Today

Today he picked absolutely everything off the living room floor and put it away without me even asking. He plumped up the pillows on the sofa by flipping them over just like I do and made sure the throw pillow was arranged just right. Today he drew pictures as birthday presents for his brothers and his friend Oliver and he allowed Eli, his three-year-old friend, to beat him at wrestling. And today as we lay together in his bed before nap time, he cuddled up to me and said, "I love you, mommy." Me too baby. Me too.

Give Me Strength

Chagall's Esther

Poetry Wednesday
Give Me Strength
Rabindranath Tagore

This is my prayer to thee, my lord---strike,

strike at the root of penury in my heart. 

Give me the strength lightly to bear my joys and sorrows. 

Give me the strength to make my love fruitful in service. 

Give me the strength never to disown the poor

or bend my knees before insolent might. 

Give me the strength to raise my mind high above daily trifles. 

And give me the strength to surrender my strength to thy will with love.

While We Wait

When you are on the cusp of a life change so wonderful but so irrevocable, you desperately cling to the familiar and the routine, truly taking pleasure in the daily rhythms which have finally cemented themselves but are about to be rocked topsy turvy. You continue to plan and make meals, smile at pictures drawn of dinosaurs, read Good Night Moon for the hundredth time, and wash clothes, all the while grabbing scraps of paper from drawers jammed full of miscellaneous trinkets and scrawling notes like "fill malaria meds prescription" and "buy two-prong convertor" with a Sharpie. You are still aware and slightly annoyed that your painted kitchen cabinets - which are chipping and stained from coffee spills courtesy of one toddler boy who is quick and sneaky and says, "Yummy coffee, mommy" when he is caught with your lipstick stained cup in hand - will more than likely not be repainted in two weeks time. You are astonished, but not really, that every floor in your home is filthy and doubt that you will apply the necessary efforts to deep clean them before your departure (after all, you have blogs to post.) You cannot comprehend why after two days of lying in your living room, no one, especially you, has bothered to move the Elmo potty seat to a less conspicuous location like the bathroom.

You are, however, more prone to crawl into your little ones' new big boy beds at night. You pull them close into your body and are happy waking up to tiny fingers jabbing your eyes and stinky morning breath filling your nostrils. You are more willing to don a bathing suit and join your children playing outside on a muggy, blazing hot day. You tell yourself that what you are wearing is modest in comparison to what some women designate as daily attire but still feel a bit uncomfortable that the coverage is not that provided by a burka. You encourage yourself that the laundry hanging on your line will shield you from neighbors out in their backyards and that a bathroom towel lying at your feet will render you acceptable if an unsuspected guest should arrive. You acquiesce to your five-year-old son's splashing and throwing of murky water from his plastic pool onto you, delighting in his shrill screams of unrestrained joy at seeing his mother wet in the 90-plus degree heat. You will even pull up your hair into a pony tail high up on your head for this water play so that you will resemble a peacock spreading his feathers though not be nearly as beautiful. You allow your twin boys to run around the yard naked under the guise of potty training and give one an M & M when he does potty in the yard. You decide that it is the perfect time to scrub down the crusty remains of "who knows what" from what will soon be your daughter's high chair and giggle when your boys wash you rather than the chair with sudsy, Ivory soap water. You smile when from upstairs you hear your eldest son singing, "Ain't It Be Great To Be Crazy," from "The Vegetarians" (that would be Veggie Tales) CD your neighbor gifted him. You marvel at the beauty of the peonies blooming in all their glory in your back yard and are awestruck when you look out your window and see two ducks strolling down the sidewalk. You are especially thankful that your husband arrives home at 5:00 rather than 10:00 as you anticipated. You consider eating a Whitey's malt while watching the series finale of Lost.

You are grateful for the days you have left together as a family of five and marvel that you will soon be a family of six.

Thomas

Russell

Elliot

The Chair

PS Sorry the pictures are so blurry. Didn't have the focus on. Amateur. 

Our Get Away Weekend

Months ago Jared and I began dreaming of a get-away weekend because call it what you will—extreme attachment parenting, psychosis, a single income or a combination of all three—in five years we have only been away from our children overnight one time. And that was to attend an adoption seminar in Le Grande "middle of no-where", Iowa, in preparation for our second adoption. Needless to say, we were overdue. Immediately I offered what I believed to be viable options for our special time together. Top on my list was a visit and overnight at a Catholic Worker Farm just outside of Dubuque. I think Jared had something less communal in mind.

Soon our get away weekend morphed into sending the boys to my parents' and my mother-in-law's while we remained in our own home. Initially it was to be a "homeschool" weekend where we determined which curriculum we would be utilizing next year for Thomas. (Alright, maybe Jared was never really on board with this plan either but I had every intention...) Ultimately, as it seemed likely that with our travel to Ethiopia imminent, our two day, one night adventure became a work weekend with dinner and a movie as a bonus (as a side note: while Robert Downey, Jr. is always fun to watch, Iron Man 2 as a whole was a bit disappointing.)

I packed Elliot's bag only to discover that he had added a few of his own items: one stuffed dog, one stuffed bunny, an icon of St. Seraphim of Sarov, and what you cannot see in this photo, an Emperor Palpatine Star Wars figure.

Russell and Elliot carry blue suitcases; Thomas the brown. And good news, I bought a similar red one for Lucia at Tesi's adoption fundraiser yard sale.

Troy this is for you—a shirt sporting the South Korean soccer team. I told your godson you would be proud.

My little sunshine, Russell.

My boys.

Besides completly repainting their room (do you know the damage two toddler boys can do one small space? You have no idea), one of our goals was taking down the boys' cribs. "Bye bye cribs," became their mantra. They seem to like their new big boy beds just fine.

And yes, crib out of one room and into the next. Thomas, who has decided Lucia will be his twin (do you hear me smiling as I type that?), will soon have someone to share his space with.

One tiny girl.

The Child Angel

The Child Angel
Rabindranath Tagore

They clamour and fight, they doubt and despair,

they know no end to their wrangling.

Let your life come amongst them like a flame of light, my child, unflickering and pure,

and delight them into silence.

They are cruel in their greed and their envy, 

their words are like hidden knives thirsting for blood.

Go and stand amidst their scowling hearts, my child, and let your gentle eyes fall upon them like the forgiving peace of the evening over the strife of the day.

Let them see your face, my child, and thus know the meaning of all things;

let them love you and thus love each other.

Come and take your seat in the bosom of the limitless, my child.

At sunrise open and raise your heart like a blossoming flower,

and at sunset bend your head, and in silence, complete the worship of the day.

Poetry Wednesday

Coming Home

We received confirmation today from our adoption agency that our family has been included in the next travel group to Ethiopia. Though we have yet to make official travel plans, we must be in Addis Ababa on Thursday, June 10th. On Sunday, our group will travel six hours from the capital city to Durame where we will have the privilege of meeting our daughter's birth family. Such joy and sorrow this adoption journey. Such gain and loss.

We will have our meeting in the US embassy on Tuesday the 15th and then take legal custody of Lucia, and begin awaiting her visa which should be issued by Thursday. There is much to do in preparation for our journey to Africa: A photo album to put together for Lucia's family; collecting and filling out paperwork for our interview; meals to prepare and freeze for Russell and Elliot in our absence. Thankfully, Thomas has completed all the necessary shots and Jared and I will complete our last Hepatitis A round this week. (There is still the live typhoid that has been sitting in our refrigerator for months that we need to take. Good thing it doesn't expire until August.)

Foremost on my mind is preparing my precious twins—who will be turning three right before our departure—for the nine days without us and trying to emotionally, mentally, and physically prepare ourselves for the next step in our family's journey. Thankfully, we have parents and an abundance of friends who have graciously agreed to stay in our home and take care of our boys while we are gone as well as many who have offered to come and assist us once we return with our daughter. A joyous day. To quote my oldest son Thomas, "I can't wait to see her!"

Evangelism and Orthodoxy: Truly Loving One Another

To my long-time friend Ingrid and her husband Dan whose commitment to their neighbors and their faith always inspire me. The quote, "100% of the people you take to Church will be in Church," made me think of you.

I promise that there will pictures soon (hopefully tonight or even tomorrow) because I know you all are terribly tired of me spewing out my thoughts and directing you towards the thoughts of others, but I beg that you indulge me once more. A couple weeks ago, our priest requested that the members of our church parish council, of whom Jared is one, listen to two recent podcasts on evangelism and Orthodoxy. Jared was affected by the words of Fr. Andrew Stephen Damick. And now I have been too.

Believe me, what Fr. Andrew communicates in these two talks is well worth hearing whether you are an Orthodox Christian or not. If you are interested in topics like localism, community vs. alienation, loving your neighbor, fulfilling your call to be truly human rather than mere "cogs in a machine," or working not only toward your own salvation but also those around you in need of healing, then you will find these podcasts particularly meaningful. A blessed and peaceful Saturday to you all.

Evangelism and Orthodoxy - Part 1
Evangelism and Orthodoxy - Part 2

The Sharp Compassion of the Healer's Art

Lying in bed, my five-year-old tucked at my side waiting for his father to return in the darkness, listening to the steady stream of rain dashing itself onto the roof top and transforming into a new entity, hearing a whistle crying from a train nonchalantly chugging by that body of water I love down below the hill, I cannot help but feel a bit subdued, almost melancholy, reflective, alive and desperate for a prophetic word, and so I reach for Thomas Stearns Eliot. Poetry Wednesday.

"East Coker," from the Four Quartets

III

O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark,
The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant,
The captains, merchant bankers, eminent men of letters,
The generous patrons of art, the statesmen and the rulers,
Distinguished civil servants, chairmen of many committees,
Industrial lords and petty contractors, all go into the dark,
And dark the Sun and Moon, and the Almanach de Gotha
And the Stock Exchange Gazette, the Directory of Directors,
And cold the sense and lost the motive of action.
And we all go with them, into the silent funeral,
Nobody's funeral, for there is no one to bury.
I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away-
Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen
Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about;
Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing-
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth.

                                             You say I am repeating
Something I have said before. I shall say it again.
Shall I say it again? In order to arrive there,
To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,
       You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy.
In order to arrive at what you do not know
       You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.
In order to possess what you do not possess
       You must go by the way of dispossession.
In order to arrive at what you are not
       You must go through the way in which you are not.
And what you do not know is the only thing you know
And what you own is what you do not own
And where you are is where you are not.

IV

The wounded surgeon plies the steel
That quesions the distempered part;
Beneath the bleeding hands we feel
The sharp compassion of the healer's art
Resolving the enigma of the fever chart.

Our only health is the disease
If we obey the dying nurse
Whose constant care is not to please
But to remind us of our, and Adam's curse,
And that, to be restored, our sickness must grow worse.

The whole earth is our hospital
Endowed by the ruined millionaire,
Wherein, if we do well, we shall
Die of the absolute paternal care
That will not leave us, but prevents us everywhere.

The chill ascends from feet to knees,
The fever sings in mental wires.
If to be warmed, then I must freeze
And quake in frigid purgatorial fires
Of which the flame is roses, and the smoke is briars.

The dripping blood our only drink,
The bloody flesh our only food:
In spite of which we like to think
That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood-
Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.

Rejoice

 Overcome with emotion. That was exactly how I felt this afternoon after opening up an email whose subject line was entitled "Court Approval." I can only compare how I feel right now to the moment six years ago when a smartly dressed twenty something social worker sat across from me in our Chicago apartment, looked me in the eye, and related that it was alright to push my fears aside and purchase a crib because Jared and I were most assuredly going to be the parents of a son. And now despite the calm I have more or less experienced over the last few days, a big sigh of relief and a deep sense of gratitude for we have been given the gift of a daughter. Welcome precious little Lucia. Your daddy, mommy, and brothers cannot wait to meet you.

A blessed mother's day to you all!

Please Remember

Each morning before breakfast, as the whirling dervishes play in their room and Thomas and I complete our bed making, I ask my three little boys who they would like to remember in their prayers for that day. As names are shouted out from various locations, I light a stick of incense which lies on a bedroom dresser pressed against a wall generous with images of Christ, His Mother, and those men and women the Church recognizes as saints. As I stand for just a few minutes in the presence of these beloved friends in prayer and watch the smoke waft throughout this sacred space, I am always reminded of the words of the psalmist which are so familiar to the Orthodox Christian: "Let my prayer arise in thy sight as incense and let the lifting up of my hands be an evening sacrifice." Today as we pray together, my boys and I will especially remember those 20,000,000 (Lord have mercy) children who have been orphaned throughout the world because of AIDS. I am asking you who are reading this to also remember these most precious in God's sight in your prayers. And in response to a challenge offered by AHOPE for Children on this World AIDS Orphan Day, our family will be making a small monetary donation and I would ask that you would also please consider contributing anything you can. We might not think we have much to give, but I truly believe that it will make a difference. In the words of Mother Teresa let's "take the little we have and make it something beautiful for God." A blessed and peaceful day to you all.

Just Thinking

Our court case was scheduled for Monday, and as expected, we have not heard any news on the outcome. If we pass court, we will be considered Lucia's legal parents and will have a better estimate on our travel time. There seem to be a million reasons why we might not pass- missing paperwork, no electricity, birthmother not present. I thought I might link you to a fellow Holt adoptive mother's blog if you were interested in seeing some pictures of where we will be staying while in Addis Ababa, the capital city of Ethiopia, as well as others from her recent trip to bring her daughter home.

Practice Ressurection

It is a rare find to discover something written by another which nearly summarizes what I believe but this poem by Mr. Berry does just about that. I cried the first time I read it. Wouldn't it be amazing, dare I say revolutionary, if each day we threw caution to the wind, consciously and deliberately said "No!" to all this world offers that is contrary to Love, to Christ,  and really lived the abundant life? My goodness, we might even change the world. Let's slow down my friends, stuffing our busyness, our futile distractions, our idle thoughts into a forgotten corner, celebrating all God's overabundance of gifts and investing ourselves in the things that moth and rust cannot destroy. A peaceful day to you all. You can click here for more poetry.

For my favorite local farmers who "practice resurrection" every day, Cathy La Frenz, Ed and Katey Geest, Ives Grossman, and friends at Milton Creamery: Thank You. Your efforts are not in vain.

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

Wendell Berry

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,

vacation with pay. Want more

of everything ready-made. Be afraid

to know your neighbors and to die.

And you will have a window in your head.

Not even your future will be a mystery

any more. Your mind will be punched in a card

and shut away in a little drawer.

When they want you to buy something

they will call you. When they want you

to die for profit they will let you know.

So, friends, every day do something

that won't compute. Love the Lord.

Love the world. Work for nothing.

Take all that you have and be poor.

Love someone who does not deserve it.

Denounce the government and embrace

the flag. Hope to live in that free

republic for which it stands.

Give your approval to all you cannot

understand. Praise ignorance, for what man

has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.

Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.

Say that your main crop is the forest

that you did not plant,

that you will not live to harvest.

Say that the leaves are harvested

when they have rotted into the mold.

Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

Put your faith in the two inches of humus

that will build under the trees

every thousand years.

Listen to carrion -- put your ear

close, and hear the faint chattering

of the songs that are to come.

Expect the end of the world. Laugh.

Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful

though you have considered all the facts.

So long as women do not go cheap

for power, please women more than men.

Ask yourself: Will this satisfy

a woman satisfied to bear a child?

Will this disturb the sleep

of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.

Lie down in the shade. Rest your head

in her lap. Swear allegiance

to what is nighest your thoughts.

As soon as the generals and the politicos

can predict the motions of your mind,

lose it. Leave it as a sign

to mark the false trail, the way

you didn't go.

Be like the fox

who makes more tracks than necessary,

some in the wrong direction.

Practice resurrection.

If No One Else Can Help, And If You Can Find Them...

I am not ashamed to admit that I was a huge A-Team fan. Really. And somewhere lurking in the drawers of forgotten dressers in my parents' basement are collector's cards and tiny lapel buttons picturing Hannibal, Face, Murdock, B.A., and yes, even Amy. Recently Thomas discovered Jared's old A-Team and G.I. Joe records and read-along books. While I personally would rather he stick to listening to "Bert's Blockbusters" and do "the pigeon," Thomas, like perhaps all five-year-old boys, prefers a little bit more action. I mean with head hunters and quick sand to contend with who can blame him? A few weeks back, Jared stumbled upon one of Thomas' recent drawings. We could not let this one pass you by. Enjoy!  

Hannibal. And yes, that is a cigar in his mouth. 

My personal favorite. An uncanny likeness. And yes, they are shooting guns.

Happy May Day

"What we would like to do is change the world--make it a little simpler for people to feed, clothe, and shelter themselves as God intended them to do. And, by fighting for better conditions, by crying out unceasingly for the rights of the workers, the poor, of the destitute--the rights of the worthy and the unworthy poor, in other words--we can, to a certain extent, change the world; we can work for the oasis, the little cell of joy and peace in a harried world. We can throw our pebble in the pond and be confident that its ever widening circle will reach around the world. We repeat, there is nothing we can do but love, and, dear God, please enlarge our hearts to love each other, to love our neighbor, to love our enemy as our friend."
— Dorothy Day


In all honesty, I have absolutely no time to be writing this. There are three little boys who need to be put to bed and then I must get ready for a symphony fundraiser. But I would be remiss not to pay heed to this day. "Happy May Day!" Russell and Elliot have been shouting out to any one who will take notice. And yes, following the tradition handed down to me by my dear mother, the boys and I placed bags of carefully wrapped cookies at neighbors' doors and completed our covert operation by ringing the bell and then running like mad back to the house (Thomas has decided that sandals greatly impede his speediness.) A blessed May Day to you all. And may we all work to create "little cells of joy and peace in this harried world." And speaking of harried, I must go now, really. If the whirling dervishes are not drinking my coffee then I am sure they are dumping out the cinnamon. If you would like read a bit about why this day is so significant to me, you can click here to read last year's post. 


PS I have just been informed by my co-parent Thomas that the boys indeed have been eating cinnamon, drinking my soda, and dipping their fingers in the sea salt.