A Face-Off With Injustice

One time, I threatened to beat the crap out of a tween.  

True story, and it actually wasn't that long ago.  There were a couple of tweens who were babysitting for one of the girl's nephews and they were terrorizing the poor kid at a playground.  The girl was about 12-13 years old and the little boy was probably 2 1/2 or 3.  (Just about the age of my little London...)

The girls were using horrific language, include racial slurs, and were forcing the poor baby down a big slide... one of those tall, dark, corkscrewing tube slides, and he was terrified.  He was gripping the top of the slide like his life depended on it, screaming and crying, and the girls were just laughing at him and they were using their feet to try to push him down the slide.  Something in me absolutely snapped. 

I am not saying that this is how I should have handled it, but I walked over there and let 'er rip.  I told this girl that she had absolutely no business spending time with her nephew if she is going to treat him like that.  I asked them if they felt pretty big and bad because they could make a toddler cry.  I called them miserable bullies and then I said that if I was that boy's mother that I would tear their faces off, and if I hear them use the N-word one more time in front of my children, that I actually will tear their faces off.

I can't say with 100% certainty, but I am about 95% sure that I committed a crime during all the threatening and the flailing.  (Oh, did you not picture flailing?  Trust me, these gangly arms went buck nutty.  I don't think it helped my street cred, but I think I was subconsciously implementing a strategy I learned from camping in bear country... if you stumble upon a dangerous beast, make yourself appear as large as possible.  So, when threatened, I flail a little.)  

I don't know if the girls were scared or embarrassed or if they were just plain stunned by this interaction with a total wild woman, but they left pretty quickly after that and waited until they were a half mile away, before they started yelling their comebacks at me.   By that time I had already returned to my also-stunned family eating dinner, and tried to explain why Mommy was "talking a little rough and rudely to the strangers."

I sort of think this is a metaphor for my whole life.  I am not a person to sit on the sidelines, or to watch something go down that I don't think is right.  I am just one of those people who is going to speak up or speak out.  Trust me when I tell you that I am not bragging... clearly I don't handle situations correctly all the time!!  But, I can't not try.  There is just something inside of me that longs for justice and for peace.

I was reminded today from an old friend of my brother's how his death left so many young people with the devastating realization that in this world, there is rarely justice.  This led to a huge march and a petition with thousands of signatures, all calling out for justice.  We wore t-shirts and carried a banner donning the slogan "No Justice, No Peace."  These words lit a fire in me then, and now, when things like this happen, and there is a victim who cannot speak for himself, I simply cannot help but speak from him.  

Though I do not speak as politely as I should - I am working on that, I truly am.  I wish that I could have gone to those girls calmly, with my arms staying down at my sides, and said to them "Ladies, I know that you probably lack parental guidance and maybe you were treated like this when you were little... but, what you are doing to this little boy is not right, and it wasn't right when people treated you like that either.  Come now, let us hug it out and I shall retrain you on all the ways of behaving nicely at the playground."  I want to be cool and calm and have superb control over my limbs at all times. But, even if I blow it sometimes, this thing in me, this mama-bear alarm that erupts in me at the sight of the helpless, is one of the few qualities about myself that I love.

The reality is that I am a work in progress and that I blow it, yes, but I have never regretted standing up for what I believe in.  I have never regretted helping the underdog, trying to break up a fight, or to protect someone who is defenseless.  I don't always handle it the right way, in fact I am sure I handle it poorly most of the time, but the actual drive inside of me to respond at all in a world that is sometimes so silent, is a gift from the God who created me for a purpose.  

I spent a few hours on the phone with Adam's best friend earlier this month.  He walked me through moment by moment the night that Adam was killed.  He answered a lot of questions that I didn't even realize that I had.  It was a painful conversation, but it was also a relief in a way.  I could stop wondering about what happened to my brother that night, because every time I did... my victim alarm would sound so loudly it was deafening.  My desire for justice will never be satisfied in the case of my brother's death, but I can honestly say that I think maybe we were wrong about our slogan.  I think that peace doesn't come from justice at all... perhaps peace can only come from grace.

I might be wrong, but I have found that in this past month of extending kindness in the memory of my brother, and living in light of all of the beautiful graces God has shown me... I have had more peace than if I were still in the fight for justice.  In my opinion, the man who killed my brother could have gone to jail for the rest of his life, and he would have gotten what he deserved.  Justice would have been served, but I don't think that would bring my parents anymore peace in the loss of their only son.

I am finding that true and lasting peace only comes from living in light of and in response to the Greatest Act of Kindness that a very just and gracious God extended to me, through the loss of His only Son.

Day 28: We returned our library books with this attached to it.  Sometimes speaking up for the underdog means threatening to tear the face off of a bully, and sometimes it means encouraging a librarian.  But, no matter what speaking up ends up looking like... I think that I will modify our old slogan when I am bringing up my kids in this very unjust world.  Perhaps instead of teaching them that there will be no peace unless there is justice, I will introduce them to the Prince of Peace, who is in charge of justice.  No Jesus, No Peace... That has a pretty redemptive ring to it.  

Wrestling with Memory & Regret

My brother was a wrestler.  He was a very good wrestler.  For those of you who are picturing Hulk Hogan in a skin tight leotard, you are not even close.  When I say wrestling, I mean the technical, athletic, focused, discipline of actual wrestling.  This means nothing to most of you, and I am fine with that.  I like being a part of a small percentage of people who have yelled the phrase "up and out!" at an athletic competition.  I don't mind that very few people know what I am talking about, in fact I prefer it.  

I love that my memories of my brother are exclusive.  I prefer that my memories of him are just mine alone.  But, I also fear that they are slipping away from me.  I can remember, a year or two after Adam passed away, the realization that I could not remember what his hands looked like.  No matter how hard I tried, I just could not remember his hands.  Then it was his voice.  To this day, I cannot remember his voice.  

Sometimes, I dream of Adam.  Almost always, we are skiing together, which is weird because in real life, we never skied together.  In real life I missed Adam's 17th birthday because I wanted to go skiing with my friends, except I don't think they were really my fiends.  I think what really happened was that some of my friends had gotten in trouble and were not allowed to hang out with each other... but they were allowed to hang out with me, because I was a "good girl."  So, my friends (who actually wanted to see each other) asked me to go skiing so that they could hang out with one another.  They asked me to go skiing on January 26th.  My brother's 17th birthday.  That was as old as he would ever be,  and I wasn't there to celebrate because I went skiing with friends who really had no interest in being with me.

I have hated myself for that for so long, and I have never told anyone, besides my husband, this story.  I wish so much that I was with him for the last birthday of his life.  I dream of skiing with him, and I dream that he forgives me and that I bring him a big present and everything is fine.

I am almost done with my 31 days of kindness.  I don't think I am ready to be done with it, because it is the closest I have come to hearing my brother's voice again that I don't want to stop.  I am terrified of losing more of him, and I am afraid of letting go of the hurt of losing him, because sometimes it feels like all I have left to remember him by.

Then, I think of what only I know.  I think of sitting next to him on the couch while he shakes his feet habitually, to "make weight."  I think of me and my friend, Sarah, hiding candy from him because we didn't know that it was his.  I think of when he and I talked about my parents getting divorced and him telling me who I would need to be: the forgiving one, the compassionate one, understanding everybody and hearing everyone out.  I remember watching him do his hair, and talk about the girl he liked, and the time he was proud of me for being defiant.  

Some of these details I will always keep to myself, because they are my sacred... my treasured secrets that nobody gets to sit in on.  I will hold these memories as long as I can, and I look forward to the day that I hear my brother's voice again in heaven.

For Day 27, my sister-in-law and I brought dinner to a widower who is on dialysis three times a week.  He lost his wife fifteen years ago and I am certain that he has plenty of memories of her that he keeps all to himself.  He probably has a world of regrets, like my skiing day, and I am certain that a lot of those regrets will remain until the day he dies.  

I am glad that we were able to bring a meal to this man, and while he is battling the inevitability that he will forget his wife; her hands, her voice... we were able to make him feel that he is remembered, that he isn't alone, even if he can't remember her... 

Oxygen First, Then Helium

Day 25 may seem like I was cheating, but hear me out because this was one of the more difficult Acts of Kindness for me. Yesterday, I took the day to be kind to myself. I know what you're probably thinking, "psh, big sacrifice."

Well, I am not going to pretend it was random or sacrificial... because it was totally indulgent, but I think that many of us are guilty of focusing on others too much. We can be guilty of focusing more on other people's shortcomings, needs, feelings, choices, etc.

I am guilty of all of the above, and I am even guilty of forgetting to show myself compassion, kindness and grace. So, yesterday was my turn.  Don't the flight attendants always tell you, in case of a "situation" make sure you put your own oxygen mask on first before helping others?  Well, I think that we can fairly say that we have had a "situation" and I just needed to breath yesterday.

I took myself out to lunch at a restaurant that I haven't been to since I lived outside of Philly. I ordered my favorite thing without looking that the price. (Tom, I forgot to tell you that... Surprise.)

Then I went to a beautiful spa where I finally redeemed the gift card I got for Mother's Day. I got a massage and a mini-manicure and I drank water with a strawberry floating in it. They put me in this puffy, oversized robe...

...and gave me a magazine that made me realize how ridiculous the current fashion is.

 I took these appalling pictures to prove it.

If this is how everyone starts dressing and cutting their hair, I am seriously not going out anymore.  Except the first one, that one's kinda cute.  Anyways... Day 25 was a much needed time to relax (and cry) while some lady rubbed my back.  

Day 26, focus is back to others. I attached a note and a $5 Starbucks gift card to a helium balloon in hopes that it reaches a stranger who needs cheering. As it turns out, one gift card is just heavy enough to perfectly weigh down a balloon.  It is rarely a good idea to get my husband involved in a project like this.  He insisted I get ten helium balloons, and reinforce the hole where I tied the strings, and that maybe we should strategically release the balloons in an open field with the least obstacles and lowest chances of landing in a body of water.  He also wanted to follow the balloons in our van for as long as we could.  I think he was living out he fantasy of being a storm chaser.  I just wanted to let the stinkin' thing go in the parking lot.  Regardless of our strategizing, it is way more likely that it will become entangled in one of the thousands of tree limbs or power lines that it will pass than actually deflate at just the right time to float down into the hands of a coffee lover... that being said, Day 26 is actually a Random Act of Environmental Negligence. Still, I thought it worth the risk.

After all the pain and heartache of the failed adoption placement, I think it was good to symbolically let go of something hoping that it finds it's way into the hands of another.

10,000 Prayers and He's Mine Forever

This month, my blog has had about 10,000 hits. I can only think of about 40 people that I know, so this is kind of a big deal. Many of you started following my 31 Days of Kindness - an effort I began as a personal journey in honoring my brother and glorifying God by loving others in the process.

The journey, for me, quickly made me realize that what I was really doing was mourning the loss of my brother, as an adult, for the first time. I don't think you can fully mourn a loss when you are in middle school. I don't know if I could even tie a double knot in middle school. (Late bloomer and all.) So, I am certain that I was not even close to being capable of grasping the intensity and the gravity of what my family would face in this lifetime. I did not realize how much grieving I had left to do. This journey has really helped me do this, as an adult, and that has been a real gift.

Another unexpected twist was this hope of our family finally being complete with or last child. This happened to take place right in the height of my blogging career, when I had the most followers I have ever had. I keep think about how I wanted to give this baby the gift of my home, and when that was no longer needed, I wanted to give the gift of some items that would provide a little something for his first weeks here on Earth. When that didn't work... it all just feels really pointless.

Then I realized that by sharing this journey, openly, with so many people... This baby boy was covered in more prayer in these few days than most children are in their whole lifetime. Perhaps, THAT is the sole gift I was meant to give this child.

Isn't a mother's love sacrificial, unconditional, and free of any requirements on the child's end? I think I can release this little boy if I can stop thinking of him as the baby that should have been mine, or was almost mine... Instead, I am just deciding that he is mine, and he is yours and he belongs to 10,000 others who have made him the child of their hearts.

He belongs to us, guys, and we get to keep loving him sacrificially by praying over his sweet little baby self for as long as we like... Maybe even forever.

I guess that makes him my forever baby after all. What healing this brings to my soul.

We Graciously Reject Donations...

Today was one of those days when you force yourself to take a shower, just so you can cry without scaring the children.  I am not one of those women who hides emotion from my kids, I think that the sooner they view me as a human person, with real feelings, the nicer they will be to me when they are teenagers. *This is an untested theory, but I plan to let you all know if it works out.  

I don't hide my emotions from them, but I also try really hard to not scar them for life either.  If nothing else, I want to create the illusion that their mother is a sane woman... but, the kind of crying that I had to get done today was the kind that shatters such an illusion.  The cry on the agenda was the kind that really needs a good amount of water pressure to drown out.  

After my shower-fit, I mustered the strength to pack up some of our maybe-baby's things and walk them over to the community food pantry.  As it turns out they "graciously accept donations" during two 45 minute windows of time during the week.  I had not arrived during one of these windows.  I don't get it!  First I try to give these items to the birthmother, and that didn't work out, and now even the food pantry is against me.  By the time I walked back, my mother-in-law Cindy pulled into the driveway and saw me standing on my porch like a zombie, holding a bag of bottles and formula and diapers.  Unlike the food pantry, my sweet mother-in-law "graciously accepts donations" at all hours of the day.  

So, Day 24, I put  a bag of baby things in the back seat of my MIL's car and she will deliver them to a local mission.  Kind of a flop, I know... but, my expectations for today was just to make it into the shower to cry, so, sadly, this was really a mind-blowing accomplishment.

Apart from that, we are all just sort of processing in our own way.  Some people have asked if I regret that we brought the kids with us to Manhattan, and would I do it differently next time?  In a word: nowayjose.

Here is what I am thinking... Was this a painful experience for the kids?  Absolutely it was.  They are feeling confused, maybe a little guarded as far as the "next baby" goes, and they are very disappointed.  The bottom line is that in the past week I have heard my kids (2, 5, 7 and 8 years old) discuss the pros and cons of parenting vs. making an adoption plan, evaluate socioeconomic issues like poverty and homelessness, as well as how different cultures view adoption.  These have been heavy conversations, but I have got to believe that my kids are developing an usually mature understanding of life and issues outside themselves.  My hope is that they are being seasoned in a way that is painful, yes, but also very growing.  And I can't wait to see the compassion, the sense of social consciousness, and the cultural sensitivities that these understandings will develop in them.  I may be biased, but I have got to believe that kids who have these kinds of discussions at such an early age... are just going to be awesomer for it.  

So, no, I do not regret including my children in on such a potentially amazing experience.  The bottom line is that I really wanted Harper to see exactly how we felt when we came to meet him.  I wanted him to see how we frantically packed and prepared when we got the call that we had a baby and "it's a boy!"  I wanted him to feel the same anticipation we felt for him.  I wanted him to see all of us rejoicing in the birth of this tiny, brown baby, and he could think "Oh, this must be just what they felt when they met me."

I told him that today, that Mommy and Daddy are so sad because we wanted this little boy so very much to be in our family.  I said that we wanted him that much too, and that we would have been so sad if we hadn't gotten him.  He looked at me with those dark eyes and said, "But you weren't sad then, because you did get me..." Then he did a slow, dreamy blink with his long false-looking eyelashes and added with a sigh,

"You got me forever."

I know that this baby was not mine to keep.  I know that this baby was meant to be in a different home.  I know that I will probably wonder about him constantly for a while, and from time to time down the road.  I know that I loved him as much as anyone could have in my position, and I know that I loved his birthparents as much as I possibly could.  The truth is that God is who He says He is and He was here first... so, how He chooses to act, or not act, in any given situation is really none of my business.  In light of that, I am just trying to remember His promises to me, and I believe that He has called us into this adoption journey for a second time, not to torture us, but to teach us something we could not learn any other way.  And, in the end, I will get to look into the dreamy, slow-motion eyes of my last baby and I will know, that this one is forever.