I Don’t Have a Family

Today we went back to the orphanage where Anna lived for a farewell party with some other adoptive families.  I had an errand to run so I went separately and got there a half hour or so before the main group.  Sister L. showed me to the official waiting room but I asked if I could roam the courtyard with the children instead.  "As you wish," she said and she disappeared to take care of other demands.  I had a crowd around me but I eventually made it to some stone steps leading into a building.  I sat down in the bright sunshine. The kids closest to me sat down as well pressing against my side and back as well as sitting at my feet. The younger kids would hold my hands or gently rub their hands on my arms to see what white skin felt like.  The outer group of kids had to stand and was generally comprised of older kids.  I passed the time trying to learn names and my pronunciations were often atrocious.  When I would finally get a name right, the child would quickly raise and lower their eyebrows in a sign of approval. The kids with better English skills played the role of translators.  They would ask me a question, I would respond, and then they would tell the others in Amharic what I had said. 

 

A little later I was walking again with the perpetual but ever changing crowd around me.  I felt a child's hand come into mine as had happened a hundred times already, but I did not look down until I had finished trying to learn another name.  When I looked down there was a young girl about five looking back up at me.  Her face was sad and her large brown eyes were soft and a little moist.  I bent over to ask her what her name was, but she spoke first.  "I don't have a family," she said softly not averting her eyes from mine.

 

I was taken aback.  In all the fun I was having with the children I had forgotten that Sister L. had told me that all of the kids know who has a family and who does not.  There are the "haves" and the "have nots".  Here I was looking into the eyes of a have not.  I put my other hand on her shoulder and said, "Soon.  Soon." 

 

But will it be soon for her?  How do I know?  Of the 170 children at K.M. not all will get a family soon and some will not get a family at all.  I witnessed today a bright handsome older boy saying goodbye to two good friends – something that he has done too many times before and now he is again left behind.  I also spent time with a beautiful girl who had strong English skills.  She is now a forever have not.  She was passed over too many times during her last eight to nine years at K.M. and now she is 16 and no longer adoptable.  Since she had nowhere to go, Sister L. transitioned her from being a child at K.M. to being a worker at K.M. 

 

And so it is at K.M., and at other orphanages in Addis Ababa, and in other cities in Ethiopia, and in other countries in sub-Saharan Africa and around the world.  Millions of children will go to bed tonight in a crowded room in an orphanage.  When they lay their heads down they will be acutely aware of the haves and the have nots in the room with them.  And the have nots will say softly to themselves, "I don't have a family."

I was wrong. Adoption IS risky.

In the post "Is Adoption Risky?" I reflected on the risks involved with having a child by birth vs. having a child by adoption. I concluded that while the risks are very different, I am not sure that one is more risky than the other.

I was wrong.

Let me explain. Let's say a family has n children - remember, I am a math/science guy. Consider the following birth family conversation:

Wife: You know honey, I have been thinking.

Husband: Uh-oh.

Wife: No, really. I know we have n kids and all, but sometimes I think our family might not be complete.

Husband: Uh-oh.

Wife: Have you ever thought about what it would be like to have n+1 kids? Another child for our n kids to play with? I think it would be pretty special.

Husband: Are you crazy? We already have n soccer games on Saturday morning and I am coaching n/2 of them. Then there are the n*2 parent conferences each year, the n bikes in the garage, the n*10 shoes in the closet, the n future orthodontist bills, the n future tuition bills, the n . . .

Wife: Ok. Ok. I know. It was just a thought.

Now, compare that conversation to the following adoptive family conversation:

Wife: You know honey, I have been thinking.

Husband: Uh-oh.

Wife: No really. Do you remember Anna?

(Anna is a child the couple met through the first adoption process.)

Husband: Yes, I remember her.

Wife: I have been wondering a lot lately about how she has been doing.

Husband: Does she have a family yet?

Wife: No, she doesn't. The adoption agency has dropped her. They are pulling out of that part of the country.

Husband: They dropped her? They are pulling out?

Wife: What do you think her future looks like?

Husband: You know the stats. Things are pretty grim.

Wife: I wish there was something we could do.

Husband: Short of loading our family on a plane and moving to Ethiopia, there isn't much we can do. Unless . . .

I am struck by how easy it is to say no to a pre-conceived birth child. That child is an abstract idea, not a flesh and blood individual. But how difficult it is to know a child, to have pictures of the child, to have heard stories about what the child has been through, and to have knowledge of what the future will hold if nothing is done. Such a child is already here with us in the world struggling for life.

This is the risk of adoption.

It is nearly impossible to go through an adoption process for the referral you accepted and not meet another child - an Anna - in need of a home. For some reason you will feel connected with Anna. But you will dismiss the thought of adopting again as absurd. You will find out that other families have not chosen Anna. You will dismiss the thought again. You will walk by a room in your home with space for a bed for Anna. You will dismiss the thought again. You will find yourself counting out n plates to set the table and wondering why you are not counting out n+1. You will attempt to dismiss the thought. You will try to focus on utility bills, food bills, clothing bills, future tuition bills, your crazy schedule and other things that have helped you dismiss the thought in the past, but their potency will wane. Anna will always be on your mind.

Wife: Hon, our family just doesn't seem complete.

Husband: I know. I know.

Wife: It feels like she is already a part of our family, but that she is just not with us yet.

(long pause)

Husband: Ok. Let's bring her home.

Wife: I will make the call.

And so CrazyMom called. Anna is on her way. We are adopting again.

Jesus Loves What?!?

“What is this word, dad? It says Jesus Loves . . . something. I can’t read the last word,” said Little Foot.

I was in the car with Little Foot and F.G. on the way back home from Out-Of-Our-Way Christian Bookstore. Little Foot was trying to read the words on his new $9.99+Tax-Jesus-Loves-Something water bottle that he just bought with his own money.

I admit that I did not really care what the water bottle said and was more interested in getting home. My mood was already slightly fowl since I was running an errand that I did not want to run. Before we started home schooling, CrazyMom would run errands during the day. Now errands get done in the evening and I can’t quite figure out how to get out of doing them.

Little Foot persisted and finally F.G. decided to try to help out, but she could not read the word either.

Meanwhile I was reflecting on how Out-Of-Our-Way Christian Bookstore had caused me to be on this errand. CrazyMom had taken the six kids to their store so F.G. could buy a Bible. F.G. really wanted a Bible with a buckle and found one in her favorite color – orange. But when Out-Of-Our-Way Christian Bookstore imprinted her name on it, they messed it up. Too bad it was the only Orange-Buckle Bible in the store and too bad that F.G. would no longer settle for any one of 1,000 other Bibles in the store. So a return trip was needed to pick up the Special-Order-Orange-Buckle Bible.

Now over half way home from Out-Of-Our-Way Christian Bookstore, the water bottle finally made it up to me and I read it out loud.

“Jesus Loves Kimberly”

My son had just purchased a $9.99+Tax-Jesus-Loves-Kimberly water bottle. The slightly fowl mood in the car went quickly downhill. Knowing that I had fulfilled my fatherly duties by taking two kids to Out-Of-Our-Way Christian Bookstore where they could get what they wanted and knowing further that my car was not going to turn around to go back to the store, I began crisis management.

“Little Foot, what we can do here is this. We will take the $9.99+Tax-Jesus-Loves-Kimberly water bottle home and next time that CrazyMom goes to Out-Of-Our-Way Christian Bookstore she can trade it in for a $9.99+Tax-Jesus-Loves-Little-Foot water bottle,” I said trying to sound comforting, reassuring, and firm all at the same time.

Tears were coming.

“Are you with me here? We can trade it in for another one next time mom goes to Out-Of-Our-Way Christian Bookstore. She was there at Christmas and now again in September. I am sure she will be back before next Christmas.”

The tears arrived.

I got off the highway and completed two left turns in traffic to get back on the highway going the other way.

When we got back to Out-Of-Our-Way Christian Bookstore, the two girls behind the counter and a lady making a purchase thought the incident was “cute” and “funny”. We went back to the rack with all of the $9.99+Tax-Jesus-Loves-Somebody water bottles and had to look at every water bottle before we could be sure that they did not have one with Little Foot’s name on it. Fortunately, there was a generic “I Love Jesus” water bottle.

Clearly CrazyMom would have cared what the words were on the bottle and read them before setting out for home and avoided this whole mess. Clearly the moral of the story is that I am unqualified to run errands. Now if I can just convince CrazyMom.

CrazyD's Icca

An Ethiopian adoption changes things in more ways than just having additional kids in the house. My perception of my own materialism has also been changing.

62 full size dinner plates

When we were in Ethiopia visiting with some new missionary friends, they spoke of the effort it took to sell all that they had in order to free themselves from America: the business, the primary house, the cars, the beds, the couches, the blenders, the tools, the lawn mower. . .

2 refrigerators and 2 chest freezers

They did not sell all that they had. They kept the second home, the photos, and the family heirlooms. They also kept a host of other things that makes them really wealthy: access to clean water, access to health care, and access to bank accounts.

107 shirts for CrazyD - full family count too painful

This family tells me that many Ethiopians want to come to America - to be Americans. Americans have so much icca, "stuff" in Amharic. And they want icca, too.

3 cars

They want icca? I want less icca. They don't know what if feels like to be claustrophobic in a multi-thousand square foot home. Our home is only cleaned up if everything is skillfully packed/stacked/stored into closets/corners/crawl spaces with the same care as packing a suitcase.

9 bikes, 1 tag-a-long, 1 two seat child trailer, 4 scooters, 3 big wheels, and 1 wagon

But when I am honest with myself, I realize that I don't want less of my stuff. I want less of the kids' stuff and less of CrazyMom's stuff. My stuff is already trim. What I have, I tell myself, is necessary and important. I want to clear the house of all of the junk. The McDonald's Happy Meal toys, the birthday party grab bag items, participation trophies, broken toys of sentimental value, rarely used placemats, half of CrazyMom's shoes, and the fish.

9 sinks

But now, in my post-adoptive state, I am beginning to realize that I am the one with the icca problem. The solution to my icca problem is not to pick up a copy of "Storage Systems for Success" or "The Art of Clutter Clearing." This is not the solution because even if the clutter were cleared and the rest was neat and tidy, I would still have an icca problem. My problem is that I use my limited time and resources to take care of my stuff.

185 music CDs

It was not just my trip to Ethiopia that changed my thinking, it was adopting. Adopting Ethiopian children has given me a heart for the people of Ethiopia in a way that just traveling there would not. In my home I now get to see Ethiopian children side-by-side with all of my icca, and all of the icca is pretty icky compared to them.

1,252 books - not counting the books in the crawl space

I now realize that I have bought into the American lie while believing I had not. The American lie tells me that I need something that I don't have, right now, and that that something will make my life a little better/happier/easier/more fulfilling. That a new gas grill will in some way satisfy me more than sponsoring an orphan in need.

1 hockey table, 1 foosball table, 1 skee-ball table, 1 Basket Brawl

I have always told myself that I am not materialistic. I don't drive fancy cars, we shop at thrift stores, I would rather go to jail than to a mall, and I don't own an iPod - yet. But I now realize that this is not true. I am materialistic. Look at what I own. And deep inside of me I am beginning to feel that there is some conflict between what I own and my desire to care for orphans.

1 four drawer filing cabinet and 4 two drawer filing cabinets

A conflict between owning stuff and helping orphans? In America, this is an absurd thing to say. These things don't seem mutually exclusive. In America, it seems the more I own the more I will be able to give away. But now I am beginning to wonder.

3 film cameras, 3 digital cameras, a host of lenses, and 1 digital video camera

In my hands I see all of the worldly possessions that I own and my fingers are wrapped around them. All around me I see people in need and I want to lend a hand. But I can't. My hands are full.

No time for Johnny who is hurting. I need to mow/mulch/trim/pull weeds/spray/fertilize.
No time for Sally who is down. I need to pick up/repair/refinish/rearrange/install.
No time to care for God's people. I need to care for my stuff.

1 large stereo, 3 portable stereos

Christ stood on the edge of the Sea of Galilee. He called to Simon Peter and his brother Andrew.

"Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men."

Here is what Scripture says that they did: "And they immediately left their nets, and followed him." (Matt 5:20)

They left it all behind. Nets, boats, and fishing gear are the things that keeps us from being able to go along with Christ. Michael Card has a song about this scene with the line:

"And it's hard to imagine the freedom we find
From the things we leave behind"

Father God, I pray that you will cause my fingers to uncurl so that my hands are free to do Your work in this world. Amen.

1 life to give

A Surreal Experience – Two Boys Touch through a Pane of Glass

Unpacking the Trip – Part 4

While the last post was all about what we did on our second full day in Ethiopia, this post is about the conflicted heart that I had.

My heart was troubled because I was simultaneously experiencing both an intense joy and an intense pain. I felt an unbelievable amount of joy as we finally were able to meet and begin to get to know our new kids. I also felt an unbelievable amount of pain as I saw around us the suffering of so many others.

I have been to third world countries before (Honduras, Peru, and Kenya). I have even been to third world countries when there was a drought (Zambia and Zimbabwe), but I was younger, more naïve, and doing the tourist thing so I did not (or chose not?) to notice the tragedies around me.

This experience was much different. Ethiopia seemed poorer and the plight of their people more difficult. My heart was more involved since we were adopting some of their children. I knew more and I was desperately trying to see through the American scales on my eyes.

But looking with new eyes can be painful. On this second day I was riding in a mini bus with the other families that were adopting that week. We stood out on crowded streets, especially when many of the crowds are beggars desperate for money. Unemployment in Ethiopia is 47%. This means that the disabled have virtually no chance of getting a job as well as many able bodied workers. And so they turn to the streets, looking for coins with which to buy bread. The healthy, the disabled who are healthy enough at least to crawl to the streets, women carrying babies, and children are all there. At a rare stop light our mini bus paused and a young boy, about two years older than K.D., came up to the window to beg. When he saw K.D. in the van along with all of us "forengees" (foreigners), he got excited and K.D. and the beggar boy started speaking rapidly to each other. The beggar boy put his hand on the window and K.D. did likewise. K.D. turned to me without taking his hand off the window and was yelling. "Papa! Papa! Papa!" He wanted me to look – to see the boy.

I did look. I did see the boy. And I was seeing past my American scales. And what I saw haunted me.

I saw a world full of children. I saw that the children had no control over where they were born. I saw some kids being born in America, some in Europe, some in China, some in South America, some in Ethiopia. I saw the more than 4 million Ethiopian orphans along with who knows how many more living in poverty. And I saw two boys, touching though a pane of glass. One of those boys was being thrust into a life with all that the world could offer and his future was intensely bright. The other boy must fight for survival begging on the streets of a poor country and his future looked intensely dark.

The light turned green. We pulled away. One boy was left behind.

I am the Filthy Rich

In America we often speak of the lower class, the middle class, and the upper class. Then there are the filthy rich. I can hardly imagine what it must be like to be Bill Gates or Warren Buffet and to have your net worth measured in billions. While the lifestyle may be foreign to me, I do know who they are and as I stretch out my hand to point my finger at one of the filthy rich, God stops me short and reminds me of the three fingers pointing back at me.

I am the filthy rich. I live that unimaginable lifestyle.

• There is never a question of whether or not we will have enough food to eat in my home, only whether we will eat until we are full or stuffed.
  
• There is never a question about whether or not we will have clothes to wear, just which ones we will select from our overstuffed closets.
  
• There is never a question about whether or not our kids will have a clean, soft, dry bed to sleep in, just whether or not it will be made when they crawl in.
  
• There is never a question about whether or not we will have outstanding medical care, just whether we will to go to the doctor, the urgent care center, or a hospital.
  
• There is never a question about whether or not our family will have access to the finest prescription drugs in the world, just whether we will fill the prescription at Giant Eagle, Meijer, Kroger, or CVS - all of which are within a mile of our home.
  
• There is never a question about whether our family will be homeless, even if our home were to burn to the ground today, only how long we would be in temporary housing.
  
• There is never a question about whether or not there would be anybody in the world to care for our kids if my wife and I were to die tonight, only which family and friends from our vast support network would step in to care for them.
  
• There is never a question about whether or not our kids will get a good education, just whether it will be public, private, or home school.
  
• There is never a question about whether or not we will have clean water to drink, only whether we should get a drink from the refrigerator, water cooler, any number of faucets in the house, or one of two hoses from outside. In fact, I have water sitting in the toilet bowls of my home right now that is safer to drink than what many in the world will be drinking today.
  

What I have is unimaginable to many in the world. I am the filthy rich, flooded with the world's goods.

And I am cut to the quick by God's word. I John 3:17-18 says, "But whoever has the world’s goods, and sees his brother in need and closes his heart against him, how does the love of God abide in him? Little children, let us not love with word or with tongue, but in deed and truth."