOU for paying attention to the details of my adoption (because I LONG to bring them home)…

…

J. Knight

My newly found EMO MAN can’t know how much I cherish this simple exordium that exposed a part of his usually resolved manner/heart. Cheers to you, J. Knight. Cheers!

Rules of Engagement

2012-01-07T10:06:00.000-08:00

Last night, we attended this house party. Not one with kegs like in days gone by, but one with a phenomenal vocalist playing her acoustic guitar and singing through the Bible… better known as a quaint and personal house concert. So many of her sets spoke right to the place I’m standing, looking at the effects of sin, God’s crazy calling on His peoples, His faithfulness in the midst of pain and destruction, and the promises. Promises.

Something else happened, too. One of my less favorite happenings, and one I forgot to expect with a new referral. The infamous awkward and the HARD. (In case you don’t know, this may be the hardest part of our wait, to know our kids, to see their faces, and to watch them grow in pictures without us, their family.) We get it. We’ve been in your place, honestly. You are curious, and we’ve been curious. You’re concerned, and we’ve been concerned. You want to say something, and you just don’t know what. Maybe Rules of Engagement will help.

No, this isn’t war. It’s adoption. But it’s not always nice. It’s not pretty, and the beginnings aren’t happy, so we need some rules to make sure we reduce as much of the awkward and unintended hurt as possible. Here we go. Follow if you will:

. 1. Our children are not entering our family by choice or happy circumstances. Please, even though it’s natural to wonder, don’t ask us why in public. See, this is a bit like us saying to you, “Wow, you’re pregnant. Tell us all the details of how it happened!” We don’t want to embarrass you. Right now, we are not going share the specifics of our children’s story. (It feels unfair, right? It’s not. I promise. I won’t ask you about your conception either.) Remember, adoption has NEVER been a thing of beauty. Its roots are painful. Its lineage is redemption. Adoption did NOT originate from beauty. It came from pain and brokenness, and it is only a decent answer to the tragedies of this world. Your question of why will never be answered with a white picket fence surrounding a sweet, safe haven called home with loving parents standing at the door sending these children off as though it’s their first day of kindergarten…

2. 2. “Wow! You must be a Saint.” “What are you thinking?!?” and “My, my, your hands are full, and you’re going to have more children?” ARE NOT phrases I want shared in response to our referral news. There is a pop culture sentiment that motherhood is a-bottom-of-the-bucket job, a passing hobby, and sheer drudgery. It seems this culture also tells us children are risks, not gifts. Four of our 7 children will forever battle the scars of abandonment that attend adoption, which means they will battle feeling loved, treasured, and precious. We are working to instill in our children (all 7) that they “are a heritage from the LORD, the fruit of the womb and a reward.” (Psalms 127:3-5 ESV) I’m not a saint because I parent my children. I am simply obedient and walking in the joy of the gifts God is giving us…. children…yes, all of them. So when what you really mean is, “This is going to be a lot of work. I know you are going to be tired and need help.” Just say that.

3. 3. Please, don’t use our adoption as your opportunity for your racist platform or bigoted ideology. Yes, half of our children will be black. Yes, we know they are black, and we are not. We actually love the differences that God created in different nations and races. And you don’t need to point out that this will bring along its own set of difficulties. We know.

4 4. “You are adopting from Ethiopia? You know there are kids here, in your own country, who need homes. Right?” continues to surface. Please, refrain from snidely challenging God’s call on our lives. There are specific reasons we chose to adopt from Ethiopia. The primary and most poignant response is, “God called us to Ethiopia.” Where has he called you?

5. Don’t be afraid to ask questions. That sounds funny after the previous statements; but, really, ask. Just use discernment, and if you are in doubt, ask in private. We desperately want to share our journey with you. This is not a road to travel alone; we need you. You are our support. We NEED this village, and I’d love to hear from you, adoptive and non-adoptive friends. Both perspectives are valid. Share your thoughts?

Yes. They Are All Mine.

2012-01-03T20:42:00.000-08:00

I’m thinking of wrapping our van. Yes, that econo-sized, ever-so-practical, 13 seater van in my driveway that I’ve yet to venture into. I think I’ll wrap it in obnoxiously bright, techno font “We are that family” or “Yes, they are all mine.” I’ve even considered a brainier approach with a Punnett Square Diagram subtitled, “Recessive White Plus Dominant White Renders Brown and White. We are a scientific anomaly.” Can’t you see it? It might answer the ever-pressing questions that follow large, blended families.

Yes, a Punnett Square it is. It should carry: Mom, Dad, Hunter, Ann-E Girl, Tiger, Destructo-Mez, Defender, Little Mum, and Wanderer… since our file is ready to be submitted to court. This evening at 5:00 we officially accepted our referral. Welcome to Team Knight, terrific trio. We are yours.

Fear, Our Unwelcome Co-Pilot

2011-12-27T06:09:00.000-08:00

At times, for survival’s sake I have to close my eyes and create a distance to buffer reality just enough to pretend like nothing is wrong. Blogging seems to open my eyes, engage my emotions, splay my heart wide-open, and demand reality. It forces me to acknowledge that things here, on this side of eternity, aren’t right. I remember that the world is broken. Children hurt and ache for love. People cry out for help, and they need God.

Last week, I realized that I’d boxed the entirety of my feelings and shelved them for the duration of about 4 months. This small fact broke through when a year and ½ old email with the faces of three small children resurfaced in my inbox. Each of the children in the photos pleaded for something. The oldest boy (aka defender) entreated us for a safe place and people he could trust. The girl (aka little mum) begged to know the simple joys of being a child. The youngest boy (aka wanderer) only desired to belong. I had put those compelling pictures to the side to hedge the reality of their needs, which are the needs of so many others. But no more.

We’ve said all along that we would go where God leads, but we had no idea fear would be our co-pilot. We fear what is to come. We fear what will be lost. We fear not being enough to these three new children God’s called us to love. So we’ve prayed, and prayed…and we’ve found it’s easier to stand and pray and watch with a great distance separating us from the hurt that exists than it is to fully engage. I fear feeling their suffering, but God’s called me to that, too. How can a mother and a father, a sister or a brother, love completely without sharing in common agony? SO we choose, today and tomorrow and from here forward, to acknowledge and remember Defender’s, Little Mum’s, and Wanderer’s reality. As we wait for the day they become ours, we will love them by holding them, their stories, and their hopes for a future close to our hearts.

For those who wonder, continue to ask, and pray diligently: no official referral, which means no court date, and no news of the terrific trio coming home anytime soon.

White Mom, Brown Baby

2011-09-20T09:57:00.000-07:00

As a white mom with a brown son, I’m consistently on the hunt for equipping articles and studies that would better prepare me to parent a transracial family. At the beginning of our adoption process I struggled to see racial identity as a principal matter. In my heart, I wanted race to be a benign topic. I wanted the world to wear colorless goggles. Then, something clicked, and I realized seeing my son as colorless would in fact remove part of him. There is a pride that comes with his handsome latte colored skin, and I want him to find that pride. I went into this adoption hoping love would be enough to conquer our differences and instill self-regard. I really thought it might be; but with each passing day, I am far fearful it won’t be enough for the long haul. I am inclined, just maybe not fully qualified. So I read. And read. And read on and on. I ran across this article this past week on transracial families. It validated my concerns.

The Importance of Racial Socialization on Transracial Adoptees

The Evan B. Donaldson Institute just reported on a research study that found: racial socialization and NOT focus on culture or ethnic socialization decreased adoptees’ sense of marginalization (and by extension—low sense of self worth), and resulted in greater self esteem. The study sample included 100 adult and adolescent transracial adoptees. Further details of the abstract can be found on the Evan B. Donaldson Institute website.

I wanted to post information about this research finding because, as an adoption professional and veteran adoptive parent, I believe that this is ESSENTIAL information for adoptive parents to get and use in raising their children.

Racial identity is THE salient issue for our children and families. Facing up to what we need to do in order to nurture healthy racial identity in them is a major responsibility. We cannot excuse ourselves from fulfilling that responsibility simply because we adopted through agencies/social workers who had no idea how important racial immersion experiences are in the formation of racial identity and allowed us to adopt, despite lack of diversity resources in the communities in which we live. (when that is the case) We also have to face up to the fact that merely living in a racially diverse community is not enough. We must help our children connect with adults of color, and we must recognize that our children need to see us doing the same.

Over the last couple of decades, I have observed how adoptive parents—especially those who have adopted internationally—focus on engaging in cultural events and activities, instead of dealing with race-related issues. When they are confronted by adoptees and/or experts (social scientists, diversity educators, etc…) they make excuses for raising their kids in nearly-all-white environments and engaging in white social circles themselves on the basis of all they claim that they do to teach their child about his or her culture-of-origin. That is and has been very disturbing.

That is why this type of research is so very important to us, as members of the greater- transracial-adoptive family network, regardless of whether our children were adopted via domestic or international adoption, and which country they were born in/adopted from. It is up to us to broadcast this information—research findings like this—throughout our adoption communities. It is also important that we urge adoption agencies to educate themselves about HOW to assess prospective parents for transracial adoption and approve them only if and when they are able to provide the racial socialization that will be necessary for any child they adopt to grow up with healthy racial-ethnic identity. With more people than ever wanting to adopt, and fewer identified children (internationally, at least) waiting for adoptive placement, there is no reason for agencies to place children in communities where they cannot have regular, ongoing immersion, their parents cannot make and keep friends of color, and there are no adult role models of color to be found.

As adoptive parents, we have to make this a priority and stop fooling ourselves that as long as we try to expose our children to birth culture, that is “enough" and they will be “fine.” Evidence is now accumulating that demonstrates otherwise. Our conversations now need to be about HOW we find and incorporate those essential people and experiences into the lives of our children and families that will truly help them develop healthy racial identity.

Jane A. Brown, MSW

I get the article. It brought to light areas I’m failing as a white mamma of a brown boy…I harp on teaching Mez and our family about Ethiopian culture without focusing on race issues. I believe the points made are valid; but in a primarily white community (can I say pretty segregated community), it’s difficult to find opportunity to build these valuable relationships. What’s a girl to do? It seems rather pious to shop for friends “of color” simply to fill a need for my son. So, I’m asking what is the way we work to integrate our community and move into a blended community that offers cross-cultural interaction and positive peer relationships? I’m taking suggestions. Help.

Meze and Mama

*to view article in original publication click HERE

A Birth-day Letter to Birth Mom

2011-09-17T20:30:00.001-07:00

Dear Awtash,

Tonight is the eve of our son’s birth. Although we are worlds apart, I am sure similar thoughts consume our minds tonight. I’m taken with notions of you and a small baby entering an unjust world not so long ago. Can you remember this night two years ago? I wish I did. I wish I could pinpoint in my memory the weather, the sounds, and my feelings. I wish it were imprinted in my heart the way it’s forever imprinted on yours. It seems fair that you alone should hold this memory; after all, you carried Mez in your womb. But I’m jealous. I’m grieving. I hurt over each moment I missed with him. Tonight, when I tucked our son into bed, I whispered to him every detail you apportioned to me about his birth, but it was vague and seemed too brief. Tonight, I wish not only to regain the moments of Mezekir’s birth; I also wish for more time with you. I need to remember your hands and your eyes and the sound of your gentle voice. How will I tell him about you when the details of you seep from my memory?

Tonight, I watched Mez carefully construct a tower of Legos. His pudgy hands, oversized for an almost two year old, seem so strong and sure. As he played, I pictured him magically transported to northern Ethiopia, only a tuft of hair covering his fontanel (in true Tigray style), sitting in a meager home, half of his “westernized” size, falling asleep on the hard floor. Strangely, I wasn’t comforted knowing the difference in that apparition and reality. Instead, my heart aches for the loss of an intact culture and being loved and held by the woman who brought him life. Sovereignty. I’m hanging on to that. It’s what there is.

Mez lied down in his crib tonight as a baby. Tomorrow, he’s a toddler. It is not cliché. Time is going too quickly. Do you relate? Or does each day without out your son drag on endlessly? You would be so proud of Mez. He’s has such tenacity for life. I suppose he learned that from you, to fight, to press on, to persist. He’s no quitter. In fact, even with three older siblings, he rules this roost. You would relish watching Josh and Mez together. Never have there been any more kindred spirits. They mirror one another as though he carried each one of Josh’s DNA. Jocular. Ardent. Ballsy. He’s our joy. My grandmother put it like this, “The first child is for the mamma. The second for the dad. The third is to perfect parenting. The fourth child is for the pleasure of the entire family.” She pegged it. Mez is the joy of our entire family.

Tomorrow, we celebrate Mezekir’s birth. We will celebrate all that his life has given us. I hope one day you will know that Mez (and you as his first mother) brought new life to our family. He shifted our vision. He expanded our horizons. God used him to broaden our ministry, our hearts, and give us a tangible understanding of the gospel. I will celebrate, but part of me will grieve. My joy is your loss. Thank you for loving our son enough to give him life. We will celebrate the part of your life you gave when you gave him to us. Thank you, Awtash. We love you.

Owedeshalew,

Lori

Sisay, Yemamu, and Goliath

2011-09-15T13:40:00.000-07:00

Meet my friends, Sisay and Yemamu, whose spirits drew me in and whose hearts captured my heart from the moment we met.

Sisay far left. Yemamu far right.

Sisay and Yemamu were born into the community of Korah. Yemam and Sisay may not be “brothers” by formal definition, but their bond goes much deeper than genetic connection. With parents infected by leprosy and snared by poverty, there was little hope these boys would escape the stigma associated with the station of their families. Imagine a community, not one common to you and me. Instead, imagine this.

Korah

Kitchen in Korah

Gathering Food at Korah.

Imagine the smells, the sounds, the necessity associated with just existing. Imagine living unnoticed, unwanted, and with no value, and you’ve just merely peeked behind the curtains of Korah. As so many, Yemam and Sisay began laboring day in and day out as shoe shiners at a ripe, young school age. Schooling was an illusive dream desired but not attainable. School would mean hope and change and possibility. It would also mean one less meager income, one less contributor, one less person scavenging for food left in the garbage. One day while the boys shined shoes on the roadside, a Young Life leader sauntered into their lives. Through friendship evangelism, Sisay and Yemamu chose to leave the grasps of Islam and hunker into the arms of a Loving Savior King. As young believer, they continued to see the goodness of God’s provisions as Young Lifers sponsored them through primary and secondary schools and college. Psalms 40:1-3 virtually took life for Sisay and Yemam as they read, “I waited patiently for the LORD; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth…” Sisay and Yemam’s lives sing of God’s glorious love. They have returned to Korah, to their humble and painful beginnings, to those they love in order to share an eternal hope. By feeding, educating, business building, and respectful employment through an NGO these young run, they continue the cycle of friendship evangelism to a place full of hurt and pain.

Yesterday at school, my son retold the story of ~~Yemamu~~ and Goliath. I mean ~~Sisay~~ and Goliath. SO SORRY, David and Goliath. God took the most unlikely and used him to conquer the unconquerable. Today, I see the modern day Davids facing off with the contemporary Goliath armed with the ever-present, never-changing power of God. I imagine Yemam and Sisay armed with a their metaphorical sling and stone constructed of the hope of Jesus delivered with the FULL gospel by the least likely of candidates, who were disregarded by the world, firing against the giant of despair. Encouraged by their tenacity and humbled by God’s faithfulness, I rejoice to be a part of Hands for the Needy Ethiopia at Korah and cannot wait to be reunited.

Redefining Weird

2011-09-12T20:36:00.000-07:00

Rule 1 in blogging: Don’t blog about blogging or write like you have an audience. Well, I’m breaking the rules as usual mostly because I’ve gone MIA in blog world for more than just the normal sabbatical. Excuses are endless, and the truth be told, I have A LOT of them for not blogging. I didn’t blog during our last tip to Ethiopia because the Internet was down at the guesthouse most of the time. I didn’t blog when we returned because I was on re-entry overload. After re-acclimating, I didn’t blog because I was processing emotions and information. Processing complete, I found myself n the midst of a new and unintended path. I didn’t post about this new path because, frankly, I just didn’t know how to discuss where HE was leading this family.

Months ago, we announced we rejoined the ranks of families adopting from Ethiopia. We officially sent over our dossier and completed EVERY piece of paperwork that our agency needs. Yes, the program has changed. Yes, there seem to be more hurdles to clear this round, but we are in!

Until our last trip to Ethiopia, we didn’t realize the direction our next adoption would take. On paper, we’d prepared ourselves for a child with special needs like HIV, Hepatitis, and clubfoot or cleft lip. We’d committed to a child between the ages of 2 and 8 years old. Surely, God would fit that child into our home. Truth is, we are compelled to loving the least of these in the world’s eyes. Being committed to this seemed to blind us from where He wanted to take us.

God changed the path the last Saturday we spent in Ethiopia. (This tends to be His way in our lives.) I’m not sure why I continue to be amazed by this; but I am. In a miraculous, God-scripted-manner, God set our path toward the adoption of 3 (yes I said 3) siblings. (Pause. Breathe in. Exhale. Repeat.) Putting this in print terrifies me to the core. No HIV. No Hep. No medical needs…just lots of children. For those of you mathematicians, yes, that does make the kid count in our home at an all time high of 7. Whew…said it. Way in if you’d like; but be gentle, please.

Our family prays ceaselessly for God to script this road for His glory alone. Each of us is scared yet sure. The moment the Spirit makes a depository of peace into our hearts, the words “college funds”, “weird”, “mega family”, and “passenger van” pop up and slay the faith we have in his plan. I feel like I teeter-totter back and forth from faith to fear and back again. I can only see God responding to me as I do with my sweet daughter when she grieves the “weird” of our lives. “Weird” by the world’s standard, is what I am called to. Not conformity. Not ease. Nor normalcy. I remind her Jesus was in every way “weird”. Paul- weird. Noah- weird. Abraham- weird. Purity, eternal mindset, righteousness with out judgment, and sacrifice are peculiar by the world’s definition. It’s just making peace with the fear of judgment by the world and accepting the isolation that comes from our differences. If I can tell her, why can’t I take it in? In the end, I resolve. I am far more fearful of disobedience than “weird”.

When we adopted Mez, we found ourselves catching our breath at each turn if anxiety, in desperation, fully consumed. This time around, we can best describe the journey like the lazy river… We have settled in and feel like God is moving us around each bend. At certain bends the aversion to the road less taken forebodes; but it’s different. We don’t have a lot of control, but it feels good.

Join us in praying for God’s will for our family and for the terrific trio that is still in Ethiopia. Pray that he will open and close the appropriate doors. Pray for us to abide in whatever “Weird” He calls us to live. We are praying for your weird and willingness to walk there, too.

WWF and Swan Lake

2011-07-30T19:35:00.000-07:00

This past week, Josh and I spent almost 20 hours in training for older child/children adoptions. The aim of this training is to better ready parents, who plan to adopt older children, of the difficulties and hope that surrounds their adoptions. The facilitators do their best to deflate the fairytale that all parents-to-be builds. It's not to discourage older child adoptions. It's not to direct them to small babies. It's to prepare us for the struggles that are sure to come.

The time was fruitful. We left with tons of ideas and a plan in place. On our midnight ride home, we readied ourselves to re-set the system at home immediately in order to prepare for our newest addition(s). As seasoned parents, we determined execution wouldn't be too daunting. Ha! We roughly underestimated the task at hand.

Tired from the long week and late night, I met my first opportunity early this morning. Rough housing as usual, my boys got carried away. Enter five year old body slamming against older brother, who quite enjoys using his weight to propel brother back four feet, while the two year old beats them both with drum sticks. I gently approached them according to protocol. Eye-to-eye, soft and safe touch, playful voice intact, I didn't expect it to work just like the role playing in training, but I did expect something. There was no notice from the terrific trio. They continued WWF Wrestling.

The boys' row couldn't be quieted by that timid an approach, so I redirected to level-two as per the plan. Gentle voice, two choices, and eye contact with a bit firmer touch. Ummm, hello. Excuse me. I'm trying to be the right kind of parent here. My flitting wasn't working. I guess the boys didn't take the class. Ugh. Plan failing quickly. I try once more. "Boys," I gently prod, "Boys, you know this isn't the place for rough housing. Stop. You can 1) Take the rough play to a safe area. 2) Let me escort you to a better place to play. These are your choices. What do you choose?" Really? Good enough plan, but I can't say it was exactly working. Every ounce of normalcy was heckling me, "Just goose them or talk like a normal parent of four kids, loud and firmly." Instead, I stuck to the plan.

Level three. Firm but kind voice, eye contact (how the heck do I do this without physically accosting the boys, which is not part of the training), directly state they can think about this scenario until they are ready to comply (Must. Hear. Voice. To. Register. Directions. Darn this is hard.), then de-escalate to level 2 and on to 1 as quickly as possible. Clear throat. Flit. Hop. Skip. Jump. Tap tap. If anyone were watching they would assume I was botching a piece to Swan Lake, not parenting the three boys in front of me.

Then, there was that moment. The moment I saw the click in our 13 yr old's eyes. He realized something had been happening. He realized I had been talking, bouncing, working so hard to get them to obey. It was almost as if I could see his brain working out the last 10 minutes of the exchange he was only semi-present to experience. And with all his fervor he looks up, calming the 5 yr old and 2 yr old with a faint "shhh, shhh, shhh" and the waving arm motion. And he asks with full sincerity, "What is wrong with you? Why are you talking like that. That's so...awkward."

They stopped rough housing, not because my newly learned parenting worked; I think they stopped because they were confused and bothered by the exchange. I was, too. It felt very out of body. I couldn't help but laugh. I guess we need more training. Next time, I'm sending the kids.

Mucha Lucha Mez, Mucha Lucha Tiger, and Mucha Lucha Hunter. Terrific Trio.

Discord in Perfection

2011-07-26T22:27:00.000-07:00

I love family. The last two days, have been a bit of rapture from our normal chaos. My older sister and her four children are sharing their last few days as Texans with us before they move off to New York. I suppose some might think a crew of eight children overwhelming. They’re right. But for me it is a boon to my soul.

There was a point tonight while we were on the lake, and the Sun was setting, and the kids screamed in delight as Josh dragged them behind the ski boat, as Mez perched on the bow of the boat, and as we rocked to Gun’s and Roses… there was that moment when that I really said, “THIS is the perfect moment!” I want to stay right here.

Cousins tubing.

Sun setting on Lake Palestine while we skied.

The thought only lasted an instant. As quickly as it emerged, it burst into a million pieces. Hiyellum’s face (the boy I met in Korah) interrupted my musing. The glass house constructed of the American dreams I’ve been sold along the way shattered…yet again. These are the moments that keep my heart grounded in being more than just a Christian consumer. It is the disparity in the world of the over priced ski boat on the lake and of the boy living under a tarp next to a hovel and begging only for a home and love that cause a collision of discordance.

I can’t help but see this sweet face each night and wonder what God has in store for him. I dare not ask God to relieve me from the weight of this millstone. It is this burden that reminds me to pray for Hiyellum daily. The social worker has not been able to locate Hiyellum to discuss and file the necessary paperwork for him to leave Korah and have a foster family. To the best of my knowledge, he is still living there alone.

Hiyellum

It's the Simple Things

2011-07-25T20:35:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I quietly tiptoed through my room heading to gather laundry because Mez was already tucked in to his crib for the night. I paused. Seeing him there, asleep, in our home, his home, still takes my breath. With so many families in the Ethiopia program living in the court-MOWYC@-embassy-limbo land, I can't help but to feel all the more blessed. It seems like so much time has passed since we brought Mez home. I think time lessens the tumult of the journey. But the tumult makes me savor the simple things: Mez's unkempt morning hair and disposition, his crying to be held, his crying to get down, the way he coos when he's sleepy, his love of food, his deep brown eyes, the unsolicited and unpredictable hugs and kisses, his splashing that floods the bathroom floor at bath time, how enamored he is with his pacifiers, and how he begs for bed when he's sleepy. I couldn't just walk through my room tonight. Gratitude compelled me to stop and take a longer peek at Mez snuggled safely in his bed. Seeing him there reminded me to pray diligently for those still waiting. I hope I never lose sight of the simple things.

Telling it like it is...Lori and LoPa

2011-07-24T20:41:00.000-07:00

For those of you who might be wondering how it all began, here's a snip it (or at least what she says).

Josh and I started our family very early. At 19 and 21, an unplanned pregnancy led us to consider all options that might be best for our son, whom we carried. We read statistics. We explored placement. We researched parenting. Ultimately, God’s plan for us was to raise our precious son; but this rough beginning served as an introduction to the beauty and sacrifice of placing a child for adoption and founded in us a love for birth parents, whose best option is to place their children.

Three and a half years later, God readied us for our next child, our daughter. Our second pregnancy remained problematic from beginning to finish; yet in the end, she arrived right on cue. Little did we know this would be the end of the “easy road” to family growth.

Over the next four years, Josh and I lost four pregnancies. Rather, four babies. Ranging from six weeks to twenty plus weeks, each loss stole our breath. By the third loss, our doctors scrambled to diagnose the cause. We followed all the rules. Our friends and families prayed. Ironically, days after our fourth loss (yes after), our doctors called with a diagnosis of a genetic clotting disorder and a possible treatment. It was too late. We grieved and questioned. We closed the door to carrying another child in our womb. Adoption seemed reasonable.

The research began. Only months into preparing adoption papers, Josh realized my significant pain, the damage, and the gaping hollow that co-existed with the loss of our pregnancies. He understood that adopting would be a way for me to fill this hole. He knew God needed to heal the hurts in my heart before we were truly prepared to adopt. Josh stymied our adoption. The pain of my losses festered and took root into an insatiable desire to mother and took me to a place of complete brokenness. A day arrived when I was finally inclined to relinquish it at the foot of the cross. I yielded my hopes for more children through adoption. I surrendered my agony. God began the work of restoration.

Time passed and on a routine visit, my doctor and I were both stunned to discover I was pregnant. We followed protocol for experimental treatments to sustain our pregnancy. We knew the risks. We anticipated the difficulty ahead. All of us expected another loss. At each turn we were cautioned against being too hopeful. As tumultuous as this pregnancy was, God sustained the life of our child. He was born. God granted us more than we could have imagined possible, yet He wasn’t done.

A year and a half later, Josh arrived home from work with an announcement. After years of dormancy, God awakened in him the passion to adopt. Josh caught me off guard. God caught me off guard. I had not considered adoption since the day I released my dreams. Josh had not mentioned adoption for years. Yet here we stood. God took our years of waste, our losses, and our pains and cultivated them into a passion that would transform our family. God directed our hearts to Ethiopia where our fourth son first lived.

On our placement trip to Addis, we fell desperately in love with Ethiopia…the culture, the people, their giftedness, their kindness, the simplicity, and beauty in the midst of penury. We realized that this would not be a place we left easily or permanently. Ethiopia imprinted herself on our hearts. Looking into the eyes of each orphan, each child on the street, each poverty-stricken woman and man, we glimpsed our son and the life he could have lived. We were compelled to touch those, who were left behind.

LoPa Art was born from our hearts' desires to touch those left behind- to feed, to educate, to trade train, to employee, and provide medical care and employment through profits produced by micro-enterprise. The giftedness of Ethiopian artisans makes easy this task. Following God’s plan makes each step a treasure.

Poverty Becomes Personal

2011-07-06T16:56:00.000-07:00

What a great but trying day! We trekked back to Korah. It's always been hard, but for me, today was exceptionally hard. Yesterday, a small boy sat right by my side during the inauguration and feeding. He refuses to leave. Today at Korah, he saw me from the distance and rant to me. He held my leg and my arm and my hand. After a while, I asked him where he lived. He pointed to the other side of the dump, then to where we were, and then beyond us. Confused, I asked our guide where his family lived. When the guide asked the child he began to whimper. He said his parents were dead. He was from The North (same village as Mez) and when his parents died, his brother told him about Korah, a place they could live and find food. Together, they traveled over 500KM. Once at Korah, his brother disappeared. At 10 years old this child was scared and broken. I picked him up and he melted into me. He held me as tightly as possible. When I hugged him, he smothered me with kisses and hugged tighter and tighter. He asked the guide if I could be his mamma. He told our guide that I loved him (because I was holding and kissing and hugging him like his 1st mamma). This boy, 8-10 years of age, has NO home. He is living with another boy under a piece of plastic. He really does eat from the dump. He doesn't have money for school. BUT the good news, he meets the criteria for our feeding and education programs.

We spent ALL of our time together. At the end, when it was time to leave my little guy held on for dear life. His heart was breaking. That was one of those moments that poverty becomes personal... Pray for my friend Hiyellum

July 4th

2011-07-06T16:42:00.000-07:00

Amazing day! We are celebrating freedom in a different way, inaugurating the feeding program today. We were privileged to see hope in the young and old of Korah. An elderly man rejoiced, "Before we knew the hope of spiritual rebirth. Today, we feel physically reborn. We have been forgotten. Today, God remembered us. He sent you to remember us." The only appropriate response was to testify that all good things come from the One True God.

Seeing the newly built showers and toilets brought tears. Now, those ridiculed and kicked out of schools (even once sholar-shipped in) due to their stench, can freely attend school. They rejoiced for a clean plate of food, not scavenged from the dump. The elderly felt freedom from a lifetime of shame. Finally, they can engage those they've only watched from the outside. It's our prayer that the people of Korah will know that true home comes only from Him.

Pray that as their tangible needs are met, their hearts will be open to salvation. Pray we will have the opportunity to share Christ's love and salvation if even with one person. Pray that we would be bold but gracious, honest and loving, and testify of Him. Pray we would only be a transparent vessel for the Spirit to be revealed. Pray that Satan is struck from chaos and corrupting God's work.

Bound to you by His Blood~
Lori

That's What She Said

2011-06-12T21:06:00.000-07:00

Truth be told, "Worth the Wait" shirts were created with adoption in mind; yet as the concept evolved so did our vision for the shirt. "Worth the Wait" fits so many genres. For instance, Katie, a 19 year old, single girl bought the shirt with very different message in mind.

I'd like to introduce you to this girl that I LOVE! Mature beyond her years, Katie helps our family with the kids, with life, and doing what she does best...pointing my kids to the cross with an unfailing love for God. Katie desperately desires for each area of her life to be fully submitted to the Lord's best. Katie has committed herself to purity. PURITY! Really; that's what she said.

Katie sets the bar high. She hope that her husband will be the recipient of all of the best of her, even her first kiss. "Worth the Wait" for my sweet, sister-friend, Katie, states her commitment to purity. One day, her husband will know HE was worth the wait.

"My husband is worth the wait," that's what she said.

Isn't that true..The Lord is good to those who wait on Him. A profound statement on the effect of purity.

What is LoPa?

2011-06-11T21:50:00.000-07:00

I realize many of you may read "LoPa" on my blog but may not know who, what, or why LoPa exists. With LoPa's return trip only hours (36 but who's counting) away, I thought you might appreciate the journey to LoPa and pray for God's plan for LoPa's future.

In spring of 2010, God weaved together the lives of three women in an undeniable way. Within weeks of one another, the Andrews and the Knights traveled to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia to meet their newest children. The Brookshires accompanied the Knights, their dearest friends. They dare not miss out on the arrival of their friends’ youngest son, whom they diligently prayed for during the process of bringing him home.

The Andrews chose adoption. Although they considered pregnancy, the Andrews few unsuccessful attempts without medical intervention reassured them of God’s plan for them. Never did they doubt God had children for them. They only wondered where God would lead them to find their children. Lindsey sponsored a boy in Ethiopia. In her heart, this young man was her son. He took up residence there. She loved him. She felt sure someday, he would also take up physical residence in her home; but he is still in Ethiopia. This encouraged the Andrews to pursue older siblings and taught them family does not mean location. They were matched with a sibling group. Ruta and Alazar’s adoption screams of God’s sovereignty and confirmed they had heard God’s call. Lindsey continues to pine for her son in Ethiopia and advocates for all those left behind.

Josh and Lori Knight lost 4 pregnancies after their second child due to a genetic issue. Lori never expected another child through pregnancy, yet God gave them a third, biological son AND granted them the insatiable desire to grow their family through adoption. God used painful losses to light a fire in the Knights hearts for orphans. Their fourth child, Mezekir, is their first Ethiopian son. His placement waylaid their hearts for the most needy in Ethiopia. While in Ethiopia, Lori realized how many children she was leaving behind…children she couldn’t forget.

Paula has been termed “a mother to all.” Though Mark and Paula Brookshire have not yet adopted, they are familiar with the beauty and impact of adoption. Years of infertility coupled with the love of family left the Brookshires yearning. They knew God’s intention for them to grow a family was not through fertility measures. As their heart opened toward adoption, God miraculously gifted them with two biological daughters. The stirring God placed in their hearts due to infertility propelled them into equipping others to adopt, advocating for the least of these, changing the lives of orphans around the globe, and remaining prayerfully open to an adoption of their own.

Ethiopia captured the hearts of Lindsey, Lori, and Paula. God impressed on each woman the beauty of Ethiopia and the hope and joy deeply rooted in the culture despite the needs of the people and the hurt of poverty that coexist. Leaving Ethiopia with their children was bittersweet. They understood for each of their children, millions of orphans remained in Ethiopia lonely, destitute, and powerless but waiting for hope. Touching two, three, or four children was not enough. God called them to more. Love for orphans and Passion for change sparked action, which birthed LoPa.

LoPa was born of God’s call on these three women. They saw firsthand the possibility of hope amidst poverty and of touching those left behind. By selling high quality products from Ethiopian artisans, LoPa returns profits to established organizations in Ethiopia. These funds feed, educate, trade train, and provide minor medical care for orphans at Korah. LoPa is surrendered to doing their part in following God’s call to care for the least of these.

Pray Her Home

2011-06-09T13:21:00.000-07:00

About three years ago, we officially began the adoption journey to Mez. When we began our journey, we entreated God to surround us with like minded people in our community who would walk a similar road. Little did we know that at that same point some of our dear friends had already begun their journey to an adoption from Ethiopia. Three years and two children later, due to events which can only be credited to God, they still await the placement of their "Princess Ethi."

The Ethiopian adoption process continues to slow. Our friends have been caught in the web of delays that is characteristic to IA. Outside of a miracle, it looks like the road to placement is still months away. None of these circumstances are within their control; but I was reminded earlier today by my 5 year old "all things are possible for God." Preston is right. All things are possible for God.

Because all things are possible for God, I am asking you to join me in praying Princess Ethi home. Please, pray specifically for these things: 1. All of their paperwork would remain current as the process continues AND that it would be exactly as the ET courts desire. 2. God would supernaturally intercede and move their court date forward ahead of its scheduled date (He can. It happens. Ours did). 3. A positive opinion by all parts of the ET courts. 4. Our friends would receive an embassy date before those other families waiting on a date (sorry if this means you. i love you, too; but their road has been so long.) 5. No investigation by US Embassy would be necessary (as has become custom in ET). 6. Pray that each day apart from their daughter, God would continue to soften the heart of their daughter toward her family, so when she is in their arms it would be as natural as if they had always been together. 7. Pray for Princess Ethi's separation from the only home she's ever known. Pray for those in ET, who love and care for her daily.

PRAY GOD BRINGS HER HOME...AND IN A WAY THAT IS ONLY TO HIS CREDIT...QUICKLY...BEYOND WHAT WE COULD IMAGINE.

I'm setting my alarm for 2:00 p.m. each day as a reminder to pray. Would you join me? Princess Ethi is long overdue.

"Worth the Wait"

2011-06-08T19:25:00.000-07:00

On the other side of the world in the bustling city of Addis Ababa, there is a set of deep, melancholic brown eyes. These eyes, though often forlorn, light up with hope, the hope of a promised family, every now and then. And here, just a few miles away, her mama and daddy's heart ache for their daughter. Princess Ethi is one of many, who have waited far too long to become part of the family for which she was created.

Adoptions around the globe appear to be in slow motion. Court delays, investigations, and new safeguards from the judicial system are lulling the pace of adoptions into a sleep like state. Waiting is hard.

As adoptive moms, we at LoPa Art understand 1. God's sovereignty does not ease the pain but allows us to persevere. 2. The agony of the process is Worth the Wait. This understanding provoked the design of our newest t-shirt...Worth the Wait.

LoPa Art recently travelled to several shows with our art, leather, and t-shirts. They were a hit. HUGE hit. Since we depart for our semi-annual buying trip to Ethiopia just next week, we need to clear out our remaining inventory; and you benefit.

We have both children and adults' Worth the Wait shirt. For only a few day, we are selling the shirts for $20. No tax. No shipping. $20. Easy. Below is a list of our remaining inventory. To order, email us at lopa3moms at gmail dot com (or click on the "us" above) and tell us: 1. size, color, and quantity, 2. your name and address, 3. your email address. We will bill you via paypal and pop your shirts in the mail before we jump over the ocean. If you order more than 2 shirt, please, include an additional $2/shirt to cover the shipping. The profit from the "Worth the Wait" shirt funds feeding at Korah.

Lucky you! You get to spread the message (on the back of the shirt) of Lamentations 3:25, "The Lord is good to those who wait for HIM, to the soul who seeks HIM." We know that no matter the journey, waiting is hard; but when we follow Him, we find it is always “Worth the Wait.”

All of these babies have been "Worth the Wait"

Our photographer thought a good shoot might be "Worth the Wait"

This pregnant mama knows her little one is "Worth the Wait"

Adult Shirts:

Pink with yellow-Xs-1
Lg-1

Blue with yellow-
M-3
L- 3
XL-1
XXL-1

Charcoal with yellow-
S-1
M-2
XL-1
XXL-1

Charcoal with green-
S-0
M-2
L-2
XL-2

Charcoal with purple-
XS-1
M-3
L-2

Putty with purple-
S-0
M-3
L-2
XL-1
XXL-1

Children Sizes:

Pink with yellow-
XS-1
S-2
M-1
L-3

Lime green with purple-
M-1
L-2

Putty with green-
XS- 0
S-0
M-0
L-3
XL-1

Blue with yellow-
XS-1
M-2
L-4
XL-2

Brown with yellow-
XS-1
S-2
M-3
L-3
XL-2

The "M" Factor

2011-06-07T09:05:00.000-07:00

In only 6 days, me and my chickens board a Lufthansa plane to return to Ethiopia. I've called all hands on deck to ready the family and our business, LoPa, for departure. I assumed this would be a bit simpler this time around (like a mathematical equation, you know the parts, you work it out), since we have done this a few times prior. BUT just like an equation, when a factor is excluded the process might be flawed...might be? IS!!! Well, I forgot the "M" factor. "M" being Mez.

Mez, my sidekick, mimics my moves. He follows. He parodyzes me. In most of life, no problem; but in packing, oy vey! The "M" factor plays out like this:

Gather all socks, underwear for 6 people, and bras for mom. Fastidiously, place in the guest room on the bed, otherwise known as collection station. Leave to gather shoes. Take shoes to collection station and expose a meandering trail of socks, missing undies, and a white, cotton bra on the toddler's curly-head-o-hair. Ask the baby where he placed mommy's socks and undies. Baby delightedly chirps back in the same uniformity as to all other questions, "Da, da. Da, da, da, do. Gunk." Hunt for socks. Regain undies (most of them that is). Return to guest room to find Curios Mez sporting Daddy's shoes and rhythmically chanting, "Da, da, da, do. Abbaba." 9 of the 12 shoes remain on collection station; and again we begin the effort of discovery and acquisition. Begrudgingly, "M" factor meanders alongside mama to avoid future pilfering of the packing items. Mez's help only makes my task more arduous, so I resolve to retire my efforts until nap time.

Rewinding and watching my life in my mind's eye, enjoying all the mayhem that accompanies parenting, I cackle aloud. I love my life. I love the "M" factor, the "H" factor, the "A" factor, the "P" factor, and mostly, the husband factor. The countdown for Ethiopia is officially on; and I am anticipating a month in Ethiopia loving my ET family and my US family. Now, if I can only get packed!

The New Happy

2011-05-19T20:37:00.000-07:00

I remember the first day I held Mez just like it was yesterday. I remember that round, roly poly baby lying in my arms staring up at me. I remember those deep, dark eyes peacefully peering into my heart and his sing-song cooing. I don't remember when that precious baby morphed into a squawking, squealing, slapping, and scowling toddler. But that is us. The new happy is MAD. MAD MEZ.

I know I've had three other toddlers. I know at least one of them was, well, awful. I know I'm supposed to remember this, but I just don't. Maybe it's because Mez's face says it all. You can read this boy like a gossip magazine at the checkout line. There is no hiding his emotion. Take a look for yourself.

In spite of the daily explosive emotions, Mez, you are all the better for your vim and vigor...now if we can just harness it for good. Mama is tired!

Thinking about It Doesn't Get It Done

2011-05-17T13:23:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about blogging. I've dreamt about blogging. I've constructed blogs in my sleep. Blogging in my dreams, considering my next post, and scripting my script just doesn't get it done!

My problem is not desire. My problem is not topic. My problem isn't the words. I have a problem called time! Time to shower, time to bathe, time to fix my hair, time to put on makeup, and time to blog were demoted to the B List. I'm incessantly consumed with things greater.

Things like this:

Napping with Mez

Or this:

Playing with Kids

Even some of this:

Cuddling with my girl

Loving some of this:

Watching my boys goof

AND finally, getting some of this:

Mez fell asleep in my arms, finally!

Sorry, I'm not blogging routinely. I've just decided to live in the moments of each day and attempt to sleep at night, when I usually blog. I'm going to get back on my blog horse...and ride when time allows.

Wrapping It Up. ODWS.

2011-04-12T15:05:00.000-07:00

After a full week of BUSY, let's wrap up ONE DAY WITHOUT SHOES. I'd love to hear, not only how you participated, but also your thoughts on the effectiveness of the day, and the overall impressions of the outside world as you've heard. If you share how you participated and a picture, via my blog and/or link on facebook, you will be entered into a drawing for your choice of a free pair of TOMS shoes. Okay, since I asked, I'll go first.

Initially, I met with 3 other friends for a morning run as I do every Tuesday and Thursday. We decided this Tuesday would follow the same schedule as the norm.

Swim Team Moms Meeting for a Run

Reluctantly I will admit, the run morphed into more of a jog as running barefooted outdoors in 40 degrees while pushing 45 lbs of babies in the jogger proved more uncomfortable than we anticipated. However, we did persevere for an hour...with a few stares and much wonderment, I might add. The end results were cold, sore feet boasting a reasonable amount of dirt.

Because our children attend swim team practice at the local junior college, we meandered onto the campus and into their gym. Interestingly enough, college students appeared far less concerned with the dissidence of barefooted, middle-aged women trapezing around their campus.

Next, I hosted a barefoot coffee at my favorite local cafe. Some of my favorite people joined me for free caffeinated beverages. Not a bad deal if I do say so myself. Truth be told, I asked the manager/owner prior to arrival. This seemed the best route to ensure or feral group would avoid ejection. The cafe graciously welcomed us, and I believe they quite liked the attention it brought. The gazes of on-lookers at the cafe proved this venue was less aware of ONE DAY WITHOUT SHOES. I was grateful for my comrades and the safety of numbers.

Barefooted Comrades at the Cafe

After school and our normal commitments, all completed without shoes, my youngest two children and I visited a local park with a friend. Many people pointed and stared. Many whispered. No one asked why we didn't have shoes. I believe most people formed their own assumptions. I wished for a sign saying, "I'm raising awareness, people. Why don't you take your shoes off and join me?"

The most difficult point of my day occurred late afternoon. I dropped Preston off with Daddy for their barefooted t-ball practice; then, Ann headed to gymnastics. Mez and I braved Hunter's multi-school track meet all alone. You see, there's something about a group and commonality that gave me confidence. Once in a crowd of strangers, I realized I was being watched and judged, avoided and scrutinized (being a trans-racial family only adds to the mystique). In that moment, as I reached into my purse to get my spare pair of TOMS, I envisaged the million, who go shoeless without choice. I appreciated this IS what it must feel like to not own shoes. They couldn't grab a spare set of shoes from their purse. There is no tomorrow for them to return to, no "norm" void of gawking and filled with ease and comfort of shoes. I was embarrassed; but I was glad.

Tuesday evening, I worked barefooted at the Children's Clothing Consignment Sale...what an experience. I went home feeling filthy from head to feet; but that's not the end of it. Wednesday, our classical school, Classical Conversations, participated in ODWS. What fun! Over 65 children/families tossed off their tinnies.

Naked Tootsies at Classical Conversations

Now, for my thoughts on ODWS: I have quite a few friends that never intend to participate. I have friends, who find the idea ridiculous. I had friends commenting it wasn't 'very smart' to go without shoes because it could cause injury and/or infection. A few thought I threw caution to the wind as I allowed my children to experience it alongside me. Then, there were those, who recklessly kicked off their shoes and proudly pronounced the predicament of the poor around the globe. No one lacked opinion. GOOD! All of these people, each one, were part of raising awareness. That was the point of the day. Regardless of our persuasion, when we lend an ear, share a story of the 'crazies' around us, join a cause, or reason ourselves out of or into participating, we create a ripple or a even a wave that produces change. I liked ODWS. I liked it so much, I'm making one last effort... giving away 2 pairs of TOMS...one to a person, who enters the drawing...the other pair is TOMS gift to a person in need (buy one, give one).

It's Our Mez-iversary!

2011-04-04T19:31:00.000-07:00

Vague recollections aren’t a novelty; but those distinct, detailed, unequivocal moments that your mind can touch, well, those are few and far between. There aren’t many days in my life that I can look back a full year and remember details like they were yesterday.

The moment I woke this morning, all of the details of April 4^th, 2010 flooded my mind. Everything. The weather, my room and bed, what I ate, the smells of the city, my emotions, where I spent almost every moment, and who stood by my side, holding my hand, calming my heart seems as real right now as if I could somehow be magically transported back to that moment.

The haze of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia was thick. The smell of roasting foods filled our room at the Sheraton when we opened the door. Easter morning in Ethiopia means the end of a 40-day fast from all animal products. You can imagine the level of festivity surrounding a normal Easter holiday. There was nothing ordinary regarding this Easter. This Easter marked the day we would finally hold our son, Mezekir in our arms.

God gifted us with each moment of that day. The songs of rebirth and new life, redemption and hope at church hit a deeper chord. God took the understanding of spiritual adoption and made it tangible that day. That exceptional day etched the memories of the afternoon on the lawn in the sweet sunshine watching Ann twirl around in her habesha dress singing, “My brother is coming home. My brother is almost here. I’ve waited forever. My brother is coming home,” while daddy leisurely napped on the grass.

The second hand of my watch ticked to a sluggish cadence while the expectancy of placement drew nearer. Finally, the hallow beep of the Land Cruiser outside the gate to our guesthouse signaled Mezekir arrived. Even now, it’s surreal. The luxury SUV pulling into BeJoe, the smiling and waving white driver (who’s done this thousand of times and has to tire of the tears and doting of new parents), the giant, bowling-ball-of-a-baby being pulled from first car ride, our family circling Mezekir like vultures ready to descend, and the seemingly limitless tears falling in joy over our son’s arrival at long last haven’t faded at all.

"Mez's arrival"

"First Time Holding Mez"

Our poor son, at 7 months, was subjected to every “check and inspection” a newborn endures. 10 fingers. Check. 10 toes. Check. Chunky thighs. Check… It wouldn’t have mattered what was missing; he was perfect and perfectly made for us. We haven’t missed a beat since that day. Mez has dedicated his first year to holding up his head, eating, rolling over, sitting up, eating, crawling, walking, eating, running, climbing, eating, climbing some more, saying ‘ababa’ and ‘mama’, ‘bites’ and ‘more’, and a little more eating.

"Checking the 10 Fingers and Toes"

I’d say we are celebrating Mez’s “Gotcha Day,” but it feels he’s always been here. I’m sure that’s because he was written into our lives and our hearts since before the foundations of the Earth. Thank you, Awtash, for the gift of your son, our son, and a shared child changing us all in the process.

"Yep, that's us. First Family Photo...and Fitting"

Free Cup of Joe if you Go with Naked Feet and Piggy Toes

2011-04-03T22:38:00.000-07:00

I love a good cup of coffee. Truth be told, it's not joe, it's espresso I crave. I make buna (Ethiopian coffee) almost every morning, and the other mornings I complain. And I complain because I love a steamy, piping-hot, bold roast, almost thick cup of espresso from beans, which are freshly roasted in my kitchen, over my gas flames, and ground by hand in the morning the sprinkled with just the right touch of cream and stevia; but do you know how long it takes to get that cup in the morning? See, you understand the complaint.

Since my Tuesday is packed full of shoeless events like piano and voice lessons, gymnastics lessons, t-ball practice, and a track meet, I will not have time to make my buna. I thought, Tuesday is the perfect day for a perfect cup of joe. You and I, we should go. Yes, let's. Yes, let's do. Just us. Me and You. Let's meet at Cafe Tazza for your favorite morning beverage...my treat. Oh yes, there is a little catch. It only works if you are barefooted, TOO!

ONE DAY WITHOUT SHOES COFFEE FOR AWARENESS:

Where: Cafe Tazza
When: 10-11:30 (come and go as you please)
Who: Why, you. You and I, of course.
Why: To Raise Awareness and To Celebrate
Attire: Naked Feet and Toes
What: Free "coffee drink" of your choice (on me).

Blogging Barefooted,
L

The Results are In

2011-04-01T20:41:00.000-07:00

After the school bell rang, a puffy, red-eyed teenage boy jumped in my car. He didn't want to make eye-contact. Holding off tears consumed all of his energy. But finally, after we'd left the school campus, he starred at me and whispered, "He didn't even read my letter." I knew what this meant to him.

My mind drifted back over 20 years. I felt the sting of teenage disappointment, embarrassment crawling up my neck like mercury in a thermometer, and the hot flushing of my face giving away my hurt. In that moment in my car, my heart ached for my son.

Honestly, I expected the school to refuse his request to participate in ONE DAY WITHOUT SHOES. Too many liabilities...too little time ahead...too much to explain...too weird...all things I anticipated hearing. I assumed our conservative, East Texas town (that I genuinely love) wouldn't "get it." No problem. We had cautioned Hunter not to gamble on a positive answer to his letter. I didn't consider cautioning him it might be chucked without thought, set in a pile that makes its way to the wastebasket, or buffered by the secretary. Dang!

Our son's campus will miss out on ONE DAY WITHOUT SHOES, but he won't. As I explained, his letter is an ageless gift to his brother, a profession of his love. What to do, what to do? He begged permission to celebrate this day in honor of his brother (who's 1 year gotcha day just happens to coincide) regardless of the school's ruling. Ugh. Believe it or not, this girl does NOT go looking for conflict; and I fear this is the inevitable reaction should we allow him to go barefoot to school. So, I'm wondering. Would you allow your child to play hooky? Send him barefooted? Just give him the time before and after school for awareness' sake?...For the record I must say I'm sure this man-child is coming down with something that will overcome his system on April 5th.

As a side note, if you are still struggling to decide how to raise awareness for ODWS consider: Make a stencil for ODWS (I have a prototype I can email to you). Mix a cleaning agent solution. Using a scrub brush and your solution, place your stencil on the ground and clean the sidewalk in the open area of your stencil, leaving your message and a cleaner sidewalk for all to enjoy. Spread the word. Change the world.

Barefooted for a Reason,
L

Guest Post...Barefoot for a Reason and Proud of It

2011-03-29T10:36:00.000-07:00

Today, I'm proud to have a guest posting. Hunter, our oldest son, decided on his own to advocate for ONE DAY WITHOUT SHOES with his school, who I feel knows little of social or humanitarian activism. He spent his Friday and Saturday working on a proposal, which he partially wrote up and partially plagiarised (as TOMS intended). Below is the letter he has written to the headmaster asking for clearance for the student body to participate in ODWS. Proud of this kiddo. He's a keeper.

Dear Mr. SO and So,

Last spring, my family spent 5 weeks in Africa. I saw life in Ethiopia and in Tanzania. This opened my eyes to the true meaning of poverty. People all around me (people, who became my friends and family), people just like you and me that happen to live in a poor country without infrastructure, struggled just to live. I came to know children, who would never attend school simply because they do not own shoes. I saw women climbing barefooted down mountains with bundles of sticks on their back hoping to sell them. Lack of shoes made their journeys harder and more painful. I saw grown men digging through dumps to find food. Their feet were lacerated because they didn’t own shoes. Women, children, and men walked through open sewage on the streets without shoes. Inevitably, this leads to disease.

In fact, in Ethiopia, approximately 1 million people suffer from podoconiosis. Podoconiosis is a debilitating disease caused from silica and aluminosilicates in the soil embedding in the soles of the foot. Podo affects the lower legs and feet with pain, sores, swelling, growth, and cracking; and it is 100% preventable. It can be remedied by a pair of shoes.

People in poverty-stricken countries walk miles and miles a day. Lack of clean water, no infrastructure, not having money for cars, no form of public transportation, and a shortage of nearby stores to purchase food means people must walk. People need shoes for the simplest of activities, but they go without. ONE DAY WITHOUT SHOES offers us an opportunity to raise awareness and create change for people in need.

Ethiopia and Tanzania are not the only countries that suffer with a lack of shoes. It’s just I have personally seen the needs here. Poverty is personal to me. My youngest brother was born in Ethiopia. Every time I look at him, I remember what I saw. I know if he had grown up there, he would not have shoes, clean water, food, or be able to go to school. Mezekir is the reason I am committed to do my part to create change. This is why I am asking Small Town School to join in on ONE DAY WITHOUT SHOES. Please, consider my request.

Barefooted a Reason and Proud of It,

Hunter Knight

My Reason To Go Barefoot

Well Done, Kathy, Well Done!

2011-03-26T14:04:00.000-07:00

I’d planned 10 days of blogging on ONE DAY WITHOUT SHOES; however, my Aunt Kathy died today. If I recall, Kathy is actually my second cousin, maybe my third; I don’t really know. It’s always been wrapped in a shroud of unimportance because she was ‘my aunt’… always is my aunt. Her battle with uterine papillary carcinoma ended as abruptly and as unexpectedly as it arrived. Like a thief on a midnight binge, cancer pried open the door of her life, sneaked in, poked around for what it found valuable, and snatched her health. No alarm sounded until it was far too late.

Kathy epitomized life. Her tenacity, her strength, her charisma drew others into her wanton web of friendship. My first memories of her seeping into my life, really seeping in, were in junior high. You remember that time of life, when adults are not chic? When in our youth we label authority as squelchers and duds? At just that time, Kathy jumped into my world feet first.

Kathy taught sex education at my local junior high. She was edgy. Not at all flat or bland, dry or stale. Nor was she crass. Just edgy. Between her job and her personality, she was primed to impact me and the other youth she touched. Her presence was not an after thought. She anticipated this role like a general planning for war. She plotted. Then, she struck for eternal good.

In junior high, Kathy made my transition into a new school easier. She paved a path of familiarity and friends. She reached out. She reached in. She found time, and she made time to make my days in that school, an unknown land of strangers, bearable, tolerable, and finally enjoyable.

During high school, my path diverged toward many a slippery slope. Kathy saw, from personal experience, the handwriting on the wall. Not a move I made, that endangered my future, was left unchecked. Instead, when my pawn moved into a position of compromise, she readied her knight, her queen, and her king to combat my stupidity. And her swift approach worked. Too many times to count, enveloped in love, Kathy would bypass my parents, come straight to the source, and remind me of the purpose of my life. Please, do not hear me say this meant I always chose her wise counsel; but I do mean to say, Kathy’s tough love shaped my future.

Accepting… that characterized Kathy as I single parented through college. My Aunt Kathy’s consistent love blended with reproof spurred me toward grace and kindness. Kathy was one of the first examples of Ephesians 4:15’s idea of speaking the truth in love. Kathy did not shroud truth to make it palatable. She didn’t wrap it in the shinny wrapper of judgement that we like to call righteousness. Truth was simply truth. Love delivered truth. Kathy carried the torch of both. Hunter and I knew that outside our nuclear family, Kathy was for us.

Like a piton for rock climbing, Kathy’s advice on marriage and family wedged itself into my heart. As we celebrated our marriage, Kathy charged Josh and me, “Whatever you do in marriage and raising a family, remember these things: Love God and keep Him central. Enjoy one another. Always find time and money for vacations. Play hard. Your kids won’t remember all the work you put into the perfection of life. They will remember the time you spend playing with them. As much as we played, I still wish we had played more.” It’s funny, I don’t remember much of the advice offered up by well-wishers. I do remember my Aunt Kathy’s advice like it was yesterday (maybe because, even as an aunt, she and Tony introduced us to frolic and diversion). We’ve lived by it, too. Thus far, she’s been right.

I spent last night recalling the progression of that stealthful attack. The sneak approach. That lurking in the darkness undetected and then cancer’s raid on Kathy, her family, and her friends. I’ve recalled the fear prior to the diagnosis, the moment we were told the who and what, the surgeries, the chemo, the continued brutal torture by the disease, and the ups and downs, the love of her family, the support of her friends and church, the wonder, the hope, more surgeries, the pain, the medications and trials, and all along more HOPE. I don’t think I’m alone when I say I never REALLY expected this day to come.

I suppose for me this is still too surreal to process fully. At intervals, pain harrows my heart and mind, then disbelief tells me not to believe that Kathy’s time on Earth ended. I cannot say the fight is over. She wouldn’t say that. It is not. Kathy knew the real battle. She fought the battle well… glory for the Almighty, a life given to Him, hope in what is to come, taking and living each moment, loving deep and rich and fully, not giving in to what is easy but persevering, and in all things, all things, pointing to the Father. I miss Kathy already; and I think, even today, in her death, Kathy has done it again. She made me stop and think, evaluate life and what is important, and find myself on my knees at the cross depending on Him.Well done, Kathy, well done. I love you.

Inspired?

2011-03-25T16:41:00.000-07:00

ONE DAY WITHOUT SHOES hits a high note in my books. Why? Simple, free, and effective awareness for those in need can’t be beat. To make it even easier for you to get involved, just stay tuned in for the next 10 days. Hopefully, you will be inspired to adapt an idea for your own ONE DAY WITHOUT SHOES.

TEN EASY WAYS TO CELEBRATE O.D.W.S:

1. Host a playgroup at a local park. Ask all the participants to come barefoot.

2. 2. Meet a group of friends at a local café. Raise a row as you enjoy your favorite joe or grub without your shoes.

3. 3. Run all of your errands unencumbered by the restraint of traditional footwear (don’t forget to leave a pair in the car).

4. 4. Shoes, shoes everywhere and not a pair to wear? Give away your extra, unnecessary shoes, which are in good shape, to a local shelter.

5. 5. Research ONE DAY WITHOUT SHOES with your kids. Explain to them the significance of not owning any shoes and how this affects millions of children and women around the world. Don’t forget to share a bit about different languishing countries. Remember our kids think all streets are paved, all cities have sidewalks, and that sewage is contained in toilets and pipes.

6. 6. Valet shoes. Approach a local business. Ask them if you can offer a free valet of shoes for their customers when they arrive. Track shoes with a simple number system. Assign and give each pair and owner a number when their shoes are dropped. Return them accordingly.

7. 7. Create a contest amongst your friends and family. Offer an award for the person who raises the most awareness, affects the most publicity, or gets the most creative.

8. 8. Put up flyers, handout stickers, chalk the sidewalks for ODWS, and post ODWS to social media from now until April 5^th. If you need any, email me. I will send a download to you.

9. 9. Get permission to attend school without shoes (or for your children to).

10 10. Ask your sports team to practice barefooted on April 5^th.

I’d love to hear your plans (unless you want to keep them secret and wait for your big reveal)! Inspire each other.

Barefoot by Choice BUT for a Cause

2011-03-24T14:20:00.000-07:00

World Water Day 2011 just passed. On March 22, we recognized and spread awareness for millions, who do not have access to clean water. April 5, 2011, TOMS Shoes will host ONE DAY WITHOUT SHOES. I’m joining them. It seems fitting to me to note that the millions of women and children walking miles to collect water usually do so without shoes. With bare feet, they plod miles for water, medical help, and those fortunate enough, to school. Walking barefoot not only impedes the rate of travel, but in countries like Ethiopia, shoes prevent podoconiosis, a disease easily preventable but that will leave populations lame if left untreated; and it protects from glass, metals, and the open sewage on the streets.

In November, I was blessed for a quick return trip to Ethiopia. As I shared in an earlier post (which you can read HERE), we met shoeless women, children, and disabled on Entoto Mountain climbing down toward town to vend their collected wares. We also visited Korah where we saw thousands scavenging through trash, which was full of needles, shards, and metals, either barefooted or in foot ware so dilapidated they should not be called shoes. Many may consider shoes a luxury; but in these types of environments, shoes offer protection and prevent disease and injury.

ONE DAY WITHOUT SHOES is an effort to raise awareness for those, who go without shoes. Joining in is easy, fun, and cost free! Tomorrow, I will blog on ways to raise awareness and be creative. You’ll be so excited you’ll demand to join the fun…especially when you know I’m giving away a pair of TOMS (winner’s choice) to the person, who raises the most awareness and is most creative in their approach. Start planning! Create your POA. Take photos, blog, and document your ONE DAY and your prep.

Happy Barefoot to you!

Inconvenient

2011-03-23T10:50:00.000-07:00

Our family decided to spend World Water Day, March 22, without “running water” in the house. Our day began by brushing teeth and making coffee with water from the spigot carried in by the bucket full. Although my coffee had a mustier taste than I prefer, I secretly thought to myself, “How fun! A day without indoor water, what an idea, Lori Knight.” Little did I know of the inconveniences this idea would provide and what a poor reflection of the reality of being without clean, running water it actually portrayed.

Breakfast went without a hitch. One of our outdoor spigots sits right outside our garage, perpendicular and within steps of the kitchen. The kids thrilled as they ran outside and filled their cups with our clean (although unfiltered) water. Upon finishing their cereal and fage, the kids raced to rinse their few dishes outdoors and washed them in bins, which initially supplied excitement and fun.

No one complained about limited flushing of the toilets or filling the back of the commode with a bucket of drawn water. No one but me! Then back outdoors to wash the hands.

The middle children, Ann and Preston, enjoyed a relay comprised of a bin holding 3-5 gallons of water. They dragged the bin up and down the driveway to get a glimpse of what children their age endure daily. They held up for about 20 minutes. Many children and women spend their entire day transporting water. The problem was our relay was just that, a game.

A family of 6 (with a toddler) means we do about 4-5 loads of laundry a day. World Water Day should be no different. Right? We set up a series of bins. Suds bin. Rinse bin. Re-rinse bin. A bleaching bin. Too much fun…until the new wears off, kids wring soap in one another’s eyes, and tears ensue! The children enjoyed the fledgling stages of the wash. After the third load, the children left me to my own demise to finish the clothes. I wasn’t disappointed. Even with the spigot within reach, the time doing laundry proved disproportionate to a machine and running water. Plus, there’s no multi-tasking. Just washing. The bleach water aggressed my skin. My hands dried. They are cracking. I cannot imagine doing this day in and day out. Still though, there’s no comparison when I consider most women walk miles to have enough water to fill one basin for extravagance of washing. They lug it home only to repeat. Ground Hog Day becomes reality.

The day continued: lunch and water to drink, dishes, water to drink, pottying, washing hands, washing Mez after lunch, diaper changes, hand washing, cardio, more water to drink, lift weights, and water to drink. Oh, and sweat. Who thought of that? Now, washing up post-exercise in pre-summer, chilly water took my breath. I decided to defer the real shower to March 23. Dinner prep and cleanup was more arduous. It demanded multiple trips outside. We needed water for pasta, washing veggies, cleaning up from shrimp, and chicken, hand washing, washing pots and pans, plates and flatware. Prep. Wash. Cook. Wash. Eat. Wash.

Our World Water Day concluded with baths. The kids were troopers, except for Mez. (Cold water is not him style.) Each child opted for a different style. One washed only the necessary spots. One relished the novelty of cold water while almost naked in the back yard under the stars. One bathed in a swimsuit, washing each part systematically with just the needed amount of water (conserving both the water and the warmth of the body). Together, we thanked God for the luxury of water and health that He has so generously given our family. We asked for His provision for those in need of clean water. We remembered He is the living water that quenches the deepest ‘sine qua non’ of life. We committed to using the resources He’s entrusted us for His glory and good, changing lives in His name.

I thought, in the end, this was just an idea. Maybe good. Maybe fun. But none of this compares to reality. Millions around the world suffer without clean, running water. Wells built break. People struggle to survive. Water abounds but not to the impoverished. My idea changed only a day in our home and to the degree we allowed it because at any moment I could abandon all and return to the luxury of the water inside my home (not to mention the water I used was clean and within steps of our backdoor). My idea left me deflated except for a hope that yesterday sparked an awareness in each of my children to look past themselves and become aware of the suffering of others. We shall see…

Wrung Out

2011-02-07T20:53:00.000-08:00

When I get to the end of life, I want to peer up, drawing my last breath, look toward my Savior, and know I am completely wrung out for Him, for His glory. I don't want to boast of one drop of morrow left in me reserved for tomorrow or my comfort. With that, I would need more time to expend the breath He'd given me, the calls He placed on me, and my talents that He'd entrusted to me. Desiring this for life seems easier than living each day with the same yearning; so I am beginning each day with the real end in mind.

We are neck deep in our paperwork for our adoption of an older child, siblings, or special needs children. This adoption promises a new set of challenges. We anticipate more pain, more hurt, more attachment issues, more adjusting, and, hey, more children. Not a day passes I don't wonder if we are ready for this, if we are crazy, if we will find ourselves rend of all personal time and comfort we've known.

Harder yet, is hearing from others their concern without offering to act as the body of Christ is called to behave; gird up, support, pray, encourage, and bridge the gap when our strength is failing. They warn about burn out. The assure us we are chasing trends/riding a fad (if I'm not mistaken widow and orphan care was a trend Christ began in the church over 2000 years ago). They caution us we are getting in over our heads. Yes, they say, you are signing up for pain and giving up our personal happiness. Yep! We are. I know they embrace the same Word of God I read.

In the midst of doubt, I return to Phil. 3:10, which reminds me when I am sharing in the power of the resurrection, I am joining in His sufferings. The word suffering alone guarantees there a great opportunity for pain, hurt, discouragement, and, yes, even burn out. A bit masochistic, but I know Act 20:24 echos the sentiment. I'm aiming to run the race God has in front of me. For us parenting...parenting a lot of children...some who look different than me...having special needs...and not born of my womb. I anticipate weariness. Training for a race and running it is hard. Testifying of God's grace in the midst of the race is a joy, hard, but a joy. Finding myself broken, exhausted, spent, and needy allows Him a greater platform. Suddenly, my flesh fails and the Spirit steps in. I consider this the strict training and blows to my own body that goes into an eternal crown (I Cor. 9:24-27).

My friends are right. They know me. I will experience lassitude. I will regret my decisions in the middle of a hard day. I will cry. I will grieve. I will need help. THEN...Then...then, I will remember that my "light and momentary troubles are achieving for (me) an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So (I) fix my eyes...on what is eternal" (II Cor. 4:17-18). What a joy, friend, to find myself wrung out. By the moment. Daily. Weekly. For a lifetime.

Nothing Meaty. Just for Fun!

2011-01-31T12:44:00.000-08:00

75 degrees in January is wrong on so many front; but when spent with friends, there is something right about it. Friends like this are few and far between. Enjoy!

Nothing Meaty! It's just for fun.

The Familiar Unknown

2011-01-29T12:33:00.000-08:00

Just moments ago, the Kuykendalls arrived in Addis Ababa, moments ago. Really! I feel like I'm reliving our first trip to Ethiopia to meet our Mezekir, our fourth son. Over the last hour and 30 minutes, I've catalogued every emotion and each step they should be taking. I remember disembarking the plane. I remember the cigarette smoke blanket covering the inside of the airport. I can see the visa lines. I hear the quiet chatter of Amharic in the background. The military with their AK47s still surprise me when I see them in my minds eye. I recall how the terror of the unknown and large military presence in this strange country is dwarfed by the kindness and gentleness of the people. In my mind, I pass through customs and grease the palms of the security guard to get through without a hitch. Then, the sweet, smiling, angelic face of Solomon. Ahhhh. Peace. That face and voice delivers a peace; a peace that let's you know within moments of meeting him that he loves the Lord. I remember exiting the airport and looking up at the moon through the heavy smog and realizing my little boy was sleeping under the same moon, under the same stars, in the same city, and although within reach...not yet available. Then Bole road. The homeless. The orphans. The hungry. The need. The corrugated tin shacks. The eyes of one boy starving, cold, orphaned, hungry and alone on the side of the street. I realize my son could've easily been this boy had God not scripted Meze's life differently. That moment I inventoried what was happening. The hope. The joy. The pain. I recall turning into BeJoe House. I remember the sweet faces I would soon call family. I remember the fullness of their love from the moment we met. It as all new but familiar. I remember feeling at home. I recall the moment I knew life wouldn't be the same. I wonder what the Kuykendalls feel right now? I don't know, but I know the familiar that we are sharing right now half a world apart. Recalling the emotions, I'm letting the familiarity of it all sink in.

The Rest of the Story

2011-01-21T15:01:00.000-08:00

Next Friday, after 3 years of waiting, Mark, Marla, Kyle, and Marcus will traverse 3 continents, one ocean, and a few seas to finally meet their "Princess Ethi." On the 4th of February, they appear before Ethiopia's high court petitioning the courts to rule favorably in the issue of them becoming parents to "Princess Ethi."

The financial implication of placing their file on hold was substantial. Ethiopia required all documents, printing, paper-work, and studies to be re-originated. They have worked tirelessly to raise funds and save. They are close but need to cover the cost of their second trip to Ethiopia, a trip to the embassy and to bring "Princess Ethi" home.

My last trip to Ethiopia, I was able to meet their beautiful daughter. Her large, pensive, dark eyes peer cautiously at newcomers. Her beautiful tear-drop shaped philtrum and the bow of her lip trembles when she's startled. By her hesitation to engage visitors, it is clear she's known more life in care than with a family. Seeing the transient nature of caregivers and other children in her life makes me all the more anxious to do my part of helping her find her way home.

To celebrate February 14th and the gift of love, we are promoting "recycle love" t-shirts that raise funds for the Kuykendalls. Recycling your love for an orphan allows you to be a part of orphan care. Another friend orchestrated this fundraiser. To participate you can access their blog here or by clicking the "recycle love button" on my sidebar. By purchasing one of these CRAZY CUTE t-shirts, you can help bring "Princess Ethi" home. The guidelines are below.

1.) The tees are $24.95 each. $4.95 covers shipping and $10 goes to the adoptive family of your choice. The family that sells the most tees will receive an additional $500.00!

2.) Click on the "recycle love button" or the link to the Africaboundandrews.blogspot. Then, select your t-shirt sizes. Purchase the shirts through paypal, and LIST THE KUYKENDALLS IN THE MEMO LINE on the paypal memo.

3.) Spread the word! Please, let people know to place the Kuykendall family name in the memo line of the paypal memo.

4.) The Recycle Love campaign will run from January 21st until February 18th. We will compile the list of purchases and order the tees after the close of business on the 18th of February and tees will be mailed 1-2 weeks after that.

5.) Pray for the Kuykendalls and other adoptive families, who await the arrival of their children!!!

Wait for it...wait for it....wait for it!

2011-01-20T21:24:00.000-08:00

East Texas has very few transracial families. It had far fewer three and a half years ago when we began our journey to adopt Mezekir. All along, we leaned on a promise the Spirit placed on Josh's heart. He believed we would be surrounded by like-minded families walking a similar path. Almost immediately this came to fruition. God placed a special family in our lives. This family:

Mark, Marla, and Kylee were with us from the start. We began paper chase together, we had our home studies within weeks of one another, our fingerprinting overlapped, and then...the Kuykendalls experienced an inexplicable event. Mark and Marla found out they were expecting after 13 years of infertility. This was a moment of bittersweet. Thrilled add to their family, receiving a baby that for years they prayed to carry, trusting in the miraculous hand of God, but loosing the dream of the daughter they waited years to know and with whom they'd already bonded, the family's path diverged. God added baby Marcus to their family. Praise to HIM! The joy of Marcus' birth paralleled a pain, which came from closing their adoption.

However, He, who is able to do exceedingly and abundantly more that we can imagine or desire chose to give the Kuykendalls both baby Marcus and their little girl they will meet next week. Next week when the family travels for court, "Princess Ethi" will meet those who love her more than words can tell. And although she will not know they are her family; her family knows she belongs to them. There is not a doubt in any mind.

"Princess Ethi" is blessed to see her family 2 separate times in Ethiopia prior to her placement. Mark and Marla are blessed to have the opportunity to know the Ethiopian culture. These two trips do come at a high price: leaving their princess in Ethiopia after the first trip, 2 children left at home on the second trip, less support from friends and family, and HEY, the price of another trip. Our friends are allowing us to be a part of bringing home their "Princess Ethi." Wait for it. Wait for it. Wait for it........wait for it. Really, wait for it! I'll tell you how tomorrow. See you there.

HE Had a Dream... It wasn't mine.

2011-01-17T06:07:00.000-08:00

I just watched this with my husband and four children.

And I realized without this man:

I don't think we'd know this one:

Forty-eight years ago, Martin Luther King, Jr. delivered his "I Have a Dream" speech. Truth be known, this is the first time I ever listened to the entire speech. This is the first time the words I heard struck a cord. This is the first time I cried through King's speech. The vitiation of our country's history cuts deep.

Today is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Never before has this day been mine. Never before has it marked such significance in our family's lives. Never before did I take in what civil rights did for us...a family...a country...a people. Today, we took an inventory of civil rights influence on our family. Without civil rights, my family wouldn't be complete. My son would never have come home. He would not know family; it is likely he not know life.

In "I Have a Dream," King maintains the destinies and freedoms of different races are "inextricably bound together." TRUTH. I cannot get beyond his words. They are not just true for America but for the entire world. As I rejoice in the strides made over the past 48 years, I look hopefully to further progress here and in the remaining world. King provoked thought as he preached of a hope "deeply rooted in the American dream. (And goads us to) rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all mean are created equal." Embracing this locution means then we move forward on the pretense that we are equal and equally deserving of life...all races, all nations, all people.

King had a dream. It wasn't mine. Mine depended on his. His dream helped build my family. My family dream is still growing. But I have another dream. A dream of hope for the hopeless, social justice, change, and life for the least of these. He had a dream; at each step, I realize how linked our dreams are. Happy MLK Day!

LoPa's Gone Etsy

2011-01-11T08:31:00.000-08:00

SO, LoPa doesn't have a website yet because we are working on a bare-bones, donate-all-the-profits, be-good-stewards' budget. LoPa does, however, have a Facebook page, Twitter account, AND Etsy Account! Soon enough, our friend, Talvo, will have our pro bono publico (but fabulous) website prepared. In the meantime, LoPa is growing due to His merciful hand of provision. We are thrilled to see HIM at work.

You can help LoPa by liking us on Facebook, reposting our posts to your Facebook page, and following us on Twitter. It's that easy, friends! Oh, yes, don't forget to shop us...we've gone ETSY!!!!

Yami Cuffs

2011-01-07T10:50:00.000-08:00

LoPa has Yami Cuffs remaining in inventory. If you are interested in purchasing a Yami Cuff, like those pictured below and being given away by Team Alexander, email LoPa here. The cost of the Yami Cuffs are $35.

If you are interested in a Korah t-shirt, email LoPa here indicating size and color. The choices are black and charcoal grey. Each have the same design, and the back reads, "I was hungry and you gave me food. I was thirsty and you gave me drink...What you did to one of the least of these my brothers you did it to me." The cost of the Korah shirts are: short sleeved- $25 and long sleeved- $30.

LoPa gifts all proceeds to the care of the least of these at Korah, a community in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia built on a dump. You can watch a video of Korah here. This is a picture of Korah:

On a Hope and a Dream

2011-01-06T12:33:00.000-08:00

My friend, Emily, didn't always dream of being a mom to 6 children. Undoubtedly, she didn't know she would parent one with special needs or how those "special needs" would become special gifts that teach and reveal to her more of our LORD. She didn't always aspire to relieve poverty in remote areas of the world. However, God used the adoption of their 2 youngest sons as a springboard to bring her, and her family, a new hope and dream... their roles in bringing HIS hope to a dying world.

Emily and her family now campaign for funds to bring HOPE to Dube Bute, where her son Eaysu first lived. You can read more about it here. Team Alexander, as they call themselves, is holding a drawing with tons of free give-aways next week over here. LoPa has donated this Leather Flower Cuff:

And this t-shirt:

By re-posting, twittering, or facebooking about their fundraising and drawing (let them know), you, too, will be entered to win these and other amazing FREE products. To top it off, Team Alexander is offering you an opportunity to join in an event that will make a life-long, life-changing, re-writing the futures of young and old, gospel-sharing impact on the least of these in HIS name. You can't beat that! Seriously, check it out. Let's make a change through a hope and dream He's given.

Change, Not for the Weak of Heart. Change, Good for the Soul.

2011-01-03T20:41:00.000-08:00

Our family has seen its fair share of change this year. Some good. Some hard. All in all, it has be a year of transformation.

God blessed us with our fourth child this year. Our son’s presence brought along an awareness of God’s call to take up the Gospel of Jesus to the world around us and in a new, profound manner, to crusade for Him and submit ourselves, our family, and our resources daily to His desires. In turn, we fell in LOVE with Ethiopia, her people, and her culture in spite of her poverty. Her hope gives us hope. Thus, we’ve focused most of our giving (not just monetary), outside of the church, toward Ethiopia- impacting the poor, the broken, and the spiritually needy.

Loss has also revamped our family. After 36 years of knowing a safe, steady, untied family, my father’s presence disappeared. Not to death. Not to disease. To divorce. To isolation and abandonment. The woman, my mother, who used to be my stability, seeks security from us. Our family is flexing, changing, giving, and learning what it mean to surrender hopes, dreams, and even our history, to the foot of the throne.

Trans-cultural families stand out in the South, in deep East Texas. Transforming our family tree solicited transmogrification. Boom, normal to weird. As easy as that. As though a spell was cast and the once white, typical-suburbia family shifted to “those people we just never really knew.” This is a cost we are glad to pay. We’ve become comfortable with staring and questions. We relish the difference because in it is the obedience that brings joy we could never have imagined.

We’ve learned a family of six doesn’t grace other families with “drop in” company often. Six is difficult to accommodate with out planning. Six can seem like sixteen. Six can make you sick of cooking, cleaning, laundry, and dishes. Six seems satisfactory, but eight sound exceptional!

Change. We’re ready for the next round. Change!

Burdens

2010-12-03T06:32:00.000-08:00

Climbing Entoto Mountain we saw this:

Elderly women collecting fallen Eucalyptus leaves from day break to day end, only stopping to carry their large loads down the side of a mountain on their contorted backs in hopes of collecting 3-5 Birr, the equivalent to $0.25/load. Their lives are a meager existence. But their joy is not lacking.

At the top of the mountain and on the front side, this was a common scene:

Children and adults without shoes, shoes so small their toes bleed and curl, with only one shoe they were fortunate enough to find on the side of the road, shoes breaking apart and held together by a string, are common place.

We knew to expect this. That's why we were prepared to deliver the 30 pair of Crocs we purchased in the states:

What we didn't know was God had a better plan. A plan that involved the Spirit inclining our ears to hear, our hearts to listen, and our hands to obey.

These women, carrying their load of fallen wood, crossed our paths:

We stopped together to share bread when they asked if we would like to try to carry their loads, their burdens. The 140+ lb. weight, which explained why many are crippled in their later life, deterred us from taking more that 10 steps as the twigs from the wood dug into our backs.

Realizing the true weight of these women's burdens was from the Lord. He quickly paralleled in my heart the burden of hurt I try to carry for Ethiopia, her needs, and my inability to shoulder it on my own.

With my head hung down to hide my tears, I noticed the feet of these women...bleeding from shoes too small and with a shoes filleted at the toes to accommodate growth...I felt the Spirit direct me to remove both my shoes and the shoes of the woman next to me, to clean her feet, and place my shoes on her feet. I didn't take notice of the 2 men watching us from a far (in a picture above). Shortly after, these men and many others began to follow us, talking loudly and gathering others. A bit worried, but absorbed more in what had passed, our friends soon told us what the crowd was saying, "Their are billionaires in Ethiopia, who have never done this. Surely the Lord reigns and Jesus lives if He has sent these women to serve and sacrifice for us." My heart was wrenched, but thrilled. 1.) Because the Spirit directed my steps. 2.) Because we could NEVER have scripted affecting those around us in this manner for HIM. 3.) Because the testimony left behind was of HIM, not us! We walked down the mountain barefoot but rejoicing because He brought glory to himself in the midst of me.

On my first trip to Ethiopia, I left carrying a mighty burden. A burden that almost strangled me in my sleep, in my dreams, in my daily life, as I cooked, as I shopped, as I lived. God knew the burden I was trying to carry was too heavy to assume on my own. He had never intended this. He used this trip to rivet me to my soul and teach me that He alone can bear the oppressions of the world; but His plan for me, for believers, does involve sharing in the burdens of those hurting, in need, starving, and dying.

LoPa LLC.'s Premier

2010-12-01T05:04:00.000-08:00

As three moms, who fell in love with Ethiopia, we were compelled to find a way to empower the giftedness of the Ethiopian people. While in country, each of us understood the artisans we met had true gifting; but we also realized they lacked an audience for their products. Thus, after thought, prayer, and dreaming, the inception of LoPa occurred. LoPa has been kept under wraps for about 7 months as we've worked out details. Finally, after our return trip to Ethiopia to network and purchase for the local artisans, our micro-enterprise business is preparing for the first show.

The idea behind LoPa is to network with gifted artisans and artists, who lack a rostrum, purchase their products to sell in the USA, and then donate the proceeds to humanitarian relief in Ethiopia to create life change for the country we love. LoPa sells stand alone product and art, which don't require the story of the artisan for promotion...their story is the bonus. Each artisan we promote is Ethiopian, gifted in their venue, and committed to quality products. None of LoPa's product are from a factory. Each product boasts the handiwork of the locals.

Upon our last trip, LoPa was able to select our humanitarian relief organization, which was more difficult than one might realize. Two of us visited Korah with group. Korah is the city dump, which has been forged into a community of 75,000 people for the poorest of the poor. It is said that Korah is the most densely populated Kebeles (neighborhoods) for prostitution (mostly children), brothels, and "bars". Korah draws from the lepers, those infected with HIV and living with full-blown AIDS (most without meds), child prostitutes, orphans, the starving and dying elderly beggars, and families, who know nothing else and struggle through starvation each and every day.

The smell of Korah proclaims to visitors you have arrived. Smoldering trash mountains loom in the horizon. Trash rivers stand between the homes and the working part of the dump. Birds of prey constantly circle above searching for dying flesh that is too common at Korah. Each night the people of Korah must stand watch for the hyenas that feed from the dump and the parishioners of Korah. The scenes from Slum Dog Millionaire come close to expressing the sentiments of Korah- but only close. The hopelessness of seeing a mother feed the baby strapped to her back from the putrescent food she finds foraging through trash juxtaposes the smile and kindness she offers as she engages you. There are no words to explain the sentiments of the heart or the impact of visiting Korah. I cannot imagine the impact of living in Korah.

Thus, LoPa has decided to couple our efforts with two NGOs on the ground in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, who are introducing a long-term feeding program and scholarship program in Korah. LoPa will donate the proceeds directly to Korah's relief. Come help us help those desperate, but hopeful for change, at Korah by attending the first LoPa show on December 8th and 9th from 10:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m. Paula Brookshire will host the show at 5925 Brixworth Drive in Tyler, TX. She can be reached at 903-372-9866. You can also check out our merchandise on our facebook page: LoPa Art.

Busy with Business

2010-11-22T12:40:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, we visited the Artisan Bazaar/Market, which was scheduled for the following weekend and one of the primary reasons for our travel. This is the best place for us to network with local artisans. I am so grateful for God’s provision in placing the correct vendors in our paths and coordinating our times. We were able to network and establish the relationships needed with a variety of local artisans. The Ethiopian artisans are very gifted. One artist in particular, Yami, has extraordinary handmade leather products. Unmatched to say the least.

Today, we visited a Rasta Free Art Village. The art was interesting. The people were more interesting. Kind. Gentle. Soft spoken. The majority of the sculptures boast up-cycled items. Literally, the artists collect trash and construct sculptures from toilets to trains and on to animals. It is very eclectic. The Rasta artists are peaceful community, and they nurture their land. In the midst of the busy, bustling Addis, the Rasta Free Art Village is an oasis. Two of the artists, who paint in the village, produced paintings worth the flight to Ethiopia.

Next, we met with Aklilu, one of our favored artists. His paintings bedeck my kitchen and family room. His colors and shapes captivate the eye. This young man’s working conditions are nicer than many, but Americans would be offended if asked to work in his studio. But Aklilu. Ahhh. What creative genius. We accrued many pieces from Aklilu. You won’t want to miss these pieces.

After visiting a gamut of artists, our day’s highlight was visiting our friend/brother/driver’s home. Modest, but appreciated, Solomon rents a two room space. His bedroom and sitting boost his confidence in hosting us. He is most proud of his outdoor cooking space and private toilet. Being allowed into Soli’s home felt like an initiation of sorts and left me feeling more connected to him than ever. The car ride back to BeJoe hosted my first real cry in Ethiopia this trip (first of many, I am sure). Rectifying my love for Ethiopia, its people, my son’s culture, my habesha family, the joy it holds, and my love for my family and friends in the states is impossible. In the meantime, I am trying to simply embrace each moment of each day.

Bet Negn

2010-11-21T05:17:00.000-08:00

The flight to Addis felt shorter than before. Maybe it was my preoccupation with a darling 14 month old. Maybe it was because I knew my Habesha Betasub (Ethiopian Family) waited in anticipation to embrace after a six month interlude. Whatever the case, Genet, Marta, Aster, Blein, Mimi, and, of course, our darling Solomon welcomed us at the airport with open arms. Post arrival and Visas, we could see our betasub past baggage claims, through Customs, and behind the gates. We could NOT get to them quickly enough. Customs did not appreciate our expectancy to reach our friends. With an extra tip, the bag porter proved persuadable to push our bags to the front of the line; and before we knew it, we were united. I cannot express how full and complete my heart felt finally, minus Josh, Hunter, and Tiger.

On our first trip to Addis, the unfamiliar smells and sounds shook my base. Everything seemed unfamiliar. The smokey haze of Addis welcomed us with familiarity this time around. Every site, every road marker, every acquaintance added another level of comfort. And then, BeJoe, the guesthouse where we stay…ahhh, BeJoe. Three dozen roses from Solomon added a bit of glitz to our lovely rooms. The BeJoe girls stayed and visited with us into the wee hours of the morning. Gift delivery ensued. We passed out pictures and cards from all of our BeJoe friends in America. The girls LOVED the updates. At 3:30, we finally headed to bed. Peaceful sleep restored the tired eyes, and we have been running hard since. Jet lagg and all my heart and mouth can finally say, "Bet Negn" or "I am home."

Almost There

2010-11-15T19:37:00.000-08:00

Only three days and my hiney will be stuck in an undersized, stiff seat next to two children for 8400 miles. Yep, we are ready to return to Ethiopia. As much as I HATE flying, you must know I love Ethiopia even more. Otherwise, I wouldn't endure this stretch. Our bags are close to packed and my mind is racing with what still remains to be accomplished. This trip will prove much harder for me as Josh and our two older sons will not trek back with us.

We return for many reasons. Some I'm open to share, some I'm holding closer until the right time. What I do know is that I covet your prayers. Pray for our safety, Mez's sleeping, my anxiety during the flight and our stay, my husband and children I will leave behind, our health, my extended family, who will celebrate Thanksgiving for the first time in 36 years without my father present (thank you divorce...you suck), our opportunity to be the light and share the love of Christ, our birth mom, whom we will see again, and my ability to share the love and hope of Christ with her as well as rejoice in the son we share. Pray for our luggage, our words, our time to be used well, and our overall witness during major jet lag. Pray for those we love, whom I am already grieving leaving AGAIN (and I haven't even arrived). Pray that God's plan for our time, both present and future, would be clear. Mostly, pray that in all things HE will receive the glory He is due.

I will update my blog and keep you abreast of all we are doing. Can't wait to see you on the other side...

Plagiarism

2010-11-02T05:06:00.000-07:00

I ~~stole~~, err, umm, borrowed this post from a friend. He did such a great job expressing my sentiments on the gospel in adoption/foster care, why not re-post his words. Reading through the Old Testament, I am reminded of the importance of a knowledge of history, knowing our history, writing down/memorializing His hand in our lives as not to forget His power, our legacy that He provides, and His redemption. My friend's post hits well. ENJOY!

Almost four months ago now, we received our first foster child. That night, we were awakened by a phone call around midnight and were asked if we’d be willing to accept her into our family for a time.

After some quick prayer and even quicker conversation, we agreed to do it. Less than an hour later, this tired little girl was escorted to our house by 3 people from Child Protective Services.

This past week, we got the news our time with this little girl will be coming to a close come December. They have found a new home for her and her siblings to be adopted together.

All this talk of her leaving, though, has made me do some thinking about her time here with us. Crazy enough, after thinking through much, I’ve come up with one regret that I have about this whole process with her:

We should not have washed the clothes she came to us in.

The night we got her, she arrived dirty. Her clothes were too small, stained with old food, and reeked of smoke. It was a beautiful picture of what we ALL offer in and of ourselves. We bring nothing good to the table.

With our next child, I’d love to keep clothes like that, put them in a Ziploc bag, and use them for a huge lesson later in life.

Now with our current foster daughter, she is leaving far too early for her to understand the significance. But for future kids that we might foster, or even adopt, I’d love to keep this in mind.

This is yet another reason why I love fostering and adopting. The gospel becomes clearer and clearer:

We have nothing good to offer God. This is all of us. Our clothes are dirty, torn, ugly, and smelly. God opens the door and invites us in. He comes to each of us, takes our nasty clothes, and offers us clean ones in their place. We come to him worthless, and we leave unworthy.

In a time when many try to work hard to be accepted by Him, it is a visual picture of His grace, mercy, and love. We bring nothing. He gives everything.

This is one lesson I hope to not easily forget.

Lucky

2010-10-28T13:28:00.000-07:00

I've not ever been a fan of lucky. The word, that is. I've not found many (any) situations to be chance, accidental, or coincidental. Mostly, it grinds on me because it takes all credit away from the ONE, who really governs life and breath, action and the end. You can imagine then, how it unnerves me to hear how lucky Mezekir is to call us mom and dad. I don't like this for a gamut of reasons, but let's just start by my saying, really, there is NO luck involved here. Yes, I do understand the manner in which it is intended. Really, though, nothing in his life, our situation, his placement, or our parenting him revolves around luck. Nothing.

Holding him yesterday, wondering about his first months, my mind wondered back to his beginnings. I thought too much of Awtash, his first mom. I grieved just remembering her story. His story. Then, I thought of the other children I know, who are with their second families. Some saw their parents die of starvation, some of water borne parasites/illness, a few whose father murdered their mother, some the product of rape, some whose mother's died in childbirth and fathers followed soon after and families couldn't afford to feed them, some whose parents contracted HIV and died of AIDS, a few whose parents were children themselves, some, who poverty stripped of all dignity and opportunity until what was left was not even recognizable as a person, others who were simply born "imperfect" in a system that only apprises perfection. I could go on, but you get the point. In every circumstance, there is grief, hurt, human failure, affects of sin, unfairness, but then the shining glimmer of God's redemption and sovereignty. This is not luck. How obtuse to refer to the situations that jerk children out of the precious grip of their families and culture and into another home as lucky.

I suppose this goes back to our sense that the best place for any child is here, in America, being westernized, surrounded by materialism and luxury. The idea that somehow I'm a savior to my son and his story frustrates. I'm not amazing. I am just human, a failure often, impatient and myopic, sometimes even bossy and unkind or downright nasty. I promise I didn't save Mez. That is the work of One far greater. It is not a result of my parenting him. He doesn't owe me an extra ounce of gratitude or kindness. Nor is America the answer to the problems in Ethiopia. Don't get me wrong, adoption is vital to the lives of orphans. Orphans are suffering. Left as orphans, they are more likely to incur more pain, suffering, and hopelessness. But we are not their saviors.

"Luck" for my son, would have looked like being born into a country that could support its people, to a mother and father, who could provide for his needs, a family that celebrated his first breath, hope of education and a future, and an enmeshment into a people and country that share his same history. Sovereignty and redemption, on the other hand, placed him into my arms, life, and heart. Luck, in my opinion, is best left to blackjack, poker, and lottery tickets.

I Like It

2010-10-24T21:17:00.000-07:00

I remember when I delivered my first three children, the moment the nurse placed each one in my arms, the moment I put him to breast, the moment he nursed for the first time, the way my touch and my smell comforted him, the perfect fit of co-sleeping, and the way from the moment of arrival each would nuzzle into me as though it was the safest haven. There was a meshing. A melting in of sorts. A sense of belonging. As moms, those are the moments that convince us to forge into the next pregnancy and preserver through delivery.

In all the beauty of parenting through adoption, one of the things that did not initially emerge was that amalgamation. Not that there wasn't a hope. Not that there was a bond. But the innate, inherent enmeshing was not inceptive. I wasn't even sure it would come. I didn't know how much I missed it.

The first month together, Mezekir deplored rocking to sleep and cuddling. He preferred banging his head against a mattress. At night, he found comfort only in his bottle and a song. Slowly, he allowed us to rock him to sleep, yet in the midst of upset and angst, his solstice remained in solitude, self-soothing with a bottle or pacifier. As of late, Mez has learned to love my arms, my lap, my protection. It has just been within the last week that we have marked a revolution... those small markers that when they hit you realize how much you'd longed for them...without even realizing it. Those split-second occurrences rekindle the "new mom" feelings that remind us it was partly for this that we were created.

For the first time, four days ago Mezekir laid his head on my shoulder, placed his brown, pudgy hands on my bare arms, began to rub them, and drifted off to sleep. I immediately recognized the milestone. One step closer. According to my attachment parenting ways, I've craved the sound of him sleeping on my chest and the feeling of our rhythmic breathing while I hold him and take in the fleeting moments of "now". For the last five nights, Mez has done just that. Now, around the house, he teeters up, grabs a knee, and lifts his hands to be held. But the best remains. He's happier. He's comfortable. He knows he's ours and we are his. No more avoiding eye contact. No more turning from side to side to prohibit others from engaging. Something is different. And I like it.

It occurred to me, so much of this is deep seeded from the beginnings of his life. It also occurred to me that I don't fully understand who he is, what life really is/ has been for him, or will be. In my love for him I have overestimated my ability to empathize and understand. But today, something is different, and I like it.

Pumpkins: Orange, Brown, and White.

2010-10-19T05:10:00.000-07:00

With four children spanning a large age range, I must admit, my younger chickens miss out on a few of the "classic" opportunities. Our oldest two attended the best preschool, enjoyed play groups at the park, had picnics in the rain, walked slowly at the zoo to investigate each animal, sat on Santa's lap, rode the firetruck, visited the police station, grew beans in an egg carton, made play dough, finger painting at will, dove head-first into freshly raked piles of leaves, and went to the pumpkin patch each fall to select their own pumpkins. But it does get old. Taking the almost 13 year old man child, the 9 year old diva-born princess along with our own 4 year old comedian elect, and the bustling baby boy to experience these precious moments isn't the same. It's repetitive and a bit mundane. I was sure it lacked the sparkle and intrigue of the new world we have entered: Pre-teen Domain. It's not that I'm resistant to repeating this memory, it just looses it's oomph and urgency the third and fourth time around.

This year, since I am president, vice-president, secretary, treasurer, and act as social director of the East Texas Gladney Family Association, I put together the gatherings for the group. Great chance to kill 2 birds with one stone. We headed for some forced family fun at none other than the Moore Pumpkin Patch. And truth be told, it was splendid. I had forgotten how much fun those simple moments as a family without electronic based excitement, the next thrill, the sardonic nature of a group of teens, or the "newest thing to do" could be. All of it was fun, feeding the pigs, shucking corn, pumping water, playing tag in the hay bail maze, and finding the choice pumpkins. My favorite moment remains: Preston announced to all on the hayride, "I chose a girl and a boy pumpkin. See, look how long HIS stem is." Somethings really are priceless. I loved watching my cute pumpkins find their gourds, and I thought you might enjoy the pictures.

FOOD, Not just for living any more!

2010-10-12T09:02:00.000-07:00

From all sources, Mezekir is said to mean "Remembered One or Memorial". I'm thinking this is inaccurate. We are leaning toward redefining his name. Maybe something more fitting, "Mighty Consumer, who takes in inordinate amounts of food." And although I jest at redefinition, I'm beyond serious in regards to his consumption.

Our pantry door boasts a specific squeak or melodic song as it gives access to the treasures inside. Mezekir has learned the 'pantry song'. He responds in immediate demand...stomping feet, squealing, bouncing his massive toddler frame, and swinging his head back in forth in true Oromo-tribe style. The gage on his round, bulging belly must not work because whether well-fed or nearing the next meal, this baby knows no bounds. Quick run-down for yesterday alone: Breakfast- 8oz. whole goat milk, 2 eggs, 1 piece of Ezekiel bread, raspberries, and 1/2 banana. Snack- dried peas, raisins, and Dr. Crackers and 8 oz. water. Lunch- cheese stick, cooked peas, turkey (about 2 oz.), 1/4 apple, and 1/2 hemp tortilla, and 1/4 cup roasted butternut squash, washed down with 5 oz. water. Snack-umm, not sure as every time the pantry was cracked, there stood Mez begging in true Mez style. Dinner- 1/2 chicken breast, 10 small tomatoes, 2 carrots, sweet potatoes julian cut, 1/2 banana and 5 oz. water. Soon to follow 8 oz whole goat milk. AND as I toted him off to sweet slumbers he protested loudly with knowledge the family remained in the kitchen snacking without him.

No parasites, thank you. We've checked recently. No malabsorption. We've checked. No long-term history of malnutrition in ET; we checked. Maybe Purvis' idea of neuro/physio-development and its link to food=comfort applies when a child has spent only short periods in an institution? Whatever the case, we remain sure Mez's food intake is not just for living. This is about comfort, people. He loves his food! If food were a love language, we would know Mez's.

HIV+

2010-10-04T20:57:00.000-07:00

So, this weekend, I realized I still have a few strongholds or prejudices I haven't worked through. I attended the T4A Conference. A question was posed by a parent of an adoptee, who is HIV+. She asked, "If your son or daughter made friends with a child at school, who was HIV+, how would you handle that friendship. Would you allow the friendship to grow? Would you encourage it? Would you be fearful? Would you expect your friend's parents to tell you he/she was HIV+?" She continued, "If your child contracted HIV while in the hospital, would you feel inclined to disclose it to his or her friends? Would you tell the schools? Would you tell your church? Would you want to hide it knowing the majority of the public is uneducated in the truth of HIV, and it would surely mean your child suffered from being ostracized? Do you feel there is a difference in what you would expect of HIV+ persons and how you would want your child's health information handled?" I must say, I couldn't answer these questions initially, at least not the way I wanted.

This parent and another of HIV+ adoptees and a PID doctor and nurse practitioner spoke on HIV and AIDS and the myths surrounding them. My knowledge was antiquated. Little did I know that HIV/AIDS no longer carries a title of "terminal disease". Instead, it is a chronic illness, which is easily controlled and readily preventable. In the US, an HIV+ person need only take 2 pills a day to live a long, healthy, uninhibited life. REALLY? There's never been 1 single diagnosed case of HIV transference from family member to family member in a normal family environment. All the myths of cut to cut, accidents riding bikes, bumps on the trampoline, shaving accidents as teenagers, or a bloody car wreck transference was put to bed. I never realized how manageable this disease is!

Why then are millions dying in Sub-Saharan Africa of AIDS? Well, the ARVs and AZT needed to control HIV/AIDS is still not readily available. Those who do receive them do not have them administered properly (as they are usually orphans in group facilities). More over, even when these meds are available, the life saving antibiotics for secondary infections are not available. My heart broke to realize the difference in a child, who is HIV+, being raised in a third world country or America is the difference of life and death. LIFE and DEATH.

Fear of transference doesn't keep me from an HIV+ adoption. I'm going to lay it out there; the fear of social (used loosely) isolation and social martyrdom of my 4 children and husband halts me in my path. I don't want them to be shunned or hurt. I don't want to be the bulls eye. I don't want to ruin my husband's career. I know there's a theme and it circulates around "I". What a sad truth. Due a possible inconvenience or social abandonment, I would forgo adopting a child that God placed on my heart.

Then it also hit me. The spiritual parallel. God came to me when I was suffering from an incurable disease, sin. Had He taken inventory of my status, judged my sicknesses, assessed my risks, considered the stigma of a relationship with me, or not wanted the weight of my current status, I would be left to my own demise. If God had looked to my past to judge my future, I would surely perish. If there ever was a stigma associated with the illness of sin, I carried it. But instead of judging, He made the greatest sacrifice. He gave what was perfect for my life. And I was saved. I cannot move past this yet. I trust there is a reason this resounds in my heart and soul. This story of redemption from a past and the promise of a future. It's all too sweet for me to throw away and discount.

How would you answer that parent's questions?

Birthday Moments

2010-09-19T06:10:00.000-07:00

Mezekir and Daddy mark the beginning of the day at the birthday sign.

Sweets for the Sweet. Mez screamed for a bite each time we passed the table.

Although tentative at first, Mez eventually conquered the cake.

Mez reminded us...the crunchy paper is the best part of the gift.

Charlie the doll makes his debut.

Charlie and Mez are fast friends.

Tired from a long days work, Mez and Mommy commemorate the day of "1".

1st Birthday

2010-09-18T22:15:00.000-07:00

9 months and 8 days ago on a unremarkable normal December afternoon, our family celebrated the unofficial arrival of our newest, most desired son. A tiny Mezekir arrived in our lives at 2 1/2 months old via an email, smiling, shining, bringing with him the joy God granted him in the depth of who he is not the circumstances of life. Though for years we had dreamt of him, until that day, he remained a mere apparition, desire, a hope that one day God would bring to fruition. Each day from that moment on, we imagined each detail of his round face, his latte colored skin, his almond-shaped, deep, dark eyes that peer into you, his growing hands and muffin-topped feet, and his tenacious personality. And today. Well, today, 5 1/2 months after wrapping our arms around him, we celebrate a year of Mez's life.

A day, typically marked with great celebration and exuberance, grips my heart at the most inopportune moments. Lighting candles...my mind strays. Singing "Happy Birthday", I drift. Unwrapping a gift yet I'm not longer present. Too many times (or maybe not enough times) today, my mind floats back to Mez's beginnings. Nothing can harness the wandering mind. My thoughts capitulate to the moments Mez entered the world. I cannot help but wonder what marked that small moment in time for he and his birth mother. Who was there? Was his mother frightened? Cold? Alone? Who held her hand through labor? Cared for her after she delivered? Was there any fanfare, celebration, recognition that a precious life just began. Oh, and you, Awtash, our sweet birth mom. What of you? Do you mourn today? Do you wonder of the life you grew inside of you? Do you recall each detail of that rainy day in Mekele, Ethiopia? Does a wafting odor in the city remind you of the heavy, sick smell of the small, dilapidated hospital where you birthed your son and catapult you back to that moment in your history? Does this day of our celebration mark one of the most bittersweet days of your life? Your son arrived. Out of necessity, you chose more for the him than you could supply? Could you possibly know of our love for our son, your son, the son that will forever link our lives? He is our joy! Oh, I wish I could share with you who he is and how we love him. Then the chanting verse of "Happy Birthday" creeps into my ears, startles me, and brings me back to the moment. A precious moment, Mezekir's 1st birthday celebration.

Mezekir LOVED his 1st cake. He consumed the attention. He demands a redo! We committed to a no gift birthday, yet Charlie, a brown-skinned, boy baby doll by Blah Blah, caused us to succumb to one tangible gift. And Charlie is Ca-Ute. In lieu of gifts, this year we've decided to celebrate the day of Mezekir's birth by building a well in Ethiopia via Glimmer of Hope and naming it in honor of his birth mom. Awtash Mekomia, who gave us the life of our son, will now be a life-giving well to people in Ethiopia. WE couldn't anticipate a better way to honor both she and Mezekir and the new life placed in our family, arms, and hearts. Mez, we love you. Awtash, we love you. And, Lord, thank you for the gift of this child. Enjoy the photos.

Photos tomorrow!

The Haze

2010-09-15T06:58:00.000-07:00

A friend messaged the other day asking why my blog had gone black. BLACK? Really? (Well, it is my new favorite color.) I was thinking more of a light grey haze though. With all the irons we have in the fire now, blogging has taken a back seat. Plus, in a few weeks, I think we will be able to share some exciting news. For now, you'll have to accept the grey haze with knowledge the vivid hues of a stay-at-home, home school, GFA president, mother of four, and wife to a busy man will resume soon enough.
XOXO,
L

November 7, 2010 Orphan Sunday

2010-08-04T20:15:00.000-07:00

Why Love Orphans? from Christian Alliance for Orphans on Vimeo.

Mark you calendar for November 7, 2010. Ask your church how they will crusade for the fatherless this year. In the meantime, worship the ONE who is the Father to all of the fatherless. Rejoice that in Him there are no orphans.

Mezekir's Final Adoption

2010-07-30T20:44:00.000-07:00

I should have learned to expect the unexpected by now...I'm still learning. In all of the planning and anticipation of "the perfect day", the time arrives and it is not ever what we intended. Let me say, this is too true for our welcoming of Mez as a US citizen and legal member of our family. In an attempt to make memories, we invited all of our friends to join us for our re-adoption. Unfortunately, holding court on a Wednesday morning at 7:45 a.m. 2 1/2 hours away from our hometown makes it difficult for friends to join in on our celebration. A few friends and family blazed a trail to observe what they missed April 4th, 2010 in Addis Ababa. But let's rewind.

Tuesday morning, our phone rang early (well early for the summer time). A dear friend, who shall remain nameless unless she chooses to incriminate herself, was inquiring why she could not locate our family anywhere at the courthouse. Oops! I wasn't sure how to break the news that she arrived a day early and overzealous. She graciously accepted the news. And instead of calling it a total wash, she scoped out the scene and photographed herself in the courtroom. Too funny! Mez's life book will boast of this lone ranger waiting for dear Mez's re-adoption 24 hours later.

Now the same day, 15 minutes later, here at the home front, Hunter, our oldest son, and his friend woke and decided to begin the day with an early game of golf. As said friend and Hunter perfected their swings, said friend stepped behind Hunter and met the end of his club...full force. With his face filleted from eyebrow to mid-forehead and parents out of town, we threw the family into gear and trekked to the ER. Twelve stitches and many tears (on my part, not the friend's) later, we began our trip to Fort Worth 3 hours post-planned with our every nerve firing. We remained grateful our friend's eye was spared, there was no damage to the skull, and no further medical care is needed. Whew!

Regardless of our late departure, we committed to an evening of celebration. Our friends, who spent the month with us in Ethiopia, my sister's family, and my mom joined us for a cultural dinner at Addis Abeba in Richardson, TX. I must say, after three months back in the states, we felt more at home eating dinner than we have since we left Ethiopia. The kids toasted our chosen family and friends abroad. We drank and ate in their honor. Cheers Habasha! Then, we headed to Fort Worth.

Cheer to Betasub!

Wat and injera.

Dinner for Men.

Shortly after arriving at the hotel, it was clear Hunter was sick. He revered the porcelain god at the Sheraton until 4:00 a.m. Hunter opted out of the court appearance. My mom stayed with him. Stacy and family could not make court due to a flooring catastrophe. Our faithful friends accompanied us as far as the court house until I remembered all of our paperwork for the adoption remained in the hotel room. Ever so graciously, they raced back and collected the papers. They made it just in time to observed our adoption, act as our personal paparazzi, and cheer us on.

Adoption Hearing.

Our attorney.

Our judge oozed of kindness. He welcomed us to the bench, allowed our photographers to stand on the bench beside him to get the "best shots", came down, hugged and held Mez, appeared for many photo ops, and encouraged us in our journey. I cried when Judge Carrolton purposed, "Up to this point your obligation has been moral. From this moment on, your obligation to this child is legal, binding, and fully acknowledged by this nation. Mezekir is now entitled to the same rights as your natural children, just as though he were born of you." I felt the same flood of emotions as I did at the embassy in Addis. God is so good in many ways. I will never cease to wonder at his goodness and faithfulness in granting us our son. I will never move past the miracle of spiritual adoption and the tangible nature of its revelation as we walked out the adoption of our son. Need I say more?

Our Family, minus Hunter.

After court, we headed to the Gladney Center for Adoption. Our Ethiopia team welcomed Mez. It was their first time to see him. Two years after meeting us, our friends and caseworkers were able to hold Mez. Surely, they love seeing the full circle effect.

Ethiopia Team at Gladney (except Kristin)

At long last, Mezekir is officially a Knight. I think it was official in our hearts the moment we dreamt of him, but there is joy in the knowledge it's legally binding. Welcome home, Mez.

Almost There

2010-07-23T06:04:00.000-07:00

July 28th is right around the corner. At 7:45 a.m. in the Tarrant County Courthouse, we will readopt our son, Mezekir Knight. Our readoption of Mezekir not only makes him an American citizen but is also the final step in this adoption process. Any, who would like to attend, (and no, at 7:45 a.m. we don't expect too many takers) are welcome to meet us at 7:30 on the 5th floor. From there we will head for a celebratory brunch in Dallas, so let us know if you will join! I have to admit, a portion of my heart is sad Mez must relinquish his Ethiopian citizenship to become a member of the mighty US of A. But I'm ready to move forward and see what is in store next for the Knight Family of 6. Keep your eyes and ears tuned in for new news.

Ten Months and Ten Reasons I Love

2010-07-18T13:29:00.000-07:00

Mezekir, only 3 1/2 months ago, joined our family. Now ten months old, we celebrate another month of his life. The reasons for my love cannot be answered. The depths of my love cannot be measured. The ways I love you are too many. Here, we offer only a small tribute: ten reasons we love you more and more every moment of every breath of every day.

1. Your eyes are entrancing. Every time I look in them, I HAVE TO praise the mighty Creator.

2. You are content with the smallest bits of attention and affection...but you revel in the love your family loves to lavish on you. Thank you for accepting a love that seemed so foreign.

3. You taught us more than we may ever teach you. Many have said you are intended for great things. The Maker of heaven and earth has already used you for many great things in our lives.

4. You wiggle in delight each time you see your family. Arms flail. Legs thrash wildly. Full on delight. You love us because we first loved you, and this reminds us of the scriptural application of this truth.

5. You brought another level of purpose and solidarity to our family, your family.

6. You fit right in from the beginning. We would have been grateful to work through any of the hard, but you made this process a sheer joy. In this too, we take constant praise to the throne. Another way your life has already directed glory to the Lord.

7. Your cry is distinctly different than any other. You trill your tongue when you mad cry. This reminds me how different you are. Unique in your ways, you (just as intended) stand out. It gives me hope that you will not conform rather transform.

8. Your laugh is contagious. Though a man of few sounds, when you do laugh the world catches on and can't resist joining in.

9. Your plump lips are kissable, and you LOVE to kiss. From the moment you came home, you would grab our faces, pull us to you, try to consume our entire face as you rubbed your lips all over our faces. I love your reckless abandon in loving us.

10. You are mine. Ours. You are here. Finally. An answer to prayer after years of wait. Thank you, Jesus.

Happy ten month birthday, Mezekir!

You've Been Asking

2010-07-17T15:22:00.000-07:00

At the store today, another woman asked where Mezekir was from. She asked why we felt the need to go so far away to grow our family when there are so many children in need of families here in the States. Fair question. Just remembering a few of the reasons Ethiopia was the route we chose to grow our family:

Comparative Human Development Statistics* (where information for the United States is provided in parenthesis):
78% = Population not using an improved water source
16% = Under age 5 mortality rate
45% = Population < 15 years old (21%)
64.1% = Adult illiteracy rate (0%)
77.8% = Population living at less than $2/day
38% = Children under weight (2%)
$21 = per capita health expenditure ($6,096)
6% = births attended by skilled health personnel (99%)
3 = physicians per 100,000 (256)
2 = internet users/1,000 people (630)
$1,055 = GDP/capita using PPP ($41,890)

*Source: UN Human Development Report 2007/08

So if you were wondering, this should clarify just a FEW of the reasons Ethiopia was the right match for us.

Together for Adoption Conference...Don't Miss It!!!!

2010-07-13T05:38:00.000-07:00

Conference 2010

Together for Adoption Conference 2010 will be October 1-2, 2010, in Austin, Texas, hosted by The Austin Stone Community Church and Hill Country Bible Church (the conference venue), and in partnership with Hope for Orphans. Our conference theme is “The Gospel, the Church, and the Global Orphan Crisis.” Lord willing, the 2010 conference will be the largest and most helpful conference yet, with gospel-saturated general sessions, longer breakout sessions, and more time to network with other churches, organizations, and adoptive families. They've intentionally structuring the conference around the gospel and community (see conference schedule).

Check out the fantastic lineup of keynote speakers for the conference.

Dan Cruver – Topic: “A Lifelong Love: Keeping the Gospel at the Center of Orphan Ministry.”

Before co-founding and directing Together for Adoption, Dan was a college professor of Bible and Theology. He has also served as a pastor of family ministries. As one who has been adopted by God and has adopted two children, Dan founded Together for Adoption to equip churches and educate Christians theologically about orphan care and horizontal adoption. Dan regularly writes and speaks about the Gospel and its implications for earthly adoption and the care of orphans. He wrote the foreword to Heirs with Christ: The Puritans on Adoption by Dr. Joel Beeke and is a regular contributor to The Gospel Coalition Blog. Dan has been married to Melissa for 18 years, and together they have four children.

Bryan Loritts – Topic: “The Church as the Theater of Transracial Adoption.”

Bryan is the Lead Pastor of Fellowship Memphis- a multicultural church ministering to the evolving community of urban Memphis. Bryan has also served as an adjunct professor at Crichton College, and is on the board of trustees for Presbyterian Day School, and Memphis Leadership Foundation. In addition to serving the community of Memphis, Bryan’s ministry takes him across the country as he speaks to thousands annually at churches, conferences and retreats. He is also the author of the book God on Paper; as well as a contributing author for the book entitled Great Preaching. Bryan is a graduate of Philadelphia Biblical University, Talbot School of Theology and is currently working on his Doctorate of Philosophy from Oxford Graduate School. Bryan and his wife Korie have their three sons Quentin, Myles and Jaden. For more on Bryan and Fellowship Memphis, visit fellowshipmemphis.org.

Aaron Ivey – Worship Leader.

Aaron Ivey, a husband and adoptive father, believes that all worship is a response to a creative and compelling God. Serving as one of the worship pastors at The Austin Stone, Aaron now views touring ministry as an extension of what goes on within a vibrant, healthy local church. With a passion for living out God’s word, compassion for God’s children, and a deep, abiding love of God, Aaron and his bandmates are challenging a generation of believers to take their experiences in corporate worship out into the world, to marry song with service.

Darrin Patrick – Topic: “The Trinity as Model and Motive for Church-based Orphan Care.” Darrin’s talk will be via a brief video. We’re currently in the process of adding another keynote speaker.

Darrin serves as lead pastor of The Journey in Saint Louis, MO, which he founded in 2002. Darrin also serves as Vice President of the Acts 29 Church Planting Network and is a regular contributor at The Resurgence. His passion is to help the church understand and live the gospel in the world. Today, The Journey runs eight services across four campuses and continues to aggressively plant new campuses and churches in the Saint Louis region and beyond. He recently finished two books: Church Planter: the man, the message and the mission and A Church for the City with Matt Carter. Darrin is married to his high school sweetheart, Amie, and they have four beautiful children: Glory, Grace, Drew, and Delaney. Darrin enjoys vacations with his family, basketball, good food, good books, good movies, and weightlifting.

Carlos Whittaker – Host.

Carlos Whittaker is an artist, pastor, thinker, experience architect, and Web 2.0 junkie. Carlos was at Sandals Church in Riverside California where he served for 10 years as the Pastor of Worship and Creative Arts. Sandals Church is an authentic community of believers whose goal is to be real with themselves, others, and God. His passion for leading the church into a relational worship experience each and every Sunday was his hearts goal.

In August of 2007 Carlos and his family made the move from Southern California to Atlanta, GA. Carlos became the Director of Service Programming at Buckhead Church which is one of the three North Point Community Church campuses. He oversaw all the Sunday adult experience and design. He directly oversaw all areas Hosting, Production, Creative, Video, Music, and Programming at Buckhead Church. He also sat on the creative sermon planning team for Andy Stanley. Recently Carlos signed with Integrity Music to pursue a recording career and to continue to disturb and disrupt the church as a whole. Carlos and Heather Whittaker have 3 children. In November 2006, Carlos and his wife Heather adopted their son Losiah from Seoul Korea.

Matt Carter – Topic: “The Church as the Champion of Social Justice.”

Matt serves as lead pastor at The Austin Stone, which he planted in 2002. The first meeting of 30 people now encompasses 5000 worshippers on Sundays, making The Austin Stone one of the 100 fastest growing churches in America. Matt’s vision is to foster the churches passion for Christ, love for each other, and outreach to their communities – ultimately planting churches throughout America and the nations, supporting missionaries who are loving the peoples of the world and bringing them the hope of the gospel. In addition to pastoring at The Austin Stone, Matt is a cancer survivor, author and speaker for camps and conferences nationwide. Matt holds an MDiv from Southwestern Seminary and lives in Austin with his wife Jennifer and their children: John Daniel, Annie, and Samuel.

Dr. Karyn Purvis – Topic: “Counting the Cost: Preparing Churches for the Adoption Journey.”

Dr. Karyn Purvis is the Director of the Institute of Child Development at Texas Christian University (TCU) in Fort Worth, Texas. During the past decade, she and her colleagues at the Institute have invested their efforts towards developing biblical and researched-based interventions for at-risk children. Throughout her life, Karyn’s personal and professional calling has been to create a welcoming, loving environment for children who come from “hard places”. Karyn’s Empowered to Connect website contains much of her material.

Dave Gibbons -Topic: “The Church as the Answer to the Foster Care Challenge.”

Dave is the founding pastor of Newsong, a multi-site international third-culture church. He is an in-demand speaker, innovative strategist, and cultural specialist with global experience in the arts, business, church and community development. Dave is on the board of World Vision US. He’s also founder and chief visionary officer of Xealot, a strategic innovations groups, creatively connecting resources to leaders around the world. Dave is also Creative Catalyst and Founding Partner of The Awaken Group, a global leadership development consulting firm. Dave is the author of a new book called The Monkey and the Fish: Liquid Leadership for Third Culture Leaders. He’s also contributed to such books as Unchristian.

Go to the following link and register today. I'll see you there!

http://www.togetherforadoption.org

Dinner and Wine

2010-07-12T20:41:00.000-07:00

We visited with some friends recently, who had been asking for some time to hear about our experiences in Ethiopia and tell how and where we saw God at work. They didn't have to twist our arms too hard to get us to concede. After all a great dinner and a vintage bottle of wine seem to be the best place to unwrap the complexity of poverty and its effects on all who encounter it, dirty water, starvation, the presence of the Muslim faith and its impact, the western church's lack of visibility in the 3rd world, the American dream, orphans, invalids in Ethiopia, the beauty which co-exists in the midst of the above, and the giftedness of the locals. I was caught off guard by the pain I experienced reliving the assessment of the surplus and luxuries of my life in comparison to the lives of those languishing. And then those dreaded words that always get me in trouble: "I am crushed by the weight of knowing my living at 8515 Carli Cr., surrounded by the wanton pleasures of life, continuing to consume comes at a price to so many. My lifestyle, our lifestyles, mean many more starve, die of thirst and preventable diseases, millions of children go to sleep without knowing the love of a parent." Our host was gracious. She tried to console me. With a genuinely grieved heart over my pain, our host reminded us we couldn't live with joy (happiness) if our hearts were taken with guilt and constant thought of what we might sacrifice next and God just couldn't want this... Really? I think it's just where He wants me. Hurting. Grieving. Praying. Submitting. Broken but rejoicing all the same, begging Him to keep me devastated for those He loves who are wasting away, living a life that more closely matches His gospel. The conversation died off. I wasn't surprised. It was uncomfortable, not wasted.

Alas, our friend has a child who suffers from a terminal disease. When we were in the car riding home, the thought struck me how hard it would be for her to see people surrounding her who hold the key to healing her son, to remedying his disease; but as she encountered these people each one assessed the sacrifice involved in giving over the entity of healing. They look at what it would mean to choose to offer life to this child or continue on in the same place and choose death for her son. They look. They appraise. Ultimately they refuse. They "pocket" the remedy and carry on. After all, this belongs to them. They are not to feel guilty for enjoying what was theirs to begin with, right? They continue on with out thought. They world turns while he dies. But this IS what poverty looks like. I am not implying it can be remedied easily if at all...but that is no excuse not to intercede for many. How desperate I am to live what He desires. It's hard to live not belonging, not fitting, not relating. Ahhh, but I wouldn't trade it to return to the comfort of convenience and contentment in conformity.

We have a Surprise...

2010-07-10T13:59:00.000-07:00

Turn off the flashplayer at the bottom and enjoy the surprise!

Radical

2010-07-08T08:13:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, I read the book Radical by David Platt. God gave him a great view of the true gospel. Pick it up and read it. Allow God to use. Partner it with the Word. It may radically change your view of gospel style living. For those of you non-readers, I'm linking you to his podcast series. Take my radical dare to read or listen and remain the same:

RADICAL

If you're looking for a way to radically impact the world, consider partnering with great organizations like Hopechest. Check them out! Consider a way to radically live out the real gospel of Christ.

Do Something Now from Children's HopeChest on Vimeo.

TB doesn't stand for Too Boring (but with this post it should)

2010-07-06T18:11:00.000-07:00

Before we left Ethiopia, Belay asked us to remind our pediatrician that Mezekir received a BCG vaccine for TB. The significance of this vaccine is that a child will usually show a false positive on the TB skin test. Mez did have his skin test administered, and the results read at 12+. Because this was above the "norm" and indicates the presence of the TB virus, exposure to TB at some point, or was indicative of the BCG, the office suggested a T-Spot.T test to be preformed and a chest Xray. We are appreciative they advocate this as opposed to an immediate dosing of INH. Too many clinics suggest a child do a 6 month to 9 month regimen of meds to combat the "TB" that may or may not exist. Mez's chest Xray did not show any signs of active TB (we were not surprised). The T-spot test results will be out for 5-7 days. This process was not so dramatic until you factor in the 7 (yes 7) viles of blood to administer all of the other tests which our ped requested. This allows titering for immunizations (because this momma refuses to re-immunize if not necessary; yes, our ped called me Jenny McCarthy...please), STD panels (which I was assured were routine when living in an orphanage in a foreign country), and the TB test due to our BCG vaccine. Poor fella screamed like never before. Since we had already attempted a blood draw last Wednesday, I brought along Daddy for backup. I am glad! The nurses were, too. All that to say, today was not Mezekir's favorite day. We will be glad when this is over. After 93 days of working to attach and bond, we hope Mez is quick to forget today and remember the 92 prior.

Debunking Myths #2

2010-07-01T22:03:00.000-07:00

I find it interesting how many people ask about our story now that our son is in our arms. I usually accept this as an opportunity to share how the Lord worked mightily in our lives to bring us to where we are. Most often, this means I confuse the question as authentic interest as opposed to what it is: the ever pressing question, "How do you have a black son? Did you adopt? Where is he from?". And for the record, I don't mind those questions being simply stated. I would be curious, too. But what I find, when I answer the question they actually asked (what is your story), is a person who feels the need to defend why they have not adopted. It never fails to follow, "It's good God called you to that. We are called to care for the orphans and widows in a different way." I agree.

When I look at the Old Testament, I see a few directives surrounding orphans, widows, foreigners...who we refer to as "the least of these". Exodus 22:21-24 Tells us not to exploit or oppress the least of these. Deuteronomy gives much directive as to the care of the least of these. Interestingly enough, Deuteronomy 27:19 states, "Cursed is the man who withholds justice from the alien, the fatherless, or the widow." This leads me back to the above conversations.

What are you doing to care for the least of these. I will speak directly for myself prior to our pursuit of adoption: We sponsored a few orphans. We gave to CASA. We helped with ministries that host foreign students. Hey, don't forget IJM and the periodic, small donation to people traveling on mission trips to care for the least of these. But we did withhold justice. Justice is the concept of moral rightness based on ethics, rationality, law, natural law, religion, fairness, or equity, along with the punishment of the breach of said ethics. There is nothing "just" about the token, compulsory, unsacrificial contributions made by most Americans. When faced with this comment, I struggle not to question how exactly God has them caring for the least of these. I long to point out how many of us continue to drive around in our luxury SUVs, drink $3 lattes, go for ice cream at the local shoppe that costs more than a month of food in a languishing country, carry swimming, golfing, and tennis memberships, have boats or other recreational vehicles and closets full of shoes and clothing, attend private schools and yet refuse to live a life of sacrifice for the least of these. It seems to me, whether we are or are not called to adopt, we are all called to live in a "just" way that communicates the heart of the gospel...sacrifice.

Money is not the only justice we can offer. I have a friend, who cares for the least of these in a very unglorified and unnoticed manner. She doesn't have a cute baby on her hip. She didn't travel to a foreign land. Without proclamation, she gives up days of her week to go to the lonely, the abandoned, and the discarded. When praying how the Lord would use her, she was compelled to go to the nursing homes and love those who our society has forsaken. Nothing fancy...but sacrifice.

My heart desires to be bold when next faced with this statement (or tempted to make it) and lovingly ask, "Tell me your story. I want to know how God is using you to provide justice to the least of these?" After all, for the darling set of brown eyes below, there are 147 million others begging to feel the justice of the gospel walked out.

Debunking the Myths #1

2010-06-24T06:47:00.000-07:00

I've heard for the last time (without responding)"I'd adopt an orphan, but..." Last week, I heard one of the more common "buts", and I finally responded. So for those of you who are reading and use this phrase, this serves as my disclaimer and warning, you just might be challenged or offended. The occurrence:

Said person, we shall call "Kelly", bumps into us in line. "Oh, what a cute child. Is he yours? I mean where did you get him?" Innocent question. Information seeker. Our baby does look different than us. The question makes sense, so I assured Kelly he is my son and that I got him from the arms of a loving mother, who despite her best efforts and desire was unable to parent. "OHHHH!" She says, "I see. Was it one of those situations?"

"Don't know," I'm thinking, "I don't know what one of those situations would be." So I stand with an inquisitive look staring back at her waiting for her to elaborate.

"I mean, what's his story? Was it bad. I guess his mom and dad are dead or just didn't want him."

"Oh no, Kelly, we are his mom and dad. We do want him. In fact, we fought a 2 year, uphill battle to make our son part of our family. The woman, who happened to carry him in her womb, is alive. She was unable to parent. We don't openly share his story." I wanted to explain to her that's the equivalent of me showing your birth video on my blog...but no, that's not the sentiment I wanted to leave her.

"Well, we've always considered adoption. We would adopt, but I have a problem buying a baby. I mean how much did you spend when you got yours?"

Ever so kindly, I looked at Kelly and responded, "Interesting. I didn't realize OB/GYNS, clinics, labs, hospitals, and insurance agencies were comping the price of births. My insurance costs us $1500/month, my ultrasounds were $450 each, my birth was $8000, and my last son's NICU stay ran about $20,000. This doesn't include the price of an epidural or a cesarean if it is needed. Last time I checked, all of the women in America buy their babies in one way or another. We chose to buy ours through the gift of adoption; you chose to buy yours through a system of medical staffing, hospitals, and insurance. I'm sure in the end there is no difference."

Kelly moved away in line. I wasn't sad. Sorry, Kelly. My son came to me by the same kind of love that brought your children to you. Another woman may have carried him in her womb, but he was intended for my family by an omnipotent creator before the foundations of the earth. I believe Kelly needed a reason to take a step away from being different. She didn't want the disturbance that comes with going against the status quo. She doesn't want adoption to be a measure by which God stretches her faith. Kelly, a valid excuse would be, "I don't want another child."

If in you there is anything that desires to grow your family through adoption, don't let the cost hinder you. Email us. We will help walk you through some options and suggestions. Who wouldn't want this to be a part of their lives:

Nine Months

2010-06-18T17:30:00.000-07:00

Just a blip:
I remember with our first son being quite annoyed around the 6-9 month mark when he would scream each time I’d leave. Separation anxiety was better termed separation annoyance in our home. I hated the guaranteed bawling, yelping, and wailing that ensued at each departure. In fact, it curtailed much of unneeded socializing. Ahhhhh, but this side of parenting (be it maturing, fourth baby, or adoption) I relish any sign of being “Mommy”. This week, while at Kanakuk Family Kamp, we hit yet another milestone in the area of attachment and bonding. We are rejoicing that our little Meze is crying, screaming, and inconsolable when I take leave. Yes, Meze, our remembered one, we thank you for the gift of protest. So, keep it up. Shriek. Screech. Sob. We love that you ask for us with such definite fervor and desire. We love you. Happy 9 months.

An Ethiopian Princess

2010-06-09T07:19:00.000-07:00

In the adoption circuit, family friends are forged fast and fervidly. People, whose faces you've never seen, take up permanent residence in your heart. Our hearts are tied merely by the miracle of adoption. That miracle is connection enough. While in Ethiopia, we met a beautiful little girl, an Ethiopian princess of sorts. Maritu, as she is known in Ethiopia, boast sparkling, wide eyes and a wide smile, which never tires. Her family lives in NYC. Soon, she will be welcomed into a home with a mommy a daddy and a big sister; but before she can join the ranks, the funds to get her home must be in place. The Francis Family has worked through out their adoption to secure the funds for this expensive process. They are not too far off of their goal. Today, I'm advocating for them, in part, for Maritu, my favorite Ethiopian princess, to be able to come together as a forever family. You can log onto this site:

to donate to the Francis Family. Enjoy the beauty of this little one; she is a doll. Maritu, we are waiting to hear you are in the arms of your family, forever to belong.

Adoption Ornament

2010-06-07T06:17:00.000-07:00

Check out this exciting new Gladney Family Association fundraising project. The GFAs, who work to promote adoption and offer support to adoptive families, have partnered with Christopher Radko to produce the first-ever Radko holiday ornament with the
Gladney/Adoption logo. I am pleased to report that the East Texas Gladney Family Association is offering this beautiful Radko ornament to you and yours for $60. The Cozy Cottage will showcase the logo on the chimney. What a perfect gift for a family, who knows the beauty of adoption first hand...whether they adopted through Gladney or another organization. Orders will arrive at the end of September or beginning of October. Please, email me privately at lbknight@suddenlink.net for inquiries or orders. Check out the mock up of "The Cozy Cottage" below.

Mezekir Meets the Beach

2010-05-25T13:47:00.001-07:00

Sea Island is beautiful beyond belief. The homes are lovely, the landscaping gorgeous, the people are enjoyable, the beachcombing cannot be matched, and were I to order up weather, this is what I would request for a beach trip. We are enduring the rather milky, murky water and brown sand. Mezekir is not enduring anything. He loves all of it: the waves breaking on the sand where he is sitting, the sand, which he aptly puts in his mouth, the birds' noises as they fly overhead, the warm sun combined as it fights the breeze from the sea, and the pool, where we go to escape from the salt water. He is quickly acquiring a taste for American lifestyle and luxury. The Club environment lends itself to the feel of the 1950's or a movie set. Gentlemen walk around in sport coats and slacks; the ladies sport classic styles. Josh is not here, but he jokes it reminds him of Dirty Dancing. It reminds me that regardless of how luxurious and full of beauty and convenience the trips God allows us, my hole for Ethiopia, the simplicity, the kindness of my friends over the Atlantic, the fullness of a culture steeped in tradition cannot be filled except by His presence.

At Loss for Words

2010-05-03T06:35:00.000-07:00

There's a song by Mercy Me, which expresses my sentiments better than I am able. The opening line says, "Finding myself at a loss for words, and the funny thing is it's okay." I haven't blogged since our return because I can't even put to words my feelings, my station, my struggles, my pains, my joys, my distractions, or my heart. I am, in so many ways, at a loss for words. So I force myself to recount it all. My joys. Those are easy to recount. My family is together. My son is home. God had allowed our desires to come to fruition. His hand went before us in epic proportion, in way that paralleled the Israelites journey to the Promise Land from Egypt. But the rest is harder. It baffles me. My words don't suffice. I wonder; maybe I don't need to be heard now. Instead, I need to listen more closely to the Lord. I need the truths of His words to be alive in me.

In Ethiopia, it was simple. It was simple to be still and know Him and hear Him. The distractions were small. Looking around, it was easy to see Him and to know where He would lead and direct me at each step. It was simple to know He was present. Continually, He made himself known in ways I had never experienced before. Here; here is different. Here is busy. Here is full of things. Here the noise of life overtakes. Here I can't find my way to the quite, still before His throne. Here is absent of the simplicity I crave in such an extravagant way. Maybe it isn't different or difficult, but I can't find the same place of hearing Him, walking with Him, touching Him, and seeking Him. Here, I can't find the place where His majesty is revealed to me in such a tangible way. And still, I know, He is the same. He is here. He doesn't change. He is consistent. I know He is ever present. I know He desires for me to find myself in His midst. But for me, I'm changed. This place doesn't seem to fit any longer. And here, I feel lost. The loud of life, the busy of life keeps trying to creep in. And I don't want it. For once, I feel like I moved from living in a shadow of reality and met life like He intended for me, for my family, my friends head on with such fullness that leaving it sucks the breath out of life. SO if I'm quite, know it's not you. If I'm quite, it's me. I'm trying. I'm trying to be still and hear Him and rest in Him. I'm trying to find contentment and fullness in the place He has me, here. I'm trying to find the place where He and I commune without distraction.

Today, as I type, my baby, Meze, is lying in my lap. He is curled up like he's been here forever. He doesn't realize life changed. For him, I think it just started. He may not know America. He may not know our home. He may not understand all the new faces. But for him, one thing remained consistent. The love of family. Parents. Trusting the ones who provide for his needs and love him beyond measure. When I look at him, I am reminded, this is exactly what the Lord says to me...I am here. Abide in me... Trust me,.. the one who loves you and provides. I did not leave you. I am constant. I am what you need. Not Ethiopia. Not America. Not friendship. Just me. I am enough. I am your portion.

There is a melancholy, a bittersweet. But the funny thing is, it's okay.

In the meantime, enjoy some eye candy.

Motherhood

2010-04-24T06:29:00.000-07:00

I’ve always considered myself fairly resolved. As a teenager, I didn’t need much proof of friendships. I never consumed myself with thoughts of exclusion or inclusion. As an adult, I’m not compelled to question if I belong with or am included by those I know and love. However, parenting in general beckons my heart for proof of being enough, offering enough, loving enough, and meeting enough needs. I look for proof that my children see me as the parent I aspire to be. I am not proud of this. I am aware of it. And becoming a parent through the miracle of adoption leaves me looking for “proof” once again. Yesterday, God allowed me one of these glimpses.
For each set of traveling families, Gladney hosts a tour of the Gladney foster homes and a coffee ceremony. At the coffee ceremonies, the adopted children’s “special mother” (from their time in Gladney’s care) has special time with the child alone. They say goodbye. They dress the child. They mourn. A chapter of love, friendship, and parenting comes to an end. They share their last kisses and hugs, their last words of promise, their last memory. Many of the caregivers were orphans themselves. They relate with our adoptive children in a special way. The special mothers treasure this time. Tigist is Mezekir’s special mother. She loves Mezekir. And the story goes, during Meze’s time at Gladney, he loved and preferred Tigist to all others. On Wednesday, we attended the coffee ceremony. Tigist peered out the front gate as we approached the Gladney home in the van. She could barely contain herself. The evidence of her joy prevailed. She could not wait for us to disembark the van before taking Mezekir in her arms. And then, as quickly and magically as Mezekir was placed into our arms 2 and ½ weeks ago, he was swept away. Tigist’s time with him marked the beginning of the end for them. Mezekir appeared unaffected. He smiled at me as they walked away. I felt a lump in my throat. It began to grow. I was not sure why.
We toured the foster homes. Tigist and Mezekir stayed together. An hour later, we returned. From outside Gladney home #1, I could hear a familiar cry. Mezekir wailed loudly. He was unhappy. I hurried through the front door of the red brick house in the Ayat neighborhood, and Tigist saw me there. She held Mezekir tightly, but it was clear she knew things had changed. She looked to me, sadly, but certainly, and handed Mezekir to me. Mezekir’s cry had been inconsolable. His tear-stained face and red hue proved his cries were a long time in the making. Then, a surprise, a moment, the moment I had dreamt of happened. Mezekir looked at me, his cries quieted; he buried his face in my shoulder. His wailing softened to a whimper and then ceased all together. Tentatively, Tigist said in broken English (and a mix of Amharic), “I’m not mamma anymore. You are his mamma now. He loves you. Go to America and be happy.” The sweet but sad moment was the proof in the pudding; he did know me. He wanted me. He loved me. And, if even for only a moment, he knew I was his mom, and he longed to be with me. I’ve known for so long he was my son. And God granted a glimpse of Meze’s heart melding into mine.
Thursday, we attended Embassy. We expected an uneventful but long experience. I determined ahead of time, it would not be an emotional experience. But truth be told, all of the emotions of knowing Mezekir’s story, remembering his relinquishment, speaking about his birth mother and her story, remembering the time waiting for him, recounting each profitable and failed step in our adoption journey, praying for him and his country and his birth family, knowing soon we would depart this place and people, which we have grown to love, and looking toward the future together culminated when we approached the window for our embassy appointment. The man performing the interview was surely caught off-guard by my tears and smiles. His gentle voice did not lighten the blow as he asked about Mezekir’s background and his birth mom. My answers were brief. I provided what he needed. Inside, though, I remembered each detail of the pain and heartbreak surrounding his life before entering our family. After answering his questions, he looked at us and matter-of-factly reported, “Congratulations. You are free to take your son home with you to America.” Tears flooded and my smile beamed as I cried and thanked him. Even though he does this everyday and is accustomed to the miracle of adoption as it plays out in front of him, for me this experience cannot be replicated. I cannot imagine this journey without tangibly feeling and visibly seeing God at work in every step along the way. He has answered our prayers in the moments of our trials. His name proves to be our strong and mighty tower. He answered our hearts deepest dreams and desires. Each time we call on Him, He faithfully responds. We rejoice today more than ever as we recount our steps in this journey, His journey. He led us across continents, over oceans, to a situation of need and desperation, which evolved into hope and joy. Ethiopia, we love you! Thank you for the gift of a son, of friendships, and of unmatched kindness and love.

Friendship and Love

2010-04-17T05:36:00.000-07:00

Driving through Ethiopia, in the country or in the city, I've seen many profound things. One I never tire of seeing is the love people share openly. This love is not contorted and misused in a sexual manner. Rather, the people here seem to understand and embrace friendship and love in a very tangible manner. I think in situations where possession and money are lacking, far greater gifts abound...like friendship and love.

Looking out of my car window and walking down the street, I observe women walking hand in hand. I see men walking in full embrace. Arms wrap around shoulders. Hands interweave with hands. Bodies rub shoulder to shoulder. When greeting one another, we exchange kisses on the cheek, hugs, and the occasional shoulder bumping. One never departs without reminding each other of the gift they are and their appreciation for the time together. People do not concern themselves with the "appearance" of friendships or the love they share. Instead, there is full on embrace of one another and willingness to vocalize and exhibit the love shared. And people ALWAYS find time for one another. Conversely, it is not common to see boyfriends and girlfriends or husbands and wives openly displaying affection.

Yesterday, we drove to the country side. A continuous flow of people lined the streets. At every turn, friends embraced. Children with only the shirt covering them, no shoes, and no personal effects played together and hugged one another. We would stop to give away small packs of food or candy or water bottles. In the states, I would imagine those in need would hoard what little they were given. Here, the friends immediately beckoned their other friends to share their limited resources. I saw one boy caring his friend on his back when he tired of walking. And in turn, when that friend tired, they would change positions. I saw a small girl and her friend sharing the weight of the water they needed to transport to their homes. When they would stop for a rest, their hands immediately interlaced. A group of men loaded their infirmed friend on a portable mat and carried him from their village to the closest hospital. Many of them traveled together. Those whose hands were not occupied with the weight of their friend walked in full embrace. They waited to exchange positions and share the burden of care. I am touched and encouraged to display my love for others in a similar manner.

God has supplied friends for me in Ethiopia that have permanently touched my heart. Solomon, our driver, our friend, our brother, daily lays down his own desires for ours. He goes above and beyond all measure to communicate to us his commitment and friendship. Preston calls him Agot Soli, Uncle Soli. The name is fitting. He shows up with surprises, he delivers groceries without being asked, he takes the children to the toilet, he carries bags, he helps with bath time (only Preston), he asks about my heart while Josh is gone, he carries the babies, he plays games, he kisses the kids, he hugs, he goes without lunch and dinner without complaint in order to do whatever needs to be done. As we drove last night, I told Solomon I praise God for interweaving our lives. I asked him if he knew our hearts would have a hole when we were apart from him. He quietly teared up. He said, "We not friends. We are family...(bateseb)." I cannot begin to explain how his quiet, simple nature and his humility are a clear picture of his love for Jesus. Although our lives are literally a world apart, our hearts are knit tightly together. Marta, Genet, Aster, and Blein mirror the same kindness and sacrifice as Solomon. These women look after us daily. They never complain about the extra work our presence brings. They fellowship with us. They love our children. They are a gift. This reminds me of the deep gift of friendship in America, which awaits our return. Leaving will be brutal. Returning to the love and friendship waiting in the US will be bliss. WE MISS YOU.