Haiti : Part 3 & 4

If you are haven't read the first post about my husband's recent trip to Haiti, you must read THIS first before reading this post.

I wish I could take the credit for the amazing post you are about to read, but all the credit goes to our friend Jay would traveled with my husband J to Haiti April 26-May 2. Here's Jay:
We rode down a long driveway with exotic trees, and piled stone leading us up to a security wall with a large steel gate. It felt like entering another world we had yet to see in Haiti. It was gorgeous. The mountain we had climbed was staring back at us smiling, and beneath it, and giant courtyard, with large white concrete buildings making up the Hands and Feet Compound. We tumbled out of the van only to be greeted by a mass of cheering children hugging us and checking our pockets for candy. They had done this before.

Michelle Mease led the orphanage. She gave us the tour and told us the story. 45 children called Hands & Feet home and everyone one had a story. 5 different buildings house children. It was a strange feeling. I expected to come to an orphanage and feel badly for the children. I've been to orphanages before in other countries, but this was different. Compared to what I had already seen in my half-day in Haiti, I knew these children were treated like kings and queens. They were affectionate and sweet and well-adjusted. They did not scream for attention, instead they gave hugs and kisses like that was what children freely did and were supposed to do. And it is.

The men I went with were from all different backgrounds all connecting back to Chris. It was clear that several of them were used to efficiency, and getting the project done, and well... actual work. They were ready to get to it. Our job was to do whatever Hands & Feet needed. Chris told us last year he painted a little and put together a swing set, but mostly they played with the kids. I noticed some pretty significant construction going on with about 8 workers getting after it. Michelle fixed us lunch, roasted chicken. Pretty sure the chicken was alive a few hours before. I woozily wandered out to see what the other guys were about to get into, still feeling the van ride motion sickness, and now a type of work I was clearly not used to.

I grabbed the shiny new work gloves I brought, and gingerly climbed the homemade extension ladder to the second story where concrete blocks were being passed up and then again up another step ladder that should have been retired. All the other guys were already in place, so I was processed to the roof, while the Haitian co-workers laughed at me for being so pale, and obviously out of my element. The heat was pounding down on me. It felt like I was closer to the sun that any other time in my life. The next thing I know... 30 minutes pass of an assembly line of tossing concrete blocks (20lbs) and placing them on the roof. The speed was incredible. They looked like they were passing pillows, and I was the only white guy in site. I figured the other guys were down on the second floor admiring my passion and work-drive, or they were much smarter and slower, and probably drinking water.

Minute 25 I realized that throwing up was inevitable. Minute 28 I thought I was going to pass out. Minute 29 I imagined I was going to stop sweating and die of dehydration. Minute 30 I stepped out of the line and bent over to catch my breath. They all laughed at me. Apparently it had been a game to see how fast they could wear me out. I looked over at Larry and he smiled, and said, I'll tell you later. Larry by the way, wasn't doing anything but watching. I hated Larry at that moment.

I struggled down the ladder after barely half of one hour. I fought myself from letting go of the ladder all together on the long one- just so I might never have to work again. I somehow found myself at the water jug of "American-safe" water to drink and sat down on the front porch in a rocking chair. All the other guys came down too and grabbed some water, and one gung ho alpha male (out of the many that were on the trip) came over and said, "fun, huh?" I wiped my brow and said, "I'm just trying not to throw up." They all laughed. They thought I was funny. I wasn't being funny.

Back to work. I couldn't hardly see straight. My knees were starting to shake. Sweat was rolling off of me and everyone else. Concrete block after block after block. I finally pulled away for another break. It was probably 2:30 by this time, not knowing that 3:00 would be stopping time for the real workers, since they had been at since 6am, because Larry was a mute who enjoyed seeing white preachers suffer.

I wanted to lay down and die. Gung Ho came back over to me, and said, "Are you going to say anything to us." I said, "No really, I'm trying not to throw up." They laughed again. I walked into the bathroom, shut the door, and gave up the fight. I have never expelled that much fluid in my life. I felt like a fire hydrant being turned on for kids to play in on the street.

I wiped my mouth, changed my shirt, and went back at it. That was almost 3pm of my my first day of a mission trip that would be 5 full days in Haiti. Surely, it would get better from here, right?

I was wrong about Larry.

I had survived the night and actually felt much better. For all basic purposes, I might as well have been on another planet. This planet did not have cell phone coverage, air conditioning during the day, nor warm water. The only great thing about it- I wasn't alone. All seven of us were going through a bit of withdrawal, and clearly none of us were in our element. I think Larry and Michelle were well aware of this and had a few things that for whatever reason made the world better. Larry let me in on his stash of Pepsi. They were giant glass bottles that were covered in silt seated in a wooden box that had clearly never seen a super market in the last few decades. Folks would drink em, they load everything back up, and swamp them out with a redemption discount. I'm not sure if it was for the environment or because Larry loved glass bottles. Either way- Larry totally redeemed himself.

Schedule was everything. The students went to school, came back to their home with 40+ siblings, played, did chores, and all ate supper together. By 8pm the crew at Hands & Feet had everyone in there rooms. We would all sit on the porch, rock in chairs, and listen to Michelle and Larry. From March to September they hosted groups like us to come and help with the ministry and get a taste of Haiti. The orphanage was sweet, and Haiti was gritty. At one point, I asked Michelle if she grew tired of answering the same questions ( I already knew what Larry thought about it!). You could tell she didn't mind and was just happy to communicate in English with adults. Larry was two different people. There was Larry the crew leader, protector of equipment, and keeper of order, and then there was Larry the father figure to his children. It was amazing to see the visible love that Larry and Michelle had for these orphans.

Michelle's every thought revolved around her different kids. She loved to talk about their progress, intelligence, and where she thought they would end up working in life. Some doctors, some mechanics, and even a pastor or two.

They loved to tell the redemption stories. Michelle started with one about Larry and Larry would interject if he felt the need. A baby was left in the care of Michelle and they were looking for placement of her. Natalie had no where to go, and a children's facility fell through for taking care of her. Larry agreed to care for her for 30 days. His words, "I can do anything for 30 days." After a few days in, Larry went to work, and caregivers came in to help with Natalie since she appeared to have some disabilities. They called him after he'd been gone most of the day, and said Natalie had been screaming all day. Larry came home, and when he walked in, she immediately stopped crying. 30 days turned into an adoption. Natalie has cerebral palsy and is confined to a wheel chair. She requires constant attention, but she lights up when Larry walks in. Redemption.

Kirby is two years old and lightning fast. Michelle said to let her know if we saw a little boy running around without his shoes and possibly without his pants. "He can't hear, so don't yell for him... just let me know." We were told that Kirby should not be alive. His condition is microcephaly. His head is smaller than it should be and it almost always- the child never survives. Kirby's only apparent issue is a lack of hearing. Michelle plans on teaching all 40 children sign language and has already picked out a local boy to help Kirby learn how to communicate. Bigger than that, It is possible that with the right doctors, and medical care, some of Kirby's hearing might be restored. I have a feeling that Kirby's story of redemption is far from over

Each child had their story. Michelle and Larry seemed to know them all. This wasn't a situation where someone answered an add for a job. This was not a 40 hour a week- something to do- until the next thing comes open. This was a calling, and it was clear that Michelle & Larry were called. They told a story of a baby being brought to them. The parents came to them, "We had five children and four have died of starvation. We'd like one to survive." and they left the baby there. Another's mother had died of Aids, and the baby tested positive for HIV. We visited this beautiful baby in the children's hospital ( a room with 30 metal cribs, 30 children, and two ceiling fans). Michelle's prayer was for the mom's blood to carry the HIV and in a few months, when they tested again, the little baby would not have the life ending virus so he could come and live at Hands & Feet. I want that too.

Crystala topped them all. Her mother was 15 and when she knew she was going to deliver, instead of going to a hospital, or telling someone else, she went into a public restroom (4 toilet stalls lined up like out houses) and delivered a baby girl. After watching life itself come from within her, the mother threw Crystala away. She dropped her down the toilet and walked out.

A young boy saw the girl come out with blood all over her, and knew she had been pregnant. He ran over to the bathroom and could hear the cry of a baby. He called the police. The UN police arrived, and dug down over 28 feet through filth, disease, and human waste hoping to find a baby. Michelle showed me the video. Crystala survived two births in one day. She escaped from a mother who didn't want her, and she was saved by concerned boy, UN workers, and a loving God who must certainly have big plans for her life. Redemption.

I held the three year old Crystala in my lap. When she looked at you, you wanted to cheer for her. I was watching a living, breathing, and laughing miracle.

Lying in my bunk that night, thankful for the fan that circulated cool night air, I couldn't help but think about how God is in the redemption business. I saw his love on display through Michelle and through Larry. They are more than employees of Hands & Feet. They are protectors of the weak. They are advocates of the defenseless. They are in the redemption business, and business is booming.

Haiti: Part 1 & 2

I wish I could take the credit for writing the following posts because I think they are amazing, but all the credit goes to our friend Jay who joined Jonathan on his recent trip to Haiti April 26-May 2, 2010. Here's Jay in Haiti with my J behind him:


PART ONE:

Flew to Miami with six other men. None of them from my church, and I only really knew one of them well. Chris had invited us all to go on this trip. I originally told him no. I felt like I had too much going on at my church. He didn't flinch, "Hey man, you are always going to be too busy. You should go with me on this trip."

I had kind of found myself in this place where I felt like the universe was being set in motion, its every rotation, dependent on my existence. I was Desmond, and if the button didn't get pushed....

We all are "too busy" It's all relative to what we think is "busy". The fact is, we are all replaceable, and only make time for the things we truly care about. I preach about taking the good news about Jesus around the world and showing God's love to others almost every week, but my calendar only reflects a self-important administrator who makes sure there are enough chairs on Sunday. I talked to Shantel, prayed about it, and called him back. I was in. Turns out 5 of the 7 guys who went told him no too. Chris had his work cut out for him.

Spent the night in a pink Embassy Suites only to wake up at 4:30AM to catch the flight to Haiti. I don't have a problem with planes. My issue comes into play with motion sickness on roller coasters and car rides. If I'm not upfront, its over. We landed at what was left of the Port Au Prince airport. chaos. Entrance into the country and customs was basically a mean lady with a stamp and ball point pen. I imagined there to be only 8 ball point pens in all of Haiti after the Earthquake. I smiled at her, she smiled back, and I was in. I still got it.

We were told you would land, and they would throw your luggage into a pile, and you'd have to scrap for it. Apparently that was all yesterdays news because a conveyor belt was now handling the action. It was relatively tame inside the baggage claim. Outside was a whole nother story. It looked like the Haitian equivalent to a Justin Bieber stampede at a mall performance. We waited inside the fence for our driver to show up. That felt like a long wait.

Someone showed with a scrap of cardboard that wrote "Christoph" with the "er" trailing off like a bad junior high election poster where the mom refused to help the kid, and the kid lost because he couldn't space his name properly on a piece of paper and the "er" was in tiny print falling off the self promotional cliff. We followed him.

The next 500 ft. to the car felt like 50,000. I didn't look anyone in the eye, and I felt like Jason Bourne being chased by baggage hitmen wanted to "tip" me to death. We ended up next to this mini-van with 6 grown men essentially competing for the same tip. AWKWARD. Somehow this was handled and OTIS our driver and surprisingly, there was a small American with us, who barely said a word. Otis and Larry were our protection.

Larry never formally introduced himself, but he helped to lead the Hands and Feet Orphanage in Jacmel where we were heading. Having no clue what this trip was going to be like, only preparing for the worst, I had taken anti-nausea medicine for the van drive. 65 miles to Jacmel, and it took over 3 1/2 hours.

At first we were asking Larry questions. "Why was the airport like that?" "How long will this trip take?" "Is this normal?" Larry was clearly uninterested in answering any questions, and promptly dosed off into a nap, which left us to take in the sights for ourselves. Now, most of you know me, I am what you would call an extrovert. I enjoy conversation, an experiential journey as we openly communicate thoughts, and possible humorous things we might see while driving. For almost 4 hours, no one spoke one word. Larry knew what we would see could not be explained.
I sat in the front seat, doing my best to avoid losing my lunch in front of grown men I barely knew. We drove past the actual airport that had been damaged from the earthquake, and I could tell that it had once been a fairly nice place. Rubble was everywhere. The road was barely recognizable except for the three lanes of traffic on the two lane road. Pick up trucks with a covering over the back and two benches to sit on either side would be filled with 20-40 Haitians at a time piled in the popular taxi transportation. They would "tap tap" on the side, and the driver would pull over. The Tap Taps were everywhere. The other thing that was everywhere: people. It was like they were walking around but had no place to go. It really felt like aimless wandering, with a mixture of motor bikes zipping in and out of the three laned- two lane roads. Everyone honked their horns.

There appeared to be one road from city to city and anyone with a vehicle was on it. Inches off the road, tent after tent was lined up for living. It felt like no one was farther than 1 foot from the road. Everything was ruined. I wish I knew what Port Au Prince looked like before, I was told Haiti is the 4th most contaminated place on Earth, and the first three are due to nuclear fall out. Contaminated makes it sound so distant. This was unimaginable. We drove past flowing rivers of trash. Imagine a man-made lake-bed to help irrigate the city so no water would over-take it. Now, replace the gushing water with sewage. People were wading through it trying to scoop out debris. It was liking watching a fireman take a squirt pistol to blazing inferno. Trash was everywhere. Debris, rubble, garbage, and children all floated around and played together. Children were chasing each other inches away from the highway. Some had clothes on... no one had real actual shoes. But hey, I'm here to tell you that Crocs have made a global impact!

The paved road became the equivalent to a bmx rally track. The potholes were almost vehicle sized, perfect for a dirt bike to catch some air. We bounced around in the minivan like someone giant had picked us up and was shaking us violently to see how we'd react. More rubble. More devastation. Hopelessness loomed in the air like a fog that never ended.

I never saw any fast food restaurants. I thought McDonald's were everywhere. Not in Haiti. There was nothing in Haiti. Gas Stations were miles and miles apart, and actual offices and buildings didn't seem to exist anymore. The only thing I could make out were car dealerships. That was odd too. They had no inventory visible. Everything was concrete walls and fences, the ones that survived the earthquake. The "Walmart" in the major city of Port Au Prince was nothing more than an open market with hundreds of items piled on top of each other in the open sky for people to rummage through. I saw this massive pile- the size of a one car garage- of t-shirts. Shoes were the same way. They looked mildew stained and ratty. I asked Larry if that was donations given from earthquake relief. He said they were for sale. That was the open market. We drove on.

Just past the rubble, debris, urine and garbage stained streets, just beyond the lean-tos, tents, and fallen huts, you could barely make out the beach. From the van, it looked like a picture you'd see in someones beach house. Palm trees and little boats, and perfectly blue ocean. paradise right?

The second part of the trip was up a mountain. The one road in the country followed the curves of a mountain with blind spots at every turn. All you could hear were little moped and motor bike honks, and I imagined the whole thing to be a very ridiculous video game, only with no extra lives. I dozed off at one point, only to wake up to a soldier with an AK-47 staring at me through the windshield. He had a funny blue construction hat. I rubbed my eyes to see the UN sticker, and the earth mover behind him. The roads were falling apart and earthquake landslides had made the barely two lane road... less than one lane for the motorists to honk at each other on. 20, 30 minutes, finally the machine gun toting humanitarian let us pass. 5 miles, another stop with an earth mover chipping away at one side of a mountain only to toss it to the other side. By this time, 15 motor bikes had sped past us, only to screech to a halt with a UN soldier almost clotheslining one of them. Finally we were allowed to pass.

The downhill turn of the mountain was treacherous also. Otis didn't want to drive too fast, as little cities would pop up and people would wander out in front of you like a stray dog hoping to be put out of its misery. So, we'd drive fast, we'd drive slow, and Otis braked so much, I wondered if we would have to put our feet through the floor like a flinstone mobile. The anti-nausea medicine started to wear off and my prayer life took an uptick. "God, please don't let me throw up in Haiti in front of grown men I don't know." That was the last half-hour. I prayed so much so, that I'm not even sure what the orphanage looked like once we pulled in.

Goodbye Nashville, Hello Haiti

The above pic is our friend, Tyler (far left), my hubby J (center), and our friend, Chris (far right). These three guys plus 4 other men left for Haiti Monday. Haiti had been on J's heart long before the earthquake, so when Chris decided to go back (he volunteered there last year pre-earthquake)J jumped at the chance to go with him. They are there with Hands and Feet project working at an orphanage. Will you pray for this group of men this week? They return home May 2.

Here's another shot of Chris with his family, Kim, McKinley and Jack. Chris organized the trip and I loved this shot of his family. They are some of our dearest friends and we love them to death.

Papa Eddie w/ The Kids

On Wednesday, I had to go for my follow-up appointment to get my stitches removed. My mom and dad, Juju and Papa Eddie, volunteered to come to the house and watch the babies while I was gone. Mom snapped these pics and I just smiled ear to ear when she emailed them to me. I am very blessed to have such an amazing family that loves my kiddos and wants to hang out with them. Here's Papa Eddie and Joshua:

Here's Papa Eddie and Mary Elizabeth. He had obviously told her a pretty funny secret:

Of course, like most women, JuJu isn't in any of these pics because she was taking the picture! THANKS JuJu for snapping these pics.

Hard to believe how much the babies have grown, huh? I am starting to get asked if they are twins more and more often as they are relatively the same size now.

Melanoma

So, I had a *little* scare a few weeks ago and I thought I would share my experiences with you.

It all started April 1. My youngest twin, Luke, had been referred to a plastic surgeon/dermatologist for a consult on a birthmark that had been on his belly since birth. Over the years, it has grown quite a bit, changed texture, changed color, etc. We had seen several derms over the years, but since our insurance had changed, it was time to find a new doctor. Our pediatrician referred us to this new doctor, Dr. C, to let her have a look. She took one look and immediately decided it needed to come off, so he had surgery earlier this year. Luckily, the pathology on the birthmark was clear. I was so impressed with her, I decided to check her out for myself. This all leads me to the office visit I had with her on April 1.

As she looked over a few spots that had been removed previously (see that post HERE), she mentioned that I shouldn't need a full body scan because I had been to my last doctor within the last 6 months. I looked at her puzzled and I think she immediately realized, I had NEVER had a full body scan. "You've never had a doctor look over your body for suspicious moles?" she asked. Nope. Never thought to ask for one, and the previous derms have never asked to do one, so I really had never even considered that this might be something of importance. Never mind that I have had 3 spots removed over the last 3 years.

She immediately told me to disrobe and for all you ladies out there, well...let's just say I wasn't "prepared" to get naked. But I did. And she found 5 spots that "she really didn't like the looks of" She went on to discuss melanoma, how she wanted them off ASAP and proceeded to book me on April 14 to have them cut off. I left the appointment feeling uneasy. How had I not realized the spots didn't look "normal"....why had I never thought about having a doctor examine the rest of my body? I called J and sobbed to him, but then quickly composed myself as I realized that God was just as much in control at that moment as he was before she identified those 5 spots. Oh, and for those of you that were wondering: the reason they were "weird" is that they aren't raised like a "normal" mole, the color is dark and inconsistant throughout, and they are not perfectly round...in fact, they appeared like a blot of ink.

J and I drove in silence to the office on the 14th. I think we were both a little more nervous than we let on, especially because I knew the doctor was not normally in the office that day, but she had come in specifically to remove these spots. When I arrived, the nurse let us know that our insurance would only cover 3 spots to be removed at one time and Dr. C had decided that the two on my upper back and one on my belly were the most important to remove. The nurse applied the numbing cream and we waited for Dr. C to arrive (she had been in surgery all morning).

The procedures weren't that bad. I'm sure the numbing cream helped. J sat on the chair across the room and admitted later that he tried not to look as she put needles in me to numb the spots. He said he glanced my way long enough to see a bloody stitch coming up and decided that was all he needed to see. I left nice and numb with a promise from the doctor that I would get a call with the results as soon as she got them. I came home and surfed the net. Bad idea. Those spots DID look like the spots they showed on melanoma sites. I stopped surfing the net. I did talk to two friends on the phone who are both melanoma survivors. Both were AMAZING and gave me all the info I needed to not feel so scared of a diagnosis.

Finally, on Tuesday, I got the call from the doctor. No Melanoma. I felt like I let out enough air to fill my lungs for an eternity. I don't think I realized until that moment how much I had subconciously worried. The bad news? They are dysplastic which means that aren't normal. The worse news? On one of the spots, they didn't get "clear margins" which means they didn't get it all and in her opinion, it would have turned into melanoma, so I have to go back May 14th to get more of that area removed. She is also going to cut out the other two spots that day. She feels confident that they will come back the same as these last three, but it's important to go ahead and get them off before they do get funky.

I guess the reason I am typing this is that I want people reading this to be more proactive than I was. If you have a spot that looks odd, go to a doctor and get it checked out. If you need one in Nashville, shoot me a message...I think Dr. C is great and would be happy to pass on her number. A big thank you to those of you that knew about this and were praying for us...we felt it and that is the only reason that I was so calm in this whole process!

Yellow Teeth, Lung Butter, Etc.

A few more random thoughts from me....

I didn't realize until I really looked at the pic above how yellow Isaac's teeth look. I showed him the picture and I think he finally realized why I stay on them about brushing their teeth. We go to the dentist every 6 months and it's a miracle, but so far, none of the kids have had a cavity. One of my regrets is not taking better care of my teeth growing up, so I hope this was all the wake up call he needed. I promise his teeth are not normally that yellow.

My migraines have been almost non-existant since I started with the chiropractor a few weeks ago. Yes, I was skeptic, but it's been amazing how a few adjustments in my neck have stopped the migraines dead in their tracks. Right now I am going once a week, but I just love the doctor and I feel fabulous in the headache department. I do think I am trying really hard to get another sinus infection which seems to come about every 6 months. As Angie V. calls it, I've been coughing up some lung butter so I'm sure I'll be good and sick by this time next week.

I've had a lot of mixed emotions the last few days about how I should stop putting my thoughts out there so openly. Not necessarily on this blog, but I've had a few friends ask things along the line of "what would Brea do" and I find that my answers tend to be completely opposite what they were thinking and I end up feeling like I am putting my gigantic foot in my mouth. I know they wouldn't ask if they didn't want my opinion, but I do end up feeling like a butt when my advice isn't in line with what they were thinking. At the end of the day, I want to know I was being real, but on the flip side I certainly don't want to hurt others with my thoughts or feelings.

One of the other things I have been thinking and praying a lot about: do I have a different view on adoption simply because we were fertile? Would I feel differently about the whole process if J and I had never been able to conceive children? In reality, I honestly don't know what infertility feels like. I welcome feedback on this (heck, I welcome feedback on anything I talk about!) I do remember J and I talking when we first started the process before Mary Elizabeth and we felt very convicted about the type of child we would like to adopt. We certainly didn't want to take a healthy, white infant away from another couple who couldn't conceive so we chose to be more open when it came to the child that we would adopt. Sure enough, we were the only couple open to M.E.'s specific situation and I think somewhere deep down, it made me feel good to know that it wasn't an us vs. them type situation.

So that's what is rolling around in my head in the last few days. If you have an extra minute, please say a prayer for a friend of mine, H. She and her husband are in the midst of a domestic adoption where the birthmother is in limbo about whether or not to sign TPR. The baby is now a week old and this situation is very hard on everyone involved. I'm sure they would be so thankful for your prayers!

Adoption = Hard

I was a little surprised to log in today and realize this was my 500th post. The whole reason I started this blog was to "loosely" follow Mary Elizabeth's adoption. Here I am, almost 3 years later, still talking about adoption and now we have gone from 3 to 5 kids.

Adoption has been a bitter pill for me to swallow recently. Joshua's mom came to visit and although it was wonderful and we made amazing memories, it brought back a lot of feelings I had when she originally placed him with us. I kept thinking, "in a perfect world, she would be raising her son" but wow, this world is so far from perfect. I'm working on a post about her visit that I'll be sharing soon.

I also have several friends who are in the process of adopting, both internationally and domestically. I find it difficult to bite my tongue when they say something that really isn't ethical, etc. I have to remind myself constantly that I was once in that place where I thought every child internationally available for adoption was an orphan, where I assumed adoption was ALWAYS the best option, where I thought that the adoptive parent was a saint for opening their home, that every black child in a white family was from Africa. Now I know that adoption is one of the hardest things I have ever been through and yet one of the most rewarding.

I have to remind myself that it's easy to feel this way, I have two more amazing kids.....I'm no longer in the horrible wait for a referral. It's easy to tell someone now that the agony of the wait will disappear once they have placement. I remember what I felt like when people would say "your baby will come, just trust in God" I wanted to smack them and yet, I find, that I am now giving the same advice with a little more detail.

I guess I've just come to realize that my children are not my own. I am blessed that God chose me to raise them. I have never done anything to earn them and God certainly doesn't want me out there patting myself on the back that I opened my home when he is the one who wanted me to be open. It's difficult to know that although I know Joshua's mom doesn't regret her decision, I still cry sometimes because I wish her circumstances were different. Yes, that would mean he would not be here with me, but it also means he wouldn't have to face the loss of his biological family at some point in his life.

I worry about the hard questions he and Mary are going to get one day. My Anna is in middle school, I KNOW the mean things kids say. Just the other day, she came home in tears because a boy had told her she looked like a second grader. Now, mind you, she is a peanut and probably is the size of a second grader, but to a tween in middle school those words were devastating. I mainly worry about the hard questions they will ask ME one day. I just have to cling to this:

Philippians 4:6-7
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.