Belizean Boy

We've just returned today from our very first cruise. A 7 day Western Caribbean tour with Carnival Cruise Lines stoping in Cozumel, Belize, Isla Roatan, and Costa Maya. We had a great time celebrating my mother in-law's 60th birthday (which was last September, but never mind about that). Isaiah thoroughly enjoyed having the attention of his grandparents and two uncles.

Without doubt my favorite part of the cruise was seeing the monkeys in Belize. Actually, the monkeys don't have much to do with it at all. Seeing the monkeys allowed a glimpse into how Isaiah will do when we live in Papua.

We had no idea what we were going to do that day when we walked through the port area. A man holding a sign with pictures of tour options caught our attention and after a bit of discussion the monkey trip was selected. We followed him around to the tour office to pay and meet out guide.

Mrs Chris introduced herself and told us to wait while she went for the van. A little while later she pulled up in a mini van and we all piled inside. Isaiah fell asleep as Chris drove us around the city and talked about Belizean culture and her own upbringing as a poor farmer's daughter.

We soon drove out of the city and headed for the jungle. When we arrived at the location where we would see the monkeys everyone jumped out and went to meet our second guide. Mrs Chris said he was the best at monkey encounters.

The second guide's name was Manfred. He met us at the gate barefoot and with a big smile. Seeing that Manfred was barefoot Isaiah too quickly ditched his shoes. Keen to explore, Isaiah ran along the trails at the front of the group looking very much at home in the jungle. Chris commented to me, "He is a little Belizean boy running around with no shoes!"

On the drive back when I told Isaiah we were going "to the big ship", Isaiah asked, "Chris, too! Chris too please Mommy!"

Chris was touched when I told her Isaiah wanted her to go back to the ship with us. "In five years of giving tours this is the first little boy to every take off his shoes and run around like a Belizean. He is also the first to ask for me to go back to the ship. You have a very special one!"

Indeed we do. Isaiah did instinctively what missionaries can take years to accomplish. He just fit. And I cannot tell you how much this did for my heart. I have wondered and worried about how Isaiah would do in another culture. After Belize, I won't worry any more.

Seeing Jane

A couple nights ago while out to eat I spotted a girl who used to live at the children's home. The mere sight of her, although far away, left me shaken again. When I saw her I was in the process of removing my on the verge of tantruming two year old who had just spit a mouthful of milk on the table. By the time I'd walked outside she'd already gone.

The last time I saw this girl she was being taken away by police for striking another child with a bat. At least I think it was a bat, I don't quite remember.

It was a Tuesday evening and like all my other Tuesdays I was on the way to the children's home with a bag of activities. As I walked out of my car this girl, lets call her Jane, ran over to me with a big smile on her face. She threw her arms around my neck and gave me a giant hug. "Hi sweetie! I'm so glad to see you!" I said, and we walked towards the front of the house arm in arm.

As we walked through the front door the staff saw Jane and exclaimed, "What are you doing out of your room?! Did you escape through the window?" They escorted her to the office to be supervised until the police arrived.

Inside the kitchen area I put my bag on the table. A few of the other kids came over to see what activity we were going to do. I pulled out duck tape and promised to teach how to make wallets, bowls, flowers, etc. Several kids sat down at the table, eager to get started. After a little while the staff let Jane out of the office and allowed her to participate in our activity.

The police arrived and Jane went with them to answer questions. Mark, the boy she hit, came in and suddenly I realized this wasn't just some little pre-teen spat. The entire right side of his face was covered with blood. He paced the room angrily and talked under his breath. His eyes were wild and his body tense, ready for a fight. I closed my eyes and began to pray.

Another police car arrived and as the officer entered the home he shouted, "Hey! Some kid is coughing up blood out front!" Everyone ran outside. James was biting the inside of his mouth hard in order to make it bleed. Then he would spit pools of blood in front of the police car. A someonecame back inside and said, "It's ok. It's just James. He always does that." No, it's not ok. I thought and continued to pray.

Eventually Jane came out. She was crying. The police took her away in handcuffs. The other kids told me she'd never been arrested before so she was just scared. It would be ok though, juvy isn't that bad.

I continued to pray and tried to teach the other kids how to make wallets. The whole experience was unreal. Nobody seemed the least bit upset besides Jane and Mark. The other kids acted like this was no big deal. My heart was in a million pieces.

I've often thought back on that night as both my best and worst night at the children's home. The best because with all the business of police questioning I actually got to spend a lot of solid quality time with the other children. The worst because Jane had been violent, Mark was hurt, and now Jane was gone. 

In just two hours I'd experienced first hand the world in which these children live everyday and it was sobering. So when I saw Jane again the other day, even just for a second, it brought everything back. My heart again in my throat I am pushed back to prayer. Lord, Jane needs to know and see your love for her. I really hope she's does. 

*Names of all children changed.

Learning to Love Papi

A colleague at work recently told me about the adoption of his own two children. His son was adopted from an orphanage and the only male influence in his life had been an abusive one. For the first few months after adoption his son wouldn't even want to be in the same room with him. Only time and trust transformed this little boy's perception of who/what a father really is.

Although not to that extreme, our own experience with Isaiah learning to love his Papi has been somewhat challenging. At the full disclosure meeting, before we'd even met Isaiah, we were told "He doesn't really like men". Everyone around the table felt it would take Isaiah time to warm up to Ben. One individual told us, "I don't know how he'll react. He may be scared and run away. Just don't take it personally."

From birth Isaiah lived with a wonderful single foster mother. The concept of "Mommy" already existed, but what about a father? How do you show a two year old what a loving father is? I think it's quite telling that Isaiah chose to call Ben "Papi" right from the start. He had no clue what a "Daddy" was, but Papi made sense to him as one of the nurses Isaiah used to see in his foster home is Hispanic and called her husband "Papi".

To our relief, Isaiah didn't freak out when he met Ben for the first time. He was wary of both of us and mostly kept his distance. No crying or upset, just an uneasiness about who we were. I wonder what was going on inside that little head at the time. It must have been quite confusing.

Isaiah is still learning who his Papi is and the deep meaning of this relationship. Probably one of the most helpful things we have done to reinforce this relationship is to be affectionate in front of Isaiah. He may refuse to give Papi a hug or a kiss when asked, but I quickly and cheerfully chime in "I want one Papi!" After a few months of this Isaiah started to push through and say "No! My hug Papi!" and give a big cuddle.

At some point Isaiah started to ask for hugs and kisses from Ben. And more and more Isaiah seeks Ben out to help when he needs something or gets hurt. I
love watching this relationship grow. Even tonight, as Isaiah went down to sleep and I finished our nighttime prayer Ben said "Isaiah can pray too." I had no idea he'd taught Isaiah how to pray.

Undoubtedly, Father's have a big responsibility. Not just to love, lead, and provide for their families, but to be living breathing examples of our Heavenly Father. By learning to love and receive love from his Papi, Isaiah is also learning how to love and receive love from God. No words could ever express how much this fills my mommy heart with joy.

Potty Training

Ok so this is a bit weird, but I am actually enjoying potty training. Unexpected? Yes, totally. I cannot tell you how much I've feared it. The mere thought of transitioning from diapers to big boy pants would make my palms sweat.

But I hate diapers. And Isaiah is an all or nothing kind of kid. As long as he has a diaper he won't commit to asking to going to the potty when he needs to.

Yesterday after I picked Isaiah up from school I told him he could wear his big boy pants. He was sooooo excited. "You can wear your big boy pants, but when you need to go potty you need to tell mommy. You don't want to get your big boy pants dirty." And with that he was running around in nothing but Thomas the Tank Engine undies.

Reluctant to go on the potty until it was too late I changed his undies every 10-15 minutes for the first few hours. What an exhausting experience, running to the potty with pee dripping down his leg only to get him seated and hear "all done!" without even the slightest hint of a tinkle in the pot.

Here we are 36 hours in and I am so amazed. We've had a few accidents but nothing like at the beginning. He even woke up dry from his nap. Talk about making a mommy proud!

We are by no means out of the woods. Isaiah loves wearing big boy pants and doesn't want to get them dirty, but also doesn't want to stop playing. Jelly beans have been a big help with motivation, but sometimes playing trucks just takes priority and accidents happen. We'll get there and hopefully it will be sooner rather than later....Tomorrow we're going to a friend's house to dye eggs. At least she has wood floors!

Welcomed Home

We're coming up to 5 months since Isaiah came home and he is such different child now. There were always little glimpses of the real Isaiah peeking out. Looking back now I can see he was grieving, but grief is hard to identify and understand in a two year old.

My social worker told me he would grieve for his foster mom and in theory I know this would happen. I imagined Isaiah would be shy and insecure at first. I remembered my training and had a plan. We would be joined at the hip and I would work hard at attachment. I'd read the books after all. I knew the stages.

I didn't expect the pushing and pulling. The melt down because he wanted a cuddle this instant only to be pushed away with an angry hand when I went to give a hug. Or the morning Isaiah pointed to the picture of his foster mom and I said, "Yes, that's Ms Debi." And he screamed back at me "No! Mommy!" Or the way he grieved for his foster siblings and refused to play with other children. If they approached him he would yell, "No!" and hide behind me.

I didn't expect the separation anxiety. I couldn't even go to the bathroom without Isaiah desending into a full blown panic attack. Or the nightmares when he would start screaming and hitting something imaginary. Refusing to be comforted when we came to him.

By the end of the most days I didnt want to see Isaiah anymore and I didnt like myself. I felt like a failure. Afraid to say anything because prior to Isaiah being placed with us we had worked hard to convince social workers that we would be great parents. Sure they told us they were there to support, but I lived in fear that they might think they had made a wrong decision and take him away.

It wasn't all bad though. The real Isaiah was always there, just under the surface. And at many points throuout the day he would be his silly happy self. And more than anything I loved him despite the difficulties. I just didn't understand that the moodiness was grief.

I write this because today Isaiah is a totally different child. He is confident and open. He is happy and inquisitive. He charms everyone he meets and although we still have temper tantrums they seem to be the normal two year old kind! Isaiah is a delight to be with and I miss him when we're apart. I can't get enough of him and love when he scoots up into my lap for a cuddle.

From the moment I saw Isaiah's picture I knew he was my son and desperately wanted him. I have loved him from that very moment and feel priviledged to be his mommy. I see plainly that yes, adoption is wonderful. We have a son and Isaiah has parents. But adoption is born from loss and grief is a fact of life.

Thank God that he is in the business of making beauty from ashes. That He knows the condition of our hearts and loves perfectly. That He sets the lonely in families and tells the most amazing stories with our lives. I feel privileged to be Isaiah's mommy, but even more so to be God's child. Adopted into His family. Welcomed home and my grieving and broken heart made whole.