‘What does love look like? It has the hands to help others. It has the feet to hasten to the poor and needy. It has eyes to see misery and want. It has the ears to hear the sighs and sorrows of men …… That is what love looks like.’ - St. Augustine

Sunday, March 27, 2011

What's A Mother To Do?

Anya and me in St Pete, in October.
We talked to Anya twice this week, and she is desperate to see us again. I had told her we'd likely be back in February, so you can see why she is anxious -- it's almost April. On top of that, Nadezhda ( Orphanage Director) contacted me and D is very worried that I have changed my mind. He begged her to ask me to come visit now. 'I want to see her', he said. What's a mom to do?

Two things have been holding us back from going. First, money is more than tight right now and I'm not sure how I can afford to go just now, unless I borrow the funds. We've had a few unexpected expenses lately and, on top of the cost of the adoption, it has put us in a tough spot financially. Second, not all of D's paperwork is done and I had hoped to submit it all in person on this next trip. If I can have a friend submit it, then that is not a problem, but I'm pretty sure I need to submit it myself since I am adopting independently.


Still, I feel such a longing to go...to see Anya, to see D, to give as much love to the kids at the orphanage as I can. I keep hearing from my Siberian Shakespeare students, too. " When are you coming back? We need to see you!" I'm trying to convince myself that borrowing money is not a big deal, but it is to me. I do have a few friends who have offered to lend it, but borrowing scares me. I worry about how long it will take me to pay it back. I have plenty to spend on the kids once I'm there ($1600!), thanks to all the orphanage donations that have come in since December...but getting there is the problem.


I'm going to take today to pray and meditate about it. Something keeps nudging me to get over there fast, but its hard to listen when there are money worries! I know that every pre- and post-adoptive parent reading this knows exactly what I'm talking about.




Last night I read about someone winning 319 million dollars in the lottery, and all I could do was calculate how many adoptions that could fund, over and over again. Nearby, a country club has recently torn down a beautiful stately, albeit old, mansion and what did they put up in its place? A bigger, more elaborate palace of sorts. Every time I drive by it, I think of how all that money was wasted. A bigger, more modern palace for the golf players enjoy. It just dumbfounds me how people can waste money on such useless things when there are millions of children in need all over the world. It boggles the mind.

Well, enough ranting. Ranting doesn't get us anywhere. I try to not think about these things, but my mind gets obsessed with them. I hope God will help me to be less judgemental of the rich. It's my biggest prejudice and it does not serve me well. Better to keep my eyes on what I can do to make a difference, and leave others to their own choices.

Friday, March 25, 2011

The Not-So-Gentle Art of Nesting

I went through this phase when I adopted Nastia. And I'm at it again. It is this overwhelming compulsion to perfectly clean and utterly organize every single room, corner, closet, cabinet and cupboard in my house. I had always known that biologically pregnant moms go through this nesting phase, but it was only after I adopted that I learned it is fairly common for us 'paper' pregnant moms, too.

When I was 'paper' pregnant with Nastia, I honestly thought I was going crazy. My compulsion to clean and organize the house was not even borderline obsessive, it was obsessive! One friend worried I had developed OCD. I would stay up till four and sometimes even five o'clock in the morning getting a closet 'just right.' I would get up at 3am after a few fitful hours of sleep to organize my pantry can by can - labels all facing the same way, taller ones towards the back, smaller ones to the front. I would wash Nastia's new bed linens over and over. I would iron her pillowcases, I would dust her never used bureau, I would vacuum her immaculate new braided rug. I was a cleaning virtuoso.


Well, it's that time again, I guess. There really is no rhyme or reason to it, but somewhere in my crazy little brain, it seems to have dawned on me that I have a son coming home in a few months. In some dark corner of my subconscious, a light has gone on and the machinery of motherhood has started, and I am helpless to stop it!


Today, I went through work files and boxes and threw away about 3 recycling bins full of papers -- old posters and programs, student health forms, outdated scripts, obsolete resumes, dusty laundry lists of props and sound cues. I purged them all. Now, my son-to-be would never have any reason to see these files, but my mind doesn't differentiate -- it all has to go. Some really neurotic part of me seems convinced that every extraneous paper, gadget, book and toy must be purged. The nest must be ready! And so I soldier on -- against my own conscious will -- to fight the 'battle of the stuff'.

And in a typically co-dependent fashion, my girl has caught this craziness too. She has filled three large boxes for the homeless shelter in three days. She is weeding out unloved clothing, unwanted dvds, and unneeded stuffed animals to make way for...what? Her brother?


Well, D will come home to a very clean and clutter-free home. His room is the only thing left to really organize...and it sits chockful of orphanage donations at present. We'll have to tackle his room after we make our first trip. And just a few weeks after he arrives, the house will, in all likelihood, get that lived-in look again. I look forward to that.


But for now? I've got a basement to conquer...

Sunday, March 20, 2011

I Believe in Birthday Magic :)

Happy Year Old Me.
Today is my birthday -- yippee!

I know most people my age don't revel in birthdays, but I do! I love birthdays! And I love being born on the first day of spring, and right after St. Patrick's Day. I love waking up knowing I have a whole day set aside just to celebrate and be grateful for this life I've been given. And that, even more wonderful, others will want to join me to celebrate! so....yippee!

I got my first birthday card and package on Fridaymorning from my mom. She sent me my grandmother's rosary beads, some money to spend on the orphanage kids, and a huge batch of homemade gluten-free brownies! My mom knows me well. I received a few more cards in the mail on Saturday -- so nice to hear from faraway friends and family.

pensive 7 year old me
I believe there is a certain amount of magic and grace to birthdays. Good things happen on birthdays! Case in point...I've been trying to reach the orphanage for weeks and weeks, with no luck. Well, last night I waited till midnight, and tried calling. I got through! We talked to Ksusha for almost 45 minutes! We got to catch up on all that is happening there, and it was a perfect start to this day of celebration.

If that weren't enough, we even got through to Anya this morning, after five or six weeks of phone issues and a message telling us her 'signal is missing'. Today, I woke up and called her right after I got home from Mass, and she picked up after one ring! I got to hear my dear sweet girl wish me a happy birthday and I got to remind her how much I love her. There is nothing more I wanted in the whole world. (Except having her here..)

So, I may not be very eloquent today, but I'm too busy revelling in the birthday magic to write anything truly post-worthy, but I'm sure you don't mind. I'm off to clean up the house before my friends head over for a birthday potluck dinner. 
A very fulfilled 'now' me!
Please feel free to take some of my birthday magic for yourself today! I obviously have plenty to share :)


Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Hosting An Orphaned Child

Those who read my blog regularly know there is nothing I am more passionate about than orphan care. Orphan care can take many forms -- it's not just about adoption. One way you can help right now is to consider hosting a child this summer. As many of you know, I hosted Dasha through NHFC last July. It changed our lives. Many of you asked if there was a program that allowed non-Christian families to host. There is! Project 143 is one such program that I can personally recommend. I am currently working with its founder, Tammy Cannon, to create a host program for Orphanage #5. But they currently have many children from Latvia and Ukraine available for hosting right now! Here are a few:
S, age 6. Silly and goofy! A girl after my own heart!
R, age 9. An artist!

Also, two people I admire very much have started another hosting program for the East Coast (Virginia up to Maine). It is called Open Hearts and Homes. Here are some of the beautiful children available for hosting through them!
M is in 4th grade..and loves to sing and dance!
S is a very energetic 4th grader, who is curious and asks lots of questions!

If you have ever considered adopting an older child, hosting is a great way to meet some older children and see if they are the right fit for your family. I offer myself up as a resource person for anyone who does host and needs support. Raising the funds to host is easy -- I have lots of ideas if that is holding you back.

Please check out both Project 143 and Open Hearts and Homes. They are smaller programs than NHFC, but no less wonderful! The more the merrier, right? I am just grateful that there are ethical choices out there for hosting. These children need homes. And even if you can't adopt, giving these children a month-long experience in a loving family would be life-changing for them.

Further, if you can't host either..you can contribute to these organizations and help support the families that can and want to host, but lack the funds. Every dollar makes a difference!

Finally, please let me know if you choose to host! I'd love to follow your journey!

Sunday, March 13, 2011

When Hearts Are Exposed

Sometimes it feels like my skin has been ripped off and my heart is there, naked and vulnerable to all the sorrows in the world. Today is one of those days.

I've always experienced seasons like this, my whole life. I can remember being very tiny and feeling like I would simply die from the pain of taking in what was around me. If I saw my elderly neighbor sitting alone through her window, I ached bitterly. If I saw a child crying out of loneliness, the pain would suffocate me. I always thought it was a curse. I didn't understand why I had to feel so much pain. It was and is unbearable at times. And if you share these feelings with others, they often think you are trying to be a martyr or bragging about your sensitivity. Neither is true for me. I almost always, without exception, suffer in silence.

And when these seasons come, I want to hide in my room and weep and weep and pray without ceasing. But life doesn't usually afford me the luxury of a cloistered existence. So instead, I do my best to walk through my days and do what needs to be done, all the while nursing an exposed heart that is being battered by every little measure of suffering it sees.

I know I am one of thousands grieving over what occurred in Japan right now. I won't even let myself watch the news today, because I can't cry anymore. To see the pain so many thousands of people are living is crazy-making. I can't eat, can't sleep...and worse is knowing my agony does not lift one atom of their pain. I pray and pray until I fall asleep, but often berate myself for not being able to conceive of a more practical way to help. What can we do, powerless creatures that we are, but pray? And yet prayer often feels like meaningless gibberish in these times. Words, words, words....while my faraway brothers and sisters break from the mammoth weight of their grief.

I feel my heart throbbing through my skin these last few days. It feels like it will beat right out of my chest wall. It can't hold all these sorrows. And yet I don't know how to have peace about them. I call and call on God and hear my own voice echo in the canyon of grief my heart inhabits.

I know I sound like a little child, I know I should understand these things by now, but I don't. I still ask God every night why there has to be so much suffering in the world. It still sickens me every day to see the world revolving around things that don't matter, while things that DO matter go unnoticed. I can't seem to get an answer. Nothing satisfies. If I'm not actively doing something to alleviate another's pain, I feel useless. If I'm not pushing forward every second to better the lives of those children in Siberia I love, I feel like a hypocrite. Who am I to eat till I'm full when they can't? Who am I to have so many people to love and support me when they don't?

I can't bear it.

There really is nothing you can say to help my heart move back inside my body. I've tried. It's stuck on this very exposed and vulnerable precipice where the wind and waves batter it incessantly. I can only hope this is part of God's bigger plan. I know that suffering has meaning. I know that suffering is often the door to greater and greater glories. But sometimes --- sometimes it just feels like my heart will slowly wear away from all the slings and arrows it catches. Some days it feels like my heart shivers on an exposed cliff during a hurricane, and it has nothing and no one to protect it.

God, if it's Your will, you can keep my heart raw and hurting. But if you can at least wrap it in some insulating blanket of your protection, I am ready to accept that. I share this pain with you, my readers, only because I know this truth:

'Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.' ~ Shakespeare

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Where Are Their Mothers and Fathers?

Every day that you and I wake up and kiss our children good morning, and make their breakfasts, and cuddle them in our arms is a day these children wake up alone.



These are only five of the 100 children at Orphanage #5. Look at their faces. What did they do to deserve waking up every day of their lives without a mom or a dad to love them? Where are their families? Who is going to step up and out of their comfortable lives to say 'yes' to them? Who is willing to commit their life to nurturing and loving these beautiful little souls?

I get emails on a daily basis from people asking how they might adopt these kids. Emails that express sorrow and concern over their plight. Emails that lead me to think there is hope. But out of the hundreds ( yes, hundreds) of emails I have received in these past 6 months, only two families are serious enough to start looking into a homestudy and contacting the DOE in Russia about a particular child. Why?

Why????

I don't understand why so many people would write me and say a particular child is calling to them, and then not do everything in their power to bring that child home. Help me understand. If you feel drawn to a child, and you are in a position to adopt, why aren't you pursuing it? Please tell me! The truth is that if these children are not adopted, most of them will be dead before they reach 25 years of age. Dead. What on earth is more important than finding their forever moms and dads? If you are called, why aren't you moving heaven and earth to make them yours?

Money is no obstacle. I've explained it a hundred times. Even if it takes you a year to raise the funds to adopt, eventually that child will be home. Even if you have to sell all you can and fundraise and take on extra work, eventually that work will pay off -- there will be a child in a home, safe and loved.

Please, please during this Lenten Season, look very closely at your heart. If there is room there for a child, why not commit right here and now to make them yours? It is a long and difficult road - no question -- but there are very few things in this world more pressing than giving a child a home.

Please spread the word -- not only about these 100 children that I so love, but of the estimated 143 million other orphans in the world. They need us. They need more of us willing to sacrifice for them.


Thursday, March 10, 2011

Walk In My Shoes, Will You?

A nasty anonymous email will throw anyone for a loop. Why do people bother putting such effort into hurting another human being? I'll never understand it. This woman is angry, I take it. She doesn't like that I 'don't tell it like it is' in my blog concerning my daughter's RAD diagnosis and current behavior. She thinks I should take down the info on RAD and the mention of RAD in my profile if I'm not going to directly address it anymore. Obviously, this is a fellow mom dealing with RAD who feels the need to lash out. So be it. But aren't we here to help one another?


I choose not to blog about the significant spot RAD still holds in our lives because my daughter is older now, and she has friends online and these friends can read. I choose not to blog about the specifics because I respect my daughter's wishes and growing need for privacy. I choose not to tell you all the details of our current day to day life because, frankly, it's none of your business, unless I decide to share it.

I choose not to share about RAD much anymore for other reasons, too. Our lives are far more than my daughter's diagnosis. I actually purged my blog reader of some fellow RAD bloggers a few months ago simply because almost every post I read was so very angry. I hated reading about the parental rage. Even if it wasn't addressed directly, it was there simmering under the letters on the screen. It made me sad, and depressed. It wasn't getting me anywhere. I like reading about what works. I don't enjoy reading about another person's daily traumas that have no resolution. I have enough of my own, to be honest.

It's always best to be honest, so I will say very openly that I am also against many of the methods used by fellow RAD bloggers with their children. For me, it's all about love. I know it's easier in the short run to follow the likes of Nancy Thomas than to get down and dirty with what Heather Forbes asks of you, but I'd rather try harder and take longer, and be true to what I believe is right and true. It's scary to do that kind of work, especially when it requires your own self-reflection. I know not everyone agrees with me, and so that is another reason to keep RAD pretty much out of the conversation in my blog these days. I would rather be a light in the darkness than another mom ranting about how hard RAD is and how there is no cure and no way out.

Hard? You betcha. I feel like I have lived two distinct lives, if truth be told. I have my pre-RAD life and post-RAD life. I lost good friends. Heck, I even lost family for awhile. I lost my child-like exhuberance for life (or alot of it.) I lost the ability to laugh every day, but I'm working on getting it back. I lost a wealth of things. But when I said yes to my daughter, I said yes for life.

These days, we still deal with RAD issues, and of course I do talk with our therapists and a few very close friends about it, but not here. If a mom writes me privately and asks for help, I talk openly with her about my experience, but not here. Here, this blog, is where I try to inspire myself to keep going every day. It's where I explore my own need for inspiration and for my desire to find kindred spirits in this cyber-world. It's where I try to crawl towards the light and even point it out to others when I feel I can.

I'm sorry if this post offends any of you. I'm sorry I don't choose to be part of that RAD club anymore. I am on a different journey now. I'll still write about RAD when I feel inspired to, but probably not directly about our personal experience of RAD here at home. I'll save that for private conversations and emails. I want everything I write here, to the best of my often inadequate and naive human ability, to be about hope and light and making the world a better place. My old bumper sticker said it best,

'My job here is to comfort the disturbed, and to disturb the comfortable.'


Please let me do this without feeling the need to attack or control me. It's what God wants me to do, and who am I to argue with Someone who so obviously has the greater perspective?

Anonymous mom, I have no idea what you are going through right now, but I suspect it is rough and you are lashing out in pain. I will pray for you and hope you find the resolution you are looking for. but I promise you, it is not here with me. Look at your own path, your own shoes. Mine are already filled and hastening down my own path. And --I wish you peace and wisdom on your journey, even though you chose to disturb mine.

My Daughter, My Hero.....It's Been Six Years.


Exactly six years ago today,  I first walked into Orphanage #5 in Prokopyevsk, Russia and met my daughter for the first time. She was tiny and terrified. She did not smile, but I fell in love with this scared little girl and my life has never been the same.

I wrote the following  five years ago, in honor of my daughter, and am reposting it to share with the world the absolutely unspeakable gratitude I have for being given the gift of motherhood. Anastasia Holly, you are God's greatest gift to me, and I love you 'more than words can wield the matter.'

My daughter is at school right now. That might not seem like a miracle to anyone else, but I know what it takes for her to walk in those doors every morning.

My daughter is my hero for so many reasons, and my only sadness is that no one else sees. She should have football stadiums full of cheering, adoring fans. Yes, she is that amazing. My daughter was physically abused and neglected throughout her infancy. We'll never know the details, but the scars remain to remind us both. My daughter was abandoned by the only mother she knew at two and a half years old. By her own birthmother's account she was left outside alone, with her sister, waiting for a mother to return who never did. By this same woman's account, my daughter was later 'taken in' by an abusive neighbor who later tried to kill her. My daughter is my hero, because she fought that day. With her little two-year-old spirit, she fought to live when some sick person supposedly placed her in an oven. She fought when 3rd degree burns covered her arms, legs, head and back. The pain must have been unimaginable, but this little soul wanted to live. According to the police report, a neighbor  heard her screams and rescued her just it time. My heart sinks as I type these words.

My daughter is my hero because, after an entire year in a hospital, likely left alone most of the time and likely tied to her crib, she survived and did not choose to die. God knows she could have. God knows it would have been easier than what was even to come. What was the day like when a Department of Education official came and carried her to the car for her three hour journey to the special Care Baby Orphanage in the dark and hopeless coal-mining town she ended up in? What did she see out the window? What thoughts kept her going? After two years in this place of relative safety, what was it like for her on the day another official came to move her to yet another orphanage - the one for older children? Did she get to say goodbye? Did she have a toy to hug? Was she comforted on the ride? Was she welcomed warmly when she entered the crumbling building that housed one hundred older, lost and silent children just like her? From her recollection there were no hugs, no toys, no comfort. There was only uncertainty and fear. And yet, my daughter faced these things with the courage and resolve of a soldier.

My daughter is my hero because, when she grew older and decided not to take the beatings anymore, she fought back. She fought off the teenage girls who would steal her food and rip her hair out. She fought off the older boys. She fought the bullies who gave her the countless scars that run like miniature riverbeds across her face. She fought the beatings of staff on days she was too sick to go to school, on days the staff could care less, just wanting her out of the way. My daughter is my hero because, she fought and fought at age ten when the staff decided she was not "compliant" enough and sent her to a mental asylum for six months. Torn from the only close friend she had without even a chance to say goodbye, driven for hours into the Siberian wilderness, my daughter fought while they tied her down and shaved her bald. My daughter fought so much that she got  'big needles stuck in me everyday' that made her 'see things like through snow, blurry.' My daughter is my hero because even in this hell of inhuman suffering, she chose to keep living. She didn't have to. She knew plenty of people who didn't. She instead, made a friend and created a make-believe world of family with this older girl that became her safety net, her solace. At night, she still wonders out-loud what happened to this sister-friend who stayed behind. We say prayers for her as we fall asleep. 

My daughter is my hero because when she was returned once again to the orphanage and the girls began to steal her food again, she came up with a plan. She ran miles through the village with her friend and hid behind the stones in the cemetery, waiting. My daughter was smart - she knew that people would leave food on the graves. She hid until the mourners would leave and she could steal the food and run home, with hunger pains soothed for the day. My daughter is my hero for so many horrific events she made it through in one piece, things I cannot even write here because they are too terrible. But if you look at my daughter long enough, you can glimpse these atrocities in the way her eyes dart and shake when she feels the slightest bit of fear. You can see them in the wall she has built up around her that we are carefully, slowly, taking down.

My daughter, my hero - how did you feel when you walked into the room filled with self-important officials and stoic orphanage directors and soul-less translators, and me? I saw the terror in your eyes, and yet, you did not run. When I smiled at you, you looked at me and tilted your head, puppy-like, and just stared. Were smiles so rare in your world? You grimaced when the official snapped the elastic out of your hair (breaking it) so I could 'get a better look' at its brilliance. 'Look at her hair, look at her hair - she is very healthy.' It made me sick. 'Please, please...let her be,' I pleaded. Why were they so shocked I did not want to "examine" your teeth or run my fingers through your hair, or have you sit on my lap? Silly American, they thought.

My daughter, you are my hero because, despite all the years of hurts and abuses and terror and silent dark nights, you took a chance on me. You didn't know me. You were told that Americans chop you up and sell your organs. You were teased by the staff that I was a 'fat and stupid American' who would 'never come back for you.' The gifts I gave you that day were stolen from you. Still, the next day you came back, smiling. I watched you run down the stairs as I walked in the door. You took my hand and traced my nervous fingers with yours as we walked into the meeting room. You did not ask what presents I brought. You did not ask for food, though you had skipped both breakfast and lunch in order to sit and watch for me by the window. You just sat by me with that curious, soulful look, trying to make sense of the words that came out of my mouth. My dear, sweet, beautiful girl. You are the bravest most wonderful soul I have ever met. I want to call it from rooftops and sing it in songs, and beat drums down my street to call out all the complacent people of the world to witness your absolute beauty. God, you are beautiful. And every time a person walks by you, not noticing, I want to grab them and say 'Look at this girl...look!' You are my light, Anastasia.... truly, truly my reason for being, my all.

It is a year, this week, since I walked into that god-forsaken place and met you. A year. And I am here, dear sweet girl, to tell you I am the luckiest mom in the world. Oh, God yes, the luckiest.

Wednesday, March 09, 2011

The Absolute Joy of Sacrifice

St Gemma, whose whole life was a sacrifice.
Blessed Lent, everyone!

There is joy in sacrifice. Absolute joy. Don't let the world fool you-- sacrifice is not all sorrow and ashes and pain. Sacrifice brings a deep and abiding joy into your heart. The deeper the sacrifice, the deeper the joy. Of course sacrifice can be painful, but the end results are always joy.

Think about the sacrifice a mother makes to birth a child...nine months of giving over her body to another human being, and the final hours of this sacrifice, before the child takes its first breath, are hours of mind-boggling pain. I know, I've been there holding the hand of many friends as they gave birth. The pain they were willing to experience in order to birth their child was downright terrifying to watch. And then? And then their child is there, taking its first breath and crying out to the world 'I'm here!' The sacrifice is a pale memory when it stands side by side with the reality of a new life. A new life!

Every sacrifice brings pain, yes, but the reward is always oceans and mountains bigger than the pain. During this Lenten season, whether Christian or Jew, Atheist or Pantheist, try the road of sacrifice and see where it takes you. I promise you will not be disappointed. The deeper the sacrifice, the deeper your joy will be. What better pay off can you ask for? Even the bank doesn't give returns like that on your savings account! It's miraculous, really.

The challenge I offer you today, is think of at least one material thing you love. Then give it away to someone who could use it, or sell it and use the proceeds for some greater good that you know needs the funds. Easy? No. But you will be stunned at the effects of this gesture, if you do it with love.

“We cannot all do great things, but we can all do small things with great love.”
~Mother Teresa

Tuesday, March 08, 2011

Little Sacrifices

We live in the 'me' generation. Don't let anyone fool you that it was in the 70s...it's now. Yesterday, I begrudgingly watched tv with my daughter. Cartoons. it was my way of doing something she liked to do without complaint..lol. It was hard. but what struck me was how many commercials make reference to 'me' time and putting yourself first, and how 'right' they make it sound. It made me sad. My personal belief is that the most important, and healing, time we can spend is for others. And it doesn't take much.

Today's challenge, for those interested, is to try to complete ten (yes, ten!) little sacrifices for others in the next 24 hours. Tiny little gestures that put others first. It's very easy! You can let someone ahead of you in traffic, you can insist the young frazzled mother behind you in the grocery line go ahead of you, you could offer to pick up a friends' kids from school, you could clean up the trash on your street, or even just a big smile and eye contact to a weary convenient store worker. All these little sacrifices add up.

'Teach this triple truth to all: A generous heart, kind speech, and a life of service and compassion are the things which renew humanity.' ~ Buddha

'Do all the good you can and make as little fuss about it as possible.' ~ Charles Dickens

'How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment to improve the world.' ~ Anne Frank