Archives for January 2016

It looked like a New Year’s party in our living room last night. Kids were playing little tunes on the piano, while other kids pushed buttons on a toy keyboard in the next room. Lydia ran around on all fours; others just stood and watched her and laughed. NJ was energized by the activity; the adults felt the weight of what the next 24 hours would mean. There were just two families there—ours and his. They had picked him up and taken him out for dinner, the last of many visits they were able to have with him. Despite the craziness of all the children, we gathered in our little living room with some in beanbag chairs or on the floor and there we prayed. NJ’s foster Baba—my husband—prayed first and then a combination of children and mamas prayed too. We thanked God for how He did such big things, for how the last boy to become a part of this program (as we were the last family to join) was the first to have a family. We asked God to guard his heart, to protect him from hurt, to guard him against the hard of yet another transition as he returns to the orphanage. We asked God to raise up someone there who would stand in the gap and love him for a time as we were able to. NJ’s Baba held him and prayed last. It was miraculous and lovely. It was the right way to finish.

We felt ready for today. And, I guess we were. But, ready didn’t stop the emotions from overwhelming me.

One more snuggle for the very-tired-already panda bear.

Just a few more words.

Four of the 12 leaving together in their matching vests, pausing before walking through the gate to security where none of us could go. The children held hands and looked on, having been told in English and Mandarin what was happening more than a few times. The host families also looked on and cried. The orphanage director looked back at us and joined us in tears. She had been hosted as well.

I stood a few feet away, unsure of myself, not knowing if I should go back to him and say a few more words or get one more kiss, rub his head or tickle his neck. Instead, I just stayed where I was and said bye bye and blew him a kiss. He blew a kiss back to me and said bye bye. No tears. No smiles. Just a really tired boy ready for another meal and a nap.

We all stood quietly—about 16 of us—and watched them walk away. Then my arms were full. Drew crying on the left of me; Lydia crying and buried into my right. Mark and I doing our best to smile through our own tears and comfort them that we will be seeing him again soon. It’s only a goodbye for now.

It was hard. Harder than both Mark and I expected. Hard because we don’t want him anywhere but with his family right now. Hard because children shouldn’t be without families. Hard because we want to know NJ will have someone to hold him and tickle him for the next 7 months. Hard because our children’s hearts broke with the goodbye.

I’m glad it hurt so bad. No one who does this can do it well while guarding their heart.

While they unpack every play food piece in the sunroom nearby, I’m packing up Christmas. It’s usually a little bittersweet taking down the mistletoe, wrapping up fragile ornaments, and forcefully removing the same tree we so gingerly welcomed into our home a few weeks ago. The fresh, newness of a relatively decluttered home as we start the new year paired with the nostalgia of a Christmas that came and went too fast. Every year, it’s the same.

But, last year was different. Our single-family home was a two-families-live-here home. And, it was fun and chaotic and hard and refining.

And, now this year was different. This was the Christmas of NJ, the little boy who stumbled into our home at 2:30am one Saturday night and kept on stumbling for the rest of the month. This was the December of getting up at 5:00am for a scrambled eggs and coffee date at our kitchen table (sans coffee for the boy). This was the Christmas of celebrating small victories (like watching angry little kicking feet instead of other hurtful ways to show anger) and the smallest hints of progress (like hearing a sound uttered that sounded just like “hi” and witnessing it being used to say just that). This was the Christmas of learning more deeply about brokenness and our need for relationship and why Christmas was needed in the first place. This was the Christmas of introducing a little boy to the Baba and Mama and brothers and sisters who are going to love him with a love much grander than the love he received from us.

It has been quite the Christmas.

And, now, it’s time to close it all up, to put away all the fancy little things that make us giddy after Thanksgiving. I had to smile wrapping up the stocking holders I insisted on buying years and years ago when we had only one baby. Mark shook his head at me when I bought 7 holders during an after-Christmas sale. As our family grew one child at a time, one more stocking holder would come out of the packaging. There was just one left that had never been unwrapped. But, last year, it held up Caleb’s stocking; this year, NJ’s. No one shook their head at me when I wondered out loud who might use it next.

Packing up NJ’s bag is next.

{sigh}