Hosting Round 2, Homeschooling Round 1

Hosting Round 2, Homeschooling Round 1

I finally decided to take the plunge. I am going to do it. I am going to do what I thought I could never do and do what is perhaps one of the most difficult, daunting tasks ever recorded in the history of mankind.

YES. I AM GOING TO HOMESCHOOL.

Whenever I tell people this news, the immediate reaction is almost always shock, followed by questions of why and what happened?

Why homeschool?? Did something bad happen? Is the local public school not good enough? Are they not learning anything in their class? Are they learning things you don’t want them to learn? Are you afraid your kids will get left out, bullied, or maybe even shot?

While all of those things are sadly possible in today’s public school system, homeschooling was probably an even greater fear in my mind than most of those things. Keep all the kids homes with me and go crazy together every single day? No, thank you! I also used to think people only homeschooled these days if they absolutely had to because of some problem.

Homeschooling, to me, has always sounded completely overwhelming and at best, foreign and outdated.

Growing up, I did not know a single person who was homeschooled. If I ever heard of such a kid, I automatically imagined them to look like the children on Little House on the Prairie. They just seemed… different… and yes, unsocialized. I think this is the popular belief.

Yet in the last few years as a stay-at-home-mom, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting more and more people from this crazy, “different” population of homeschooling families. Different, but kind, intelligent, fun, witty, and actually, they look a lot like me!

The parents definitely don’t have it all together and their kids struggle with the same kind of issues as any other “normal” kid does. Yet what is really “different” is something extraordinary I see taking place in their homes through this journey of schooling their own children.

This is what I have observed:

Homeschooling is rubbing on each other the wrong way, gritting your teeth through sounding out words, and then learning that life is more than spelling lists and word problems. Homeschooling is trying to teach your kids everything they possibly need to learn from math to reading to Bible verses to character building (not to mention health, physical education, and so on), feeling like a complete failure, and then being able to just ditch the lesson for a moment to hug or cry or eat icecream together while learning grace. Homeschooling is overcoming countless obstacles, experiencing those precious and monumental ah-ha moments, and growing together yet another year. Homeschooling is bold, it is brave, it is bed-heads and pajamas all day long, it is pure awesomeness.

While some of those things I can honestly do without, I’m willing to endure those more difficult moments when I think about the thing I am most excited about when it comes to homeschooling.

It is this–homeschooling gives you the most precious and priceless gift of time, to really and TRULY do life and even ministry together, day in and day out with your children.

Yes, I know this might sound like absolute madness, and I’m sure that many days it will be. But I also know it will be amazing and so completely worth it. The best things in life are, and today I got to see a glimpse of this dream playing out before me.

Today, we accepted our second hosting assignment and brought home another little boy who will be staying with us for a short period of time. He is so reminiscent of our first hosted boy, Rell. They are both 3 years old, boys, and mixed half white/half black. He came in March during a snowstorm, just like Rell did, and he is just as sweet, fierce, and rambunctious as Rell. And just like Rell, one of the first things he did when he came into our home today was play on the piano.

And my kids. Again, I was amazed at the vital role each one played in bringing this one in. Even my 2-year-old, Moses! Without Moses coming with us to meet the boy, playing with him and warming him up at the office with his charm and smile, I don’t think he would’ve ever come home with us as willingly and joyfully as he did. It would’ve been another soap opera in the parking lot like last year.

Then when we got home, the new boy got to meet our two older kids and they have also hit it off ever since, playing like they’ve been friends for years. It is a gift my children carry, the gift of friendship, and they each are moving mountains in the spirit through their ministry.

Our children. Ministering. Learning about the problem of pain in the world through children coming from broken families. Learning to receive and extend the healing light of Christ. And together, witnessing Christ’s transformative and redemptive work. WHENever and WHEREver we go throughout the day, this is what we will be learning.

There’s nothing more I want them to know in this life and we are going to learn it together right in our home. In between math, reading, science, and the like, we are going to learn Christ and be able to not only be at home, but together, we will go out into the world to love those in the darkest of places. It’s going to be crazy, messy, beautiful.

Now I can finally say that I am no longer timid or scared or wary about homeschooling, but I am absolutely ecstatic to begin the most honorable and gratifying job I know I’ll ever have–training up my children full-time as their teacher, in every sense of the word.

And don’t worry, I’ll make sure they have a social life ;).

While I am completely uncertain how long we will go or if we will even make it through one year of homeschooling, I’ll take any amount of time we get with them as a gift!

I am ready to begin.

Hosting round 2 has begun. Homeschooling round 1 to begin fall of 2018.

…pray for us.

“Train up a child in the way he should go. And when he is old he will not depart from it.” (Proverbs 22:6)

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Sheltered Children

Sheltered Children

After birth, leaving the hospital with my first was extremely nerve wracking. I recall looking into the nurse’s eyes as she went over discharge papers with us and feeling a sudden wave of fear and anxiety.

Is she really letting this baby come home with us?

The reality of bringing home a straight-out-of-the-womb newborn began to sink in, and I secretly hoped she could read my mind to hear what I could not bring myself to say.

We are NOT qualified. We don’t know what we’re doing. Can we just stay here where it’s safe?

Bringing the nurse home with us was not an option either, so we were immediately thrown into the deep end of this thing called parenting. That first month was grueling of course, and I felt discouraged thinking this was just the beginning. Then I started hearing crazy things like parenting only gets harder. With a smile, seasoned parents would assure me that the easy part was now.

Well that’s a cruel thing to say to a puffy eyed, sleep deprived, hormonally imbalanced new mom, I thought. But six years later, I now realize that what they were saying was true.

Today, I have three children, and while the oldest is now already six, I still sometimes find myself feeling just as unsure as the day we first brought him home. I sometimes wish he could still be in my womb where he was safe and warm or even be that newborn I held all those sleepless nights. He is growing faster than I can keep up with and there are always more questions than I have answers.

And what if the ways I am parenting my children and the decisions I am making are not actually good for them?

When I was a little girl, I almost killed my pets so many times, all with good intentions. Like my fish that almost died in just a few days when I tried to clean its tank out. Without the slightest clue as to what I was doing, I very carefully grabbed the fish with my slippery, tight fists and then ever so gently placed it down on the dry, fuzzy carpet beside me. I thought surely it would be safe on the nice soft ground.

And so, there it flipped and flopped through all the lint and dust while I spent the next half hour or so diligently scrubbing its tank. In my mind, I was hoping to do something good for the fish, but by the time I was done and finally looked down, I found it half dead.

A little extreme I know, but this is one of my fears. That even when doing my best, I inadvertently harm my children or scar them in some way without knowing it. That even in my best efforts and greatest intentions, I would somehow mess them up and one day they will walk away from me hurt, bitter, and/or disappointed.

This past year, this has been on my mind constantly as our family has been trying to make some big decisions. For example, the question of whether to homeschool our children or not has been a hot topic. I know the idea of homeschooling raises a lot of eyebrows, but I personally love the idea for many reasons. Even still, is that the right path for our family or am I just afraid, and will our kids be too “sheltered”?

Then on the flip side, I also wonder if I’m not sheltering my children enough because this was also one of our main concerns while contemplating orphan care and having other kids stay at our home. How will our own children fare? Will they grow to hate us for allowing a stranger into our home? Will they feel jipped of the time and energy and love they would have to share? Will they see and learn too much at too young a age?

Within just the first hosting alone, we already had to talk to our two-, four-, and six-year-olds about messy divorces, scary jails, bloody suicides, and broken families that sometimes fall apart. I remember the terror in my kids’ eyes as he described the details of some of the horrific things he went through. It shocked us all, but this was the reality that the little boy in our home dealt with and shared with us on a regular basis. We also saw the product of such trauma in the form of physical aggression, angry outbursts, and emotional instability starting from the second or third night when he lashed out at me with teeth, spit, and nails.

All this and more our kids were exposed to, and I could see their minds and their eyes widen in seeing this other world they never knew existed before. My motherly instincts of course kicked in many times, and I wanted to quickly assure them that such things would never happen to them. Nope, not in our family. I wanted to tell them that they were safe and we would be fine. There was nothing to worry about.

I could never really come to say those words, however.

No, as my children’s worlds collided with that of this little boy’s, we were all stripped of any false, flowery, fluffy illusions of safety. This was the reality of not just this kid’s life, but of life, period, in a fallen world. I could no longer fall back on empty promises of a life free of pain or suffering or even that mommies and daddies would always be there for them and protect them. That would all be a lie.

Yet what the beautiful part about these intense and raw interactions was the amazing truth that still remained. Whenever these moments occurred and we really had nothing left to say or do, we held each other close and huddled together in prayer.

We prayed to the only one who is pure, and good, and righteous, and just, and sovereign–Jesus Christ–and we thank God we had access to Him in every single moment of need. As a parent, I have never felt more vulnerable than in these times where I could not promise my children good in their life, but I also felt all the freedom in the world to know and to be able to tell them that the Lord God who has overcome this world is for us and with us.

And again, I saw their eyes light up and twinkle and mature as they witnessed our prayers being answered. They saw for themselves not only the darkness in this boy’s life, but they saw his life being transformed in Christ. They experienced God’s faithfulness in the midst of tragedy and they clearly saw that although mommies and daddies are not perfect and do not have all the answers, healing, provision, restoration, and the like, all come from God.

We prayed and He answered.

Now I see a greater confidence in my children than I’ve seen before. Little by little, their faith is growing, and I realize more and more this is my greatest job. Not to try to protect them myself from the elements of this life, but to simply lead them straight through all the clouds and rain to the God who is the only true shelter from the storm. This is the way I want my children sheltered…in His grace.

We still don’t have all the answers like if homeschooling will be in the cards for us or what our next placement will be like. But together, we are learning to trust God in all things.

When we ask our children now if they would like to have another kid come into our home, they immediately jump up and scream yes! They are excited, and so am I, to be on this adventure and journey of faith together.

Sweetness in the Letting Go

Sweetness in the Letting Go

This past Monday, our Safe Families son, Rell, was returned to his home. On many levels, letting him go was extremely difficult because our entire family had come to love him so much. Still, his going home was by far one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever experienced.

On Monday morning, my husband and I enjoyed a peaceful hour drive through scenic roads and rolling hills with Rell in the back. With many thoughts running through my mind, I sat quietly in the passenger seat looking out the window. It was finally time for him to return to his family where his mom and siblings had been waiting for him for so long.

As we drove, all three of us began to reminisce about the crazy day we first met and how he cried and screamed at the top of his lungs the whole way home. He giggled thinking about his former self because he was now such a big boy. Now almost an entire year later, it really felt like we were returning a completely different boy. Behind us, this handsome, bright, young man sat swinging his legs playfully, bobbing his head to the music, and asking us curious questions of all sorts.

Then as we drew closer to his home, the area must have looked familiar to him because he sat up a bit taller in his seat and I could feel the excitement within him stirring. Then suddenly, he looked around and told us with such confidence, “umma, appa, this is my neighborhood!” I smiled at the sweet introduction to his home and felt pleasure in being able to see his world for a change.

For months, he had adapted to our world, ate our food, played our games, and had gotten used to all the different ways we lived, all while being separated from his entire family and everything he knew. It never hit me like this before just how hard all of that really must have been for him. Now being back, it must’ve felt so good to see places he knew, and I got to see a whole new side of him I had never seen before emerge.

He was home.

It was also in this car ride, in that very moment, that I finally felt myself truly surrender. Surrender had been a key theme for me this past year, but I think without knowing it, I had been holding on to many things–to him, to control, to my ideas of what is best, to my place and position in his heart, to what I wanted for his life and ours. Although there were many times God had asked me to surrender before (and I thought I really had), I suppose surrendering is a process that takes time.

Even in the days leading up to his departure, Rell expressed so much excitement about going home, so much to the point that I wondered if he would even remember us, let alone miss us, and that honestly hurt.

But finally, by the grace of God, with every mile we drove deeper into his world and closer to his home, I felt closure begin to really take place in my heart as I let go and surrendered to the Lord. I felt strangely at peace and could even share in Rell’s joy and excitement in leaving us as I let go of what I willed and accepted God’s will for us all instead.

Then finally, we pulled into a gravel driveway where not even a minute later, his mom appeared right beside us. Right away he darted toward her and she swept him up into her arms, kissing him all over and relishing the sweet moment of finally having her baby back at home. His brother, too, was there and the two of them together exploded with excitement, racing to catch up on all the time they lost. And the smile on Rell’s face…

That was everything.

I had imagined what this moment might feel like many times before, maybe sad and even perhaps a certain level of rejection. But now that it was actually happening, I was surprised to find I felt my own burst of exhilaration and joy, a kind of high I’ve never felt before. There were no tears of sadness but only of joy. In that moment, I remembered this was why we did this–for God, for him, for her, for them–and it felt not only great…

It felt right.

Watching them, I was overwhelmed with praise to God for how He kept this family together. To witness God’s restorative work and to see a miracle like that take place, I was completely humbled to have been even a small part of something so magnificent and beyond me.

Now being back at home with one gone, things of course feel a bit different…

For example, my older son no longer has his go-to hockey buddy. My 4 year-old daughter is sad she no longer has someone who willingly plays “dad” in her game of “family.” My 2 year-old baby keeps calling out “hyungah,” which means big brother, because he is so used to being home with just Rell during the day. My husband still blurts out Rell’s name while calling out to all the kids, and I keep taking out four sets of kid plates when all we need now are three.

In those ways, there is a sense of something missing. And I won’t lie, it was the sweetest sound when Rell unexpectedly called me the next day to say hello and that he missed us. Yet in these moments of missing Rell, I just picture his sweet face and where he is now, back at home, safe and sound, and most importantly, in God’s arms and in God’s perfect plan for his life. Then I smile and find that perfect peace once again.

To not only be part of God’s plan, but to truly surrender to it, there is nothing sweeter and there is no greater freedom or joy.

My husband and I along with all the kids have loved this opportunity to care for this one child, and we are excited to do it again.

“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. ”
Psalm 139:14

The Judge, the Mediator, the Goodbye

The Judge, the Mediator, the Goodbye

I went to court for the first time in my life last month. We were there regarding the boy we have been hosting, and I was the plaintiff petitioning for custody. His mom was one defendant and his father yet another. Each of us sat at our own table and pleaded a different case before the judge.

The judge.

Apart from the case at hand, the hardest part about being in that courtroom was addressing this man in the big black gown. With every question he directed towards me, I stuttered awkwardly, “Yes sir…I mean your honor. Yes sir, your honor.”

I could hardly swallow those words because I felt so uneasy about the power this man carried, yet I was to give him all due respect. In his hand was the power to direct the course of this boy’s life, but could he really make the right decision?

The question was which home is best and what is the best interest of the child?

Was it back home with his biological mom or dad where things seem so unstable and uncertain yet that is where his real family is? The thought absolutely frightened me because although I wanted him to be with his family, I also fiercely wanted to protect him because he had become family to me as well.

Before the final hearing, however, an order was given. We were all mandated to go to mediation before the final hearing. If we could come to an agreement, our resolution would be sent to be signed by the judge. There would be no need then for a final hearing and for the judge to make any other final verdict.

Mediation. The last time I was in mediation was when I had a tiff with a girl in elementary school and we had to go to mediation with the school counselor.

Could this really work out? I was not so sure, but we had to try. So on two different occasions, we met with the county mediation team to discuss this case. At first, we seemed to only go in circles around the same issues we’ve been going around this whole time, and the truth of the matter still seemed to sadly be far from being found. I mostly sat silent as mom and dad went back and forth with different accusations. I only wanted to know what was really going on behind the scenes with each of these parents, what was truly in their hearts and minds, and if I could trust them to care for this boy like they said they would.

Then in the middle of all the commotion, the Lord began to speak to me and asked me very simply, “Will you trust Me.”

I knew right away that meant to do the very thing I was most afraid to do, and that was to return the boy to his home. As the idea whirled around with my doubts and fears, I looked up at the parents who in my eyes, seemed to be so unqualified. They had messed up so many times before, and how did we know they wouldn’t do it again?

I wanted to take them to trial, to have them stand before the judge, and for the judge to make a just decision based on all the wrong that had been done. Yet instead, here we sat with the mediator and God was prompting me to overlook their past wrongs and to show grace because the court was also ready to do so if I were willing.

Again, very gently, God reminded me to trust Him and that these “unqualified” people were the ones He chose to be this child’s parents. No matter what the outcome, God wanted to give them another chance.

So we have decided to wave the white flag. To agree with the Lord and to trust Him.

This is ultimately what we hoped for in the first place anyways, and this is what we’ve been praying for all along. Reunification. Yet now that I know he is going back, it has become so hard to let go.

Over time, I think the reality that he was not really my child was somehow forgotten as I got lost in his love. Turning off the mommy switch is somehow so much harder than it was turning it on.

And when that day comes for him to leave, I’ll have to put on a smile–the biggest, cheerfulest, and in some ways, the fakest smile there is. Because he’ll be absolutely ecstatic (as he should be), and although I will be ecstatic for him as well, a huge part of me will also be dying inside. And that part of me, I will never be able to express to him.

Even now, he doesn’t know how I cherish every single moment we have left together. I linger a little longer in every hug, every read aloud, and every long, lively, detailed conversation he pulls me into. I stare at him a little longer after he has fallen asleep each night because I know these nights won’t last very long, and although this year has felt more like an eternity, our time together now feels like it wasn’t nearly long enough.

Even if he had left afterjust a couple months like he was first supposed to, it would’ve been hard. Yet with so many more days, weeks, and months we had together, he has become this thread that has woven himself into the very fabric of our family.

He has become a part of us.

So as the day draws near when we will have to say goodbye, a part of me deeply fears that his leaving will unravel me.

I don’t want to say goodbye.

There was once a time I imagined my future with this boy if he were to stay with us. I imagined driving him to college, meeting his wife for the first time, and I even imagined what kind of father he would be to his children. Many weddings I attended this year, I shed even more tears than usual, especially as I watched the sweet traditional mother-son dance, because I couldn’t help but imagine the possibility of dancing with this boy on his wedding day as well. Oh the unspeakable joy and honor I would feel. All this and more flashed before my eyes at some point in our time together.

And our time has been so sweet. These days, we get to enjoy more fits of laughter than fits of rage, more growth than breakdowns, more healing than pain. We have so much joy and peace with him with us. We’ve overcome trauma, bad dreams, many boo boos, and more. Together, we’ve moved mountains, and now that we know all his favorite dance moves and favorite places to hide in hide-and-seek, now that we know how to read every facial expression he makes, and now that he just made it into our Christmas card family photo with that beautiful, A+, model smile–now that things are getting really sweet and good–it’s finally time to let go.

He has adjusted beautifully to our family and has learned to love us as his own, but I know that deep down inside, he has also been desperately longing to return back to his home every single day as well. I must remember that he did not come for us to keep him as our own but for us to send him back when it was time.

So it is with absolute heartbreaking and genuine joy that I wish him the absolute very best when he returns. There, he can build all those memories and more with even greater peace and joy because he’ll know he is right where he has always belonged. And for that reason alone, I can let him go and celebrate with him over this ginormous victory.

Furthermore, we also don’t have to worry about standing before the judge again. The verdict has been made through the mediator.

What’s more is that the ultimate Judge in heaven has spoken. God has given not just this boy’s parents a second chance, but He has given us all another chance as well. Before we stand before God the judge, He has sent us the mediator, the man Christ Jesus, with whom we can come into agreement over His blood, receive His pardon, and be given another chance. Every one of us who are otherwise unqualified, have been given a second chance and declared qualified to stand innocent before God through Christ.

I thank God for these second chances, for His forgiveness, and I pray that not only his parents but all of us can walk with our heads lifted high in a manner that is worthy of the Lord and pleasing to Him.  

Be a good boy, Rell Rell. We will miss you greatly and will be praying for you. It has been the greatest honor to have you, to know you, to love you. Thanks for joining the family and equally taking the brave chance of opening your heart to us so fully the way you did as well. God is always with you, and we love you so, so much.

Black Hair — Different but the Same

Black Hair — Different but the Same

My husband makes fun of me because the first time I ever stepped foot into a barber shop was earlier this year with our host child, Rell. He chuckled while looking at me endearingly, but what he was really saying in the nicest way possible was that I grew up in a little Asian bubble and that I was not cultured. While I beg to disagree on the bubble, he was right that it was in fact my first time in a barber shop, and it was not just any barber shop–it was a black barber shop. We had to make sure of it.

Rell is half black, and his biological father’s exact words when guiding us to pick the right barber was, “Make sure the people cutting his hair look like him. We don’t have the same hair like you.”

We knew exactly what he meant.

So we made a few phone calls, got on yelp, and found some places that seemed to fit the bill. The next day we went in, and Rell got a very nice, clean shape up. It looked great! Before he even got down from the swivel chair, I was texting pictures to his father to get the thumbs up.

Thankfully, dad was very pleased–phew. Hair, I know, is really important to his father.

But as the months have passed, Rell has seen that in our family, I am the one who cuts everyone’s hair in our home. Nothing fancy, but I can get the job done. And whenever it has been haircut day, I could see Rell watching from the corner of his eye as everyone else in the family got their turn in my makeshift barber chair and got their hair cut with my amateur set of Bed, Bath, & Beyond clippers.

I knew right away that he wanted to be part of this as well. He can care less about his hair and even less about how well I can cut it, but he does desperately want anything and everything that says he is part of our family too.

The reason I never offered to cut his hair though was because I was too afraid of messing up. From the beginning, this was one of the first things everyone talked to us about (his hair), and all I was told, really, was to diligently rub in this olive oil lotion after bath times and then comb it real good with this special brush, both of which were one of our first purchases when he came.

This ritual has now worked its way into our daily bedtime routine, and I thoroughly love doing it–I run my fingers through his textured, soft, curly locks, marveling at how God made us all so different and beautiful in our own way.

I love his hair.

Cutting it, however, has always been an entirely different story. Oh no… I dared not try… it felt completely foreign.

But his eyes. Goodness gracious, his eyes. Big, round, and you can see them glistening a mile away. Every time I got out my hair cutting kit and everyone got lined up, there he would be looking so sad in the corner of the room with his eyes crying out, “how about me!” For a while, however, he never said a word, but the other night, he finally had it in him to say something out loud.

As I tied my apron around my back and called over the first child to be cut, he bravely walked over to me and asked me in his husky little, high pitched, 4-year old voice, “Why every time me go to the barber shop and not you do it. Every time. Me want you cut my hair, umma. I don want to go to the barber shop anymore.”

Goodness. What could I say to that?

Well I could have probably explained to him very nicely that his hair is a little different, and that umma doesn’t know how to cut his hair. Except in my gut, I knew this was a really big deal, something that would speak volumes to him today and tomorrow and everyday as he looks at his “different” hair. It was also an opportunity, an open door, for me to draw him closer to us and to close in on the distance that has been growing between us lately.

It has been almost nine months since he came to us and since he is only four, that is almost a fourth of his life. He came to us like a baby and now he is this big boy who has not only learned to ride a 2-wheeler, use the potty, write the ABCs, and maintain a conversation, but he now also thinks very deeply with higher order feelings.

He asks lots of questions, knows when things are not fair, and everyday, I feel like he realizes a little more how different he is from the rest of us.

For example, he sees how Korean relatives come over and don’t interact with him the same as the others because of the language barrier. Although, he can now speak almost just as much Korean as my other kids. He sees how the others go to Korean school, and he doesn’t because Korean school is on the weekends and many weekends he is visiting with his parents… otherwise we would put him in too. He sees how strangers pause and look at our family, especially him, whenever we go out. He then sees them ask us questions about who he is to us and where he came from.

Through his 4-year old eyes, he sees and sees and sees and knows that he is different… and this one night, he was asking me with the same concerning look: can I please just get a haircut… can I please just belong like everyone else.

So yes, I said yes. Of course I did. I gave him a haircut.

I took a deep breath, rolled up my sleeves, youtubed a couple videos, turned on the clippers, and slowly began trimming my way around his perfectly shaped little head. I even had him pray aloud that God would help Umma not to mess up his hair.

At first, it was hard. I could see how the texture of his hair really did make a difference and it responded differently to every touch of the blade. The fading was particularly unforgiving, and I had to have just the right pressure and angle to get it right. But as I persisted, I got into a rhythm and found it wasn’t really all that different like I thought. I just had to work slowly section by section and be a little more delicate with each touch.

And every time I came around to the front of his head and caught eyes with his, there he sat smiling at me, beaming with joy.He was so happy.

When I was done, I gave him a big kiss and passed him on to my husband to be bathed, thanking God I did not butcher his hair. Then there I was left in my kitchen with nothing but hair that had fallen to the floor all around me–some curly, some straight, some thick, some thin, all different. Slowly, I began to sweep it all up until it was all gathered into one pile. Then I smiled, because once it was all brought close together, I couldn’t even tell the difference from one strand of hair to the other. It was all just hair.

And that is how I have come to see Rell in relation to us. Standing alone, he may seem very different from the rest of us. Different hair, different skin, just different. But as we have gotten closer and closer over this past year, I have seen how we are really not that different after all and share so many of the same qualities as well. Although he will always have his God-designed differences, just like all of us do and awesomely so, we are also so much the same. We are people. We need unconditional acceptance and love and validation. We need time to play, time to mourn, time to celebrate, time to laugh, time to cry. We also need family.

These days, I look at Rell and while acknowledging and celebrating his unique background, traits, and culture, I love that he is also one of us and we are like him as well.

We are different, but not as different as we think. I love Rell, I love his hair, I love our differences, I love our similarities, I love our coming together. We are family.   

Can You Hear Them? 

Can You Hear Them? 

I will never forget the first cry of an “orphan” that I heard. 

It was four years ago, just a month or two after my daughter was born, on a cool autumn night. The leaves had just changed colors and it was everything pumpkin from oatmeal to lattes to yummy pies. I was having major cabin fever after my recovery from birth, so my husband and I decided to go out to a movie for the first time in ages. My parents gladly agreed to watch the baby because she was such an easy and happy newborn. I was so happy to be out I even agreed to get popcorn and two different candies to make a good trail mix (my husband’s favorite), and this was our way of splurging. 

It was nice.   

We, however, only got into about an hour of the movie before I saw my phone lighting up in my bag on my lap. At first I ignored it, but it kept going off every minute or so, so I finally checked to see that it was my parents calling me. Quietly, I excused myself to answer the call, and as soon as I did, all I could hear was my daughter wailing in the background. I could hardly hear the words my mom was trying to say, but I gathered enough to know that we should go home immediately. 

Driving home, I wondered what it could possibly be. This was very unlike my daughter who was usually always content. Once we parked in front of the house and got out of the car, I could hear her cries from outside the house, piercing through the still night. Then as soon as I opened the front door and rushed in, I saw my mother frantically trying to soothe the screaming baby in her arms. We were told she had been crying non-stop for hours since we left and nothing seemed to work. Yet just as my mother passed her to me, like a switch, my daughter calmed down and stopped crying immediately. 

In awe, my mother looked up at me and said, “Oh my goodness… she just wanted her mommy…” 

That’s when it hit me for the first time. Right there as I stood in the middle of my living room floor holding my sweaty baby close in my arms, this thought rang in my spirit: what about the orphans.

Orphans, I thought? I knew I had always had a “heart for orphans,” or so I thought, but it never really meant more than that I knew they were there, and I felt really badly for them whenever the topic came up.  

But starting from this moment, something changed. Still holding my daughter, and with my family surrounding me, I looked up at everyone and whispered what I heard.

 “What about the orphans?”

Quiet, blank stares.

So I said it again. “What happens to the orphans? What happens when they cry and they ‘just want their mommy.’ What happens to them… ” 

My mind spun, and I could not sleep that night. All I could hear were cries–not my daughters–but cries of orphans that came from nowhere yet somewhere out there. 

Lying there with my eyes opened and staring up at the ceiling, I helplessly listened and tears streamed down to drench my pillow. I wondered how many were out there and felt so overwhelmed by the magnitude of the need. This went on for months, and although sometimes I wondered if I was making this all up in my head, the cries always continued. Some nights, I would even break down and cry aloud myself as if all I could do was echo and call back to a world I knew that was full of these children crying to no avail. 

That was four years ago, and so began our family’s journey into orphan care. Through a process, I knew God was calling us to respond and care for these orphans. No doubt there were many questions and concerns along the way, but it was no matter. The cries continued, and I knew I really had to do something this time.

But what I didn’t know was that the cry I heard that night four years ago was also more than just the cries of all the orphans out there. It was really just the cry of one.

It was one precious boy who was born around that time four years ago, in the same week as my daughter, but in a completely different home going through devastation and destruction. It was him who was crying out for help many of those nights that I heard and who was going to need a home four years later, just when things got really bad in his home and just when our home was finally ready, signed, and approved to host a child. 

It was his cry I heard in my heart that autumn night, and he was our first placement who is now in our home today. God allowed me to hear his cries to awaken me that night to not only the orphan crisis as a whole, but to hear and respond to the cries of the one the Lord knew we specifically could and would help. 

This one who was once out of sight and out of mind, is now family to us. 

Now, that one has a name that rolls off my tongue just as smoothly as does the names of my other three children. This one enjoys fruits and vegetables so much that it is almost always the first thing eaten on his plate. This one sleeps so deeply through the night, I can hear his breathing from the door the moment he falls asleep, and you can be sure that the second the sun comes up, he will begin to rub his eyes before making his way down to my room with the rest of the kids. 

This one is so real that I can’t believe he was once just a far off cry or possibly a figment of my imagination. Because now, I can’t imagine life without him.  

This one, he needs a home right now, and there is no greater joy or privilege to have him in our home for however long he needs. 

But he is just one


There are more…many, many more. 

And until their cries become real and loud to us, we will not be able to respond. 

In honor of Orphan Awareness Month coming up in November, let us pray, let us listen, and let us be moved to action. I assure you, the cries are real, and the honor will be yours to care for one, if not more, of these children in one way or another. 

Can you hear them? 

Waiting For Birth 

Waiting For Birth 

This past weekend, I attended another birth as a doula, and once again, it was nothing short of the most amazing experience of my life. I always knew I loved being at births, but I now finally realized a little better why.

When I arrived at the hospital on Friday evening to join the laboring, soon-to-be mommy and her husband, it was already around 9pm, an hour before my bedtime. I warmly greeted them both, then rubbing away any sleepiness that may tempt me, I quietly began unpacking my bags in the corner of the room. I got out my massage oil, a warm compress, and some other comfort tools that have come to be my go-to items.

Then gently, I knelt beside mom, who was closing her eyes and slowly rocking back and forth while breathing deeply through her contractions in the dimly lit room. The only thing that could be heard was the soft music playing from her bedside and her soft, rhythmic moans and groans. On the outside, she looked like she was in perfect peace, but I knew this took great effort to remain calm through the intense waves taking over her body.

As the contractions grew in intensity and strength, the clock on the wall tick-tocked faithfully with us through the night. I massaged soothing oils into her body from head to toe, I spooned ice chips into her dry mouth, I gave her sweet honey for nourishment, and I gently wiped away drips of sweat with a cool wash cloth across her brow. Anytime she needed to change position, I was there to offer my hands, my arms, my body to support her. Sometimes I sang softly to her, and all throughout, I was praying for her. I gave her my all.

It is no wonder the word ‘doula’ comes from the Greek word meaning female servant. Together, we labored hard and after hours of tremendous work, we saw the sun come up together. Then we labored some more.

It wasn’t until noon the next day when the sun was high up in the sky and blazing warm and bright for its first day of autumn that it suddenly became time to push. Although no one could say when exactly this time would come, just like that, it was time.

By this point, I felt just as invested in this birth as the mother, and I, too, had great anticipation to see this baby. I had also been in her shoes three times before with my own births, and I could just imagine what she was feeling.

Suddenly, the time had come to see and behold the birth, the baby she had been waiting and hoping for all this time.

You see, when this mother found out she was pregnant nine months before this moment, she was thrilled. She took multiple pregnancy tests–maybe 3 or 4 or 10–just to be sure. And even though they all said positive, there was still some level of doubt.

Could it really be true?

But then she saw her belly growing, and she couldn’t believe it! The first visible sign of her baby. She knew she would probably be getting stretch marks soon, but that didn’t even matter because she was going to have a baby. Then other signs came popping up. She felt strange things like cravings, nausea, hormonal imbalances, and little kicks to her rib cage.

Soon, her whole life began to revolve around this child she had not yet met, but only knew from all these signs of life within her.

There was no doubt, really. Of course this baby was real, and one day soon, the baby would be here, outside, and in her arms.

Yet as much as she thought she now knew and believed that this baby was there and coming, it was still only in part. She could not possibly fathom what it would really feel like to finally SEE and know and behold this baby in the flesh.

That is, until this very moment–the moment of truth.

She was now in position, and holding breath after breath, she began to push with all her might. And for awhile, nothing seemed to have changed much. Baby was still inside, and all you could see was still the great effort on the mother’s part.

But then suddenly, it happened. The once unthinkable, the once unbelievable, the thing once merely an object of hope… began to appear.

Baby.

We saw a glimpse of her hair, and it was all we needed to explode. That is when everyone in the room came alive. Whether moments ago weary or ever in doubt, we were all now jolted into amazement and belief. And though mom had hardly anything left within her, this glimpse was all she needed to gather herself the strength to push once more through the sweat now mixed with tears. 

And before we all knew it, this baby, a REAL. LIFE. BABY… came out and was ACTUALLY in the room with us.  

BABY

This baby whom we saw and knew only in part through the listening of heartbeats, the sonograms, and all the other signs was finally now fully before us. And more than anything imaginable, this baby was absolutely beautiful, bursting with life, and perfect! Better than perfect, in fact. 

There is nothing like a newborn baby taking its first breath of air, letting out its first unique and sweet cry into the universe, and beginning the first few seconds of its new life. You feel like the world and the heavens actually pause for a moment along with everyone else in the room to simply marvel at the sight. 

Then I had a thought. This is how our Savior also came into this world! But how much more anticipation and fulfillment came with the sight of His birth? I can only imagine the thrill of Mary, Joseph, the wise men, and the shepherd after they finally saw the boy Jesus who was promised to them.

And now we only have to wait for His return.

And in the same way, this is how I imagine waiting for Jesus’ second coming along with the manifestation of the fullness of heaven on earth.

We see some of it now. We may even feel like we see a lot of it now. We see great signs of Jesus all around us, and we KNOW and BELIEVE both Him and His words are real.

But it is all still largely only in part.

Only when He returns will we understand, and see, and know Him in full, and how glorious will that day be!

Even now, He is sooooo good to us, and we think we know Him pretty good already. Can you imagine the FULLNESS? Face to face, no more tears, no more pain, but only pure and unadulterated love and glory in His magnificent and beautiful and perfect presence.

For those who have been seeing evidences of Jesus now. For those who have been waiting, rocking back and forth on your knees in prayer, groaning with longing for the time to come and for this pain stricken world to pass. Jesus is coming again. The promise will be birthed. And it is going to be nothing short of THE MOST AMAZING MOMENT IN ALL OF CREATION.

I can’t wait to be thrust into that completeness of joy in knowing, breathing, beholding the FULLNESS of Jesus and heaven.

For those who wonder how or why I can love being a doula, now you know. And for this reason, I always leave births a bit spent but as wide-eyed and in awe as ever. I love being a doula and waiting on a birth.

We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.

Romans 8:22-25