I got challenged, not once, but twice in 2 days to take the ALS ice bucket challenge. And, just like all of you, my newsfeed has been clogged with challenges being accepted AND articles disputing the actual "help" in the challenge for the last 10 days or so. I've read the articles. And I've watched the challenges. There are always skeptics. And there are absolutely some of you out there that have futures in film. I have been completely entertained! And from the first one that I saw, I knew my day was coming. I've had so many thoughts about this challenge......they start somewhere around here.
Good for you, America! That we've all taken the challenge to raise a ruckus and to raise awareness and let's just be honest, to make cute videos to show to all of our Facebook friends and family AND to prove that we won't back down from a challenge. Isn't this the easy way, though? To dump a bucket of ice....AND then slink away. Will any of us really invest ourselves in ALS research? Will any of us, that haven't been directly effected by this disease, will any of us remember this challenge outside of the Facebook video? In spite of me knowing the answer to these questions, I was totally going to "man up" and dump a bucket of ice water on myself and then I read this blog.....
http://www.bostern.com/blog/2014/08/15/what-an-als-family-really-thinks-about-the-ice-bucket-challenge/
The author says about ALS, "We are in for the fight of our lives with this monster, and the very LAST thing I want is for people to give quietly, anonymously, and then slink away. Raise the roof! Raise a ruckus!". I read that line over and over again. And it was like she was talking about my life.
I think about all of the "monsters" that people face. Things completely out of anyones control. Diseases like ALS and Alzheimers and cancer. They take a slow painful toll on all parties involved and at the fault of no one. But everyone suffers. And then I think about the little boy sleeping upstairs in my house. And I think about the monster that we face every day. And I think about how HE didn't have a choice, but someone did. And he is suffering, because of someone else. And then I think about the kids all over the world....red, yellow, black and white.....that are suffering at the hands of someone else. And the monsters they face both physically, mentally and figuratively, in their present and in their future if the opportunity for healing ever presents itself. And then I thought about the people in our very own country that fight monsters every single day, by choice. These men and women signed up. They enlisted themselves to protect our honor and freedom. And they found themselves wounded, suffering and struggling. By choice. For us. Don't these people, these children, don't they deserve a ruckus? Doesn't everyone suffering deserve a ruckus much greater than an ice bucket challenge?
I believe in this challenge. I believe that as Americans we have change at our fingertips but are too lazy to tap into it. We lack passion on so many fronts. We lack commitment to causes that have nothing to offer back to us. We lack the drive to go past the ice bucket. I took this challenge, and chose to donate my money to the following charities:
http://capabeaufort.org/about-capa/mission/
http://www.nami.org/
http://www.woundedwarriorregiment.org/
These are efforts close to my heart. These are issues that have directly effected my family. These are the platforms that I will stand for in 5 years when the buckets have been packed away.
My challenge to you is to do your research. My challenge to you is to tap into what hits closest to your "home". AND RAISE A RUCKUS!!!! Advocate. Fundraise. There are people living all around you, fighting different fights. Everyone needs someone that cares. I challenge you to be more than just a Facebook video.
Friday, August 22, 2014
Monday, August 11, 2014
May and Me
A few years ago, I read a book titled "The Secret Life of Bees" (if you haven't read it.....READ IT). I won't bore you by rewriting the Spark notes but there was a character in the book named "May". May had a twin sister, April, when she was younger. April was very depressed and committed suicide at a young age. And May was left to live that pain every day. She was extremely sensitive to any kind of hurt. She would read a newspaper article about something tragic or hear a sad story and she would retreat to her "wailing wall" to mourn as deeply as the families directly effected by the tragedy. She felt very real pain. Very very deeply. And it was her curse. Her burden. Her daily battle.
I remember sobbing my way through parts of this book. The storyline itself is tragic but I wasn't sobbing about the main character.....I was sobbing because I felt like May was writing my story. I didn't have a twin sister that committed suicide. I don't have a personally built "wailing wall" out back that I retreat to when my heart is heavy with hurt (though I do have a bathroom that serves quite handy for this matter). But when I let myself hurt, it hurts deep. And it is my curse. My burden. My daily battle.
As I've gotten older, I have developed self coping mechanisms and have learned to increase the inhibitors and decrease the triggers. I've learned to breathe deep- A LOT (this may also sound like sighing. Sometimes it is. I'm Southern. Can't help it.). I go to the gym. Do I want to be skinny? Ummmm...YEP! But more than anything, I want a natural release of serotonin. Do I really, really, lick my lips enjoy several glasses of wine on occasion......Fo' sho!!!! BUT.....even one glass makes me weepy and let's just be honest, NOBODY wants to open the Hoover dam in exchange for 1 glass of wine. So I most often, opt out. I don't watch movies or tv shows that will stick with me anymore. I can't put anything into my mind that doesn't filter to my heart. So, no "Chain Saw Massacre", "300", "Hatfields and McCoys" even a few scenes in the Bible series of people getting beaten and throats slashed......I can't function for days after watching something like that. (FYI.....people that think they CAN watch something and it mean NOTHING because it's "just a show"......you're all lying to yourselves.) I rarely watch the news. We can't deny that we live in an awful, sick, horrible world. If the stories aren't about horrible sins committed against children or the elderly or husbands and wives, then the stories are about the war torn countries throughout the world that are suffering at the hands of their rulers (there is 1 in particular that I feel certain is the anti-Christ). Childhood cancer and orphans and babies being killed by the millions in clinics. People hating people. In the name of hate. And it's too much for me. It's too much for someone that fights every day for joy.
Depression. I was 14 years old the first time a doctor said that word to me. I was humiliated and ashamed and wanted to hide it from the world. I made a lot of mistakes growing up with depression. I didn't do a lot of the things that I do now as means of helping myself. Am I saying that the precautions I take now have eliminated my depression? Nope. I'm saying that depression is very very real and that it's a choice I make every single day.......... To get up. To put my feet on the floor. To participate in life. To recognize when I need an emotion check. To not allow my feelings to be the rulers of my universe. To not always say I'm ok, if I'm not really okay. To talk to someone. To turn on praise and worship music. To open my Bible. To open my eyes. To breathe it in. To ask God to relieve my burden. To hide in the bathroom and cry it out. To hold my kids and let them see that I'm weak sometimes too. To look around and see that God is answering my prayers for relief, but I have to accept the help before it can actually be helpful.
So now in these last few months, my heart is so heavy. No matter how much I hide from it, I'm reading stories and seeing pictures of Christians and CHILDREN being persecuted/executed because they love God. Hundreds of girls kidnapped from their school and sold into "marriage". Entire families being executed in their homes. Wives losing their husbands, Husbands losing their wives. Children dying from cancer. Orphanages being bombed. Vehicles full of children trying to flee the bombing being shot at. Mass human graves being found. Civilian planes being shot down. How is this possible? And it's becoming unbearable. The weight. The knowledge. The inability to hide. The feeling in my stomach that tells me "you are not immune". And we aren't. We aren't immune to tragedy. Every night when I kiss my kids goodnight I kiss, and then peak, and then peak real quick again. Most nights I touch them to make sure their chests are still moving up and down. Because we are not immune. Every time Jake gets behind the wheel. Every time I leave the house with a van full of kids. Every time we go to a movie or for a routine doctors visit. Not fear. Not waiting. But knowledge. Knowledge that this life is just a vapor. Knowledge of the speed at which this life could shift from reading about tragedy, to living tragedy.
And today I read about Robin Williams committing suicide. And it reminds me all over again that this thing that so many of us fight every day is a demon. It is a relentless demon. It shows no mercy. It is both a figurative and literal darkness. I am reminded that sometimes, even people that are a light to so many, fail to see the light themselves. I used to be one of those people. Smiling on the outside. Dying on the inside. Without hope. Just like May.
Here is the difference between me and May. May would have read about Robin Williams today, she would have taken the newspaper article down to her wailing wall and stapled it there. She would have cried over him for days. Hurting. Weeping. She would have taken the photos of the children beheaded by ISIS down to the wall, and she would have walked into the river, never to walk out again, unable to bear the weight of the pain those parents must feel. The difference between me and May is hope. Hope of what is to come. Hope, as an anchor.
Revelation 21 New International Version (NIV)
6 He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. 7 Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children. 8 But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars—they will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death.”
And I have this hope, because I am redeemed. (2 Corinthians 5:17-18) Thank God, redeemed. I am victorious. Chosen. Adopted. (Ephesians 1:4-6).
My heart breaks daily for so many people. For their hurt. For their loneliness. But I can't fix it. Only the One can. And He hears the prayers of the brokenhearted. He makes a way, as a light in the darkness.
Praying for Christians being persecuted throughout the world tonight. And for so many that don't know what hope means.
I remember sobbing my way through parts of this book. The storyline itself is tragic but I wasn't sobbing about the main character.....I was sobbing because I felt like May was writing my story. I didn't have a twin sister that committed suicide. I don't have a personally built "wailing wall" out back that I retreat to when my heart is heavy with hurt (though I do have a bathroom that serves quite handy for this matter). But when I let myself hurt, it hurts deep. And it is my curse. My burden. My daily battle.
As I've gotten older, I have developed self coping mechanisms and have learned to increase the inhibitors and decrease the triggers. I've learned to breathe deep- A LOT (this may also sound like sighing. Sometimes it is. I'm Southern. Can't help it.). I go to the gym. Do I want to be skinny? Ummmm...YEP! But more than anything, I want a natural release of serotonin. Do I really, really, lick my lips enjoy several glasses of wine on occasion......Fo' sho!!!! BUT.....even one glass makes me weepy and let's just be honest, NOBODY wants to open the Hoover dam in exchange for 1 glass of wine. So I most often, opt out. I don't watch movies or tv shows that will stick with me anymore. I can't put anything into my mind that doesn't filter to my heart. So, no "Chain Saw Massacre", "300", "Hatfields and McCoys" even a few scenes in the Bible series of people getting beaten and throats slashed......I can't function for days after watching something like that. (FYI.....people that think they CAN watch something and it mean NOTHING because it's "just a show"......you're all lying to yourselves.) I rarely watch the news. We can't deny that we live in an awful, sick, horrible world. If the stories aren't about horrible sins committed against children or the elderly or husbands and wives, then the stories are about the war torn countries throughout the world that are suffering at the hands of their rulers (there is 1 in particular that I feel certain is the anti-Christ). Childhood cancer and orphans and babies being killed by the millions in clinics. People hating people. In the name of hate. And it's too much for me. It's too much for someone that fights every day for joy.
Depression. I was 14 years old the first time a doctor said that word to me. I was humiliated and ashamed and wanted to hide it from the world. I made a lot of mistakes growing up with depression. I didn't do a lot of the things that I do now as means of helping myself. Am I saying that the precautions I take now have eliminated my depression? Nope. I'm saying that depression is very very real and that it's a choice I make every single day.......... To get up. To put my feet on the floor. To participate in life. To recognize when I need an emotion check. To not allow my feelings to be the rulers of my universe. To not always say I'm ok, if I'm not really okay. To talk to someone. To turn on praise and worship music. To open my Bible. To open my eyes. To breathe it in. To ask God to relieve my burden. To hide in the bathroom and cry it out. To hold my kids and let them see that I'm weak sometimes too. To look around and see that God is answering my prayers for relief, but I have to accept the help before it can actually be helpful.
So now in these last few months, my heart is so heavy. No matter how much I hide from it, I'm reading stories and seeing pictures of Christians and CHILDREN being persecuted/executed because they love God. Hundreds of girls kidnapped from their school and sold into "marriage". Entire families being executed in their homes. Wives losing their husbands, Husbands losing their wives. Children dying from cancer. Orphanages being bombed. Vehicles full of children trying to flee the bombing being shot at. Mass human graves being found. Civilian planes being shot down. How is this possible? And it's becoming unbearable. The weight. The knowledge. The inability to hide. The feeling in my stomach that tells me "you are not immune". And we aren't. We aren't immune to tragedy. Every night when I kiss my kids goodnight I kiss, and then peak, and then peak real quick again. Most nights I touch them to make sure their chests are still moving up and down. Because we are not immune. Every time Jake gets behind the wheel. Every time I leave the house with a van full of kids. Every time we go to a movie or for a routine doctors visit. Not fear. Not waiting. But knowledge. Knowledge that this life is just a vapor. Knowledge of the speed at which this life could shift from reading about tragedy, to living tragedy.
And today I read about Robin Williams committing suicide. And it reminds me all over again that this thing that so many of us fight every day is a demon. It is a relentless demon. It shows no mercy. It is both a figurative and literal darkness. I am reminded that sometimes, even people that are a light to so many, fail to see the light themselves. I used to be one of those people. Smiling on the outside. Dying on the inside. Without hope. Just like May.
Here is the difference between me and May. May would have read about Robin Williams today, she would have taken the newspaper article down to her wailing wall and stapled it there. She would have cried over him for days. Hurting. Weeping. She would have taken the photos of the children beheaded by ISIS down to the wall, and she would have walked into the river, never to walk out again, unable to bear the weight of the pain those parents must feel. The difference between me and May is hope. Hope of what is to come. Hope, as an anchor.
Revelation 21 New International Version (NIV)
A New Heaven and a New Earth
21 Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,”[a] for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. 2 I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. 3 And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. 4 ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’[b] or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”
5 He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”6 He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. 7 Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children. 8 But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars—they will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death.”
And I have this hope, because I am redeemed. (2 Corinthians 5:17-18) Thank God, redeemed. I am victorious. Chosen. Adopted. (Ephesians 1:4-6).
My heart breaks daily for so many people. For their hurt. For their loneliness. But I can't fix it. Only the One can. And He hears the prayers of the brokenhearted. He makes a way, as a light in the darkness.
Praying for Christians being persecuted throughout the world tonight. And for so many that don't know what hope means.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
A 1st birthday, 6 years in the making.......
I remember all of Cole and Zella's firsts. I have baby books filled with little lockets of hair and notes scribbled on paper and tossed in the books that say things like "today you smiled for the first time" with a date written next to it. Their birth stories are emblazoned in my mind. I will never forget the way I completely melted and gave my heart away when each of them was laid on my chest in the delivery room. Cole was a puker. He threw up on more occasions and for so many different reasons I can't even recall them all. But I was there, reaching my hands out to catch it in the car, washing sheets in the middle of the night, using q-tips to get it out of his nose. Zella didn't sleep for the first year of her life. And I was there. Pacing the living room floor in the middle of the night. I actually got evaluated for narcolepsy when she was about 6 months old.....because that's how little she slept. And each of those moments, those special, hard hard moments, are the ones that created our bond. Somehow, the sacrifice of being sleep deprived and puked on, didn't seem like a sacrifice at all. They needed me. And they loved needing me. And I never considered that I didn't share a lot of David's "firsts" with him. Because a lot of his "firsts" didn't happen until he joined our family and those are just as monumental. His first train ride, his first plane ride, his first comfy bed, first stuffed animal, first real family. But it's different. I said it. I got it out. It's different. About 4 months after David got home, it hit me, really really hard, that this is different. That this child will not require the same love that Cole and Zella will require. That sometimes, this sacrifice, will feel like sacrifice. That me not sharing the moment he entered the world with him or the first time he cried in pain or the first time he threw up or got hurt or needed food...me not being there for the same firsts that I shared with Cole and Zella.....it didn't hurt me. It hurt him. And hurt is deep. Children don't always have clear memories of exact circumstances, but they have memory of emotion. They remember fear. They remember loneliness. They remember pain. They remember distrust. They remember hopelessness. David remembers.
David's mothers' name was Angel. Around his second birthday, Angel loved him enough to send him to a hospital via ambulance. She never showed up to pick him up. The hospital records show that he stayed at the hospital for 7 months before he became property of Ukraine. He spent his next year in one orphanage. And the next year in a different orphanage. And one year ago today, on his 5th birthday, David became eligible for adoption in Ukraine. His file arrived at the adoption authority's office just 30 minutes before Jake and I arrived to blindly select our future child. We planned to bring two children home. And we were shown 7 files of siblings and had NO PEACE. The lady we were meeting with left the room and came back with an 8th file. I think Jake and I both started crying. That was our son. His name was written incorrectly on the paperwork so our translator originally told us his name was David. We had no intention of naming him that. We went to Ukraine with the idea of naming our son Isaac. But God knows. In 1 Samuel 16, Samuel was seeking a new king for Israel from the sons of Jesse. Samuel saw 7 of Jesse's sons but knew that none of them were chosen by God. Samuel asked Jesse if he had any other sons and Jesse sent for his youngest, his 8th son, David. When Samuel saw David the Lord spoke to Samuel "Rise and anoint him; this is the one". I didn't know the parallels until I started reading more about David. The more I started believing and trusting in God's plan for his life. One night Jake and David were reading from the Childrens picture Bible that we have. The story of David and Goliath reads like this "Goliath was a giant. He came to fight God's people.....But a boy named David was not afraid. GOD HAD BLESSED DAVID AND MADE HIM VERY BRAVE. David stood before the giant Goliath. He said, "I have come to fight you in the name of God." I was standing downstairs listening to Jake read and I started sobbing. God has blessed David, and God did make David very brave. And David is fighting a mighty mighty giant. Every day he fights his memory. He fights the first 5 years of his life. He fights the instinct to fight. He fights fear. He fights every single day, against an enemy that preys on the innocent. Matthew 13:19 tells us "When anyone hears the message about the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what was sown in their heart." Because David does not understand love, when we give it to him, the enemy comes and snatches it away from him. Because David does not understand what it means to be a family or what it means when we pray and thank God for him, the enemy snatches it from him like a thief in the night. And as his mother, my heart is broken. Because ALL I can do is take heart, and be strong and take heart and wait on the Lord. (Psalm 27:13-14) I KNOW that darkness will ALWAYS lose to light. But today, today I wanted it to hurry up. Today I wanted it to be different. Today is David's birthday.
The hardest day of our 10 months home for me, was the day that I realized that I can't spoil David the way my heart wants to. I know his story. I know all of the awful, nasty stuff in his history book. And it makes me want to spoil him even more. And I can't. Because he can't handle it. I think back to all of the kids 1st Christmases. All 3 of them. We went over the top and gave them just a ridiculous amount of gifts and expected them to perform and be happy and cheerful and then we threw a camera in the mix and made them wear scratchy, uncomfortable outfits and THEN, when they started crying, we were like "what's wrong?!". Why do we do this? Why do overwhelm our kids? I was talking to my Uncle yesterday about the big birthday today and I was reminding him of all the Christmases gone bad and he said "well when you give all those gifts, it's not really for the kids". Sigh. Truer words were never spoken. David can't handle excess. It makes him uncomfortable because it is completely foreign to him. At Christmas, he was literally shaking so hard that I had to hold him tight under my arm. And birthdays are all about excess. The excessive sugar and too many gifts and it's just a lot. So a few weeks ago, I got nervous. I didn't want to force this birthday thing on him and ruin the whole day. BUT, every single person in our entire house has had a birthday (even the dog) since he got home, so doesn't he expect the hoopla?! Turns out, no. He doesn't want the hoopla. He wants to belong. And us crazy, over the top, Americans, well sometimes we give gifts to make people feel special. But you know what's crazy? The idea of giving material things to people to make them feel special. That's crazy. I look at David today, 6 years old, and I know that the excess won't heal David's heart. I know that the presents and the cake and big party, that won't erase the fact that for the first 5 years of his life nobody celebrated him. Ever. On any occasion. We have family members right now that are mad at us because we asked them to just send David a card with a note in it and not big gifts and they're mad because well this is his first birthday and we're making up for lost time so it should be crazy over the top, right? No. It should be safe. It should make him feel secure in this new life. It should tell him that we love him......and should teach him that love is not measured by gifts and dessert. Even if that is really really hard for mom.
There are days when I just want him to live. Days when I want him to jump out of bed with a smile on his face and just LIVE. I want him to walk in confidence and faith and not in fear and defiance. I asked God so many months ago to start planting these emotions in me and you know what? God answered my prayers. And you know what else? It's so painful. It's so painful to watch him struggle with his past. It's so painful to want to mother him....when he's too afraid to admit that he needs a mother. But in that pain.....it means that God is working. It means that God has started to burn out the ugly. And maybe the start of that was with me. Maybe the start of His healing started with the heart of our home. Just maybe.
And maybe God has big plans for David's 7th birthday. I woke up this morning and looked at the Bible app on my phone and the verse today said "No eye has seen, no ear has heard and no human mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love Him", 1 Corinthians 2:9. I'm trusting in that. That His plans are greater than my dreams for David. That His plans trump a 6th birthday party. His plans epitomize excess. That's where my hope is.
So today, in our house, there was a Happy Birthday banner and there was a Happy Birthday song. There was a watermelon cake with a candle and a big dinner. And there was one gift....and a little boy that literally gasped when he opened it. And he smiled. A real smile. Today wasn't huge. It wasn't over the top. It was a 1st birthday, 6 years in the making, for David Benjamin Kubnick. And at the end of today, he smiled. And THAT says so much. That means we're doing it. On the days when I feel like we have NO idea what we're doing, we're still doing something. And he smiled.
Happy Birthday, David Benjamin Kubnick. "And I am sure of this, that He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ." Philippians 1:6
**For those of you that are curious about kiddos that come from hard places, I encourage you to watch this clip and then read the letter. If you don't have time for both, read the letter. This was done by some parents of trauma kids. It's well done. And it says a lot about what we go through behind closed doors. https://www.attachmenttraumanetwork.com/mylife.html **
David's mothers' name was Angel. Around his second birthday, Angel loved him enough to send him to a hospital via ambulance. She never showed up to pick him up. The hospital records show that he stayed at the hospital for 7 months before he became property of Ukraine. He spent his next year in one orphanage. And the next year in a different orphanage. And one year ago today, on his 5th birthday, David became eligible for adoption in Ukraine. His file arrived at the adoption authority's office just 30 minutes before Jake and I arrived to blindly select our future child. We planned to bring two children home. And we were shown 7 files of siblings and had NO PEACE. The lady we were meeting with left the room and came back with an 8th file. I think Jake and I both started crying. That was our son. His name was written incorrectly on the paperwork so our translator originally told us his name was David. We had no intention of naming him that. We went to Ukraine with the idea of naming our son Isaac. But God knows. In 1 Samuel 16, Samuel was seeking a new king for Israel from the sons of Jesse. Samuel saw 7 of Jesse's sons but knew that none of them were chosen by God. Samuel asked Jesse if he had any other sons and Jesse sent for his youngest, his 8th son, David. When Samuel saw David the Lord spoke to Samuel "Rise and anoint him; this is the one". I didn't know the parallels until I started reading more about David. The more I started believing and trusting in God's plan for his life. One night Jake and David were reading from the Childrens picture Bible that we have. The story of David and Goliath reads like this "Goliath was a giant. He came to fight God's people.....But a boy named David was not afraid. GOD HAD BLESSED DAVID AND MADE HIM VERY BRAVE. David stood before the giant Goliath. He said, "I have come to fight you in the name of God." I was standing downstairs listening to Jake read and I started sobbing. God has blessed David, and God did make David very brave. And David is fighting a mighty mighty giant. Every day he fights his memory. He fights the first 5 years of his life. He fights the instinct to fight. He fights fear. He fights every single day, against an enemy that preys on the innocent. Matthew 13:19 tells us "When anyone hears the message about the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what was sown in their heart." Because David does not understand love, when we give it to him, the enemy comes and snatches it away from him. Because David does not understand what it means to be a family or what it means when we pray and thank God for him, the enemy snatches it from him like a thief in the night. And as his mother, my heart is broken. Because ALL I can do is take heart, and be strong and take heart and wait on the Lord. (Psalm 27:13-14) I KNOW that darkness will ALWAYS lose to light. But today, today I wanted it to hurry up. Today I wanted it to be different. Today is David's birthday.
The hardest day of our 10 months home for me, was the day that I realized that I can't spoil David the way my heart wants to. I know his story. I know all of the awful, nasty stuff in his history book. And it makes me want to spoil him even more. And I can't. Because he can't handle it. I think back to all of the kids 1st Christmases. All 3 of them. We went over the top and gave them just a ridiculous amount of gifts and expected them to perform and be happy and cheerful and then we threw a camera in the mix and made them wear scratchy, uncomfortable outfits and THEN, when they started crying, we were like "what's wrong?!". Why do we do this? Why do overwhelm our kids? I was talking to my Uncle yesterday about the big birthday today and I was reminding him of all the Christmases gone bad and he said "well when you give all those gifts, it's not really for the kids". Sigh. Truer words were never spoken. David can't handle excess. It makes him uncomfortable because it is completely foreign to him. At Christmas, he was literally shaking so hard that I had to hold him tight under my arm. And birthdays are all about excess. The excessive sugar and too many gifts and it's just a lot. So a few weeks ago, I got nervous. I didn't want to force this birthday thing on him and ruin the whole day. BUT, every single person in our entire house has had a birthday (even the dog) since he got home, so doesn't he expect the hoopla?! Turns out, no. He doesn't want the hoopla. He wants to belong. And us crazy, over the top, Americans, well sometimes we give gifts to make people feel special. But you know what's crazy? The idea of giving material things to people to make them feel special. That's crazy. I look at David today, 6 years old, and I know that the excess won't heal David's heart. I know that the presents and the cake and big party, that won't erase the fact that for the first 5 years of his life nobody celebrated him. Ever. On any occasion. We have family members right now that are mad at us because we asked them to just send David a card with a note in it and not big gifts and they're mad because well this is his first birthday and we're making up for lost time so it should be crazy over the top, right? No. It should be safe. It should make him feel secure in this new life. It should tell him that we love him......and should teach him that love is not measured by gifts and dessert. Even if that is really really hard for mom.
There are days when I just want him to live. Days when I want him to jump out of bed with a smile on his face and just LIVE. I want him to walk in confidence and faith and not in fear and defiance. I asked God so many months ago to start planting these emotions in me and you know what? God answered my prayers. And you know what else? It's so painful. It's so painful to watch him struggle with his past. It's so painful to want to mother him....when he's too afraid to admit that he needs a mother. But in that pain.....it means that God is working. It means that God has started to burn out the ugly. And maybe the start of that was with me. Maybe the start of His healing started with the heart of our home. Just maybe.
And maybe God has big plans for David's 7th birthday. I woke up this morning and looked at the Bible app on my phone and the verse today said "No eye has seen, no ear has heard and no human mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love Him", 1 Corinthians 2:9. I'm trusting in that. That His plans are greater than my dreams for David. That His plans trump a 6th birthday party. His plans epitomize excess. That's where my hope is.
So today, in our house, there was a Happy Birthday banner and there was a Happy Birthday song. There was a watermelon cake with a candle and a big dinner. And there was one gift....and a little boy that literally gasped when he opened it. And he smiled. A real smile. Today wasn't huge. It wasn't over the top. It was a 1st birthday, 6 years in the making, for David Benjamin Kubnick. And at the end of today, he smiled. And THAT says so much. That means we're doing it. On the days when I feel like we have NO idea what we're doing, we're still doing something. And he smiled.
Happy Birthday, David Benjamin Kubnick. "And I am sure of this, that He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ." Philippians 1:6
**For those of you that are curious about kiddos that come from hard places, I encourage you to watch this clip and then read the letter. If you don't have time for both, read the letter. This was done by some parents of trauma kids. It's well done. And it says a lot about what we go through behind closed doors. https://www.attachmenttraumanetwork.com/mylife.html **
Sunday, July 13, 2014
The Big Move
Several months ago, Jake and I both posted on Facebook about our big move to Memphis, TN. Jake accepted a job with the FAA working at Memphis Center. On July 3, Jake graduated 3rd in his class from the FAA academy in Oklahoma City, OK and on July 4, after being away from us for 12 weeks, he returned home to a VERY excited family of Kubnicks. Since Jake left for school, we've had so many people ask us "when are you leaving?......are you still moving?.....when does Jake start his new job?" and well, I thought I would make answering all of those questions easier on myself and just put a blog post out there. For all of you inquiring minds, here you go.
8 years ago Jake got out of the Marine Corps with a bright future in air traffic control. He had been promised a job with the DOD and well, we learned a tough DOD lesson and things fell through. So, he applied to the FAA and got hired at Memphis Center. He accepted that job but then the FAA went through a huge pay grade restructuring process and the money was not worth the stress of being a controller for the FAA. But Jake said yes anyways because he needed to provide for his family. About 2 weeks before his check-in date in Memphis, the DOD called and hired Jake at MCAS Beaufort. We knew that when Jake called and turned down the FAA position that we didn't want to completely close that door. Jake's a talented controller and we had no idea what our future held for us. As our family has grown, we've gone through so many changes. We purchased our first home (right before the housing market collapsed) contingent on the two awesome incomes that we had for so many years. We've added 2 more children to the mix. We've gone through a lot of cars and car loans and have upgraded and downgraded more times than I can count. We found a church that is ALIVE. Jake became a Christian. We started listening to God. God started refining us for His purpose (we still don't know what this purpose is). We decided to try and live off only 1 great income instead of 2 (I hate discipline). And we've been on a crazy long roller coaster ride through it all. But for some reason, God keeps on blessing us.
2 and a half years ago Jake decided that he was ready to revisit the possibility of the FAA. His resume was beefed up and his experience immeasurable. He applied.....and got his dream job. Jake got hired at Atlanta Center. As a controller, from what he explained to me, that would be the pinnacle for his career. And he isn't even 35 yet. So he said "yes"! And then the government started enforcing furloughs. Government branches started their budgeting processes and money got cut from every single corner.....including the Department of Transportation. Every time the budget moved a little money from Peter to pay Paul, the numbers of employees that each air traffic control facility was able to employ was reduced. So basically, Jake was hired, but he was on a wait list for school because there wasn't enough money in the DOT's budget to school and hire the number of controllers that were waiting to be employed. About a year ago he started talking to his HR rep with the FAA and she told him that for him to get in as an employee in Atlanta, he would wait until 2018. She offered him several other options......New Hampshire, Minnesota, Oakland (bwahhahahha. nope.), and Memphis. When Memphis popped up Jake and I chuckled. We couldn't help but pay attention. So twice, this same job has fallen into Jake's lap. Maybe God wants us in Memphis? Jake accepted the job. He left for Oklahoma City in April. And the next 12 weeks we all spent surviving and letting God work on our hearts.
Last week our pastor delivered a sermon on a fresh start. He mentioned that a change of location isn't imperative for a fresh start. And Jake and I did the half smirk and glanced at each other. When Jake accepted the position in Memphis, our entire family was desperate for change. David had been with our family for a very short time and was struggling. We were coming off of a year and a half long fundraising frenzy for the adoption and separation during time in Ukraine and sleep deprivation that comes along with bringing a new child home. And we all thought we needed a fresh start. We needed change. But the change we needed wasn't to pack up the house and move. The change we needed was inside our home.....and inside our hearts. And Jake and I both knew that. Neither of us had peace. The day Jake arrived in Oklahoma City for FAA school, he said that God made it clear to him that Memphis was not the place for us. And I informed Jake that the idea of Memphis made me want to vomit. Not because it's Memphis, but because God was screaming at me "NO!". So now what? What do we do? Jake had already quit the job in Beaufort. So we started praying. And God started responding.
In our time apart, God spoke separately to me and Jake. Jake is the head of our home and I am the heart. Albeit a dirty, ugly heart, but the heart nonetheless. And God reminded me to just sit down and remember how He has met us every step......and in every mistake. The hindsight is always clearer. Jake turned down Memphis to work for the DOD. So we bought a house. The house we bought that was a HUGE mistake, God put a pastor in across the street to led Jake to Christ. Then God used my nephews baptism to lead us to a church that was spirit filled and just starting an adoption ministry. And that time that our dossier in Ukraine got rejected and we were devastated, was because God was waiting for our son to turn 5 and be eligible for adoption. I could go on and on.....but the point is, that one day, all of the pieces will fit. One day we will look back and see what God was doing and how His plan unfolded so perfectly for our lives. And as much as I knew that, the idea of Jake not having a job was terrifying. We started praying that God would make it 100% clear where he wanted Jake. If it was Memphis, then make Memphis the only option. If it wasn't Memphis, then God, open that job in Beaufort back up.
Long story short, Jake worked his butt off at school. And we stayed fervent in prayer and faithful that God would answer. And He did. On Monday, Jake received his final offer letter for a position in Beaufort. I was a nervous wreck until then. But Jake stood firm. He stood in full confidence and faith that God had spoken clearly to him. Maybe not Beaufort forever, but definitely not Memphis. Not now. Not when we have so much work to do at home.
2 years ago, the Kubnicks started making decisions that make NO sense. We started our adoption journey and answered so many questions about "why not just have more bio babies?". Then we answered a buzillion questions about international over domestic adoption. And now, now we have controller friends telling Jake that he's INSANE to turn down the FAA job. It's A LOT more money. It would mean a substantial amount of financial security for our family. But without peace, is that money worth it? And can I tell you, one of the proudest moments of my life is when Jake looked at me and said "God will make up for it. I know He will". (Insert tears).
Tomorrow morning, Jake will officially be a Department of Defense employee again. He will drive onto base tomorrow morning confident that he listened to God. He might not be driving that truck he dreams about. His decision might not make any sense to any person but God. But he is walking in faith. He is walking in obedience. And for now, we are staying put.
Yesterday I saw this quote on a FB friends' newsfeed: "Real faith is birthed in times of transition, contemplation and confusion." - TD Jakes.
God is birthing something in us. Faith. And it looks different for all of us. But for us, "the big move" means just being still.
8 years ago Jake got out of the Marine Corps with a bright future in air traffic control. He had been promised a job with the DOD and well, we learned a tough DOD lesson and things fell through. So, he applied to the FAA and got hired at Memphis Center. He accepted that job but then the FAA went through a huge pay grade restructuring process and the money was not worth the stress of being a controller for the FAA. But Jake said yes anyways because he needed to provide for his family. About 2 weeks before his check-in date in Memphis, the DOD called and hired Jake at MCAS Beaufort. We knew that when Jake called and turned down the FAA position that we didn't want to completely close that door. Jake's a talented controller and we had no idea what our future held for us. As our family has grown, we've gone through so many changes. We purchased our first home (right before the housing market collapsed) contingent on the two awesome incomes that we had for so many years. We've added 2 more children to the mix. We've gone through a lot of cars and car loans and have upgraded and downgraded more times than I can count. We found a church that is ALIVE. Jake became a Christian. We started listening to God. God started refining us for His purpose (we still don't know what this purpose is). We decided to try and live off only 1 great income instead of 2 (I hate discipline). And we've been on a crazy long roller coaster ride through it all. But for some reason, God keeps on blessing us.
2 and a half years ago Jake decided that he was ready to revisit the possibility of the FAA. His resume was beefed up and his experience immeasurable. He applied.....and got his dream job. Jake got hired at Atlanta Center. As a controller, from what he explained to me, that would be the pinnacle for his career. And he isn't even 35 yet. So he said "yes"! And then the government started enforcing furloughs. Government branches started their budgeting processes and money got cut from every single corner.....including the Department of Transportation. Every time the budget moved a little money from Peter to pay Paul, the numbers of employees that each air traffic control facility was able to employ was reduced. So basically, Jake was hired, but he was on a wait list for school because there wasn't enough money in the DOT's budget to school and hire the number of controllers that were waiting to be employed. About a year ago he started talking to his HR rep with the FAA and she told him that for him to get in as an employee in Atlanta, he would wait until 2018. She offered him several other options......New Hampshire, Minnesota, Oakland (bwahhahahha. nope.), and Memphis. When Memphis popped up Jake and I chuckled. We couldn't help but pay attention. So twice, this same job has fallen into Jake's lap. Maybe God wants us in Memphis? Jake accepted the job. He left for Oklahoma City in April. And the next 12 weeks we all spent surviving and letting God work on our hearts.
Last week our pastor delivered a sermon on a fresh start. He mentioned that a change of location isn't imperative for a fresh start. And Jake and I did the half smirk and glanced at each other. When Jake accepted the position in Memphis, our entire family was desperate for change. David had been with our family for a very short time and was struggling. We were coming off of a year and a half long fundraising frenzy for the adoption and separation during time in Ukraine and sleep deprivation that comes along with bringing a new child home. And we all thought we needed a fresh start. We needed change. But the change we needed wasn't to pack up the house and move. The change we needed was inside our home.....and inside our hearts. And Jake and I both knew that. Neither of us had peace. The day Jake arrived in Oklahoma City for FAA school, he said that God made it clear to him that Memphis was not the place for us. And I informed Jake that the idea of Memphis made me want to vomit. Not because it's Memphis, but because God was screaming at me "NO!". So now what? What do we do? Jake had already quit the job in Beaufort. So we started praying. And God started responding.
In our time apart, God spoke separately to me and Jake. Jake is the head of our home and I am the heart. Albeit a dirty, ugly heart, but the heart nonetheless. And God reminded me to just sit down and remember how He has met us every step......and in every mistake. The hindsight is always clearer. Jake turned down Memphis to work for the DOD. So we bought a house. The house we bought that was a HUGE mistake, God put a pastor in across the street to led Jake to Christ. Then God used my nephews baptism to lead us to a church that was spirit filled and just starting an adoption ministry. And that time that our dossier in Ukraine got rejected and we were devastated, was because God was waiting for our son to turn 5 and be eligible for adoption. I could go on and on.....but the point is, that one day, all of the pieces will fit. One day we will look back and see what God was doing and how His plan unfolded so perfectly for our lives. And as much as I knew that, the idea of Jake not having a job was terrifying. We started praying that God would make it 100% clear where he wanted Jake. If it was Memphis, then make Memphis the only option. If it wasn't Memphis, then God, open that job in Beaufort back up.
Long story short, Jake worked his butt off at school. And we stayed fervent in prayer and faithful that God would answer. And He did. On Monday, Jake received his final offer letter for a position in Beaufort. I was a nervous wreck until then. But Jake stood firm. He stood in full confidence and faith that God had spoken clearly to him. Maybe not Beaufort forever, but definitely not Memphis. Not now. Not when we have so much work to do at home.
2 years ago, the Kubnicks started making decisions that make NO sense. We started our adoption journey and answered so many questions about "why not just have more bio babies?". Then we answered a buzillion questions about international over domestic adoption. And now, now we have controller friends telling Jake that he's INSANE to turn down the FAA job. It's A LOT more money. It would mean a substantial amount of financial security for our family. But without peace, is that money worth it? And can I tell you, one of the proudest moments of my life is when Jake looked at me and said "God will make up for it. I know He will". (Insert tears).
Tomorrow morning, Jake will officially be a Department of Defense employee again. He will drive onto base tomorrow morning confident that he listened to God. He might not be driving that truck he dreams about. His decision might not make any sense to any person but God. But he is walking in faith. He is walking in obedience. And for now, we are staying put.
Yesterday I saw this quote on a FB friends' newsfeed: "Real faith is birthed in times of transition, contemplation and confusion." - TD Jakes.
God is birthing something in us. Faith. And it looks different for all of us. But for us, "the big move" means just being still.
Saturday, June 14, 2014
Dads
I know this is the typical Father's Day post. Maybe. Ok, I don't know that. But I know that we spend most of our time talking about Moms. About how hard Moms work and about how a Moms work is never ever ever done. We spend a lot of time talking about women struggling with mourning their pre-Mom identity and finding a new identity in being a mother. We talk about the hurt that women endure when they aren't able to be moms. We don't talk a lot about Dads. The silent workhorses. The steady Eddy's. I want to talk about them. About my main men.
There are a lot of people in the world that feel short changed by their deadbeat dad. There truly are a lot of children that are losing out on certain parts of their life because of a man that walked away. And then there are children that are enjoying the fullness of life because of men that picked up those broken pieces. I am a part of the latter statistic. And to say that I'm blessed and grateful are gigantic understatements.
My biological father left when I was young. I don't know the whole story. The details have fallen apart as I've gotten older and I have forgiven him and can clearly see that God's plan for my life may have included his sperm, but it also included the influence of much greater men than the person that my bio dad was able to be. I was younger than Zella when my mom and bio dad divorced. I was too young to understand but old enough to know that what was happening wasn't positive and that I was losing someone in my life. He's the guy that I let hurt me for years and years. He's the guy that made broken promises and every single time he promised he would show up and he didn't, my little heart broke. Just a couple of years after he left God walked my step dad into our lives. I resisted at first because it was different. I didn't want 2 dads. I wanted the one that I knew to man up and come home. But Kenny knew that wasn't going to happen. And he worked so so hard to be every ounce of what bio dad never was. He worked hard to provide for us. When the time came for my sister and I to go to private school he was a golf pro by day, bartender by night and landscaper on the weekends. Just to pay tuition. Somewhere in between those jobs he managed to teach me how to catch a pop fly (not without a few busted chins), coach me through countless years of basketball and perfect my jump shot, cook meals for us (and announce what was for dinner in this TERRIBLE French accent), discipline us (y'all just don't know some of the shenanigans me and McCall got into), teach us the art of eating the chicken wing every Friday night, let us live a cultured life with trips to professional sporting events and fancy schmancy restaurants, be a total goofball when we needed to laugh, and a total sap when we needed to cry. I will always remember the look on his face on Christmas morning every year when bio dad would call. It was part defeat (because this guy just wouldn't go away!) and part anger, because he knew that his girls would get their hopes up, and that eventually we would be let down again. He wasn't super emotional. He was a tough guy. He parented us like he coached us. He would show us how and expect us to watch and learn and then fully expected us to do it on our own. He allowed us independence and when we couldn't handle it, he pulled the rope back in. Even into college days, when we would sneak in through the doggy door in the back, he would be in the recliner waiting for us. Because we were his girls. I remember this one night I was going on a date and I walked into the kitchen and he said "go change". He NEVER commented on my clothes. Ever. That was moms department. He never commented, until comment was needed. And he was quick to inform me that my skirt was too short. And that was not okay. I remember the night I missed curfew. By A WHOLE LOT. And when I got home he was standing on the other side of the front door, hands tucked behind his back like a drill instructor. There are few times that I have been that terrified in my life. And I never did it again. I'll never forget the first time he cried with me. My first serious boyfriend dumped and well, I was a 16 year old girl about it and did not handle it well. And this boy said some things to me on the phone one night that were just plain awful. And he had no idea that Kenny had picked up the phone and was listening. After that boy saw his life flash before his eyes, Kenny came in my bedroom crying. He sat on the edge of the bed with me and told me that I was never to talk to that guy again. Because no one, ever, in the history of ever, was allowed to speak to me that way. When I was in college and he almost lost me......he drove around with my picture next to the speedometer in his car. I don't know if he knew that I knew that. I lost almost 2 years with him. When he and my mom separated and things weren't exactly amicable I made judgements and mistakes. And I lost some great great years with him. But God is good. And when we reconciled, it was like no time was lost. We don't talk every day. We don't talk near enough. But I hope he knows that my childhood wouldn't have been much of one if it weren't for him. I hope he knows that the discipline I have in life today was learned as he taught me about perfecting my shot, my catch, my throw, my pitch. To never ever give up. To always get up and keep going. I can't put the memories all into this blog......but Kenny Conroy, you're a great dad.
And I don't just have a great dad. I have an incredible uncle. I was talking to my Granny this week and she said to me "I can remember carrying Ronnie around when he was a baby and praying that he would have children one day. And I hurt so bad for him that he didn't. But I know why. God knew that he would have his girls and he knew that Ronnie would need to take care of me." It broke my heart. I won't tell his story. It's not mine to tell. But I will say that he's a blessing, an influence, a force in my life. And I know that God knew. I know that God knew that my "unca Ronnie" would love us and care for us like we were his daughters. God knew his story before there was time. We had lunch today and the kids were being crazy and we still sat and talked for over an hour......after we stood outside in the parking lot talking for over an hour. I could talk to him for years and there would never be a lull. He's a wealth of knowledge and when I talk, he listens. He has a genuine interest in what's happening in my life. He gave me my first real job. He afforded me the opportunity to sow into a family business with his name on it and he taught me and answered my stupid questions and trusted me with his most valuable customers. He gave me confidence in showing me that he trusted me. For 8 years, every morning I would check in with him. I would stand in the doorway of his office and we'd laugh and talk and then every afternoon we'd stroll over to Granny's house together before saying goodbye for the afternoon. I loved working with him. We drove each other crazy some days. But that's love. That's how it works. And the next day, the waters were always calm and we had moved forward. I love this man. Because it drives me absolutely bananas how he gives until it hurts. And then gives a little more. When my Granddaddy was alive he had this blind faith in people. He always wanted to believe that there was good in them. And so many times that hurt him. And he didn't stop believing. And I see that in Uncle Ronnie. He wants to believe that there is good left in the world. He wants to believe that if he helps someone that it will genuinely help them.....it will lift their morale and pick up their spirit and change their mind about the state of their living. He gives and gives and gives. I love that about him. He's my guy when I have a car question, a business question, a financial question, a funny kid story, a funny Granny story, anything funny in general (we love to laugh together). He's the first one I call. And what totally melts my heart.......is that he's the first one that Jake calls now too. He's never NOT answered my calls. Ever. He's my encourager. We were at his house a few weeks ago and he pulled me aside and just said "you're a great mom" and hugged me. There were no words. Because in that exact moment I needed that so bad. He has walked with us through hard stuff. He's watched us fight through some things that I know hurt him so bad. And he was always there to offer advice, to sometimes bail us out, but to let us learn the same way that he did. He is my biggest fan. Always cheering me on. Even when he doesn't think it's the greatest idea.....he can see the light in my eyes when I'm excited or when I feel passionate and he fans the flame, in spite of his personal opinions. He sows into our kids just like he sows into us. All of them. Even when he thinks that collectively we have too many (wink wink). I could go on and on.....I won't. He knows. He knows that he holds this place in my heart. He knows that on Fathers Day we celebrate him, too. Thank you, Ron Nettles, for sowing into my life as if I were your daughter. I am forever grateful.
And then there's my #1. 9 years ago and 5 years ago and just under a year ago.......we found out we were going to be parents. Terror, excitement, more terror, and even more excitement each time. I remember every tiny detail of the physical pregnancies and the paper one and of all three "birthing" processes with Jake. He used to read to my belly every night when Cole was in utero. "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always.......". We would giggle with delight every time Elton Johns "Tiny Dancer" came on and Cole would dance in my belly. Jake was fascinated with my Zella belly. She was a big girl in utero and she would shift her weight and wiggle her butt and it was so horrible and beautiful at the same time. He false labored with me for two weeks before she arrived. That's love, people. God spoke to Jake when we first began our adoption process and told him there was a 5 year old boy waiting in Ukraine for us. Jake, the once fatherless, going across the world to find this fatherless child, and sent their by his Heavenly Father. The emotion is overwhelming considering those things. That God designed this man to be the father of these 3 children, even in their different circumstances. He picked Jake to parent them and He hand picked Jake to lead and guide them. It's incredible to know that I am married to a man that God reveres so highly. There are so many incredible "Father" memories I have of Jake.......but here are my most favorite things: he's a total goofball. Our kids LOVE laughing with Daddy. He teaches them to be independent. He shows them the way things work and explains things and then lets them try (even when Mom is maybe freaking out a little). He encourages them. He's the best at telling them how awesome they are and highlighting the great things they do. He's a really great snuggle/wrestling buddy. Snuggling always evolves into wrestling. He is constantly trying to be a better dad. Our kids don't see this yet. They don't hear the agony in his voice when he makes a daddy mistake. But I see it. And it's one of his best qualities. The desire to be better, for them. The desire to give more, for them. The desire to always work on being a better Christian so he can be a better dad.......because that's why he was given this job in the first place. Our children are blessed to call you Daddy, Jacob Kubnick. Thank you for giving them the best of what you have to offer.
I could have been a statistic. Another kid with a deadbeat dad. But God blessed me with two men to parent me.....and then turned around and blessed me with an incredible man to parent our children. If I tried to count my blessings, I would never have a single breath to do anything else. Here's to the men in the world that are "manning up" and are actually fathering children.......not just producing them, but actually guiding them. Whether they are biological, adopted, step children, nieces or nephews, grandkids, whatever.....thank you. Thank you for doing what so many choose not to do. You are heros.
There are a lot of people in the world that feel short changed by their deadbeat dad. There truly are a lot of children that are losing out on certain parts of their life because of a man that walked away. And then there are children that are enjoying the fullness of life because of men that picked up those broken pieces. I am a part of the latter statistic. And to say that I'm blessed and grateful are gigantic understatements.
My biological father left when I was young. I don't know the whole story. The details have fallen apart as I've gotten older and I have forgiven him and can clearly see that God's plan for my life may have included his sperm, but it also included the influence of much greater men than the person that my bio dad was able to be. I was younger than Zella when my mom and bio dad divorced. I was too young to understand but old enough to know that what was happening wasn't positive and that I was losing someone in my life. He's the guy that I let hurt me for years and years. He's the guy that made broken promises and every single time he promised he would show up and he didn't, my little heart broke. Just a couple of years after he left God walked my step dad into our lives. I resisted at first because it was different. I didn't want 2 dads. I wanted the one that I knew to man up and come home. But Kenny knew that wasn't going to happen. And he worked so so hard to be every ounce of what bio dad never was. He worked hard to provide for us. When the time came for my sister and I to go to private school he was a golf pro by day, bartender by night and landscaper on the weekends. Just to pay tuition. Somewhere in between those jobs he managed to teach me how to catch a pop fly (not without a few busted chins), coach me through countless years of basketball and perfect my jump shot, cook meals for us (and announce what was for dinner in this TERRIBLE French accent), discipline us (y'all just don't know some of the shenanigans me and McCall got into), teach us the art of eating the chicken wing every Friday night, let us live a cultured life with trips to professional sporting events and fancy schmancy restaurants, be a total goofball when we needed to laugh, and a total sap when we needed to cry. I will always remember the look on his face on Christmas morning every year when bio dad would call. It was part defeat (because this guy just wouldn't go away!) and part anger, because he knew that his girls would get their hopes up, and that eventually we would be let down again. He wasn't super emotional. He was a tough guy. He parented us like he coached us. He would show us how and expect us to watch and learn and then fully expected us to do it on our own. He allowed us independence and when we couldn't handle it, he pulled the rope back in. Even into college days, when we would sneak in through the doggy door in the back, he would be in the recliner waiting for us. Because we were his girls. I remember this one night I was going on a date and I walked into the kitchen and he said "go change". He NEVER commented on my clothes. Ever. That was moms department. He never commented, until comment was needed. And he was quick to inform me that my skirt was too short. And that was not okay. I remember the night I missed curfew. By A WHOLE LOT. And when I got home he was standing on the other side of the front door, hands tucked behind his back like a drill instructor. There are few times that I have been that terrified in my life. And I never did it again. I'll never forget the first time he cried with me. My first serious boyfriend dumped and well, I was a 16 year old girl about it and did not handle it well. And this boy said some things to me on the phone one night that were just plain awful. And he had no idea that Kenny had picked up the phone and was listening. After that boy saw his life flash before his eyes, Kenny came in my bedroom crying. He sat on the edge of the bed with me and told me that I was never to talk to that guy again. Because no one, ever, in the history of ever, was allowed to speak to me that way. When I was in college and he almost lost me......he drove around with my picture next to the speedometer in his car. I don't know if he knew that I knew that. I lost almost 2 years with him. When he and my mom separated and things weren't exactly amicable I made judgements and mistakes. And I lost some great great years with him. But God is good. And when we reconciled, it was like no time was lost. We don't talk every day. We don't talk near enough. But I hope he knows that my childhood wouldn't have been much of one if it weren't for him. I hope he knows that the discipline I have in life today was learned as he taught me about perfecting my shot, my catch, my throw, my pitch. To never ever give up. To always get up and keep going. I can't put the memories all into this blog......but Kenny Conroy, you're a great dad.
And I don't just have a great dad. I have an incredible uncle. I was talking to my Granny this week and she said to me "I can remember carrying Ronnie around when he was a baby and praying that he would have children one day. And I hurt so bad for him that he didn't. But I know why. God knew that he would have his girls and he knew that Ronnie would need to take care of me." It broke my heart. I won't tell his story. It's not mine to tell. But I will say that he's a blessing, an influence, a force in my life. And I know that God knew. I know that God knew that my "unca Ronnie" would love us and care for us like we were his daughters. God knew his story before there was time. We had lunch today and the kids were being crazy and we still sat and talked for over an hour......after we stood outside in the parking lot talking for over an hour. I could talk to him for years and there would never be a lull. He's a wealth of knowledge and when I talk, he listens. He has a genuine interest in what's happening in my life. He gave me my first real job. He afforded me the opportunity to sow into a family business with his name on it and he taught me and answered my stupid questions and trusted me with his most valuable customers. He gave me confidence in showing me that he trusted me. For 8 years, every morning I would check in with him. I would stand in the doorway of his office and we'd laugh and talk and then every afternoon we'd stroll over to Granny's house together before saying goodbye for the afternoon. I loved working with him. We drove each other crazy some days. But that's love. That's how it works. And the next day, the waters were always calm and we had moved forward. I love this man. Because it drives me absolutely bananas how he gives until it hurts. And then gives a little more. When my Granddaddy was alive he had this blind faith in people. He always wanted to believe that there was good in them. And so many times that hurt him. And he didn't stop believing. And I see that in Uncle Ronnie. He wants to believe that there is good left in the world. He wants to believe that if he helps someone that it will genuinely help them.....it will lift their morale and pick up their spirit and change their mind about the state of their living. He gives and gives and gives. I love that about him. He's my guy when I have a car question, a business question, a financial question, a funny kid story, a funny Granny story, anything funny in general (we love to laugh together). He's the first one I call. And what totally melts my heart.......is that he's the first one that Jake calls now too. He's never NOT answered my calls. Ever. He's my encourager. We were at his house a few weeks ago and he pulled me aside and just said "you're a great mom" and hugged me. There were no words. Because in that exact moment I needed that so bad. He has walked with us through hard stuff. He's watched us fight through some things that I know hurt him so bad. And he was always there to offer advice, to sometimes bail us out, but to let us learn the same way that he did. He is my biggest fan. Always cheering me on. Even when he doesn't think it's the greatest idea.....he can see the light in my eyes when I'm excited or when I feel passionate and he fans the flame, in spite of his personal opinions. He sows into our kids just like he sows into us. All of them. Even when he thinks that collectively we have too many (wink wink). I could go on and on.....I won't. He knows. He knows that he holds this place in my heart. He knows that on Fathers Day we celebrate him, too. Thank you, Ron Nettles, for sowing into my life as if I were your daughter. I am forever grateful.
And then there's my #1. 9 years ago and 5 years ago and just under a year ago.......we found out we were going to be parents. Terror, excitement, more terror, and even more excitement each time. I remember every tiny detail of the physical pregnancies and the paper one and of all three "birthing" processes with Jake. He used to read to my belly every night when Cole was in utero. "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always.......". We would giggle with delight every time Elton Johns "Tiny Dancer" came on and Cole would dance in my belly. Jake was fascinated with my Zella belly. She was a big girl in utero and she would shift her weight and wiggle her butt and it was so horrible and beautiful at the same time. He false labored with me for two weeks before she arrived. That's love, people. God spoke to Jake when we first began our adoption process and told him there was a 5 year old boy waiting in Ukraine for us. Jake, the once fatherless, going across the world to find this fatherless child, and sent their by his Heavenly Father. The emotion is overwhelming considering those things. That God designed this man to be the father of these 3 children, even in their different circumstances. He picked Jake to parent them and He hand picked Jake to lead and guide them. It's incredible to know that I am married to a man that God reveres so highly. There are so many incredible "Father" memories I have of Jake.......but here are my most favorite things: he's a total goofball. Our kids LOVE laughing with Daddy. He teaches them to be independent. He shows them the way things work and explains things and then lets them try (even when Mom is maybe freaking out a little). He encourages them. He's the best at telling them how awesome they are and highlighting the great things they do. He's a really great snuggle/wrestling buddy. Snuggling always evolves into wrestling. He is constantly trying to be a better dad. Our kids don't see this yet. They don't hear the agony in his voice when he makes a daddy mistake. But I see it. And it's one of his best qualities. The desire to be better, for them. The desire to give more, for them. The desire to always work on being a better Christian so he can be a better dad.......because that's why he was given this job in the first place. Our children are blessed to call you Daddy, Jacob Kubnick. Thank you for giving them the best of what you have to offer.
I could have been a statistic. Another kid with a deadbeat dad. But God blessed me with two men to parent me.....and then turned around and blessed me with an incredible man to parent our children. If I tried to count my blessings, I would never have a single breath to do anything else. Here's to the men in the world that are "manning up" and are actually fathering children.......not just producing them, but actually guiding them. Whether they are biological, adopted, step children, nieces or nephews, grandkids, whatever.....thank you. Thank you for doing what so many choose not to do. You are heros.
Saturday, May 31, 2014
The Kitchen Sink
That's my brain these last several weeks. Full and dirty and then clean and sparkly and 20 minutes later the kids want to eat again (every day they want to eat!) and back to full and dirty with muck and mess smeared on the inside walls. I get mentally overwhelmed. Physically I'm like a workhorse; fixing toilets, mowing the lawn, painting, sewing, laundry, meals, therapy, and on and on I go. But mentally, my disposal gets clogged and I struggle to grind it all down to what matters. Unfortunately for anyone reading, failure to dispose properly typically means a jumbled up blogger mess. Imma try to keep it together on this one......
In the last several weeks I have totally felt like the worst ever adoption advocate. I told Jake months ago that it was hurting my heart so badly that I felt like all I ever talk about is the hard. And that I never ever ever want to be the reason that someone says "no". And that's a tough pill to swallow. It's tough to look at your perspective and acknowledge it as "stinkin thinkin". But the truth is, I'm just being real. THIS IS HARD. This last week, God knew. He knows my heart. He knows how much it hurts for orphans. He knows how much it hurts for the little boy under my roof that hasn't allowed himself to get rid of that label yet. And God always provides. Here in the midst of my "stinkin thinkin" I had 2 friends randomly say "hey let's talk adoption". In the same day. On a very hard day when I was wondering what in the world I was doing as a parent. And they both appreciate my honesty and had questions and asked for prayer and didn't completely reject me when I gave them the lovely and the ugly on a platter. And another friend that has been close to us and knows the gross details of our "stuff" and who I figured had completely eliminated the adoption option after getting all eaten up in our tangled web told me, that watching us has just let her know that her faith needs to grow before she can do it. She told me a whole lot of super sweet things and built up my confidence and made my ego all big and swollen. And God put His arm around my shoulder and pulled me in closer and said "told you so". And all of this came after my two weeks ago week.........
We've seen a lot of doctors in the last 10 years. Between Jakes fragile bones and Cole's hernias and Zellas tummy issues and Davids lack of medical care for his first 5 years of life we've become very familiar with our little circle of medical professionals. Our pediatrician joked (but my checkbook knew he was only half joking) when Zella was a baby that he was going to just rent me a room in his office and have a plaque made. He got a new truck that year. Just sayin. But so I saw a doctor that has always been very very honest with me. He believes in laying it all out and letting us sort through it. I sat there and listened to these acronyms being rattled off in association with our son and my mama mind started to panic. I missed my calling as a doctor. I understand medicine and diagnoses and will research something to death just to be educated. I knew what these things meant and I knew what they meant for our future and it was scary. And the doc talked to me about a lot of really hard stuff. Things that parents cringe at and things that make me want to puke. But they are still realities. Whether they induce vomit or not, it is what it is. And he said to me before we left, he wanted me to make a list of pros and cons. And there's no point. I could write out the cons for days. And on the Pros side it will say "But God". I texted another adoptive mama when I left that appointment and unloaded on her. Have I ever mentioned how thankful I am that God put other adoptive families in our circle? And as I was processing all of this stuff with her, this.....I KNOW, without a shadow of a doubt that God can heal this child. But I also know that He may choose not to. And that doesn't change that He commissioned me to parent this child in the name of Jesus. It doesn't degrade the size of God's plan for this child. It doesn't diminish the size of God's heart and love for this child. With or without diagnosis, this is a child of God's and He has a plan. A good plan. And not just for David. For Cole and Zella too......
I've spent a large majority of my time as Cole and Zellas mom trying to protect them. From everything under the sun even including the sun. When I hurt, I hurt so deep and I see that in both of them and there was no part of my mama's heart that was interested in letting them walk that out. And then I walked hurt right through our door when we brought David home. Can I just say, if you know an adoptive family, please don't only consider the changes that the adopted child is enduring. From a Mom's perspective, Cole and Zella have sacrificed so much and have witnessed and endured so much hurt in the last 8 months. These last 2 months I have ached for them. They miss their daddy. They've said goodbye to friends. They've longed to be closer to cousins. They've been desperate for their old, very quiet normal. And there are nights when I lay in bed and ask God why He would wreck two, to save one. But God.......He always knows. Last week we all sat down at the dinner table and Cole started to pray. He prayed to bless the meal and thanked God for a great day. And he paused and said "Dear Jesus. Please heal David." It may seem so small.....but Cole had spent his day mad at David. And in his anger. He prayed for him. God didn't wreck two to save one. He's saving them all. And I can't protect them from everything if I want them to learn to that their Protector is not named "Mom". I have to show them how to live through the hard stuff. Praying when angry.......if he's got that down then I can take my gloves off and rest for a while! Those tiny moments, those are the moments God promises. The rainbows after the rain. I hold onto those.......
And I'm so thankful that I had that moment because I needed it. I had a friend tell me when we first got home to go ahead and just stop caring what other people think. I didn't get it at first. I got judged for the first time as a mother last week. It was painful and there was a girl with bad attitude and weave and her shoe in her hand that was fighting to get out of me but I held my tongue and moved along. All 3 kids were given "jobs" that suited them. If the jobs were completed, we were going to get frozen yogurt. Cole and Zella completed their jobs and David chose not to. We got frozen yogurt anyways and David did not get any. We put our cups on the counter and the cashier pointed to David and said "isn't he going to get some too?" I replied nicely and she huffed. And I ate my yogurt through gritted teeth. Here's why I'm telling this story.......if you ask Zella, she can very distinctly recall Cole's 6th birthday. She remembers it because her behavior was so AWFUL at daycare that day that she did not get to have any birthday cake. She went to daycare for a full year after that. Never had another bad day. In a year. I think that sometimes people forget that love is not all mushy gushy. Love includes discipline. And it includes boundaries and right from wrong. And in the end, each of us has a free will. There are always 2 choices. Our job is to shape our children so that the right choice will always be clear. And you know what's really hard sometimes? That when we don't properly define "love", people assume that they can just "love" the past out of an orphan. When properly defined, you can. Love can reframe and restructure and heal and bind up and redirect whatever hard stuff may have been endured in a past life. But hugs and food alone won't do it. It just won't. Two years ago I was that mom that judged. If we were in Target and a kid was screaming and the mom was just strolling along like it was nothing at all I would have totally thought to myself that someone needed to go break a switch (you have to read this in a really country voice). But not now. Cause I'm that mom. I'm that mom with 3 kids with different needs that require different handling and different consequences and have different love languages AND I'm that mom that knows that I'm the only one that knows what my kids need. Don't be judgemental about other people's parenting. It isn't constructive and you don't live their life.
That last sentence was kind of angry sounding! I'll close with this.......these small people are all gifts from the Lord. They have different packaging and let's just be honest it can seem like God used the really thick foil paper and layered it 27 times on some days but what if as Moms we stop looking at how hard it can be and start thinking "wow. God thinks I'm pretty amazing if He tasked me out with THIS." He does. He thinks we're awesome. And we are. We are the glue. We are the gears that make the machine turn. Keep grinding. Look for God on the hard days and He will make Himself known.....whether it's in the tiny sounds of your babies crying out to Him, or blue skies after days of rain, or a dent in the lady that works at the fro-yo places bumper......He sees you. He hears you. He loves you. (Someone send me a link to this blog next week when I forget this stuff. Thanks.)
In the last several weeks I have totally felt like the worst ever adoption advocate. I told Jake months ago that it was hurting my heart so badly that I felt like all I ever talk about is the hard. And that I never ever ever want to be the reason that someone says "no". And that's a tough pill to swallow. It's tough to look at your perspective and acknowledge it as "stinkin thinkin". But the truth is, I'm just being real. THIS IS HARD. This last week, God knew. He knows my heart. He knows how much it hurts for orphans. He knows how much it hurts for the little boy under my roof that hasn't allowed himself to get rid of that label yet. And God always provides. Here in the midst of my "stinkin thinkin" I had 2 friends randomly say "hey let's talk adoption". In the same day. On a very hard day when I was wondering what in the world I was doing as a parent. And they both appreciate my honesty and had questions and asked for prayer and didn't completely reject me when I gave them the lovely and the ugly on a platter. And another friend that has been close to us and knows the gross details of our "stuff" and who I figured had completely eliminated the adoption option after getting all eaten up in our tangled web told me, that watching us has just let her know that her faith needs to grow before she can do it. She told me a whole lot of super sweet things and built up my confidence and made my ego all big and swollen. And God put His arm around my shoulder and pulled me in closer and said "told you so". And all of this came after my two weeks ago week.........
We've seen a lot of doctors in the last 10 years. Between Jakes fragile bones and Cole's hernias and Zellas tummy issues and Davids lack of medical care for his first 5 years of life we've become very familiar with our little circle of medical professionals. Our pediatrician joked (but my checkbook knew he was only half joking) when Zella was a baby that he was going to just rent me a room in his office and have a plaque made. He got a new truck that year. Just sayin. But so I saw a doctor that has always been very very honest with me. He believes in laying it all out and letting us sort through it. I sat there and listened to these acronyms being rattled off in association with our son and my mama mind started to panic. I missed my calling as a doctor. I understand medicine and diagnoses and will research something to death just to be educated. I knew what these things meant and I knew what they meant for our future and it was scary. And the doc talked to me about a lot of really hard stuff. Things that parents cringe at and things that make me want to puke. But they are still realities. Whether they induce vomit or not, it is what it is. And he said to me before we left, he wanted me to make a list of pros and cons. And there's no point. I could write out the cons for days. And on the Pros side it will say "But God". I texted another adoptive mama when I left that appointment and unloaded on her. Have I ever mentioned how thankful I am that God put other adoptive families in our circle? And as I was processing all of this stuff with her, this.....I KNOW, without a shadow of a doubt that God can heal this child. But I also know that He may choose not to. And that doesn't change that He commissioned me to parent this child in the name of Jesus. It doesn't degrade the size of God's plan for this child. It doesn't diminish the size of God's heart and love for this child. With or without diagnosis, this is a child of God's and He has a plan. A good plan. And not just for David. For Cole and Zella too......
I've spent a large majority of my time as Cole and Zellas mom trying to protect them. From everything under the sun even including the sun. When I hurt, I hurt so deep and I see that in both of them and there was no part of my mama's heart that was interested in letting them walk that out. And then I walked hurt right through our door when we brought David home. Can I just say, if you know an adoptive family, please don't only consider the changes that the adopted child is enduring. From a Mom's perspective, Cole and Zella have sacrificed so much and have witnessed and endured so much hurt in the last 8 months. These last 2 months I have ached for them. They miss their daddy. They've said goodbye to friends. They've longed to be closer to cousins. They've been desperate for their old, very quiet normal. And there are nights when I lay in bed and ask God why He would wreck two, to save one. But God.......He always knows. Last week we all sat down at the dinner table and Cole started to pray. He prayed to bless the meal and thanked God for a great day. And he paused and said "Dear Jesus. Please heal David." It may seem so small.....but Cole had spent his day mad at David. And in his anger. He prayed for him. God didn't wreck two to save one. He's saving them all. And I can't protect them from everything if I want them to learn to that their Protector is not named "Mom". I have to show them how to live through the hard stuff. Praying when angry.......if he's got that down then I can take my gloves off and rest for a while! Those tiny moments, those are the moments God promises. The rainbows after the rain. I hold onto those.......
And I'm so thankful that I had that moment because I needed it. I had a friend tell me when we first got home to go ahead and just stop caring what other people think. I didn't get it at first. I got judged for the first time as a mother last week. It was painful and there was a girl with bad attitude and weave and her shoe in her hand that was fighting to get out of me but I held my tongue and moved along. All 3 kids were given "jobs" that suited them. If the jobs were completed, we were going to get frozen yogurt. Cole and Zella completed their jobs and David chose not to. We got frozen yogurt anyways and David did not get any. We put our cups on the counter and the cashier pointed to David and said "isn't he going to get some too?" I replied nicely and she huffed. And I ate my yogurt through gritted teeth. Here's why I'm telling this story.......if you ask Zella, she can very distinctly recall Cole's 6th birthday. She remembers it because her behavior was so AWFUL at daycare that day that she did not get to have any birthday cake. She went to daycare for a full year after that. Never had another bad day. In a year. I think that sometimes people forget that love is not all mushy gushy. Love includes discipline. And it includes boundaries and right from wrong. And in the end, each of us has a free will. There are always 2 choices. Our job is to shape our children so that the right choice will always be clear. And you know what's really hard sometimes? That when we don't properly define "love", people assume that they can just "love" the past out of an orphan. When properly defined, you can. Love can reframe and restructure and heal and bind up and redirect whatever hard stuff may have been endured in a past life. But hugs and food alone won't do it. It just won't. Two years ago I was that mom that judged. If we were in Target and a kid was screaming and the mom was just strolling along like it was nothing at all I would have totally thought to myself that someone needed to go break a switch (you have to read this in a really country voice). But not now. Cause I'm that mom. I'm that mom with 3 kids with different needs that require different handling and different consequences and have different love languages AND I'm that mom that knows that I'm the only one that knows what my kids need. Don't be judgemental about other people's parenting. It isn't constructive and you don't live their life.
That last sentence was kind of angry sounding! I'll close with this.......these small people are all gifts from the Lord. They have different packaging and let's just be honest it can seem like God used the really thick foil paper and layered it 27 times on some days but what if as Moms we stop looking at how hard it can be and start thinking "wow. God thinks I'm pretty amazing if He tasked me out with THIS." He does. He thinks we're awesome. And we are. We are the glue. We are the gears that make the machine turn. Keep grinding. Look for God on the hard days and He will make Himself known.....whether it's in the tiny sounds of your babies crying out to Him, or blue skies after days of rain, or a dent in the lady that works at the fro-yo places bumper......He sees you. He hears you. He loves you. (Someone send me a link to this blog next week when I forget this stuff. Thanks.)
Sunday, May 4, 2014
2 years and 7 months.....
It's been 2 years. 2 years ago since we said "yes" to adoption. 2 years ago today Jake told me that he had been praying and felt like God told him that there was a 5 year old little boy waiting for us in Ukraine. 2 years since this journey began. In those 2 years we've fundraised and prayed circles and cried and dealt with frustration and we've played tug-o-war with God over control and "the plan". We've argued with Him and we've stomped our feet and we've shaken our fists at Him in the hard times. We've cried tears of joy over the miracles performed in paperwork and government meetings and really angry orphanage directors that need a change of heart. We've watched God work in a passport office and at oyster roasts and yard sales and we've seen a little boy fight us, just as hard as we have fought God, and cling to us, just as tightly as we cling to God. And 2 years ago today, we voluntarily walked into all of this, because He said "come".
7 months ago today, David and I walked hand in hand, after 24 hours of traveling, into the airport terminal to see "Welcome Home" signs and our families and our church family all there, crying tears of joy for not just one less orphan, but because God did it. He got us home. As a family of 5.
And I'm writing all this out tonight because that's what we're supposed to do right? When we need desperately to see God, we have to look. I've made it no secret that the last 7 months have been hard. In that hard though, God has been there. And so tonight, when I need to see Him, I will look for Him. And find Him.
When we first got home.....
- David had never seen toilet paper. He had no idea how to use it or even why we would use it.
- His fine motor skills were so underdeveloped that he couldn't hold an eating utensil. At 5 years old he was unable to use his pincher grip, hold a crayon tight enough to color, pull clothing on or off by himself, etc.
- His muscles were so underdeveloped that he was unable to stand for long periods of time because his legs would literally give out.
- He was not fully potty trained and if there was an accident, he was content with sitting in it as that was customary at the orphanage.
- He did not know how to be held. We would pick him up and he was straight as and as stiff as a board. He didn't know how to hug back. He would just be lifeless in our arms.
- He had been so sensory deprived that he would gag himself on food, because he had very little feeling inside his mouth. He would pack it so full of food that he couldn't swallow it, because he couldn't feel how much was in there.
- He was unable to drink from a cup. The first time we tried he almost drowned. I'm not at all exaggerating.
- He had never taken a warm shower or bath. Bath time was miserable. Because he was used to it being freezing, he was terrified of it.
- Bedtime was the worst part of everyones day. Hours of screaming and crying and fist throwing.
- He would rock violently and chant all night long. Never sleeping. He would use only a tiny portion of the bed because he was so stiff that he would never move.
- Out of fear and anxiety he would harm himself. Clawing at his face and arms and anything he could touch at night. Because night time at the orphanage is when horrible things happened.
I could go on and on. But I'm seeking God's goodness tonight.......
7 months home.....
- David had never seen toilet paper. He had no idea how to use it or even why we would use it.
I am officially no longer "wiping" :). While we do have the occasional cleanliness reminder.....he's a 5 year old boy.
- His fine motor skills were so underdeveloped that he couldn't hold an eating utensil. At 5 years old he was unable to use his pincher grip, hold a crayon tight enough to color, pull clothing on or off by himself, etc.
David is writing....and coloring....and learned very quickly that he's right handed and prefers to use a spoon instead of a fork. It took him about a month to master feeding himself. He gets himself dressed and undressed every day and has now learned to put on his belt, button his shirts all alone, zip his zipper and tuck his shirt in!
- His muscles were so underdeveloped that he was unable to stand for long periods of time because his legs would literally give out.
David asked Santa for a bike for Christmas. And Santa delivered. The first time David rode he could not push the pedals because his legs were so weak. He now zooms up and down the sidewalk right alongside Zella.
- He was not fully potty trained and if there was an accident, he was content with sitting in it as that was customary at the orphanage.
David has not had a potty accident since his 1 month home mark!!! Not even in the bed!!!
- He did not know how to be held. We would pick him up and he was straight as and as stiff as a board. He didn't know how to hug back. He would just be lifeless in our arms.
He learned how to hug very very fast. It didn't take him long to understand that we weren't going to drop him when we picked him up......and that it's much more comfortable if he relaxes :)
- He had been so sensory deprived that he would gag himself on food, because he had very little feeling inside his mouth. He would pack it so full of food that he couldn't swallow it, because he couldn't feel how much was in there.
There are still a few textures that David isn't very sure about....but his sensory integration has improved amazingly in 7 months of being exposed to different foods and textures and tastes. He loves food. All food. Even vegetables (that makes 1 Kubnick kid!).
- He was unable to drink from an open cup. The first time we tried he almost drowned. I'm not at all exaggerating. He was also unable to suck out of a straw because the muscles in his mouth were so underdeveloped that he had no sucking ability.
He has mastered the art of the sippy cup and straw. It took no time at all! We finally figured out that he couldn't drink from a cup because he lacked the appropriate reflex. Thanks to the trusty garden tub and the shower, we've worked on him being able to open and close his throat. He was drowning when he was drinking water from a cup because he was trying to breathe it in! I watched him tonight in the shower, face in the water, breathing like a champ :)
- He had never taken a warm shower or bath. Bath time was miserable. Because he was used to it being freezing, he was terrified of it.
Within a week he was loving warm water. He is now able to tell us that he got one bath a week and that it was always cold. No wonder he hated it!
- Bedtime was the worst part of everyones day. Hours of screaming and crying and fist throwing.
- He would rock violently and chant all night long. Never sleeping. He would use only a tiny portion of the bed because he was so stiff that he would never move.
- Out of fear and anxiety he would harm himself. Clawing at his face and arms and anything he could touch at night. Because night time at the orphanage is when horrible things happened.
The rocking has continued, but it's no longer violent. It's a self soothing mechanism. He now rocks quietly. The self harming has greatly reduced and he sprawls out all over the mattress. I'm pretty sure I heard him snoring last week! His bed has become his safe place.
- David started Kindergarten in January. He tested out of the ESOL program because his English is so good. He's able to do basic math and is learning to tell time. His teacher constantly marvels at how quickly he picks up on new skills.
So why am I giving you all of these details? Because adoption and parenting and just well, life, sometimes it is hard. Because when we spend our weeks juggling therapy and school meetings and all 3 kids are battling different demons, its HARD to look at things and say "look at what God has done". That's all I wanted to do tonight. Look at what God has done.
7 months ago today, David and I walked hand in hand, after 24 hours of traveling, into the airport terminal to see "Welcome Home" signs and our families and our church family all there, crying tears of joy for not just one less orphan, but because God did it. He got us home. As a family of 5.
And I'm writing all this out tonight because that's what we're supposed to do right? When we need desperately to see God, we have to look. I've made it no secret that the last 7 months have been hard. In that hard though, God has been there. And so tonight, when I need to see Him, I will look for Him. And find Him.
When we first got home.....
- David had never seen toilet paper. He had no idea how to use it or even why we would use it.
- His fine motor skills were so underdeveloped that he couldn't hold an eating utensil. At 5 years old he was unable to use his pincher grip, hold a crayon tight enough to color, pull clothing on or off by himself, etc.
- His muscles were so underdeveloped that he was unable to stand for long periods of time because his legs would literally give out.
- He was not fully potty trained and if there was an accident, he was content with sitting in it as that was customary at the orphanage.
- He did not know how to be held. We would pick him up and he was straight as and as stiff as a board. He didn't know how to hug back. He would just be lifeless in our arms.
- He had been so sensory deprived that he would gag himself on food, because he had very little feeling inside his mouth. He would pack it so full of food that he couldn't swallow it, because he couldn't feel how much was in there.
- He was unable to drink from a cup. The first time we tried he almost drowned. I'm not at all exaggerating.
- He had never taken a warm shower or bath. Bath time was miserable. Because he was used to it being freezing, he was terrified of it.
- Bedtime was the worst part of everyones day. Hours of screaming and crying and fist throwing.
- He would rock violently and chant all night long. Never sleeping. He would use only a tiny portion of the bed because he was so stiff that he would never move.
- Out of fear and anxiety he would harm himself. Clawing at his face and arms and anything he could touch at night. Because night time at the orphanage is when horrible things happened.
I could go on and on. But I'm seeking God's goodness tonight.......
7 months home.....
- David had never seen toilet paper. He had no idea how to use it or even why we would use it.
I am officially no longer "wiping" :). While we do have the occasional cleanliness reminder.....he's a 5 year old boy.
- His fine motor skills were so underdeveloped that he couldn't hold an eating utensil. At 5 years old he was unable to use his pincher grip, hold a crayon tight enough to color, pull clothing on or off by himself, etc.
David is writing....and coloring....and learned very quickly that he's right handed and prefers to use a spoon instead of a fork. It took him about a month to master feeding himself. He gets himself dressed and undressed every day and has now learned to put on his belt, button his shirts all alone, zip his zipper and tuck his shirt in!
- His muscles were so underdeveloped that he was unable to stand for long periods of time because his legs would literally give out.
David asked Santa for a bike for Christmas. And Santa delivered. The first time David rode he could not push the pedals because his legs were so weak. He now zooms up and down the sidewalk right alongside Zella.
- He was not fully potty trained and if there was an accident, he was content with sitting in it as that was customary at the orphanage.
David has not had a potty accident since his 1 month home mark!!! Not even in the bed!!!
- He did not know how to be held. We would pick him up and he was straight as and as stiff as a board. He didn't know how to hug back. He would just be lifeless in our arms.
He learned how to hug very very fast. It didn't take him long to understand that we weren't going to drop him when we picked him up......and that it's much more comfortable if he relaxes :)
- He had been so sensory deprived that he would gag himself on food, because he had very little feeling inside his mouth. He would pack it so full of food that he couldn't swallow it, because he couldn't feel how much was in there.
There are still a few textures that David isn't very sure about....but his sensory integration has improved amazingly in 7 months of being exposed to different foods and textures and tastes. He loves food. All food. Even vegetables (that makes 1 Kubnick kid!).
- He was unable to drink from an open cup. The first time we tried he almost drowned. I'm not at all exaggerating. He was also unable to suck out of a straw because the muscles in his mouth were so underdeveloped that he had no sucking ability.
He has mastered the art of the sippy cup and straw. It took no time at all! We finally figured out that he couldn't drink from a cup because he lacked the appropriate reflex. Thanks to the trusty garden tub and the shower, we've worked on him being able to open and close his throat. He was drowning when he was drinking water from a cup because he was trying to breathe it in! I watched him tonight in the shower, face in the water, breathing like a champ :)
- He had never taken a warm shower or bath. Bath time was miserable. Because he was used to it being freezing, he was terrified of it.
Within a week he was loving warm water. He is now able to tell us that he got one bath a week and that it was always cold. No wonder he hated it!
- Bedtime was the worst part of everyones day. Hours of screaming and crying and fist throwing.
- He would rock violently and chant all night long. Never sleeping. He would use only a tiny portion of the bed because he was so stiff that he would never move.
- Out of fear and anxiety he would harm himself. Clawing at his face and arms and anything he could touch at night. Because night time at the orphanage is when horrible things happened.
The rocking has continued, but it's no longer violent. It's a self soothing mechanism. He now rocks quietly. The self harming has greatly reduced and he sprawls out all over the mattress. I'm pretty sure I heard him snoring last week! His bed has become his safe place.
- David started Kindergarten in January. He tested out of the ESOL program because his English is so good. He's able to do basic math and is learning to tell time. His teacher constantly marvels at how quickly he picks up on new skills.
So why am I giving you all of these details? Because adoption and parenting and just well, life, sometimes it is hard. Because when we spend our weeks juggling therapy and school meetings and all 3 kids are battling different demons, its HARD to look at things and say "look at what God has done". That's all I wanted to do tonight. Look at what God has done.
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