to stay alive and married

On Friday night two cars full of six tired people ages 1 to 28 pulled up in front of the house. After two months in a two-bedroom apartment (two states over, I might add), this house feels like a small piece of heaven. Even with toy train sets strewn across the floor, it feels like our feet have been set in a spacious place, like we have been rescued. Indeed, we have...

He brought me out into a spacious place;
    he rescued me because he delighted in me. Psalm 18:19

Staying alive and staying married were two of our main goals during these last few months. They're basic, but important. We were in survival mode. To recap, we left July 24 for Florida, July 26 for Bulgaria, August 7 for Florida, August 9 for Louisiana, August 16 for Alabama, and October 10 for Louisiana. It's almost mind-blowing that Mason and I crossed the globe and brought home a new child somewhere in all that chaos, in addition to his completing a training course for work! Only God Almighty could have compelled us to do that and orchestrated all of the details. It was absolutely crazy. It was unbelievably hard. But it was good.

Since picking up Kami on July 28, I have learned more about pain, hope, trust, perseverance, sin, love, encouragement, despair, life, and purpose than at any other time in my life. Some of the lessons have been excruciating to my heart, but others have been life-giving. My perspective has also changed drastically. I've delighted in sweeping up crumbs from the wood floor beneath our dining room table, something that once felt like endless tedium. This place feels palatial! And spending several weeks with four children in a small, strange apartment with just the few toys we had on hand has made me suddenly grateful for the abundance of playthings that we once called clutter. Also, I'm sitting at the computer tonight typing in the light. This is wonderful after so many weeks of the apartment becoming completely dark and quiet by 8:30 pm. With Isaiah sleeping in our room and Ezekiel and Eden sharing the other room, Kami (who is not ready to have a roommate) had to sleep on an air mattress in the living room, leaving no illuminated space for me and Mason to use after their bedtime. Everything seems more doable now that there is light after the kids go to bed!

I know that God worked the time away from home to Kami's good, too. On the long drive here, she repeatedly said "family" and "house" (in addition to her regular "JESUS!" and endless choruses of "This Little Light of Mine"). We had no idea how she'd react to the change in her surroundings, especially considering how very difficult an adjustment she had when we moved her to Alabama, but she seemed relieved to see the house again. She definitely remembered it from the wild week we spent here in August, but the main difference in her now is that she has developed some degree of trust in us. During that first week at home and the following weeks in Alabama, she fought us (tested our authority) at every turn. But somewhere in all the loud, ugly messiness of those days and nights, she realized that parents take care of their children, that we will take care of her, and that she does best to follow us and trust us to provide for her needs wherever we go. She also understands well by this point that parents mess up and lose it, but they come back ready to try again. What a crash course she's just had in the mantra we keep telling her: that in a family we stick together, have fun, and try not to hurt each other. This man and woman, along with two brown-eyed boys and a precocious blue-eyed girl, have stuck with her through airports and car rides, wild tantrums, intense nighttime standoffs, and much much more. They stuck with her in that claustrophobic apartment, in the big house now, and even in that smoky little hotel room in Bulgaria where it all began. I think she's realized that she's here to stay, and that we're here to stay. This takes care of some of our battles, but not all of them.

Attachment between us and Kami is coming slowly. Right now I would describe it as if we'd been through a traumatic car accident together. Simply surviving has bonded us together - when you've been through so much with someone, things that outsiders could never fully understand, you begin to feel connected simply by virtue of sharing the experience. (This applies to our marriage, too!) I do think she is beautiful. Sometimes I think she is cute. I believe she has limitless potential. I see her progressing emotionally and behaviorally. Sunday we spent about 7 minutes in Krispy Kreme, the entire family. She sat and ate a donut without making a scene. I honestly didn't know if we'd ever be able to take her out in public, but we did. She's had a couple of playground trips now without tantrums. Sometimes she whines, but so does Eden, so I won't hold whining against her. She is VERY stubborn. This stubbornness helped her parent herself for 7 years, but the majority of it has no place in our home. Attachment with a cooing baby, adorable toddler, or even an emotionally stable older child from quality foster care can come naturally, but attachment to a stubborn, previously undisciplined 7-year-old does not, my friends!

There is so much I want to share with interested friends and family members that I just can't find the words to write here. I could share with you more easily in our living room or at the park, when my thoughts are somewhat clearer than they are sitting in front of a screen close to midnight, but the difficult thing is those thoughts change rapidly moment to moment throughout the day. Kami's situation is so complicated, sad, confusing, exciting, inspiring and hopeful - yes, all at the same time - that I don't even know how to package up anything nicely for inquirers. 

One thing I'd like to educate you on quickly is something I just learned yesterday when a fellow adoptive mom called to check on me. I wasn't pregnant with and I'm not nursing this child, but I am dealing with an outrageous amount of weird hormones. I'm very grateful to her for validating and explaining the overpowering rushes of adrenaline that overtake me during particularly stressful moments with Kami. Moms, you know how when you look at your baby, you can almost feel your brain being flooded by intense bonding hormones? I felt and still do feel that with our other three kids. Sometimes an experience with Kami, even a tender and positive one, will trigger an outpouring of adrenaline from my very confused and traumatized glands. It's almost as if my body is rebelling against this unnatural connection, screaming "you didn't deliver this baby, she's not a baby, what are you doing loving on her as if she were yours?!?!" I am all about sharing truth and I want you to know that this is how it can feel to adopt. It's not natural, it's supernatural. The only reason she is here is because God reached out His mighty arm to save her and make her a new creation. He chose our family to carry out this plan, and I must believe it's because He's given us the tools to do the job. It sounds strange, but even when it feels like we're the worst fit for her, I know that there isn't another family better equipped for this child.

Tonight amidst the wildly fun and fast-paced bath and bedtime routine, Kami decided to get in bed early. She was tired today (undoubtedly all of the upheaval is taking a toll on her physically, too). She sleeps in Eden's room, which Eden graciously gave up so Kami could learn how to sleep in a bed - keep in mind that she slept in a crib her whole life in the orphanage and has been sleeping on sofas and air mattresses since we picked her up. This might sound silly, but it's hard for me to see Eden displaced from her room, even though she's comfortable and having a great time sleeping in her big brother's room. It's just one of many seemingly insignificant changes that pile up to overwhelm me at times. Anyway, I went in to see if she was still awake, hoping to end the day on a good note that would hopefully replace all of the not-so-good notes in her mind. She always falls asleep flat on her stomach with her hands tucked under her thighs. I guess it makes her feel secure. I leaned over, kissed her cheek, hugged her, and told her that we love her and are glad she's in our family. At the moment, I meant it. A huge smile spread across her face and she said "kiss, hug, love." 

Yes. God's grace is enough to cover over everything I did wrong today and let this girl fall asleep with these words ringing in her ears, and His grace is enough for me to wake up and try again tomorrow in His power.