Can a Girl Really Not Have Too Many Shoes?

This post isn't really about adoption. Well, I guess it is, in a way, about adoption finances. Because adoptions cost like a gazillion dollars, and we still have about a quarter of a gazillion to save, so we are ON.A.BUDGET. An every-penny-has-a-name-rank-and-serial-number budget.

So, here's a hypothetical. Imagine my daughter is a dancer. (I SAID it was a hypothetical!) Imagine she dances at a private Christian school. (Sounds like the start of a joke, doesn't it. But I digress.) She's been dancing for a little over a year, and she likes it a lot because her friends dance, too, but it's probably not God's future career for her. She's in the B corps and she's very content with this because the A corps girls are just a bit intimidating.

Last year, when she started dancing (this is just making me laugh. Okay. Sorry. I'm better). When she started dancing she had to buy lots of gear. Well, everybody had to buy lots of gear because the dance teachers wanted everyone in the A corps and the B corps to match. Dance teams do that, you know. So we bought all the gear. Matchy-matchy. Adorable. Now it's her second year, and the A corps teacher wants all the girls in A corps and B corps to buy new shoes. Again. These are practically identical to last year's shoes, mind you, except the new version has a tiny bit more mesh tulle (it is tulle, isn't it?) on the front.

Sam did, in fact, dance at one point in her life. And she was amazing. And oh, so cute. But when she changed the steps to kick ball karate chop, we figured she needed a new discipline.


BTW...those sweet little tap shoes were USED.


Now, practical me thinks, "Why does she need new shoes? Her old shoes still fit. (Praise God her foot growth has slowed dramatically! Which probably means she's nearly done growing, too. Which probably means she won't reach the dance teacher's hoped for height of six feet.) Her old shoes are still in good shape. Her old shoes are almost identical. PLUS, she also has her practice shoes. She doesn't need to buy new shoes. Who needs three pairs of dance shoes?"

The mother-of-a-teenager thinks, "I don't want her to feel left out, however, or to be the ONLY ONE without new dance shoes. Just buy the shoes." (Full disclosure, that was actually father-of-a-teenager's thinking. He's such a good dad!)

So we tell Sam her coach dance teacher wants the team to buy new shoes. She says, "Why? My other shoes are still good. I don't need new shoes. Why can't we put that money toward the adoption?"

HALLELUJAH! That's my girl right there. She said that, she really, really, did! She can shop with the best of them, but she does not WANT new dance shoes!

So I email the dance teacher and ask if Sam can use her shoes from last year. Teacher replies, "Yes she can but she will not be allowed to dress for the A team should she make it."

Now, perhaps this is less complicated than I'm making it. But for some reason I have gone all Sybil on this and my different personalities can't agree on how to respond.

Busy Working Mom Personality: Okay, no new shoes, check. Now, who's doing carpool today?

Dance Mom Personality: A team? Seriously? She has a shot at A team? Is she that  good? She must be that good. Wow. I had no idea. But, when I really think about it, of course she's that good. She is my child. I'd better buy the shoes, just to show that I am behind her 100% and will do whatever it takes and...wow, maybe Juilliard is next. Then the New York Ballet. Then she'll buy me a new house.

Radical Christian Personality: Are you kidding? Say she DOES make the A team (which is unlikely because she'll probably be on a mission trip the day of tryouts), then you're telling me she can't dance if she doesn't have the right kind of shoes? How can anyone call themselves a Christian dance team and place more importance on shoes than they do on orphans? (Insert self-righteous head bob.)

Avoid Confrontation Personality: Just shut up and buy the shoes. There are worse things.

I know I can get all weird about money, an issue I attribute directly to my mom and her apoplectic fit when my brother took her credit card and bought a $150 pair of Jordans (ah, the 80's). And I'm probably thinking too much. But I'm really trying to figure this out. I do think the question stretches past shoes and into materialism, excess and consumerism, which, at least for me, can easily become an idol. Does the dance team REALLY need new gear every year? Does this really impact their success on the dance court floor? Does this impact their witness? (And if so, for good or for ill?) This issue of simplicity versus materialism and where-is-the-balance? is something God is trying to work out in me. But I don't know all the answers. So I'm seeking wise counsel.

What do you think?

The Muddle in the Middle

I have a confession to make. And I apologize in advance to all my reading and writing friends who thought you knew me and will now be forced to rethink whether to admit that you've ever once asked me for editing advice.

When I read, I sometimes jump ahead to the end.

I know. I said I was sorry. I can't help it. It's a sickness.

I don't read much. A page or two at most. Just enough to make sure that the characters I've grown to know and love survive to the end. If they all get killed off, why waste the emotional energy to keep reading through all the turmoil? I just want to know that the good guy wins and the bad guy gets his. Once I've got that sorted out, then I can settle in and enjoy the ride.

So, that may explain why just now, stuck as we are in the no-there-is-still-no-news-yes-I-know-it-has-been-a-long-time MIDDLE of this adoption process I have been contemplating taking something just a wee bit stronger than Tylenol PM to get me through the night. Can a sister get a hook up? Seriously.

I so desperately want to skip ahead to the end of the story. I want to know that we will survive this journey. I want to know that Pacman* will survive this journey. My heart is literally breaking for this little boy. Abandoned. Vulnerable. Desperately needing to belong, to be loved. How long must he wait? He needs a family. We need a little boy. Seems a relatively easy plot line, right?

In novel writing, middles are notoriously difficult. They must link the call to adventure in the beginning to the resolution at the end. Middles contain all those tests and trials that are meant to build character. I love reading a good middle - the more suspense the better. (So long as I know it all turns out okay at the end.) I'm always encouraging my writing students to add more difficulties, more problems, more tension. In story, conflict equals excitement. In real life, not so much fun.

Not only are we stuck in the middle, we are stuck in a SLOW middle. I'd be getting bored if it weren't so desperately heartbreaking. Just when I think I can't slog through another day of waiting, guess what? Another day of waiting. "Pace of story too slow." "Needs some action." I was hoping for a hi-lo adventure. Instead I fear we've landed in a Victorian epic. A long, drawn out treatise with lots of sighs and a fair amount of whining (mine).

The middle is hard. Hard, hard, tear-my-hair-out hard.

But I will believe - even when I'm crying and whining and asking "are we there YET?" and "how much longer?" - that God has this story well in hand. He's the author. He knows this struggle through the middle, and he's right here with us. He knows about the bureaucratic red tape and the unanswered emails and the months-long delays. And what's more, He's right there in the middle with Pacman. In the quiet loneliness of nighttime at the orphanage, He is there. When Pacman watches others meet their forever families while he is left behind, God is there. When Pacman wonders if he will ever again be loved or belong, God is there. "I will never leave you nor forsake you."

Yes, God knows our middle, but even better,  God knows how it resolves. He's even given us a sneak peek at the end - "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted" (Matt 5:4); "I will not leave you as orphans, I will come to you" (John 14:18); "He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away" (Rev. 21:4).

The middle is hard. The end is joy-filled. The middle is slow. The end is perfectly timed. The middle is filled with turmoil. The end is redeemed.

* Not his real name. Although it is catchy.

A Generation To Save

Random Thoughts about Patience

So, waiting stinks. Of all the fruits of the Spirit, patience is, I think, the least appealing. Everybody likes love, joy, peace. Those are the apples, strawberries, oranges of Galatians 5:22-23. Yum. Patiences is like a ... a key lime. Sour and unappetizing on its own. A key lime only masquerades as a fruit. In reality it needs sugar and cream cheese to be palatable.

Or tequila.

Ambrose Bierce defined patience as: A minor form of despair, disguised as a virtue. Patience is the medicine of the righteous life. You know it's good for you, but like fish oil it tastes terrible and gives you the burps.

I am well practiced at counseling others to be patient. I'm good at it, even. I have the Scriptures and the stories to emphasize the truth that "those who wait on the Lord will find new strength" (Isaiah 40:13). I believe in the theory of patience, just not the actuality of it. There's a word for that, for someone who can talk the talk but can't walk the walk. A self-righteous liar liar with a big mouth, and also probably grossly obese. Oh, yeah - hypocrite.

So, yesterday I was thinking I need to practice my patience muscle. Because I want to believe, and I want to act like I believe, that God has control of every detail of this adoption, including the timing. That God is using this time of waiting to work mightily in P's heart and mind; in my heart and mind. That one day this waiting will bear GOOD fruit (apples, strawberries and oranges.) That He KNOWS about the obstructionistic government bureacrats who are currently mucking things up and He has them well in hand. (I'm also wanting to believe that if these bureacrats don't get their act together soon, then lightning is going to fly. 'Nough said.)

Unfortunately, practicing the patience muscle is about as much fun as running laps. It's boring, it's sweaty, and it gives me a stitch in my side. So yesterday I decided I might as well start running again. (I've run approximately four times since quitting the mini-marathon training last February. What was I saying about walking the walk?) My new goal is to run every day regularly until we travel. That'll teach me, won't it? If I'm in emotional agony with the waiting, I might as well be in physical agony, too. And besides, running is GOOD for me. (And it takes care of the hippo part of hypocrite.) I LIKE the way I feel when I'm running regularly. Not DURING the actual running part, of course, but later, when I'm finished and realize I don't have to run again for 24 hours.

That's Plan A. Plan B - key limes and tequila.

Words of Advice

It has been a tough day on the adoption front. We got word that the Department of Social Welfare in country has concerns about various and assorted matters, one of which has to do with P's orphanage, and that there has been "no forward movement on families who have already received a referral."

I ache for P. Is he getting enough to eat? Is there someone who will bandage his knee when he falls? Give him a hug before bedtime? Remind him he is loved? With every day that he spends in the orphanage I worry more and more about his emotional and spiritual health. When will he come home? Will we be able to help him overcome his hurts and his grief?

In the midst of my worries, I got a letter from a child I had previously worked with in foster-to-adopt. He was placed in foster care when he was seven years old. At that time, he struggled mightily with grief for his birth mother. He fought, literally fought, attaching to his adoptive family. He desperately wanted to be loved, but he was terrified. He'd been shuttled around for so long. So many fears, so many conflicting loyalties. He loved his birth mother; he was terrified to hear her name. He wanted to love his foster-to-adopt family; but what if they left him, too? I worked for Child Protective Services for three years, and I still can't express the depth of the emotional turmoil that for so many orphans is their "normal".

Fast-forward four years. Eleven years old; his adoption has been final for two years. By every standard - emotional, social, academic, physical, spiritual - he is thriving. He wanted me to know that "school is easy, now!" and his family was a 9 99/100 (because no one is perfect!) on a scale of ten. He wrote because he'd heard we are adopting and he wanted me to share his "Words of Advice" with our son. Printed in part below (emphasis mine):

"I am also adopted and when you stay with your new family more you'll be happier than you will be at first. Find out what you like best about your new family. Mrs. Thompson is really nice. (Smile). It always feels good to know your family loves you and will take care of you and will always keep you safe. Whatever they are doing is to help you get more used to their family, and try to get more close to them... Don't be afraid of them, don't be afraid to hug them because it's not as bad as you think it is and always know that they will love you for the rest of your life. If you go to therapy don't fight to try not to go because you need it and it helps very much. It always makes me feel better and happier after I go to therapy."

I grabbed on to these words like a lifeline. Adoption, for all its wonders, involves an element of tragedy. Any story that reads, "And then the judge said you could live with us," points to a deep, dark sadness somewhere in the plot. The child is an unwitting hero on a perilous journey. Right now, somewhere in an orphanage in Lesotho, P. is on that dangerous journey. And right now the only help I can send is my prayers.

But these "Words of Advice" from an eleven-year-old helped me remember the joy and the hope that also weaves through the stories of adoption. Because someday, P. will ...always know they will love you for the rest of your life."

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who are called according to his purpose (Romans 8:28).