when the wifey is weary with the wait, the husband...

...makes sure the interwebs are available, because he knows she'd go cray cray without them.

Yes, that's a car battery. And our modem, whose power supply was fried in the storm last weekend when lightning hit a bit too close. The service tech wasn't going to be able to come out until Thursday {yesterday}, and my man knew this was not the week to cut me off from the outside world. (Yes, #firstworldproblems...)

I love my engineer. 

(And I love that we have a legit set-up now, after the tech fixed us up yesterday.)

when travel in late August to early September becomes I have no idea when we're going

When that happens, as it has, I get quiet.

Or I talk about a slew of other topics.

Anything other than the uncertain timeframe to bring home our newest three. Anything other than the Halloween costumes that I'm not sure they'll be here to wear. Anything other than empty car seats in Pluto, taunting me with "not yet." Anything other than the expectation that our precious one with HIV will thrive once we bring all three home to all the medical resources our area has to offer and the reality that we're not sure when that will be.

The Ugandan courts played musical chairs this summer. Okay, that's probably a poor metaphor, but every three years, the judges rotate in their court system at the end of summer recess. This is one of those years. Rumor has it that it took a few months for court dates to start being issued after the last rotation like this.

Obviously, the late August to early September time frame is out the window. 

And we don't know what the new one will be.

That's all I have to say about that (for now, at least).

oh, how I love this little girl I've never met!

Why #HelpOneClassroom? Because my kids here are no more deserving of education than kids there.

I was a fresh-faced and somewhat naive 20 year old when I arrived as a teacher on the Tex/Mex border, with my Mazda laden with high expectations, school supplies, and Payless shoes. 

My school was on an old Mexican-American War fort, literally bordering the Rio Grande River. While the name Starr County sounds flashy, it was - at that time - the poorest county in the United States. 

I took this picture from my front yard. The tree line was the river, the physical border between our countries. The sign, though - "Dead End Street" - described the reality for many students there, students whose educational opportunities were often limited by the place where they were born.

In Starr County, though, teachers were paid. In Haiti, that's not usually the case. Perhaps that's part of the reason why roughly 50% of adults are illiterate and classrooms lack basic resources. (I bought a lot of supplies for my students out of my own income, but that wouldn't have been possible if I didn't receive a paycheck!)

In Starr County, kids received a free education. In Uganda, fees are required, fees that many families can't afford. That's why 75% of kids drop out, nevermind that those who stay are taught in classrooms with a pupil to teacher ratio of 48 to 1.

Two of my children were born here in Raleigh, one was born in Taitung City in Taiwan, and the three-to-come (soon, we hope) were born in Uganda. Despite being born in three different places and cultures and first families, all six of my darlings dream. All six hope. All six can learn.

I've talked with the folks leading up Help One Now. They're legit. I wouldn't be writing this and offering myself up as an ambassador for #HelpOneClassroom otherwise. 

Chris and Nick and the rest of their team agree with me that education can be a game-changer for many of these kids, just as it was for my kids in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas. When we all consider what doing justice for orphans looks like in Haiti and Uganda (as well as many other places), education is part of the equation. 

So what is #HelpOneClassroom? Great question. It's a campaign to sponsor 25 teachers in Haiti and Uganda for the upcoming school year, with a goal of $62,000 - that's just $2500 per teacher for an entire year - by October 1. In Haiti, these teachers will be in a brand-new school, built by Help One Now to replace the post-earthquake tent school that was there. Truly, #HelpOneClassroom was born out of a desire to equip the teachers who will educate the 400 children ready to learn there.

As you know, we're adopting three siblings from Uganda, orphaned by AIDS. We love them, and if circumstances had been different and allowed them to grow up in their first family, we would have still wanted them to have the opportunity to go to school, whether or not they posed with chalkboards marking each year's grade. Why? 

Because my kids in the US are no better or more deserving of education than kids in Uganda or Haiti. Kids here and there were all born into a world in which the effects of sin are apparent in heartbreaking ways, including in kids here having access to excellent education while kids there don't.

It doesn't have to be that way, though. 

If you agree, would you consider joining with Help One Now in their goal to sponsor 25 teachers in Haiti and Uganda? Learn more - or donate - at www.helponenow.org/helponeclassroom.

I might not be a fresh-faced and naive 20 year old at the start of her teaching career, but I'm still passionate about education. And now, as a mom, it matters even more to me as it did then.

please, please, please do not support Pat Robertson, CBN, or The 700 Club

A year ago, I wrote a passionate post here titled "an open letter to Pat Robertson, from the adoptive mother of a child with brain damage," written as a response to Robertson's statements about adoption the day before on The 700 Club. These comments included "you don't know what problems" there will be when you adopt and a story of a family you know who adopted a "child [who] had brain damage, you know, grew up weird."

see that child with brain damage laughing with her sister at the beach? Weird? Maybe. But loved by a family while loving her family in return? Definitely.

Two years ago, I wrote a post titled "Pat Robertson's view of Alzheimer's and divorce: Not just wrong but dangerous" on my special needs ministry blog. That post was my response to his on-air statements that a man could divorce his wife because Alzheimer's disease made it so she was "not there" anymore.

Neither of us have Alzheimer's, but I have some chronic diseases I didn't have when we married. Would that be grounds for divorce by Robertson's reasoning?

Three years ago, the Christian Alliance for Orphans blogged about when Mr. Robertson said on the air, " “It [adoption] can be a blessing, if you get the right child.”

We're not counting on these three being the right children. We expect them to be kids. We're the responsible party as parents.

I don't watch The 700 Club - nor should you, unless you want to support this sort of thing - so I'm not sure if he derails in hurtful and dangerous ways more than once a year. After my examples above from one, two, and three years ago, it was time for 2013's indiscretion, which came a few days ago:

“You know what they do in San Francisco, some in the gay community there they want to get people so if they got the stuff they’ll have a ring, you shake hands, and the ring’s got a little thing where you cut your finger. Really. It’s that kind of vicious stuff, which would be the equivalent of murder.”

You can read more about it here.

Even if those gay HIV+ boogeymen existed, the facts of HIV transmission would render their attacks useless. For starters, those boogeymen would have to cease taking life-saving drugs so that their viral loads of HIV would increase enough for likely transmission. Then, the boogeymen would have to be actively bleeding from an open wound that would directly flow into the cuts made by the rings, because HIV is wimpy and can't survive outside of the body. After that, the boogeymen would need to prevent their victims from accessing the prophylactic meds that can be administered after HIV exposure to avoid infection.

But you know those wacky gays, right? They'll do anything to get us.

(Please note my sarcasm above!)

I'm past open letters at this point. I don't see remorse or repentance. I don't see any desire for wisdom or efforts toward education or enlightenment. In the absence of those things, I cannot support Mr. Robertson in any way. He is the founder and chairman of the Christian Broadcasting Network and the host of The 700 Club, so I can't support those either.

To be honest, I haven't supported either for quite some time. So what's the difference now? Now, I'm convicted enough of the damages rendered by such unChristlike statements from a very public professing Christian that I must speak up. Personal views aren't enough for me anymore. A public stance is necessary.

Please, please, please do not support Pat Robertson, CBN, or The 700 Club.

If no one listened to him, then Pat Robertson wouldn't be on the air anymore. But he is. That's why I'm asking this of you.

Too much harm is being done to people I love: children waiting for families because people listen to Pat's warnings about damaged kids, husbands who desert their wives when disease strikes because Pat said it was okay, and people who fear those with HIV because of misinformation about rogue infected criminals.

This is personal. I'm a wife who could be left using Pat's reasoning - that is, if I wasn't married to a godly man who would never heed such nonsense. My daughter from Taiwan was one of the brain-damaged orphans he warned against adopting. One of the three siblings we're currently adopting from Uganda has HIV.

I'll say it again: for me, this is personal.

So, please. Please. If you're one of the folks still tuning in to CBN and The 700 Club, please stop.

I won't have to write another post like this in 2014 if no one is listening to or supporting the harmful utterances. And that? That would be wonderful.

Update: Sadly, it's 2014, about a year later... and Robertson is warning viewers about the AIDS towels they should avoid if they travel to Kenya. If I could link to The 700 Club instead of Huffington Post, I would, but CBN's response to expressed concerns about their chairman's gaffes is simply to remove controversial episodes from their online archive. Sadly, trying to erase the internet record of his words isn't the same as the accountability and repentance needed here. 

okay, call us heroes if you'd like. but remember that we're normal and, at times, needy too.

I love friends.

True friends, I mean. The kind who are willing to call me on my crap when necessary.

I don't think my post requesting that we not be called heroes was crap, but it was flawed. Two friends privately approached me about it, and I agreed with them (after a moment of defensiveness in my immediate reaction, because I'm human like that). Thus the title of the new post: go ahead and call us heroes, but remember that we are normal and flawed and needy, just like you.

One of my pet peeves, as one friend gently reminded me, is when adoptive parents and special needs mamas throw fits about wording: Do say this. Don't say this. Here, learn this set of rules so lengthy that you'll be afraid to ever open your mouth around a child with special needs or an adoptive family ever again.

Side note: I do think some words should be avoided, like "retarded." Using the r-word is as distasteful and offensive as using the n-word or b-word to address Jocelyn's first grade teacher, a black woman. 

Most words, though, that we perceive as hurtful are wholly unintentional. I love to talk about adoption (and holistic orphan care beyond adoption) and special needs, and I would be grieved if someone felt like we couldn't talk about that because they might accidentally insult me by calling me a hero.

So if you consider us heroes, then feel free to call us that. 

I merely ask that you remember three things as you do:

1. God is the real Hero. We're just following Him where He leads.


2. We're normal(ish) and flawed and needy too. Please, please, please don't exalt us.  One of my biggest struggles with being called a hero is the distance that word created for us when we came home with Zoe. Being labelled "hero" felt like we were being put on a pedestal, and when you're on a pedestal, you're up high above everyone else. So when we struggled - and struggled hard - we didn't feel like anyone was close enough to turn to, in part because of the praise being heaped on us and in part because of our own arrogance in not wanting to diminish the exalted view others had of us. Maybe the problem was our perception, but we felt like people couldn't see us as both heroes AND friends so - for a season, at least - friendships seemed far away because our friends no longer viewed us on the same plane as them. I felt isolated by being viewed as a hero and not a mom who was struggling in some of the same ways as any other mom (and in some unique ways due to adoption issues).


3. Heroism comes in many forms. If you consider adopting three siblings from Africa to make us heroes, remember that you're surrounded by other heroes. My friend who cares for her ailing mother behind closed doors? No one sees her heroism. The one who gets up every morning and loves her family even though her heart is torn in two by the loss of her father? That's a hero, though no one will call her that. The man who puts on his badge, the teenager who chooses what's right over what's popular, and the one who stands for what is good without being a jerk about it... all are heroes. Honestly, I find it easier to obey in the big and visible acts than the small and less visible ones; for example, it's easier to adopt than it is to parent after the adoption. It's kind of like how all the attention is on the wedding looming as a big deal, when the marriage following the wedding is the harder task. It's easier to act like a hero when everyone is watching; it's harder to do it when no one (or perhaps only your family) witnesses your obedience. That's why I started my last post with the example of small acts that people did to meet our needs when Robbie had his seizure; most of those weren't visible to anyone but us, but those people were heroes to us in the moment we needed them. 

two of my favorite ordinary heroes, feeding each other popcorn

I started this post by saying that I love friends. I do.

That's why the word hero makes me nervous. Please cherish our friendship more than you exalt any heroism you might see in us. And please recognize, as you go about your daily lives, you're probably acting as a hero and interacting with heroes far more often than you realize.