Don't Judge

The past month has been a whirlwind of awesome, chaos and... well, let's just say that at this point I have four toothbrushes that could be mine but I'm just not sure. I mull it over every morning as we are already late for school. I have not cooked a decent meal for my kids in... well, so long I don't recall. They all appear to be functioning so I guess all is well in the nutrition department. I share the sweet and sensational snapshots of our one month as a family of five on Facebook because those moments should be celebrated. I just don't want any of you to think that everyday life is unicorns and rainbows. 

For example, this very morning I had to text my boys teacher and ask her to send them out of the classroom so I could apologize and ask their forgiveness for yelling at them this morning. Yelling at them to be kind. (I know. I know. facepalm) My point is, parenting is humbling, friends. HUMBLING. If your little one is still tiny and sweet, just wait. 

All of this to say, after much prayer, research and testing, we have decided to allow Leticia to have a left sided Cochlear Implant. Now, many of you are probably thinking, Right on! Great! Hope it goes well! My friends who are deaf, or are in the Deaf community are probably wanting to throw stones at me. I get it. I do. 

When we decided that adopting Leticia was something we were called to do, we knew that we loved her just as she is. That has NOT changed. Not a bit. Leticia is driving this train. She is a natural communicator. She wants to communicate with everyone, and not through some pesky interpreter. That might be wonderful for some kids, and Leticia needs to learn to accept interpretation in many settings, but she wants to HEAR, She has told us this so many times since she has been home. 

I know that some of my friends will be upset and may even be offended by our decision to allow her to have a CI. I get it. If you want to talk about it, we are here. The one thing I know about my daughter is that she is a girl who knows what she wants, so unless God throws up roadblocks. we are tentatively planning on proceeding in the next few months. 

I felt so conflicted leaving the audiologist today. This was never my plan. A man got on the elevator with us. He saw Leticia's hearing aids and asked if she was deaf. It turns out that he was also born deaf and was given a CI at the age of three. He went on about how he would never be a doctor without his CI and how thankful he was. He also signed and could communicate with Leticia in that way, as far too few can. For me, that was the confirmation I needed. I mean, what are the odds that a neurologist with a CI would be on that elevator at that moment when I was feeling such doubt. 

If you have questions about why the topic is controversial you an google or ask me. In the end, we all do what is best for our kids, even if it isn't what we had envisioned. Please pray for our family as we continue to pray and seek guidance and make decisions.

 

Home

It has been three weeks since Leticia finally was able to physically join our family here in the U.S.. In many ways it seems as if she has always been with us. We have fallen into a routine and are feeling our way through. There are so many thoughts swirling through my sleepy head right now but I wanted to share a few.

I am so proud of my boys. For eleven years, they have had my full attention. I have always been at the ready with a snack, a band aid, listening ear, a hug, whatever the situation called for. Since Leticia arrived on the scene she has been stuck to me like glue and most of my attention has been fixed on her. Have they been jealous? Sure. Of course. We talked about this many times before she came home and it was decided that when they had these feelings, they would let me know. And they have. Is it perfect? No. Far from it. But it is our family and we are a work in progress I am just so proud I could bust. 

The fact that God has entrusted us with these three (not so) little people to guide and walk through life with- it blows my mind. Stephen and Daniel have upped their game not only with sharing and learning how to play "girl stuff," their signing has also improved. What a joy it is to watch the three of them laughing and chatting. Seriously. I almost can't stand it!

Also, the small private school that our boys attend has allowed Leticia to be home schooled by me in their classroom. Being raised in an institutional setting, this is most comfortable for her, and for now it's working just fine. The best thing is that I have been teaching basic Sign Language to several of the classes. The kids are so excited to learn how to talk to Leticia and enter her world. I was so worried that she would be isolated and lonely. More proof that worry is a complete waste of time! Watching her run and play with her friends at recess is such a blessing!

When I add up how much it has cost to not only obtain guardianship but to fight the USCIS for her visa, there is no way that a mailman and stay-at-home-mom could have made this happen. No way. How did we do it? Between six visits to Uganda, five lawyers and four appeals... It is seriously a loaves and fishes type of deal. Thank  you. Thank you for believing that Leticia would come home. Thank you for not giving up on her. As I watch her sleep, it is still hard to believe that she is actually here. God is so good. He answers prayers. <3

This is what Leticia calls "Our Family Story"  Basically, Leticia, Kris, John, Stephen, Daniel, Love, waiting for a long, long time, family, it's true, it's true, FINISHED! 

A Sacred Gift

Adoption. The concept, the process, the idea, the beautiful child… It is something that has been a part of our every waking moment for the past two years. It wasn’t until a few weeks ago when I was invited to participate in the intimate details of a dear friend’s delivery and subsequent adoption that the reality of what adoption is truly began to sink in.

I had met with my friend, let’s call her Kate, throughout her pregnancy. For reasons that I will not go into in order to protect her privacy, Kate was adamant that adoption was the best thing for the child growing inside her. She never wavered. She never once considered abortion for her baby. We discussed her options. I was aware of a few families who I knew would love this child. Finally, Kate selected the family who she was most comfortable with.

I was honored to be by Kate’s side when she delivered. The doctor instructed me to stand at ground zero and hold her leg. I cheered for her as she pushed. Having never been a part of an actual delivery before, I was awestruck when Baby J left the safety of Kate’s womb and joined this world. The nurse expertly cleaned him and placed him on Kate’s chest. It was then that my heart began to break. I cut the cord with trembling hands. The last thing that physically tethered him to his birth mother. I still remember the feel of the scissors in my fingers and the sensation that shot through my hand as they slowly severed the rubbery cord.

He was beautiful. He was perfect.

Of course, we say that about every baby. We have to. There was something almost otherworldly about Baby J. Something beyond beautiful. Beyond precious.

The adoptive family, also very close friends of ours, were not able to fly in until the following day. The doctor finished attending to Kate’s immediate postnatal care while Baby J was weighed, measured and checked out by NICU staff due to his slight prematurity. They confirmed what we already knew. Baby J was perfect in every way.

Kate made the decision to pump to give Baby J the benefit of the colostrum that only she could provide. Her face beamed with adoration as she took him in. Kate would keep Baby J with her that night. Their first and only night together before the adoptive family would assume his care. I exited the room quietly and sobbed all the way home.

Kate was all smiles when I greeted her the next morning. Baby J’s first night had been wonderful and uneventful. He cried only when he was hungry or in need of a fresh diaper. Kate held him comfortably and glowed with pride.

For perhaps the hundredth time, I asked if she was sure. Was this really what she wanted? Her answer was the same. Yes. Not because Kate did not love Baby J. Actually, because she loved him with every fiber of her being, she needed to know that he was safe. Because of her situation, she could not be sure that he would be protected. She continued to nest and smile and admire her son. It wasn’t until a mutual friend who had agreed to privately shoot some pictures for Kate and the adoptive family arrived that I saw the dam of emotion break.

The photographer, Kate, myself… none of us could speak. So we didn’t. Our sobs and the camera shutter were the only sounds for a long time. The photographer, a lovely woman who had regrettably made a different choice when faced with an unplanned pregnancy years ago, sat on the edge of Kate’s bed and tried to relay a message of encouragement.

“You are so brave,” were the only words that she could manage to say.

Then came the moment of truth. The adoptive mother, Abby, had finally arrived at the hospital ready to meet her baby. While Kate was also eager to meet Abby, I noticed that she clutched Baby J a little closer at the news of her arrival. The photographer did her best to blend in with the background and capture the moment when birth mother and adoptive mother met.

I had no idea that sorrow and joy could be experienced simultaneously. Kate, Baby J still in her arms, and Abby embraced, their bodies shook uncontrollably as they wept. Abby finally sat next to Kate and took her hand.

“Are you sure?” Abby asked. “If you want to raise him, we will help you.”

The tears continued to roll as Kate answered. “I am sure. He needs to be safe.”

The next few days were full of joy and turmoil and emotion so deep that I don’t have words to attach to them. When it was finally time to leave the hospital, I watched as Kate slowly dressed Baby J in his adorable going home outfit. Her tears fell on him like a steady rain, baptizing him with her love.

I have never seen such love. Sacrificial. Selfless. Noble.

I have asked for prayers for Kate throughout her pregnancy. To those of you who prayed for her during this difficult time, I am so grateful. Some have sent cards and gifts anonymously. I can assure you that your gifts and words of encouragement have meant so much to her.

Unfortunately, there have been some negative responses as well.

“I could never do that,” is a common response. I get that. There were also comments demeaning birth mothers that I won’t mention. I do feel compelled to say this. If we do not provide support and encouragement to these selfless women who choose to give life to their babies, then what we are really saying is that abortion is a better option. A more comfortable option, at least for those of us on the outside looking in. We MUST change our attitudes and develop hearts of compassion and sensitivity toward birth mothers if we call ourselves pro-life.

Thankfully, Abby and Kate have decided on a very open adoption. Baby J will grow up to know the woman who carried him and made the best decision for him. Abby feels that her family has grown not only by one, but that Kate has been grafted in as well.

I don’t know if adoption has touched your life at all. It has been a part of our lives for the last two years, but until my experience a few weeks ago, I don’t think I truly got it.

Adoption is painful.

Adoption is beautiful.

That moment when a birth mother places her child into the arms of an adoptive mother is sacred.

I hate to over spiritualize things, but so many times my thoughts were drawn to God. How he gave his one and only truly perfect son. He did not give him into the arms of a loving family, but handed him over to be brutalized and murdered for a world that had nothing but hatred in their hearts. He did this so that WE could be adopted. So that we could be his sons and daughters.

What an honor it was to be a small part of Baby J’s life. What a joy to call the God who created him my Dad through the miracle of adoption.

And Then There Were None

This past weekend, I had the honor of participating in a healing retreat for former abortion clinic workers. And Then There Were None, the organization which held the retreat, was founded by former clinic director and one of my dearest friends, Abby Johnson. 

At first, I felt a bit intimidated. As one of the only ones at the retreat who had not worked at a clinic, I wondered if they would accept me or even want me there. My fears were put to rest very quickly. The former workers welcomed me warmly and received me into their circle. 

There are so many thoughts and revelations swirling through my head since the retreat. These women shared their experiences, thoughts, and struggles with shocking honesty. Some of them have been out of the industry for quite some time. Even their families do not know about their participation in the industry. They literally have no outlet to share their burden with, so when they come together, it all pours out. 

I am not going to go into their specific stories because they are not mine to share. I do want people, particularly people in the pro-life camp to understand a few things. 

1) No one is unreachable.  Consider the Saul-to-Paul conversion. Can you imagine the surprise of those early Christians when they learned that the very one who had persecuted and murdered them was now their brother in Christ? I think God was very intentional in choosing Paul. He wanted to show us that his grace is greater than any sin. That sin isn't broken down into tiers. 

2) No one can be shamed to Christ.  What I saw before me this weekend were repentant, heavily burdened women who know what they have done. No one can judge them more than they have already judged themselves. Several of them explained what the reactions of their churches or closest friends have been upon their sharing with them that they were a part of the industry. It was anything but grace-filled. One former abortionist was told not to mention her past to her "Forgiven and Set Free" Bible study. Was anyone else encouraged not to share about their past? I doubt it. If you don't know what to say, say nothing. Give a hug. 

3) Abortion clinic workers are not bad people.  I am not going to go into the grizzly reality of abortion. I think we all know that it is gory. It is hard for most of us to picture ourselves doing the things that these workers have done. If you were to sit with them and listen, or take their phone calls when they finally decide to leave, you would come to a place of understanding. This does not excuse their sin, but ask yourself, have you ever been a part of anything that you knew from the start was wrong, yet continue? Oftentimes, clinics will advertise for a medical assistant, say that they will train the right person, and offer a great benefit package. One worker described her interview. 

"It was a Friday, which was not a procedure day. All I knew was that it was a women's health clinic. I was hired on the spot," she said. "When I started on Tuesday, I was shocked to find that it was an abortion clinic. I went to the manager and asked her why she didn't tell me. She assured me that I would only be working the recovery room and doing administrative work."
Before long, she was piecing together body parts and holding the suction machine. When this woman's child died, she was sure it was because of the curse she had brought on her family by being a part of what went on at the clinic. 

Some women work at referral only clinics where abortions are not performed. Suddenly, they are told that they have to go to a different clinic to cover a shift and before they know it, they are in the middle of something they never imagined. 

The industry also does a good job of brainwashing these women and hardening them against the truth. I could write pages and pages about this, and may at another time. The bottom line is that no one wants to grow up and work at an abortion clinic. But we must know our enemy. They target idealistic college students and post-abortive young women in denial about their own abortions. They promise empowerment and deliver shame and death. When workers decide they want out, as pro-lifers, we must be there for them. 

4) The lives of the baby, mother, and worker are all of infinite value. If we truly believe in the sanctity of human life, then we must not place more value on one than another. Think if Paul had not been received by his new brethren because of his past? A good portion of the New Testament would be lacking. The loss of each child is a tragedy. The knowledge that one (or more) of her children is missing at her hand is a deep grief for a post-abortive mother. Experiencing a conversion and coming to the realization that you have been involved in the wholesale slaughter of children under the banner of "choice" is a burden that not many of us could bear. The babies, the mothers and the workers are all victims of the abortion industry. God created them all, and to him they are precious.

5) No one can do more to end abortion than former workers.  The abortion industry HATES former workers. Especially ones like Abby who refuse to be silenced. They can take her to court and threaten her, but they cannot shut her up. And they cannot keep her from helping people just like her leave the industry. To date, 139 workers have left the abortion industry through ATTWN. Several clinics have been shut down as a result of their testimony. There will be more. These workers know the industry's dirty secrets, and when they have had a conversion, there is NO ONE as on fire to end the evil of abortion than them. 

At the end of the retreat we decided to walk through a clinic that had recently closed and is in the process of being acquired by several pro-life organizations to be used for life. The clinic was left exactly as it was when it was in operation. There was blood on the walls in the procedure rooms and the POC lab. It was dirty. Walking through it had a heaviness that I cannot even explain. The thing that stood out to me the most were the quotes that the clinic had chosen to put on the wall in every room. 

This one was on the wall of the waiting room's restroom. I wondered how many women had stood there, looking themselves in the mirror wondering if they should go through with the abortion and been spurred on by this quote. 

I found this one to be particularly ironic. It was plastered on the wall of one of the procedure rooms. 

This one, on the wall of the recovery room, I thought was the saddest of all. What message was this sending to the hurting women sitting in that room who had just aborted their child? 

This weekend has taught me many things. It was intense and painful at times, but the way God chose to wrap it up was so perfect, so beautiful, only he could have orchestrated it. 

We had walked through the clinic. Some of us prayed together. The atmosphere was heavy and some needed to leave. As the workers loaded into the van, Abby and I watched as a crowd of people began to emerge from behind the clinic. There were children, teens, middle aged people and old folks of all skin colors. Suddenly, a tall black man belted out, "Abby!" 

The group of people were from a local church who had decided to come to the clinic to pray. They had been praying for the workers during our retreat, but they had no idea that we would be there. I love this picture taken in front of the clinic.

One other thing I would like to share. I wish I could name the retreat center that allowed us to come this weekend, but out of respect for the worker's anonymity, I won't. God knows, and I'm sure he will bless them. The chef was amazing and interactive, and the women serving us were sweet as pie. We didn't find out until later that these women, who we thought were employees of the retreat center, were actually part of a post-abortive Bible study and felt the need to come and serve these former clinic workers. Some of them drove four hours to do so.

Folks, if that isn't spiritual foot washing, I don't know what is. As Sanctity of Human Life Sunday rolls around, please pray for the evil of abortion to end. Pray for the babies, the women and men whose lives have been forever impacted, and for these brave, strong, former workers who I am proud to call friends. I am in awe of their understanding of grace and repentance and inspired by their determination to end abortion.