Fair warning to my diverse group of dear friends: this is an overtly Christian post! I don’t believe it will offend, but if it does, please talk to me directly. This is based on my personal life experience, & I would be glad to share it with you one-on-one.

To ransom: to obtain the release of a prisoner by making a payment demanded. 

The thing about newly adopted children is, they don’t clean themselves up & present themselves as fully-formed, shiny individuals in order to be adopted. They, like each of us, are works in progress. Though they certainly bring us joy & blessing during the time we care for them, initially, they bring nothing to the table but open hands. They are needy, and full of unmet wants. In some ways, they are more independent, after living without parents for so long, but they quickly begin calling for mommy & daddy more often than a same-aged child who has grown up with parents present. They have years of attention-seeking to make up for. They are unpolished—saying and doing things we have learned to pretend we don’t think or do. They don’t blend seamlessly into our already-established family dynamic; they exert their own will and seek their own satisfaction above the good of the family. Simply put, they don’t “deserve” to be adopted, they don’t “earn” a family by their good behavior.

If Amahle did exude every sweet and docile quality that would make her “deserving” of a family, and had no bad habits or flaws, I would miss out on the poignant metaphor God is showing me in our family: I don’t need to be cleaned up and good enough in order to be accepted by Him and lovingly adopted into His family. He accepts me as I am, and He has rescued and ransomed me from a life without Him. This metaphor has sustained me during years of tedious adoption paperwork and aggravating hoops I’ve had to jump through in order to bring a child home from life in an institution. When people have asked about the process, and I have shared some of the big costs associated with adoption, they often either balk or say something to the effect of, “You are a stellar person—I couldn’t go through that.” But neither of those is accurate. I’ve been sustained knowing that I, myself, was ransomed at a very high cost. Jesus did not balk at the high price he had to pay to bring me into His family. Even when I asked for too many things; even when my habits were unattractive; even when I don’t see the tremendous gifts He gives me; even when I don’t say thank you.

When I see Amahle being herself in our midst, when she is picking up & using all our things without hesitating or asking, when she shows us her most ungrateful or selfish sides, I am reminded of the truth about myself. The grace I have been shown was unearned. That’s what grace is. That’s what we’re here to extend to our children.

Now when Amahle joined our family, that very first day, she began calling us “mommy” & “daddy.” She began using all our things, eating our food, putting holes in the knees of the leggings we just gave her. There was no hesitancy, no dipping her toes in the water. This is what it means to receive like a little child. When she was in the orphanage for all those years, she prayed earnestly for parents. She didn’t wonder whether that was the right thing to do—she asked for what she wanted, and she just kept asking. When she was told she was going to have a family, she rejoiced freely. There are lessons to be learned here about what God has for us & how we respond. When we enter into the Kingdom of God, we aren’t borrowing; we aren’t second-class citizens of heaven. We are full children, co-heirs, joint-conquerors with Christ. The boldness Amahle has in our family, the entitlement, shows that she fully receives the gifts she’s been given. At first, I am taken aback, seeing her so confident. It seems presumptuous, maybe impolite, because that’s not how adults in our culture behave. But I know that it is good, and that it means she has fully entered in. My job is to keep my hand open & let her take freely from it. When I want to close it, to make some qualification or contingency, I am stealing. I am adding on to what has already been finished. Freely freely you have received; freely freely give. 

Inside the courthouse, looking out. 

She just "randomly" chose this picture to color.

Blog post #9

April 23^rd, 2013

Court. Today little A officially became ours: Amahle Gaffga. The whole house was up early, bathing & getting the kiddos fed & fancied for court at 9am. We took some family photos ahead of time, and arrived at the courthouse with about 15 minutes to spare. (When will we ever accept that things here run on “Africa time?”) We weren’t sure exactly what all goes on at that courthouse—we looked to be the happiest & most dressed-up people there. We saw at least one man come in wearing handcuffs, held securely by a police officer. We were an excited, jittery group of ten adults: three pairs of adoptive parents, a supportive grandmother who flew in from America for the occasion, two lawyers, & one social worker, and six impatient, decked-out children.

The magistrate was not there when we arrived…or at 9, when our appointment was to be…or at 10…It was after 11 when the first family went in for their proceedings. So the 16 of us took up all the benches in the lobby, as the littlest kids melted down, Amahle sung a constant stream of too-loud made up songs, and the anxious adults said No! to a continual list of requests from the kids. It figures that on this momentous day, our children would not behave angelically—we cleaned them up on the outside, but they were just as rambunctious and self-interested as on any other day. And we were not perfect parents, as we waited to pledge our commitment to our new children. That’s the reality—adoption does not look as pretty, up-close, as it may seem from afar. Adopted children don’t behave “gratefully” for having been taken out of an orphanage! They act their age, usually younger, making up for years of not having anyone to ask for things. They don’t have lovely social skills, they don’t smile & give a hug at every appropriate moment. They are just kids who haven’t been tended to, who have some deep wounds, who struggle with the same desires to do the wrong things as any other child.

To some in the courthouse, we were an annoyance, waiting in the crowded lobby, but many people looked our group over & smiled, knowing what we were there for. When it was finally our turn, we met with the magistrate in his office. He was a vibrant, faithful, amazing man. I came away wishing he were a second father to me! He read over all our papers, checking for errors, asked us if we had any questions, interacted with both kids, and had us sign our pledges to care for Amahle for life. Though outwardly things seemed different—we dressed the part, we were in a courthouse, this was THE date—I truly didn’t feel any different. I felt like Amahle was mine from the moment we took physical custody of her. Our lawyer playfully said, “Call us tomorrow & let us know how you feel when the reality sinks in.” But no extra layer of emotion hit me. For me, it comes in small waves, when I watch both girls sleep; when I find myself laughing at their silly antics during dinner; when I line up two sets of little girl shoes. After signing all the documents, the magistrate, who sees his appointment as a divine calling, prayed for our family with such authority & fervor—it was an awesome close to a long morning at court.

Though the official adoption is now complete, we have a lot of work to do in the coming weeks, in order to be able to leave the country as a family. We need to apply for a new birth certificate and ID number for Amahle, a visa, a temporary passport, and secure her a plane ticket home. She needs to be registered in SA’s official record of children adopted out of the country. She needs to be cleared by a specific doctor before she is allowed to leave the country. This is all a part of the red tape we need to persevere through in order to finish this process. We have been told we will be dealing largely with the Department of Home Affairs for all these documents.  Praying people, please lift this process up for us. 

Blog post #8

April 22^nd, 2013

Today is Tabby’s fourth birthday, and the day has been lovely so far. I am so, so proud of how mature and open she has been throughout this adventure. Sure, she has had her bratty moments (as have each of us), but she has largely been good-natured, trusting, and kind to everyone here. If we were at home in the States, first thing this morning I would’ve stood her against the door to the nursery & measured her height. We have done that every year on the 22^nd of April. Three lines of black Sharpie, representing the three best years of my life. I feel a little sentimental pang that we can’t do it today. But I can stand her straight-backed against an aloe tree and take a photo.

One of the gifts Tabby received today was a pair of kites—one for her, one for her sister. When I bought them months ago at Walmart, I didn’t know they would be flying them on the most perfect, windy morning here in Camperdown. But God did. Last night was a ferocious storm, with extreme winds bringing down a lot of branches. I’m told it was unseasonable, but we have experienced almost every type of weather since we arrived. I couldn’t have guessed last night, as it was pouring rain, that 8 am this morning would bring beautiful kite skies. To a child, that’s no surprise. They greet each day with joyful expectation, certain life will bring them good. I’m so thankful today is bringing my girls good. I pray for the children still living at Lily, that they will be able to hang on to that precious expectation.

After kites, we spent the morning at a zoo in Cato Ridge, where we hadn’t visited before. The previous zoo we went to mostly had birds & tamarins, and those wild monkeys uncaged. This one had tigers and lions, which A had never seen. The girls are getting along well enough that I was largely able to stroll & think my own thoughts. They did continually chant, “Mommy, look! Mommy, pick me up! Mommy, I can’t see!” But it seemed to me so mundane—not adoption-related, not other-country-related, not out-of-birth-order neediness—it was very welcome. They were just little girls being sisters at a zoo.

Not so mundane was Tabby getting a serious, bleeding slice on her finger from a tall blade of grass she was trying to pick to feed to a lion. I’m pretty sure only Tabby could sustain a grass injury.   

Blog post #7.5

April 21^st, 2013

On Sundays, all around the world, in all countries, in all languages, there are mothers arguing with their children about what to wear to church. Amen? At least it seems that way to me. After a small battle about clothes/appropriateness/flip flops, we were on our way to Umhlanga, looking for The Rock Christian Church. What a wave of refreshing grace, being a part of a large group, singing praise on a Sunday morning. Like water when you don’t know how thirsty you are. I was so thankful to be in that environment, soaking it in. One of the hardest parts of this journey is being cut off from my people. I know with grateful certainty that we are being held up in prayer by hundreds of people, some of whom I don’t even know. But it is really hard to not have casual conversation with other adults on a regular basis, let alone receive good, solid advice from other believers. 

Blog post #7

April 20^th, 2013

Today was a good day. I’m not generally a fan of days that lean too much on commerce—there are many things I’d rather do than spend a whole day shopping. But this morning, we took the girls to the Midlands Mall, to buy a few things & to go to the Fun Place (that’s really what it’s called). We attempted this same outing last night, and it did not go well. A’s behavior, & my bad attitude about A’s behavior, did not warrant a blog post. Plus, to our great surprise, the entire mall closes at 6pm. So our mission was cut short anyway.

This morning, we started out with more strategy. There were talks about expectations ahead of time; there were rewards in place; there were consequences outlined; there were three cups of coffee drunk before leaving the lodge.

The first thing that made today go better was a simple invention known as a shopping cart. At malls around here, you can rent (yes, for money) shopping carts that you can take all around the mall. The girls loudly requested one that looked like a car with two steering wheels. I know many of my friends’ children will no longer get into a shopping cart, but these girls sure will. Tabby’s legs were apparently not created for walking, and A has NEVER had the experience of riding in a shopping cart, except for these past few days with us. Keeping them in the shopping cart made things so much easier—A is what we affectionately call “handsy.” She touches everything, including trashcans, garbage she sees on the ground, expensive clothes, just-washed windows, you get the point. So with the girls happily eating snacks in the cart, we were able to buy supplies for the lodge, as well as new dresses for them for court on Wednesday.

I had wanted the girls to wear matching dresses for court, not because I am that mom who wants her children to match all the time, but because it fosters attachment and helps create a family identity, especially on court day. Getting them to agree on a dress, & to both fit in some version of the dress, was not easy, but we did it! Happy girls, pretty dresses, satisfied mommy.

On to the Fun Place, a virtual indoor carnival. A rode her first fair rides—swings that go up in the air (my personal favorite), a boat that veers back & forth sloppily, and a six-seated ride that hoists you up in the air & lets you down fast. Both girls had a blast. No child likes when the fun ends, but what we’ve come to notice about A is that right after she receives something good or fun, she feels let down, & she goes silent. We are frequently up against her unresponsiveness when she doesn’t get what she wants. So while Tabby was bummed that it ended, she thanked us & moved on; A refused to say thank you, or anything, and sulked the whole way home. The inward battle for us is to not let that sour last note become the loudest. We have to remember that the morning was 95% good and peaceful and fun.

After a long nap, hide & seek, dinner, and cleaning up, the night ended with the most ridiculous tickle fight, instigated by A. She really came alive & was making me laugh so hard. She was as affectionate as she has ever been, and allowed Tabby to be a part of the laughter, too. It was hard to calm them down for sleep, but it was a great, uplifting end to the day. Tomorrow we will attempt to find a church in Durban to visit as a family. 

Blog post #5

April 18, 2013

What’s that I hear? It’s momentary silence. And I am taking the opportunity to write. A is napping, Tabby is having quiet time in bed with crayons, and Jamie is reading. This morning has probably been the best so far, behavior-wise. Only a few small instances of bickering or disobeying. We spent the morning at Tala Game Reserve. We drove through for almost two hours, spotting giraffes, gazelles, wild boars, bison, hippos, and ostriches. And one animal I couldn’t name—maybe an antelope? The animals came so close to our car windows & just stared at us as we took pictures. This is nothing like the “safari” at Six Flags! We are clearly on their turf, not the other way around. The animals all looked healthy, happy, and at home in their environment, which made my heart glad. The girls were funny—there was some initial excitement over each animal, but it eventually turned into, “I already saw a bison. I’m going to keep looking at my books.” They are a tough crowd to wow. Jamie & I marveled at the variety of improbable-looking trees. There were twelve foot cacti, and beautiful yellow & purple wildflowers.

After the Game Reserve, we headed home for hide & seek and lunch. A is still having a hard time sharing with Tabby, but she is doing a little better. I’m coming to see that she has a stubborn spirit, which will make some things hard, but can be an asset in the long run. The few times I have insisted that she apologize to someone or say thank you to Tabby, it has clearly been very hard for her. She does not like to recognize when Tabby does something right, or when she, herself, does something wrong. Aren’t we all like that? I think the things that frustrate me most with her are the things I don’t like to see in myself. But progress is definitely being made. I think once they can understand each other better, and once A is on Tabby’s turf, they will get a better relationship going.

We are counting down the days till we can move to Durban. On Monday, we and the other family meet together with the adoption lawyers. It will also be Tabby’s 4^th birthday that day, so they will make our meeting into a party of sorts, replete with cupcakes. Clearly they are in the business of working with families. Tuesday is the big day—court! That is the day A will officially become a part of our family. We will be making a big deal of the day—dressing up, taking family photos, going out for ice cream afterwards. Already, whenever we talk about that day, we jump up & down and smile to let A know that we are joyful to bring her into our family. She has started adding “Gaffga” to her name, which makes me smile. She asks me to write it down for her, and she copies it in her six-year-old handwriting. Whenever we say, “Tuesday is court,” Tabby likes to say, “And then you’ll be ours!!”  

Blog post #4

April 16^th, 2013

Tonight we took A & Tabby to the Pavillion Mall in Westville.  The other family had gone the night before, and said there was a restaurant with a play area that their kids loved. So we took the girls to have dinner. This was A’s first experience in a mall & she was very over stimulated. The first object of intrigue was the escalator. I explained it to her before we went down it, & insisted she hold my hand. (A is a VERY physical, VERY vocal child. In America, she would probably quickly be diagnosed with ADHD.) She was over-the-top excited by the escalator, grinning, exclaiming, asking to get back on. We had one more escalator to go down before finding our level, so she got the experience twice in a row. As we walked, looking for the CNA bookstore, we passed by another escalator, going up, and she nearly tugged my arm out of its socket, trying to go up it!

At the bookstore, we were able to find a Bible in Zulu for A, which she was very excited about. She can’t read yet, so I try to sound out the words for her, & when she recognizes them, she tells me how to pronounce them properly. It’s pretty cool! We also picked up a basic phrase book for English & Zulu, and the girls got to pick out bubbles. I was happy to see that when Tabby picked the same kind as A, A didn’t mind or change her choice. I see that tiny interaction as progress. There was a lot of touching things, asking what things were, a lot of “Mommy, loooooook!!”, and a fair amount of asking for things in the store. But they had a great time & ultimately followed all the rules.

After the bookstore, we headed to the restaurant. We definitely wanted to keep the trip short, since A was so amped up and a little difficult to contain. We got a table right next to the play area, and the girls had very different reactions to it. A didn’t want to order or eat, she just wanted to run in & play. Tabby had to be coaxed and prodded in, because she is always afraid there will be yelling or hitting or some sort of naughtiness in areas like that. A pointed at random to something on the menu & ran into the play area. She was so excited that she was truly dysregulated, making all kinds of shrieks & noises, jumping up & down, really over-the-top. The girls eventually had fun playing in there together, and that was a success. I forget sometimes that every single experience is new for A, and she also doesn’t have the language to process her new experiences. She has never been to one of those hamster-tube climbing places—this was so novel & fun for her. It was a little difficult to sit back & enjoy watching her delight in these new things, because Tabby, who is very used to all this fun, kept doing typical sibling things, “I want to go on there first!” “I wanted the blue one she has!” “No, A! You’re not supposed to climb up there!” I always thought Tabby had a bottomless pit of need for attention—she has always wanted me to watch everything she does & compliment/encourage her every ten seconds. (Those of you who have seen it in action know that it is more than the average child!) Now there are two VERY needy little girls, who want our undivided attention and praise. Even in the best moments, our days here are LONG. And even on the longest days, there are the BEST moments.

On the way home, A sang along to every song on Tabby’s favorite CD. It is so sweet & heart-warming to hear her husky, raspy little voice singing songs about God. Those are my favorite moments out here.