Missionary Mama: Raw and Ugly

Have you ever felt like God was calling you to the mission field? Has that notion dominated your thoughts and prayers for a long enough time that you're beginning to believe it's not just an emotional, knee-jerk response to a cool video, a David Platt book or a compelling speaker you were exposed to?

Well, I know where you are if that's you. I know how it feels. I've been there. And now I'm "here" and I want to get agonizingly REAL today about some things you might face if you take that leap. Maybe I'm tying to scare you away a little.  Maybe I'm trying to help you vet yourself before the field chews you up and spits you out.   Maybe I'm just looking for an opportunity for some catharsis and this seems as good a platform as any.   Jury's out . . .

When I said to the Lord "use me" or "take my life", I'm beginning to think that what I really meant was "don't touch my children" and "you can bring me anywhere you want as long as I retain enough comforts to feel safe and connected to my old life".  But "take my life and use it for your glory" was what I THOUGHT I meant.

And God, in His infinite wisdom and unwillingness to play by MY rules, did everything I didn't want Him to do.

And every day is a seemingly endless battle to take my eyes off myself, my circumstances and my own pain and put them on HIM.  Every day.  All the time. Even when I sleep, which is not much anymore.

The root of some of the most tragic pain on the mission field stems from the environment I'm in.

WHERE He has placed me has the makings of struggle.  

We are in a very remote village of indigenous people high up in the mountains of a province. It is breathtakingly beautiful here. It is also menacingly isolated.
We have no wifi (gasp, faint, seize!).   We have a little personal "hotspot" type deal that has to be loaded and runs out unexpectedly.  If we skype, watch videos or download anything, it is akin to revving our engines and watching the gas meter drop before our eyes. And you may think "whaaa, First Word problem number 23, 455"  but, people, that wifi is what connects me to my kids, my family back in 'Murica and the friends I left behind and our supporters. When it has to be policed and monitored and makes a dent in the budget,  I hesitate to use it.

When I hesitate to use it, it's lonely for me.  But yet, I'm never alone here.  Never.


The language barrier is another tricky aspect of being here. I am starting to pick up the language here pretty well after four years. I understand a good bit of what is being said. The daunting part is answering.  Tagalog is a language that is so much easier to understand than to speak. One verb can be conjugated 80 ways!  The precious kids in my center understand my fumbling, silly, Taglish and I'm not afraid to try new words on them. But when it comes to adult conversation - my pride just won't let me try too much.    I have Rosetta Stone. I need to make the time to use it.  The language barrier contributes to the isolation factor. A lot. The notion that people speak English in The Philippines isn't exactly accurate. Many do. But the kind of conversation my heart longs for just isn't.  I want slang and deep words and culturally saturated talk. I need my BFF for that.  And I'm pretty sure she has moved on. I would expect that.

The distance from my two biological kids is crushing.  The fact that we moved to The Philippines with six kids and are down to TWO under our roof is panic inducing! Yes, it's normal that kids grow up, they start their lives, they find their own paths - blah, blah, blah - but my kid have been, for a long time, some of my closest friends. And I feel the distance tangibly. The corners of their lives where I am not allowed are screaming at me through our skypes.  They have pain and they don't want us to worry. They have expenses but they don't want to ask their missionary parents to chip in. They have physical complaints but know our insurance isn't good enough and so, they don't mention things until they are GLARING and we want to hop on a plane and "fix it".

The fact that I'm the leader is another double-edged sword. I run a shelter for street boys. I handle the staffing, the schedule, training in behavior management of the kids, leading of staff devotions, meetings with adoption officials and social welfare officials, traipsing around in the hot, dirty streets to meet suffering kids (the BONUS of the work, right there. The TIP TOP IN love job) , the donor contact, the newsletter writing, the child sponsorship updates . You get the idea. And the reason I don't sleep. And, sheesh, I sound like martyr right here. Like I'm a contortionist who has figured out how to pat herself on the back.  NO! That's not why I unrolled the list. Not even close. I say that because, the pressure NOT to crack, flip out, turn over a table and run from the center screaming profanities is often looming.  If the leader falls, the whole house of cards tumbles down around us.  I've seen it in churches and secular business. When those in leadership can't get their schtuff together. Everything crumbles. Fact!

My own family who is here serving alongside me. The enemy does a bang-up job of opening that Pandora's box of Mama Guilt and there's no shortage of reminders from flesh and blood people that I have my own kids to "worry about".  Do they not think I know this? It's a teeter-totter of balance to have an abused, neglected, slow-to-trust child coming toward you at the same time your well-loved, cherished, adored OWN child is coming toward you. Who to reach out to first is not the obvious "your own" or "who needs you most".  It's a minefield in the heart and mind of a mother who already feels like she's not enough for either of them.

The perception of the people around us is difficult to swallow. We are a bank to some (ha! The Irony . . . ) , a novelty to others, a status lifter for some as the idea that you have foreign friends elevates you in the culture.
What I'm not is "just me".
There's a city nearby that is filled with missionaries. They often place their kids in the same school and attend one of two or three churches. They have a missionary community. I came here vehemently NOT wanting to join that community. Maybe it didn't seem "radical" enough for me if I lived here and had a bunch of white friends and put my kids in private school. To tell you the truth, it looks pretty appealing to me about now.  I envy those missionary Mamas who have friends right in their neighborhood with no agenda except to be friends.

The perception of the people back home  is always in the back of my mind. Have I become one of those weird, cultureless missionaries to them? The ones with the sensible shoes and the funky accent who prefer long skirts and asks them for money in round about, back door ways?  Do they feel funny telling me about their vacation or showing me their dog's new dress because, well . . .the starving street kids and all?    Do they pour their $6 coffee into a Kangaroo cup because they feel wasteful and unspiritual drinking that caramel machiatto in the presence of a missionary?  Sometimes I feel that. Often it's in my head I'm sure.  Not even a reality.
Do they feel sorry for me because instead of being a home-owning, miata-driving Mama who spends time filling up my cart at Target and Aldi, I've morphed into a chick who borrows her kids cars and sleeps in the guest room at her parents house?  Not sure if that sounds pitiful or spiritual right there. It is what it is.

And trust me, mission-minded friends. I could head right back up to the top of this blog post and spiritualize EVERYTHING I've shared as a struggle. I KNOW all the verses about "losing your life to save it" and "counting everything as loss" and "not looking back after picking up the plowshare" and "taking up your cross and following Him".   I know them by heart. They are ABJECT TRUTH.

They never change. HE never changed.


I have changed.  This is not a cry for help. I do not believe I am burning out. I love, adore and breathe the work that we do here.  Part of my lack of sleep is my excitement to get started each day. Promise.

But for those of you feeling THE CALL, I want to crack open the back door and let you peek into the messy part of the house.   I want to be raw and real with you about the painful side of serving God in a place that isn't your first country doing work that sweeps you up like a tidal wave.

And  I also want to encourage you to CLING to the relationships you have before you go. Cultivate them.  Take the time. Hone them. Cherish them.  Because the ones you skip out on in favor of some lesser "task" are likely to be the ones you crave when you get neck-deep in your new life.

Trust me on that.  Please.


And top-of-the-heap advice to my"called but not yet moved" friends: keep your walk with the Lord as first place. Every day. Even when you don't feel like it or your facebook has 27 notifications or your kid wants "cuddle time" during what was intended to be your "quiet time" with your Maker.

There is NO SUBSTITUTE for a deep, abiding walk with Jesus. No touchy-feely song and no sitting by a stream.  NOTHING sustains the heart, calms the mind, renews the vision and banishes the arrows of the enemy like time in prayer and meditating on God's word.

Trust me on that, too.

And so, now you know.  You still coming? I'll bet you are. Because His voice rises above the noise and you know it.

When The Door Closes

The child in the photo above is barely six years old.  I did not know him then. He was a neglected child who lived in a cemetery with his drug-addicted parents.  His father was eventually put in jail and his mother did unthinkable things to survive.

And then, a shelter opened in his town. This shelter catered to street children, shared Jesus with the kids, fed them, loved them and helped them to have a life very different from their lives on the street.

 Then something happened.

The shelter had to close. 

We have no idea why this vital, one-of-a-kind place in a town where there are many street children and few resources for them had to  close but it closed.  And that precious little five year old who was just turning six found himself back in the cemetery. With a mother who could not mother him.

He was on his own.

For three years, from six until nine years old, this little boy was abused on the streets. He was taught a skill that brought much money but robbed him of his human dignity and his identity as a little boy.   

He was broken again and again. 

And in order to separate himself from what he was engaged in, and to assuage the pain of the life he was living, he turned to solvent and marijuana and other vices. 

By the time we met him, he was nine years old.  Those pretty white baby teeth were replaced by decayed adult teeth.  Those sparkly child eyes were hollow as he sat in the local government office waiting to be brought into our shelter.  When we walked toward the bench where he was sitting, we observed that he was too high to hold his head up straight.  His eyes would not focus or fully open.

Our pre-admission counseling was going to be completely useless at this point, we realized. This child could hardly gather his thoughts to simply answer the questions "what is your name?" or "how old are you?".  

And against our general policy, where we have to see WILLINGNESS on the part of a street child to be admitted, we admitted him. The government social workers pleaded with us. This child was in terrible condition and they wanted very much to see him helped. They knew him and cared about his life. They tried many times to find a shelter willing to take this boy and came up empty. 

ADMISSION DAY

On admission day, this child said very little.  Even as the drugs wore off and he began to process what was happening, he was resigned.

He came to us without shoes, in filthy clothes wearing shorts that were split up the middle.  So our social worker and her husband took him, first to their own home for a shower and when our social worker's sister-in-law saw this child, her heart was so touched that she gave him the flip flops right off her own feet. A nice pair. 

This young man was then taken to a nearby shop to buy shorts and a t-shirt. When a slice of pizza was ordered for him and he sat at the table with Mercy House staff, he began to cry.   Our social worker was worried that he was feeling anxiety about coming into shelter but when she asked him what was wrong, all he could muster was "I'm just happy". 

This child has a unique and hard story. It is harder than that of most of the children we serve. It is scary in some ways to admit a child with this kind of background. It has stretched us and required specialized training for our staff and extra vigilance.  And he is worth it. All of that and more.  This child's life has driven us to the feet of God in prayer and made the phrase "give me wisdom" my own opening and closing sentence.

But it has also energized us and renewed our commitment to street boys,  The three years between the closing of the former shelter and the admission to ours were devastating for this boy.  If we did not trust in the power of the God of Universe to redeem lives, we would say this child's prognosis is grim and his future dark. 

But we DO trust. And we know that amid a broken and depraved world where adults use children and people often do what appeals to the blackest places in them, a light shines.

John 1:4 says "In HIM (Jesus)  was life and that life was the light of man"

It is with eager expectation we wait to see what plans the Lord has for us in the life of this child. He is prayed for, he is receiving counseling, he is fed and clothed and is learning to read for the first time ever.  He goes to a school program that is catered to his situation. 

And, just as with every blog post or newsletter, we share all of this as a segue to one massive prayer request.

Please pray that we are NEVER that shelter that has to close down.  It can happen. We have seen it. It happens for any number of reasons. We pray it doesn't ever happen to us.  We know it could. That is just the reality of this type of ministry. 

Please pray with us that we can see this child, and all of our children, through to the culmination of God's great plan for their lives.

Is it adoption? Family reunification? Independent living with us until they are self-sustaining adults?

Only the Lord knows those answers. 

Please pray that we are found faithful.

Let there never be another "three years of damage" while a child waits for another shelter to come along. Let us be there, Lord, to catch them when they fall. 

Thank you to our prayer warriors and supporters. This is what YOU do. Thank you for caring

about "the least of these".  Matthew 25:40

 -Mercy House

www.mercyhouseph.org

The Harvest

"Then Jesus said to His disciples 'The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few', therefore pray earnestly that the Lord of the Harvest will send out laborers into the harvest".

Matthew 9:37-38

It was only two days ago that my social worker and I walked upon this scene. Eight or nine boys between the ages of nine and fourteen, asleep on an overpass with traffic whizzing by below them. 

It was 10am. The boys were sleeping so soundly, thanks to a night of using solvent, that they didn't hear our voices around them. Or the traffic. Or anything.  

We began to shake them gently and say "gising na, kuya" (loosely: "wake up, guys") to each of them.

Some awoke with startled eyes as they saw me, a foreigner, standing there. Others fixed their gazes on the city social worker, whom they had met many times in the past and were leery of.  Several looked at my own social worker as she assured them that nobody was here to hurt them or take them anywhere they don't want to go. 

All of the boys sat up eventually, and huddled close together.

One younger child tried to get up and run and a male worker from the city who was accompanying us grabbed him as the child flailed around in terror. 

I asked the man to please let the child go.  I was afraid he would jump from the bridge into traffic. 

He released his hold and the child ran as fast as he could AWAY from the place he had been soundly sleeping just moments before. 

And my eyes were drawn, as they always are. To the feet of the children sitting before me.

A true street child can always be identified by his feet. There is a level of "dirty" that a child who has a place to go home to every night just can not achieve. I knew these boys were not ones who went home often, if ever.  I knew they were the ones we were sent to serve.  

These young men listened intently as my social worker explained to them that we were invited to come to meet them by the city social welfare office. We told them that the staff there was worried about them growing up on the street and wanted to help them find a new way of life and a safe place to be.  The boys were clearly skeptical at first. We told them we have a shelter where they could eat three times a day, go to school and church, have clean clothes and stop taking care of themselves and worrying about being hurt. One of the young boys said "I'll go" before we even finished our introduction.  His name is Rico and he was overtly ready to get off the street. 

Just a week before this visit, we admitted a friend of these boys. His name is Dreamboy (yes, given name) and he was exactly where they were, just one week prior to this encounter.

This is Dreamboy on admission day.  This is how the boys on the overpass know him. He came with us to visit his friends. 

The boys were clearly impressed with the outward changes in their friend. His cleanliness, his "real" shoes - the obvious improvements that came from just getting off the street.

Dreamboy was treated to a wonderful brunch by the city social workers on our return visit. They, too, were so relieved and impressed with the "new him". 

But what is harder to convey, are the changes that are happening inside a child when he goes from street to shelter. His confidence, the way he reverts back to being a young child again, the way he seeks affection from adults almost instantaneously.  And for these boys on the overpass to understand any of that, they would need to trust us enough to come and see for themselves.

And FIVE of them did!

Five boys from the overpass piled into our Mercy House truck and came with us for lunch and counseling.  Some were clearly hesitant while others were plainly giddy.  

As we finished our counseling and prepared to organize the paperwork with the city, the city social worker came to our van with some bad news.  One of the boys would not be able to come to Mercy House.  He was an older boy, 14 years old, and he was from a neighboring city. The social worker who was helping us had not been able to notify the city of origin that the child would be moved. Without their acknowledgment,  we could not move the child.  We had to wait.  

The disappointment on the child's face was crushing as she told him he had to get out of our truck and stay in the street a little longer while permission was obtained. We were devastated. But not as much as he was. 

In solidarity, two of the other older boys decided to stay with him and "look out for him". So they, too, left our truck, with solemn faces,  and we were left with two boys. 

We tried everything we could think of to bypass the city of origin, to plead with their secretary to help us and to get the helpful city social worker to be the one to authorize the admission. But in the end, because child trafficking is so rampant here, we had to wait. 

And so the two boys in the picture above, Rico and Kaking, were the two who came with us and became the newest members of our Mercy House family, just two days ago. 

These two twelve-year-old children have lived on the street for years. They have engaged in crime and substance abuse, like most of the children we serve.  But upon admission to Mercy House, all they wanted to do was color in coloring books and play with Legos!

Seeing redemptive work right before your eyes NEVER loses it's appeal. It is hard and draining work. The children are extremely hyperactive. They have terrible manners. They don't know how to "be" inside of a home with functioning family member.

But they are HERE. They are not sleeping one more night in a dirty overpass that smells like a  gas station bathroom.  They aren't begging for one more bite of food from anyone.  

They are here. 

And just yesterday, friends from Children's Garden, a shelter for older street boys, returned to the overpass and admitted three more of the friends we met there. In just two days, FIVE children were rescued from the street and given the chance of a lifetime - a LIFE beyond the struggles of the street.

Please pray for us as we serve these children and make plans to return to their city to meet others.

Please pray for God to send us TWO new caregivers who understand what a street child needs.

Please pray for Him to send us more "laborers".

Because this HARVEST is way too plentiful.  How we wish it wasn't. 

And the workers are SO SO FEW. 

Thank you for reading and praying and caring and giving.

Your part in this rescue, if you are doing any or all of those things, is massive. 

So, thank you!

HE'S BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!

The title I wanted so so very badly to be able to share for my next blog post is, in fact, the title of THIS blog post!  Arjay is back at Mercy House!  I know some of you precious readers prayed with us for this very thing. For you, I am abundantly grateful.

And here is how it all went down . . .
Three nights ago, I received an urgent text from Arjay's father.  He lives and works far from the rest of the family and his text was begging us to go pick up Arjay from the family home and bring him into Mercy House. Arjay had been fighting with his mother, calling her awful names, pushing her in the heat of anger and threatening the other children in the family.
The mother packed up four of her other children and left the home, leaving Arjay there alone.

We texted the mother and father back and forth and agreed to go  and counsel with Arjay.  We informed the parents that we are not a jail and if he refuses to come into shelter, we will leave him right where we found him. We don't "snatch" kids off the street. Ever.

The following day, my social worker went to the home and nobody was there. She searched the "normal" places the street kids congregate and, no Arjay.  So she came back feeling a little defeated.

Today, we decided to go together back to the family home and have one last counseling session with Arjay if we could find him and with his mother if we could not. After that, his case would be closed for us unless the city task force rounded him up and called us to fetch him.

As we got nearer to the shanty where Arjay's family lives, we could see it was empty.  But right out front stood Arjay!!!! He came running when we called him. He was absolutely filthy.
He told us he has been sleeping in the back of a truck at the gas station because he's scared to be home alone and he's been parking cars for money in the evenings.

Until last night.

He got into an argument with an older street boy last night and that boy tried to stab him!  Arjay ran, terrified, to the Barangay Hall and they took a report from him.  They also informed him that if he continues to live as a street child, he will eventually be killed or jailed.

And then we came . . .

We knew from the look of him that he has not been faring well. He is covered in infected bug bites. He has lost weight. He is much more subdued than we have ever seen him.
But sitting in the back of our white "Mercy House" truck, he confessed that he misses all of us and he really and truly wants to come back. 

That's all we needed to hear!

He shared with us that he had not eaten in awhile and we took him right to McDonald's. After eating, we brought him back to Mercy House with us.
We counseled with all of the kids, reminding them that everyone needs second chances.

And now, he's here.
We have no idea what the Lord will have us do and for how long but we are praying for clear guidance and that we will be able to serve this child in every way that he needs.

What a privilege to get to pick up where we left off.
What a gift!

Don't stop praying for this boy. When God puts a child this heavily on our hearts and troubles us about him long after he's gone, we can be pretty sure that he has a BIG purpose.

So, it is with GREAT joy, gratitude to the Lord, and a little bit of "pinching myself" that I type these words just one more time . . . HE'S BACK!

He cleans up well

Easy Come, Easy Go (And Other Misconceptions)

There has been much "giving" and some painful "taking away" these last few weeks at our shelter for street children, Mercy House.  I am both sad and happy to share the events with you in hopes that your heart for the fatherless will be stirred to prayer and action.

Because we never want to work alone.
And we would not make it here on our own.

If you read my previous blog post, you know that we admitted two boys in mid January. Those boys were right from the street and the older one was already deeply involved in using drugs and collecting revenue from the younger street children by force.

Three of our MH boys. The two new ones are the younger child on the far right and the one in red next to him. 

They stayed for almost two full weeks. They went to school. They attended church and devotions. They rarely presented behavior problems and they gave us hugs and willingly did their chores.
It appeared everything was going well. But the older child asked often to use the computer. He has facebook and used to spend his days on the computer at the local internet store after he begged for (or extorted) enough money to buy several hours.  He was clearly unhappy that we do not let the children at Mercy House be online. We just can't. He asked often to visit his family, although he did not want to stay there. He asked several times if we could provide the siblings some food. We did.
Then, all of a sudden, on a Monday, 12 days after admission, one of my older Mercy House boys brought the two new boys to me. He said "they want to go back to the street."
I thought maybe they were kidding.   They were not.
Mercy House is not a jail and given that the older boy, Mark, had run away from his past shelter more than ten times, I knew he was going to go if he wanted to.  I told them that I wished they would stay but I understood if they couldn't.
And they left, taking nothing but the clothes they were wearing and the flip flops on their feet.
We waited to see if they were coming back after a little walk.
They did not.
So we set out to find them in the streets where we always saw them and, lo and behold, there they were. They came to us with no attempt to run or hide. They knew we loved them and meant no harm.
Mark, the older boy,  was passing out envelopes to the younger street kids called "sobre".  The envelopes have a message written on them asking for money for food. The younger street children are expected to return those envelopes to Mark at the end of the day and he will give them a little bit of money and keep the rest for himself to buy his solvent and computer time.

the envelopes "sobre" that we took from one of our new admissions

The younger child was eager to come back to Mercy House with us. He was dirty, hungry and still wearing the clothes he had on the day before when he left. His flip flops were gone and he was walking between my social worker and I as we took him to McDonald's without even looking back at the group of boys, Mark included, who were calling his name.

always a second chance

While we fed him, he confided in us that he did not want to run away but Mark convinced him they would find his older brother, who he loves and is committed to. This young child wanted his family ties and agreed to leave with Mark. They did find his older brother and after a small meal, this young boy led us to his brother and we spent some good time getting to know them both and their stories.

big brother, Issac, coming from behind a building where the street children congregate

They expressed willingness to come into shelter with us and, since we had already investigated family ties when little brother came to us two weeks prior, we knew there was no capable family willing to care for these boys. There was plenty of family to be found. Just nobody willing. Some had tried and labeled these boys "too difficult" to keep at home, "disobedient" or "pasaway (naughty)".
So they came to us.
But not alone.
They introduced us to two of their friends, another set of brothers. These boys are 7 and 10 and have been on the street for about three years. They also asked for help. We recognized them from the government shelter.

brother one, age 10

brother 2, age 7

These boys were pleading with us to "adopt them".  They shared with us that their father is in jail and their mother left them. They were left in the care of a sick grandmother who could not feed them, so they went into the streets to beg in order to eat.  They met other street children who showed them the ropes and they migrated to Dasmarinas, a place where there is a large community of true street kids - not the ones who go home at night. The ones who have no place to call home.
We have to use great wisdom and discernment in admitting children, rescuing, right from the street.
There is risk in taking children in who have loving parents but just want to sniff and play and be "free".  So immediately upon admission, we inform all the authorities at the local Barangays where these children originated that we have the kids and how any searching family can find us.
We then go to the Barangays within a week of admission to search for ourselves.
Yesterday, we had a very tearful reunion with the ailing grandmother who wanted so much to care for these two precious boys but simply could not.

she was so relieved to see these boys healthy and cared for

my amazing social worker having prayer with the family

And now, we have unearthed a host of new needs and a deeper call to serve. This grandmother has tremors and appears to be extremely arthritic. She told us the older of these two children was her caregiver when he was still in the home. He took her to the restroom. He helped her eat.
There are others doing those tasks now but just seeing our new resident painted in that caregiving light deepened our love for him on the spot.
And that is where we now stand.
One boy gone. Four new boys who need us.
My own personal and somewhat selfish obsession with "the one who got away" . . .

Mark, white shirt, in school where he should still be 

I know in my heart and have always known "you can't save them all". But I so desperately wanted Mark to stay at Mercy House.  He is such a smart boy- academically. He is still a CHILD in so many ways. And maybe we will get our chance. I would take him back.
 Maybe we won't get another chance with him. My prayer is that seeds were planted during his time here that will make him grow to hate street life and long for a relationship with his Heavenly Father.  Maybe I won't even live to see this child become someone different.
Maybe he won't.
But we will continue to pray and reach out anytime we see him.
Upon his admission to Mercy House, my social worker counseled with him like she does every child. They fill out a questionnaire together.  One of the question is "who is at least one person in your life who has helped you?".
Mark's answer:  "nobody".
He can no longer say that in truth.  For that, we are grateful.

Please pray for our four new boys. No longer street children. Now learning to live as sons in a family.  Pray that they came to us in time. Pray that they lose their taste for all things "street" and, as always and most importantly, they see God's hand in their lives and are drawn to Jesus for life.

He gives. He takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

Squeezed and Molded: THE EARLY DAYS

Adoption is hard.  If you don't think so, you probably haven't done it.

And I'm not talking about the waiting and the fund raising and the endless prayers and worries and email checking and agency calling. Yeah. That's hard, too.

I'm talking about the ACTUAL bringing of a new child into an already-functioning family.
It's hard.  Pretty much for everyone. It's also amazing and miraculous. Even in the hard parts.

Before my family's move to The Philippines to start our own child caring agency, I was called on often by the adoption agency we used in the US to adopt our own four sons, Christian Adoption Services.  I was called on to mentor or walk with families who had just brought their children home and were struggling with some aspect of the transition.  I loved that ministry. I saw good fruit as families "got the hang of it".

I struggled with our own transition.  ALL FOUR TIMES.  Sometimes the struggles were tiny but often they were big.  And, don't get me wrong, I loved my sons. I wanted them. I would not have given them back for all the tea in China.  Most days.

If you are reading this and your adoption has been EASY, please bow your head right now and thank God for that. You are in the minority. In fact, I have never met anyone like you.  Every family who has ever confided in me about the early days of their adoptions sang very similar songs:

"This is hard"

"Why do I feel this way?"

"What have we done to our family?"

"I'm tired".

But those same families expressed peace and the deep knowledge that they were all right where they were supposed to be, on the many good days post adoption. 

 

I believe there are several reasons that the early days of adoption are hard for most families.  And I believe it is NORMAL for adoption to be "hard" in many aspects.

 

If it were easy, everyone would do it.

 

1. Unmet Expectations:  Before our children are home, we build a fantasy around them. We imagine how they will sound, feel, react and even smell.  And it is almost never a true picture.  Our fantasies rarely include the nitty gritty about another human - handling his dirty laundry, bathroom accidents, bad breath, rotten teeth or tantrums, poor sleep patterns,  "weird" eating habits and the time it takes to just warm up to another person.  These can all be big wet blankets on the party that has been going on in our minds for upwards of a year. 

Suggestion: start BEFORE your child comes home imaging him as a child who might struggle. Think of ways you will comfort him when he's crying for no reason. Make a plan, ON PAPER of some strategies you will use if he clams up and won't speak to you for a little while. Put into place a  "go to" plan for your other children if they encounter any negative behaviors in their new sibling that they are worried about. Include the whole family in these discussions of "what if . . .".  It may feel like focusing on the negative when what we really want to do is float on a cloud of dreamy love.  But, trust me, it will help balance expectations and give everyone a plan of action if early struggles crop up.  It will also paint a picture of the child as a regular child with regular child behaviors.

 

2. Sheer Exhaustion: If your child is from another time zone and he's not sleeping in your time zone, everybody pays.  If you traveled around the world to fetch him and you had to "hit the ground running" when you returned home, everybody pays with interest.  

Suggestion: REST together.  If your child naps at noon, have the whole family get some quiet time. The temptation to do laundry and clean house while he sleeps will be there. If you can afford to hire help for housekeeping, do it for the first month. If not, pace yourself and prioritize sleep over housework. I know, easier said than done . . .

From 3pm on, plan activities that will keep everyone awake. Take walks, color and draw together, sit in the grass outside and look for bugs and birds, play board games and cards - anything to stay awake until dinner, bath and bed time.  

If you are a rigid "everyone in his own bed" parent and your new child is afraid, you may have to take a 30-day break from your rules and make him a pallet in your room. When everyone establishes a sleep schedule and catches up from the trip and transition, feel free to get tough again. In the meantime, grace, grace and more GRACE.

 

3. Your Other Children:  If you have other children in the home when you adopt, there is a whole new dynamic to explore. Jealousy, new bonds, a pecking order and Mama and Papa spreading themselves  thin trying to  spend quality time with every child - all stones in the heavy bucket of adoption transition.  But there is HOPE .  . .  read on! 

Are your other children old enough to start learning to put other's needs ahead of their own? If they are not babies or toddlers, they are!  Explain to them BEFORE your new child comes home that "new sister will need extra time with Mama and Papa when she is still new. You might have to share us more than you want to. "   And do not let the guilt of the slightly unbalanced, TEMPORARY shift in focus drag you under the waves.  With some conscious effort, you will be able to regain more balanced parenting in a month or two.  And, depending on how you have parented your other children prior to adoption, a little dose of "it's not always about ME" might do everyone some good.  It always did in our own family. Selflessness in not natural to any of us and adoption is a good way for ALL of us, parents included, to get a crash course.  Painful though it is.

 

4. Too Much, Too Soon: Everyone wants to meet your new child. They donated to your adoption fund, they prayed, they listened while you cried during the wait, they dog sat while you traveled, they DESERVE to meet him.  The pressure of those meetings takes a toll on the family and the child. Nobody's comfort matters as much as that of your new child during transition. If the friends and family have to wait, graciously tell them via a blanket email, facebook status or quick phone call that you are having adjustment time and will see them as soon as you can. Assure friends and family that you are planning a drop in day that will be announced as soon as everyone feels human again!

 

5. Feeling Isolated: Do you have anyone you can really trust and talk to about your struggles in early adoption? Let's see . . . the family members who discouraged you from adopting in the first place would just say "I told you so" so, no. Not them.   The friends and family who are encouraging and supportive but have never adopted may listen and pray but will they really UNDERSTAND?

The ladies Bible study you stood before sharing about the beautiful picture of the gospel that IS adoption - they might be a good place to start but will you scare them out of adopting someday? Hard to say. 

You and your spouse may be on the same page but, if not, the last thing you want to do is discourage the one you are expecting to keep you somewhat afloat.    Are you both struggling?

The FIRST and BEST place to go for encouragement and help is to your knees.  Seek the face of God. Tell Him your struggles. He already knows them.  Ask Him to keep your heart focused on the "bigger picture".  Read His promises. They are no less true than they were before you added to your family.

 Chances are, you have at least one close friend who has adopted a child and who would walk with you through your transition time - the joys and the pain.  If not, call your adoption agency and ask for a mentor. Get into an online/ facebook adoption group and observe at first. Is this group sharing REAL or just FLUFFY? If they are open about their ups and downs, you have hit paydirt.  Stay there, share, read, support each other.  Someday YOU will be that family walking others through their transition time with assurances that "this, too, shall pass".  And it will. 

 

6. Borrowing Trouble:  You read so many adoption books prior to bringing your child home that you are now on the lookout for the symptoms of the disorders the authors specialize in.  Is it Reactive Attachment Disorder? Post Traumatic Stress Disorder? Conduct Disorder? Borderline Personality Disorder? Institutional Autism? Full-Blown Psychosis?  The list goes on and on . . .

Educating yourself is a good thing. Hyper analyzing a brand new son or daughter is not.  It steals your joy and it is likely for naught.  When a child is new to a family, you are NOT seeing the true picture of the child. He is likely not yet comfortable enough or finished with grieving his losses or enmeshed enough to be his true self.  In the early days, all of my boys could have been labeled with one disorder or another. They were unattached. They didn't really know us.  They were acting out in grief over losing their old lives. They were sometimes in "fight or flight" mode.   Of course, there will be cases where your new child has a serious and yet undiagnosed behavior or mental issue but, in many cases I have seen and lived, waiting several months for things to smooth out also "cured" the "disorder".  Pain and grief can manifest in scary ways. But that doesn't define the child. Not forever. 

My hope as you read this is that you do not become afraid of adopting a child. This is actually written for those who have made the leap and are struggling in the early days.  I do believe the change adoption brings to a family, by nature, causes some bumps in the family path. Sometimes those "bumps" are small and barely register on the family radar. Other times, they rock the boat to almost capsizing.  Every family and every adoption is different.  

I have said this in former blog posts but I will say it again:

Your family, at week 2 post adoption looks NOTHING like your family will on week 22 or week 32 post adoption.   And a  year out?  Two years out?  You will likely not give a moment's thought to your early transition days. You will likely remember them more fondly than they actually were and you may have even adopted again by then.

Because, in the end, bumpy or smooth, easy or hard, adoption is WORTH IT. 

 

 

 

Precious Girl

Precious girl . . . I see you every single day.  I hear your loud laughter and I watch you being so sweet and mothering to the three youngest children in our center.

And I am proud of you.

I know how hard you struggle in school to learn and keep up with the other kids.  I know sometimes they tease you because some of them think you are too dark and not pretty.

But I think you are beautiful. Most people would agree with me.

And not them. Promise.

Precious girl, I have seen all those scars on your arms.  I hear your English getting better every day and I remember the day it became good enough for you to tell me who put those scars there. And how. And my Tagalog was just good enough to help you understand that it would be best to forgive. 

But if you do forgive, you are more amazing than I could ever hope to be.

I'm thankful. I get to be the one to hug you while you cry for that Grandmother and Uncle who used to visit you but asked not to anymore because it's too hard on them to see you and not be able to keep you forever.  There is no way for you to understand how they feel.  Or for them to understand how you feel about having family but not.  I am glad it's me.  For now.

I hope you can grow up and forgive me, precious girl, for not being able to take away

the pain of you not growing up with your brother. His disabilities are so big.

And we are so small. 

We just can not give him what he needs. 

Maybe someday, precious girl, I will be able to tell you how angry I am at the people who hurt you. You were just a tiny child and you did not deserve the things that were done to you. You were a baby and nobody protected you.  Instead, she watched while you were hurt.  Not every woman who has babies is really a "mother", sweet girl.  But when you grow up, if you want to be one, I know you will be.  You are already such a loving, caring big sister.  You had such poor role models and yet, inside you, you already know how to put younger children's needs ahead of your own.  

You are going to be someone great.

You already are.

So, precious girl, I want to end with telling you a secret. When I pray for you, my prayer always goes something like this:

 "Lord, redeem this life. Let her shine brightly for YOU. Let every hurt and every pain

be another layer of her testimony to how YOU heal and restore.

And, please, surround her with people from today onward who will love and protect her, even

at their own expense.  Bring her a "forever family" who sees the priceless treasure she is. Even on the hard days.   Amen"

On extra, extra tough days, when I want to pack that suitcase and go back to where I came from, I think about you. And the others.  I think "I don't want to miss the rest of her story".   I know it's going to be good.  So good.  

I am learning  a lot from you, precious girl. . . about the human spirit, about the resiliency of children, about how to CHOOSE JOY when it would be so easy to dwell on the pain of the past. 

One more secret, sweet one?  I want to be more like you. If you can choose joy, so can I.

Deal?  Deal.

 

A Bad Word

I remember back in junior high school, having a then-deep and philosophical conversation with one of my equally-deep 12 year old friends about what makes a bad word "bad".

We surmised that we should be allowed to freely use the F-word or the Sh-word or ANY word as long as we didn't deem it "a swear".   We decided, between the two of us, to use these words and see if we could erase their "badness" by insisting they were just sounds and syllables with no inherently evil meanings.    We substituted mundane words with swear words and the sting began to fade.  We laughed long and hard at some of the creative ways we wove our new-found verbal freedom into colorful tapestries.

We ran into problems with this "logic", however, when overhead by our drama teacher during a break between classes.  Apparently, she hadn't self-actualized enough to appreciate the fact that those words were just sounds from our throats. To her, they had definite and unpleasant meaning.    Oh, the shallowness of the adult world!

I have run into many discussions that seem to be about semantics but are about so much more in this life in The Philippines.

Many people here speak English and speak it well. Some of the words here are used based on their meaning, though, with no regard to or even awareness of how the words can be perceived. Connotation matters. A lot.

Case in point:  More than one educated adult here has asked me if Ezekiel is "a mongoloid"?  The first time it happened, my jaw hit the floor. We haven't used that word in the US for at least 30 years. It's considered derogatory.  They are not much on "people first" language here.  Thankfully, I hid my knee-jerk reaction and answered "Yes. He has Down Syndrome".   I understand the language is simply a label and not INTENDED to shoot any hurtful arrows at our family.  The askers always go on to tell us about some precious family member or friend whom they cherish who is also "mongoloid".

Another word that is used often here as a simple descriptor is "retarded".  In test results given by professionals, children are often referred to as "mildly retarded, moderately retarded or severely/profoundly retarded".   I suppose it would be easy to get all riled up but, the core meaning of the word is "delayed in development" or "arrested in development".  And I've never once heard it used as a put-down here. It's just a fact.  A person with a low IQ who is not meeting his milestones on the bell-shaped curve will be labeled "retarded".  So what?  It just lets us know, as workers and as parents that we should adjust some expectations for timelines and give a child some extra grace and guidance. 

My ethnocentric thinking has to die a little each day here. And that's a good thing.

But the REAL reason for this post on words and their impact and who decides what we can and can not say is THIS word:

ORPHANAGE 

If a "parsonage" is where a pastor lives, isn't an "orphanage" where orphans live?  Many cringe at this word.  It's archaic.  It's harsh.  It summons images of little girls in rags singing "It's a hard-knock life for us . . . "    The term "Child Caring Agency" or "CCA" is used here often to describe the place where we live with a slew of unrelated children who have no capable or living parents to raise them. 

I don't mind the word "orphanage".  It leaves no questions.  On the other hand, not all of the children in our care are TRUE orphans. Some are in mid-steam of eventual abandonment.  Some have loving mothers who just have no means to care for them and are trying to improve their lives and receive their children back. One set of siblings here even has TWO biological living parents who are together and working to bring their children home. 

But most don't. 

Most have a story that goes like this: " Mom and dad split up. Mom found a new man. He doesn't want to raise anyone else's children SOOO . . . . I became a street child. I begged and scavenged and eventually got rescued or referred to Mercy House.  I'm an orphan because the adult meant to love me decided having a boyfriend/girlfriend was more important than keeping me safe."  

The second most common story we hear is:  "My dad left us when I was a baby. My mom is in jail (or left us to work far away) and the neighbor/relative she left us with couldn't feed us so she took us to the local police to relinquish us. Mom is never coming back."

It's not the glamorous "both parents died in a small-engine plane crash off the coast to Tibet" story that makes orphans in the movies.  It's just bad adult choices trickling down to injure children.

So, they live in an orphanage, or a child caring agency or a care facility or whatever term suits you best.

The facts are the same. 

We look in the eyes of children every single day who do not have a single somebody in the world saying to them "I will be here forever. You are MINE always. You belong with ME.  We are your final and only FAMILY.  My last name is your last name.  When we go on vacation, you go. When we cry over the loss of a family pet, you'll be right here in the circle.  When the hostess at the restaurant says 'Jones party of 8' - that means YOU, too.   When we pick up that gray-haired lady from Minnesota at the airport and she starts handing out $5 bills, get in line because she is YOUR grandma, also. "

We, at Mercy House, can not, in all fairness, say those things to the children in our care. And Oh, how we love them! We tell them that all the time. We hug and kiss them and tuck them in and tell them about Jesus.  We nurse them when they are sick and teach them the rules of fair play. But we can't say THOSE things unless we want to break trust and be liars.  Or adopt them all.  And I've thought of that, believe me.

I think you get the idea.   Adoption is the cure for the ailing hearts of children who have never been told those things and do not even know, for the most part, that it is what they need to hear. 

How blessed you are to be on THAT side of the equation. I was there.  It was glorious.  Now I'm here. It's both heartbreaking and precious.  I know what these children need most and it is not a better orphanage.  Mercy House is wonderful. It's family-style.  We are proud of the work we do and stand clean before the Lord knowing we are doing the best we can.

But we aren't YOU.

We are no longer an adoptive family with the power to change the world for that child on Special Homefinding.  

We need YOU to say "forever". . . and to mean it.

Will you?  

"FAMILY" . . . now that's a good word. 

 English Standard Version
"So whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin."  James 4:17

The Redemption in the Rescue

Today was one that will be unlikely to be forgotten by those of us in the midst of it.

We were referred two brothers.  There's nothing exceptional about that. Our Child Caring Agency gets referrals often.  We generally are referred children from temporary institutions who are in need of permanent care.

THIS call was for children still in the family home.  These children were suffering immensely at home from abuse, starvation and oppressive poverty.

 The home was little more than three cinder-block walls and one wall made of clap board. The smell inside was indescribable.  The children were using one corner of the room as a bathroom.  They were alone.  They were not being cared for by anyone.  There was no food anywhere in sight and the children were often seen by neighbors digging through garbage and eating whatever they found.

These precious boys were guarded and afraid as we talked with them. We were surprised to find out they are seven and nine because they are the sizes of four and five year olds.  Several concerned neighbors gathered around and asked us to take the boys somewhere better "for the sake of their future".   The neighbors were caring and kind but they, too, were poor and had little to share with these brothers.  It was not because they didn't want to help. They simply couldn't.
The city social worker, who accompanied us, had been called repeatedly for help with these boys and had not yet found an organization able to make the journey to their far-away squatter community to intervene.  Many are full here.
And what we found there made me wonder why God called US there instead of someone far more experienced in this kind of child rescue.  But He called and we went.

Inside the house

Right outside the front door

The children came with us easily after our social worker and the local city social worker had all the documents signed and the nearest relatives briefed on what was taking place.  The boys did not cry or even feel the need to hug anyone as they left. They just came.  Stoically.  Silently trailing behind us, all the way to our vehicle.
I walked beside them and put a loose arm around their shoulders.  I rubbed their hair a little on the walk and told them in my very best not-so-good Tagalog not to worry and that they were safe now. I asked them if they were hungry as soon as we entered the car and they both nodded.
My husband asked if they liked Jolibee and the older brother quietly admitted they had never been.  Jolibee is THE fast food restaurant of The Philippines and we were surprised that they had never been even once.  It was settled.  We were going to Jolibee!
The boys were in awe of all the big trucks and buses we drove by. They chatted with each other a little more excitedly as motorcycles whizzed by our car.  They pointed at large buildings and exclaimed how tall they were.
It was then that we realized they had probably never been outside their own squatter community! They were amazed at the very mundane things we pass all the time.  Their barangay was pretty remote and it made sense that they had simply never left.  Our social worker inquired and it was true. They had lived their whole lives in that very place we had just taken them away from.
We pulled into the parkinglot at Jollibee and the boys pointed and marveled at the tall sign out front and the bigger-than-life bumblebee mascot at the front door.
They both ordered chicken and spaghetti and could not sit still as they waited for their food to come!

BEFORE

AFTER

 And as I type this blog post, those two beautiful boys are sleeping upstairs at Mercy House. The little one is under a Winnie the Poo comforter (thank you, Australia) and the older boy is under a Wall-E blanket (thanks, USA) and I am still processing all that happened today.
I have a few immediate thoughts to share.

FIRST, there is nothing heroic about what we did today. It simply had to be done because we drove to where we heard there was a need and saw heart-breaking suffering.  We are not "awesome" and we sure aren't super Christians.  We came here to help and God is revealing needs.  I sang praise songs in the car the whole way to Jollibee in pure thankfulness that God would even use us like this. We are so unqualified in so many ways.  But that's ANOTHER blog post . . .

SECOND,  don't you DARE call your child over to the computer and show him the conditions of these boys' lives and then chastise him for not eating his peas or picking up his toys.  That is unfair on so many levels.  You and your child can not even conceive of this kind of poverty unless you've been here or somewhere like here.  I never could.  In some ways, I still can't.  If these boys were raised in a loving family without abuse and poverty, they would probably be feeding their peas to the dog under the table as well. That's a PRIVILEGE.  Just hug your picky eater and thank your Father in Heaven that he will likely never have to find his dinner in the trash bag of an impoverished neighbor. You don't deserve your life but neither do these kids deserve theirs. 

THIRD,  the message stuck on "repeat" in my mind as I met the mother of these two today is "there but for the grace of God, go I".  I could so easily be that young woman who made a litany of poor choices brought on by a cycle of poverty that probably started with her great-great-great-great grandmother and will continue all the way to her children's children's children without a miraculous intervention.

FOURTH,  if we ever doubted our calling to this country and this particular ministry, today redeemed our call.  Never have I felt so certain that God ordained a place and time.  He did. He is so good and so faithful and so real.  There wasn't one aspect of this day that could be legitimately called a "coincidence".   GOD DID THIS.   He wanted it done and it is.

But it's also a work in progress and we will trust Him to complete that good thing that He started. These children are, for the first time in their lives, in a safe place. Their needs are being met. Nobody is going to hit them. They will go to school. They will learn about what Jesus has done to reconcile sinners to God.  They will be safe.
They are safe.
Rescued.