We were able to head down to Galveston a few weeks ago for a wedding and some other photo shoots. We made a long weekend out of it and just really enjoyed our time with the kids. I was a really great time… those these people!
Let me be clear… the vast majority of moments in our home are far from note worthy, melt-your-heart, “I’m saving the world” moments. We spend most of our time trying to make “time-out” work for us and reminding ourselves that God is in the middle of this whole journey, so we need to be patient.
We recently watched October Baby in theaters… which is a pretty note worthy moment in and of itself! We can’t even remember the last time we were able to make it to the movies since kids came into our lives. Granted, we went to an 11:20am showing and brought a 5 month old baby with us… yup, we’re definitely those people!
We loved the show. Cried several times through it.
On our drive back to the house, I looked at Sara and jokingly said, “Deondre better look us in the eye one day and say, ‘thanks for wanting me’ or I don’t know what I’m gonna do!!” We laughed and reminded ourselves that it’s highly likely that those words may never come out of his mouth… I just need to swallow that pill now.
The reality is, those lumps that come up in your throat when you watch emotionally charged movies about crazy adoption stories where children are rescued and lives are changed… those teary eyed moments where you feel like real Shalom peace has arrived in a situation and all is back in place… those moments just aren’t frequenters to our home.
But…
Just the other day we had one.
Just the other night at dinner we had a movie moment with our 6 year old. Wish the film crew would have been sitting at our table, dang it!
As we were eating our dinner together, I just started talking with Deondre about adoption out of the blue. We have been dropping those conversations sporadically with him over the last few months to prep him for what is coming very soon.
I told him that in just a month or two, we are going to officially adopt him and his name will look like ours. I explained that we would go before a judge… and he would be a happy judge because this is an exciting thing. We may even have a party afterwards.
It wasn’t a big shocker that he was relatively silent through this whole explanation. Just staring at his plate like he always does when we talk about things he has no clue about.
After some silence and a few bites of dinner, I asked him how all of that made him feel.
He didn’t say anything.
So, we pressed him again… “Deondre, how do you feel about all of that? What does your heart feel about being adopted and living with us forever?”
He remained silent, but without any fanfare, he took his little brown finger and began drawing on the table next to his placemat (like Jesus telling a parable).
Puzzled for a moment, it finally clicked for Sara and I. He was drawing a smiley face.
Each day at school, Deondre either gets a smiley face, straight face, or sad face. His life basically revolves around smiley faces. For him, this was his stamp of approval on the whole thing.
At that moment, we felt it. It was one of those Shalom peace moments. Teary eyed, lumpy throat, “where is the film-crew?” moments.
Now, that moment was quickly followed by, “Finish your food or you won’t get dessert!”… but, we’ll take all of the small glimpses of grace we can get around here.
We’re so excited to be nearing the end of this fostering journey with our son and making it all official. I can’t wait to write that post into our family’s legacy!
Some of our favorite moments with Mason are when he is waking up in the morning. Sometimes he will just lay there for 10 or 15 minutes with his eyes open and not make a sound (unlike when he wakes up in the middle of the night!).
Those are the kinds of moments that we have decided we really want to try and document in the life of our family.
A few weeks ago, Sara ran into my office in the morning and said, “Quick, grab your camera… he looks really cute getting up this morning.”
So, we tiptoed into his room to attempt to capture him in his undisturbed natural habitat. We got a good 5 minutes of sweet faces before he realized that we were standing there and not picking him up.
We sure do love this little guy!
One of the things that I’ve enjoyed about being a parent who also happens to be a photographer is that I don’t have to plan out photo shoots of our children.
Honestly, I’m getting a little worn out from doing the elaborate photo sessions of kids with all kinds of props and bells and whistles and circuses… it just seems a bit much sometimes and I wonder if one day we’ll look back and just laugh at it all.
When I look back on my children’s photos, I want to be reminded of real moments with them. What they wore all the time… what they looked like sitting in OUR house. I want remember the emotion of what it felt like to hold them.
So, I’ve made a point to just document the mundane things… just our kid wearing what he wears all the time… laying on our floor… looking normal.
This was one of those impromptu photo shoots that happened while I was supposed to be holding Mason while Sara was preparing dinner one night. I was sitting with him in my office and something came over me forcing me to stop what I was doing and pick up my camera. So, I literally just laid him at my feet and used the blank wood floor of my office as a canvas.
Fifteen minutes later, he started fussing, so we shut the thing down and ate dinner.
With a heavy heart, today I reflect on the life of a great artist, mentor, friend and uncle.
My uncle, Charles Stagg, passed away earlier this morning.
I grew up living across the street from him. As a boy, I was always intrigued by this mysterious man. He was definitely different than most people in our small southeast Texas town. He thought deeply about things, lived secluded in the woods without electricity in a home that was a constantly evolving work of art that he built right out of the dirt, and listed to NPR on his little radio. I used to wonder what kind of person would just listen to people talking in monotone voices all day long… now, I’m kind of an NPR junkie myself, and I see what the draw was.
I was always inspired by my uncle. A man that spent his life literally piecing sticks together to make art. Pioneering a form of art that a lot of people probably looked at and thought was somewhat a joke, but will no doubt be looked at and remembered as greatness for years to come.
I only hope to aspire to be as thoughtful of an artist as he was… leaving a mark on the world through what can be seen and beheld.
I will indeed miss having rather uncommon conversations with him and seeing what new thing he had put his hand to. I’m thankful that somewhere swimming around in my blood are bits of hippie that link us together.
May his work and legacy live on.
When I think back on the things that our little guy walked into our home with a year ago, the list was rather short. I assumed there would be a piece of luggage… maybe not the fancy kind that you see scattered throughout airports… but, I figured there would be something simple… something to transport his most valuable possessions and some underwear at least. That wasn’t the case though. He walked into our home with nothing.
However, it doesn’t take long at all to realize that children in the foster system carry around plenty of luggage… especially older children that have been yanked from their homes and moved across the state.
We’ve spent the last year unpacking bag after bag after giant airport-sized bag of brokenness with our son. The reality is… we’ll continue this process long after adoption… long after he has been calling us Mommy and Daddy… long after our home feels normal to him.
There seems to be the thought floating around the Christian sub-culture that adoption is this simple, clean, two-step process… fill out the paperwork… rescue a child from some horrible situation… give them their first hug and warm bed… then, Bam!, they’re yours forever and you can move on to the next thing in life. You’ve earned your little adoption badge to wear proudly around other Christians and you can take pride in getting a few extra stares when you walk around public with a child that looks different than you.
I gotta be honest… I think we really thought it was that easy… or at least I did.
But those blasted bags still pile up around our home waiting to be unpacked. When we walk around and keep stumping our toes on the luggage and dance around cursing their existence, our prideful little adoption badge does us very little good.
As I sit here over a year into this thing, I have to say that the thing about foster care and adoption that is so riveting and redemptive at the same time is this constant mingling we do with brokenness.
In our Christian sub-culture, we have managed to find a way to sweep and mop and polish away the dirt and brokenness of this world from our lives. We have shelves filled with books on theology and best practices for doing just about anything… We eat organic… We even buy organic toilet paper… We devote plenty of attention on making sure that with our kids, only good goes in and pray that crap doesn’t come out… We try our hardest to fight against materialism and avoid our consumer driven culture. I’m not knocking any of those things… heck, we do most of those things!
At the end of the day our formula works pretty well. Our kids don’t walk around cussing people out on a regular basis… Our bodies feel better and free from chemicals… We are able to know tons of things about God and share them with others. It’s a pretty good life… no doubt.
But, as much as we’ve tried to mop around those bags laying around our house or sprinkle homemade organic compost on top of them thinking that they’ll turn into something that’s healthy, they simply don’t.
Brokenness refuses to let us go on with our managed life.
We’re forced to throw our theology book against the wall in anger and tears and actually cry out to God and ask for answers that just aren’t written down in a book. We’re forced to realize that there are many things that we aren’t going to be able to control over the next 20 years of our life as parents.
Although my heart aches for our son and I would love nothing more than to scrub his heart down with a giant eraser so that he wouldn’t have to carry any more bags ever again… I know that God is doing something wonderful in our life as we mingle with brokenness. We are getting to see pieces of him that simply are invisible to us when we lead our managed lives.
A lot of times, stories of adoption are presented as a package with a nice bow on top… it’s labeled “redemption”, and hearts are left warmer because they simply see a sad story turned happy.
We know that God is still writing the redemption story happening in our home, but the beautiful thing at this point is that our family is getting to mingle with “broken”, and it’s the best thing that has happened to us.
Our little guy is positively obsessed with all things horses. Throughout the past year, we’ve thrown around the idea that putting him in horse lessons would be a really great thing for him. A chance to be able to succeed at something… to get away from normal and just be a kid and have fun.
So, we’ve been to two lessons now, and he is loving it. When he gets out there in the country and interacts with these giant creatures, he comes alive. It’s really fun to see him interact with his horse, Lily. We really hope that he will find in her a silent listener to connect with… and begin to make sense of his first six crazy years of life.
It will be interesting to see how this shapes his future and how big a part of his life horses may actually end up being.
On this day in recent history (last year) we opened our front door to meet a little brown boy wearing a big, blue, dirty Gap winter coat, bright yellow t-shirt with the name of his pre-school plastered across it, and a recently acquired pair of hand-me-down tennis shoes from the CPS office he had spent the afternoon inhabiting.
The moments leading up to that car pulling in our driveway could be described as uncertain and scared on our behalf. Sara sat on our couch with a look on her face that said, “Ryan, you really don’t know what we’re getting into, do you?”. She was skeptical, nervous, worried, and flat out tired from a full day of working with teenagers that didn’t know how to show respect to an adult. I, on the other hand, wouldn’t be able to sit down if I had to. I paced our living room, glancing every 5 seconds or so out the front window to see if that car had arrived yet. We had no idea how this process would go down… what this child would be like, look like, feel like.
The car arrived… we looked at each other and debated if we should go meet them in the driveway or wait for the doorbell to ring. I’m pretty sure we debated long enough for them to get out of the car and begin making their way up our sidewalk before we opened the door and met them on the porch.
There he was… this miniature person… scared out of his mind… hiding behind the only constant he had during this crazy day that he had experienced. It was the case worker that pulled him out of school early.
She looked up at us with a gentle smile and informed us that he is really shy and had only said a handful of words to her throughout their day together.
He walked slowly through our front door… clinging to the caseworker’s leg. CPS had given him a few little cars to bring along and a black and orange blanket that had been handmade and donated to the system… some things for him to hold on to as his own. She also slipped us a small grocery bag with a pair of sock, undies, and an extra change of clothes… but, that was it.
There wasn’t much time for introductions… we quickly gathered around the living room and started to sign papers. It was probably at that point that Sara and I realized (but didn’t let on) that we had no clue what we were doing. We were signing papers… that’s something that adults with responsibility do. We were signing papers in order for this lady to be able to walk out our front doorwithout this child she brought in.
Meanwhile… this little guy had found a safe haven under the coffee table that all the signing was taking place on. He hid… clinging to the blanket and toys that he brought. He laid there and cried. As we tried to listen to the important things being discussed about the papers, we both were having to surpress the lumps in our throat that were being sent up to remind us that there was a real child under our coffee table with tears running down his cheeks. In a matter of minutes, it would be our responsibility to help that child make sense of everything that happened in the last 24 hours.
Within about 30 minutes, it was just the 3 of us. All the caseworkers had said their goodbyes and wished us luck. We had shown him his new room… pulled out our limited number of toys to try to entice him… but, our tokens were beginning to run out. Luckily, it was about to be dinner time and the only thing we could think of to take his mind off of things was to bring him to Gattitown.
Bear in mind… at this point Sara and I had yet to hear his voice. The only noises we knew from this little child were wimpers. At some point in the getting ready to go process, a word was released. I was so excited to hear his little country-ghetto voice appear.
And so we set out… placing a child for the first time in the newly bought booster seat that would now grace the back seat of the car that had seen me through college. This marked a new season in our life.
Looking back on that night is difficult for us. It’s difficult to remember the pain that such a small child felt. It is still incredibly hard for us to understand what it must have felt like to be picked up from school and driven in a car for an hour and a half to a cold, bright, florescent-lit office to sit for the remainder of the afternoon… and then to be dropped off in a home with two white people. No goodbye to the family that you had spent the last 5.5 years with… not even an explanation of why this all occurred.
Every few months, we are reminded of that afternoon when we dig to the bottom of his t-shirt drawer and find that worn down yellow t-shirt with the name of his hometown written on the front. It’s way too small for him to ever wear again. But, it won’t be thrown away. In between those faded threads are the only parts of his early life that he still has.
We hate that even still… as incredibly far as we’ve come with him… with the completely different child that resides in our home today… even still when the caseworkers drop by for a monthly visit, the fear in him shows its ugly face once more. The memories associated with caseworkers unravelling normal. We hurt for him. We pray that one day his life will feel secure and he will know that there will be no more unravelling in this home.
So, here we are… one year later. As this day approached, Sara and I went back and forth on whether this day should be celebrated or even talked about at all. We celebrate the fact that this blessing was sent to us one year ago. We celebrate the incredible progress he has made in this past year. But, we have decided that the celebration will be between mom and dad. To expect him to celebrate such a horrific day would be cruel and unusual.
We look forward to being able to celebrate a different day very soon… the day when his adoption becomes final and his name reflects ours. We pray that day will be one filled with amazing memories that we can all look back on and truly celebrate.
This prayer from the Valley of Vision has been wrecking me this entire week. I’ve just been trying to chew through these words one by one… they have revealed so many inconsistencies in my heart and have brought me to my knees to beg for new mercies.
O Thou that hearest prayer,
Teach me to pray,
I confess that in religious exercises
the language of my lips and the feelings of my heart
have not always agreed,
that I have frequently taken carelessly upon my tongue
a name never pronounced above
without reverence and humility,
that I have often desired things which would have injured me,
that I have depreciated some of my chief mercies,
that I have erred both on the side of my hopes
and also my fears,
that I am unfit to choose for myself,
for it is not in me to direct my steps.Let thy Spirit help my infirmities,
for I know not what to pray for as I ought.
Let him produce in me wise desires by which I may ask right things,
then I shall know thou hearest me.May I never be importunate for temporal blessings,
but always refer them to thy fatherly goodness,
for thou knowest what I need before I ask;
May I never think I prosper unless my soul prospers,
or I am rich unless rich toward thee,
or that I am wise unless wise unto salvation.
May I seek first thy kingdom and its righteousness.
May I value things in relation to eternity.
May my spiritual welfare be my chief solicitude.
May I be poor, afflicted, despised and have thy blessing,
rather than be successful in enterprise
or have more than my heart can wish.
or be admired by my fellow-men,
if thereby these things make me forget thee.
May I regard the world as dreams, lies, vanities, vexation of spirit,
and desire to depart from it.
And may I seek my happiness in thy favour, image, presence, service.~Desires, The Valley of Vision, p. 106
O Source of all Good,
What shall I render to Thee for the gift of gifts,
thine own dear Son, begotten, not created,
my Redeemer, proxy, surety, substitute,
his self-emptying incomprehensible,
his infinity of love beyond the heart’s grasp.
Herein is wonder of wonders:
he came below to raise me above,
was born like me that I might become like him.
Herein is love:
when I cannot rise to him he draws near on wings of grace, to raise me to himself.
Herein is power:
when Deity and humanity were infinitely apart
he united them in indissoluble unity, the uncreated and the created.
Herein is wisdom:
when I was undone, with no will to return to him, and no intellect to devise recovery,
he came, God-incarnate, to save me to the uttermost,
as man to die my death,
to shed satisfying blood on my behalf,
to work out a perfect righteousness for me.
O God, take me in spirit to the watchful shepherds and enlarge my mind;
let me hear good tidings of great joy,
and hearing, believe, rejoice, praise, adore
my conscience bathed in an ocean of repose
my eyes uplifted to a reconciled Father;
place me with ox, ass, camel, goat
to look with them upon my Redeemer’s face,
and in him account myself delivered from sin;
let me with Simeon clasp the new-born child to my heart,
embrace him with undying faith,
exulting that he is mine and I am his.
In him thou has given me so much that heaven can give no more.
~The Valley of Vision, The Gift of Gifts, p. 16
