The Rules

Okay, so this may be a little overdue. I apologize for my tardiness, but I am still new to this blogging game and learning the ropes via trial and error. I am not perfect, nor do I care to be.

Hi! My name is Becki. This is my blog. That's right, MY blog. This is where I get to spout off on whatever subject I want to, when I want to. I reserve the right to misspell occasionally, use sentences that are far too short for my husband's liking and be as politically correct or incorrect as I want. That is the joy of being a blogger, right? I am for the most part kind-hearted, compassionate and trusting.

I would love for people to read and comment and follow this blog. When I started writing it was really cathartic and I was fueled by a growing audience and their comments. It was awesome to know that what I said was resonating with someone somewhere. I felt validated and it felt awesome. This is still the case.. . .

I am not a perfect individual, far from it. As much as I don't like it, I have always honored constructive criticism. Criticism aimed at me just to tear me down is not constructive and will not be tolerated. So, perhaps it is time to start buying a larger size of jeans. ... perhaps I should no longer be sporting fluorescent half-shirts. I refuse to believe it, but if some brave soul steps forward with proof that acid washed jeans are no longer fashionable, I will not dismiss this information without due process. That is how I roll. I actually count on my friends and family when it comes to fashion. .. .(not really!) Like I said, I am far from perfect and my fashion sense tends to scream that out sometimes.


I would love to keep my blog open to comments from Anonymous. That being said, to a certain Anonymous contributor, I am sorry that you do not love reading my blog and do not agree with the content. I assure you that you do not have to keep reading. I will not be offended. In fact,  I invite you to write your own blog. . .that will allow you to say what you want when you want. I really recommend it, it is quite fun. I will not post comments that are destructive, slanderous or unkind. I will track and report people that continue to feel that this action is necessary. This is my blog and I get to determine what  is allowed.. .. and these will not be allowed. Period.
 
That's it, let the blogging (awesomeness) continue!

Because I am "in it"

I have so little to say and I am sure none of it is witty or entertaining. What is entertaining about paperwork??   Well, it is exciting to me since it brings me one step closer to cuddling my little baby boy. Pretty awesome, really!

We have been blessed with donations from super duper generous people.  I was able to add a button to my blog here, which is an amazing feat for me. .. . so if anyone feels like clicking on it. .. that would be FABULOUS! I am sure I will come up with some fun fundraisers once I am done chasing paper (and my tail.)

Hopefully by the end of the week I will be treading water a little more effectively!

I am so thankful for my Guardian angels. God, please continue to walk with us!

Musings

It has only been 5 days since my last post. Only five? It seems far longer, for me anyways.

It has been a busy 5 days! Our adoption grant has grown due to the loving and generous support of some truly awesome people. What blessings! We are waiting on our home study appointment and are feverishly working to chase paper (often in circles) and make all the correct appointments and get all the right stamps. We went to the Notary with a CHUNK of documents, Eli in tow. Trying to notarize and wrangle a 2 year old is a recipe for frustration but we got through it with only a few documents being rendered unusable. . .the notary was SUPER nice but seemed to suffer from Parkinson's and we knew we would have to return with reprinted documents. I watched my husband like a hawk to make sure he put the correct date on each and every document. Repeating the date out loud each time he went to sign .. . .

With our free time in the evening, we scanned all those documents off and sent them for approval. YAY! Checking items off the list. . really working to expedite this adoption. What do you know, our lovely notary messed up. On. Every. Single. Document. NOTHING ticked off my list. Starting over. Now I know exactly what to look for and what to watch for . . . .I am happy that the kinks are getting worked out at the beginning of the process but it was still a little blow.

I had a brave Anonymous soul comment on my blog yesterday as well. I am unsure if I am going to post it on here since it was not nice, supportive or concerned at all with the well being of the sweet little children waiting for families. Which brings me to my next topic: Lynette.

Oh dear sweet girl. She looks so shy and timid doesn't she. She looks like it would take her a little time to warm up to you but then she would never be far from your side, eager to hug and hold your hand. What a tiny, lovely, dear little bird.
Lynette passed away recently. Eleven years old. Never held, hugged, loved, treasured. Her life was spent in a crib. Waiting. Hungry. Neglected. Forgotten. Without Reece's Rainbow I would have never even known about Lynnette. Ignorant of the plight of these sweet children. I mourn her. I know she is in an infinitely better place but I fear the world failed her. We heard her cries and failed to respond. The world has lost a lovely, lovely child. Only continued advocacy and love can change the lives of these children.

I know I sing about all the wonderful work done through Reece's Rainbow but it really is amazing. I just heard that the Ukraine has posted Reece's Rainbow Adoption posters in their Official Offices. This is incredible! Read more about this here. The more people that see these lovely children, the more likely it is that they will find families. Truth is spreading and only good can come of it! Please pray that God continues to stir hearts for adoption.

I spent a little time counting the other day. I may be a number or two off but LOOK!

73 children home in 2012 so far.

74 traveling families right now

71 almost there

43 compiling dossiers

31 homestudy in progress

+33 new commitments 

=325 children that will not be left as orphans!!!

Huge hugs and thanks to those supporting our adoption with prayer and donations, encouragement and love.  It is truly appreciated! Please continue to pray for orphans!!

Heavy hearted

Oh, I heard some terrible news this morning. It literally greeted me first thing this morning. It seems that someone is living my nightmare. I just cannot imagine. So very sad! I hope and pray that my nightmares do not see the light of day as I pray for this family.

Please pray for all families in the process of adoption and PLEASE pray that Pasha is available when we submit all of our paperwork. I really want to be his Mama!

That's all I have today. Sigh. 

JUDGEMENT

Is it wrong that the narrative that my husband and I just finished up (HUGE YAY) makes me like us a little bit less? It is so easy to say "but I try" or "I have the best of intentions" to amend for my shortcomings; but in black and white, well it is just so very evident that I am far from perfect. Perhaps far from ideal or even acceptable. And I am supposed to submit this to a stranger to assess us? I am sure these feelings are par for the course, but I am really fighting the urge to rewrite the narrative complete with rainbows and fairies, beatific pictures and a Disney soundtrack.


I know it is beyond silly to think that there are perfect parents in this world, perfect husbands or wives, ideal daughters and sisters, but in reading through my narrative I think to myself, there might not be perfect people but surely there are people much more evolved and capable than I. And that pestering, negative voice jumps into the conversation. No good comes from his involvement. I want to shout, but I am loving! And fun! And goofy! Honest, loyal, diligent and I really will try my best for any child God sees fit to give me. Please don't judge too harshly, I know I have warts (some quite massive) but I will try my very best to reduce their impact in my life! 

The last time I completed a homestudy I was pretty darn full of myself. I didn't realize it of course, but the folly of youth was more than evident in my homestudy draft ...yet I was approved. Motherhood is hand-down the most awesome and rewarding experience I have ever had; it is also the most humbling. These are all lessons that I thought I had a handle on before I had kids, funny that. How can a person believe they are ready to be a parent without really knowing all that it involves, the way it changes the very fiber of your being? I am embarrassed by my previous narrative almost as much as I am by this current version. I am not sure that bodes well for me.
Am I the very best parent for Pasha? Who knows. Reading my narrative I am overcome with fear that I am not. Perhaps that is a good sign! A sign that I am already invested enough to bare my life and my soul to a stranger for the chance to sacrifice all I have and all I am for him.
I am positive that Eli will be an awesome big brother to Pasha, instructing him on all things Thomas, Gordon and Percy. Showing him the exact order that all the trains must go on the track; tattling away as all older siblings do. Don't deny it. . ..older siblings invented tattling.

As I proofread my draft One. Last. Time. I am praying that the Social Worker will see past all our faults to the people we are striving to be. And that we are the family for Pasha.

These insecurities as an adult are shocking to me. I thought that by now I would be a little more comfortable in my own skin, with a very matter of fact "take it or leave it" mentality. HA. I am realizing that people who present with this attitude are just as insecure as the next, they just handle it differently. Either way, I am eager to send in my life story for judgement. Another step forward to Pasha and that much closer to being able to hold him in my arms! If it means scrutiny, failure, dwelling on all of my imperfections, well I guess I will have to pull up my big girl panties and get on with it!

Imagine then, how a child must feel. Clearly not perfect in ways that cannot be hidden on the inside. They have no opportunity to defend themselves, to present their character to a Social Worker to judge their abilities. Their pictures greet me every morning and grace my thoughts every night before I close my eyes. These perfectly imperfect angels, wanting to be found. Dying to be considered "good enough."  Do they have any idea how wonderful they truly are? Sadly, I don't think so, how could they? They all desperately need the love of a Mother and a Father to make them believe their worth.

Megan has been waiting ever so long. She has a whopping 24k available to help cover adoption costs. .. so where is the delay? How are we allowing her to wonder why? Her pain is unimaginable to me.

And Marcus. Sweet, sweet Marcus.  
Oh, I have such a soft spot for these little boys. They should be covered in dirt, playing with worms and spiders, driving dump trucks through the mud. Instead they are waiting indoors, starving for love and affection. Marcus has seen many of his friends get adopted. The questions in his head are probably damning. He must believe that his condition is so unforgivable that no one could possibly want him. .. . I pray every single night for his Mama to rush forward and prove him wrong! I already love him to pieces and IF my husband allowed me to adopt numerous children, I would scoop him up in a heartbeat.

And then there is Marky Mark. They little boy with a wry sense of humor, still waiting for his Mama to wipe the cynicism off his chubby face.

Pick us! Pick Us! Do it! You know you want to!

As adults, we can hopefully better handle the harsh glare of judgement on our faults and failures. These children. .. they should not be expected to endure this questioning. Let us all pray for these sweet, perfect children!
I am sending in my narrative tomorrow. . .but I may put a picture at the end with a caption of "PICK US! PICK US!"

What an honor to introduce. .. .

...my beloved Aunt Karen. She has been blogging for a little while here and without fail her blogs make me laugh. And sometimes cry. I think she is such a gift and has a wonderful way of sharing her life with the world. Her post today made me cry and made me SO grateful to know her and call her family. She has brought so much to my life that I asked her if I could share. .. so without further adieu:

The Miraculous Poetry Machine

This is the miraculous poetry machine. I found it today on Front Street in Issaquah.  

What you do, is this: you take a piece of paper, you write five random words on it, you slip the piece of paper in the slot on the side, you wait, and presently out pops another piece of paper on the other side. The new piece of paper has a poem freshly penned, using all five of your words.

TaDA!

Miraculous enough in itself, but there is more. Let me start at the beginning.

I have been in the dumps for a week or so now, and realized that, with this Friday off from work and free from family obligations, I had the opportunity to take my sorry self out for a me-date, and perhaps refresh the old amygdala.

This is the first Friday of the month, and that means it's the night of the Issaquah Art Walk. All the shops on Front Street open their doors and invite local artists to show their wares, either on display in the shop itself, or just outside the door.

I arrived just as the artists were getting in place. I settled down on a bench in front of the old Shell station that is actually an arts shop, housing a number of photographers' wares. There was a three-man band set up in front, calling themselves the Trainwrecks and doing pretty good covers of the Eagles and assorted new country singers. I watched them for a good half hour, enjoying the music and their ease with eachother. Which was fortuitous, because for at least twenty minutes of that half hour I was pretty much their only audience. They didn't seem to care all that much about how big the audience was, or wasn't - they simply were laughing and singing and playing and generally having a great time. It reminded me of the truth of art - you don't wait for an audience to make art, you make art and share it if anyone shows up.

Then I wandered off to the chainsaw carver and checked out the pine gnomes. Next to him was the guy who makes garden stakes with flowers on top, the petals made out of spoons. Across from him, the woman who makes purses out of old clothes and the other woman who makes hats out of old men's slacks.

I wandered into an art gallery and checked out the pottery, the paintings, the mixed media offerings of cats on couches, dogs on beaches, birds flying across landscapes, city scenes, still lifes, portraits. I cradled a clay sparrow in my hand and enjoyed the heft of it, so unlike its real counterpart.

I people watched for awhile; a grandfather with his granddaughter and their very old, very much loved dog. A woman with pink highlights. A man with a grizzled beard and a fedora. Ten year old boys in a small herd, grazing down the street. An Indian man with his young daughter in a stroller, her hair all touseled from napping, the curls across her forehead tangling through her fingers as she wiped her eyes.

And then I came across the Poetry Machine. It looked more like a voting booth, red, white and blue folded panels with plastic bunting taped on the top, and peacock feathers for good measure. A chalkboard sign on the front, with stick on letters that said, "I love writing. I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotions: James Michener"

It was pretty easy to see the two women inside, sitting on stools and writing on small notepads. Even though an MP3 player tapped out the sound of an old typewriter, the pieces of paper that came out with finished poems on them were all handwritten.

Nobody cared. Kids hovered around the front of it, clutching notepads and chewing pencils, trying to come up with five good words to feed into the machine, so that a poem would be ejected back to them. Mothers giggled as the kids asked for advice. Some of the parents took up notepads of their own.

I took a notepad and wrote five words on it: Paleological. Laughter. Resurrected. Squirrelly. Victory. I passed it through the slot and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Poems popped out the other side. A poem for Matt. For Angela. Tony. Chris. But not mine.

I waited.

And as I waited, leaning against a telephone pole, a woman approached me and told me I looked like an angel. Which is weird, unless you think of angels as being 60 pounds overweight and dressed in jeans and tee shirts from the Museum of Jurassic Technology.

I smiled, leaning against the pole further and extending my arms out in front of me, striking what I hoped was a beatific pose. She said I reminded her of someone she knew who was gone. And then she complimented me in ways I don't even remember. I thanked her and added, "And all of it, of course, covered in milk chocolate."

And that's when she burst into tears.

"I knew that's what you would say, " she said. "It's exactly what she would say."

And she fell weeping into my arms.

Sometimes you go someplace because you have a random idea, or because you are bummed out and need distraction, or because you're bored, or because if you stay home you'll eat ice cream and blow your diet. That's usually the times when God decides to make something really interesting happen.

I started to think maybe I understood why I had gotten in the car and schlepped down to Issaquah from Maple Valley, on a whim. I got a better idea of why my poem, of all the poems, was so tardy. I got an inkling as to the importance of this particular telephone pole. I was meant to be here when she came by. Sometimes they shoot the messenger; today, the messenger was hugged. I hugged her back and told her that her friend loved her very very much, and that I was sure that's why I had been sent there, to wait for her and tell her just that. I felt her cry and shake against me and hung on tight, rubbing her back, pressing my palm in her shoulder blades, feeling the ridges of her spine. She thanked me for being there. I told her I couldn't take the credit, I only did as I had been told. We both laughed. "Yes," she said, "she would be bossy, wouldn't she?"

My poem popped out. We read it together, and it was yet another affirmation for her. This is what it said:

Victory
I hear my own laughter
ring in my own ears;
a squirrelly sound;
a good sound.
I hear my triumph
resurrected from my fall
and I feel paleological as
I am of the oldest times.

She gasped, laughed, then cried some more. I held her hands. I kissed her cheek. More laughing. She told me she loved me, and I said I loved her, too. I know that she was talking to the woman who had died, and I allowed my voice to say what I knew that woman would have said. It was the most natural moment in the world. What I was saying was true. I told her it was time for me to go, but that she would know she was being watched over, taken care of, and always loved. I turned around and walked away. We lost sight of each other in the crowd, just as it was meant to be. Amygdala refreshed, mission accomplished.

Sometimes I think my words don't count for much. Sometimes I feel restless, uninspired, invisible. But in that moment, I did not feel invisible. I felt transparent, free, with someone else's light was shining through, the both of us feeling its warmth, andthat was certainly visible, on both sides of the veil. I felt lucky to be chosen, grateful and humble.
A gift all the way around. A paleological resurrection. A miracle in front of a poetry machine, as delicious as milk chocolate. A very, very good day. 


See what I mean? She is really that awesome!

One Less-Fatherless Friday

Today is a joyful day. So joyful that I could not sleep, hmmm will 5 hours be enough to get me through the day? My eyes feel sandy, you know the feeling. But I am finding SO much joy in my purpose. Finally being able to share more about the sweet little boy that stole our hearts and will hopefully soon be stealing his big brother's toys!
Paper pregnant. What an awesome reality. A little one on the way, no morning sickness, afternoon sickness or evening sickness! No swollen ankles, maternity clothes, and no waddling! LOVE THIS! My body seems to know what is going on though and my emotions are overactive! My Husband summed it up yesterday when he described me as this: "Turkey brain, angry. Turkey brain, sad. Turkey brain, angry." Turkey brain is a term of endearment when I am being funny (often at his expense) and he is unable to come up with a witty response. (Who is the real turkey brain, eh?) I am scared, excited, joyful, teary, committed and eager. Did I mention scared?
I know I have said it numerous times but yes, I am scared. Shaking in my boots, scared. I have stepped forward before. I paid quite a price and am still paying. I guess I will say I am "twice shy" and leave it at that. I really must work on leaving the trauma in the past and look to the future with hope and confidence. I will work on that!

So, to answer the general questions:

Q: Why?
A: Look at this boy! How could I resist?

Q: When?

A: Well I saw his face on May 16th and on May 19th we were committed to this child on RR. It is estimated that adoptions from this region take 7 months so we are really working to get him home before the end of the year. Please pray with us that this happens!

Q: How?

A: Perhaps I should answer this one when the adoption is complete. I am unsure how. . by God's grace alone. And my thrift savings plans. And hopefully some donations by some wonderfully kindhearted people? (pretty please?) 

Okay, I am going back to the why question. It all boils down to who it is that I want to be. How I want to live. The world I want to leave for my children. How I want to answer God if/when I get to heaven. Just because I cannot save them all does not mean that I should not bend over backward to save at least one from a life in an institution. My brief time in India with the Missionaries of Charity will stay with me forever. I often hear Mother Teresa in my head. . .her quiet, powerful call to love the unloved. The example that she lived every. single. day. I promised myself that I WOULD be the change that I wanted to see in the world. I WOULD scream about justice especially for innocent victims. I WOULD put my money where my mouth is. .. not that I have much money, but I will walk the walk. I WILL open my arms and heart and home to a precious child because it is simply the right thing to do. Now, I am not saying that everyone should adopt. No. I am really talking about me right now. Not everyone should adopt. Not everyone should have bio kids. Not everyone should have pets. Not everyone should be allowed to operate a motor vehicle (I see these people almost every day. grrrrr.) Everyone has their own path and journey and I respect that (unless your "journey" involves driving like everyone is in a bumper car. Okay, I respect your journey, just stay off the road!) I do find it difficult to understand the person that can see a sweet face and NOT want to provide for that child, knowing the dire situation they are in. That is beside the point and perhaps my failure. It is far too easy to get caught up in the "American Dream." Laziness. Extravagance. Entitlement. In reality the "american dream" is not such a pretty picture. I am learning that sacrifice leads to happiness far more than selfishness does. So....

I am working for one less!

There is one less day now that Pasha will be without a family. 

One less day spent in a crib. 

One less day in a diaper that is not changed but once a day.

One less day spent entirely indoors. 

One less day without tickles on his belly. 

One less day.

Every form I complete. . .. well it is one less form standing between me and my son. One less! Paperwork has never been this exciting! It is not everyday that a person  gets to make such a statement about who they are and what they believe in. Pasha is giving me a chance to live out what I believe in the most AWESOME way . ..every day of my life for the rest of my life. And I will get snuggles in return! How kick ass is that?

One less child waiting in a dark, cold, hungry place! I wish more people would see the joy and possibility and join me in my quest for ONE LESS!

Seriously, how can anyone resist these sweet children? Maybe I need to rewrite this to say Two less??