that precious moment when my seven year old compared HIV to Elsa's powers in Frozen

So far, we've mostly shielded our kids from the stigma of HIV.

Mostly.

Our crazy firstborn extrovert - the one who might have gotten more of her fair share of my genes - is an oversharer like her mom. While we've chosen to partially disclose about HIV, we don't publicly identify which of our children is HIV+, so prior to the adoption Jocelyn and I had some late night chats about HIV, why it isn't scary, and why some people think it is.

Back in April, I messaged a friend on Facebook:

I just had a late night chat with my six year old about HIV transmission, access to adequate healthcare in Africa, and severe poverty. As I explained to her that we weren't telling everyone about [name removed for privacy]'s HIV status because some people don't understand that HIV isn't scary, she said, "Yeah, and most kids wouldn't understand anyway. I kinda understand it all, though, because I'm really smart."

No problems with self esteem for that one, huh? Love. her.

Now back to today...

We recently watched Frozen (and by recently, I mean both "for the first time" and "every day since then"). I won't be giving away any major spoilers if I share that Elsa has the power to turn things all wintery. My background in child development made me all squirmy inside when she was isolated as a child because of her magic, and it pained me to see the fear with which people responded to her as an adult, leading to self-imposed exile for her.

(All of that happens within the first part of the movie, so I promise I haven't ruined anything for you.)

But nothing prepared me for the profound reflection of my oldest.

"Hey, Mom," she started. "You know how everyone is scared of Elsa? It made me sad."

"Yeah, me too."

"It made me think of how some people are scared of HIV. People didn't get to know Elsa because they didn't know she needed love like anybody else, and some people might not get to know [my sibling] because they're scared of HIV and don't know kids with it just need love. And meds. And mommies and daddies if they don't have them."

Oh, my girl. Yes, and amen.

It's such a privilege to be your mama.

FIVE!

Birthdays are a big deal around here, in part because I'm pretty certain three of our little ones probably wouldn't have survived childhood without adoption.

So we do it up big.

It starts with sneaking in to the bedroom the night before and decorating with streamers. This way, when everyone wakes up, the birthday boy (or girl) will remember right away that it's a special day.

Then it's donuts for breakfast.

Then it's PRESENTS.

Then it's a special birthday dinner out at a restaurant, usually Chili's.

Then it's extra bedtime snuggles.

Because we're all about celebrating LIFE around here, especially the lives of our six darlings.

Today, we're celebrating five years of life for this riot team member of the police department.

He opened presents as his fan club looked on.

Present opening is still a new concept for our five year old fella. We had to explain how it all worked, which was a bit bittersweet (mostly sweet).

Totally sweet was the Spider-Man his big sisters made for him. Oh, my heart.

Loved my seat on the couch this morning. It had the best view, don't you think?

Happy birthday, Philip. I love being your mama!

you win some, you embarrass-yourself-in-front-of-the-social-worker some

Our post-placement visit* started well.

*post-placement visit, for those who haven't been initiated into the cult of adoption - a visit from your social worker in which he/she makes sure everyone is alive and mom/dad aren't insane

Then, toward the end, Lee went to his Suburban to get the checkbook. Robbie followed. Lee returned, Robbie on his heels. Just then, one of our newest ones noticed Robbie was chewing on something.

P: "What Robbie eating?"

Robbie: "Something I found on the ground outside."

P: "Can I go outside to find food like Robbie?"

Well.

We were doing so well pretending to be a normal family.

my people

Sometimes it's just too much.

To protect my darlings' stories and to prevent the dam from releasing all my tears, sometimes it's all just too much for words.

That's why I'm so thankful for my people. People like you, who know enough bits and pieces of our daily fight for joy in the midst of the broken pieces of lives that together make up our family. People like you, whose eyes I catch across the church hall and who offer dear encouragement in a glance.

Thank you.

{Someday - though maybe not soon - we'll be able to actually converse with words and not just glances.}

This weekend, I'm going to be with my people at a retreat of other adoptive mamas who share my heartbeat. There, I know someone else has held children as they've cried for a parent who disease stole from them, wiped sand and chalk from around the mouth of a little one who still forgets that she doesn't need to fill her tummy with those things because food is readily available here, filled out medical forms that ask for histories we just don't know, and surprised strangers by answering cries of "Mommy!" from a child who looks nothing like us.

And, y'all.

I'm crying at the thought of being with my people.

Would you pray for a refreshing of my spirit this weekend? Oh, how my soul needs this! 

{And while you're at it, praise God with me for the sweet husband o' mine who will be on solo Daddy duty for three days while I'm gone, and pray for sweet times of bonding and wrestling and whatnot for him and our six darlings. Muchas gracias, mi amiga.}

For I will satisfy the weary soul, and every languishing soul I will replenish.
Jeremiah 31:25

the prayer you've stopped praying

Can you even remember when you stopped praying for it?

That thing you hoped for once upon a time but, as time moved on, faded from that hopeful place?

I don't know about you, but I can't.

I can't remember when I stopped praying for Zoe to talk.

Friends would ask if she said any words, and I would answer yes, because she did. Technically. But, of her four or five words, we were lucky if we heard one a week. So while it was honest to tell the words she had purposefully spoken, I left friends thinking that our girl was talking, because - to be blunt - some days I tire of answering questions about all the things she can't do.

I might not remember when I stopped praying for her to speak, but I clearly recall when He said "yes!" to my forgotten prayer.

It was when she said, "Yes!"

Back in December, we were driving home from the gym, and I asked Zoe if she wanted a cracker. Then I looked over my right shoulder to read her face, because that's how I used to know her answer.

She might not have always had words, but she has never hesitated to let us all know how she feels. About anything. 

As I turned to look for the facial response, I was startled by a squeaky two year old's voice.

Her voice.

Her "Yes!"

She had said a handful of words before, but they were rare and always on her own terms. Answering a question? She hadn't ever done that, not in her 26 months of life.

But this time, clear as it could be, she answered, "Yes!"

As I gave her the cracker (and would have gladly given her a dozen or more), the road before me turned all watery. I don't cry much, but the goodness of God just overcame me. When she said Yes!, my Lord was saying yes too, to the desire that had faded from my prayers and my memory.

Meanwhile, she enjoyed her cracker, oblivious to the work God had done in and through her.

I was reminded of this tonight, when I heard that precious Asian darling crying after bedtime. After I got her out of the crib and checked her dry diaper, I said, "Sweet girl, what do you want?"

"Muh," she said, pointing to the hall.

It wasn't until after she drank her milk and was settled back into her crib that it hit me again: my girl has words.

yes, no, go away, milk, dog, kitty cat, cat, more, mama, dada, uh-oh, please, want, bubbles, ball, that, thank you, hi, waffle, and the list keeps growing, along with her babbles and incoherent strings of sounds that might be words we're not yet identifying...

{In case you're wondering, a "kitty cat" is a real live cat, while a "cat" is a picture or stuffed animal. Obvs.}

Friend, I don't know what it is that you've stopped praying for. Maybe you don't even know what it is anymore. But I want you to know this:

He still remembers.

He is just as trustworthy today as He was back when you were willing to trust Him with it.

And He is able to bring about the yes - or the no or the not yet or whatever other answer He wills - even if you're not able to hold on to the hope of an answer.

Oh, this girl.

He teaches me so much through her.

Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.
(Ephesians 3:20-21, ESV)