On Staying Soft

On Saturday night, I got the news that the government would be coming for an inspection of SCH very soon. The requirement that needed to be made for this inspection would be that all of our children with chronic illness need to be grouped together in the same home. What came along with that meant Eloise would need to go back to Ongole where she first was transferred to us and Penny would need to move to another home because they are the only ones in our home without chronic illness. It also meant I would be receiving two new little one year old babies with HIV. In a matter of seconds, I realized that our family and home would abruptly change very quickly. I felt all control slip away from me. I went numb because I knew what this would mean for me and the girls. It would break our hearts to lose two members of our family and replace them with two new ones just like that. I turned my feelings off and I went into business mode, running around trying to prepare our home for the arrival of two new babies. 

The next day, we walked over Eloise and a Penny to rescue home (our main home here at SCH). It took everything in me to look at the whole situation like "what just needed to be done". But I did and every now and then when I felt my feelings creep back in, I pushed them out and turned the light off in my heart. I walked away that evening to the sound of my 4 year old screaming louder than I have ever heard her scream as she watched us walk away from her. I left my baby in the arms of a stranger and chose to accept that they would not even begin to love her the way I do. And I didn't shed a tear. I didn't feel a thing. 

For me, who is naturally a sensitive soul, a deep feeler and a definite cryer, I was surprised (and a little bit disturbed) by the way I became numb so fast. I have seen some real crap here and felt some of the deepest pain I have ever felt by living in this country and being apart of this work. And over time, I have felt myself go into "shutting down" mode more because I'm just tired of seeing it. I'm tired of feeling it. I'm sick of knowing that so much of what happens here is out of my control and I have to just sit back and watch it. I have trained myself to turn my feelings off when I know I just need to be strong and get through it. So often, I have seen my humanity sit across the room and stare at me...reminding me that I can only be so vulnerable until the walls will naturally start to build after I realize how badly I've been hurt. 

Loving these children has been the most heart breaking thing I have ever experienced. Building this home from scratch has been one of the most frustrating things I've ever done. I have seen four children come and go through my house in 8 months. I have watched our family dynamic go from black to white. And just when I think we've settled in and we've truly become a family, the rug gets pulled out from under us and we have to start over. 

I have seen the way this life has attempted to harden me. I have noticed the way it has tried to rob me of the very things that brought me out here in the first place- compassion, sensitivity, empathy. In some of the worst moments, I have feared that the hardening of my heart has actually taken place.

Nothing has scared me more. 

The hardest thing I will ever do is to choose to stay soft. It will not be to have a child ripped away from me- it will be to grieve, weep and mourn over it. The bravest thing I will ever do is fight to keep the door open in my heart, willing to take more punches, even when its already mangled and broken. 

Eventually, I let the tears come. Like a rushing river, I felt my grief bring me back to life. Tear the walls back down. Set me free. 

Courage isn't about being strong. 

On Receiving

This evening. The Indian summer sun setting. My kids, all nine of them, playing. Dancing. Laughing. Fully enveloped in the carefree of childhood. I sit on the sidelines and watch. For a moment, I let myself get caught up with the blissful perfection of the scene in front of me. I take a snapshot and tuck it away into my mental memory box. 

Most moments don't seem as perfect as this one. Most moments I don't feel the way I do like I did tonight. And especially lately, I haven't felt like I've been able to stop and breathe in the simple moments with my children the way I would like to. I have felt burnt out, weak and exhausted in every sense of the word. My honeymoon with India is long over and I have started to notice the way living here has taken its toll. Spiritually and emotionally, I have felt drained beyond my limits. I have struggled to see clearly through what seems like a tornado of dust in my eyes. In summation, it's just been hard. 

This last week, I think my body finally caught up to everything else in me that already felt totally spent and I got really sick. I didn't have much of a fight in me to begin with and after a few days of feeling pretty awful, I was about to check myself into a hospital. Just before I did that though, the group of women who have been volunteering in my home came to pray for me. And you know what? God healed me. He made my physical body well again and He restored my health right then and there. But something more important happened than that. He led me to a place of surrender. He invited me to lay down some things that were never intended for me to carry. He led me beside still waters and He said to me, "I care". And in that, true healing and deliverance was made complete in me. 

I love moments like tonight where I really get to see what God has done. Like an artist displays his proudest piece of artwork so The Lord shows off His greatest, most glorious creation when I get to watch my children happily play in the evening sunlight. All of a sudden, I am overcome with awe as I stand back to look at the picture God is painting in the lives of my girls and I. I can hardly comprehend how far He has taken these kids in such a short amount of time. I sit and remember November 19, 2014 when I took home such fragile, fearful, shattered and broken little girls and then I look at the life and joy that now sparkles out of their eyes. I wonder how my traumatized children possess such pure faith and trust so shortly after the darkest days of their lives. For a second, I find myself trying to take the credit for this. And then I remember how far He has taken me, too, since that day. How much He has changed me, shaped me, stretched me, molded me, broken me and then so gently put me back together through the lives of nine socially outcasted little girls crashing into mine. And I know that what I'm looking at is nothing but a picture, a masterpiece, of His astounding grace.

God knew that I would need them just as much as they need me.

I am learning how to let my children love me with their perfect innocence and deep compassion. I am learning how to lay on the couch with them all afternoon and just enjoy the remarkable little people they are. I am learning how to put the check list away and fully soak in the miraculous relationships that have been birthed between these nine souls and mine. I am learning how to see moments with my girls as if God were letting me peek into a small slice of heaven.

Mostly, I'm learning how to open up a gift that has been sitting there, waiting for me all along. So far, it is well beyond anything I could have ever dreamed up would be inside. 

Dear Penny: A Letter to my Littlest

Dear Penny, 

I remember the very first time I laid eyes on you. October 4, 2014. This was the day I met the nine little girls that I had come to India for. It was an overwhelming day and my heart was full to the brim with joy over meeting the girls I would soon become "natty mummy" to. Right before it came time for me to leave, I popped my head in your room across from theirs. There you were, laying on your side with your hand behind your head like a little model. You had the most perfect grin on your face and were completely content amidst the chaos surrounding you. Right then, I didn't see anyone else in the room but you. You captured me immediately. Little did I know then that I came to India for you too...my surprise baby. 

So often, I will walk into our living room and see you sitting on the couch so content and happy while all your sisters run crazy around you. When I used to come see you at the government orphanage, the moment you could hear my steps approaching you, your whole body would swell with joy and excitement. You were so happy that someone was coming to see you, to make eye contact with you, to touch you. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw the amount of joy you contained amidst such a dull, dark place. Still, I'm amazed when I look over and see you happily sitting alone, smiling and giggling to yourself while you watch your sisters play around you. 

Most two year olds your age are throwing tantrums over not getting the color lollipop they want or having to get in their car seat. The only time you ever cry is because you just really want your dinner. You do your "happy dance" when you see your food or milk coming. You give me the sweetest, most gentle smile and place your small hand over mine when I put you in your crib every night. You snuggle your little head into my shoulder whenever you want to take a rest. You are happy just being held all day and don't hold it against your sisters when they may be just a little too rough with you. I can take you absolutely anywhere because you will be happy and content just to look around while your strapped to me. I describe you as the perfect child, the easiest baby because that's pretty much what you are. At least to me you are. 

But you are not special because you are easy or content with anything. You are special because you possess a joy that is supernatural. The joy you carry is one of the most pure things I've ever witnessed with my own two eyes. Your joy comes from a place of secured peace inside of you, as if you are deeply anchored in the truth that you know to Whom you belong to and to Whom you are unconditionally loved by. So often, you have brought me to tears from simply watching you live with such grace and such unshaken peace. I know that those moments make me cry because you are showing me Jesus, beaming pure and shining bright out of your little spirit.

You have reminded me why I got a degree in special education. I've always said that the people in the world who seem "broken" by society display the character of Christ most beautifully. For me, God has always used people with disabilities to show me who He is, to show me more of His heart and bring me closer to see the radiance in His face. 

When I have felt bullied by darkness, burdened over my head with the messiness of this life and blinded to the good that is still left in this world, you have shown me back to the place where God dwells. You have pulled me closer into His chest so that I can hear his heart beat. You have lifted part of the veil on His face so that I can see the fire in His eyes burning for His people. 

And you have done it all without even realizing it...without knowing what an incredible witness to Jesus you are to every single person you meet. There is no doubt that God takes great delight in your powerful little soul. I can't believe I get to witness it everyday. You are such a gift. 

Thank you for loving me so well. I love you back with all of my heart, baby. 

Love, 

Natty Mummy 

Real Talk

Many of you have inquired what life looks like as a 23 year old, single mother of 9 children in India. Many of you have followed my journey via social media, have read my blogs and kept up with small updates I have posted about the girls and I. And it has been through those things that I have been able to open up a small window to anyone who wishes to get close to it and peer there eyes through. In many ways, it has provided a stable view point into our daily life. But in more ways than most, it has shown off the extravagant joy and deep beauty that we experience as a little family here in India. While none of that is false or staged, I believe it is often taken at face value by initial impression and therefore very often misunderstood. The reality is I am a broken person attempting to lead broken children into a place of healing. I have come to India with baggage and my children have come out of a very dark place and into my home with more baggage I have ever seen a child carry on their own. And together, that makes us one load of baggage that clears all the smarty carties in the airport out.

I say those things not because I want to be a Debbie downer and throw a wet towel on the immensely beautiful thing that our life is, but for the sake of perhaps building our window a little bit bigger for you to see more of our life for what it really is. This is the part where I share the things that aren't as inspiring as the pictures of my children joyfully laughing while we all embrace each other. 

This is the part where I share that sometimes I raise my voice at my kids in utter impatience. Sometimes, I don't enjoy my kids because sometimes all they know how to do is scream and crawl all over me like I am a McDonald's play place. Some days, I don't want to come out of my room and face a house full of Indians who don't speak my language and don't understand where I come from. Sometimes, I am so lonely that I don't know how I will possibly make it another day. Sometimes, I wanna cuss out the millionth auto rickshaw driver who rips me off just because I'm white. Sometimes, India makes me wanna rip my hair out because it's just so different. Sometimes, my kids are straight up brats. Sometimes my kids resort back to manipulation, ungratefulness and victimization because that's the only way they have known how to survive. Sometimes, all my kids do is push me away just so they can see if I will still love them. Sometimes, I see more hurt in their eyes than I do joy. Sometimes, they fall and scrape their knee and cry for hours because they are really crying about something much more painful than a bloody knee. Sometimes, when I really think about what my kids have been through, I just can't cope. Sometimes, I become numb because there is too much brokenness and hurt that surrounds me. Sometimes, I dream of another life that doesn't challenge me so much. Sometimes, I can't imagine any other life than this one. Sometimes, I look at my kids and think about how I'm the luckiest woman in the world to be called their mama for a time. Sometimes, I'm so angry at the reality that I won't get to call them mine forever. Sometimes, I get so upset over the fact that I won't be able to give them everything I want them to have. Sometimes, I am mad that I have to feel so torn between two worlds, and probably always will. Sometimes, I'm so selfish and I throw myself a pity party. Sometimes, I cry and I can't stop. Sometimes, I feel like I have nothing left to give. Sometimes, I have no one and nothing but God himself. Sometimes, I don't feel like I deserve to be these children's advocate, protector and foster mother. Sometimes, I can't see God here. Sometimes, all I can see is God shining through the faces of my children. Sometimes, I feel like God really really really loves me. Sometimes, I'm convinced with everything in my bones that He truly is enough. 

I think there is a lot of freedom in throwing all your cards on the table and just being honest with the way things really are. I also think there's a lot of beauty in seeing something for all that it is- good and bad, beautiful and ugly, put together and broken in pieces. If living in India has taught me anything, it's that the true beauty lies in the rawness and full exposure of something. Our life is truly beautiful because we aren't hiding anything from each other. My relationships with my children are truly life giving because we have already seen each other through so much and walked a very hard, meaningful journey together. God is shaping me into a woman more like himself because he's allowed me to be broken more...but this time, broken for the things that really matter.

For everything that is hard, there is a gift and for anything that is fully seen, there is freedom. 

On Temporary Mothering

This week, I said goodbye to my first foster child as she joined her forever family. It was a first experience for both of us as I prepared her in the days leading up to her parents arrival to India to get her, dressing her all up for her big day, helping her say goodbye to all her sisters, her room and the home she lived in with us. And when it came time for me to say goodbye to her, it was the first time my heart felt something it hasn’t before.  

I knew that Piper was in the final stages of her adoption when she was transferred to us and that she wouldn’t be in my home for long. I think instinctually, my heart told me not to get attached. But I quickly found myself falling in love with her silly, big, animated personality the way I do with all of my other foster children's unique personalities. I didn’t really care how long she would stay…any child that comes into my home becomes a child I love like my own and that’s just the way it is. I’m not sure if I even want to try to convince my heart otherwise.

I didn’t think it would be hard to say goodbye-how could it be when I was walking into one of the most important, life changing days for her? I couldn’t believe this little girl, who has been one of so many orphans in this country was about to become someone’s daughter, sister, and significant member of a family. There is no doubt that adoption is truly one of the most beautiful things in this world. I felt so lucky that I got to witness such a small little part of it from such a unique perspective.  

Our end of the road looked like this-when it came time for me to leave, right before her parents showed up to get her, she looked at me and cried. When I came home and saw her pajamas lying on the floor, I cried too. 

I was surprised, honestly, by my feelings of grief over such a joyous occasion. I felt guilty for feeling sad when I should really be rejoicing for such a miraculous event. But our house just didn’t feel the same anymore and I couldn’t help but think that this is just the beginning of watching my children off to their forever families.

It was kind of a smack in the face, really. Because the reality is that I am not their mother. I am not their biological mother and I am not their adoptive mother. I am their foster mother and that title comes with the word “temporary”. I am the middle woman who picks up the pieces of their biological mothers and helps prepare the way for their adoptive mothers. I stand in the gap. I don’t know how long our time together will be. And while my heart loves, protects and cherishes them like they’re my own, I cannot doubt that it is only for a time.

The mother in me is broken a little bit by that. As much as I feel like a mother to these children, there’s the budging question of “when will it all be over?” that interrupts that feeling often. Sometimes, I don’t want to be the temporary mother because it’s too vulnerable, too complicated and it hurts too much. Sometimes, I question if the risk in loving these children wholeheartedly is worth the pain I know I will feel one day when it’s time to say goodbye. Sometimes, I don't feel like a real mother because when I look at my children the amount of love I have for them frightens me more than it comforts me. Sometimes, I want to turn around on the road I’ve found myself on that often only looks hard, painful and burdensome. The future is so unclear and I cannot even begin to put my hands around it. That alone keeps me awake at night.

Being a foster mother has humbled me in more ways than I can count. It has challenged my theology on what it means to really love someone, has caused me to go back to the ultimate example of love and then strive to practice it in my own life. My relationship with these children is complicated and my gosh, does it feel like it comes with such a high cost at times. But this all apart of the deal. When God put my butt on a plane to India to be a mother to 10 abandoned children, He didn’t ask that I would love them with restrictions and conditions around it so that I wouldn’t get hurt. I’m pretty sure the only way I know I’m doing this loving thing right is if it does hurt. I will never find a reason to regret loving these children with everything on the line and I am convinced the reward will always be greater than the sting of pain.

Whatever He puts in my hand, He asks that I hold it openly, palm facing up. It’s all from His hand first, anyways. 

A Sermon by Nat

Christmas Eve 2014, a fellow SCH foster mom and I decided to take a trip to the government orphanage for a short visit with the children in Room 8- the room containing all of the orphans with disabilities. I walked in that day and she caught my eye immediately. She has caught my eye once before- on the day that I met my girls in the room right across from hers when I went to peek my head in for a quick moment. When I walked into her room this time, I went straight over to her and scooped her up, urine soaked and as skinny as a skeleton. I spent the next hour just holding her and taking her outside to see the sun and feel the fresh air that never falls on her pale face. As I was standing outside with her, feeling my heart fall fast in love, my friend looked at me and said “Yeah...you should just take her home!” As soon as she confirmed what I was already thinking in my head, I knew that it was a done deal. This little girl was going to be one of mine soon.

The government orphanage is a really hard place for me to visit. I never like walking down that hallway and passing by rooms full of children who I know have been put there because they’re parents didn’t want them or couldn’t keep them. I hate knowing that they are all being deprived of one, if not the most important thing to human life- love. They’re alone and as Mother Theresa once said, that is the worst poverty of all .

But there is something really empowering and motivating about stepping into a place like that and seeing a child who is so malnourished and so under cared for and knowing you have something you can do about it. I run a home and mother children who are desperately in need of love, nurture and family. My home and my presence here exists to serve for that sole purpose. The bible says in Proverbs 3:27 to "not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to act". Standing there with her in my arms that day, I knew I wouldn't be able to run from what was in my power to do for her. 

I went home and told my children about this new little girl we would be taking home with us soon and they were all ecstatic to welcome another member to our family. On the day I went to go pick her up and bring her home, I brought my two eldest girls, Gemma and Violet. The three of us walked down that hallway, this time, on a mission. We walked by their old room to see an entire new group of children had occupied it now. And then we walked into Penny’s room, picked her up and I introduced the girls to their new little sister. Violet and Gemma had huge smiles on their faces and immediately, Violet grabbed her out of my arms and began loving on her as big sister. The four of us walked out of there and Violet snuggled her in the car the entire way home. When we got home, she was greeted by 7 very excited girls and was quickly being passed around the room with a surplus of hugs and kisses. We gave her a bath, put her in fresh, clean clothes and I spent the rest of the day watching my girls completely accept and love on this new child with no conditions and at no cost.

That night after putting them all to sleep, I felt like my heart could burst with pride and joy over my children. As I laid there in my bed, remembering all the details of the day I realized how profound my experience with government orphanage and it’s children has been these last few months. You see, my experience in this government orphanage has been God’s way of painting me the story of how He rescues us, how at one time He rescued me the same way.  

Because Jesus sees our condition, He sees us suffering alone in a bad place, with no one to advocate for us and He enters into the dark hallway of our hearts. He walks through and sees the gravity of our pain and suddenly, His heart is flooded with the deepest pain of all. He walks into our room and although we are a face in a sea of faces, He sees us first. With His gaze fixed on us, He walks gently towards us, bends down and swoops us up in His arms. He sees how starving we are, how neglected and deprived we are and He is broken for what he sees. He sits on the dirty floor, surrounded by things that have made us that way and He holds us just as we are. Rocking back and forth with our weak bodies held close to his chest, He soaks in the moments he loves most with his children- being with us. After a few moments, He rises with us in His arms and He carries us out. He walks back down that long, dark hallway except this time, holding His most precious child in His protective arms. He reaches the end of the hallway and steps outside into the daylight where we can feel the warmth of the sun on our faces and the fresh breeze blow through our hair. Then, He takes us home. When we arrive, He shows us off to everyone and His face beams with pride over being our father. He then cleans us up and puts fresh, new clothes on us. He wipes the orphan label off our heads and he replaces it with “daughter” or “son”. We are now His and although we are still very broken, we are safe now. When we are tempted to fear our new surroundings, He gently assures us by whispering in our ear, "The old has passed away; behold, the new has come." (2 Cor. 5:17)

I brought my oldest girls with me to pick up Penny for a reason. It wasn’t very long ago that I was coming to that same orphanage to take them home. I wanted them to have the chance to stand on the other side of that experience now. For once, they were no longer the victim, they were the one rescuing, the one helping. I wanted them to be empowered by that. The way they walked in there, to the place where they existed as one of hundreds of orphans for so many years, and then confidently walked out of there with our new family member showed me another picture of God’s story.

When God saves us from a dark place and brings us into the bright light, when He heals us and makes us whole again, when He rebuilds us and redeems us... He makes us warriors. He leads us back into those dark places, but this time as a fighter with a crown of victory already on our heads. He asks us to help Him bring others out of the same pit we were once in, not because He needs us but because He wants us to share in His glory. He doesn’t choose us because we are the right person for the job or because we have proven ourselves to be capable enough, but because He wants to empower us to do
"even greater works than before" (John 14:12). And through it all, He knows that leading us back in to those dark places will not burn us or shove us back down to the place we once were but only redeem us more, heal us more, refine us more and make us look more like Himself- our Dad. 

That is God’s perfect grace. That is what redemption looks like. That is the gospel.

I can thank my children, this country and it's darkest places for showing me a painting as beautiful as that.

Meet the Kids

It has been almost one month since I became a foster mama and two weeks since I became a foster mama to nine kids. Life has been a whirlwind for sure and it has perhaps been the most challenging months of my life (lots more to say about that, but that is for a different blog). But, this post is solely reserved for officially introducing you all to children I am lucky enough to be a foster parent to. I can’t wait to share them all with you.

I’ll start with my oldest...

Gemma 

I remember the first time I saw Gemma in the orphanage. There was something about her that I immediately felt connected to and something so graceful and beautiful I saw when I just sat and stared at her. She carries this profound strength with her that both amazes me and breaks my heart. She is 10 years old, although she has lived through more life than most people on this earth ever will. I didn’t have to read through her paperwork of how she became an orphan to know that about her. You can see that the world has done a number on her when you really look into her eyes. There is a strength about her that is forced. She’s had to be strong in order to survive. And then there is the other side of her strength that just completely puts me in awe. She possesses true joy and she has this smile that takes over her whole face-the kind where her eyes get really squinty and every muscle in her face is flexed. She is so determined, so brilliant and comes alive by the things in life that really matter. Just writing about her here makes me teary… she is so special. I get really excited thinking about Gemma and her future. The other day, we were looking at the pictures hanging on my wall and she pointed to the picture of me wearing my cap and gown from my college graduation. I told her that I completed college and she gasped out loud saying, “Natty Mummy, college finished!?” I looked at her and said, “Yes, and one day that will be you too. Do you want to go to college, Gemma?” She looked back at me with the surest look on her face and said, “Yes.”

Then you will go to college, sweetheart.

Violet

Violet is my little creative mastermind. One of the first things that impressed me so much about her is the way she experiences the world. I will often find her sketching in her notebooks, coloring elaborate patterns, creating Indian designed murals on the sidewalk with chalk, drumming on the plastic shed on our rooftop, or making anything ordinary into something extraordinary. She is introverted and likes doing things in her own space at her own pace and in her own time. She is the mother to the little ones, as many of them looked to her in the orphanage before coming home with me. One of my favorite things about Violet is her childlike spirit. She is 10 years old and she too, like Gemma, has been exposed to the worst of the world. She may not be innocent, but she still has such a childlike beauty about her. She will snuggle up in my lap like a little baby sometimes and she will still squeal with the most joyful delight when I kiss her every night for bed. I love that about her because it’s a sign of hope- hope that there is still so much childhood she has left and yet to live.

Stella

The first day I met Stella in the orphanage, I knew she was going to add so much to our home and family. I remember looking over at her and seeing her doing a little Indian dance and singing to herself. When she caught me looking at her, she got so embarrassed and put her hands over her mouth in laughter. Stella is my girly girl, my diva and my sassy 8 year old. She loves all things pink and purple and insists on wearing lipstick, eyeliner (its an Indian thing for kids to wear eyeliner here, I know I know I’m a horrible mom for letting my 8 year old wear makeup) clips, necklaces, bracelets and her best outfit to school everyday. Stella is very sensitive and it doesn’t take much for her to be offended or upset or easily hurt. In some ways, I feel like I know her really well and other times, I feel like she is a giant mystery to me. When she gets really upset or is crying because one of her sisters said something mean to her, she shuts down completely. And that is when I know there is so much more behind those tears than a hurtful word her sister said. I sense a lot of lies that have been spoken over her that have really done a damaging thing to her self-esteem. There are a lot of good things in store for this one, I am sure of it. I am excited to get to know those mysterious parts of her, to watch her experience more of the world and to watch the truth spoken over who she really is wash her clean.

Livy 

Oh goodness, do I have something to say about this child. Livy is my goofy, silly, hilarious little comedian. I laugh just thinking about her and all the funny things she does. Part of her hilariousness is that she thinks almost anything and everything is funny in its own way. She is always laughing at something and when you really get her going, she will drop to the floor and roll around in the best belly laugh…she laughs with her whole body which is a sight to see! I love Livy because she brings out the weird, goofy side of me that often doesn’t really come out in India. We recently just made up this game where I’ll look at her wherever she is in the room and say “Hey Livy! Bust a move!” and then she will do a dance move. Then she will say, “Hey Natty Mummy! Bust a move!” and then I will do a dance move. We will go back and forth busting our moves for each other. She thinks its hilarious and I think its hilarious watching her do her funny little dance moves and hear her tell me to bust a move in her broken English, Indian accent. I have a special love for my Livy girl- the way she makes me laugh, the way she will snuggle her head into my shoulder while we sit on the couch, the kisses she smothers me with every night at bedtime…she makes me feel so loved as her mama. In so many ways, I feel like she could very well be my biological child with the way her personality reminds me so much of myself when I was her age. I adore her spunk, her quirkiness and even her mischief that somehow is one of her most endearing qualities.

Jayla

She was another one I just felt a natural connection to the first day I met her in the orphanage. I remember she was all over the place, running in and out of the room all of the time and I could never really get a moment with her. She would come in and tease me with her smile and then run away again. When I went to go pick up the first round of girls, I was told I could take the oldest four. Somehow, I managed to sneak in little Jayla with the group because I wanted her home so badly. For our first week, she was my baby. Jayla is always into something new, always exploring, can’t ever sit still and her curiosity and urgency to run for something new is constant. Snuggle sessions with her usually last a minute but oh my, do they warm this mama’s heart. The other day, my nurse (aka my translator) was talking to her about how she was liking school, as it’s the first time she has ever gone. I loved watching the way her eyes lit up when she talked about it and hearing from my nurse that she is making so many new friends, is loving her teachers and all of the fun activities they do everyday. My other little ones who have never been to school are still warming up to this new daily routine in their lives and they aren’t so sure about it. I love the way Jayla has walked into the newness of this life with such confidence and boldness just because it’s in her nature to be that way. She is fearless and there is such a remarkable strength about her, even as a 4 year old. I love hearing that she is making so many friends at school because I know she is easily making her way into being the girl everyone wants to be friends with. Such a bright future in store for this little one!

Rosie

My shy and quiet little one. There’s a lot going on in that little head of hers and I can tell already that she is an internal processor, taking everything in to herself. She is slow to warm up but I know there is a kid in there I have yet to discover. I love watching her play and rough house with her sisters because she is so comfortable with them and in so many ways, it just gives me a glimpse of more of the fun, playful little girl she is. I can see a lot of fear in Rosie- often times she will just wake up in the middle of the night crying and I will have to put her back to sleep. She is learning how to trust and has a lot of walls built up. But everyday I see a little more of those walls come down. In the hug I receive from her when I walk through the door or the grin on her face when I kiss her goodnight, Rosie is learning how to let love in, slowly but surely in her own time. I’m excited to continue unraveling more and more of the beautifully complex little person she is.

Luz

Luz is our newest addition to the family! I named her online name Luz (pronounced "Luce"), which means light in Spanish because she has brought just that to our clan. She is a peacemaker in our home. Her gentleness and delicate demeanor stop my rowdy girls in their tracks and brings such sweetness out in them. She is our baby, as she is the youngest in age and is cognitively delayed. It’s been really special watching the way my girls have cared for her as big sisters and really taken her under their wing. Luz was relinquished by her mother not even two weeks ago out of a lack of resources to continue caring for her. Although she seems to be doing just fine with us, her emotional outbursts of crying are very telling of the confusing change she is going through. Despite the pain she is enduring, she is an absolute joy to our family. She keeps us all laughing with her funny quirks and silly facial expressions and we are so happy to have her!

A lot of change has happened in our home this past month as we have attempted to settle into a routine and learn the rhythms of our family dynamic. Nothing about this month has been predictable and it definitely has not gone the way I envisioned it would, but we have finally arrived and I am happy to report that this new season of life for all of us is in full swing. I have this feeling that our family will always be changing for the better this year, as we have kids getting ready to go home to their adoptive parents or moving to different SCH foster homes that better fit their needs. I am comforted by the fact that God will continually be surprising me this year and using that to stretch my vision for this home and these kids. Change is good and I’m excited for all that is to come!