in pursuit of gratitude 13.August.2008

I woke up angry.  Or I arrived there quickly.  Isaiah was standing beside our bed a few minutes before six, saying, “More milk?”  We give him what he wants at that hour — fill his little cup and tuck him back in bed with his blankets.

In minutes, he was back by my bedside.  He wanted to go night-night with mommy.  Figuring it was the only remaining chance to get him to go back to sleep, I pulled him up beside me.

He didn’t go back to sleep.  He tossed and turned, drank his milk, touched my face with his hands and then his feet.  “Stop,” I barked at him.  He smiled at me in return.  Things were not going well.

At seven I gave up, angry.  Angry that I could not have my quiet time with God this morning.  Angry that Isaiah would probably be grumpy later on in the day because of his shortage of sleep.  Angry because as hard as I try to get up earlier in the mornings, Isaiah keeps getting up earlier, too.  Angry because I felt like God owed me a few minutes of solitude and preparation time before having to face the day.

These words from Ann’s blog, A Holy Experience, greeted me as I checked my blog feeds this morning:

“Give up
the bitterness, the anger, the sadness

for what isn’t,
that you wish you had.

And embrace the gift of what you do have.

For therein

is really what you want more of:

Joy.”

-Elizabeth Elliot

My heart sunk with remorse at my anger.  What would have been my most convincing argument toward God — God, I won’t even be able to meet with You alone this morning! — was crushed in the realization that God had not allowed Isaiah to go back to sleep.  What I had was a happy boy, an awake boy, ready to greet the day.  And I could not even be thankful for his health and his happiness and the night of rest God had already granted me.  Instead, I propped up my worthy idols and asked God to worship them.

Today, I am going to join the Gratitude Community and start making my own list of One Thousand Gifts.  I’ve loved reading other bloggers’ lists of gifts from God, but I’ve resisted starting my own list because (sigh) I like to be original and different and not give in to the trends of the blogosphere.  But I give in.  Because my gratitude is worth nursing more than my pride.  I released my idols this morning and stepped into the day with my little Isaiah.  I took him to the park, and in my head, I began to form a list…

1. 73 degrees at 9 a.m.  Ah, sweet relief from the heat wave!  The soft warmth of sunlight on my face, and the morning air rushing over my face…

2. My little boy in pursuit of friendship.  His little hand cupped inside an older child’s…

3. The delight that splashes across his face in watching a black lab…

4.  The familiar faces of women in my neighborhood.  Their presence convinces me I am not a stranger here.

5. The bread dough on my stove, slowly, slowly rising…

6. The anticipation of seeing my husband tonight…

bananas and adoption 12.August.2008

We graft a child into our family.  The child has always called another country home.  She had another mommy and daddy once upon a time.  She knows the sights, the smells, the sounds of Ethiopia or Korea or Russia.  Her “I am From” story did not include Kansas wheatfields or plastic-packed Walmarts.  If she could speak, she would tell you that America is not “the beautiful” to her; it is a foreign place.  Not home.

Some adopt because they want children.  We want children, too, and to us, it doesn’t matter if they come from our bodies or on an airplane.  We try to adopt with a heart like God’s.  He calls us to care for orphans, and so we follow, thankful that we can be one of the few fortunate adoptive parents.  We adopt because we find it unspeakably exciting to have a global family — so all of our children will know that the world extends beyond our street and our suburb.  We think we want to rescue a child — to teach him about God, and to give him a family again.  We consider the gift of a family as more precious than allowing the child to stay among all that is familiar.  But with all of its goodness and badness, “all that is familiar” is still home to that child.  We hope, that with a lot of love and time, the child will have a beautiful life, and we can be his heroes and his home.

I just finished reading Are Those Kids Yours?, one of the many adoption books on my list.  It was published in 1991, and its statistics are old, most from the 80s.  The last chapter is called “The Global Family,” and it’s dedicated to turning adoptive parents’ insight to the bigger picture, to see adoption not as a solution to the world’s problems and poverty, but only as a small BandAid over our whole global mess.  In spite of being an old book, I kept getting the feeling that this section had been written yesterday:

“In the account of his son’s adoption, Michael Perlitz referred to Honduras as a ‘banana republic.’  Indeed, it is the prototype of a banana republic.  It was governed by the Spanish for 300 years, and then after a brief period of independence, economically ‘colonized’ in the last century by North American entrepreneurs with the aid of military intervention, in order to keep U.S. markets supplied with food that doesn’t grow in our climate.  Bananas and other export products, such as coffee and sugar, are grown on large plantations, leaving little land to grow food for local use.  Agricultural labor is low-wage work, so the campesinos, or local workers, who pick the crops have little money to buy food….

“When rural Hondurans or Filipinos cannot make ends meet on the wages they earn and have no land on which to grow food, they have great difficulty providing for their children.  Some move to the cities in the hope of better opportunities that may not exist.  Often the father leaves and the family never manages to be reunited.  Relinquishing a child for adoption may be the only way to keep the child fed” (Cheri Register in Are Those Kids Yours?).

Cheri Register goes on to ask a few questions of her readers:

“What does it mean to feel responsible for these conditions?  If the world’s wealth were distributed equitably, what would the common standard of living be?  What would we Americans have to give up?… Can we in our daily lives make principled choices that, in the long run, enable these… families to provide for their children?”

I have bananas in a bowl on my counter.  I just bought them at the store this morning.  I think if I bit into one right now, I would be sick.  How many children have been orphaned because of American gluttony?

When we adopt a child, we will be providing what we believe is the best solution for that child.  But as one four-year-old adoptee asked his mother, “Why don’t the American moms and dads just send money to the Korean moms and dads so they can keep their children?”  We have to ask these questions, not to wrack ourselves with guilt, but to embrace the responsibility that is ours.

I sometimes wonder what God sees when He looks at the world.  Could He teach me how my purchase of a T-shirt made in a sweatshop in Asia leads to the abandonment of a child by its raw-fingered, empty-pocketed, ostracized mother?

I look at the problems and wish I could say, “It is only this sinful world.  There’s nothing I can do.”  But that just doesn’t work when I feel responsible.

a proverbs 31 wannabe 7.August.2008

I read Proverbs 31.10-31 as much as any chapter in the Bible.  Maybe it’s because that’s my lot in life right now — a homemaker, a home organizer, the female force of our family (nice alliteration, eh?).  And it motivates me to see the beauty that this woman makes of her family’s home.  The people around her are more whole because of her.

Tonight I read The Message version for the first time:

A good woman is hard to find,
and worth far more than diamonds.

Her husband trusts her without reserve,
and never has reason to regret it.
Never spiteful, she treats him generously all her life long.

She shops around for the best yarns and cottons,
and enjoys knitting and sewing.

She’s like a trading ship that sails to faraway places
and brings back exotic surprises.

She’s up before dawn,
preparing breakfast for her family
and organizing her day.

She looks over a field and buys it,
then, with money she’s put aside,
plants a garden.

First thing in the morning, she dresses for work,
rolls up her sleeves, eager to get started.

She senses the worth of her work,
is in no hurry to call it quits for the day.

She’s skilled in the crafts of home and hearth,
diligent in homemaking.

She’s quick to assist anyone in need,
reaches out to help the poor.

She doesn’t worry about her family when it snows;
their winter clothes are all mended and ready to wear.
She makes her own clothing,
and dresses in colorful linens and silks.

Her husband is greatly respected
when he deliberates with the city fathers.

She designs gowns and sells them,
brings the sweaters she knits to the dress shops.
Her clothes are well-made and elegant,
and she always faces tomorrow with a smile.

When she speaks she has something worthwhile to say,
and she always says it kindly.

She keeps an eye on everyone in her household,
and keeps them all busy and productive.

Her children respect and bless her;
her husband joins in with words of praise:
“Many women have done wonderful things,
but you’ve outclassed them all!”

Charm can mislead and beauty soon fades.
The woman to be admired and praised
is the woman who lives in the Fear-of-God.
Give her everything she deserves!
Festoon her life with praises!

Be silent, you feminists.  This is as high of a calling as they come.  Would I could be to my family what this woman is to hers.

The only problem is, I look at this portrait and think: Is she real?  Is this even possible? Shouldn’t I, as a daughter of the Almighty, a temple of the Spirit, be able to pull off a decent fraction of these qualities?  But instead, I get about one thing done a day.  I “make about a dollar” (to quote Donald Miller in Blue Like Jazz).

The time is swallowed up by some faceless behemoth, and I am left at 12.09a.m. in the darkness, typing, hoping that by some drizzle of grace, I can do better tomorrow.