Seed Planters

It's an unnerving experience to adopt a child at six years of age (or four or eight or...). Brain research and psychosocial studies indicate the vital importance of nurturing care during the first three years of a child's life in establishing that child's ability to trust, to self-regulate, to attach, to form healthy relationships. During the preschool years, children learn independence, social conscience and how to interact positively with community. That which is missed early on can be retaught, but, like learning a foreign language as an adult, it is a slow, laborious, confusing process.

Adopting an older child means not knowing much, if anything, about your child's early life; not knowing how his crucial early experiences interplayed with his - also unknown - genetic structure. There are scars, that much is evident, but what were the causes, just how deep the wounds, and how strong the personality's ability to heal?

As we move into the triage stage with Paul (see Jen Hatmaker's blog for uncanny insight into the stages of adoption (was she spying on us during our honeymoon and spaz-o-rama stage? #stalker)) we glimpse evidence of his early hurts, his losses and his fears. But we also glimpse evidence of the caregivers who came before us, bandaging and nurturing and comforting.

He was loved, that much is certain. We know very little about his first family, but we do know that they gave him life and strength, a warrior spirit tempered with playful humor. He eased so willingly into the role of cuddled, held, cherished son that I am certain that he was once upon a time a cuddled, held cherished son. I wish I could know his first mom and dad, could thank them for pouring what they had into him. His first family gave him the seed of life and surrounded this with fertile, abundant soil in which that seed could grow.

An orphanage can be a scary, lonely, hungry place for a preschool child. And Paul is starting to talk about some of those scary, lonely and hungry times. But he talks more often about happy, playful, abundant times. These caregivers that he misses and about whom he shares stories and for whom he prays - M'e Mavis, the orphanage director; M'e Nancy and Mamanyoma, who readied his paperwork so he could be eligible for adoption; Miss Sue who walked him to school; Shelley who bought toys and who shared playdoh and love and laughter; the missionaries who built playgrounds and forged friendships - they watered his seed and planted seeds of their own: seeds of fun, of belonging, of God's love, of sacrifice and patience.

Those seeds continue to grow and bloom in Paul's life; we are the fortunate ones who get to witness the fruits and the flowers of their work. Kea Leboha. Thank you.

Shelley 's heart touching and transforming the lives of little ones.
(Picture stolen from her FB page 😊)

Milestone Moments

I tend to get overly emotional about those "milestone moments" in life, you know - first steps, graduations, awards ceremonies. Oddly, though, the emotion often hits well before or well after the event rather than during the event itself. Trent, "Why are you crying?" Me: Sniff. "Junior ring ceremony." Sniff, sniff. Trent: "Sam's in eighth grade." Me: "I know. Can you believe it?"

The first day of school was like that. Kindergarten for Paul, high school for Sam. Big deal moment. Lots of moms were crying. No me. I got all my crying done on Monday. By Wednesday I had my war face on and my excited-yet-very-chill speech memorized. "Kindergarten is fun. High school is fun. Fun but in a relaxed, not at all overwhelming sort of way." Cheerleader-meets-surfer-dude. "Hip, hooray, man. Keepin it real, you know. Rah."

Sam desperately wanted a couple of adorable brother-sister first day of school pictures. Paul, who normally basks in the limelight, wanted nothing to do with pictures. I also wanted pictures of course, so I could look back on them next week and cry, but didn't want to make it into a big deal. So this is what we got:

We're all super excited about the first day of school, can't you tell?

Trent was in charge of taking Paul to school on Wednesday because Paul is much braver with him than with me. Trent walked him into class then Paul said, "Daddy, go. Paul listen teacher." I stayed out of sight at school all week, which wasn't easy because I work in the same wing of the building! I felt like I was on a kindergarten duck-and-cover mission. I had to reconnoiter the hallways before moving from point A to point B, hiding in stairwells if anyone resembling a kindergartner appeared.

But now I'm all emotional because Paul had a GREAT week! I got reports throughout the day from my undercover agents: "Paul was all smiles at lunch." "Paul watched the other kids then played with a friend on the monkey bars." "Paul showed his 'I Can' items to the class." And, get this, Paul got a 4 (out of 4) on his FIRST memory verse test! (And it was a true 4, not a teacher-giving-grace 4 - I asked! ('Cuz we knew that he knew his memory verse at home, but would he say it for the teacher? And/or would he change it to his made-up version he thought incredibly hilarious (had to do with tooting, don't ask.)))

Parents of adopted older children miss a lot of firsts. We didn't get to witness his first steps or hear his first words or exclaim over his first lost tooth (although we did get pictures! Thanks, SB!). We didn't even get to experience his true first day of school - he graduated preschool last December and started level 1 in January, months before we met him. But we get to rejoice in so, so many "second firsts", those first time milestone moments with us, his second family who will cherish these moments forever.

Sam got her adorable brother-sister first day of school picture, after all!