Where are you Christmas?

'Where are you Christmas
Why can't I find you
Why have you gone away
Where is the laughter
You used to bring me
Why can't I hear music play

My world is changing
I'm rearranging
Does that mean Christmas changes too

Where are you Christmas
Do you remember
The one you used to know
I'm not the same one
See what the time's done
Is that why you have let me go'...

Christmas (enter big sigh here).  What a season.  A season that for me used to feel so magical, has turned into... well...let's just say a not so magical time.  And honestly, I have been blaming a lot of things for that.  And granted, some of these things seem like legitimate reasons that could have made Christmas time not so jolly over the past 4 years; including job losses, moving in and out of different homes, even down to our baby boy's first Christmas being spent isolated in the hospital with a horrible infection.  These are good reasons, right?  Good reasons to feel sorry for myself.  To get depressed.  To even get obsessive about trying to bring back the magic in my home.  Some would say yes.  I have been saying yes.  For the past 4 years I have blamed the state of my heart this time of year on the broken and hurtful circumstances surrounding it.  But really, how selfish?  How self-obsessed?  I mean there's always pain and hurt and tragedy happening in this world all around me.  It might not be directly affecting me, but people struggle this time of year with death and illness, starvation and homelessness, and more pain and loss than I may ever taste in my lifetime.  Whether it's December 25th or the middle of July, we are all hurting.  We are all hopeless.  We are all exhausted and stressed.  This season really has nothing to do with it, except the immense amount of pressure to be merry & bright despite the brokenness.  

By the way, I feel it's important to insert a disclaimer here, I write these words simply as a processing of my own heart.  Not as a judgment on anyone else's.  I learn best from writing.  I am a processor.  I don't plan the words that get typed through my fingers.  I simply spill them onto the keyboard and more often than not re-read what I wrote and think, that wasn't really what I thought I wanted to say when I first sat down to write, but it's just real and honest and is healing for my heart.  Could I privately write this in a journal?  Yes.  But I know for me, other people's words and experiences touch and inspire me.  When a heart is willing to be vulnerable and real and put that out for the world to see and possibly scrutinize, I find it courageous and refreshing.  So this blog of mine really is nothing more than a tired and worn out wife and mom, trying her best to be raw.  Hoping that someone out there won't feel so alone in their emotions.  And really, just trying to find an outlet that allows me to digest all of mine.

So...back to the topic at hand.  Christmas.  I used to think that joy was found in the absence of sadness, or mourning, or pain.  But what I think I am starting to discover, starting to peel back a tiny little corner of, is the fact that joy not only IS found, but CAN ONLY be found in and through pain and loss.  It is only in the hopelessness that we can recognize our one and only true HOPE.  I will never forget the Christmas I spent 4 years ago by Hudson's bedside. And while I often have used this as a reason to hate the season, what I am beginning to see even as these words fly onto the screen is that this desperate and painful Christmas actually taught me more on joy and peace and hope than all of the others combined.  Because on the day I walked in to find my son with a life-threatening infection from one of his surgeries  The day I literally signed this little life away into the hands of the doctors.  It was on this day that I lost something.  I lost something major.  I lost the Christmas I had hand-made.  The one I had crafted all on my own.  The one that wasn't even about all the bad things like consumerism, and greed, and getting that present that I just couldn't live without.  Instead, I lost the Christmas that was about all the good things like family togetherness, health, and happiness.  I wish I could put into words what happened in my heart that night as I went to sleep.  I literally prepared myself to lose my son.  I considered the possibility that all would not be well with him.  And I let him go.  And for a moment, a very brief moment, I felt free. Because I let go of Christmas.  And I clung so hard to Christ.  That night, Jesus Christ was not just one part of the Christmas story, or a cute little baby lying in a manager...He was all that I had.  He was THE story.  The only story.  My only hope.  My only joy.  Through the pain, and the anger, and the tears, I found Him.  In a way I never had before.

So here I am.  4 years later.  5 days before Christmas.  Stressed about the wrapping that hasn't been done.  Feeling inadequate for all the things I didn't do this holiday season with my kids that I wanted to.  The Christmas cookies that never did make their way to the neighbors doorsteps, the unopened advent calendar days that sit and mock me, and the baby Jesus from our nativity scene that has been lost since the day I put it out for the kids to play with.  And all I can think is how I have done it again.  I have made Christmas about all of these good things and let go of the One who makes ALL THINGS GOOD.  Oh this wayward and foolish heart of mine.  How quickly it can run from the freedom and life offered to it.

So I guess it's never too late.  5 days before Christmas, it's not too late to turn from my foolish ways and to cling once more to my precious Savior.  To hug my kids tight and sit close to them on Christmas Day as they struggle with their own selfishness and desire to have this day look a certain way.  To understand them, and not reprimand them.  To allow the tears, the anger, the pain and the losses...in my heart and in theirs.  Knowing full well it is this brokenness that will lead us to our only true JOY.

Thanks for listening, blogosphere.  Here's to hoping this brief glimmer of wisdom and peace doesn't disappear the moment I hit 'Publish.'  Merry Christmas to all of you!

Somewhere Out There

It has been 8 years. 

8 years.  And yet, I can still hear their little voices.  I can feel their tiny arms gripping tight around my neck.  The sights of the Volga river and the smell of 'white squishy' being prepared in the kitchen.  It's still so fresh in my mind.  

It's been 8 years since I stepped foot in that Russian orphanage.  Bunk beds lined against the wall.  Little faces one by one staring back at me.  Looking into their precious eyes.  Eyes that spoke of their longing to be held.  To be treasured.  To be chosen.  To be loved.  My heart was broken.  And I knew I would never be the same.

   

So here I am, 8 years later, with my heart burning fiercely to hold one of these precious angels again.  Because what once started as a small seed has now grown into a massive tree with roots so deep in my heart that I simply cannot ignore it.  

This my friends, is what has led my husband and I to take action.  And honestly, I have wrestled with how to best announce this.  How to actually tell people the steps that we are taking.  Because it is hard.  So hard to convey how much this all means to us.  So hard to find the perfect words.  And so hard to overcome the fear that people aren't going to understand.  But it's time.  It's time for us to let everyone in on the journey we are taking.  It's time to just say it.  To put it out there and trust that my jumbled words will be found as coherent to at least some.  So, here it is.....

Our family is starting the process of adopting a little girl from Bulgaria.  

We are in the home study stage now, and they say it can still be up to 3 years until we get to bring our daughter home.  And honestly, every time I say this out loud, I really can't help but burst into tears.  Maybe that's why I find it hard to talk about.  Hard to express to people.  Because I really just feel like a puddle of emotions when it comes to thinking about my little girl who may already be out there half way across the world.

To answer at least one looming question...Yes, we are specifying a girl on our adoption paperwork.  And without going into too many details or 'defenses' (because I'm slightly insecure of how this may be perceived), I just want to briefly explain why we came to this decision.  It's simple really.  The answer is because God has asked us to.  It seems trite to say that, but I really can't say it any other way.

You see, long before I had any children of my own, long before I was blessed with 2 precious little boys...I fell in love.  In the fields of Yoshkar-Ola, Russia I fell in love with an 8 year old girl named Zhenya.  

 

We didn't speak the same language, but somehow found a way to communicate.  We would spend hours walking through the fields and picking flowers, swinging on swings, and taking trips on our own down to the river bank.

Looking her in the eyes and telling her I wasn't going to be taking her home with me was literally one of the hardest things I've ever done.  And as I drove away from camp on that last day with tears pouring down my face, I just knew that some day, somehow, when I was 'old' and married and had the means to do it, I would adopt a little girl from this side of the world.

So naturally, when my husband came to me 4 months ago and expressed his desire to put biological children on hold and instead move forward with adoption, I was elated (and slightly terrified) .  And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape the still, small, yet relentless voice that said,  

It's time.  It's time to go get your daughter.

So on we move.  In pursuit of this precious little girl.  With some fear and trepidation, but with all the faith in the world that someday, somehow, we will meet our daughter and bring her home where she belongs.  And until then, we trust our Father to watch over her, to protect her, and to love her.

One of the first songs I learned to play on the piano, which is now one that Hudson and I sing together often, seems to say it best:  

Somewhere out there
Beneath the pale moonlight
Someone's thinking of me
And loving me tonight

Somewhere out there
Someone's saying a prayer
That we'll find one another
In that big somewhere out there

And even though I know how very far apart we are
It helps to think we might be wishing on the same bright star
And when the night wind starts to sing a lonesome lullaby
It helps to think we're sleeping underneath the same big sky

Somewhere out there
If love can see us through
Then we'll be together
Somewhere out there
Out where dreams come true

Sweet daughter of mine, my greatest fear in all of this is not what other's may think, but what you will.  That you may grow up feeling like you were not wanted.  Oh, my child, this couldn't be further from the truth.  I, for one, have loved you before I ever officially became a mom.  I've loved and longed for you before you even came into existence.  My heart has always known that somewhere out there, I would find you.  So as you lay your head down tonight, may these words find you and may your heart know you are deeply loved.

A Proper First Birthday...

A year has gone by.  I simply cannot believe it.  I am stunned.  There is no other word for it.  Stunned that the tiny bundle that was placed on my chest not so long ago, has somehow turned into a wide-mouthed, toothy, squishy, sticky little jokester of a baby.

I have no idea how this happened.  But happen, it did.  This year has been a year of change for us all. And in the midst of the transformation in our hearts, in our homes, and in our lives; our littlest love has been growing, stretching, and changing right along side us.

Cohen.  Oh my sweet Cohen.  I have so many important things to tell you on this first birthday of yours.  Lets just start with the obvious.  You're adorable...

You are the most smiley, joy-filled baby there is.  I literally can't take you anywhere without strangers stopping us dead in our tracks to get a close up look at this dimpled little guy who has been flirting with them from across the room.  It's precious.  You just love people.  All people.  Anybody that will stop and give you a smile.

Another one of your loves?  Movement.  All. the. time.  Particularly when I am trying to change your diaper or put your clothes on.  Or my all time favorite, when music is on and you just can't help but bop along to it.  You move.  You just move.  And never quite seem to stop.  You don't walk yet, but somehow I still find myself chasing and wrestling you to the floor.  The day you get on those feet and take off...well, we are in trouble.

While I could go on and on about your awesomeness, here is what I really don't want you to forget on this special day, Cohen.  Look around.  Look around and remember what you see.

Yep...that's just me, your Daddy, and your brother.  Do you see any other people?  Do you see any decorations?  Any 1st birthday shirts, or smash cakes, or wrapped presents?  The answer is no.  You aren't going to find any of these things on this birthday of yours. (But you will find store bought cupcakes and whole milk.  Who needs anything else, right?)

You know what you will see?  You will see our new home.

On this night you will be surrounded by the 4 walls of a home we prayed so fervently we would get to raise you in.  A home that as crazy as it sounds, we truly feel was hand-picked for us.  On this day, 1 year after your birth, we unloaded our moving truck and are sleeping in this home God gave us for the first time.

And here's the thing I want you to hear.  Please hold onto this when you are grown and looking back at these pictures, feeling sorry for yourself for being the second child and not getting a 'proper' first birthday party.  This was intentional.  This was not by accident.  We chose this day, July 12th, to be the day we moved into our house.  Because, honestly, we could think of no better way to celebrate you coming into this world.  Not just anyone, but YOU specifically.  You see, there was a time not too long ago, when the pressure to give my child a blow-out, pinterest inspired, 1st birthday party would have over-taken me and seemed like the only way to give a proper celebration.  Where the guilt of not doing so would have kept me up at night.  Where i would have spent months planning, strategizing, and prepping for this occasion.

But this past year with you, my son, has changed me in so many ways.

God has used your life to change my heart.  I mean truly change my heart.  To where I'm not even sure I recognize myself anymore.  Through you, He has taught me to let go of the things that simply do not matter.  Through you, He has brought me freedom.  Freedom from worry.  Freedom from stress.  Freedom from the love of this world.  Freedom from other people's scrutiny or judgments.  Freedom from the need to have it all together.  Freedom to just be me.  The mom that flat out doesn't care if I have the best birthday bash of the century, but simply wants to spend a moment reflecting on the great blessing you have been in my life.

Your presence...your very existence has brought this to me.  Peace.  Peace in the midst of chaos.  In your smiles, in your snuggles, and in your giggles.  Peace.  Cohen, you've lived in 3 different homes in your first year of life.  You moved states when you were 2 weeks old.  And through it all, you have brought peace.  Peace that is beyond understanding.

And so, on this 1st birthday of yours, we celebrate YOU by intentionally shedding all of the things that simply don't matter; and we gather as a family upholding the things that do.  We praise the One who brought you to us, Cohen.  And I can only pray you understand this is the greatest love we could ever show you, our son, on this very special day.

Our hearts overflow with love for you.  Happy 1st Birthday!

Love,
Your Mama