My Overthinking

Philly Area mom, Life forever changed by adoption

In his own words {advocating}

in school

in school with one friend

in school with friends
I shared about him on this space a few days ago, the boy in the blue who t-shirt right there with his friends from school. Actually, I didn’t just share about him; I advocated for him, praying that there is a family out there for him open to adopting a 13-year-old boy whose heart aches for a family.

Now, I’m doing something a bit unconventional. I’m literally sharing my space with him, giving him the opportunity to share himself in hopes that through seeing his penned words–even in a language we cannot understand–the mother God has for him would feel the tug on her heart and hear the words, “You can do this; you can be what he needs.”

his letter

My name is ______ _______. I’m 13 years old. I study in a special education school in ____. I’m in Grade 4. I have many good friends in school, and my school life is full of happiness. I have a good friend named ______ _______ who has a sweet and happy family. I also want to have a warm family like him. In the foster family in the welfare house, under the care of my foster mom and dad, I have a happy life. The ayis in the welfare house love me 100x more. I think I should work hard to pay them back when I grow up. I will have a final exam soon. My favorite subject is math, and I can get more than a score of 90 on my math exams. My dream is to be a mathematician and creating miracles is the pursuit of learning for me. I’m very grateful for my mom, dad, ayis, and teachers. I thank them for giving me a beautiful and happy childhood.

He’s loved well, but he wants more. He wants someone who he can call his–a warm family like his friend has.

Are you the one to mentor and shepherd this child?

He needs a family willing willing to move fast to beat the January deadline the law has in place that will make him no longer eligible to be a son. He’s on the shared list now which means any adoption agency working with China’s special needs program can lock his file for a family, even if they have not started any paperwork yet. Want more information? I’ve got his file which I am guarding for his protection and that of his future family, believing they are out there. But, I will do my best to answer any questions I can. Email kraudenbush@sparrow-fund.org.

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He’s more than worth it {advocating}

His warm smile took the sting out of his question.

Am I worth it?

He knows he’s different. He can’t remember the parents who discovered he couldn’t hear the words they spoke to him and decided to walk away from him when he was a toddler. He couldn’t hear the police officer who asked him where they were.

The orphanage became his home; the staff became his advocates, caring for his daily needs. I wonder if he felt worth it when he posed for pictures as a 5 or 6 year old when they prepared his papers to be offered to families to adopt. I wonder if he felt worth it when he never heard a thing about those pictures.

He’s 13 years old now, on the verge of celebrating a birthday that would make him never able to become a son. When he turns 14 in January, when his foster mother makes him a cake as I know she will, I wonder if he’ll celebrate or stomp his feet and cry. Maybe both.

For some reason, those pictures and papers that the staff prepared about him to show to potential families never became public until this past spring. For years, they must have sat somewhere in a stack of papers with those representing other children like him. At nearly 13 1/2, maybe 8 years after those pictures were taken, his papers showed up, right about at the same time that a team of Americans visited his home and met him.

They sat together with little expectation of actual communication. The boy cannot hear. He goes to a special school for the deaf, but no one else here at the orphanage or on the team knows sign language. This is going to be a short conversation. 

But, it wasn’t. It went on for hours as he patiently somehow communicated to the team. He likes video games and the NBA. He loves his brothers who he shares a foster home with. His foster mother cries when she talks about him; she thinks he’s a “clever and positive” boy. She says he always smiles. When asked what he wants to be when he grows up, he simply says he wants to be a son. He says they don’t have to know sign language; he hasn’t had that for 13 years. He just wants to call someone Mom and Dad, maybe have a brother, know he belongs, and that’s he worth it.

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He needs a family willing willing to move fast to beat the January deadline the law has in place that will make him no longer eligible to be a son. He’s on the shared list now which means any adoption agency working with China’s special needs program can lock his file for a family, even if they have not started any paperwork yet. Want more information? I’ve got his file which I am guarding for his protection and that of his future family, believing they are out there. But, I will do my best to answer any questions I can. 

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The words I’ve been wanting to share {orphanage visit}

It had been 7 months since my last visit. Where there was grey and barren in October now was green and full. My heart was full as well as the car waited for the iron accordion gate to open and proceeded to drive us around the circle to the front steps of the orphanage. The comfortable familiarity of the front gardens was topped only by the familiarity of those who rushed to the front door to greet us as we stepped out of the car. Welcomes that were once closed mouth smiles and polite handshakes now were hugs. In just a few moments there, it was clear that these relationships were why we had been brought here again.

Hot water with floating leaves in a fancy conference room. It’s where the day always starts. And then we did what I know how to do and what they want me to do. With our translator and the director by my side and my notebook and pen in hand, we walked into rooms full of children. Some remembered me and rushed to me for a touch. Some didn’t know what to do with the desire for connection and rushed to me only to hit my leg and run away. I get it.

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As my daughter blew bubbles to entertain the masses, I scribbled what I could as the translator gave me shortened summaries of what the “working staff” was rattling off to her. This boy needs surgery. This boy is hungry but cannot eat. This girl has dimples. Is there ever a family for a child with Down Syndrome? Can I find a family for this boy soon–he will be too old soon. This girl is all healthy now.

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Why didn’t I bring more paper?

Their stories could fill books, and I was only scribbling a few notes and trying to grab a few quick pictures of a split second in time. I could choose to look at it all as futile and simply not enough or choose to remember the handful of times we’ve been able to see the successes, when the notes and the pictures gave a family confirmation that they were on the right path or led a family who wasn’t sure to say yes.

The older children surrounded me, chatting away, telling me things. I wish I could have understood what they were saying. I wonder if they were telling me what they did in class that morning, asking me about how their friend was who was adopted last year, asking me if there was a family who wanted a “clever and positive” child like them.

Say eggplant!

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I took pictures of them with my own daughter among them. For a few moments, the chaos and noise were silenced in my head, and my own thoughts surprised me.

Essay contests, teacher conferences, caramel popcorn at the beach, softball tournaments, a shopping trip to Target for training bras, Christmas morning, spoiling by grandparents, praying together every night, trips to the library…

A little girl I knew wouldn’t let go of her hand. A little boy marveled at her curly blonde hair. And, they welcomed her into their place seemingly without a thought or hesitation, the girl who has what they want and has things they don’t even know to want.

She wanted to see the babies, the youngest ones. Of course she did. I should have thought it through more; I should have expected it. We tiptoed in as everyone knows to do when you walk into a nursery whether that nursery has one sweet baby or, in this case, nearly 20. Ashlyn went from crib to crib, admiring each child, trying to get the wide-eyed ones to look at her and smile a little. I looked around, then I looked around again. And, then it hit me.

I don’t know a single child in this room.

It’s been 7 months since my last visit. These precious babies had all arrived since my last visit. Older kids got older in that time, a few blessed little ones are now home with mommies and daddies and Christmas mornings and all the caramel popcorn they can eat, and the nursery is always full. These little ones’ stories have just started; they were just beginning here. We were just making them smile and telling them they are precious in word and action right now. But, next time I come, it would be notes about them filling my papers.

It all could sound hopeless, an endless cycle of brokenness and need. But, there’s something hopeful in it all as I stepped back and breathed deeply of the air the staff works so hard to keep clean. There’s good here. There are friends here. There is relationship here and connection; flawed it may be, but it’s here. This place isn’t just a pitstop as some await their final destinations of families all over the world. They’re growing here in body and spirit, a nearly constant yet changing group of 300 children supernaturally somehow unified as a family.

In 4 months, I’ll be here again. I’ll lead a team through those front doors, drink leafy water in a fancy conference room, instructing them with my eyes to do the same. I’ll pat ayis’ backs and give them the universally understood thumbs up. Kids will rush to meet me only to hit me on the leg. Others will hang back with no recollection of the woman walking around with a camera around her neck and paper in hand. I’ll press on as they press on, all clinging to the life and hope we see amidst the grey barren background.

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Their Vision is Valuable {After}

Starting in May, every first Friday of the month until October, the quaint town of Phoenixville explodes with activity. Streets are closed, people are everywhere, and parking is atrocious. Restaurants are all abuzz with long waits for good eats. Happy hour becomes happy hours as bartenders can’t keep up with the demand. And, there, in the middle of it all, is The Bridge, our church office, where on this first First Friday of 2015, something very very special happened.

IMG_8374Portraits of 12 children were set up in the front window, and their art filled every square inch of the rest of that space. Hundreds of people came through Friday night–the vast majority of whom just wandered in on their way to catch dinner with friends. I saw their eyes widen as I explained the story behind the exhibit and showed them the pictures of the children who created it. I smiled with them as I told them about the little boy who loves to dance and the little girl who now lives in Omaha with her new family. I saw parents pick children up and point out details in the pictures. I heard them talk about what they would name each one. I saw groups of teenage girls gushing at how cool one of the pictures was and snapping pictures on their iPhones to remember it. I heard a young woman ask her friend if the text underneath each photo’s name was “from the Bible or something.”

IMG_8405There we were, right in the middle of all the activity, showing people the faces of children with special needs who don’t have families, who call an orphanage home. There, in the middle of the bar scene, were 30 incredible pictures of hope and beauty and life. There, in the middle of crowds of people, were Bible verses next to each one of those pictures that drew those crowds in.

I was all alone in that space at the end of the night. While the sound of several different bands playing throughout the streets could still be heard, it was quiet in there. As I swept up cracker crumbs and packed up brochures, I thought about how at that very moment, the children who created all that beauty were probably sitting in their classroom together–all but the one sweet girl who was likely sleeping in her new bedroom in Omaha. Whatever they were doing right then–reading, learning math, staring out the orphanage window, holding hands with their friend–they had no idea how they had just changed the world on the other side of it. I can’t wait to tell them all about it. I can’t wait to tell them again how valuable they are.

We set out to change the picture some may have in their head of a “special needs orphan” and what he or she is capable of. We set out to make louder the voice and impact on the world that those children who we have grown to love have. We set out to honor them and honor the One who created them. At the end of the night, I believe that happened; I really believe that happened.

We believe this show isn’t a once and done thing. We believe it should happen again, maybe again and again. Who knows. It will cost something, and it won’t be easy. There’s work that would need to be done to make it happen. But, I think it should because the world change is simply not limited to one night in one town in Eastern PA.

If you want to hear more about that, if you want to be part of that world change where you are, if you want your church or ministry to host this in the middle of whatever activity you are in the middle of, email me at kraudenbush@sparrow-fund.org. We’re working on putting information together for whoever else may want a part of this.

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