Life with Jake

One of the joys of parenting is seeing how your kids process things.

We sat at the table this morning, reading through Psalm 121, talking about how God is able to care for each and every person all at once. The daddies in Canada and the kids in South America and the mommas in India...

DJ said, "And the kids in Zimbia!" (hhmm??)

"You mean the kids in Zambia? In Africa?"

"No, that place where we just went to war!"

"Oh! You mean Libya!"

"Yeah! Libya!"

And then Jake piped in: "And those kids at that pizza place!"

at the pizza place... I'm trying to track...

"The pizza place, Jake? Which one? Do you mean Pisa, that place in Italy?" (ohmyword! How did this child learn anything about Pisa?)

"You know! The one (DJ) told me about!"

DJ, ever helpful: "Oh, no! I was telling him yesterday about Chile and Turkey!"

Chile/Turkey = chili and turkey, which easily becomes pizza. Mystery solved.

"Yes, Jake, God takes care of all the kids in the pizza places, too." (Please, Lord, don't let me laugh.)

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Then there are the things that I don't want to find out, but that I have to learn.

I was holding Jake a week or so ago, giving him some kisses and hugs. He is such an affectionate boy!

I asked him if he liked it when "the ladies in Vietnam" kissed on him when he lived there.

"They not do that." (just matter-of-factly, nonchalantly. No big deal, Mom, they not do that.)

"Didn't they kiss you some? A little?"

"No, Mom! They not do that over there."

I don't know how much of his memory is faulty. But I do know this: if there was affection shown at a physical level, it was never enough to create the memory for him. There was not enough to register.

I can't even begin to imagine. My heart broke over how much he lost those first 5 years. We all need affection and physical touch, but so very much more as little tiny babies. I've been much more mindful of making myself stop and hold him more. Longer. I pray that the horror of this thought, and the renewed compassion it brought, continues to pain me.

Children of God

Okay, so I'm sensitive. Admitted. And about some things but not others.

For the past three years, I've grown increasingly sensitive about how Jake's adoption is spoken of. And that's a good thing, understandable.

Some of that is the fear of the unknown. I have no idea how Jake will process his whole life circumstances as he grows. I believe it will be a difficult process, I just don't know how he will uniquely handle the emotions and trials that will come.

So I spend quite a bit of effort ~ which is good and bad ~ trying to do damage control. Trying to ward off as much pain as possible. Trying to do it right, make the right decisions.

Which means I cringe when anybody talks about Jake being "adopted." The fact remains: he is adopted. There will never be any changing of that.

But I always talk about Jake "coming home" instead of being adopted. And I lectured one of my kids today on being careful to use that terminology, especially around Jake.

It's good and bad. I'm trying.

So, when I saw this video from one of my favorite bands (Third Day) singing one of my favorite songs, I cringed through the first two-thirds. Why make it so obvious that these kids were adopted? What was the point? How weird to keep pointin' out the difference in these kids' lives. ("Okay, so I'm sensitive.")

Then I cried through the last bit. As I was shown how quick I am to judge, how much I need to believe the best. As I was reminded of the sweet truth of who I am in Christ.

And as the Lord kindly showed me that I have more in common with my fourth baby than I ever knew.

Enjoy...