we are all lucky

This post was originally published on September 17, 2010. It is an essay on show Hope and the great work that the Chapman family is doing for orphans all over the world. It is being re-posted in honor of National Adoption Month.




When people find out that our son joined our family through adoption I am often told how "lucky" Matthew is. Now that we are working on our second international adoption the platitudes continue. "What a great thing you are doing for these children. They are so lucky!" And I always respond the same way. "No, we are the lucky ones." And we are. We truly are. Matthew's grandparents, cousins, friends- they are all lucky. I have always held true to my belief that while my son certainly has been afforded opportunities he would never have seen had he stayed in China, including the love of a forever family, we cannot say for sure that ripping him from the country of his birth makes him "lucky". His life in China would have been different, yes. But our American ideals and my son's ability to attain them aren't necessarily better. We, as Americans, think they are- the nice house, the home cooked meals, the toys, video games, educational opportunities - these are hard to say no to. That is how we think, but that is is not how our whole world thinks. Tradition, culture, simple pleasures, honesty, hard work- these ideals, while not tangible- are important to the people of my son's birth country. So I really don't want to say that he is "lucky".

Last night my husband and I attended A Night With The Chapmans. It was a great night of music with Steven Curtis Chapman and his family. His wife, Mary Beth, spoke and read from her new book, Choosing to SEE. The tour is basically a fundraiser for show HOPE, an organization started by the Chapman family to help orphans around the world. As we settled into our seats the big screens began to display a video about this amazing organization. Images of babies and children from all over this world filled the screen. Many of the pictures were of Chinese babies with cleft lips and cleft palates. It was a very emotional moment for both my husband and I.

Later in the show a fellow musician and close friend of the Chapman family took the stage to talk about show HOPE. He talked about Maria's Big House of Hope, an orphanage recently opened by the show HOPE foundation in the Henan province of China. Not too long ago a medical team came to Maria's Big House of Hope to complete cleft lip and palate surgeries on the babies and children living there. The speaker then explained that the Chinese officials were so impressed with this project that they are talking to show HOPE about running a floor of already established orphanages for special needs babies. Special needs babies, like our little guy. We toured the orphanage Matthew lived in when we traveled to China and we saw the special needs "room". Crib after crib of forgotten and discarded children. Our son's crib was in that eerily quiet room.

As I sat there vacillating between hope and tears brought on by the inspirational music and powerful words it suddenly hit me. I can't believe I never figured this out before. I guess I always knew but didn't want to think about it. We are a family first, and a family brought together by international adoption second. The daily ins and outs of being a family always come first- the baths and bedtimes, sippy cups and games of tag- that is what I am all about these days. It may not always seem that way because so much of my writing is about the adoption side of our life, but it's true. So maybe life just got in the way. Or maybe I needed to be a little further removed from the adoption journey to fully understand the positive implications of what we have done by bringing Matthew into his forever family.

Our little man talks from the moment he wakes up until his eyes close at night. He sings and hums to himself constantly. He loves to snack on cheese curls and apples. He would not be able to do any of those things had we not brought him into our family. He wouldn't be able to hear the music as well without the tubes in his ears. he wouldn't be able to eat crunchy food without the repaired palate. He wouldn't be able to form understandable words to talk and sing. He was malnourished when we first met him and the fact is that babies with unrepaired cleft palates grow into children who are sickly and weak, if they grow into children at all. An unrepaired palate means difficulty in school and in forming relationships. And in China, where there are already considerably fewer girls than boys, an unrepaired cleft palate means no bride. No significant other as best friend and confidant. No intimacy.

I sat in my seat while everyone around me was standing up and clapping to the upbeat music, letting the truth just wash over me. We did save him. He would not be the boy he is today. He would not have the potential he has today. He would not light up a room with his smile or be the life of the party. In fact, he might not be.

Next time someone tells me how "lucky" Matthew and his future sibling are that we adopted them, I will still respond by saying "no, we are the lucky ones." And that will be true, we certainly are lucky. But in my heart, I know that my kids, the one here today and any future wilkisons, are lucky also. When you can suddenly see a part of the big plan God has for our lives, it's awesome. Last night, a small part of that plan became a little more clear.

life imitates art, again...

Yesterday was a rough day for my big five year old. He stayed home from pre-school to hang out with Mommy, which always seems like a good idea at first, but which often unravels quickly. Keeping my boys home when I have plans to do something fun with them = well, fun for them and for me. Keeping them home when I have nothing fun planned but need them around for something like an appointment of some kind = no fun for anyone.

The morning went OK. My big five year happily played in the office while I worked. He sat at Daddy's desk, (don't touch anything!), contemplated climbing out the window to retrieve his lost baseball, (no, no, no, no, NO!), watched cartoons on TV, (turn that down!), and even managed to put on his own shoes, (no! not the pair with the holes in them!). Then we broke the spell and headed out to the dentist.

A cleft palate and poor nutrition early on in life can lead to unhealthy teeth, so the dentist is not always a fun experience for my guy. Yesterday though, not so bad. After that, though, straight down hill...

On the list of errands to run yesterday was one to the bus garage, to sign my big five year old up for busing for school. But more on that later. Before we could do that we needed to obtain a new birth certificate for my little guy, because I somehow managed to misplace the one I obtained a few months back to sign him up for kindergarten. Why the bus garage and the enrollment office can't speak to each other about this is beyond me. Now the SWCS district has two copies of my son's birth certificate, and he won't even be attending one of their schools....

So we head to Vital Statistics. I drove straight to the address I found online, not realizing it was, in fact, not the same location I went to last time. This time it was the health department. The HUGE health department. The HUGE health department that was having a farmer's market on the front lawn and so there were people and cars everywhere. Everywhere.While it didn' take long to get the birth certificate, thank God, I found myself spewing a constant string of words to my big five year old.

"No we cannot go to the farmer's market today. Because I have to work at some point today. Because Mommy helps to pay the bills. Because Daddy shouldn't have to pay all the bills. Because we need money for things like food. Yes, and toys. Yes, and trucks. No, we can't go to the farmer's market! Didn't I just say that? Because I don't have any money on me. No, I am sure they don't take credit cards. Because I never have any cash on me. Because that is just how Mommy and Daddy work. No, you can't hang your Wendy's kid's meal basketball hoop off the back of that door. Because that is the door to someones office. No, we can't go upstairs. No, I don't think they have toys up there. Yes, I see the pop machine up there. No, we are not getting any pop. Because we don't drink pop. Yes, I know Daddy drinks pop sometimes, we don't. We- you and me! No, we can't go upstairs! That sign says they have drug abuse counseling up there, it does not say they have toys up there. Please don't touch that! No, you can't use the bathroom by yourself. Because this is a big place and we have never been here before. Yes, I will turn around. No, I am not looking, just pee!"

Having finally obtained the birth certificate we headed off to the bus garage. Since I was told to report to the Transportation Department I was expecting an office, not an entire bus garage. You would think that all those buses would have been fun for him, but instead he carried on with his sad lament about how boring it was to hang out with mommy and run errands all day. Not to mention that all these errands were for him. And true to my son's nature, the minute it was our turn at the tiny little window he announced that he had to go to the bathroom. My son- he has peed in bathrooms all over town. "Can you please hold it?" "No! I really have to go!" I look around and see no bathrooms. So now I am thinking that he can't, he just can't pee his pants right now. How will they ever let him on a bus if he has a bathroom accident at the bus garage? A nice bus driver in line behind me points us to the men's room in the large break room. And then my big five year old waits for me to take him into the bathroom. "Go on, I say, pointing to the door." "But Mommy, you said I couldn't use the bathroom by myself in big places where we don't know anybody. We don't know these people. They might not be nice." I look around and see that we are surrounded by bus drives, all listening to our conversation about how "not nice" they might be. I smile at them, trying to speak to them with my eyes. "Oh, the funny things kids say, am I right?", my eyes say. "It's OK, honey, I'll be right out here. Just go on.", my lips  to my ever truthful son.

I sit down at a table and begin to fill out the form that had been handed to be through the tiny window. I keep a watchful eye on the men's room door, but still my son managed to sneak out and find the large wall of bus keys. I look up, and there he is, standing in front of a large peg board full of keys, all numbered. And all I can think of is the Curious George book where George climbs up to the departures board at the train station and moves all the numbers around. Or the Curious George book where George tries on all the fire fighter's clothes and then no one can find their right boots when they need to leave for a fire.  And I am picturing the first day of school, when all the buses are late and thousands of students are stranded thanks to my big five year old. Just a parking lot full of buses, not one running, while all the drivers swap keys over and over again.

I don't know if my son would have touched those keys or not. But I do know that I moved faster than I had all day to get out from behind that table and pull him back to me. My life is crazy enough, it doesn't need to be a Curious George story too!

one less

I turned off the TV and made sure the coffee pot was not brewing. The boys were out of the house, having left earlier with my husband to head to daycare/preschool. The cat was in the basement. The entire house was silent. I hit the locator button on the phone base and started tiptoeing around the living room, head cocked to the side, listening for the responding beep beep beep. Not in  the sofa cushions. Not in the toy box. Not in the media drawer. Maybe the phone isn't even in the living room. I wander out to the dining room, through the kitchen. The beeping grows faint. getting colder.... finally I find the phone stuffed into the play tent, hanging out with about 100 balls, 2 stuffed monkeys, and a shoe. My search made my day. It made me smile. I love my boys.

Which made me think of how very thankful I am to have them in my life. Which made me think, as I sometimes do, of what their young lives would have been like if they hadn't come home to us. Which made me think of that Matthew West song, One Less.



And it is true. There is one less orphan in this world. Actually, there are two less orphans. And I am realistic. I have a pretty good idea of what their lives would have been like had they grown up in their respective orphanages. I am fairly certain that my big four and a half year old might not have survived childhood, being unable to take in adequate nutrition without having his cleft palate repaired. Had he lived he most likely would not have been educated, and certainly would not have found love in a world of too few girls to begin with. My handsome, loving and oh so smart boy would never have known the potential locked inside his soul. He wouldn't be able to speak properly, if at all. He wouldn't be able to hear. He wouldn't know the joy he now gets out of his life every day. My tiny toddler would probably grow up fighting - fighting for toys, for food, for affection from caregivers. He would eventually have been moved to a larger orphanage with older children, stronger children. He might have gone to school, maybe. And eventually, at much too young an age, he would have been turned out into the streets, left to fend for himself. So yes, my boys are very lucky.

But this song makes me think of me, really. It makes me think of the mothers out there with empty arms. The fathers with so much love in the hearts. The couples with empty houses, with no toys all over the floor and no crib in the extra bedroom. No bath toys in the tub or cheerios in the cupboard. Those couples - their houses and cars are clean. Their time is their own. But their longing is real, and palpable. That is what this song makes me think about. Yes, there  is one less  orphan in this world. Two, actually. But there is also one less childless family. There is one less mother with empty arms. There is one less father with a wealth of football knowledge he is aching to share.  When I trip over the matchbox cars in the living room, when I hold my tiny toddler tight against me as he fights to get loose and hit me, when I watch my boys splash water all over the bathroom floor and when I spend seem less hours tracking down shoes, coats, stuffed monkeys, and socks, I am thankful that I am one less.

it's a lot of responsibility, this parenting gig

The other day I received a very thoughtful card in the mail from my mother in law. She had remembered that one year ago today, around this time, we were burying my mother. She sent me a thinking of you card, in which she wrote that she was happy that I was a part of her family. It was, by far, the single nicest thing that anyone had done for me in a while.

I was still thinking about this thoughtful gesture when I picked up my boys from daycare/preschool that afternoon. On the way out of the church I told my son about the card I had received from his grandmother and I asked him if knew what Grandma had been feeling when she sent it to me. We talked about compassion and empathy. Later that evening at the dinner table I asked my big four and a half year old if he could tell Daddy what feeling Grandma had when she sent me the card. He couldn't. But he could say that Grandma was thinking about Mommy and that it made Mommy feel good. I'll take it.

I talk to my boys a lot about what we are feeling. And about what other people are feeling. And about our role in what others are feeling. I believe that understanding how we feel and how our actions impact how others feel is the foundation for raising compassionate, caring, and loving boys. I believe that boys need to be allowed to be boys- to run and jump and lay on the sidewalk looking at bugs. I want my boys to climb trees and play football and get dirty. But I also want them to appreciate music and feel the power and satisfaction of creating music. I want them to read and be able to appreciate, if not like, art. I want them to be well rounded. And that includes compassion.

The same day that I received the thoughtful message from my mother in law a friend of mine posted on facebook a status update about bullying in elementary school. A discussion ensued and one theme was prominent ~ none of us really remember kids being mean to each other when we were in elementary school. And it got me thinking. This is why I want my boys to understand compassion and empathy. I know there is a fine line between raising confident boys and raising bullies.

I also know that I have sons who may one day be the target of a bully. My big four and a half year old has a crooked little nose that is pushed in one side, a casualty of his cleft lip and palate. One day it will be repaired. But he has already come home from preschool asking why his nose is different that his friends'. The jump from 4 year old friends innocently asking him why his nose is different to a 5 year old bully mocking him for it is not a huge leap.

I know both my boys might one day face a pint size accuser calling them out on their heritage or on the fact that their mommy isn't "real". There is a real chance that my boys might be bullied. I also am not so unaware as to assume that my boys won't ever be the bully. Which is why now, when I see the chance to teach them about compassion, I seize it.

Last week when I picked up my big four and a half year old from school he and his friends were running races in the gym. My little guy is fast. He might not have noticed how his winning every footrace was making one of his friends sad, but I did. When we got to the car I asked if he had noticed. (He hadn't.) I asked if he could think of something he could do to make his friend feel better. (he couldn't.) We then brainstormed about skills his friend has that he could compliment. We came up with one, and he promised to try to remember to mention it the next day. Who knows if he did or not, but at  least he thought about it. At least, for a few minutes during our car ride home, he thought about how when he wins, which is awesome, someone else loses, which is not so awesome for them. At least, for a minute, he thought about how he could make someone else feel better about themselves.

It's a start. It's a lot of responsibility, this parenting gig. I don't want my boys to be bullied as they navigate the already difficult world of growing up. But I don't want them to be the bully either. I want them to be confident and strong. But not so strong that they are hateful. I want so many things for my boys that it sometimes overwhelms me. The good news is that I am in control of at least a little part of their destiny. I believe the end of bullying starts at home. By teaching, and sharing, and talking, and living my words every day. Even the two year old knows how to say he is sorry. And I know when I first started making him say it when he hit his brother or threw something at my head that he had no clue what it meant. But now he says it while gently rubbing my arm, or while giving his older brother a little hug. Now he knows what it means to be sorry- he knows that he hurt someone and he has to make it right. And that is a good first step.

how steven curtis chapman made me see that our baby is just as lucky as we are

When people find out that our son joined our family through adoption I am often told how "lucky" Matthew is. Now that we are working on our second international adoption the platitudes continue. "What a great thing you are doing for these children. They are so lucky!" And I always respond the same way. "No, we are the lucky ones." And we are. We truly are. Matthew's grandparents, cousins, friends- they are all lucky. I have always held true to my belief that while my son certainly has been afforded opportunities he would never have seen had he stayed in China, including the love of a forever family, we cannot say for sure that ripping him from the country of his birth makes him "lucky". His life in China would have been different, yes. But our American ideals and my son's ability to attain them aren't necessarily better. We, as Americans, think they are- the nice house, the home cooked meals, the toys, video games, educational opportunities - these are hard to say no to. That is how we think, but that is is not how our whole world thinks. Tradition, culture, simple pleasures, honesty, hard work- these ideals, while not tangible- are important to the people of my son's birth country. So I really don't want to say that he is "lucky".

Last night my husband and I attended A Night With The Chapmans. It was a great night of music with Steven Curtis Chapman and his family. His wife, Mary Beth, spoke and read from her new book, Choosing to SEE. The tour is basically a fundraiser for show HOPE, an organization started by the Chapman family to help orphans around the world. As we settled into our seats the big screens began to display a video about this amazing organization. Images of babies and children from all over this world filled the screen. Many of the pictures were of Chinese babies with cleft lips and cleft palates. It was a very emotional moment for both my husband and I.

Later in the show a fellow musician and close friend of the Chapman family took the stage to talk about show HOPE. He talked about Maria's Big House of Hope, an orphanage recently opened by the show HOPE foundation in the Henan province of China. Not too long ago a medical team came to Maria's Big House of Hope to complete cleft lip and palate surgeries on the babies and children living there. The speaker then explained that the Chinese officials were so impressed with this project that they are talking to show HOPE about running a floor of already established orphanages for special needs babies. Special needs babies, like our little guy. We toured the orphanage Matthew lived in when we traveled to China and we saw the special needs "room". Crib after crib of forgotten and discarded children. Our son's crib was in that eerily quiet room.

As I sat there vacillating between hope and tears brought on by the inspirational music and powerful words it suddenly hit me. I can't believe I never figured this out before. I guess I always knew but didn't want to think about it. We are a family first, and a family brought together by international adoption second. The daily ins and outs of being a family always come first- the baths and bedtimes, sippy cups and games of tag- that is what I am all about these days. It may not always seem that way because so much of my writing is about the adoption side of our life, but it's true. So maybe life just got in the way. Or maybe I needed to be a little further removed from the adoption journey to fully understand the positive implications of what we have done by bringing Matthew into his forever family.

Our little man talks from the moment he wakes up until his eyes close at night. He sings and hums to himself constantly. He loves to snack on cheese curls and apples. He would not be able to do any of those things had we not brought him into our family. He wouldn't be able to hear the music as well without the tubes in his ears. he wouldn't be able to eat crunchy food without the repaired palate. He wouldn't be able to form understandable words to talk and sing. He was malnourished when we first met him and the fact is that babies with unrepaired cleft palates grow into children who are sickly and weak, if they grow into children at all. An unrepaired palate means difficulty in school and in forming relationships. And in China, where there are already considerably fewer girls than boys, an unrepaired cleft palate means no bride. No significant other as best friend and confidant. No intimacy.

I sat in my seat while everyone around me was standing up and clapping to the upbeat music, letting the truth just wash over me. We did save him. He would not be the boy he is today. He would not have the potential he has today. He would not light up a room with his smile or be the life of the party. In fact, he might not be.

Next time someone tells me how "lucky" Matthew and his future sibling are that we adopted them, I will still respond by saying "no, we are the lucky ones." And that will be true, we certainly are lucky. But in my heart, I know that my kids, the one here today and any future wilkisons, are lucky also. When you can suddenly see a part of the big plan God has for our lives, it's awesome. Last night, a small part of that plan became a little more clear.