What's in a name?

I recently had the opportunity to sit down for a somewhat formal interview with our church as part of preparations for Orphan Sunday (Nov 4, 2012).  I tend to talk about my kids, my family and adoption to just about every person I know...maybe even to the folks behind me in the check out line at Target.  Point is, I love talking about adoption and the impact it has had on me as a father, a husband and a follower of Christ.  But for the first time I was sitting in a sound proof room with what looked to be a pretty expensive microphone a few inches from my face, going on the record.  It was exciting.  It was emotional.

As the session began to wrap up I was asked a question I had been expecting:

"What exactly is the 'orphan crisis' that we hear you and others talk about?" 

Oh boy, I was so ready for this one.  Like a batter watching a fat pitch come right down the center of the plate, I could knock this one out of the park.  I had all the numbers to back me up.  150 million orphans.  500k foster kids waiting for adoption in the US.  Devastating statistics on crime, exploitation and human trafficking.  I knew they'd be blown away by the sheer numbers.

But when the words began to roll off my tongue, I barely mentioned the statistics.  Why pass up a chance to share just how HUGE of a problem this is?  Because I think that is the problem, it's so big that people feel helpless and lost.  What can one person possibly do? 

So instead of spouting off numbers, I told a story.  As I talked, the sound booth slowly transformed into an orphanage in Zhongshan City, China.  So vivid are the memories of my time in that orphanage that with little effort I can recall the looks, the smells, the feel of the place.  I remembered holding my newly adopted son and a Chinese care giver pointing to a crib and saying, "This is your son's bed."  There I stood clinging to Jude, orphan no more, in a hot and humid building in the middle of China.  Before me were rows of cribs, one after the other.  In one, a boy with his hands bound behind his back with strips of cloth, was wearing his mattress thin from his endless pacing.  Dozens of babies lying on their backs, motionless and staring blankly into a white ceiling.  A boy just a few cribs away from my son's previous resting spot, hitting his head against the block wall.  Oh how the Heavens rejoiced that Jude had a home.  He was no longer fatherless.  But when I stared across the room at these children I couldn't help but feel that God was asking me, "What about these?  What about my other sons and daughters?"  The burden for these children had never been more real that it was at that moment.  These aren't statistics after all.  They are His children.  They have names. 

One room of many.  600 children are 'assigned' to this orphanage. 98% have special needs.

The orphan crisis isn't about numbers. The crisis is about children.  It is about beautiful creations, designed by our Heavenly Father.  They have names.  They need moms.  They need dads.  They need Jesus.  As God’s people, as his church, we have to stop blindly singing worship songs about orphans from comfortable pews. We have to stop talking about these children and then quickly forget they exist. We have a responsibility to act. If we are serious about obeying the words of our Father, then we have to rush to the fatherless. If we don’t, who will?

So this Orphan Sunday let us not get bogged down in numbers.  Numbers don't tell the story.  Numbers can be cumbersome and overwhelming.  They can be cold and unemotional.  Instead, let us remember that each number has a name.  Maybe we can sponsor one.  Maybe we can visit one.  Maybe we can adopt one.  Maybe we can love one.

Maybe we can learn their names. 

My son, Judah.

Camping! (A post of many pictures)

The schedule around here gets a little crazy most of the time.

Rush works his regular job, and off-duty.

I work around him....pretty much every weekend.

Which leaves not a whole lot to spare for quality family time.

So we took matters into our own hands and planned a little getaway.

We got the kids out of school early on Friday and kept them out on Monday, packed up 2 cars (yes, it takes 2 cars for us and all our stuff) and hit the road to the mountains.

It. Was. Heaven.

Truly....the Shenandoah valley is amazing in autumn. And we were lucky enough to be there at the peak of the leaf beauty.

It's like God is just showing off. And I'm not complaining.

We had a great time.

The kids rocked some hiking.

We froze in our tent.

A skunk came to visit...and lots of deer.

And now, my quest to rid all of our stuff of campfire smell continues!

Jude's Surgery Recap

In the midst of craziness over the past month, I forgot to post about Jude's surgery.

On September 19, he had his "Chinese adopted boy" trifecta of surgeries....cleft palate repair, ear tubes, and circumcision. Let's just say I'm glad we're on the other side of it now.

I always feel bad for my kids before surgery. The poor things just have no idea what's about to happen to them, and it makes me feel slightly guilty. Look how happy he is. Happy and clueless. 

But, it had to be done. So we did.

Here's a glimpse of Jude's palate before. You can see straight up into his nasal passages. Poor guy.

He was a happy camper that morning...even though he couldn't eat.

We loved arriving and being met by Miss Lisa from church...even at 6am! She rocks! And Jude loves her. I think the feeling is mutual. :)

Jude was his typical charming self.....interacting and loving on all of the surgical team.

Then he got his goofy juice. Hilarious. He was a total rag doll.

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The surgery lasted about 4 1/2 hours or so.

Our time in the hospital was great. I work with some great people! We are so thankful to live near such great doctors and have access to amazing care!

He was loaded up with drugs for a lot of his post-op time in the hospital and I think he stayed fairly comfortable, although we did have some pain issues here and there. He slept some, but was pretty restless.

He was able to eat a little....jello, applesauce, yogurt, ice cream.

Then, we went home.

He had a rough recovery.

Rylie was fine in about 2 days time after her palate repair. Tough girl.

Jude took more like 2 weeks. He was fussy, clingy, congested and all around miserable for that time frame. We were thrilled when we started to see little glimpses of our happy guy begin to reemerge.

He's pretty much back to himself now...other than pointing "down there" and saying "Uh-oh!" when I change his diaper. Let's hope his memory is short.

He's back in speech therapy now, and just had his first session post-op. He said "Mama!" I can't wait to see how his language develops. Hopefully, he will have an easier time than Rylie has had. She's still struggling. But that's another post for another day.

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Oh...and I promise, he really does have more than 1 set of pj's.

Today.

Today is a rather important day! Jude finally has his surgery to close his cleft palate. And along with that, comes tubes in both ears....and oh yeah....circumcision. Yikes. Good luck with that, buddy. ;)

And as glad as I am that my little man will finally be on the other end of these procedures, part of my focus is not on him today.

Because, today also happens to be the 2nd anniversary of Rylie's Gotcha Day!

2 years ago, we saw her face to face for the first time. There were lots of tears. Lots of uncertainty. Lots of hope. She dropped the title "orphan," and claimed the title "beloved daughter." 

Over the next few weeks, there were more tears, and screaming, and tantrums, and me wondering what the heck we had gotten ourselves into. I learned how very vulnerable she was. I learned how very inept I was. I realized there was only one avenue for her healing....and it wasn't me. 

Over the past year, we have found redemption and grace, development and growth. For both of us. And for our family as a whole.

That day, 2 years ago, changed everything for us.

And so, even though we are with her brother today, and not her...well, today we celebrate our Rylie girl.

Rylie, you are wonderfully made and amazingly strong. You are a survivor and the bravest person I know. And while you still challenge me every. single. day, I love you more than I can express and I am so glad you are mine. You are my best teacher to date. And I praise God that He picked us to be your family.

Happy Gotcha Day Rylie Layne!

We celebrated last night with a little dinner in her honor!