Stories || Friday Magnify

“Oh, magnify the Lord with me,
and let us exalt His name together!”
Psalm 34:3

I sat in my comfy chair early one morning, sipping coffee and reading through Judges while waiting or the sun to come up. Outside was dreary, yet I felt the day had so much potential. One kiddo was awake, rolling around in his bed. The baby started stretching and cooing in his crib, and the other two kiddos were still fast asleep. Soon the quiet would become loud with laughter and pattering of feet.

I took a break from writing, for about a year - the days were simply too full. Too tiring, too emotional (and misplaced emotions - or, unchecked emotions - don’t make for good blog posts). I focused on homeschooling and therapy, healing from losing a little human and growing another precious one. Constantly learning all that I could to stay ahead of each child and make sure his needs were being met. It is a marathon, this role of parenting.

Some days, like this one, I wake up and realize that wow! Here we are. All the plodding has amounted to something. I also realize that there are foot- and handprints to clean on the hallway wall, close to the ceiling, from boys who were not interested in bedtime. I realize that I have a pyrotechnic who just proved he can use a lighter well. I realize that at any given moment my sink may not give me water when I need it, because one son enjoys randomly shutting the valves off. I realize that therapy may turn into a dance party and everyone will come unhinged, even the baby.

And I realize that all of these moments come together to make up a pretty good life. God writes the best stories, doesn’t He?

The Gift of Time || Friday Magnify

“Oh, magnify the Lord with me,
and let us exalt his name together!”
Psalm 34:3

The pot full of dill caught my eye, and I plucked a stem and spun the flower between my fingers. I hadn’t planted it myself; my six-year-old son had dumped way too many seeds in a starter pot, months ago, and per usual they all sprouted. I laughed, thinking of his natural green thumb. Even the morning glories he had placed along the fence were forcefully pushing their way through the weeds I’ve been neglecting.

As I watch my children grow, it amazes me to see that everything they are has been there since the beginning. One boy studying nature, and trying to defy gravity every chance he gets. One who is forever building, with all the things, and asking all the questions. And though we will always be learning about each child, the interests of our younger two are still emerging. One tells me about animals as he’s gaining words in his vocabulary. The baby (yes, there are four kiddos now!) goes with the flow and grins and speaks his mind when needed.

Each stage with each child is new and exciting. Each child is similar to those dill seeds, formed with all their potential right from the beginning. Time is a beautiful thing, a gift to watch each flower bloom.

The End Better Than The Beginning

There’s a sobering weight that settles over a parent driving away from the hospital with their first child. Am I even mature enough for this? Who is allowing this child to come home with me?! I don’t know how to raise a child!

It seems like yesterday that we buckled in a little boy we didn’t know and drove away from the cradle care home. Suddenly the burden had shifted: the generous, exhausted caregivers had given him their final hugs and kisses and welcomed the reprieve, while we assumed the weight of it all.

I looked back from the passenger seat to smile at our older boys, scared that we were about to ruin them. I glanced over at this foreign, flapping, huge diaper-wearing three-year-old and tried to catch the eyes that didn’t want to connect. Lord, maybe this is too much. Are You sure? We could turn around…

We drove for hours and arrived at our rental house. After a whirlwind of a couple weeks we now had to slow painfully down. The days ahead were empty, left for us to fill with who-knew-what while we waited for paperwork to be signed and the green light to leave the state. We got things put away and explored the backyard, hopeful that the physical activity would help everyone sleep well that night.

The next handful of nights were nightmares. It started with brushing teeth and would end sometime in the early hours of the morning. Cup after cup of strawberry milk was made, diaper after diaper changed. Back rubs, relaxing lotion, the fan and sound machine on – we had no clue how to decode the screaming and crying and thrashing. Nothing seemed to diffuse the intense emotions this little boy felt, and he had no other way to tell us what he was thinking.

Those two weeks were full of challenges and beauty: trips to the store that ended with screaming; comments from strangers that brought tears, because you can’t possibly explain your situation in 15 seconds; bright sunsets with horses in the foreground; giggles from three little boys and joy in their faces as they jumped around with baby goats.

Up until then, life was fairly easily curated. Planned. Predictable. Learning curves came in stages, with end dates somewhere on the horizon. But this little boy who’s world had been rocked came in and shattered much of what I knew with breakneck pace. All of a sudden, life was messy and I couldn’t do anything about it. Things I never anticipated began happening left and right. He’d wander down the driveway, fall over constantly, make one guttural “ooh” sound all. day. long. There were a lot of little, probably petty things – like ripping books and smearing poop on the windowsill. But it all broke me. What hurt most was the reality that many adoptive mothers experience – pouring yourself out for a child who desperately needs your love and stability but cannot process it, and will push it – you – all away. The poop on the windowsill would’ve been easier to handle with a smile if this little one could have told me what he needed. The ripped books could’ve been tossed with less heartache if I knew he understood boundaries and the concept of possessions.

There were a few days, and many nights, I spent in tears genuinely questioning our decision. If we had said no, God would have brought someone else to take him. Right? God would still have cared for him. We could have waited, maybe taken an infant or at least a child with fewer needs and hangups.

And here we are, officially one year later.

We could’ve said no; we could’ve asked God to send another family. But we would’ve missed all that He wanted to do.

The stretches of good nights, the daily walks that did us all good physically and mentally. The day Kash looked me in the eyes while he was flapping, indicating that he wanted to let me into his world. The countless conversations with our sweet Levi and Caleb, answering their many questions and being humbled by their love for their new brother. The sheer joy as all the boys wrestle together and giggle, as they run outside and balance on the obstacle courses they’ve made themselves. The day Kash came padding into the kitchen to see what I was doing, interested in something other than himself and the object he held. The day he tried to crack an egg into a pan. The fact that I can now read him like a book, without many words. The day, a couple weeks ago, he looked at me and called me Mama when I got him up for breakfast.

We don’t know where Kash would be if God hadn’t placed him here. But we do know that God plucked him out of a life of pain and struggle, drugs and instability, and gave him a fresh start. We have watched his body heal, and we know he feels the difference. We have seen Kash emerge, leaving his autistic behaviors and traits behind. Oh, how much we all have learned!

“Every good and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning.”
James 1:17

Early on we received a frame from an adoption organization with this verse scripted inside, and I hesitantly found a place for it. I knew Kash was a gift but truthfully, it was hard to accept that as fact. Are gifts supposed to weigh you down and make you lose your mind?! Turns out, sometimes the answer is yes. Sometimes the story God is writing makes no sense and your job is to be a good character anyway. I’ve learned to laugh more, relax more, take each day as it comes knowing that the Lord will provide for my every need (and those of my children!). God gives us gifts as He sees fit, whether we recognize them as gifts or not. Kash certainly is a gift to each of us from Him. He is now naturally part of our family and we couldn’t imagine not having him here!

Who knows what the next year will hold. Without a doubt there will be more sanctification, and Lord-willing we will come out even more refined and joyful. We genuinely look forward to the things to come because we know that God works all things for our good and His glory – we have seen this proven time and time again. He is good. One year down, many more to go!

“The end of a thing is better than its beginning; the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit.”
Ecclesiastes 7:8

Catching Up || Friday Magnify

“Oh, magnify the Lord with me,
and let us exalt his name together!”
Psalm 34:3

I stood in the kitchen prepping for dinner with friends, mixer whirling and veggies waiting to be chopped. In came little feet, padding over to the mixer. Kash stood close to it and stopped, staring hesitantly. A couple months ago he began to be wary of it, a fear that came out of nowhere. Even now he can’t stand it, but his curiosity got the best of him. I picked him up and showed him how to turn it on and off, and he adjusted the switch while whimpering and hiding his face in my hair. After a couple minutes, I set him back down and off he ran to the living room.

Another day not long ago, he started making his fearful whimper at the dark in his room, and the dark outside at night. He hasn’t ever seemed to care about the dark until now, which I found puzzling but thanked God that it meant better sleep!

These little things have been huge things for our boy. They are signs to us that his brain is developing and catching up. They are developmental markers that he should have hit years ago but didn’t. We have learned that his left brain is very developed, while his right brain has been very underdeveloped. The discrepancy has had him walking into walls, not talking, spinning but never dizzy, missing all facial and body cues, obsessing over the same toys for months…the list goes on and on. But as time has passed, he has improved in all of these areas. His brain isn’t broken, it is unbalanced and needs help evening out.

This week I am especially thankful for the progress we have seen and the things we have learned. It brings me to tears when I step back and think about it. Just the other day, he asked me to spin him around for the umpteenth time - but this time, I set him down and he was clearly dizzy. He wasn’t sure what to do with it! I don’t know all the scientific terms behind it, but I know that the dizziness means his ears and brain are on their way to functioning properly. Praise God!

Kash’s progress has been a family effort. Our older boys get onto his level and pull him out of his little world; they take him along in their adventures and he loves being a part of their shenanigans. Josh and I are so proud of them and grateful for the compassion they have learned. They ask questions and try to understand as much as they can, and they jump right in with Kash’s exercises and “school” work. All of us work hard and gosh, what a gift it is to see the fruit of our labors. God is so good!