An Adoption Loss

 This is years late.

….four years late. It’s late because when either of us tried to talk about it in the early years, it was anger. You wouldn’t hear a story when we spoke, you’d hear anger. Hopefully, you can hear the story this time. The anger has settled. 

….

This month, four years ago, we had sailed through much of the adoption work with nary a problem. Our social worker said we were about six months from having an HIV+ sibling set from Vietnam in our home in Cambodia. 

We’d asked adoptive parents in ministry how to navigate adoption and missions/ministry.

We’d asked an American nurse who had volunteered in Cambodia’s healthcare system how well-equipped Cambodia was for the needs of HIV+ children. Better than America, she said.

Basically, we thought through who in our circle would have the answers to the questions we were asking, and we paid attention to what they said. 

A friend from the States had offered to fund-raise for our adoption on our behalf as our mission agency did not permit us to fund-raise for ourselves, but a person who volunteered to do it on our behalf was fine. We didn’t ask her to volunteer, so her offer was incredibly generous and still gives me joy to remember. Thank you, Sandra!

We’d chosen a sibling set instead of only one because of research that says that sibling loss is more traumatic to orphans than loss of parents. Sibling sets actually do not substantially increase adoption cost, and the presence of a biological sibling becomes a major resiliency factor that significantly alleviates trauma issues related to the adoption. 

We found a social worker who lived overseas, helping American missionaries and service members to adopt. If you think being American, in America, adopting from America is hard, try being American in Cambodia, adopting from God-knows-where. We chose Vietnam because it made the most sense at the time—different countries have different procedures. Cambodia was, and still is, closed to adoption. 

We’d need to spend six weeks in Vietnam, but our mission agency allowed for a maternity leave for biological additions to family, and we’d be adding two children, not just one, so it fit. We’d use our vacation days if we had to. Plus, Cambodia was due for an election that year, and our adoption was looking like it would land right over the weeks when we’d need to leave Cambodia due to political turmoil anyways. It was a perfect fit, time-wise. Puzzle pieces made of magnets. It was coming together so fast and so well.

“Prepare for spiritual warfare if you adopt. Something always goes wrong.”-Friends who knew their stuff. Multiple people. More friends since then. 

I blocked off afternoon naps, and began waking early, to push through the early grind of adoption work. So many emails with our social worker! So much to research. So much. Being expats was a big part of the workload here. (Fun fact: I started college after the adoption fell through, using those exact time blocks. No regrets.) 

We’re six months away from having a sibling set in our home?! [Friend] wants to fund-raise for us?! Where’s the spiritual warfare? This feels too good to be true. If our friends are right, and they all said the same thing, something’s going to go wrong. But nothing is going wrong! And we’re so close!

I felt uneasy. I trusted my friends, and our adoption journey, although it involved a lot of work, wasn’t meeting any obstacle that could derail it. It was less “the devil’s gonna try to stop this” than my friends had warned, but I trusted them. I knew they knew what they were talking about. So, I had a sense of “What is it? What’s going to go wrong here? That many people—those people—aren’t going to be wrong on this.”

I remember thinking those thoughts as I ran up the stairs for the afternoon work towards adoption. Prophetic much, whew. 

It was an email from an authority figure in our missions organization that ended it all in one fell swoop.

Adoption would distract from ministry. We would spend more time adopting than doing ministry. How can we explain this?

Easily.

I emailed back the truth: that Asian culture did not have many healthy examples of adoption—adoption is often only slightly better than labor trafficking or slavery—and we could be a daily display of the love that drives healthy adoption. 

I tried to pull up the original email tonight so I could quote it verbatim. It was bad enough that the mission agency as a whole reached out to us to say that it was sent from one man, reflects his personal opinion, and they do not agree with the views he stated. We no longer log into that email address, or I’d copy/paste so you could see for yourselves how it read. 

I remember phrases, though—probably not verbatim. Some are from the email, and some may be from Skype conversations with the same individual. 

You have to fill out paperwork about the types of physical illnesses you’re okay with. Do you think you are prepared to think through that? We’d already decided that. We’d already relied on the wisdom of others in that process. 

It’s going to take from your ministry. We believed it would enrich it.

Missions work is difficult, and adoption is difficult. You don’t have what it takes to do both. The sender of the email was an individual involved in our training, and in training, he had DRILLED us that we had everything we needed to do God’s will. 

You are going to need to choose between missions or adoption. From an authority figure.

I ran downstairs. 

“Chris, did you read it?”

Chris: “Yep, I read it.”

Me: “Is…is…that an ultimatum? It feels like an ultimatum. I can’t believe he gave us an ultimatum, though.”

Chris: “Missions OR adoption. Of course it’s an ultimatum!”

“So, missions or adoption. Which one do you choose?”

“Same one as you.”

….Adoption. We didn’t have to say the word in that conversation. We’d discussed it when dating. We both knew. Adoption, by far, had our hearts.

If we chose adoption, we were leaving Cambodia prematurely and we’d have to pay our own tickets. That would use up our adoption starter fund. 

So by choosing adoption, we were choosing…neither. We’d have to wait to adopt. 

But we couldn’t just shrug, stay in Cambodia, and let the conversation end there.

Chris tried to email a response, but he sent it to a trusted mentor first. “That’s too angry.”

I tried to email a response, but it was simply slightly more eloquent anger.

Finally, three months later, we both calmed down enough to pick up this conversation.

“Oh, oh, you misunderstood me! That wasn’t an ultimatum! That was friendly, mentor-like advice.” He wasn’t a mentor. He was an authority figure. 

I’m leaving his name out, because outside of this interaction, I have a lot of reasons to respect him. I’m not interested in throwing someone under the bus due to one interaction gone poorly. Perhaps it was truly a giant miscommunication on his part. It was a miscommunication that directly impacted our family, and two orphans who would otherwise have a family. It added to the list of frustrations we were already living with. He’s allowed to be a human and have a serious goof-up and still be respected. I wish him well, however strongly I disagree with him in this one discussion. 

At this point, we were technically free to continue pursuing adoption, albeit with the caveat that we would be going against clearly stated advice from an authority figure. Our actual mentors were decidedly supportive, and those who had navigated our unique situation were excited about it. However, the questions that we couldn’t get past were these:

Is it wise to bring orphans into an extended family (which is what the missions culture is) that sees them as a burden to better, allegedly more important church work? 

Would they not feel that?

Would they feel like they have to contribute to ministry, to “prove” that they earned their spot? I already felt this one. I felt that, if we went through with the adoption, we had to prove that it indeed added to the ministry. Nobody verbalized that at the time, to be clear. That may have been just me. 

Unfortunately, Chris had been dealing with deep frustrations prior to this, and this adoption loss due to an authority figure overstepping bounds added to his frustrations.  Deep, prolonged frustration became a faith crisis and Chris decided to move us back to America. 

The starter fund for our adoption would be used on tickets. 

The adoption was over.

….

To reiterate, for those who know the organization we were with: the organization as a whole has since assured us that they do not share the views conveyed in that email exchange. The organization is pro-adoption. The individual in that instance was not. 

….

I still think about that sibling set. 

I hope they’re not waiting for a family. 

I hope someone else adopted the ones who were so few obstacles away from being ours. 

When we pursue adoption again, we’ll start from scratch. HIV+? Don’t know. Siblings? Probably. Maybe. Vietnam? I prefer to stay as local as possible, and that is no longer Vietnam, but Vietnam still has a pull, I won’t lie. Age? I hope toddlers, Chris would prefer teens. I like teens, so it’s quite possible that we’ll wait until our current kiddos are bigger and then adopt some teens—but even that is not certain. When? God knows. 

Timeline of Clark Alexander's birth

"The baby door opened, and the baby crashed out!"- Judson's version.

This gets TMI, because birth is full of too much information. Proceed at your own risk. (I want it typed out while it's still a recent memory, and some of our close friends are wondering about it, plus I typed out the older boys' birth stories, so...here we go!)

My apologies in advance; it was a lightning fast labor, and some details/timeline things are fuzzy for me. I rely on phone call/text records for the timeline as much as possible. For the fuzzy parts, take it as a sign that an awful lot occurred in the final five minutes. I remember delivering the head, and I remember telling Chris the code to unlock my phone so he could call the midwife--but did I deliver the head first? give Chris the code first? or did I do both at once? But that's getting ahead of myself. Suffice to say...I'm trying to remember as accurately as possible. That's not always a very clear memory, even less than a week removed. 

Also.

Hindsight is 20/20. I was in labor long before it got intense enough for my midwife and I to know it really was labor. Prodromal (false) labor can really mess with your mind--is this the real deal or is it just another bout of the false version? Keep that in mind if you read this and wonder why things went the way they did. ;) Also, my midwife has (most likely) delivered hundreds of babies more than you have--spare her any criticisms. She made her absolute best judgments and was professional at all times. IF there's 'another' time, she'll be my first choice of a caregiver. 

Now to the timeline.

The last several weeks--prodromal labor. Contractions that would start and then drift away after I rested. Exactly one week before Clark's arrival, I saw a Dr in order to be cleared as still being safe for home birth if I made it to 37 weeks (it was understood that if I went into labor earlier than that, I'd have to go to the hospital). The doctor said that some women simply have a more sensitive nervous system than others, and thus are much more aware of every little contraction. These are the women who are calling in or coming in frequently for fear of preterm labor. My blood pressure, weight, heart rate, measurements, everything--all in a great range. The doctor did note that Baby was very low. Not unusual for 36 weeks, just noteworthy.

The weekend of--the prodromal labor, Braxton Hicks, everything stopped. Not even the occasional stomach squeeze. It was eerie, and I wondered why it was stopping. Everything completely stopped Saturday afternoon and didn't come back. 

Sunday morning--I woke up feeling as if I was about to get a period. No contractions though. I texted my midwife about this change. She said to take everything to stop labor, just in case. (She'd recommended me a small arsenal of things that, prior to this, were always effective at stopping the prodromal labor if the contractions got too persistent.) By the time I got her text (no phone service at our church), the period feeling had long dissipated. I napped.

Sunday night--a period feeling again, but no contractions whatsoever. Nonetheless, I took E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. to stop labor just in case, and prepared to go to bed. 

Niko asked for permission to pray to God to make the baby come. He'd been anxiously waiting, and the recent days of Mom laying on the couch resting prodromal labor away made him aware that it would be soon, but that the baby wasn't ready yet. "Is the baby ready now?" Since I was going to be 37 weeks the next morning, I told him it's okay to pray that the baby comes SOON. He lit up; his bedtime prayer was going to be that the baby would pop through Mama's belly.

10:30 PM Sunday night--four contractions strong enough to wake me up, but they didn't last long at all. No biggie, I'd experienced those before in the previous weeks. I did text the midwife, "I had the campiness this evening again so I did all the above (referring to the protocol to stop labor). No contractions until I laid down. From none at all to about two minutes apart (that's my typical false labor pattern AND real labor pattern) and mildly painful. I'm going to try to sleep it away and call you if my water breaks or if they start lasting longer?" Since I'd already taken everything to stop labor prior to going to bed, and had alerted the midwife to the potential for things to go either way, I rolled over and kept sleeping. 

12:30 AM Monday morning--a contraction strong enough to wake me up, but still very short. I decided to keep sleeping.

12:32 AM--a contraction...building, building...burst. My water burst. I called the midwife. She asked me how much it was; it wasn't a lot. Was it my water? Was it pee? She told me to do an exercise to shift baby's head a little and see if more water came. If more did, it was water. If not, it was pee. I couldn't get any more. It's a little embarrassing to call the midwife at midnight because you peed in your sleep. But it had felt so much like water breaking, and it had occurred at the peak of a contraction--but then, the bladder and the uterus do share a tiny space; pressure on the one can cause pressure on the other... 

12:49 AM--I called her because after the water/pee ordeal, the contractions didn't just go away. They were getting intense. BUT they were short. With both of my other labors, labor didn't really go anywhere until the contractions were lasting one minute and forty-five seconds. These were just getting to a minute fifteen. They felt intense, though, I told her. A seven out of ten.

Lisa had pulled up my records of the older boys' deliveries, and, seeing that my oldest was a 12 hr labor, and the second was about a 6 hr labor, assumed that my labor pattern would give us till closer to morning. Professional to rely on previous births as an indicator of a potential pattern? Yes. Logical? Absolutely. 

After eight minutes of discussion, she says, "Well, if you've been having contractions while talking to me, I haven't been able to tell. You're not getting out of breath, nothing in your voice indicates that it's severe or urgent. Labor typically follows an intense--calm--intense pattern. I want you to rest for what's coming; you'll need your sleep. But CALL ME as soon as the pattern changes. Also, if at any point, you decide that you think it's serious enough you'd just rather I come, CALL ME. I'd rather come for nothing, than come too late. It's going to be your call, you're the mama." 

Fair enough. My contractions just weren't lasting long enough for it be in the serious zone. If I'm getting any more than 10 seconds of rest between contractions, it's not urgent. The calm zone, even if it only lasted an hour and a half, would give her plenty of time to get here. I agreed that it wasn't yet urgent enough for her to come then. We hung up around 12:58 AM on the agreement that we would both try to rest to prepare for what seemed to indicate an approaching labor--although, given my history with prodromal labor, it could very well drift off completely once I got some rest. I waited the middle stage, the calm.

At 1:08 AM I got a contraction--still shorter than my typical labor contractions--but I distinctly thought, "It would feel good to push." Was it the baby, or did I just need to poop? (Sorry, told you it gets TMI.) I moved from the bedroom to the bathroom. What if I called her and it was just a poop? I'd already called her for what might have just been pee. But...I just wanted the assurance of her presence, so:

1:09 phone call to Lisa to come. 

 Chris drew water in the tub for me for a pain reliever. Lisa said, "ABSOLUTELY NOT. The tub will relieve the pain, yes, but it's also going to make things go even faster." Chris stopped filling it up, but he didn't let it down. I looked longingly at it, but it really needed more water if I wanted to counteract the pressure of gravity.

If I wasn't sure if the baby was coming or if I just needed to poop, a contraction right about now removed all doubt.

1:12 phone call to Beth, to watch the kids. I was completely confident now: "We're having a baby," I announced, "Chris is going to be dropping them off as soon as he gets them and their clothes to the car."

Beth: "Are you sure? Lyndon can come get them if you'd rather Chris stay with you. Unless you think you'll be fine." They live less than three miles away. I opted, nonetheless, for Chris to stay with me. He'd have missed the birth had he taken the boys--but of course, we didn't know that then. 

1:25ish Lyndon shows up to get the boys. I venture out of the bedroom because I want to tell them goodbye. They're both too drowsy for any conversation at all, barely even recognition in a moment of sleepy eye contact. I waddle back to the security of my own bedroom.  

1:31 text to Lisa: "I'm at whatever stage involves wanting to puke and push. Please tell me this won't last long." 

Puking.

Deep Asian squat by the hamper--relieved the pain, but it didn't feel stable, since I had to use my hands to support myself. I wanted my hands free in case the baby came, so I stood up.

On the toilet. 

Walking around.

Puking.

Back to the toilet. 

1:37ish--this is more than a poop. I can't believe it's the baby, it's too soon. Not going to give birth in the toilet, not going to give birth on the floor, no way I'm walking out to the bedroom. If I accidentally drop this child in delivery, it's going to be dropped in the bathtub so the water can cushion the baby, and I'll just quickly pick the baby up.

 It felt like it took me all of two seconds to get off the toilet, over the tub wall, and in a standing/squatting position. I kept my hands free at all times--I was NOT going to drop this baby if I could avoid it! The instant my feet hit the warm water in the tub, my body relaxed and I realized I really was very close to delivering.

This is where it really gets jumbled. These might very well be in an order other than the order listed. But all of these happened between 1:37ish and 1:41. 

Chris wanted to call Lisa, but he didn't remember the code to unlock my phone. I helped him. 

I barely remember pushing. Did I push? Did my body just kind of take over and push for me? I'd been repeating, "Don't push, don't push, don't push" to get through my contractions since...about since I called Lisa at 1:09--(with the moment of exception being when I went out to say goodbye to the boys; I popped out of the bedroom and got back in between contractions). 

I couldn't believe what my legs were telling me had just happened so I put my hand down. It met the baby's head. 

Chris to Lisa: "NO, he's coming out right now. We need you here now!"

Lisa had encountered heavy fog along the route--fog we would have encountered had we gone to the hospital. Better her than us, and a living midwife who is late is better than a midwife who dies trying to rush through invisibility. 

A book of birth stories that I'd read when I was pregnant with Dominick came to my memory. Although I had delivered the head, I refrained from pushing the body out. I checked the back of the head for a cord around the neck; no cord! Chris was standing just two steps away, talking to Lisa, so I decided to cautiously see if the rest of the baby would come as easily as the head.

It didn't budge. 

Okay, so the shoulders are stuck? Or the baby's just in a poor position? 

The back of the baby's head was covered in, shall I say, birth-related bodily fluids. I asked Chris to grab a washcloth--I couldn't see if it covered the baby's nostrils, but better to gently wipe it away just in case. As luck would have it, the washcloths were not an arm's reach away; they were in the dryer. THE DRYER! 

 Chris ran out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, through the kitchen, around the corner, through the dining room, to the dryer, and.....

Remembering what to do from that big book of birth stories, I decided to try to get as near to all fours as I could while still keeping my hands free. This is the move midwives recommend for releasing stuck shoulders; I really had no alternative at this point. (Although, I COULD HAVE WAITED another minute; the contractions lost their forcefulness as soon as the head was delivered. But I didn't think of the 'wait a minute' option--I had only paused between the head and body in order to make sure the cord was not around his neck, and to slide it over his head if necessary.) I had barely begun to shift my position when Baby gave a final kick in the womb and something gave way. I HOLLERED, not out of pain, but because Chris was somewhere between the dryer and the bathtub. 

Chris's footsteps running towards me. 

Baby's body sliding out, secure in my hands.

A quick glance to see if it's a boy or a girl. Boy. Clark Alexander!

Chris standing in the doorway.

Baby whimpering as I placed him on my belly. 

Chris trying to tell Lisa that he's here, HE'S HERE. "What time was he born?"

The phone said 1:41 but he'd been out for a little bit; Chris called it at 1:40.

Lisa immediately reminded us that we would need to call 911 unless everything she asked would check out okay. I vaguely remember something about not tying up 911 unnecessarily, but that events like these were what they were there for, and we'd hang up with her and call 911 if we needed to. 

He was breathing, sleepy but whimpering, turning pinker and pinker--no need for resuscitation or 911.

My blood loss was not extravagant--no need for 911.

His body was the right level of stiff--(I forget the exact words she used--but I remember thinking oh yeah, that's exactly how I'd describe him)--no need for 911. 

She may have asked more; I don't remember if she did. We got to the end of her list with no reason to call 911. So she gave instructions on how to deliver the placenta "Or you can just wait until the assistant gets there. She's on her way but she'll be there before I am." 

Somewhere in all of the above events, Chris found two minutes to rip the sheets off our bed, put a shower curtain down (to protect the mattress) and put fresh sheets on. 

Fifteen minutes after Clark's arrival, the helper, Darci, arrived. I apologized for meeting a stranger for the first time with so few clothes on. She acted like she'd seen all of this many times before and immediately made me feel relaxed despite the lack of dignity. I was tired; she helped me to bed to rest. 

Mentally, I couldn't bring myself to deliver the placenta. It's weird--I delivered the baby myself, what's a placenta, right? But with the other boys, the Dr had tugged on the placenta a little to help it; I didn't trust myself to tug just right while pushing, so I opted to just wait until Lisa came. 

And...fifteen minutes after Darci arrived--so, thirty minutes after Clark--Lisa arrived. 

She made sure baby and I were doing okay, and then she got to the business of helping me deliver the placenta.

And that fast, it was over. We moved into the post-delivery checkups, bonding, nursing, etc. 

I don't know if there will ever be another one. I'm not sure how close to the hospital I'd have to live--within waddling distance, perhaps?--to make it on time. Our best bet, in the future, is to have a skilled midwife IN OUR NEIGHBORHOOD. And 911 on speed dial, just in case.

Before you call yourself 'poor'

Today, I worked on our newsletter. I decided to journal my day yesterday, and in doing so, found myself confounded again by the disparity between the rich and the poor. Since I process by writing things out,  I decided to blog. My prayer is that any poor person reading this would feel honoured and cared for, and not put down or scorned, in any way.

Who I am:

I'm a young person who's seen both good times and hard. I remember being able to afford nothing but potatoes-- they were cheaper than rice, even. Potatoes aren't very nutritious, though, and I paid the price health-wise. Those six months or so felt like they'd never, ever end. So hungry. All the time. Go to bed hungry, wake up hungry, pray for more food, wait, lose weight, have no energy, go to work, give your $ to your parents, go back to bed hungry. Crunch the numbers on the calculator, still poor, still gonna be hungry. God bless the friend who let me eat. And eat and eat, whenever I had the chance.

 I've also been on nice, cash-paid vacations. I can get my eyes checked out, or go to the dentist, or pay the hourly price of learning another language. Luxuries, all of them. Things not needed in order to keep breathing, keep living.

 I live in Cambodia, so where you put me on the wealth spectrum depends on who you are. To Americans, I'm poor/mid-class. Most of the middle class in America would be significantly more comfortable than I am. Most of the poor would be poorer.

To Cambodians, I am rich.

They're right. Here's why.

Yesterday morning, I started the day off with a breakfast in which I used seven eggs and one slice of cheese-- all of which we'd managed to purchase while staying inside the parameters of our food budget. Then I went to market where I purchased:

a chicken breast ($1.75)
20 eggs ($2.25)
Galangal
Lime leaf
Turmeric
Cabbage
Lemongrass
Tomatoes
Cucumbers
Onion.... all added up to ($1.00)

(Bonus! To Cambodians who think the food is a little pricey, yes, I go to the most expensive seller. She's the first seller to give her staff days off for holidays, and I want her to be able to continue doing so.)

Then, I crossed the street to get a 'cheap' treat for Chris, Niko, and Bubba. Three sugar cane juices, please. 75 cents.

An elder beggar lady was standing in front of my moto. I handed her the 25 cents in change that I'd just received from the sugar cane juice seller.

Later in the day, I purchased coconut milk, enough for two days and a little extra (it'll probably end up in a smoothie). .75
One of my students was unable to concentrate in class. Said there's been no food all day. This child is losing weight before my eyes, so the story was believable. I bought four chicken skewers and bananas "as a gift for your family". $1.75

Every food-related purchase, mostly all basic things, all things that have nutrition.
$8.50.

If you're rich, your head is going WHAT?!! How many individual meals did she get out of $8.75??!!! (That would be fourteen, counting Niko and Bubba as one person.)

If you're poor, your head might be going WHAT??!! I'm coming to her house to eat! She can spend $8.75 on food in ONE DAY?! And there's MEAT?! And eggs?! And amok?! (Seriously, COME. We'd love to have you. My amok isn't that great, but it's not too bad, either.)

Here's why.

$8.75 on food in one day.
Times 30 days
Equals $262.50
Times 12 months
$3,150.00

Per the Phnom Penh Post, the upper-middle-class in Cambodia earns between $4,037 to $12,745 PER YEAR. PER YEAR.

The average yearly income for Cambodians is under $4,000. Yes, I typed 'yearly' correctly.

A good starting salary for a 35 hour work week, is $200 PER MONTH. I know Cambodians earning a lot less than that for 30 hours/week.

What I considered legitimate spending, thrifty even, seeing as I stayed below my $9/day goal, is unthinkable to most. Where would you (rich people) cut?

Obviously, the cane sugar juice. But. Our toddlers just do not gain weight drinking water only, and the sugar cane juice is the cheapest 'extra' for them. Milk and juices are a must, if I want them to continue gaining appropriately. Nothing else has proven effective.

Would you cut the meat out? It was a small breast, shared between three adults and two children.

Would you cut out the eggs? They are nutritious and a lot cheaper than meat.

Would you cut out the vegetables? Again, nutrition.

What about the coconut milk? Nutritious, and it stretched for three meals, shared by our entire family.

Also yesterday: I used a washer to wash three (or was that four) loads of laundry. I used soap, sufficient amounts. Electricity. Soap. Things that cost money. Ohm gave the boys baths, using soap. I did a workout, using a DVD played on a computer.

I habitually pitch leftover rice that is too stale/dry. Why? Low nutrition, and it's cheap.

What I spent on food, times 30 days, is MORE than what most of my neighbours stretch to pay for rent, education, healthcare, clothing, transportation, AND food. Unimaginable, you're-so-lucky expenses that I have that a poor family would not even consider: health insurance; rent of a spacious house ("They need it, they have so many guests."--thank you, sweet neighbour.); coffee shop once a week (prayer, journalling, solitude-- hard to find in the city unless you pay and coffee is cheap. Our coffee shop budget might soon be renamed 'burnout prevention' or 'top ways to save on therapy' or 'avoid flights out of the country due to personal stress'); date nights with my husband, once or twice a month; an occasional weekend (two days/one night) away, either with my family or with my friends; $$ to pay a language tutor. And to think. My husband and I are planning on getting life insurance this summer, just in case. It seems necessary, prudent even, but again, it's a decision only the rich of this world would even talk about.

Really. You have no guarantee that your wealth will remain into the future. None whatsoever. Health, natural disasters, a death of a breadwinner, whatever. If you believe that you can ignore the poor because you're not poor, and because you're not poor now means that you'll never be poor, you might be in for a rude awakening.

What would you cut?

Truth be told, you'd cut everything.

You'd be forced to.

You'd still be a wise person. Wiser, probably.

You'd be a compassionate person.

You'd be a serving person, nobody too sick, too dirty, or too far below you to love and serve.

You'd have the kind of character that rich people like me can only dream of having one day.

You'd have faced decisions so hard that you thought they couldn't possibly be real. And so you'd be gracious.

So gracious, you'd extend grace to that rich neighbour that you don't understand.

You'd work a lot, maybe 80 hours a week. More if you could. It's the difference of about $50/month, and that means a lot.

You'd even cut your own children's nutrition, only after going hungry yourself. You'd choose between living on the street in a red light district, or going hungry all of you, and you'd choose your kids' safety even if it means hunger for the whole family.

If someone says, "Hey, you're pregnant, and I made you something nutritious. Here's some beef and vegetable soup," you'd light up, thank them profusely, and give them to your older children. Hungry some more.

Poverty and malnutrition go hand in hand. They're forced to. Nobody likes headaches so severe you can't pay attention in class. Nobody likes to sit and watch their kid pop their blisters. Nobody enjoys seeing their child's weight gain stunted. And I'm lucky enough to have enough to give my kids good nutrition, a place to stay, AND have a little buffer left over for the rare doctor visit.

I'm not going to attach the normal sentence at the end of most articles like this, "You can help by sending money!" I'm not even going to suggest physical solutions; most days, I don't even know how I can help, or if I've done the right thing. My goal is not to post something that stirs you emotionally, causes you to give, and wallah, you can relax because you've done your good deed. Nope. I want this article to sit in your mind so long that it stirs genuine compassion in you. I want you to take the uneasiness in you and pray it out. Ask God what in you keeps your heart from genuinely caring for those who aren't just like you. Once He puts genuine love in your heart for the poor, you WILL find your own ways to help the poor. He's got the wisdom you need.

May we (the rich) be before the throne of God, begging for the graces He typically showers on the poor.

The ability to let go of grudges.
The ability to hold every last dollar with an open hand, ready to give to those more poor than ourselves.
The ability to see everyone as a human. The poor don't scorn others near like we rich do.
The ability to maintain our wisdom. No priorities changing with the winds.
The ability to learn however and wherever we can. Languages, skills, about other religions. Learning gives life meaning, and it is its own currency as everyone has something to teach everyone else.


 $8.75. FOURTEEN meals. Who wouldn't get a meal at your house if your family had to cut back on food?

I chose this picture because of the FOOD in it. The WORK ETHIC. And the fact that he's my very favourite fish seller. 

Judson Garrett; a year and a half!

Plus a month. Unfortunately, I'm a procrastinator.

Judson-- readily converses about food in two languages.
hates to run.
'roddles'-- a mix between a run and a waddle. One arm swings, the other is held near his hip.
Likes to sing and has been known to sing in his sleep.
Cuddles, cuddles, and cuddles some more.
Praise music and dancing is his gig.
Has brand new shoes and wants to wear them everywhere.
Is a little fish in the water. One time, I started packing up the stuff from the pool; he had his arm floats off, but he soon went back in. No biggie, I was right there. After a little bit, he did go down. Panicked eyes looking up at me, arms flailing, and the two second sprint felt like an eternity. I picked him up and wonder of wonders-- he'd taken in absolutely no water. The child loves the pool and has learned the most basic pool rule of all. (Note: that terrified me enough that after this, I will exit the entire pool area with those floats still on those arms-- or tag team with another adult. There's no rule saying that moms can't take floats off of kids in the parking lot.)

Sigh. Why do I *always* have to ride on the back?! 

Boxes are SO MUCH FUN. 

He adjusted quickly to Ohm Somnang.

He loves to wash bubbles. 

An adoption story is born

"Okay, what are your prayer requests?"

I fidgeted. It was stifling hot in Tennessee, and over a hundred gathered were in a church service.

"Pray for {this family} as they go to Russia to complete their adoption."

Mom blinked, and started writing the request down. When I grow up, I want to have her handwriting, I thought. I looked up at her face and leaned over her shoulder to whisper loudly in her ear, "Mom, mom, mom, what's that big word? Adoption?"

"Adoption is when somebody takes a child who doesn't have a mama or a daddy, and they make that child their own."

"Really?! Even if the child is already born?!"

Mom must have wanted to snort.

"Yes, the child is already born, but they do lots of paperwork and then the child lives with them. They are now the daddy and mama."

"So some children don't have parents?" A knot formed in my stomach. How had I not known this? Every child I knew had parents. And uncles. And aunts. And siblings. How could a child not have parents? This was unfathomable to my young mind.

"Well sometimes the parents die. Sometimes other things go wrong, and the children need someone else to be their parents."

And with that, a dream was planted in my heart. I was going to find a baby in a garbage bin, and I was going to pull that baby out and be that baby's mama.

God kept this dream alive in my heart for years, until I rebelled against him. I have no recollection of even desiring to adopt during the time that I was rebellious. But, like the good Shepherd that He is, He went through the thorniness of my hateful heart and brought me back to Him. And, once the rebellion was repented of, that adoption dream was once again in place.

The desire to adopt would change and mature, from a young school girl who finds a baby in a dump to an adult {if you can call that specific 19-year old an adult} who knew she needed to find out her boyfriend's thoughts on adoption.

 If my heart had been matter-of-fact about this calling, and my boyfriend was dead-set against it, we'd have a problem. Most people seem to see adoption as that thing that couples do after they're tired of fighting infertility. Would Chris see it the same way? Or had God actually been working in his heart as well? "So Chris, what do you think about adoption?" I asked. (Note: I do not doubt that God uses infertility as a method of putting His love for the vulnerable on people's hearts. But as a culture, we need to quit expecting those who've already struggled tremendously to care for those we ourselves don't care for.)

"Well, I am already doing everything in my power to be a father to the fatherless, right?" It was true. There was a town near him that had a community of teenagers, most of whom had only one parent- a mother. Chris was involved in the lives of these youngsters. Character development, work ethics, relationship skills, and Bible stories-- Chris was committed to making sure these kids got what they needed to be healthy adults. A father who'd happened to be around for a visit pulled Chris to the side. "I don't know what you're doing to my boys, but KEEP DOING IT." So yes. Chris was doing everything that a single man could to be a father-like figure to those youth.

And... that's how we discovered that neither of us saw adoption as that thing we'd do if we struggled with infertility. We were both matter-of-fact about it, and that initial conversation did not last more than two minutes. It didn't need to.

Psalms 68: 5 & 6 A father of the fatherless and a judge for the widows, is God in His holy habitation. God sets the solitary in families.

Deut. 10:8 He executes justice for the orphan and the widow, and shows his love for the alien by giving him food and clothing.

James 2:15 & 16 If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, and one of you says to them, "Go in peace, be warmed and filled," without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that?

For millennia, God has shown Himself to be the lover of the vulnerable, whether they be widows, orphans, destitute, or immigrants. These are just a few-- a very, very few-- of the verses that follow this theme. (The Old Testament talks a lot about God caring for the vulnerable; it is in the New Testament that we know we can be adopted, actually MADE A PART of the biggest, lovingest, happiest family ever. God's family.)

Chris and I have long known that we are called to adopt. The timing has simply not been right. There was the honeymoon year, the miscarriage year, the training years, and then the learning to know Cambodia years. When we arrived here, we agreed that it was important to spend the first two years+ learning as much of the language and culture as possible, intentionally NOT focusing heavily on adoption in that time. Here we are. The two years are past, and as we near the end of our first term, we are realising anew the seriousness of this adoption calling.

Chris suggested that we spend the day tomorrow discussing how we will go about obeying this clear call of Scripture.

We need you to pray for us. Here are the obstacles and questions we'll be thinking about tomorrow.

Obstacle 1: We live on about $15k less than the US government thinks we simply must have if we wish to raise three children.
Obstacle 2: Cambodia is CLOSED to adoption. {There may be loopholes.}

Questions:

Will we pursue adoption and biological children simultaneously? While this is a no-brainer to many, I do have a history of five miscarriages, diabetes in the family by the upper 20s per my dad's memory of his symptoms, and at 26, I already eat a diabetic-friendly diet or else I feel like, well, not 26. This health thing complicates the discussion, if only to force us to talk about what exactly we might be getting ourselves into.

Will we try to pursue an adoption through a US agency? That would mean starting a business, which we've been talking about doing anyways. It would also mean (yucky sigh) procrastinating on this adoption thing longer than we had previously agreed was necessary or healthy.

About 79% of sibling sets of two get to stay together. But sibling sets of four? That's about 26%. We are willing to take in a sibling set. Just how far can our resources and home be stretched?

We love Down Syndrome babies. Special needs do have the potential to pull us away from Cambodia, which is home to us. Unless God SHOCKS AND HORRIFIES us, we plan to stay here very long-term.

What about Cambodian citizenship?

What about teenagers? We love them. We've worked with them before. They don't intimidate us.

What about RAD children?

What about our commitment at RRC? How will adoption affect our coworkers?

How might any of the various aforementioned scenarios affect Niko and Bubba?

.................

We know, beyond a doubt, that it is the heart and will of God to put the vulnerable into families.

We know that we have the love and the resources to be one of those families.

We know we are being disobedient if we have the resources, see the need, and say "Not us."

There's just a whole lotta questions between here and there.

Prayers, book recommendations, and, from those who have adopted, pieces, chunks, or hours of advice are welcome. Mostly prayers. Our discussion will begin about the time our US friends are going to bed.

Jesus, John, Judas, and my heart

This article is one of the results of wrestling with issues of selfishness, mistrust, hurt, servanthood, forgiveness, repentance, and what it means to live and love like Jesus. This is a subject that God has used to drive me to more generous servanthood, more gracious friendship, fuller forgiveness, and greater willingness to receive His forgiveness. And it's not an article rapidly written, given only a few hours of thought. Nope. This is the culmination of about eighteen months of praying, allowing God's Spirit to work in my heart. As such, I am excited to use my difficulties and weaknesses to encourage you.

Since God has been wrestling these lessons into my heart for a year and half, He can now send a thought. "You've been a Judas to your spouse. Tell him you're sorry." "You've been loving like John all day. Time to prepare your heart for a deeper love. The boys need it." "Serve your Judas." and in that moment, I know what is meant. It's been a year and a half of soul struggles, after all. That's not readily forgotten.

However, a year and a half of soul struggles? That's hard to condense into one article. IF you are convinced that you know your Gospels very well, no problem. Skip the Bible reading and only scroll up when you need to fact check. But I believe you will be blessed by taking the time to read the Bible verses thoroughly.

From John 12, we see a bit of Judas's true character even before the betrayal for which he is infamous.

4 But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (he who was about to betray him), said, 5 “Why was this ointment not sold for three hundred denarii and given to the poor?” 6 He said this, not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief, and having charge of the moneybag he used to help himself to what was put into it.

Read the next portion slowly. If you find yourself skipping over verses/thoughts, read it out loud.
Note the sequence of events.

Jesus Washes the Disciples' Feet
One of You Will Betray Me

13 Now before the Feast of the Passover, when Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart out of this world to the Father, having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. ² During supper, when the devil had already put it into the heart of Judas Iscariot, Simon's son, to betray him, ³ Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going back to God, ⁴ rose from supper. He laid aside his outer garments, and taking a towel, tied it around his waist. ⁵ Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel that was wrapped around him. ⁶ He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, do you wash my feet?” ⁷ Jesus answered him, “What I am doing you do not understand now, but afterward you will understand.” ⁸ Peter said to him, “You shall never wash my feet.” Jesus answered him, “If I do not wash you, you have no share with me.” ⁹ Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” ¹⁰ Jesus said to him, “The one who has bathed does not need to wash, except for his feet,^[a] but is completely clean. And you^[b]are clean, but not every one of you.” ¹¹ For he knew who was to betray him; that was why he said, “Not all of you are clean.”

¹² When he had washed their feet and put on his outer garments and resumed his place, he said to them, “Do you understand what I have done to you? ¹³ You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right, for so I am. ¹⁴ If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. ¹⁵ For I have given you an example, that you also should do just as I have done to you. ¹⁶ Truly, truly, I say to you, a servant^[c] is not greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. ¹⁷ If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them. ¹⁸ I am not speaking of all of you; I know whom I have chosen. But the Scripture will be fulfilled,^[d] ‘He who ate my bread has lifted his heel against me.’ ¹⁹ I am telling you this now, before it takes place, that when it does take place you may believe that I am he. ²⁰ Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever receives the one I send receives me, and whoever receives me receives the one who sent me.”

²¹ After saying these things, Jesus was troubled in his spirit, and testified, “Truly, truly, I say to you, one of you will betray me.” ²² The disciples looked at one another, uncertain of whom he spoke. ²³ One of his disciples, whom Jesus loved, was reclining at table at Jesus' side,^[e]24 so Simon Peter motioned to him to ask Jesus^[f] of whom he was speaking. ²⁵ So that disciple, leaning back against Jesus, said to him, “Lord, who is it?” ²⁶ Jesus answered, “It is he to whom I will give this morsel of bread when I have dipped it.” So when he had dipped the morsel, he gave it to Judas, the son of Simon Iscariot. ²⁷ Then after he had taken the morsel, Satan entered into him. Jesus said to him, “What you are going to do, do quickly.”²⁸ Now no one at the table knew why he said this to him. 

More of the betrayal, from Luke 22:

47 While he was still speaking, there came a crowd, and the man called Judas, one of the twelve, was leading them. He drew near to Jesus to kiss him, 48 but Jesus said to him, “Judas, would you betray the Son of Man with a kiss?”

Onto John's friendship with Jesus.

 John 13:23  One of his disciples, whom Jesus loved, was reclining at table at Jesus' side,[a

 John 19:26 When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, “Woman, behold, your son!”

 John 21:7 That disciple whom Jesus loved therefore said to Peter, “It is the Lord!” When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on his outer garment, for he was stripped for work, and threw himself into the sea.

Review with me.

Jesus, who knew all things.

Jesus, who was troubled by these things (verse 21). 

Jesus, who was misunderstood, or ha, not understood at all by those closest to him (verse 28). 

Jesus, our Teacher. 

Jesus, our Master.

Jesus, our Lord. 

We do as He teaches, if we love Him. 

............. 

John, loved by Jesus.

John, familiar with Jesus. "Reclining with Jesus" indicates that John was basically sitting in Jesus' bosom. They were family, closer than family. They were soul-friends. No, John didn't always 'get' Jesus. But he loved Him. And Jesus loved John. 

John, who would be charged with caring for Jesus' mother. 

Certainly, Jesus shows that He trusts John, with a notable exception being during His trial. But John returns to stare, in horror, as this soul-friend dies. And he races to the tomb, incredulous, to see for Himself that Jesus has risen. John's abandonment of Jesus does not erase the bond they had before, and John is changed. 

John would see Jesus on the water, and this revelation would prompt an excited, "It is the Lord!" to Peter. Peter, elated, would have the confidence to immediately leave work-mode and throw himself into the sea to get to Jesus. 

  

John would be given the ultimate Revelations of Jesus. The deepest mysteries would be witnessed and recorded by this friend of the Messiah. 

...............

Judas, who was a thief.

Judas, who boasted self-righteously ('This belongs to the poor!') in rebuke to sincere worship of Jesus.

Judas, who was so thirsty for money that he'd betray Jesus.

 Judas is truly a Pharisee at heart, with his lack of love for the Messiah, his lack of care for the poor, yet his need to boast self-righteously, despite knowing his own emptiness. A Pharisee is unjust, unfaithful, unmerciful, but oh, he's tithing his mint, dill, and cumin. Look, just look, would you, at how concerned he is for the poor, oh the poor. 

Judas would be unfaithful with money, with Jesus' friendship, with his words, and ultimately, with Jesus's very life. Jesus knew this. 

Judas's plan would go farther than Judas had ever dreamt. Jesus would die. Judas, horrified at the outcome, would commit suicide. 

.............

The thought that God has used to mold my view of relationships is this: Jesus, knowing all things, washed all of the disciples' feet, including Judas's.

Judas, ungrateful and disconnected from the relationship, would take those clean, fresh-washed feet onto the street to betray Jesus.

John would abandon Jesus out of fearfulness, but not be overcome by this failure. He would repent, and return to Jesus before His death. 

Jesus served Judas. 

Jesus even served Malchus, one of his enemies. Peter chopped off Malchus's ear and Jesus heals it. No revenge happening here, no games of spite, no snickering at what had happened. Enemy love, the kind of love Jesus taught us about. 

But Jesus did not go along with their lies. He lives in the truth of what's really happening, not in the coverups of evil that they have going on. As such, He responds to the truth, not the coverups, thus exposing their evil hearts. 

He calls His dearest friends out. "You all will flee."

He calls Judas out. "You're going to try to kiss me while betraying me?!" 

He calls the religious enemies of His out, too. "You could have done this in the temple. But look at your cowardly decision." 

This is kindness. Only when the Holy Spirit exposes our own evils can we repent. 

.............

Sometimes, I'm like John. (before the crucifixion)

I cuddle my children, read them another story, peel another mango, listen to their hilarious stories that don't make sense. I am deeply grateful for my children, and the gratefulness seeps out of every pore of my being. Like sponges, they soak it up and we become soul-sharers with each other. Their hearts begin to care for the same things that my heart cares for. They're my flesh and blood, after all. 

I go to bed, utterly exhausted, only to will myself awake enough to be an active participant in a deeper-than-usual conversation with my husband.  

I'm faithful.

I'm loving.

I allow them to be themselves, to be vulnerable; they feel safe with me. The aspects of their character that I just don't get? Not too big of a deal. These people are my people, however unusual they may be, and I truly love them. 

I love them because they love me. I'm no better than the rest of the world. 

.............

Sometimes, I'm like Judas.

I snap at my children. WOULD you just listen for once? You JUST told Mama you understand you've gotta obey RIGHT AWAY. So why would you act like you're deaf?

What do you think Mama means when she says "No?!" This snapping, these harsh words, oh, they make 1 Cor. 13 difficult to read. If anyone else talked to me like that, I'd want to tell them to wait to continue the conversation until they could choose not to be rude. 

Or, lacking in self-control, I fail to include my children in my daily tasks. I'll teach them faithfulness in work tomorrow, when I feel like it, but look how fast the dishes got done today. Just look how much less hassle it was to put the toys away. 

I boast, not thinking of how deeply I'm hurting a potential listener. How far can this sinfulness really go? 

I respond with rudeness. Too tired to care. I've seen too many people already this week for me to even want to invest in this person. Selfishness wins, and I'm unfaithful in the most basic aspects of common respect for fellow humanity. 

My husband comes home later than expected. I'm exhausted, and rather than be faithful in the little things-- the welcome home, the glass of water, the listening to his day-- I'd rather hint around about how he should have told me he got held up, or he should have at least thought about how tired I was, or can we just go to sleep already.  

I'm not faithful.

I'm unloving.

I get irritated when they're just being themselves, human like me. This hurts them; it betrays their trust. I focus on their faults and it pushes them away. We both suffer.  

And sometimes, like Judas, I forget that my feet have been washed by these people. These people have a history of serving me. 

I think of myself before God and forget that God has served me, abundantly, joyfully, fully. I forget that my feet have been washed by Christ, my soul cleansed. I question the impact of my choices {a little unfaithfulness won't be that bad}. And when it really is THAT BAD, I doubt the same Jesus who has previously cleansed me, previously served me. Hopelessness takes over. Maybe I'm not suicidal, but I begin to think fatalistically, "I bet I'll never overcome this weakness." "God's grace is sufficient for me? Where's the grace in this situation?" "Look at what a terrible mother my boys have. What makes me think that praying for them will fix the flaws in their upbringing?" "Well. I guess that's as good as marriage gets, what with these flaws." "I can't change anyways."

Maybe not suicide to the body, but definitely suicide to hope, suicide to the soul. It's still a refusal to go to the cross of a dying Saviour and have the closeness of our relationship renewed.  

....................

Sometimes, I'm like Jesus.

Only when I'm surrendered to the Holy Spirit. 

A friend, a spouse, a friend of a friend is my Judas. They're not perfectly faithful, and it hurts. Maybe they gossip, maybe they boast, maybe they're rude, maybe I washed their feet and they turned around, ungrateful, and got them dirty right away, whatever way they do it, they show their flaws. They don't love wholeheartedly, they do something selfish, it hurts. They're hurting a friend and they know it and we all know it and some would say they need an earful of swords. 

And I serve them anyways.

I don't gossip.

I don't respond in self-protecting anger. 

No one-upping. 

No replying to boasting with boasting of my own. (This is so difficult for me. I almost deleted it, but chose not to.) 

No rudeness in reaction to a perceived rudeness. 

Ready forgiveness.

I take the 'wash their feet' approach, despite the fact that I know they're probably going to hurt me again, soon. 

When I'm like John loved before the cross, I'm loving because that love is reciprocated. They love me, too. I know them, they know me, we love each other even when we just don't get each other all the time. This love-- it abandons when it gets difficult. 

46 For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same?

But Holy Spirit-enabled love?

It's incredible. It's powerful. It doesn't depend on the other person. In fact, the other's actions can be straight from the devil, and my response is straight from Christ. This love heals those bent on wounding me intentionally (Malchus), and it serves those who were just so selfish they didn't think of how their choices would hurt others (Judas). It forgives those who abandon me, and goes so far as to lift them up in honour.  

Jesus does NOT reveal His deepest mysteries to Judas. 

He does NOT go along with the pretenses of Judas or the crowd that met Him in the garden.

He is NOT okay with being abandoned by those who profess to love Him faithfully.

Jesus love is not pretentiously humble to the point of acting a lie. Acting like it doesn't hurt, like it's all okay, like we didn't know the other person had this character flaw. Nope. 

But the servanthood, the genuineness of forgiveness. Can you imagine being falsely accused, being on trial, being COMPLETELY ABANDONED, and then forgiving those who abandoned you? Not just a little bit of forgiveness, either, not at all! This forgiveness is abundant, life-changing, inclusive, reconciliatory. These forsakers are the very ones who received the indescribable honour of unique revelations into Jesus' heavenly life, weighty callings of spreading the truth of Christ everywhere, truly included in all that Jesus cares for. This is mind-blowing reconciliation. 

..............

Who have you been Judas (unfaithful, conniving, selfish) to in recent weeks?

Who do you love like John loved at first-- sweet friendship but a love that loves because it's natural? Is God asking you to love deeper, love more sacrificially, wash their filth, let them see the depths of your heart despite the selfishnesses that have showed themselves?

Who is your Judas? How can you serve them?

Is there a Malchus God wants you to heal with love? 

With whom do you need to be truthful? Call out the faking, and insist that the terms of your friendship are based on truth? Again, Jesus kept His fullest revelations for those closest to Him, after their friendship had been restored. 

Look at the cross. Face the brokenness of a Saviour who has already served you in tremendous humility. He has loved you abundantly when you were too selfish to notice or care. 

And from the cross, our relationships change. We go forth, knowing at deeper levels. Serving with great joy both friends and enemies alike. We are transformed from friendly love to Jesus love. This love will transcend previous hurts, racial prejudices (Jews/Gentiles), class boundaries (Paul in chains witnessing to a king) and open our hearts to an insatiable hunger to know Jesus. 

He will reveal Himself to those who seek Him wholeheartedly. It may not be a revelation on an island, but it doesn't need to be. It just needs to be Jesus. And He will be enough, a love so deep, so satisfying, everything else loses its grip. Even our selfishness.