The Thompson's Big News

 We have big, big, big news.

After spending the past 16 months, talking, praying, and signing our name over and over and over again, we can finally announce that WE ARE ADOPTING A GIRL FROM INDIA!!!!

I know.

That's pretty big news.

First, the back story: In 2010, I spent a life-changing 11 days in India. I left there wanting to return to the States, sell all of my things, and spend my life with the beautiful people who captured my heart. Life happened instead, including falling in love with my sweet husband, getting married, buying a house and having a child. But India stayed on my mind and in my heart. Before my husband and I really started even talking about forever, I told him marrying me meant agreeing to live in India for at least a season of our life. (He, surprisingly or not, agreed).

In October of 2012, while sitting in church, I felt this overwhelming, undeniable, irrepressible urge to adopt a girl from India. Just like that. I went to my husband after the service, and said, "I think we have a little girl waiting for us in India."

Let me assure you, if he had said those words to me, I would have said something along the lines of, "Are you crazy?" or "Do you know how much international adoption costs?" But anyone who knows my husband will not be shocked by his response.

"Well then, we need to go get her," he said.

That's it.

"We need to go get her."

I married well.

Recounting those words brings tears to my eyes every time.

I remember driving home from church that Sunday, thinking that our lives were just completely turned upside down in the best way possible.

We began researching agencies that did adoption to India, found American World, and started the process. Unfortunately, 2013 didn't go at all as we had planned. Job loss and unexpected hefty bills made up most of the year. Instead of watching our savings account increase, we watched it decrease every single month -- sometimes by a little, and sometimes by a lot. So, we waited. Every night before dinner, when we said our prayers with Reagan, we prayed for our little girl in India, but we waited.

Until we felt like we just couldn't wait any more.

So at the very beginning of the year, we began the application process, paid our deposit, and waited again. Surprisingly, in only a short amount of time, we got the word that we were accepted into the program.

Wow.

While there are many, many, many hurdles to jump through, getting that phone call felt almost exactly how I felt when my pregnancy test with Reagan came back positive -- minus the weird queasy feeling I had been having for a few days. It was that instant rush of excitement, fear and elation all mixed up in one sudden emotion.

I'll admit - when I look at the lovely fee schedule they sent us, I have to take a few deep breaths. When we wrote our first really big check a couple weeks ago, I thought I might hyperventilate just a bit. I hadn't written a check that big in a long, long time. I even thought about maybe waiting just a few more months. Part of me said we needed to build up our savings account again, before we pursued this any further.

Sometimes I can be so First World.

I was debating whether or not we should take money out of our savings account to bring home a child from India who is living in an orphanage.

There are an estimated 31 million orphans living in India. 31 million. That's 1/10 of the population of the entire United States. That's roughly the number of people living Florida and Pennsylvania combined.

It's a lot of children to live alone.

These are children whose parents can no longer afford to take care of them. Children whose parents died from HIV. Children whose parents died for a thousand other reasons. Children who have been abandoned on the street because they are the wrong gender, or have a disability or are too expensive or are just unwanted.

While there are, without question, many, many wonderful orphanages in India, the glaring fact remains that there are 31 million orphans in India. 31 million children who are right now not getting tucked into bed. 31 million children who wonder if they will get ONE meal today. Forget three. That hasn't happened since ... well, forever. 31 million children who have never had anyone comb their hair, remind them to eat their vegetables, or found a present with a big bow under the Christmas tree with their name on it. 31 million children who are at severe risk of being trafficked for sex -- with India considered by many to have the highest population of children who are sold into slavery.

It's kind of hard to wrap your mind around, isn't it?

Mine too.

So while I was debating whether or not we should decrease our savings account to adopt a child, on the other side of the world a big brother is debating whether to share his one bowl of food with his little sister. An orphanage is trying to decide which child from their long waiting list they should take off the streets. A mother is deciding which child to give up because she certainly can't take care of them all.

Again. Sometimes I can be so First World, it's embarrassing.

So, we are adopting a little girl from India. That means we're selling our house, and buying another one, with a third bedroom (anyone want a two-bedroom, 2 1/2 bath townhome in great condition?) That means we're selling our truck and getting a vehicle we can pay cash for, that's better on gas and will give us a few thousand extra in the bank. That means that those Groupon/Living Social/Buy 1, Get 1 Free restaurant meals we used to enjoy every now and then are a thing of the past, for now. That means more coupons, less spending, more work, less time off. 

But, in the bigger picture, does any of that really matter? I read a great blog about adoption (read it here), and while their story is different than ours, this stood out to me:

"I was further challenged when I was conversing with two other ladies about adoption. One just couldn't fathom bringing a stranger into her home to live with her other children. And the cost? Well, that meant that they would possibly have to go into debt or take away from their other children. Once she was done, all I could say is, 'For the price of your car, a child could be brought out of poverty and given a family forever.'"

We won't go into debt to bring our little girl home, because, well, except for a mortgage, we don't do debt. Period. We will be doing fund-raisers, so stay tuned. The estimated cost will be ... a lot. We are expecting upwards of $25,000.

We could get a girl anywhere between the ages of 6 months to 13 years. We are open to an older adoption, so it's really up in the air. To adopt from India, you have to agree to adopt a child with special needs. That, of course, doesn't mean that's what we will get, but we have said we are open to a child with challenges.

Yes, it's going to disrupt our lives. Yes, it's going to cost a lot. Yes, it's going to insert-word-here. But I can barely talk about it without crying. She -- whoever she is, however old she is, whatever story she brings with her -- already feels like a part of our family.

One more thing. Any time international adoption comes up, it seems the correlating question, at least for some people, is why we would travel halfway around the world when there are so many children who need homes right here in our own country. It's a valid concern.

We think adopting from our own country is an excellent idea. We've talked about it ourselves, especially an older child. There's certainly a big need right in our own backyard, and we applaud anyone who welcomes a child from the United States into their home. For us, it came down to a few things. One, we just felt the pull to India. That's by far the most important factor. But also, while there is an undeniable need in our country, the conditions in orphanages in other parts of the world are far less than what most children in our own country face. But, that door for us is by no means closed.

So.

WE ARE ADOPTING A GIRL FROM INDIA!!!!

P.S. Our apologies to those we wanted to tell in person but didn't get a chance to yet. We would have loved to have had the chance to sit down with every one of our friends and shared this in person, but life happened.

P.P.S. To help us bring her home, click here, and in the bottom right-hand corner, put 'Johnny and Gayle Thompson' in the space for Designated Family. Checks can be made payable to AWAA, and sent to America World Adoption Association, Attn: Accounting Dept., 6723 Whittier Ave., Suite 202, McLean, VA 22101, along with a form that can be found here. Checks must be designated for the Eternal Family Fund. Or, you can donate to our GoFundMe page.

Where Social Media Went Wrong

I admit it. I like Facebook. A lot. I like that friends from high school (and a few teachers), friends through work, relatives who live 800 miles away, and the person who does a fantastic job of cutting my hair are all part of my social circle. I think it's great that they get to 'meet' my husband and my son and be part of my world, and vice versa, even if real life keeps us apart.

But.

I don't necessarily like every part of social media. And by social media, I primarily mean Facebook. Yes, I have Twitter and LinkedIn, because people who know more than me say I need them to stay connected. I'm sure they are right. But for now, other than an occasional glance, Facebook is about all I can handle. I'm working on that.

Anyway. There are a few things that are starting to irk me about the endless stream of social chatter that fills up my news feed. I used to have a lot more free time. I used to have 30 minutes to troll through people's pictures and updates and mundane details of their life. But now, my Facebook time is largely limited to Reagan's post-nap ritual of watching Thomas the Tank Engine or the Wiggles. A few minutes here and there is about all I get.

And because I don't have as much time, I find myself getting increasingly annoyed at some of the downsides of  Facebook friends sharing their life in short updates. More and more, I find myself going to the upper right corner of a profile to uncheck the 'following' button, so I don't see their updates in my news feed anymore.  That little step alone has saved me a ton of sanity.

Here's why: when I only have a few minutes of nothing time (and I can already recite almost verbatim every. single. Wiggles. song), I don't want to hear about the fight you had with your spouse, how disrespectful your kids are, why you hate your job, or what political/social group of people you abhor.

I just don't want to know.

I about hit a tipping point a couple months ago, when the Duck Dynasty drama blew up all over the internet. People on both sides spewed venom. In the span of about three minutes, sitting in a hotel room on the first night of what was supposed to be a relaxing vacation, I read horrendous, almost-unspeakable things some people wanted to do to Phil Robertson, and alternately, proud, vocal support of his beliefs, complete with Old Testament scriptures stating what an 'abomination' (their words, not mine) homosexuals were.

I'm not talking one or two people. I'm talking way too many people taking up way too much space on my newsfeed.

Really? Is this what we've become? People wanting someone dead because of an admittedly really stupid comment he made? People calling someone an abomination who will rot in hell?

Really?

Call me crazy, but I think if it wouldn't be said to someone's face, it shouldn't be said at all.

The great thing about the country we live in is that we're all entitled to our own beliefs. It's a freedom that, sadly, too many people will never experience in their lifetime. But with that freedom comes a responsibility -- a responsibility to be kind to people who disagree with you.

I have a hard time believing someone would go up to somebody else and tell them that they wish they would die, or that they were going to rot in hell. Believe what you want, but that doesn't mean that belief needs to be shared with the world.

I think Facebook is great for what I started off this rambling blog with -- sharing fun stories, family photos, perhaps a cute anecdote. But, I don't think it's the place for hostile speech.

Nor do I think it's the place for airing dirty laundry. I'm sorry your 'stupid husband' came home late again, and I'm sorry that your 'dumb boss' is making you work late and that your 'annoying kid' is driving you insane with their rebellion. I really am sorry. But, in all fairness, unless you and I talk in person on a regular basis, and you consider me a close confidant, that's not really my business.

I assume most people have the same amount of free time I have, which is not very much. So if I'm going to take up a few seconds of your time with a brief update of my life, I hope it leaves you happy. I hope it leaves you inspired. I hope it leaves you with a smile. Maybe a chuckle (my kid can be pretty funny).

I hope it puts you in a better mood, not worse. I hope I have somehow brightened your day. And if I haven't, well then you have my permission to take me out of your news feed. Because, chances are, if you've told me about your abysmal day, or who you hate, or why your life is terrible, I've already taken you out of mine.

An Open Letter to Amy Glass

I read a blog recently that made me mad. And then it made me sad. The writer, Amy Glass, wrote an article titled 'I Look Down On Young Women With Husbands And Kids And I’m Not Sorry.'

The first time I read it, I felt like the breath was being sucked out of me. And I wondered if maybe I reacted so strongly because I was afraid she was right (she isn't, by the way). So I read it again. And then I left it alone for a day or two, and then I read it again.

You can read her blog here, but basically what she says is a stay-at-home Mom isn't worth as much as one who works outside the home. Two statements she makes that stand out to me are:

"You will never have the time, energy, freedom or mobility to be exceptional if you have a husband and kids."

and

"Women will be equal with men when we stop demanding that it be considered equally important to do housework and real work. They are not equal. Doing laundry will never be as important as being a doctor or an engineer or building a business."

In a subsequent blog, after more than 2000 people commented on her words (you think?), she wrote: 

"I can’t help but think of my own life and how easy it would have been to morph into that role and I chose to chase my dreams instead. This is my own experience, so I can’t help but think there are lots of other women who felt compelled to fill that role whether or not that’s what they really wanted. Not questioning their social role feels weak to me, and it’s hard not to look down on someone you think is weak."

Ironically, in yet another blog, written only a few days before the one that was heard around the world, she says:

"This means that as good feminists, we never judge the choices of other women." 

Perhaps, she meant to say "we never judge the choices of other women, as long as we agree with their choices."


But I digress.

I am certain Amy Glass has better things to do than read what a stay-at-home blogging wife and mother has to say, being that she's so busy with her career and all, but if she DID by chance happen to stumble across this blog (which she won't), here's what I would say:

Dear Amy,

I admit I was a bit taken aback by your words about women who choose to stay home. which, I'm gathering, was your intent. I'm not sure why I was so stirred by what you said, because technically you weren't even speaking to me. I mean, I am a mother and I do stay home, but I also make a respectable living while staying home (and I'm not exactly young), so I assume I have earned some measure of approval from you.

Whether or not your comments were addressed to me or not is irrelevant. You were speaking directly to many of my friends, who gave up outstanding careers to wipe noses and fold laundry instead, and we kind of tend to look out for each other. Poke one of us and we'll all respond.

When I first read what you said about women who stay home not being on equal footing with their career-driven counterparts, I was mad. Mad because deep down I was afraid you might be right. But after I mulled it over a bit, I realized, thankfully, you are completely wrong. Whew. That's a relief.

But while I am absolutely certain you are completely off the mark, I don't hold that against you. I actually feel a bit of sympathy for you. Your reaction was so strong, and so harsh, that my guess is there's a void in your life, something missing, that you can't fill, and so you think if you scream loud enough, and convince enough people it isn't there, maybe it will go away.

That's probably not working out too well for you, is it?

Here's the thing, Amy. I have a lot of friends who are mothers. A lot. And some of them happily went back to the work force as soon as their maternity leave was up. Some of them made the gut-wrenching decision to go back to work because their family needed the income, but they hate that they are away from their little munchkins so much. Some of them stay home and get up crazy early in the morning (me) to bring in extra income so they can stay home. And some of them were happy to cash in their paychecks for more play dates.

And you know what? They're all really good parents. Because here's the thing -- what's right for one isn't right for all.

Yes, I could go get a 40 hour a week job (which in most cases would be more like a 50 hour week), and bring in enough money so we could go on real vacations instead of just trips home to see my family, and we could drive something newer than a 2003 Ford pick-up, and I wouldn't drive to Aldi every Wednesday to buy their $1.50 strawberries and $2.00 bag of apples. But that wasn't the right decision for our family. Having two full-time incomes is the right decision for some, but it just wasn't for us.

(And I won't even ask what you think of men who give up their careers to stay home so their wife can go to work, but trust me, it happens -- a lot).

You wrote,  "Women secretly like to talk about how hard managing a household is so they don’t have to explain their lack of real accomplishments."

Oh, Amy.

I've done a lot in my life. I've had plenty of different jobs. I've worked with violent juvenile delinquents. I've done on-call crisis, where I sometimes worked for 24 hours straight. I've spoken at seminars, waitressed, managed an office, started a business, interviewed more than 75 celebrities and written thousands of entertainment news articles online.

This, being a Mommy, really is the hardest job I've ever done. Not hard like, I don't have time to get a manicure. Hard like, this little person wants my attention all. the. time, and I just want to sit for five minutes and not talk about Thomas the Tank Engine or read Corduroy Goes to the Doctor, and maybe go to the bathroom all by myself.

I don't work as much as I used to. Partly by choice, partly not. But, I've had a lot of career accomplishments. I'm blessed, and I don't take that lightly. When a major news outlet picks up one of my stories, I feel happy. When I interview a high-profile artist and it goes well, and I didn't stammer or spill my coffee and they seemed to really enjoy themselves, I get a high. I'm not going to lie. It's awesome.

But you know when I feel the most successful?

When at the end of the day, after my son is in bed, I realize I never once used a tone with him I regret. When he ate three square meals, had healthy snacks,  a variety of activities to fill his day, and I never got impatient with him, when I got on the floor and played with him instead of letting the Wiggles keep him entertained, THAT, my friend, is a successful day. The rest of it -- all of it -- is fluff to me. Like the icing on the cake, when the cake is already really, really good.

I'd give up an interview with Taylor Swift or a fancy schmancy post-awards party to cuddle with my child any day of the week. And not feel one ounce of regret.

I realize you don't know me, so my words mean nothing to you. But I'm sure you've heard of Ivanka Trump, daughter of gazillionaire Donald Trump. She has a lot of fancy titles, including  Executive Vice President of Development and Acquisitions at The Trump Organization, as well as a high-end fashion designer. She has a swanky office on Park Avenue, and probably owns clothing that cost more than my house.

While I'm certain Ivanka and I share very few similarities when it comes to our views on parenting, I do appreciate what she says about taking care of our children.

“I think the expression ‘working’ versus ‘non-working’ implies that a mother who stays home doesn’t work. It’s far more difficult than anything I do in the office.”

If I was to follow your mandate that only women who have real careers have value, then I would assume that would mean that I should go get a real job and put my son in day care. Where someone else, who has a real career, will teach him his manners and his ABCs and read him books and wipe his nose and kiss his boo-boos.

Or, I could just do that myself. Because I get to invest my time and energy into this little person. What I do with him now is affecting the rest of his life. He might be a doctor or a lawyer or a scientist or a teacher or an astronaut or anything he wants to be, but whatever it is, I can say that I had a huge part in that, and that I helped him become who he is, because he was important enough to me. He mattered to me so much, that I willingly and gladly put the rest of my life aside to pour all of my energy into him.

That, Amy, is the best, and most important, and most exhausting job I will ever have.

The Work of Grief

 (freedigitalphotos.net)

In one four-week period, starting the Saturday before Christmas, I attended two funerals. One for a 52-year-old man, and one for a man who was 83. Both men lived life well. Both left loved ones behind, who will forever bear the scars of their absence. Both men of great faith, who faced death without fear.

I know the sting of grief. A bit too well, if you ask me. My sweet mother fought a brave battle with an acoustic neuroma, a brain tumor, before she passed away in May of 2004 at the age of 62. For more than four months, she faced numerous surgeries, hospital stays, and lengthy recuperation times at home, as well as a brief stint in a rehab hospital.

Her death, after so many highs and lows, shook us all, her family and her many, many friends. The grief came, and still comes almost 10 years later, in waves. But while there's not a day -- really, not a minute -- that I don't miss her, and wish to rewrite history, I have emerged  in many ways stronger through that experience.

There are so many things I didn't know or understand until I went on that journey with her. I learned so much about what to do and say, and alternately, what not to do and say.

I read an article by David Brooks called The Art of Presence in the NY Times (read it here), that really impressed me. In his article, and a blog by Catherine Woodiwiss that he references, he talks about what to do, and also what not to do, when someone you love is grieving.

I loved the points that were made. They were good. Indulge me, for a moment, the opportunity to expand on some of them, and add a few of my own.

Show up. Just, be there. I have so many wonderful memories of people who appeared at the moment we needed them. And here's the thing. They literally just showed up. We didn't call them and say, "Oh, by the way, my mom is going to be in surgery for six hours, and we'd like you to hang out with us." But, for each of her three surgeries, we had a waiting room full of people. Some expected, and some not. One of my dad's former employers, whose own son had a brain tumor as a child, appeared in the waiting room. It was Good Friday. He had plenty of other things to do. I hadn't seen him in years. Literally, years. But his presence was so welcome.

I could list so many examples of people who were present when we needed them, and to list all of them would fill up way too many pages. But my heart is warmed when I remember the friends who sat with us, the friends who came to the viewing and/or the funeral, the friends who visited and didn't let us languish in our grief alone. From the friend who flew across the country to be with me, to the childhood friends who I hadn't seen in 20 years who still showed up, their presence mattered to me.

Do something. When a family friend was going through a crisis, I called and asked if there was anything I could do. She said they needed toilet paper. Of course they did. Because while their son was dying, life was still going on for the living. So I went out and bought them a huge package of toilet paper and dropped it off.

I remember friends, after I returned, who didn't know my mother, had in fact never met her, but they brought me a HUGE pile of groceries. I mean, bag after bag after bag, filled with everything from produce to pantry staples to a few gourmet things.

During a family crisis, it feels like life should stop, but it doesn't. There's still laundry that needs to be washed, food that needs to be eaten, plants that need to be watered, bills that need to be paid, animals that need to be taken care of. So do it. Just, do it.

Don't say, 'Call if you need anything.' Until my own experience with my mother, I said this all. the. time. But now that I've walked through the valley of grief, it's my least favorite phrase, even though it is said with the very very best of intentions. It really is. But here's why it rubs me the wrong way: When someone we love is suffering, we want to help, but we don't know how. So we say, 'If you need anything, call,' and then it makes us feel better. We rationalize our lack of action as, 'Well, we said to call if they needed anything, and they didn't call, so they must be ok.'

The truth is, they probably need so much more than they can articulate. And, in my experience, when I needed something -- food, someone to talk to, an errand, whatever -- I was too consumed in my own sadness to even think clearly who to call. It's not like I could think that I didn't have any more clean clothes, and so-and-so offered if I needed anything, so I'm going to call them and ask them to do my laundry. It doesn't work like that.

We say it to make ourselves feel better, but that's all it really does -- make us feel better. So instead of saying it, do it. Gift card, groceries, a dropped off meal, a thoughtful card are all far better options than waiting for the person swallowed by grief to pick up the phone.

Remember, it's not about you. Grief is a common emotion. Most of us have experienced something tragic, or the loss of someone precious to us. But, while we may have walked through that valley, using someone else's grief to unload your own sorrow doesn't really help. In fact, it can make it a lot worse. There may very well come a time when you have the opportunity to share your experience, but that time will be in the distant future.

Let them have their own time to grieve. Last year, a dear friend lost his father, and posted it on Facebook. I was surprised, and saddened, at how many people posted their own stories of loss under his announcement. That's not the time.

Along those lines, be mindful of your words.

I distinctly remember someone saying to me, not long after my mother passed away, "I know exactly how you feel. I haven't spoken to my mother in five years."

Um, yeah. That's the same thing.

There really isn't an appropriate response to such a thoughtless statement. We were, thankfully, interrupted in that moment, so I didn't have to respond. But, those comments happened a lot. I had someone tell me I should be thankful she didn't suffer longer, because her mother suffered for years. I had people tell me it was God's will, for the best, blah blah blah blah blah. I even had someone suggest that my mother had sinned, which is why God didn't heal her (true story).

But here's the thing: people almost always say the wrong thing for the right reason. They don't intend to be hurtful, of course. They intend to offer words of encouragement. So however misguided those words might be, I had to remember that their intention was not to harm.

We say the wrong thing, or don't say anything, because we don't know what to say. But it's really very simple. The only thing that needs to be said is, 'I'm sorry.' That's it. Two words. Three syllables. 'I'm sorry.'

Remember. The pain doesn't end in a few days, or weeks, or even years. In Woodiwiss' blog, she talks about how some people are firefighters and some are builders, and both are needed. Some people will respond to the immediacy of the situation, and some will stay long after the funeral. Both are important.

Grief is a marathon, not a sprint. I shared with someone, about a year after my mother died, that I was really missing her, and she said, "You really should be over that by now."

She hadn't yet lost anyone close to her, so I forgave her completely inaccurate and foolish comment, but the truth is, grief is the gift that keeps on giving. Long after the sympathy cards stop, long after the phone calls cease, long after the funeral flowers have withered and died, there is still an empty space left behind. Help fill that space. Remember. Remember birthdays and anniversaries and moments.

I have a close friend, who never met my mother, but allowed me to talk at length about her several years after she passed away, when the loss of her in my future felt especially poignant. I still treasure that gift he gave me.

Now that I have lost someone close to me, I'm much more aware of the needs of others who are grieving, but it was something I had to learn. I cringe at how careless I might have been to my friends who were grieving, and I was unaware. But if there's a silver lining in all of it, if there's a treasure among the pain, it's that after we experience our own loss, we are better equipped to help others.

"At some of the darkest moments in my life, some people I thought of as friends deserted me - some because they cared about me and it hurt them to see me in pain; others because I reminded them of their own vulnerability, and that was more than they could handle. But real friends overcame their discomfort and came to sit with me. If they had not words to make me feel better, they sat in silence ... and I loved them for it." ~ Harold Kushner, Living a Life that Matters