Visual Reminders of Hope - Psalm 147:3

Visual Reminders of Hope - Isaiah 40:31

Visual Reminders of Hope - iPhone Background Ezekiel 36:36

The Hole of Trauma - and How the Intensive Counseling Went

Our intensive counseling has been over for 2 months now.  Oh, it feels like so long ago.  We've had several people ask us how it went and up until now, my very intelligent, articulate response has been, "Uhhhh....  It was intense."  Nice.

The holidays are often rough for kiddos and families with RAD.  The change in routine, increase in company, foods, noise, gifts, etc. all leave our adoptive kiddos with a sense of feeling out of control, powerless and scared of what is changing.  And if they are older, the gathering of family reminds them of their loss, the family they aren't with.

The holidays were challenging for us.  As I took Little Guy to school the other morning, I was praying and asking God how to keep processing this, how to simply deal.  I share with you the picture he gave me.

*And just as a disclaimer, this picture is of the effect of trauma in our lives, not life in general.  Life is full and beautiful in many ways including health, safety, some of the most amazing and faithful friends and a GREAT GOD who is with us, both in and out of the hole.

Trauma is a hole.  A hole dug and furnished by significant hurt.  Long ago, the bottom of the hole was dark, lined with loose dirt and gravel.

With each hurt, each piece of trauma, the hole was dug deeper.  In separate corners the hurters dug and the hole grew deeper still.

At times, I tried to climb out, but I could not resist the weight of the pull of the hurt or the gravity of the situation.  

I wanted to fight my way out of that place.

At the top of the hole there was a light.  And, the hole was lined with one singular rope.  It reached the whole way to the top of the hole and went down further than the hole had even been dug - the dirt falling off it, yet still having an effect of being colored by the dirt.  It was dirty, as was I.

As time went on, the time came where I finally grew strong enough to start climbing out of that hole.  How liberating it felt to even start to climb!!  It felt like I was climbing so quickly.

Yet, at times, I was pulled back.  At times, I would climb and the dirt would be so loose and my footing so insecure that I would fall almost the entire way back to the bottom. 

As I climbed, I found notches, left along the way by helpers and blessings from my past and present that would help me climb my way out when it was time.

And the rope stayed.  Constant.  I didn’t know when I started out that it was Jesus.  That the consistent, constant thing that was dirty alongside me, was with me, with my hurts all the way down to the bottom was Him.  Sometimes the rope was hard to see.  Sometimes it seemed to disappear into the wall.  Sometimes I pushed it out of the way, either on purpose or accidentally and when I fell back again it was harder for me to find.

And sometimes, the fall back revealed the rope even clearer.

There were places in the hole that were easy to climb, but not very many.  There were places where the light at the top seemed to shine brighter and it seemed even reachable and sometimes when I could barely see it and wondered if it was still there at all.

There were places in the wall that seemed like they were packed so tightly that they’d be impossible to scale, but those were the places where the notches, left by others, became so clear.  And then there were places where I didn’t realize the dirt was so loose and didn’t see the fall of regression coming.

I don’t think I’m anywhere near the top of the hole.  For me, I think that place, the place of total healing, will be heaven.

Today I am struggling with the fact that I’m so deep in the hole.  That I’ve put on self protection that sometimes defeats the purpose of even climbing out.  That is where I am with Little Guy and relationships right now.  My self protection is keeping me from doing what I should be doing with him and I feel like he and my loneliness are pushing me down the hole, even making me look down to the bottom, all over again, so that the hurt is all I can see.  I’m struggling that these things - life, my own sin - make me fall further into the hole.

But, I’m trying to find compassion for myself and NOT LET GO.  To tell myself it is good to admit there is a hole, that the hole is messy and unpredictable and sometimes I will fall further back.  The important thing is to keep looking for the rope and to know that it is always there and that there will be notches ahead that I can’t see and one day I will get to the top, no matter what.

As I have thought on this more, through the week, I have realized that this past year, the intensive and a few other times, were times God was asking me to sit it out.  To stop climbing for a bit and just rest.  Just cry.  As I look down at the tears falling from my face, falling on to my dirty hands, I realize there are tears beyond my own.  Tears that are cleansing me.  His tears.  Times when God has been powerfully with me, crying alongside me and washing the dirt away.  The intensive was one of those times, both for me and for Little Guy.

The intensive counseling shined the light into Little Guy's hole, my hole and the hole of our family, in greater ways than we had yet seen.  Oh, there were places that were so dark!  And yet, the rope became clearer still, as did the notches, our loved ones and supporters.  It was a tremendous time of growth and gaining of wisdom and even hope.

We will keep sharing as God reveals.  We are grateful for each and every notch and I doubt many of you even know you're leaving them.

Much love to you.
Karyn

Making His Works Known - Triggers, RAD and Hope

"Give thanks to the Lord, call on his name; make known among the nations what he has done." 

 1 Chronicles 16:8

Things have been so hard with Little Guy.  After an explosion, by me, 2 weeks ago, I had decided that I was finished.  I wanted to disrupt our adoption.  I needed it to end, for both of our sakes. 

Little Guy had been trampling on every trigger he could find in me all week.  Whether or not it was purposeful didn't matter.  It was happening.  Simultaneously, I realized, through an unrelated event, how past abuse truly was stored in my body.  And powerfully so.

They say that trauma is stored cellularly in the body.  At first I thought that was a whole bunch of "weird".  But after living this for the last year, I believe it.  Case in point.  I tell my children of the time I left water in the sink overnight and the next day, when I emptied the water, I pulled something out of the water.  Wait.  I pulled a MOUSE out of the water.  UGH!!  Look at me, right now, rubbing my hand on my jeans trying to get the mouse off.  Right there --> stored cellularly.  Now, that's not exactly trauma, but if you can relate to that, then you'll understand why maybe it isn't so weird. 

The realization of the stored abuse, so easily triggered, provided a realization and feeling of hopelessness.  It was no wonder I was struggling so much with his behaviors.  The feeling and sting of rejection from Little Guy, his "parent shopping" and disconnect further sunk the boat I was on.  The "one more" act of defiance made it flip.  I needed out.

The next week got harder in different ways.  Husband seemed to agree and then started disagreeing with the disruption course.  I completely disconnected from Little Guy.  I bitterly and angrily told God and others that I did not want to do this. 

Things, however, kept pointing toward him staying.  My feelings did not.  I kept saying to God and Husband that I could not do that life again.  I didn't want to do the life of abuse and entrapment again.  I started being really honest with people around me about how things were going and how I was dealing with it - because hiding it was getting me no where. 

During that time, and many times before, I asked God, "How are You strength in my weakness?  Why don't I feel that?  I know that isn't happening here!  I have never felt that, despite all my prayers and my hopes that I am Your child and your promises apply to me, too.  How could You want me to live defenseless again?  To feel so weak again?"

Another week came and left.  The disconnect and defensiveness I was feeling toward Husband grew, simply because he was letting Little Guy stay.  I was longing for a protector and defender and he was defending and wanting Little Guy.  I started deciding how to give up.  How does someone leave half their family?

While browsing through a bookstore over the weekend, I found 2 books that discussed the repercussions of abuse.  I've read and known some of the things they relayed, but these books were worded differently.  Or perhaps this time, my heart was open to hearing the particular words I did - the words of how abuse makes a survivor crave a defender, protector, someone to be affirming of what she is admitting and believe her.  How her voice and means to protect herself with it were gone long before the abuse started and how she needs her voice to be heard and believed now as a result.  How touch could feel so assaulting.  And how triggers could occur and bring up those same feelings as the abuse did, even if the abuse happened long ago.

And how the only way out was to speak truth.  But, if the truth was not believed or validated upon sharing, how much more it would hurt.

So much of that translated over to what was happening with Little Guy.  I needed Husband to understand why I was afraid of exploding.  I needed him to believe what Little Guy was doing when Husband wasn't looking.  Why it was now impossible to keep bringing him in when so much of me works so hard to defend myself. 

As a side note, God has done much healing in my life since the time of the hurt.  Just a month or so ago, I was thinking of the phrase I have often wondered to myself - "Why didn't anyone see?  I wanted someone to see me."  I was just thinking of it - not in desperation.  And, the voice of truth was heard in my head, "I saw you."  And I knew it was true.  That, alone, has created healing I have not expected.  And that has happened many times over the years.  

On the way home from the bookstore, I started talking to Husband about what I had read and of the feelings that were going on inside me.  What happened to me so many years ago could have been so much worse!  I felt/feel ashamed of having this hard of a time over it - that it is showing up so powerfully right now.  I feel selfish and like a wuss who needs all kinds of attention. 

Instead of his defensiveness growing, Husband reached over and held my hand and listened.  I told him I realized a lot of my feelings and desires sounded contradictory.  I wanted to have Little Guy stay for their sakes and encourage their connection, while also wanting Husband to hate him for hurting me and protect me from that.  I wanted to grow and muscle through, while knowing that the strength to do so was really all gone.  I felt crazy ashamed to not be able to do this anyore, but I knew I couldn't.

Through the course of the evening Husband was more open about his frustrations with Little Guy's behavior, his feelings about me, the other kids and life in general.  There was more gentleness in his communication and every time there was an interaction with Little Guy that was negative, he was alongside watching and sharing his thoughts, doubts and questions with me.  What a huge difference that made!  I felt safe to admit my weaknesses and try and even fail in front of him.  It felt like we were running the race together.

That night, as it was nearing bedtime, I started to forewarn Little Guy that he was going to need to start getting ready for bed soon.  It didn't take long for the rage to start.  I followed our counselor's advice, remained calm, held him at bay so he couldn't hurt me, etc., but he continued to escalate.  I finally had put him in his room because he wouldn't calm down and I couldn't block his hits enough.  When I left his room to take my deep breaths, he started throwing something heavy at the door.  I went back in, you know, because that's not okay.  He ran at me and again I held him by the shoulders and tried to calm him down.  At one point, something changed in his cry that sounded like fear and something happened in me in that instant.  I held him by the shoulders and yelled, so he could hear me above his screams, "Mommy loves you and I am not going to let you act this way because you are only going to push people away."  And I meant it.  I actually felt love for him!  When he heard those words, it looked like relief in his eyes.  I continued to look at him and said, "I will stay if you will take a deep breath."  Twice.  And he did.  Then he took another one - and stopped raging.  I told him to fix my sweater (during his rage he had pulled on it and stretched it completely out of shape) and he "fixed it" by rearranging it.  And I pulled him in to hug him, putting his arms behind my back.  He responded and put his head on my shoulder and relaxed.  Relaxed!  I sat on the floor, pulled him on to my lap and held him for several minutes until he sat up.  I looked at him and said, "It is time to get ready for bed.  Are you going to stay here while I get your pajamas?"  He nodded and laid down on the floor and waited - waited - calmly while I went to get them.

I was shaking on the inside.  What had happened in those moments had never happened before.

I characteristically wrestle with a lot of self defeat.  I sat in the counselor's office the day before and told her how I could not do this.  I had way too many issues.  But, as I sat against the wall in his room that night, a voice of truth, light and hope spoke to me.

I am not cut out to deal with rage and anger.  But I AM cut out to hear and respond to fear in desperation.  My past hurts had allowed for that fire to be lit in me and it brought a determination and courage I had never felt before.  It was strength in my weakness.  His beauty in the ashes of sin. 

I don't know if that will ever happen again, but I have drawn so much strength from that experience.  For the moment, Little Guy continues to be calm, heeding my voice and receiving affection.  I will take it, give thanks and hopefully make Him known.

I'm at the end of my rope with Little Guy.  The triggers he experiences are daily.  Being told no, being hungry, being tired, having people come and go from the house (because we do things outside our home), are all natural things that happen on a daily basis.  And, in response to his triggers, he gets aggressive.  He yells, hits, scratches, throws things, etc.  All of those things are triggers from my past and I respond with defensiveness and pushing away and the cycle continues.

There are times I am able to therapeutically parent him, which means pulling him in no matter what.  But, those times are becoming fewer and further between.  The hurt is just becoming too great.  The reminders of the past too much, too often.  And I can't keep walking into it anymore.

I am not parenting this child well.  I am not able to rise above his personal assaults anymore.  I can't not take them personally.

I am beyond discouraged and truly don't know what to do anymore. I feel like the strength is all gone.

One Year Home

the time since we arrived to the airport on July 11, 2014 until now has not been at all what i expected.
i did not expect Little Guy to not talk to us for the first three weeks. i didn’t expect the joy in his eyes at being told no, the lack of empathy when he hurt someone, the raw and primitive desire he had to be in control of EVERYTHING in his environment. i didn’t expect the hyper vigilance, the panic, the fear. i didn’t expect him to reject us and try to hurt us and push us away. i didn't expect RAD. i didn’t expect my own history of pain to be brought up and relived through his pain. i didn’t expect to see my own hyper vigilance.

i didn’t expect to lose 4 of the dearest friendships i thought i’d ever have.

i didn’t expect to be diagnosed with cancer 3 weeks after we got home.

i didn’t expect to leave our church home, that we have been a part of and figured we’d stay forever at, since moving here.

and i didn’t expect the anger toward all the factors that caused all those things. my sin. other’s sin. stupid choices. the fact that we are just fallen.

i didn’t expect these things either:

our marriage to grow.

friends, one a continent away, another 15 minutes away, who would drop everything when I was truly at the end of my rope. the one who was able to sit with me until it was safe not to.

new friends that can deal with and hear all the “hard” i can spew out. and who spew it back. people who would reach out in ways we didn’t expect - dinners out, taking the kids out, phone calls, texts, messages, meals, countless prayers.

to be welcomed into a group of adoptive mommas who would know in advance how stinking hard this would be and be there for every comment, every fear, if only virtually.

friends, who i have either never met in person or have spent very little time with, to be able to be there, truly, when life was falling apart. and somehow, love well, even from afar.

to grow more in love and appreciation of the children we had before Little Guy was here.

 to need to walk in humility to our children’s teachers to ask them to keep an eye out to make sure our kiddos were okay, along with us, because we were so overwhelmed. and to be understood and treated with grace and compassion in return.

very little, if anything, is the same as it was a year ago at this time. it brings an unsettling realization that life goes on no matter what is happening in my life, but it also brings peace that life does indeed keep going, even when you’re sure it can’t.

what i’ve learned....

that relationships are often cyclical. i hate that, but it is good to know that things can cycle back. just because they get off track doesn’t mean they’ll stay that way.

that it is okay to admit your own weaknesses. to be vulnerable. i have never cried like i did that one weekend in february when i was ready to end it all. and i will never again judge the emotions of anyone who considers suicide. because when you’re at the point of ending it all, there is no more judgement, there is no selfishness. it only makes sense. it actually feels like the right thing to do. and you truly can’t think of anyone to call. i was able to reach out to 2 women and they treated me with love and acceptance, despite all the things i was thinking, all the things i believed, all of my questions.

i have never been as vulnerable with people as i have in the past 8 months. admitting how terrible life felt, sobbing on the phone, even. you know what their response has been, in almost every circumstance? acceptance. and vulnerability back. when life feels like it is ending you just can’t put up a front anymore and it really seems to lower everyone else’s. i mean, no one, not a single person, could come to our house or look at me, and think everything was all together. so, they didn’t act like they had it all together, either. it was, shockingly, the most freeing thing. and i expected the exact opposite.

what i need to learn....

compassion. hurts die hard in my heart. i need to find a softened heart.

self worth. this is a blazing sign in front of me almost all the time. i am so insecure. and it isn’t doing me any favors.

who God really is. i’ve created this entity in my mind that God can not be if the Bible is true at all. i need to learn who He is and worship that instead of what I have made Him out to be.

this isn’t about to be wrapped up with a pretty little bow. it is a “to be continued” story. i don’t know what is next, how long it will be until our next rut (no, i wouldn’t say we are out of the one we found ourselves in in july), or what i’m going to face that is, again, unexpected. i am working on not being afraid of what is next. but, somehow i’m grateful for all this and i didn’t expect that, either.

It has been a long time since I have posted about how we are and I just wanted to follow up because I exploded my Facebook news feed for cries of help a couple of months ago.

We reached about our 4th breaking point in February. I have never felt that low in my life. The hopelessness of the thoughts of dealing with a violent child for the rest of our lives in addition to the loneliness we were experiencing was overwhelming. But, soon after, new help and hope started appearing. And it has made a huge difference.

Little Guy has good days. He is not nearly as aggressive as he was. This past week he spit and hit and kicked, but it had been weeks since he had done that last. He is starting to learn English and speak more, which is so helpful. Last night he went off the deep end and I was feeling helpless to know what to do. In times like that I pray for wisdom (if I remember to.) I prayed and asked for help to know what to do and hes said, "hungry!" That was his "trigger". He was hungry and was flipping out because of that.

 His insecurities are becoming easier to pick up on. We are noticing more when they are happening, how they are happening. Having that education helps. We had no clue about any of that before he came home. He can read people like you wouldn't believe. He wants to be the center of attention. He gets really hyperactive. But, we understand now a bit more about what is behind those things. They are not normal 3 year old things. I don't know how to explain it, except to say, there is a feeling where we know it is different - that it is stemming from some insecurity or fear he is experiencing. If we can figure it out and address that fear - and he can bring his brain to a point where he can listen - he calms down. He changes somehow. It gets exhausting thinking through it all sometimes. He has now been with us for 9 months and he still doesn't trust that he's not going to be neglected or abandoned or hungry without resolution. And that gets tough for all of us because of the way those fears manifest themselves.

I am finding myself at a place where I am starting to feel more normal again. Starting to think about reaching out again. Sometimes that lasts for a bit and then has to stop, for whatever reason. I was telling Justin the other night that there just hasn't been room for superficial or light or casual relationships so much in the past 9 months. There has simply been no "give" for relationships that couldn't be "muddy", so to speak and that is okay, I hope. I think life/God gives us those seasons for a purpose.

 So, we are in a much better place than we were a couple of months ago. Thank you all, so much, for standing with us in this. We are so grateful for each and every one of you.

Reactive Attachment Disorder Diagnosis

Yesterday, Little Guy was diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD). This is a diagnosis in which the child will seem fine, charming even, to outsiders, but in the home, it is very different. There is a lack of conscience, an inability to attach to the family who is trying to attach to him because of the MANY times he has been abandoned in life in his 3 short years. So, he basically has learned that he needs to be protective of himself, times a million, to survive. And who he needs to protect himself from is us. Instead of attaching, he pushes and resists. To do that, he spits, yells, hits, kicks and tries to hurt us.

When we met with the counselor yesterday, I told her this was my fault. I was having a hard time attaching to him. I was resisting him. She looked at me, in grace, and told me that it wasn't my fault. Hiss diagnosis was the fault of all of those who had abandoned him before us. That we had made progress with him. That we were doing a good job. She also told me that he is triggering my own trauma and abuse from my past and causing additional trauma to me at this point, with his actions.
With all of that, she encouraged me to go to a counselor to learn how to address how he is triggering me, that Little Guy and I should continue to go to counseling together on an outpatient basis and that Little Guy, Husband and I should do 2 weeks of intensive family therapy - 3 hour days, for 2 straight weeks (with a 2 day break in between the 12 days).

When we heard all of that, when it began to sink in just how long this road might be - she said he may need help his whole life - and we were already feeling so alone (me, in particular), I felt so desperate. I don't think I can do this without support. I know I have Christ. But, I need people, too. And, it just keeps reminding me of how disconnected we all are, despite all of this "connection media". I just don't think we are alone in how we feel.

I have forgotten when I shouldn't have. I have not paid much attention to things that were crazy hard because I had no clue how crazy hard it was.  This information is a cry out to you, our supporters and friends, and a cry for those who are in all of our lives who feel alone in their waters, too.

Please know that sharing all of this with you is very difficult and vulnerable for me.

Thank you for loving us, relating to us. I'm so grateful.

2 Months Home

I write this post after taking a long deep breath.  Little Guy is finally asleep.

We have been in the fray this week, for sure.  I don't know what is going on in the mind of Little Guy, but it has been rough.  Biting, spitting, scratching, pulling hair, kicking, hitting.....  the whole gammit.  And if one attack doesn't effect whoever he is angry with, he looks for another one.  I can't possibly fathom the pain or fear he is experiencing.  It is scary just to watch.

I was not expecting this.

A friend of mine read about a million books before her children came home from Haiti.  I think I read 2, one of which was a book on Haiti's history.  I'm the kind of person that worries about things needlessly, so I didn't read much because I didn't want to invite troubles to worry about.  I thought it would be better to wait and see how things went and then do research specific to the problems we were facing.

And I'm at the point where I need to be doing that research, but now, when Little Guy goes to bed, my heart and mind are so worn that I don't want to touch another adoption related topic.  I want to sleep, instead.

I am doing very poorly at juggling life.  I miss our biological kids dearly.  Because of an hour long temper today, my littlest ones had to get their own lunch, which isn't a really big deal.  Independence is a good thing.  But, I knew what I was missing with them.  When Husband isn't home at night, they turn their own lights off and I check on them after Little Guy is finally asleep.  DFC (work) is suffering greatly.  I miss "normal".

I thought that once we started going places with Little Guy, after cocooning, I wouldn't feel so lonely.  How is it possible that I feel lonelier, still?  Somehow, even though I didn't imagine it would, it is getting tougher.

People see how cute he is.  (He is cute!)  And they know we waited forever.  And they ask us how happy we are.  I wonder if the zombie like expression I send back makes them wonder.

Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking almost 3 years ago when we decided to embark upon the process of adoption.  Life is so very different than it was then.  And I wonder if life would be that much worse for him if he was still at the orphanage, where he was with what was familiar, at least, without us.

And I think of those who say that we wanted this and he needs this.  Well, we wanted to obey God and we felt like adoption is where God was calling us.  We worked so hard to obey Him, through the unknown, waiting and corruption.  And we were referred to our Little Guy, so we kept taking one step at a time.  And now we are working hard to obey again, through the unknown, waiting and effects of corruption and institutionalized care.

I don't think it is possible for me to be more full of fear than he may be.  More out of my comfort zone.  More stretched.  Trying to put myself in his shoes feels overwhelming to me, to try to meet his needs, when I haven't the faintest idea how it would be to experience the kind of pain and suffering he has seen the first 3 years of his life, the last 2 months of his life.  He has to feel like he is in some kind of twilight zone.  I'd fight that, too.

I really hope that this gets better for him, for us.  If it wasn't for this blog post, (we're stage 2, if you couldn't guess) that explains where we are, almost to a T, I think I would feel hopeless all together.  And if it wasn't for concrete proof, like this....

Last picture we received from the orphanage

Little Guy on Friday - 2 months home

I'd feel very hopeless that this was good for any of us.  It gives me some hope.

Why am I writing this and bumming you all out?  :)

For the same reason I wrote the last post.  I know I am not alone in these feelings.  I know there are other adoptive or foster parents out there who are weary from the toll the daily rollercoaster of this process takes.  It is so frightening to tell people, in real life, what things are really like.  It feels impossible to explain.  And none of the people I interact with in our small part of the world have adopted, which means it is crazy hard to explain.  And it is scary to even try because you wonder what they are thinking about your commitment level or the kind of person you are, or worse, wonder about Little Guy.

But, out there somewhere, I think there are others who feel this way, who long for hope and to know they aren't alone.

Please keep praying for all of us - or other adoptive/foster families.  We need them.

Melanoma Is Not Just Skin Cancer

I'm writing this just so you know.  For the next person you come across with melanoma.

I used to be you.  When I heard that someone had skin cancer, my first and only thought was, "Psh.  No big deal.  Cut it off.  It's gone.  You're done."

About 95% of the people who find out I have now had melanoma and who know that I had a procedure to remove it,  have said to me, "Well, I'm glad that's over."

What they don't realize is that it is not over.  At all.

It happens so quickly.  You see something that strikes you as odd.  That's it, maybe.  (I actually thought mine was the beginning of a pimple.  It did NOT look like the normal melanoma pictures you see.)  You wait.  You finally go get it checked.  The spot is biopsied.

But then, a week later you learn it is malignant melanoma and you start to talk about it and people say, "Oh, it's skin cancer.  My ..... had skin cancer, but now they're fine."

But did they have melanoma?  The kind of cancer that grows and spreads through your body like wildfire if given the chance and is fatal when not caught in time?  Not basal cell, not squamous cell.  Melanoma.  It is different.  It is crazy deadly.  Quick fact:

• The vast majority of skin cancers are basal cell carcinomas and squamous cell carcinomas. While malignant, these are unlikely to spread to other parts of the body. They may be locally disfiguring if not treated early.  A small but significant number of skin cancers are malignant melanomas. Malignant melanoma is a highly aggressive cancer that tends to spread to other parts of the body. These cancers may be fatal if not treated early. *

For me, this skin cancer resulted in 2 biopsies, a wide excision procedure with a 3 inch scar to prove it, 2 full body dermatological exams and a scheduled visit to the oncologist for consultation.  And that was just in the first 30 days. 

When I went to the surgeon yesterday I learned that my 5-10 year survival rate is 90-95% for "this melanoma site".  I asked her why she had to chop more of my arm off given that the last margins were clear.  She informed me they do this procedure in case any of the cells from the invasive, Stage 1 melanoma broke off and traveled to any of the lymphatics.  There is a 5-10% chance that they have done that and will metastasize to somewhere else in my body.  And you're right, those aren't really high odds. 

In my head, though, that was only for this one area.  My chance of developing a second melanoma (or second primary site, as they call it) is high.  I have all the indicators - about a million freckles, several of them bigger than 1/4" in diameter - and 8 of which they are watching after my last exam (3 on my face), absolutely more than 5 sun burns and probably 40 trips to the tanning bed before I was 18.  (Tanning alone increases your risk by 75%!)  Oh yeah, and that first melanoma site increases my odds some more.

So, for the next 5 years, I will be seen every 3 months by a dermatologist who will look over every inch of my body to see if there are new spots, to see if any of the regular ones have changed.

From now on, I will need to keep an eye out to see if any new spots are developing or changing.

I will be sporting a 3 inch long scar on my left arm from a 4mm spot.

And I will wait.

I feel like a ticking time bomb.  I have no idea if something more is somewhere that I have missed.  (The doctor missed the first one.)  I have no idea if I do miss something, how fast it will grow or when it will be found and if it will be taken care of in time.  You see, with melanoma, you are never officially in regression.  You are considered "no evidence of disease."  Not exactly final.

Hearing your 10 year old say, "Mom, since you got cancer......." does not feel good.  And peering into your own arm, looking at your own real live muscle (right there!), is a huge reality check.  This is not just skin cancer.  Treatment hurts.  It is scary.

All of this is not to communicate that I am without hope.  I have hope no matter the direction this journey takes me.  And my odds of this melanoma recurring are low.  And I am grateful.  It could have been so much worse.

This is to say that melanoma is real cancer.  Please, if you know someone who has melanoma, no matter the stage, call them when they have procedures, text them, send them a note, ask when their next appointment is, maybe even write it down to remember to check on them.  I'm not saying to remember everything.  Just remember something.  Very few people will treat it as significant.  After my surgery yesterday I had 1 person check on me.  And I felt very alone.

Treat melanoma like it is real.  Simply because it is.  The support you'll provide will be immeasurable.

The Gift of Melanoma

2 weeks ago I was diagnosed with melanoma.  I had noticed a spot on my arm, the size of a pencil eraser that was raised with an uneven border and a bit of a reddish coloring to it.  For 2 months I did nothing.  I eventually scheduled an appointment with my dermatologist and he did his exam, not seeing anything remarkable.  Thankfully, he checked the spot I was concerned about and biopsied it.  A week later, he called to tell me I had melanoma, and that was all the information he gave me, other than to say he was sending it on for a second opinion and would call me in another week to tell me more.

The only experience I really had of melanoma, per say, was a dear friend who was diagnosed with melanoma and died 3 weeks later.  Melanoma is such a fast moving, sneaky cancer, that if left untreated can be fatal quickly.

I shook and cried as I called Husband to tell him.  He cried with me.  It was like life stopped moving for us.  And it kept on moving for everyone else.  I was school shopping with Little Miss at the time and I had to continue shopping, wondering if it was the last time I'd be able to do that with her.  That was a terrible feeling.

The times I struggled the most, as the days ticked by, were when I thought about missing my children.  All 4 of our children are under the age of 11.  So much of life is still in front of them.  So many formative years.  I didn't want to miss them for my sake.  I didn't want them to miss me, for their sakes.  I don't think I'm an awesome mom or anything, but I believe it is ingrained in every child to want a mom to love them because a mom loves like no one else can.

Somehow, at the same time, I felt so ready.  I imagined a life void of depression, anxiety and mysophonia.  Void of worrying about the next shoe to drop.  Void of the pain that comes with our fallen world.  Thinking of that - the relief from those things - gave me so much comfort.  Knowing that I was going to get to the end of the race, holding the hand of Christ, and knowing my children were safe and cared for, provided such a feeling of peace and joy that I was surprised by it.

Later that week, the doctor called to say that it was melanoma in situ, meaning that it was contained and superficial.  I felt like I had worried for nothing, but I was still worried, for some reason.  He told me I would need to see the surgeon for an excision so it didn't become invasive.  On Monday I went to the surgeon who said that the dermatologist had been wrong.  It was indeed invasive and would need to be biopsied again to see what stage it actually was at.

4 more days we waited, until today, when she called to say that the margins were clear.  The melanoma was gone.  And that I would just need to have a wider excision, just to be on the safe side.  That is yet to be scheduled.

I cried when I got off the phone with her.   A wave of emotions have been hitting me over the course of the day.  Strangely enough, the biggest emotion I primarily felt was disappointment.  Disappointment that the thoughts that had brought me peace were not going to become reality. 

Everyone laughs at me and points at my pessimism when I say that I have always expected to die young.  Since I was a little girl, I have had that in my head.  Unfortunately, baking myself in the sun was something I didn't really think would have an impact on that thought when I was a teenager.  I went to tanning beds at least 40 times and got burnt on a regular basis, even to the point of sun poisoning once.

So when I learned I had melanoma, I didn't blame it on God, despite the fact that that is my usual, knee-jerk response.  My overall thought was, "Okay, God.  Let's do this."  I knew He would walk beside me and I knew He didn't cause it.

Over the course of the last several years I have learned that I can't really cling to anything here because everything that I can see and touch is temporary.  Everything is broken and in it's own pain and sometimes I am just on my own with God.  The prospect of dying highlighted that reality even more these last couple of weeks.  No one else can feel the feelings I feel, think the things I think or really understand what I'm experiencing because they just aren't me.  And because of that, I have to rely on Him.

I don't understand what will happen next, what He desires of me, except to wake up each morning and ask Him.  I am so grateful to know, in a new and different way, that comfort and peace do come from Him and the comfort of eternity gives joy. 

I don't want to have cancer.  This was caught at stage 1.  It could come back.  It could arrive somewhere else.  My risk was high anyway - now it is higher.  So, we may face this again, but now I know that the hope of eternity will be with it.

Mysophonia

I feel a huge sense of shame and guilt in writing this post because I feel like I KNOW what you are going to think.

I deal with a sound sensitivity issue called mysophonia.  For those of you who don't know what it is, probably basically everyone, it is basically a hatred of sound.  It is a genetic thing and is a hatred of particular sounds, mostly repetitive and uncontrollable - clicking pens, people chewing with their mouths open, etc.  All those little things that people find annoying create a sense of panic in me at times.  It manifests itself in a way so that it becomes the center of attention of life and can drive the person it effects into solitude and isolation in order to avoid certain sounds.

The first home we lived in was across from a gun club.  Husband told me I'd get used to the noise.  Hahaha.  I sought counseling to be able to live in that house, after a time.  Most counselors have no idea what mysophonia is.  Most of them told me to wear earplugs, which is the WAY WRONG answer.  I finally talked to an audiologist in Ithaca, NY and she understood what I was going through, tested my hearing, etc.  Turns out I have hearing better than a kid.  I could hear EVERYTHING she tested on me.  Her equipment couldn't go any further down to see how well I can really hear.  While that is awesome, it doesn't help with this issue.  :)

When we came to look at the house we currently live in, I knew there was a highway .25 miles away.  I could hear it and it didn't bother me.  When I was growing up, I'd stay with my great grandmother from time to time and hearing the cars go past her house was a great comfort to me.  I said it wouldn't bother me.  Ummm.  I was wrong.  I made it through the first year without it bothering me and then one day, the highway was crazy loud and the switch flipped and I could no longer tolerate hearing it.  It is the strangest thing.  I KNOW it can't hurt me.  I KNOW it is only a sound.  But those sounds trigger a fight or flight response in me.  That is really what it feels like.  You know when someone comes around the corner and scares the heck out of you?  It's like feeling that way all the time.

At first, I did all kinds of things to avoid the sound, including setting up fans all over the place, but after seeing the audiologist, I had to turn off all the fans and try to deal.  It has gotten MUCH better.  If I'm having a rough day, for any reason, it is usually harder to deal with again, but I can be in the house and it's okay.  Going outside is a completely different animal, though.

Because of the way this makes me feel, and the reaction I have to that feeling, I have not gone outside to sit on the porch, play with the kids, or garden for 3 years.  There have been times, intermittently when I have, and it was tough.

Our house is 3200 square feet with a 1600 square foot basement.  And we have stuff everywhere!!  Since starting the business I have not been able to keep up with it.  It is completely overwhelming to me, even with Justin and the kids helping.  It's just SO BIG.

The summer after we bought this house I asked many times what in the world we had been thinking.  At one point, we had a little house in town that was 1800 square feet and it was wonderful!  I kept up with it - easily - and we spent so much time together as a family because we didn't have to maintain anything!!  It takes me 5 hours to mow our lawn now, and that's just one aspect of having this particular house.

Now, don't get me wrong, there are so many things I LOVE about this house!  We have room for everyone and their mother to come and hang out with us, if they want to.  We have granite countertops, which are A.MAZ.ING.  We have Jack and Jill bathrooms for the kids.  A gynormous master suite.  And who wouldn't want a geothermal system?!

But, I want to have a life and memories, not a house.

Here comes the part that I feel quilty about.

Last summer when I was in Haiti, I was miserable.  It was loud ALL.THE.TIME.  Little Guy cried the entire time, it felt like.  It was 135 degrees.  Miserable.  And I still didn't want to come home.  I knew that when I came home, I'd just be back to dealing with the sound again (I know it sounds crazy.).  I didn't think I could handle feeling trapped again.

So, Husband and I started keeping our eyes open for another house.  We decided if something came up, that we loved, we would see if we could buy it.  But, it needed to be the right house.  The market is really low and has been while we've been looking again.  We did look at several houses, but none of them felt right, so we've stayed put.

About a month ago, a house came on the market - 3 bedrooms, very split up, postage stamp kitchen, cathedral ceilings, fireplace, 30 acres with a beautiful ravine and creek.  It was built in the 70s, so it's dated, but very doable for the business and our family.  There were just so many things about this house that we thought we would all love.  On Saturday we made an offer.  I was handling the highway better simply because I felt like I was going to have a way out.  It's strange because if I went to your house and you had the highway, I doubt I would care.  Because I can leave.  I have "control".  Here, I can't leave, which gives way to the fight or flight and feeling trapped emotions.

Our offer was very fair, but it was quick.  We asked to close in 45 days so we could move before our little guy came home.  I don't want to move after he comes home because he is going to need the strongest sense of safety and stability we can give him.  Moving does not lend itself to stability and calmness.  :)

They rejected our offer completely.  Well, they said they'd drop the price $2000.  And they'd close July 15 instead of June 9.  Oh, and they don't want the sale to be contingent on the house appraising.

It doesn't get more rejecting that that other than a flat "no".

So, yesterday put me back into a tizzy.  I had begun to hope that maybe God didn't want me to feel trapped and it was okay to move, okay to look forward to something different.  I have felt guilty even feeling that way because I don't deserve anything!  My word, what I have compared to most people, is amazing!  I'm not looking for more or better stuff - just peace.  But, I still feel guilty asking.

After all this adoption stuff, finally giving it over to Him and trusting Him in it, you'd think I could handle this.  Nope.  It sounds so stupid to write it out, but it is honest.

Here is why I'm telling you ALL this.  I would love your prayers as it comes to this housing situation.  I need them.  I may be more worried about this than I am about the adoption at this point.  Yep.  I definitely am.

I kept reminding myself all day yesterday that feelings are feelings!  They are temporary and they change on a dime, sometimes.  It was okay to be disappointed and ask God questions (I hope).  As I was going to the grocery store, I thought of the verse that talks about His mercies being new every morning.  And, I began to look forward to this morning, knowing that He will still be there, no matter what I am struggling with, what I am asking about, what I don't get at all.  Man, I am so thankful He is that kind of God.

On God's Faithfulness

What I really want to say is that God is faithful in the trial.

God promises to love us, with an overwhelming love, always.  Constant.

He promises to be faithful to forgive us when we mess up and ask Him to forgive us.

He promises to be faithful to provide eternal life when we believe in His Son.

He is faithful.  And His faithfulness is great.

That means always.

Over the past 2 1/2 years of our adoption process we have seen family after family encounter huge difficulties and obstacles.  Endless waiting, it seems.  Lying.  Corruption.  Even evil.

When relief comes, people say, "God is good!  God is faithful!"

I'm here to tell you that while that is true, God is faithful ALWAYS.  When you're waiting.  When you run into another obstacle.  When you don't know where to go.  When you have messed up for the millionth time.  He is faithful to be with you.  He is faithful to grant peace, love, forgiveness and mercy.  He is faithful to LOVE you.

That's what we really need.  We don't really need to move on to the next step.  We don't really need anything material.  Everything we can see, touch or feel is temporal.

Maybe that's part of how we can know He is constant.

22 Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. 23 They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.

Lamentations 3:22-23

Save 1 With Every Run 2013 Conclusion and What I've Learned From Running

The goal was 100 runs and 100 prayers.  One prayer for every run - for freedom from trafficking and a life of slavery and forced prostitution for a child.

What I thought was going to be a solitary goal turned into a community goal.  The response I received when I announced my goal, and those who wanted to join in, was so beautiful to me.  People wanted to use their time running to pray for those who can't run because they don't have the freedom to.

What I hoped would be 100 prayers turned into 1229 prayers.  1229!!  That is amazing!!

I believe with all my heart that God has honored or will honor those prayers.  That He will set one free for every run and every prayer prayed.

I have been privileged to see our Save 1 runners post the experiences they have had this past year while participating in this campaign.  Some have felt God's presence in new and wonderful ways.  Others have rejoiced in reading news articles of freedom and healing from trafficking.  It has been amazing.

2013 was the first full year I ran.  I have learned so much through the experience of running.  It has come to symbolize the most joyous and frustrating times and processes in my life. 

Feeling the daunting, "there is no way I'm going to get through this" feeling of climbing a hill when I just would rather lay down on the road and take a nap.  The excitement of wondering what is over the next hill in new and unfamiliar, yet beautiful territory.  The misery of feeling like I'm behind and that everyone else is running faster or further than me.  The contentment of not caring anymore, but just enjoying being outside and the goals God has set for me; not worrying about other goals that others may or may not set for me.  And the feeling of absolute victory for accomplishing a new goal - running just a bit further or faster than before - or simply being content with the run no matter what my "stats" were.

I have found my play list to be more than ironic at times.  Like the times I've been climbing a hill and the lyrics of a song came up that say, "Just ask the hill to move and it will move."  I'm here to tell you I have faith smaller than a mustard seed because that hill did not move.  It remains where it is no matter how many times I hear that song while climbing up it and no matter how many times I declare it to move.  Other ironic lyrics when trying to run include, "I just want to slow down" (thank you Third Day) or "stop running" (Kerry Roberts). 

This past year has been such a gift to me.  The time spent in praise of God, as I listen to music has been new for me.  I am so grateful for that.  I believe that through this experience, He has given me an opportunity to learn more about life and how it works and what He is able to do through me in it, if I keep pressing on.

I think this is what it means when He says that He will give beyond our sacrifice.  Running isn't a lot of a sacrifice, really, but there were LOTS of days (almost every one), that I didn't want to go out for one reason or another.  But, I went because I wanted to pray for one more girl.  I believe He heard those prayers and not only answered them, but spent that time running alongside me, teaching me and filling me in unexpected ways.  That is the blessing I didn't anticipate.

So, I'm thankful.  Thank you to all of you who joined me in this campaign this year.  I don't have a set goal in 2014 except to keep running.  I hope Save 1 With Every Run continues and I hope you'll join me.  Here's where you can find more info if you're interested.

Here's to freedom in 2014 - and so many thanks for all those wonderful 1229 prayers that were prayed in 2013.   




**Very special thanks to the talented Christie Lee for her beautiful work designing our logo.  Thank you, Christie!!

The Letter of Persuasion

We have a prayer list that we update, as a family, every week.  We started doing this almost 2 months ago.

We entered IBESR, Haiti's social services department, with our adoption dossier on September 14.  And we've been waiting for an update since.

We have been praying to get out of IBESR since we started our list (and the months before that, too).  This week we changed that request and started praying that President Martelly (the President of Haiti) would sign our paperwork because there wasn't any way we were going to get out of IBESR without that.  You see, we need presidential dispensation (permission) to adopt our Little Guy because we have biological children.

Yesterday I stopped in at our kiddos' school and talked to Girly Girl's teacher.  She said, "Oh, I need to show you something!  You are going to cry."

I'm not a real softie and already putting my disclaimer out so she wouldn't think I was a bad mom, said, "I don't cry easily."

She told me that in class, the kids have been writing persuasion letters.  They had to pick something they wanted and then determine how to ask for that thing and who needed to be asked.

She started reading.....

"Dear President of Haiti,

Please sign our adoption papers.  My little brother really needs to be out of the orphanage and come home to us.  He needs more space to run and play.  And my big brother has wanted a little brother for such a long time.  We have been praying for a very long time.  Will you please sign our papers?"

I cried.  And so did the teacher.  She told me that originally Girly Girl had addressed the letter to the Director of IBESR, but went in on Monday to tell her that she had to change it to President Martelly.

Our kids have been in this with us from the beginning.  They have been praying along side us for over a year now, since before we officially started the process of adoption.  The last few weeks in church they have been learning about waiting and have shared that with us.  That God is faithful in the wait.

I went home and one of the first things I do is check my email.  I checked it and there was an email from our agency with the subject line, "IBESR".

I opened it up and it said, 

"CONGRATULATIONS—today we got word that your dossier was released from IBESR!"

Our cat likes to greet us when we come in the door and was the only living thing with me when I saw that email.  I just screamed at the computer and started jumping up and down.  And she took off running, claws scraping the floor.  I terrified her.  :)

I called the school and asked for Girly Girl's teacher.  I told her we had gotten out of IBESR and asked her if we could come in and tell Girly Girl at school with her.  She excitedly agreed.

We went in and met the teacher and she took us to Girly Girl's last class.  I thought she was going to pull her into the hallway, but she asked us to come in.  Girly Girl had no idea what was going on.

I knelt down and told her that I had seen her beautiful letter to the President of Haiti and how proud I was of her for writing it.  And I said, "I just want to show you want his signature looks like."  I showed her the paper we had been given and told her that our papers were out.  We are out!!!  

She started crying.  Big old crocodile tears.  The teachers were crying.  We were crying.  And her fellow classmates were nervous.  "Why is she crying??"  

"Happy tears", her teacher said.  "Happy tears."  So happy. 

We left and grabbed the other two kiddos, who Girly Girl told right away.  :)  We were able to share the news with their teachers and our small group who know just about as much about this process as we do now and we went out for ice cream to celebrate.

It was just so wonderful.

We are so very thankful to be out of this step!!  The next step will last anywhere from several weeks to several months.  At the end of that, our little guy will be officially a member of our family in Haiti.  I am so excited for that day.  

But, right now, I am so joyful.  I'm joyful because this has given us hope.  We feel encouraged and like we've been given new life for this process.  We are so excited to share this with all of you who are with us in this journey, praying, watching and supporting.  We have needed that so many times in the last 8 months and will continue to need it in the months to come.

We are hopeful that our Little Guy will be home with us sometime in the next year.  It could be longer.  It could be shorter.  We just need to keep waiting.

So, eat some ice cream in celebration with us tonight!  :)

Love to you all,
Karyn

7 Months

7 months.  It really isn't that long, but tonight it feels like an eternity.

My mind is filled with question marks tonight.

There seem to be many people around us in a holding pattern - not really knowing what God is doing, what His plan is or even what is next.  There is a glimmer of what the future might hold but no time frame whatsoever.

We're with them.

Yesterday was 7 months that we've been in IBESR.  Families that went in to that step before us are out.  Families that went in the same day as us are out.  Families that went in after us are out.  But, we're still there.  And we have no idea how long we are going to be there.

I'm incredibly discouraged tonight and would very much appreciate your prayers. 

Our little guy has an important meeting this week.  I have to be vague there, but please be praying for him (and us) this week.

Thank you, friends.

As Long As It's Not Haiti

It's funny how you end up doing things you said you'd never do.

When we started considering adoption, I very much wanted to adopt from Haiti.  It was the only country I felt led toward adopting from.

But, then I began to learn about how painful it is to adopt from Haiti.  How it takes, on average, 2.5 years to complete the process, how most of the children have birth parents who are alive and simply can't provide for them, and how difficult the process is because of lack of communication and other issues third world countries experience.  And I made the decision we would not adopt from Haiti.

I wanted something simpler.  More concrete.

It took us almost 4 months to make the decision to adopt.  March 3, 2012 we decided to move forward, but we hadn't decided on where to adopt from yet.  My husband had a mission trip to the Dominican Republic planned for later that month and we felt like we had to wait until after that trip to decide.  We went to this website to see what countries we qualified for and we started narrowing them down.  Surprisingly, there were many countries that were automatically knocked out because our family didn't meet their rules.

We narrowed it down to 6 countries - Ethiopia, Bulgaria, India, United States, Congo and China.  And we decided to fast (give up something and spend concentrated time in prayer in place of that something).  Handsome fasted American food while he was in the DR.  I fasted dessert.  It was painful.  :)

During his trip to the DR, Husband met a sweet boy who had been abandoned by his mother, in a Haitian refugee camp.  We longed to adopt him and started doing our research.  We quickly learned, however, that it was completely impossible to adopt him.  We were heartbroken.

Through that experience and what we learned in it, we decided to eliminate all countries except Congo.  And we added in Haiti.

I kept pushing for Congo.  I searched and searched for blogs for people who had adopted from the Congo.  We couldn't find anyone who would answer our emails.  We couldn't join any forums.  It was just impossible to find information.  We called a couple of agencies, but you know when people tell you things in one conversation and then say something different in other conversations?  Well....that.

After a couple of weeks of indecisiveness, we decided to fast again.

A year ago today, I was sitting at my desk in our office and Husband came in from work, looked at me and said, simply, "Haiti."

Haiti.

April 4, 2012 it was decided.  Since then, we have been matched with a little boy in Haiti.  We have met that little boy and we absolutely love him. 

The reasons I didn't want to adopt from Haiti still exist.  We have been in this step of our adoption (IBESR) for nearly 7 months.  I thought that when we got to this part I would feel excited because we had gotten this far.  Instead, it seems the longer we keep going, the longer it feels like it's going to take.  But, I am grateful we are adopting from Haiti and I'm finding beauty in it, even though I'm living through the very reasons I didn't want to adopt from there in the first place.  And Haiti is where our Little Guy is; I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

The Feeling of Redemption

Have you ever seen something redeemed?  Watched a struggle unfold into victory?

A dear friend and her husband are bringing their children home soon.  The pain inside them is incredible as they wait, but from the outside, I know it will be soon.  And it will be amazing to see the victory of them welcoming their children home.

Two other friends are beginning the very hard work of starting to share their stories - stories buried deep in the past, but needing to come out for healing to occur.  It makes me ache to hear their stories.  I want the pain to stop.  But through their stories, that I didn't know even years after knowing them, those friends are even more beautiful to me than they were before.

I feel like I'm getting to stand on the sidelines and cheer right now.  I get to cheer for their redemption.  Because as orphans come home and people heal, redemption occurs.  What Satan meant for harm, God meant for good and I have the privelege of getting to see the GOOD.  His GOOD purpose is so beautifully exciting to watch.

Thank you for the honor of walking alongside these people, Father.  I am so grateful.

Dear Little Guy

I'm writing this publicly, I suppose, so you can see a glimpse of our hearts and what adopting our Little Guy feels like to me.....

Dear Little Guy,

As the time approaches to meet you I am filled with anticipation and excitement.  I wonder what it will be like.  What will it be like to catch our first glimpse of you as they bring you out to us?  What will it be like to kiss your head?  What will your face feel like?  How long will your fingers be?  What will you sound like? 

This week we received 2 more pictures of you.  The one picture was of you sleeping and I wasn't sure it was you.  I had to zoom in to your picture to look at your fingers and compare them with our other pictures to know for sure.  You have an umbilical hernia.  I think that's okay, but it left me with some worry.  The other picture was of you in a bouncy seat.  It was just of your chest up, but you were clearly not happy.  Sucking your thumb, eyebrows furrowed, other hand open and behind your head.  You wanted OUT of that thing and I wish I could have reached through and picked you up out of that chair.  I can't wait to be the one to comfort and take care of you.  I can't wait for you to know that you will be picked up and not be set aside because there are 20 other kids in the same room to take care of.  I can't wait to just be with and take care of you for a week - and then beyond.

At the same time, I wonder how you will feel about us.

Will we have brought the right sized clothes?  Will you be afraid of us?  Will you sleep?  Will you understand anything during our time together?  How will you feel about us leaving you?  Will that hurt you?

So many questions and I am left to simply wonder about them for now.  But, we are doing things to get ready.

I made you a book this week called, "All About My Family".  In it I basically introduce you to us - our family, our home, our interests.  And I try to communicate to you how very much you are wanted.

Mr. Man can't wait to have another boy in the house to play with.

Girly Girl can't wait to color with and draw with you.

Little Miss can't wait to teach you and take care of you. 

We all love you so much already.  I'm worried about Little Miss because she keeps thinking we are going to go to Haiti to bring you home.  How I wish that were true!  I am trying to communicate to her that we are visiting you and that we would bring you home if we could, but we just can't right now.  I'm hoping there will be a way for you to interact all together while we're with you.

Just a few more weeks until we get to see your sweet face in person. We are beyond blessed to have this privilege. 

Love,
Mommy