The Reunion

We said, "Amen," and one hour later I received a text answering that very prayer: Ashanti's momma was connecting to say we could see her. I was a four and a half hours drive away at a girlfriends' weekend, but worked out all the details to be back home to collect my family and race to the meeting location. A group-hug and blessings were placed on me as I left the women who cared enough to pour their hearts out to God on our behalf. 

Terry, the kids and I speed-walked through the hallways of the mall, and Oliver was the first to reach our precious girl in the food court. Ashanti turned at his voice and grabbed his waist and held onto him with all her might. One by one, the rest of us caught up to him and she jumped from arms to arms clinging to each of our necks with silent tears brimming in her sweet black eyes. 

We hung out for over two hours in that place until every store closed and there was barely a soul left. After eight weeks of missing her terribly, our tears of joy replaced those of loss. We drank in every word and every smile and every hug until it was this nearly-four-year-old's bedtime. We squeezed her and her mother goodbye...until next time...and strolled back to our truck, tears stinging, but hearts full and grateful.

Two Barbies

Soap-caked and scraggly the black Barbie and her white Barbie sister lay at the bottom of the dried up tub. Abandoned, and slightly stuck to the inner side where they were less conspicuous, it had been two days since they bounced and swam with force by three year-old hands through the warm bubbly water. I stood staring at them and my eyes burned with the filling of another set of tears. I had scrubbed her chubby body quickly while explaining where she was about to go, that she was leaving us for awhile. She had cried and I cheerfully chatted on about all the fun she would have, first at her Grandma's, then to Mommy's (where she loves to visit anyway).  I told her how spoiled and loved she would be. I was careful not to let a smidgen of my heartache slip through my voice. It would be unfair. She wouldn't understand, it would confuse her, and it wouldn't be fair to her momma who was taking her back. Two Barbies--one black, one white--a symbol of two families united. Now, as they lay in my tub, her absence was even more obvious. I left them there and walked out of the bathroom. 

Prayer is a powerful thing. We knew when we brought little Ashanti into our home two years ago that it would be prayer that would sustain us through the tantrums and sleepless nights. We knew crying out to God would be our only choice when we were faced with big questions. It would be deep and sincere prayers of gratitude that we would utter because this exuberant and adorable girl changed our world and our family for the better. And, now, it will be in prayer that we feel our Father hold us tight as we mourn the everyday loss of her sweet presence. It was prayer that took her from us too. Good prayers. Fasting and petitioning God for His wisdom for what was right for this tiny person. We felt that growing up with her birth-momma would help her to know where she came from, that the woman who brought her into this world loved her and wanted to raise her, that she had a heritage. We knew we had been a good temporary substitute, but we prayed for strength for the day her momma would parent her full-time. And that day came. 

We sat around the table on the deck last night and my husband asked our children how they were feeling about Ashanti leaving. There were honest responses about annoying little preschooler behaviour they wouldn't miss, and then there were the stories. The stories made us laugh and then the voice imitations of her raspy little sounds led to even more hysterics. I reminisced about all the surprising and beautiful things Ashanti's mother taught me about her African culture. We had agreed and we had disagreed on a few things. She had questioned Canadian ways, but we always respected each other. 

Our girl was deemed our "goddaughter" by her mother and we had stood by at Ashanti's dedication to the Lord when she was just a few months old. This was a very important title to her mother, she said, and so, she has promised to share her little girl's future with us. How loving and giving of our God to allow us the privilege of rearing a child for a couple of years and then keeping us connected to her so we can see the profound things He will do in her as she grows. All good answers to prayer, no matter how the emotions wash over in this moment.

Two Barbies still lay in the bathtub. One is black and one is white. Two families are united and God is in the middle of it all. 

Homemade Love

It's a bit of a chore peeling apart balls of aluminum foil wads, but we each do it anyway, knowing the gift inside is given with love from Oliver. Patience pays off and a piece of bubble gum, torn off of his larger roll is the reward. My favourite part of Christmas at home? When kids give presents they've created or bought themselves. We're getting more and more "regular" grown-up-ish things, but those homemade ones stuck together with hockey tape or wrapped in an egg carton are reminders that when I feel the kids are so big... well, they're still young. The best part? Watching them get all giddy waiting for their siblings to open the treasures in which they've put great thought. 

 

 

 
Hmmm... could this be what I think it is?

 

 

 

Ashanti's momma got to have her for Christmas Eve, so we opened gifts with her Christmas Night.

  

How she loves doing "Itsy-Bitsy" with Molly :)

Merry Christmas, friends!

May Jesus fill your homes and hearts with peace.

Backyard Discovery

Molly came breathless, running into the mudroom, door slamming behind her "Mommy! There's a fox in the backyard!" In about four seconds, I'd grabbed my camera and ran barefoot in my pyjamas onto the deck. It was wet and cold and I shoved the camera at Meghan, who had followed her siblings and me. 

"Here! Try and get a photo if I miss him!" I scooted back inside for some boots and a coat. Who knew if I'd be tracking the little guy far from the yard. Oliver, Molly and cousin Sadie were crouched and pointing behind our thirty-foot spruce.

"He's just lying there all curled up!" 

"Aw, Mommy, he's so cute."

"Should we go up to him?" 

I turned my lens to zoom in and took a few steps toward the evergreen. The fox didn't move. In fact, he didn't seem to mind me coming closer and squatting near him at all. That concerned me a little but I really wanted a good photo :) I told the kids to stay back. The fox yawned and scratched himself. He was completely disinterested in us. I shot several more photos. It was as though he was posing, turning his head this way and that. Then he curled up a little tighter. 

The kids chattered behind me and I stood and told them to run and get Sadie's mom, who was working down at the nursery. As we all dispersed, I looked back and the fox was gone. "Nevermind," I called, "he left." I carefully and quickly strode in the only direction he could've gone and I spotted him sitting beside the horse paddock by the fence. He strolled along the pasture, perfect gait, no evident injuries. He didn't seem sick. He just seemed calm and quite used to city-life. Urban-sprawl having much to do with that, no doubt. Our woods across the road had been dwindling for years. 

I was taken with this sweet fox's beauty and am always amazed and grateful when God points out less common parts of His creation to us. He trotted off toward a small shed at our nursery and I headed back to the house. The kids mentioned later that they saw him again. Perhaps he'll hang around for a while. I'm glad my kiddos find just as much joy in wild creatures as I do. But, discovering them in your backyard while playing? Even more exciting!

Day Nineteen: Praying Kids

Her beaded hair braids click, click, click as she wiggles and tosses around in her little white toddler bed. I tuck the blankets up under her chin and cocoon her all the way down her tiny figure. Maybe that will hold her for a minute. Wishful thinking. I tell her its time to pray and she folds her hands, and with legs bursting from the chrysalis she begins in that raspy voice, "Dear Jesus, please help Mommy to feel better (That's me). Please help Emily to get her pyjamas on. Please help Oliver to play with the ball. Please help Mommy to buy soap. (That's Valerie.) God bless Daddy and Meghan and me and..." (lists a few more people) After a pause, I say, Amen, and she echoes that. She doesn't need to open her eyes because they've already been darting all over the room. I'm smiling because I'm walking down that lane of memories where four other little voices piped out darling, innocent chats with God. She's sliding her pyjamas up her leg to scratch an itch and babbling a story about the day. I'm silently praying she'll take this practice of prayer and make it her own one day.

Indoctrination? Oh, yeah! Why? Because when you believe with all your heart that Jesus is God's Son and that He died and was resurrected and lives today, you want to pass that hope onto your children. When He's held you through trials and spoken to you in your confusion to lead you in a way you couldn't see, you don't want those kids to miss out. When you know their futures will hold fabulous moments and painful challenges, you desire nothing less than the God of their universe be close to them and that they trust in Him. They will each stand at a crossroads one day and decide whether or not this communion with the Almighty did any good. I know for a fact they will say, yes. Praying kids become praying adults, and that's my great expectation.

Day Sixteen: Praying With And For Our Children

"...and please, Lord, help him to grow up to be a..."

I don't even hesitate and Oliver chimes in: "to be a mighty man of God. I know, Mommy." He has my prayer for him memorized and it comforts him. He shifts down under the covers a little more and asks why his own prayers are never answered. I pause for a moment, a little surprised as his faith always seems to be strong.

"Well," I begin, "are you feeling sick right now?" He shakes his head. "Remember it was only two days ago you were hanging over the toilet begging God to heal you? I'd say He answered then, didn't He?" My boy smiles and rolls over satisfied with that response... for now.

He'll wonder again one day and he'll question God when things don't go well for him. That's okay, God is not surprised by His queries, nor is He too distant to handle them. The Psalms are full of David crying out to God for answers. We know the Lord does acknowledge David with encouragement and help as we read more Psalms of gratitude and peace. My son, will be content with my explanations for a while, but he will have to come to his own conclusions about God in the future. He will learn about God's timing and His process, that is often unexpected. Because my husband and I are praying for his soul, we believe Oliver will be overwhelmed with evidence of who his Creator is and that God will undoubtedly reveal Himself in a powerful way to him.

Where our words fail and our attitudes don't always align with Jesus, we can trust that the Lord loves our children more than we do. Our girls are included. We pray for them and with them and they grow in peace and strength with this practice. They ask for it. They pray for each other. We're not a perfect family, so we need it! At the end of the day, whether I'm tucking in my youngest or sharing daily news with my oldest after the other kids are in bed, I'm thankful that all my deficiencies can be left at the feet of the One who pardons and restores. My children hear my request for forgiveness often. They know God loves them even when they sin. Humbling myself and modeling prayer helps them to catch a theology I can't teach them in my own words. Somehow praying changes our voices, our character and our vocabulary. My children notice the difference, which just might explain why they ask me to pray :)   

 

praying Jeremiah 29:11 over this one

  

praying Zephaniah 3:17 over her (not because she needs rebuke :)

 

praying Joshua 1:8 over my oldest

 

praying Psalm 4:8 over this one

praying I Samuel 10:26 over my boy

For further interest... 7 Prayers a Day, by Angie Smith

Eleventeen and Other Endangered Things

We're trying not to burst with laughter as she obliges and repeats her counting. "Nine, ten, eleventeen..." It's her littleness that captures us every time. Even Oliver is giggling at Ashanti's mistakes while his juvenility was the one we were enamoured with only a few months before. (He'd rushed into the house exclaiming that I needed to get outside right away because Emily would become an endangered species if I didn't hurry! Apparently she was stuck in a tree and with all the learning we'd done about African animals, that terminology was the first thing that came to his mind concerning her safety.) Ashanti has returned to "one, two, three..." She finds more satisfaction in our amusement than the actual correctness of her task. Performance driven? Yes, she fits in quite well at our family dinner-table-stage. We drink in the sweet counting errors again with this entertaining, newly-turned-three year-old.

But, these days, as I tuck a little one in for afternoon naps, I also find myself in the passenger's seat while my oldest drives around town. I am the recipient of profound and wondrous gifts and it humbles me when I take a moment to dwell on it all. The famous and transitory "eleventeen" passed through each of our children's lips at one time or another but it's also this fragment in the puzzle of life at home for Meghan that is endangered. She reminds us with a smile that her time here is short before she's off in the big world, conquering dreams and living out God's purposes. We nod and smile back and refuse to pause too long on that subject. But I must pause. I must wrangle every memory and every prayer before five children at home becomes four and our present is extinguished like a flame. Littleness, bigness--it's all endangered because time is fleeting.

Gratitude is my heartbeat but I seek God to rescue my sometimes misaligned attitude and words. What is most important in this small window of my life? Am I modeling Jesus to my children?  Thankfully, as He redeems me, I'm able to truly live like I love Him, which cages vulnerable times that might otherwise become threatened. No regrets is likely an impossible hope but redeemed moments are a promise from the One who gave the profound and wondrous gifts in the first place. And as this present era moves into a new and exciting epoch, I will praise Jesus for the opportunity to have joined Him in raising a few precious members of this generation.

Partner In Parenting

"She'll thank us one day," my husband states, his brow is furrowed and I sigh relief because I'm feeling like the bad guy again. I hear footsteps in the hall and I know the child in question is lurking just beyond the kitchen. Tears and anger--some of them mine--had swallowed up the day and I sit exhausted, but grateful to have a partner in parenting. Some days I wonder how I'm going to raise these four (five) kiddos with my own sin blaring at me loudly as I call them out on theirs. Then, he walks through the door and I remember how--with him. Together with the Lord, we are a three-stranded cord, not easily frayed, but wound up with mercy and help in times of trouble. He knows it. I know it. That's how we do this thing called parenting. 

His favourite place to be and his favourite people to be with :)

Photos below represent the beautiful workplace Terry so diligently manages and we get the benefit of enjoying the quiet and loveliness of it all on a Sunday afternoon.

Happy Father's Day to the man I love, without whom I could not do this difficult, yet rewarding occupation of motherhood.