One Less Orphan

It's been almost four years since my husband and I had our first real conversation about adoption. Until then, it had been this abstract thing -- this thing that was a noble thing to do, a good thing to do, maybe for us, someday, but probably reserved for other people -- people richer than us, more established than us, more ready than us.

And then suddenly it was us.

We were fairly new parents, with a big stack of bills and an insecure job future. If a list existed of people equipped to adopt a child, especially one from halfway around the world, our names weren't near the top. We maybe weren't even on the list.

But we forged ahead, sometimes not looking at the millions of steps we needed to take, but just looking at the next one. We filled out paperwork, we filled out more paperwork, and we wrote a couple small checks and a couple bigger ones.

We picked a name for a girl who we didn't know hadn't even been born yet. We weighed every penny spent against whether it was more important than giving her a home, and in the process learned how much we can do without.

We prayed. We held fund-raisers. We became humbled by the generosity of our family, our friends, and people we barely know.

And then, after almost two years of paperwork, and thanks to some heroic efforts by our adoption agency, America World, we were matched with a little girl. A little girl, six months old at the time, whose parents could not take care of her. A little girl with the most piercing dark eyes and the bravest little smile, who didn't yet know that she needed someone to take care of her.

We didn't know that we needed her, too.

This little girl, whose picture melted me then and melts me now, ignited in us a fire, a passion, to stand up for her, and the estimated more than 150 million orphans in the world, who have no one to tell them they matter.

Because she matters.

When we filled out the initial application, four years ago, sitting in a condo in Destin, FL, we could barely wrap our minds around the final result -- that we would actually bring a child home. Save a child. Rescue a child. We just did the next thing, and then the next thing, and then the next thing.

And it was hard. Oh my goodness, it was hard. Some days it was really, really, really hard. The paperwork. The endless questions. The paperwork. The sometimes painful checks we wrote. The paperwork.

But then we saw her picture, and the work didn't matter anymore. She didn't have a say in how she was brought into the world, or the circumstances surrounding her situation. She was born innocent, just like my son and every other child, into a world where people make bad choices. She was paying a hefty price for other people's bad decisions.

How could I not do the hard things for her? How could I not?

And now here we are. In a couple days, we will get on a plane, and we will go get her. And we will bring her home and she will be ours. She will be raised by an ever-patient father and a mother who tries really, really, really hard and stumbles a lot along the way. She will know the love of so many people, who have fought for her, advocated for her, prayed for her, and believed in her.

In the last few days, I've been getting caught up in the details. Travel arrangements. So. much. paperwork. Tying up loose ends. Packing. Finishing work so I don't have to work in India. Making sure Reagan gets enough attention.

And then, I remember. I remember that soon there will be one less orphan. One less. We cannot save them all, but we can save one.

One less orphan. Soon. One less.

And maybe the hard work is really just beginning.

I love this post by speaker and author Jen Hatmaker, who adopted two children:

I’ll not win any points here, but I bristle when people say, “Our adopted child was chosen for us by God before the beginning of time.” No he wasn’t. He was destined for his birth family. God did not create these kids to belong to us. He didn’t decide that they should be born into poverty or disease or abandonment or abuse and despair aaaaaaaall so they could finally make it into our homes, where God intended them to be. No. We are a very distant Plan B. Children are meant for their birth families, same as my biological kids were meant for mine. Adoption is one possible answer to a very real tragedy… after it has already happened, not before as the impetus for abandonment. 

We are certainly not going into this with rose-colored glasses, assuming Marella will, at not even two years of age, realize how fortunate she is to be with us, and become the perfect child, overwhelmed by gratitude that we have redeemed her from her circumstances.

She knows the people taking care of her. She has friends. She has known one place to live for almost her entire life. She is about to travel halfway around the world, with a travel day spanning almost two full days (Lord, have mercy), with people she doesn't know, into a place where she knows no one, where we eat different foods and talk different and look different and act different.

It's going to be hard. We get that. I get that. If I'm honest, if I'm really, really honest, I will admit that I have second-guessed our decision at least a thousand times. Maybe more. Probably more. Reagan is at an age where he is becoming easy. He plays by himself, he's in school three days a week, and I don't need a diaper bag, a stroller, or a bunch of extra stuff when we walk out of the house. He has one more year before kindergarten for him, freedom for me. And sometimes, I've thought we might be crazy.

But then I remember her. Sweet Marella with those eyes. That smile. The innocent look on her face, which hides the difficulties she was born into, and has lived with for almost two years. And then, I feel foolish and selfish and embarrassingly entitled that I for one second thought my freedom to have coffee with a friend is more important than her entire existence.

We are choosing to travel to India, this time, but that is not to minimize the plight of orphans who desperately need people to love them all over the globe, including in our hometown. This is not an international problem, reserved for foreigners. It's a problem everywhere.

I had someone tell me once that all my talk about orphans might make people uncomfortable.

Thank God. I hope so.

Consider this: 81.5 million Americans have considered adoption. If just 1 in 500 of these adults adopted, every waiting child [in America] would have a permanent family.

Every child. Every child in America would have a home with parents. Every. One.

Or this:

The births of nearly 230 million children under age 5 worldwide (about one in three) have never been recorded, depriving them of their right to a name and nationality.

I'm always happy to talk to people about our process, and answer as many questions as people have. I'll talk about it all day, every day, if it saves one child. I will, and I won't shut up. But I'm always a bit stuck when people say to me -- which I've heard in almost every conversation I've had about adoption -- "We'd love to adopt, but we just can't afford it."

It's not their fault. I don't blame people who say that, ever. We've been brought up in a culture where our measure of success is weighed by the size of our bank accounts, and the things we can afford to do with the money we earn.

We have all royally screwed it up in the process.

We've been taught to believe that living in a nice house with nice cars and having relaxing vacations and nice clothes are our rights, while giving an orphan a home is a privilege.

Please don't miss that.

We've been taught to believe that living in a nice house with nice cars and having relaxing vacations and nice clothes are our rights, while giving an orphan a home is a privilege.

We enjoy those things, forgetting the millions upon millions upon millions of children who get one meal a day. Or not. But to feed one of them, just one, might mean giving up all the things we've worked hard to accumulate.

 It's hard to even fathom the orphan crisis without seeing it firsthand. It's been hard for me. But, in those hard times, this is what I consider: My husband and I are fortunate enough to have guardians picked out for Reagan and Marella, should something happen to us. They will be so deeply loved and cared for, and I have complete peace about their well-being, should we both pass away.

But what if that wasn't the case? I actually know someone, personally, who was in that exact situation. Her parents were killed in a car accident, and no one stepped up to take her. No one. She was an orphan.

That is my single worst nightmare -- of something happening to us and no one taking care of my children.

Why are we not taking care of God's children? We can't change it, skip it, gloss over it, ignore it.

Ps. 82:3: Defend the weak and the fatherless; uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed.

Isa. 58:6-7 Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—when you see the naked, to clothe them, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

James 1:27: Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.

On Sept. 10, we will return to Nashville as a family of four. I hope some people come out to meet her. Our friends have walked this journey with us since we first started talking about it. It only seems right that they celebrate the milestone of bringing her home.

But after that, after we leave the airport and come home to our house, we're going to hunker down for a bit. My friend, Kristi, who also just adopted, writes it all out beautifully in her blog, Embracing the Journey, which I hope you'll take a minute to read.

Basically, our first priority over the next few weeks and months, is making sure Marella knows we are her people. We are her tribe. We are her safe place. What that means is, for the first few months, we need to be the ones who hold her. The only ones who hold her. She's ridiculously cute, so I understand this will be hard (wait until you see the eyes. I'm not even kidding). She needs to know that her people will always be her people, and that we aren't leaving her. We're stepping away from some of our obligations for a season, and we'll figure a lot out as we go. (But please come visit, because we will be desperate -- DESPERATE -- for adult conversations).

For the people -- so, so, so many people who have asked (which makes me weep all. the. time. at how blessed we are by the friends in our life) what they can do, I have an answer. Love on Reagan. Please love on him. This sweet little boy is going to have his world changed. Love him. Love him through this. If you come to welcome us home at the airport, please welcome him first. If you make a sign, please put his name on it. Our girl won't know her name, and we won't care, but he will know. So please, love him first. Welcome him first. Make him the most important person that day.

This was long. I intended to make this into two separate blogs, and thanks to insomnia and the now empty pot of coffee, it's one long one.

I'll close with this: To everyone who has helped us, believed in us, prayed with us, laughed with us, cried with us, stood by us, thank you. I feel like I will never, ever, ever be able to say that enough. The people who showed up at every fund-raiser, who sent us emails and cards, who listened to us in our frustration, who stood in the gap with us, thank you.

One less orphan.

Marella Hope Grace Thompson, we are coming to get you. We love you. We can't wait to meet you. Your name, the thought of your existence, your picture, has never made me not get tears in my eyes. Our love for you is deep, unconditional and forever.

One less orphan. She has a name. And she is ours.

"I don't want a flame, I want a fire. I wanna be the one who stands up and says, 'I'm gonna do something.'" ~Matthew West, 'Do Something'

Adoption Update -- Getting Closer!

It's been a while since I've posted an update on our adoption, but man -- it's been quite the roller coaster over the past few months. But finally -- FINALLY -- we are getting ready to book our travel to go get our girl!

It's been a season of change for us, in many ways. My husband switched jobs (he is currently driving for Uber while getting ready to take his real estate exam), which was actually a great financial decision for us, plus it gives him more flexibility to be home with Reagan so I can work more.

We thought we were close -- very close -- a few months ago. We hit an unexpected roadblock, the details of which I can't share here, at least not yet (but it will make a really good blog, someday). Suffice it to say we learned how to fight harder than ever for our little girl, and it brought us all closer in the process.

 Gen. 50:20, "You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives."

With all of that firmly behind us now, we are moving full-speed ahead in getting our girl as quickly as possible. We are getting ready to pay the court fee of $1200, which will allow the court in India to release the documents allowing her to officially become ours (as I understand it). That same day we received that bill, we also got an estimated cost for our travel, which is $10,100. We also got another bill for just over $1000, to update our home study.

It seems like a lot. It is a lot. It's a lot when our second car, our back-up car, needs a part replaced, and our good car, the car my husband uses to Uber, also needs work. Our dryer died this weekend. And on and on and on.

But.

When we started this journey, we were completely baffled how we were going to pay $40,000. It might as well have been $4 million at the time. But we've nickel and dimed our way through the first $30,000 -- without going into debt -- and I have no doubt we'll figure the rest of it out. No doubt.

The average monthly wage in India is the equivalent of $295 in American dollars. We have nothing to complain about. 

Here's a funny thing about the way we all live: We invest our money in temporary things, in a temporary world, and then complain we don't have enough money to to the important work. We make payments on a $30,000 car that depreciates every day, we think nothing of throwing down $100 or more for a dinner in a restaurant, which will be finished in 15 minutes, and we spend a few thousand dollars on a fancy vacation, which lasts a few days, maybe a week, and then it's back to life in the real world, anyway.

We spend all our money on the temporary, completely ignoring the eternal. We put our money into things that have no lasting value, turning our eyes away from the things with eternal significance.

Meanwhile, there are more than 153 million children without a home, while we say we wish we could do something, but we just can't afford it.

 I'm including myself in the 'we,' lest anyone think I'm just pointing fingers at others. Our family gives 10% to our church, which I'm happy to do, but ask me to do more than that, and my fingers figuratively curl around my money like it will vanish if I don't hold on tight enough. I'm by nature a saver, and very, very frugal (yes, actually, I do have a three-ring coupon binder). So if I sound like I'm being accusatory, it's mostly to myself.

Also, not everyone can adopt. Not everyone should adopt. But, as I've said so many times, everyone can do something. We can all take a stand for the 153 million children who have no one to take a stand for them.

I wrote a blog on adoption for my friend, Wendy, for her business, Be the Good. You can read the entire blog here, but in it, I recounted a recent encounter I had:

"She sat across from me, with tears filling her eyes. Dressed immaculately in designer clothing, she was a very casual acquaintance I knew through a colleague, who I ran into at a work event. She overheard a conversation I had with someone about my husband and I adopting a little girl from India, and wanted to ask me a few questions.

20 minutes later, we were still talking, tears now ruining her once perfectly-applied make-up. "I want to adopt a child,” she sniffled. "I really do. But we already have three, and I can’t imagine spending the money at this stage in our lives. It’s just so expensive, isn’t it?”

I told her how we raised more than $30,000 of the approximately $40,000 we ultimately need to bring her home – by giving up eating out, focusing on saving, hosting fund-raisers, applying for grants and being mindful of every penny. I gave her my contact information, and told her to reach out to me if she had any more questions.

A little while later, I happened to get into my car – a used 2005 sedan with low miles that we got a great deal on, at the same time that she got into her luxury SUV, with a sticker price that cost way more than our entire adoption, and we waved goodbye and parted ways."

I'm not trying to lay on the guilt. I'm trying to change our focus. I'm trying to make adoption seem doable, so that more children can learn what it's like to not worry about their food, their clothes, their future.

The final bill of more than $12,000 is going to get paid. I know it is. Of all the things we have worried about over this three-and-a-half year ordeal, money was never one of them.

I love this video that has been floating around on Facebook, of parents receiving their two sons from the Democratic Republic of Congo, after a three-year wait. (You can watch it here). I sent it to a few people and told them to watch it only when they could 'ugly cry,' because it captures so many emotions in only a few seconds.

That video completely sums up why we choose to adopt.

I'm not in this life to gather material possessions. We can't take any of it with us anyway. But what we can do is impact future generations, and save children -- like our daughter -- from a world of poverty and neglect. We can't save all of them. But we can save one.

The wait has been long. So long. But we are almost done. Soon, we will be a family of four.

"I don't want a flame, I want a fire. I wanna be the one who stands up and says, 'I'm gonna do something.'" ~Matthew West, 'Do Something'

To help us bring Marella Hope Grace Thompson home, visit our GoFundMe page.

 

Explaining the Orlando Murders to My Son

“Mommy, what are they talking about?” 

“Mommy, why are they sad?”

“Mommy, why is everyone crying?”

These are the questions my four-year-old son, Reagan, peppered me with earlier this week, while watching the news coverage of the devastating shooting in the club in Orlando. 

“Because they’re upset, baby,” I said. “Someone did something bad, and a lot of people got hurt.”

And then I turned the TV off. I’m not ready to explain to my child – the one who, dressed in his Captain America costume, waved and yelled hello to a stranger walking by our house – that 49 people died at the hands of a gunman whose radical religious views made him think he was doing something good.

I’m not ready to explain to him why 137 people died in Paris last November, inside a theater, or why ten people died at the movies in Colorado four years ago.

I rocked Reagan by the lights of our Christmas tree on Dec. 14, 2012, while 20 six-and-seven year olds, and six adults, died at the hands of a mentally ill man. 20 children who believed that being good would bring them presents from Santa Claus, who instead saw the face of hatred right before their murder.

I’m not ready to explain evil to him yet. But apparently it’s time.

To be honest, when I first heard about the Orlando shooting, I barely flinched. Isn’t that sad? 49 innocent victims lost their lives and I barely flinched. Even watching the news coverage, my heart wasn’t breaking as it should have been. It was sad in an abstract way, until my son needed me to explain it to him. And then, my heart exploded – for the mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and sons and daughters and friends who are in unspeakable grief. And also, for all of us, who have to explain to our children that maybe, indeed, the world has gone a little mad.

We need to fix this. We need to fix a world where we barely blink when people senselessly die. We need to stop turning it into a political debate, or a pro-guns and anti-guns debate. We need to stop turning it into a religious debate. We need to stop debating and start fixing.

I shouldn’t have to explain to my four-year-old why 49 people were killed by an assault rifle in a club, making it the largest mass shooting in US history. At four years old, he should be worrying about playing a superhero, not growing up in a world where we desperately need one.

Orlando TV reporter Jaye Watson, after spending her morning talking about the tragedy, shared on her blog, “The problem is that all roads to sanity are blocked by people so busy running their mouths and pointing their fingers that others have plenty of time to pull the trigger and take more innocent lives.”

I don’t know how to fix this. No one does. But unless we all stop being desensitized to the hatred and the anger and the violence – unless we collectively scream, “ENOUGH!” at the top of our lungs, our children will grow up in a world where no one is safe. They will look to us for safety, and we will have to turn and look the other way.

We can do better. We are better. We need to be better.

A Letter To My Favorite Four-Year-Old

Dear Reagan,

Happy 4th birthday!! I am having a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that you are actually four years old. A friend told me once that the days are long and the years are short, and already I'm realizing how true that statement is.

A few things about you: You still love Thomas the Tank Engine, and especially love all the tracks and trains you have accumulated. You also love trucks, stickers, Mickey Mouse, books, and playing outside.

You LOVE to cook and bake! I'm so proud of how well you do. You crack eggs by yourself, are learning to measure ingredients, and follow directions very carefully. I have a feeling you will be a very creative chef someday.

This year you started school two days a week. I'm so proud of how quickly you adapted to your new schedule. Your teachers, Miss Jennifer and Miss Donna, adore you, and you love them as well. The first couple days, I had a harder time with it than you did, but now I appreciate the extra time to get work done, and you love all your new friends (although I'm almost always waiting in the parking lot a few minutes before your school day ends, because I miss you so much).

You still love spending time with Oma, Poppy, Gran Jan, Aunt Tracy and Daniel. We've been to Florida a couple times to see Gran Jan, and you often ask when we're going back to the condo again. You sure do love the water and the sand!

You also LOVE going to church, and have made so many wonderful friends, young and not-so-young, at our church. A few of the grown-ups you love to hang out with are Aunt Amanda, Mr. Steve and Miss Joyce. Mr. Daniel and Miss Denise and Kathryn, Mr. Phil, Mr. Will and Miss Alice, Miss Blythe and Mr. Derek, and Pastor Hunter, and there are many, many more. Your daddy and I often remark at how fortunate you are to have so many people love you, but then again, you're pretty easy to love!

Speaking of Mr. Steve and Miss Joyce, you started having sleepovers at their house a couple times. I really miss you when you're gone, but I know it's good for you to gain some independence, and I'm so grateful you have so many people investing in your life.

You are an AMAZING traveler! Every time we drive to PA to see my family, you sit in the car for all 750+ miles like a champ. We've started making the drive in one day, because you handle it so well, even without a fancy DVD player or anything. You're just content to sit, play with your toys, talk to mommy and daddy, and read your books. Of course, all the snacks we pack probably don't hurt either.

You love your time in PA, especially spending time with Aunt Dawn and Uncle Mike and Hunter. They love you a lot, and I love seeing them love you (even if you do get spoiled a bit). I look forward to the day when we can spend more time with them.

You have an incredibly strong will that often takes me by surprise. I remind myself that it's a good thing, but I've really had to learn how to respond to you, not as a baby or a toddler, but as a little boy who has his own wants and desires, even if you're still learning how to express them. Parenting has kept me on my knees in prayer more than any other season of my life, but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

You also have a very, very tender heart. Even when you've done something wrong, it doesn't take long for your heart to be broken by your actions. Often you'll come to me, looking serious, and say, "Mommy, I am so, so sorry I wasn't a good listener." You love to make us happy, and you hate when we tell you we're disappointed.

I had hoped that your sister would be here by your birthday, but unfortunately, she's still in India. But you talk about her often, and tell friends and strangers alike that you have a sister in India. Hopefully soon we will be able to go get her. You keep telling me that you are going to hold her and take care of her, so I have a feeling you're going to be a great big brother.

I will never be able to tell you how much I love you. I didn't know this kind of love was possible until I had you, and my love keeps growing and growing. Even on our more difficult days, my heart still feels like it's going to burst with love for you.

Be patient with me, little boy. I'm still learning how to be a good mommy, and I imagine I will keep learning for the rest of my days. But I love you fiercely, and feel so incredibly fortunate that God entrusted me to be your mommy.

I love you the mostest, John Reagan Patterson Thompson. Happy birthday, sweet boy.

Love,

Mommy

When I Don't Want to Be a Christian

I'm not gonna lie, this past week was a tough week for me. The Supreme Court ruling legalizing same-sex marriage has shaken me to the core.

But not because of the ruling.

It's because I'm a Christian.

And as a Christian, I've been embarrassed by how some of my fellow Christians have acted, all in the name of God.

Once upon a time, pre-Facebook, my faith was something I spoke about freely. Not in a prideful way, and not in a proselytizing way. Just, a part of me. Like, I'm short. I love coffee and chocolate. I love to travel and to read. I like to cook and entertain and hang out with my sister. And, by the way, I'm also a Christian.

But with the advent of Facebook and other forms of social media, I find myself keeping quiet about it more and more. Not because I'm ashamed of it. But because, truthfully, I'm ashamed of how some people who call themselves Christians, speak. They use the name of God as a vehicle to spew hatred and condemnation.

I have friends who are gay, straight, Christian, atheist, rich, poor, entrepreneurs and stay-at-home moms. And my life is too busy for fake friends these days, so if I have a friend, it's because they add something of value to my life -- and I will fight to keep them in my life. So when I read people on Facebook using words of derision against people in my circle of friends, it makes me sick to my stomach.

I have friends who celebrated the Supreme Court decision, and friends who disagreed with the ruling. Some friends see the decision as an answer to prayer, and some think it is a sign of the Apocalypse.

For those who are happy about the decision, then this doesn't really apply to you. But for those who disagree, those who have called out others for their lifestyles, those who have said awful, hurtful, hateful things -- things that I can't imagine someone ever saying to someone else face to face -- to those people, stop. Please, please, please, stop. I am begging you. Please, just stop.

Judging others is easy, isn't it? It sure feels good in the moment. We condemn the choices of others to feel better about the choices we make.

In the past few days, I've seen people who have led imperfect lives (as we all have, myself most definitely included), boldly and blatantly condemning those who live in, or support, same-sex relationships. Men and women who have had children out of wedlock, who have had multiple marriages, who haven't always been truthful, who are alcoholics, food addicts, and the list goes on and on -- but they easily judge someone by a label, without knowing anything else about their story.

Some people think it's a sin, and some people don't. But, for those who do think it's a sin, for those who are using it as a dividing line, making it an 'us against them' issue, then it's only fair to call out my sins too.

I judge. Boy, do I judge. When I see someone who I know is really struggling financially, post pictures of the expensive meal they treated themselves too at a restaurant, I judge. When I see someone use their EBT (food stamps) card to buy a big soda, or junk food instead of something healthy, I judge. I smile politely on the outside, but inside I wave my finger of accusation in their face.

I'm jealous. When someone has a bigger house in a nicer part of town, I'm jealous. When someone has more career success than I do, jealousy practically seeps out of my pores. Often, too often, I want what other people have, and I forget to be thankful for the many, many, many blessings I already have.

Jealousy is one of the seven deadly sins, actually, so if we're choosing our friends based on if they sin more or less than us, then .... well, you get the point.

 We judge others so we feel better about the choices we make.

We judge others so we feel better about the choices we make.

We judge others so we feel better about the choices we make.

When the whole Bruce/Caitlyn Jenner issue blew up all over the news, my friend Gregg said something that I cannot get out of my mind:

"It's time that my fellow Christians stop holding nonbelievers to a standard to which they have not agreed."

Some say that the new ruling destroys families. Personally, I think families struggled long before this. I know families -- people in my circle -- who have dealt with incest in their home. Whose husband, or wife, has committed adultery. People who struggle with pornography, with attraction to people outside their marriage.

I've seen Scriptures posted on Facebook walls, like Leviticus 20:13, which says, "If a man practices homosexuality, having sex with another man as with a woman, both men have committed a detestable act. They must both be put to death, for they are guilty of a capital offense." But I have yet to see anyone post Leviticus 20:9, which says, "Anyone who dishonors father or mother must be put to death. Such a person is guilty of a capital offense," yet I'm pretty sure we've all dishonored our parents in one way or another, at some point, but we're still alive. 

Or how about Leviticus 19:3, which says, "Each of you must show great respect for your mother and father, and you must always observe my Sabbath days of rest. I am the Lord your God."

Everyone using Sunday just as a day of rest? I usually work on Sunday nights after Reagan goes to bed, so I'm gonna raise my hand as guilty on that one.

Or Leviticus 19:13. "Do not make your hired workers wait until the next day to receive their pay." Everyone who owns a business paying all their employees every day?

You get the point. If we're going to use Scripture to compel others to change, how about this one? John 13:34,35: "A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you are also to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another."

Or what about the verse about not judging in Matthew 7:2? "For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you."

When I read hurtful words about people in same-sex relationships, people are speaking words of hate against the Toms and the Jons and the Lindas and Camilles and the Garys in my life. And that is just not ok. Do it in the name of Christ, and ... well, it's not the same Christ I know.

I fail to understand how this -- homosexuality -- became the topic for Christians to raise the rally cry. Because, frankly, I can think of a lot of issues that are really, really important to take a stand against.

Who is going to take a stand against the thousands upon thousands of Christians who are being persecuted and killed for their faith, all over the world? We have Christians holding church services in dark basements, for fear of DEATH if they are found out. Christians are being killed at an alarming rate, but hardly anyone is talking about it anymore. I started watching a video the other day that showed Christians being drowned by members of ISIS. I stopped before it got too far, because I just can't. I can't fathom, I can't watch ... I just can't.

Or the orphans. My God, the orphans. Millions of children growing up without a parent. Children on the streets -- CHILDREN ON THE STREETS. If one out of every 138 Southern Baptists adopted a child from foster care in the United States, there would be no more orphans in the United States. None. But who of us are going to do something about that? Anyone? 

Or the 21 million victims of human trafficking all over the world. It happens everywhere, including most likely in your hometown. Children, and adults, used for their bodies, without any regard for their rights. It's slavery, and it's the most lucrative business in the world. Anyone want to take a stand against that?

Regardless of our feelings on same-sex relationships, there is so much more to unite us than divide us. So much more. 

One of my friends, who I was neighbors with for a couple of years, and who gave me the bench my husband and I sit on when we watch our son play, and who was one of the very first people to reach out to me after we announced our adoption, she (who is in a same-sex relationship) said this after her Facebook erupted with accusations and hurtful, awful, hate-filled words:

"Those who judge and belittle me, well I am sorry but you cannot have access to my life. Period. Your loss."

Is this what we want? Do we want to make one issue so divisive?

I don't. I'm a Christian, but I don't. I choose love. Every time. 

Love.





 

 

We Accepted a Referral!!

Big, big, BIG news on our adoption -- we have accepted a referral!!!!

Yes, we are very excited. Yes, we think she is beautiful. Yes, we are moving forward as quickly as possible.

That's pretty much all we can say at this point.

We have a picture, which I will be very happy to show you in person (but cannot post here). As I've shared previously, we knew we would be adopting a child with disabilities, and were totally prepared for that. Her disabilities are rather minor, and will not affect her long-term.

She falls in the age range of 0 to 3. It will most likely be a year until we get to bring her home, but of course we are praying to expedite the process.

Her name will be Marella Hope Grace Thompson. Marella in memory of my mother, Mary Ellen. Hope because when we first announced our adoption intentions to our choir family, our friend Jenn prayed that God would fill her room with hope, and that word resonated in our hearts. Grace because I love everything that word represents.

So now we have lots more paperwork to fill out, and a lot more steps to walk and hoops to jump through as we work in tandem with India to make her officially a part of our family.

Meanwhile, we look at her picture all the time. Reagan points to her and proudly says, "That's my sister," and promises to teach her to walk and to share his chocolate with her if she's sad. Meanwhile, I cry a lot. I look at her picture and cry. I talk about her and cry. Someone asks how things are going and my eyes fill with tears.

It's part overwhelming, unrestrained love for a daughter I have never met, part wanting desperately to be the one holding her, caring for her and comforting her, and part just a deep, deep ache for our family to be complete.

We can share more once we get final approval from India. Meanwhile, things could still go wrong. There is a lot hanging in a balance that is out of our hands. I debated sharing this with anyone until we got one more official word. But I firmly believe she is our daughter. From the moment I laid eyes on her I felt like she was mine.

Asia has the largest amount of orphans in the world, with an estimated 60 million orphans. 60 million children without a home. 60 million boys and girls without anyone to call Mom and Dad. Soon, God willing, there will be one less.

Stay tuned.

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.

The Struggle is Real

The other day, I had my worst parenting moment ever. I thought I had a few bad moments before, but they all paled in comparison to what happened last week.

I lost my temper. At my child.

Completely lost it.

It was not my finest parenting moment.

And I'm not even sure what made it the final tipping point. It wasn't during his 45-minute (yes, 45 very long minutes) temper tantrum, after he lost computer time because he hit me. It wasn't when my kid, who normally eats anything, threw his food. It wasn't when he clung to my clothes as I tried to move through the house, literally hanging on to my leg, my arm, anything he could latch on to.

It was the plastic hammer. He threw the plastic hammer, hitting me not very hard on my left arm, and I lost it.

I screamed and yelled and made him cry. And then I cried.

I couldn't believe that I, the grown-up, had lost it on my very own child. And I sat on the kitchen floor and said I was sorry a hundred times, and then said, more to myself than to him, "I can't do this. I can't be a mother. I. cannot. do. this."

And he stood, in front of me, eye to eye, very solemn and serious, and said, "But I want you to be my Mommy."

The gift of grace.

So I put on his pajamas and brushed his teeth and read him a story and tucked him in, snuggling close for an extra minute. And then I called my friend Beth and ugly-cried into the phone at what a failure I was as a parent.

She assured me that I wasn't, and that every single parent has those moments that I had, and that Reagan wasn't, in fact, scarred for life, and he -- and I -- would be fine in the end. By the time my husband got home, I was sniffling on the couch, a mixture of contrition and the humble awareness that this job was really, really bigger than me.

I went back upstairs to check on Reagan, who I assumed was already asleep. But he wasn't, and he sat up when I walked in and said, "What are you doing, Mommy?" I told him I was just checking on him, and he laid back down and scooted over so I could fit beside him. I nestled in, and he put his hand on my face and said, "Is your heart still sad, Mommy?"

I said, "Yes, a little."

"I love you, Mommy."

The gift of grace.

I've said all along that this job is hard. This job is a million times harder than I expected it to be. The struggle is real.

"I’ve been the one who has had hollering mother meltdowns and wept on bathroom floors and I’ve been the one who has come to be held up by the tender grace of it."*

This is not an excuse. At all. But I have been realizing for some time that something in my life has to give. We are beyond fortunate that we both get to work, without having to pay for child care, thanks to a flexible schedule, fantastic in-laws, and an amazing editor. Blessed beyond blessed beyond blessed.

But ... what that has meant for three years is that my life has been a never-ending cycle of Reagan/work/Reagan/work/Reagan/work. I stopped taking care of me. There wasn't time for me.

 And slowly, over the past three years, what started as a low simmer started to turn into a full boil.

No one told me that it would all happen at the same hallowed time: Mothering is at once the hardest and the holiest and the happiest.*
 
But, as I say all of that, I am fully aware of people who have it so much harder than I do. Single moms or dads, without any help or support from the other parent. Families who have one parent deployed. Families who take care of an elderly parent while juggling the demands of a household. I don't know how they do it. I really, really don't.

But, this was my reality, and it began to wear away at me. Maybe the incident with Reagan would have happened anyway. Maybe it wouldn't have. I don't know. But what I do know is that no one -- and I mean no one -- can prepare you for how never-ending and all-consuming this job really is.

So why am I sharing all of this? Certainly not because I enjoy sharing my parenting failures. But because I think it's time we admit that life, and parenting, isn't the perfect picture we like to portray. Social media, like Facebook, allows us to show our lives the way we want to be perceived. Look at my perfect, well-dressed family! Look at my son and I blowing bubbles together outside! Look at this gourmet meal my family is eating! Look at our perfect day at the beach, right before the toddler tantrum!

The struggle is real.

In an unscientific survey I did following my parental meltdown, 100% of those surveyed (Beth, Alice, Joyce, Heather and Denise) all said that they too had had those moments. We aren't proud of them, of course. But they happen because we are imperfect people trying to raise imperfect children in an imperfect world.

I'm not excusing what I did. I never, ever, ever should have yelled at my child the way I did. It was beyond a reprimand, and beyond me raising my voice so he knows I'm serious. It was a true meltdown because I had reached my limit.

Anger is contagious. And so is grace.*

I'm not proud of it. I hope and pray that I never, ever do that again -- although I'm an imperfect parent trying to raise an imperfect child in an imperfect world, so I realize that my expectation might be too high.

But I do hope that we can start having the dialogue that, despite the image we try to portray, this job is hard. Really, really, really, really hard. Whether we work full-time outside the home or spend our days hosting tea parties for stuffed animals and making homemade play-doh and organic gluten-free oatmeal cookies, parents all struggle to do our best each day with the children we're given. And sometimes we do a really, really, really good job. And sometimes we lose it because we are imperfect people trying to raise imperfect children in an imperfect world.

We've started to accept the lie that busy is better. We fill every second of every minute of every day with things to do. We've adopted the rushed rat race as the best way. We work, we go to that meeting, we take our children to a variety of classes, we rush through dinner, brush teeth, go to bed and start all over again.

It's not working.

I'm a better person when I take some time for myself. It's not wrong to read a book, watch a mindless sitcom or spend 30 minutes chatting with a friend. I don't have to multi-task all the time.

Until we (and by we, I mean me) start taking time for ourselves and tell ourselves we matter, the ones we love the most will continue to get the worst of us. We have to put on our own oxygen masks first. We can't care for others until we care for ourselves.

So. I'm going to work on me, and start taking time for me, so I can be a better parent and wife and person. I cannot give what I don't have. If I'm not rested and taken care of, what happened with Reagan will happen again. And again. And again.

And maybe I could spend a week at an all-inclusive resort in the Caribbean, where I do nothing but eat, sleep and read books, and still snap at my child, because I'm still an imperfect person trying to raise an imperfect child in an imperfect world. I don't know. But I know I owe it to my family to take care of me so I can take care of them.

I never expected that a mother’s labor and delivery never ends — and you never stop having to remember to breathe.*

The struggle is real.

*from A Holy Experience