Getting into practice :)

Last night I finished knitting my very first sweater! I need to sew a button on the front and block it but I didn't worry about minor details like that when I asked Jeff to take my picture.



As you can see, I was so excited about the whole thing that I didn't notice I'd put my sweater on inside out. Sigh. Nobody home up there!



Here's what it looks like the right way out.



Sam decided to help mommy out.



In fact, Sam has become a great helper around here. This morning we vacuumed the kitchen floor and then he proceeded to Swiffer the whole thing for me, just to make sure it was clean before I mopped.



After dinner I decided that everyone had worked hard today and declared it a Smoothie Night. I whipped up some fruit and yogurt in the blender and by the time I got into the living room with my cup, this is what I found. My two men, just hanging out, drinking their smoothies. Could I ask for anything more?

Starting over

I think it's time to acknowledge that I am not a very good blogger. :( It's been brought to my attention by several people that I have neglected my public (GASP!) which wouldn't be so awful if that didn't include neglecting to update all of you concerning Samster the Hamster. Mea culpa! I promise to make it up to you. How, you might ask? Starting January 1st, I'll be (gulp) making my best attempt at Blog 365. For those of you unfamiliar with this little endeavor, that means that I will try to post every single day for the entire year. I don't have anything fancy like a phone that accesses the internet so I'm not sure how this is going to go if we leave for vacation. But you'll get my best attempt. (Sara, you totally inspired me!)

In the mean time, I'm putting the rest of Sam's adoption story on hold. I think you know how it ends. :) It was exhausting to write the first part and I'm finding that writing the second part is stonewalling all my other attempts at updating you. Look for Part II sometime in the New Year. When I have more energy.  And while you wait, here's a picture to tide you over:

National Adoption Month

Unless you are my BFF on Facebook, you probably don't know that November is National Adoption Month. I realize that I have been a TERRIBLE blogger (the guilt! aaagh, the guilt!) but I couldn't let this November go by without writing something. On Facebook I asked if anyone had any questions about adoption and I'd like to do that here. Is there anything you're curious about? Leave your questions in the comments section and I'll leave a respone to you there so that everyone can see the answer.

I also wanted to share the story of our adoption. It's a long one (because I don't understand the concept of brevity) so it might come in installments. What follows here is the story of our journey toward Sam.

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Jeff and I were agreed upon our desire to have children when we got married. His illness delayed that dream for us and that was very painful for me. When we were finally ready to think about a family, I was ecstatic. I couldn't wait to be a mother. We didn't expect to have any trouble concieving though I'd been pushing nagging doubts about my body's wellness out of my head for the past ten years. I gave us a few months at best before we were pregnant. A few months became six, then a year. Initial tests showed not much wrong with me but deeper investigation revealed that we'd need some assistance to achieve a pregnancy. No problem, I thought. I could take some drugs and we'd be fine. But we weren't. The drugs made me sick and they didn't work. It looked like we needed massive help and that was something we just couldn't afford. I spent months crying as yet another dream folded in front of me. We had already been through so much...why this too? Ultimately we managed to become pregnant only twice in five years. Both times I miscarried very early. It looked very much like we would never be parents. To say that I was hurting and bitter would be an understatement.

Well-meaning friends (and strangers) gave us advice. They told us to relax, to go on vacation, to stop trying so hard, that if it was meant to be, it would be. My heart resounded with hurt; apparently it was not "meant to be." Relaxing has never gotten anyone pregnant, despite the rumors, and neither had our numerous vacations. Vacations are for people who ovulate, something I don't do. But mostly we were asked why we didn't "just adopt!"

We had investigated adoption early on in our troubles. Jeff and I had agreed that adoption was a possibility for us even before we were married and found out that we were unable to produce children. However, we were told by a social worker that because of Jeff's illness we would be unable to adopt. Together we are kind of a health disaster and we would be disqualified from adoption. It was the opinion of this agency that we were not fit for parenthood, despite our desire.

One day, in a fit of desperation, I decided to call Bethany Christian Services. It had been a few years since we'd talked to anyone, Jeff was better than he had been, and I could not stand the thought that perhaps I had left a stone unturned. I will never forget the day that Christyn called back and told me: "You would not be allowed to adopt from another country because of the strict out of country rules. There is no way they would understand that Jeff is being treated and is capable of being a parent. But you could most likely adopt domestically. I can't give you a 100% yes without doing a homestudy and talking to our director but I don't see why not." I sat on the couch and cried tears of relief.

995 days ago, we recieved the homestudy packet from BCS in the mail. We meticulously filled out every form and sent it back to them as quickly as possible, anxiously awaiting the next step. For some reason our paperwork was delayed and we didn't hear anything for three weeks. We bit our nails to the quick until Christyn called at the end of March 2007, asking to meet with both of us. That began the long process of paperwork and legalities. We were excited to start with; there was so much to do! We felt proactive, like we were making actual, physical strides toward our future child. It made the intrusive homestudy questions about our bank accounts, sex life, past relationships, etc., more bearable. We had to get written references from people we knew stating that we were stable and would be good parents. Because of Jeff's illness, BCS called each and every one of our references to talk with them personally, including Jeff's doctor at the VA. We had more meetings than normal for a homestudy because of our health. We took great pains to disclose everything that had happened to us; if we were going to be rejected for some reason we wanted it to be now, not later on when we finally had a baby in our arms. We could not take any more heartbreak. We also felt strongly that it would be unethical to hold anything back. If a birthmother was going to choose to place her child in our arms, she should do so with all the facts. Anything less was coercion--baby stealing.

We put together a profile with a "Dear Birthmother" letter telling about us and our hobbies. We included photos of ourselves, our families and our home. In the letter we stated that we were very much interested in an open adoption; one in which contact is maintained with the birthfamily. Although we had started the process believing we wanted a closed adoption, we had done a lot of reading and our hearts had completely changed. We believed it would be best for our baby if he had access to his birth family throughout his life. We didn't plan to stifle the fact that he was adopted and we knew that he would naturally have questions. We wanted him to have the best answers possible.  Also, it seemed to us that the more people in the world who could love our baby, the better. What a special child, to have two families instead of one! He would never need to question whether he was loved or wanted.

Throughout the process of paperwork and waiting, Jeff and I became more and more compassionate toward our birthmother and her family, whoever she might turn out to be. We prayed for her, that she would be safe, that the child inside of her would be safe and healthy, and that she would have peace with her decision. We prayed that if it came to it and she felt the decision to place her child for adoption was wrong, that she would have the strength to keep him and the support she needed to raise him. We came to understand that adoption is a broken world solution that leaves a wound, no matter how loving a situation the child is placed int. So in my secret heart, and partly from unbelieving despair that I would ever be a mother, I prayed that the mothers looking at our profile would find a way to keep their children. My heart was already broken from losing two children I desperately wanted; I wished very much to keep another woman from that pain. Lord, I prayed, if adoption is the right decision, help me to give this birthmother what she needs. And help me to give my child what he needs. And heal us all.

There came a point when paperwork was finished, the FBI declared that we had not comitted any felonies, and our profile was on BCS's website and in three local branches waiting for birthmothers to look it over. So we waited. And waited. And waited. We filed our profile in November. In the beginning of December we recieved a call from BCS. Christyn sounded hesistant over the phone; this was not the joyous news we expected. She explained that they had a child on the way, due to be born in just a few days, with a sever heart defect called hypoplastic left heart syndrome. Would we be interested in having our profile shown to the family? We needed to let her know by 5PM that day. It was just before noon when she called. We hung up and wept over the impossibility of the situation. If anyone knew the ins and outs of hospitals, it was us. We could be good parents to a sick baby. Jeff in particular empathized with the little one, feeling that his brokenness called to hers. We called our pastor and a pediatrician who is a good friend and asked their opinion. Our pediatrician told us that the outcome for this heart defect varies but almost always requires a transplant by the time the child is a teen. If we brought the child home, we'd be looking at many, many surgeries, medications...likely this child would not lead an average life. We asked our families what they thought and weighed our own health concerns. It was with broken hearts that we called Christyn and told her that we could not consider parenting this child. When we hung up the phone, we felt miserable. It would be three more months before we heard anything from BCS.

Je me souvien.

I wrote this on 9/11/08 and thought I might make it public this year.

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Lux et Tenebris

That was the slogan sewn on Jeff's unit badge September 11th, 2001. Light in darkness.

I was a senior at Rutger's University that day and I skipped class because I was too lazy to get up for an 8 AM discussion of feminism. It was the end of the summer, it was going to be a beautiful day and I was not wasting it inside. Jeff had left the day before after spending two weeks of leave with me. We'd spent our last day together in New York City, visiting the World Trade Center, walking all over. We'd even contemplated spending the night but decided to return home so he could make his flight the morning of the 10th. I missed him but I was going to see him again soon. He had tentative plans to return in March, if the Air Force and his particular position allowed him more leave.

I didn't know anything was wrong when I finally climbed out of bed at 9 AM because I didn't have the radio or TV on. I was on my way to get into the shower when my roomate, a reliable med student who never skipped class, slammed open the door to our apartment shouting my name hysterically. "We've been attacked!" she yelled, crying. I thought she meant the med school. I couldn't understand. When she finally told me, when it finally got through, I sat down hard on the toilet and began to cry. All the people I knew in NYC, what had happened to them? Faith? Had she made it home to Queens? Kapps and her dad, what about them? The larger implications began to hit me; what about Jeff and my brother? What would happen to them if a war started? One was Army, the other Air Force. Would I lose them both? I felt like someone had poured ice into my lungs. What if I never saw Jeff again?

He wasn't reachable by phone; I had no idea where in the world he was. I knew he hadn't made it back to Japan yet and the phones were locked up busy in any case. My brother Josh just managed to get through to me, to ask if I was okay, to tell me to be strong and that Jeff would be alright. Josh was at the ROTC house on campus, he'd be there if I needed him. Just hearing his voice steadied me.

Jeff called at noon, all too briefly. "I love you, remember that." he said. He sounded alert in a way he didn't normally. I could feel his mind clicking away, analyzing a thousand different variables. I call it his military mode and he was in it, full force. "I won't be able to call you for a while" he told me. "Just know wherever I am, I'm thinking of you."

I didn't hear from him for weeks. And eight short months later our whole lives changed as his brain was permanently, life-alteringly damaged in the war that began that bright and beautiful September morning I was playing hooky. The last day I was truly carefree.

Moonlight

This. This moment when the last of summer is blowing through my twilit house, this moment when my baby is slumbering peacefully upstairs, when my husband is kissing me and telling me again how he loves me, this moment when the voices of children echo down the street, chasing each other toward home, this moment when the moon is just beginning to shine through our living room window, this moment is what I dreamed my grown-up life would be when I was still a little girl.

I breathe it in and smile at the shadow of my smaller self. My life is rich with fulfilled dreams.

OctoMom: Before and After

So it seems that Octomom has signed a deal for a reality show. I know, I know, Octomom is old news now, she's been done to death, why am I just talking about her now? Well...procratination. And because it's taken me this time to get my heart and my words together because I want to talk to you about something important.

You're all familiar with my history: barren all my life, keenly aware of it for the last six years. Two miscarriages, too many years of trying and failing, too many doctors, too much heartbreak...and then finally the brilliant punctuation to our story, Sam. I've been a mother for a little over a year now and the feeling is exquisite. It's everything I desired and so much more. But...the barren woman remains. So when Octomom first hit the headlines, I hit the roof along with everyone else. I stood in the church nursery and banged on the changing table as I shouted to my friends about the wrongness of it all, how no doctor should EVER have transferred that many embryos to a woman of that age with those risk factors, it was pure negligence, it would destory reproductive medicine for the rest of us that were behaving responsibly. My friends, who had supported me through countless tears, all nodded vigorously and agreed. They were appalled too.

I was angry for a good long while. It felt good to be angry. I felt justified. Right. I wasn't just morally right, I was SCIENTIFICALLY right. I had the American Society for Reproductive Medicine and their guidelines on my side. I had America on my side! This woman was a menace.

But then I came home one day to find my Gospel Transformation book lying on my desk. I'm sure it had been there for weeks; I use it for reference once in a while. It's green and white cover stared gently back at me, asking me that fundamental question: "Linda, do you need the gospel? Do you still need Jesus in your life?" Yes. Of course. Yes.

That was the beginning of my softening, the first brick in the wall to fall out and down and crumble to dust at my feet.

Here's what you may not know about me: Nadya Suleman ("Octomom") and I, we're the same. Our hearts are in the same condition; needy. When I moved out of my parents' house, I needed to find out who I was apart from them. I was eager to experiment with the world. When my first tastes left me even thirstier, I drank even more deeply. I left old friends behind, got newer, edgier, more dangerous ones to hang out with. I thought them intelligent, sophisticated, cool. I drank a lot. I dated wildly inappropriate men. I turned my mother's hair grey and caused my father's to fall out. I went wild. And I felt awful. Awful. So insecure. I was the thinnest I'd ever been, so thin that I actually modelled for a while. What girl doesn't want to be a model?! I should have felt awesome! But I wondered if my new friends really liked me (no) and if I'd ever really "make" it in their circle (also no.) I wondered what it would take to be accepted. I was already so far outside the boundaries, how much farther would I have to go?

I hit rock bottom, as people sometimes do. It was a long way up. One Sunday, two months into my recovery, I recieved a call from the old crowd that I'd severed ties with. I got to hear what they were calling me, what the rumors were, all the nasty stuff that was being said. I felt the filth of my old life return and I knew in my heart that it had never been gone. I was defiled. I had always been defiled. I would never be clean of it. I stood in front of my pastor's wife the next morning, unable to do anything but weep and say "I want my past to stop following me."

She had the remedy: Jesus. Here was the thing that I'd heard all my life but never understood at the heart level: grace. It was easy for me to accept that I was a sinner; I could clearly see all the wrong things I'd done and I felt the weight of them bowing my shoulders down. I knew I couldn't make that go away on my own; it was going to take something supernaturally strong to erase that feeling of defiled worthlessness away from me. I had no confidence that Jesus could do it but lucky for me, Jesus simply asks that we ask. So I did, I asked. And He showed up. He's shown up every day, for everything since. When the worthlessness comes knocking, He's there saying "You're my daughter. I've forgiven you. Put down your sins and stop carrying them around. I died so that you could be free of that burden."

All that came back to me in a moment, staring at my GT book. Do I still need Jesus? Yes. Does Nadya Suleman need Jesus? Yes. Yes. Her heart and my heart are in the same condition. She is trying to fill her heart-hole with babies, media attention, free stuff. She's trying hard to be a good mom, to live up to a standard she's set for herself; a standard she can't meet. What she needs is someone to lift the burden, to tell her about a Friend that never fails. One day I hope to stand with Nadya at the foot of the throne of Heaven and clasp her hand and know her as a sister. I hope we turn to each other, faces alight with grace, worship and wonder and say to each other "I never imagined He was so good!"

There are a million Nadyas, a million Lindas out there and I see them each day. When I'm tempted to trot out my dogma and righteousness, I think about that green GT book and I think about the barren hillside where Jesus died. I picture myself there at the foot of an empty cross...needy again.

For the record

I just want to say that Jackie Chan is a machine and also a thing of beauty. Love to watch that man move.

This is what happens when you grow up with boys.