Years Ago

Years ago I would tell my mom about my friend Ashley and her journey to adopt a little Serbian girl named Olive.  Olive the tiny... Olive the beautiful. 

My mom would ask about her... wondering how she was doing.  She would ask how she was adjusting to life in a family... with people who love her. 

Later I would tell my mom about Faith.  I would talk to her about Faith's journey to adopt Robyn and then her decision to adopt Etta. I would tell her about all of the other mothers I was meeting online.... about the lives of these children without families. 

During this time my Mom would ask "Why do these people spend money they don't have to adopt from over there when there are children here at home that could be adopted for so much less?  If they want another child, why not get one here?".  Like many of you, she didn't understand why they spent so much money and travelled so far.  She didn't understand why they did things "the hard way".

My mom would hear countless stories about Susanna and her mission to save little Katie... and how close she came to losing her before she ever came home.  Katie-bird was so fragile when Susanna travelled to her country to bring her home that she had to spend time in the hospital... and then have a nurse travel with them on their journey home so that Katie could survive the trip home to a larger hospital.  It was frightening... and inspiring.  Mom loved to hear Katie's story and to know that she was healing.  That she was cherished and loved. 

In hearing Katie's story and following it, my Mom finally learned those people did things "the hard way".  She no longer criticised or thought "they're crazy/stupid/idiotic" for adopting sick children who lived half way across the world... children who weren't healthy and would need a lifetime of care.  She understood. 

The day I told her that Jason and I were committing to adopt Christiana and told her all of the issues that we knew of and some that we only suspect... I expected to hear "adopt one at home", "you already have one disabled child, you don't need another", "how will you pay for it", "you can't handle it".  I expected her to disapprove.  I expected her to have the same attitude that others around me had - that it's fine and noble for people to adopt sick/disabled children, but it's not something "we" (family and friends) want to have in our own homes. 

I underestimated my mother.  Not only was she not critical of our decision, she and RaRa (grandma Rita) became our biggest supporters.  She shared our story at church and with everyone she knew.  She and Daddy put Christiana's photograph in their living room for everyone to see.  They told everyone about their newest grandchild-to-be, the little girl across the sea.  Even her hospice nurse knows all about Christiana and our adoption journey.  Her name is Crystal and she may be beginning the same journey soon. 

My mother passed away on Wednesday evening and I don't know how to live without her. 

Since my oldest son James was born (and Mom retired), we've spent almost every day of our lives together.  And when we couldn't see each other due to illness or life interrupting... we spoke on the phone.  She has been my best friend for the last 7 years.  She's been the person I turned to first after my husband who is the other half of my heart and soul.  She's been my cheerleader, my rock, my inspiration. She taught me how to raise my children and that it's OK to be less than perfect.  She taught me how to love unconditionally... to give without expecting anything in return because the greatest reward isn't in the receiving, it's in the giving.  It's in seeing a face light up with joy. 

I walk though life thinking things like "Mom would love those earrings" and "I should tell Mom about that".  But I can't.  I can't buy her pretty things anymore or share the latest news.  I have a loving husband, and loving Rita, and 3 beautiful. loving sons.  But I feel alone in a crowd.  No one will ever understand me (and misunderstand me) the way my Mom did. 

I've learned one thing from my Mom's death.  I've learned the last lesson she had to teach me - that no matter how old you are, your mother is the center of your heart.  I've learned how very much my children must love and need me.

I've learned how vital a mother is to a child. 

Soon... we will have travel dates.  We will have permission to meet our daughter across the sea.  Knowing how much she must need me, even if she doesn't know it, yet breaks my heart. 

Please... please help us get to her.  Help me give my daughter what my Mom gave me.  Love.  Unconditional and eternal love.  Help me hold her and teach her a mother's love for her child. 

Don't be scared.

I've heard so many people comment that we're "brave" or "special" for adopting a special needs child.  Particularly one who may have FAS (Fetal Alcohol Syndrome). 
We're not.  We're ordinary people. 
I'll admit that we do have a bit of experience with disability and behavioral issues.  We have a 4 year old son who has autism. 

He's the handsome little man on the left.  His name is Deacon. 

Having a child with a disability/challenge doesn't make anyone special.  Choosing to adopt one doesn't make you special, either.  All it means is you've chosen not to let fear rule your choices.  You've chosen to love a child and accept them into your life. 

Take a look at these children and tell me what pops into your mind when you see them.  Sad, hurt, sick, scary, and unattractive.  These are words that have been used to describe these and other pictures of disabled, orphan children.

Some people look at these sweet, wonderful children and all they see is the outside.  All they see are the negative things in the photos.  They see an unhappy child, a child with scars and bad teeth.  They see a skinny, starving child who needs lots of medical care and a child with a large head.  They see the surface.  They see the superficial negatives.

Now I'll tell you what I see... what many of us who are adopting (or have adopted) these children see in these photos.  I see soft hands and chubby cheeks.  I see potential.  I see a skinny, starving child who has survived thanks to her strength and will to live.  I see a scared little girl who would be smilin if she had a hug and a bit of encouragement.  And finally... I see a bright happy smile glowing in a small face.  Despite her issues... she's smiling and her beautiful little soul shines through. 

Those are the things I see. 

Now I want you to look at a pair of pictures.  One is a visa photo taken of a sick, starving child just before she was brought home.  Some of you may recognize her.

Skinny, puffy eyes, sad, hopeless... these are the things that some people see.  They don't see the love hiding inside.  They don't see the beautiful, shining soul within.  
Now take a look at the next photo.   It was taken of her after being home for about a year for approximately 8 months.  She's had the love of a family and good medical care to help her heal.

Do you see the difference?   Many of you will say "wow... I can't believe it's the same child.  She's totally different!". 

Me?   Not so much. 
You see... I know that the child you see in the second photo was there all along... just waiting to come out.  Just waiting for a mama, dada, brothers, and sisters to help her show her light to the world.   I also know that the children in the other photos will bloom and shine, too.   They're just waiting for their families to help them do that. 

The next time I (or one of your other friends) posts a picture of an orphan for you to see.   Take a moment to look... REALLY look at that child.   Look past the tears, the scars... Look past the fear. 

Take a look and see a child who is waiting to bloom.  Waiting to shine.   Waiting to love and be loved.   Then ask yourself.  Are they waiting for me?
 

Ksenia

http://reecesrainbow.org/32168/ksenia-k


I'm reposting this blog from my friend Katie Beth's site.  This little angel needs a home desperately and can only be adopted by a Canadian family.  Her region will only accept Canadian families... otherwise this girl would have been in a home LONG ago.  

Can you help her by reading this blog post and sharing it... and her information with everyone you know?  Please help us find Ksenia's family before it's too late.



http://callmecrazycbus.blogspot.com/2012/05/not-too-late.html

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Not Too Late

I have been humbled this week. Humbled by a little girl, in a far away country... who I have never met. Sounds familiar, right? But no... this is different.

Meet Ksenia.

I may have mentioned her before. I'm not sure - I tried going back through my blog archives, but I talk too much. Ksenia is in Eastern Europe. She is in a region that is currently only open to Canadian families. If you are not among them, please do not stop reading here. You are still desperately needed.

This photo was taken at her Baby House (the orphanage where children generally reside between the ages of 0-5 years). What a precious little cherub, chubby cheeks, wispy hair.

Ksenia is nine years old now. She was born three months before my middle DBK, my A. This A, the one glowing with joy and life in this birthday picture.

My dear A has not had it easy... but at least on this day... her ninth birthday... she was treated the way a little girl should be treated... like a princess...

I wonder if Ksenia ever had cake. I'll bet she never had a birthday cake with candles, just for her. I know she didn't this year, when she turned nine. Why?

In Ksenia's country, after children 'age out' of their baby houses, they are transferred to institutions. Adult mental institutions. The standard of care there, if it was low at the baby houses, is usually deplorable. Ksenia, like many children, aged out of her baby house and was transferred. I intend to do a full post on the implications of that word, but that is for later. For now, I will let the pictures speak for themselves.

A new picture of Ksenia came in after she was transferred to the institution. Here is that chubby cheeked little cherub now.

Ksenia. Sweet baby girl. Child of God. Wasting away to skin and bones. Filthy. Shaven. Injured... probably at the hands of someone who was supposed to care for her. Abuse is all too common in some orphanages and institutions. Ksenia. Sweet angel. Waiting, all this time, for a Mama and Papa to come. Hanging on through her misery. Unable to do a single thing to help herself. Precious girl. Treated like nothing.

This picture haunts me. I see it when I close my eyes. I don't need to bring it up on my computer screen to remember how heartbreaking it is. I can see them side by side... Ksenia the way she used to be... Ksenia the way she is now. Because of what was done to her... when she should be treated like the princess she is.


Here is the reason I am posting about Ksenia tonight.


Sometimes, special needs children simply 'disappear' from the databases that list them. Sometimes their files are simply no longer with an agency. Sometimes they're gone, without a trace, and we can only guess at what happened to them. Were they adopted, seen for the beautiful individuals they are, in their native country? Were they transferred elsewhere and simply not relisted? Or... worst of all... as children do in orphanages and institutions across the world every day... could they have passed away?

A few days back, Ksenia 'disappeared' from her country's database. She disappeared from Reece's Rainbow. Having seen her most recent picture, most of us were sure this meant the worst for Ksenia. Or no. Perhaps not the worst. Perhaps... a fate worse than death... is the one she's been living in that institution. We began to think, maybe it is for the best, if she's beyond pain, beyond suffering, with Jesus, now.

Ksenia was re-listed today. She is alive. She is still waiting. I praise the Lord for His deliverance of this angel from what we were sure was a tragic end. But at the same time, my heart breaks all over again, because I know that tonight, while I lie here warm in my bed, Ksenia still waits.



We almost lost her. We were sure she was gone. We were sure we were too late to help this little girl know the love of a Forever Family. We mourned. We lamented that we should have tried harder, should have screamed louder, for Ksenia. She sat, waiting for adoption, for YEARS... and no family came forward. Perhaps they all thought someone else would do it.

Our hearts broke.

Then, we were given a second chance. We didn't lose Ksenia. Not yet. But if we don't hurry, we will. This is me, jumping at this second chance. This is me screaming for Ksenia like I should have screamed before. This is me praying, hoping, begging someone to be her Mama, to deliver her from this evil, because I would do it myself if I could... but I'm ineligible.

Here is Ksenia's listing on Reece's Rainbow. Again, she can only be adopted by Canadian families at this time. If you are not Canadian, won't you consider sharing Ksenia with everyone you know, so that through the grapevine, her Forever Family might see her? If you are Canadian, won't you consider sharing Ksenia with everyone you know, so that she might find her Forever Family? Won't you ask your friends to share too? And if you are Canadian, considering adoption... won't you consider Ksenia? Won't you consider saving a life we've been given a second chance to redeem? Donations are not being collected at this time, but I know dozens who are just itching to help bring her home. The obstacle in her adoption will not be financial.

This precious angel has Down Syndrome. That is the crime that has landed her in the place she is today. Down Syndrome. A diagnosis that means many things. An extra chromosome. Some unique challenges. But a diagnosis that should NOT mean living out her numbered days suffering in an institution. Sadly, in Ksenia's country, it usually does. But this doesn't have to be her ending. It almost was. We were sure that her story ended in tragedy. But it hasn't. Not yet.

Ksenia still has a chance. But whether you're eligible and considering adoption, ineligible, not considering adoption, whoever you are, wherever you are... YOU are her chance. Her family will never see her if we do not share her short, sad story with the world.

Won't you help me make this 'second chance' count? Won't you please help me save her life?

Sweet Ksenia... hang on, precious angel. Someone is going to come for you. We're going to make sure of it.

A simple baby doll

On Tuesday, as I was shopping for groceries I happened to walk down the toy aisle.  I thought it would be fun to look at the pretty, girly toys and imagine buying them for my Christiana. 

As the mother of three sons, I've missed out on all of the girly fun.  From pretty dollies to princess costumes... I've always been a bit sad when I've looked at the girls' toys.  From the moment I discovered I was pregnant for the first time, I've had wistful dreams of eyelet dresses, tea sets, and dolls.  I think at some point, every mother daydreams of having a daughter. 

As I smiled at the bounty of pink in that aisle a small, soft "baby's first" doll caught my eye.  It seemed just the thing for our Christiana.  Small and soft... simple and cuddly.  A perfect first doll for our tiny girl. 

But then the realisation hit... this "baby's first" doll would really be her first doll.  Children in orphanages don't have toys of their own.  They don't have clothes of their own.  They don't have anything of their own at all.   The only things these children own are their names. 

In the "better" orphanages the children have toys to play with.  They don't have their own toys, but they do have toys to play with.  Christiana hasn't grown up in one of those "better" orphanages.  The orphanage where she's spent the first four and a half years of her life is at the other end of the spectrum.  Not only do the children there not have toys of their own, they don't have toys at all.  None. 

Can you imagine a small child being deprived of a simple ball... or a stuffed animal to love?  Can you even imagine how sad that is?  I can.  I did. 

As I stood in that toy aisle, holding that small, soft baby doll... it suddenly hit me just how little my daughter has had in her short life.  No mother, no father, no family.  No toys.... not even the comfort of a small, soft doll to hold when she's alone. 

So if any of you saw a lady in HEB on Tuesday, standing in the toy aisle and crying... that was me.