"Why did our parents give us away?"
Putting the boys to bed is very different from my remembrance of putting the girls to bed.
Last night I was tickling them and wrestling with them going back and forth between their beds as each watched what I would do with the one and immediately ask if I could do the same thing to them. Whether I was counting ribs, tickling them with my whiskers in their necks, whispering stories in their ears and then gnawing on their ear lobes, putting them in the wrestling cradle hold, rolling them up in their blankets like burritos, or letting them take my hat off and throw it to the furthest corner of the bedroom...they smiled as I engaged the other and then demanded the same identical attention...
"Dad, can you do that with me, too?"
______________
But last night, somewhere in the middle of the shenanigans, I told them it was time to pray together. We started talking about what we could pray about and for some reason I suggested we pray for all the little boys and girls their age in Africa that are hungry and without homes. I always want them to care about the world who doesn't have what they do or enjoy the amenities they've come to see as normal.
As we talked about Ethiopia, I told them about a little boy we met when we were there who was about their age who'd follow us along the street asking for money and food. It was obvious he didn't have an adult with him and survival was a way of life for him even at age 6 or 7. The boys listened as I told the story of this little boy who didn't have a family or a home, but would live on the street begging for money and clothes and food, even trying to sell things that had no worth. I wanted to pray for him specifically as the boys went to sleep.
I told them that someday I wanted to take them to Ethiopia so they could see where they were born. It caused them to start asking questions in rapid fire.
"Dad, will our moms be alive when we go back?"
"Do you know where we lived?"
"Why did our parents give us away?"
This last question stunned me, but it's the one I want to dig down into in the coming years from every angle I know to come at it. We talked about their beautiful mothers for a little bit. I've never seen the boys listen with such poise. I pulled out my phone and showed Caleb, once again, the orphanage he was in and the care taker he had that cried when she handed him to us so that we could be his parents.
"Do you see the tears coming down her face in this picture? She loved you like a mother. When your mother gave you to the police officer, this woman took you in and cared for you like you were her own little boy."
"But why did my mother do that?"
"Your mother loved you so much and she knew that she was poor and wouldn't be able to feed you or give you a place to live. She didn't want you to starve or be unsafe or to even die, so she handed you to the policeman so that he could take you to a place where you would be warm and fed and safe and loved. It wasn't easy for her, but she loved you enough to want what was best for you."
They both just stared at me trying to put the pieces together in what, I imagine, has to be a pretty confusing world swirling in their heads. But this is where it begins...this construction and reconstruction of reality. I certainly can't leave them to their own interpretations of the story that "they tell themselves". I have to be in it with them, wrestling through the hard questions and the difficult answers.
"But we do have a picture of Josh's mom. He looks so much like her. I remember kissing her hand like a princess when I met her. Look at this picture, Josh, of her holding you and rubbing your head...she loved you so, so much. She also couldn't take care of you like she wanted, so she also tried to find a family that would be able to love you and feed you and keep you safe."
Josh kept looking at the pictures of his mother and I compared their smile and their noses and even their hands. He looked at his hands and I zoomed in on her hands so that he could see the similarities.
"She was so beautiful and I'm so glad that we got to meet her and give her a big hug and talk to her about how much she loved you."
Caleb was quite as I was talking to Josh about his mom.
"I wish I had a picture of my mom."
I almost knew that's what he was thinking.
"I wish we did, too. But we got to talk to the cop who met her and she told him to take care of you for her. She didn't want to give you up, but she knew that was what was best for you. She was a caring and loving mother who wanted you to be safe and have a loving family. Maybe someday we will be able to meet her...wouldn't that be awesome?"
He nodded and smiled.
Immediately one of them took my hat and threw it across the bedroom, and I knew "the moment" was over. I snuggled with them a bit more, read a verse out of their 'verse books" with them, and then prayed with them before bed.
I don't know what's going on in their little minds and hearts, but I pray that my interactions with them will make them feel safe to share all their emotions and questions as the years unfold. I'm so glad that they are my sons and that we get to be a part of shaping their futures. What a privilege and pleasure, even on some days when they're little buggers to keep under control!
Last night I was tickling them and wrestling with them going back and forth between their beds as each watched what I would do with the one and immediately ask if I could do the same thing to them. Whether I was counting ribs, tickling them with my whiskers in their necks, whispering stories in their ears and then gnawing on their ear lobes, putting them in the wrestling cradle hold, rolling them up in their blankets like burritos, or letting them take my hat off and throw it to the furthest corner of the bedroom...they smiled as I engaged the other and then demanded the same identical attention...
"Dad, can you do that with me, too?"
______________
But last night, somewhere in the middle of the shenanigans, I told them it was time to pray together. We started talking about what we could pray about and for some reason I suggested we pray for all the little boys and girls their age in Africa that are hungry and without homes. I always want them to care about the world who doesn't have what they do or enjoy the amenities they've come to see as normal.
As we talked about Ethiopia, I told them about a little boy we met when we were there who was about their age who'd follow us along the street asking for money and food. It was obvious he didn't have an adult with him and survival was a way of life for him even at age 6 or 7. The boys listened as I told the story of this little boy who didn't have a family or a home, but would live on the street begging for money and clothes and food, even trying to sell things that had no worth. I wanted to pray for him specifically as the boys went to sleep.
I told them that someday I wanted to take them to Ethiopia so they could see where they were born. It caused them to start asking questions in rapid fire.
"Dad, will our moms be alive when we go back?"
"Do you know where we lived?"
"Why did our parents give us away?"
This last question stunned me, but it's the one I want to dig down into in the coming years from every angle I know to come at it. We talked about their beautiful mothers for a little bit. I've never seen the boys listen with such poise. I pulled out my phone and showed Caleb, once again, the orphanage he was in and the care taker he had that cried when she handed him to us so that we could be his parents.
"Do you see the tears coming down her face in this picture? She loved you like a mother. When your mother gave you to the police officer, this woman took you in and cared for you like you were her own little boy."
"But why did my mother do that?"
"Your mother loved you so much and she knew that she was poor and wouldn't be able to feed you or give you a place to live. She didn't want you to starve or be unsafe or to even die, so she handed you to the policeman so that he could take you to a place where you would be warm and fed and safe and loved. It wasn't easy for her, but she loved you enough to want what was best for you."
They both just stared at me trying to put the pieces together in what, I imagine, has to be a pretty confusing world swirling in their heads. But this is where it begins...this construction and reconstruction of reality. I certainly can't leave them to their own interpretations of the story that "they tell themselves". I have to be in it with them, wrestling through the hard questions and the difficult answers.
"But we do have a picture of Josh's mom. He looks so much like her. I remember kissing her hand like a princess when I met her. Look at this picture, Josh, of her holding you and rubbing your head...she loved you so, so much. She also couldn't take care of you like she wanted, so she also tried to find a family that would be able to love you and feed you and keep you safe."
Josh kept looking at the pictures of his mother and I compared their smile and their noses and even their hands. He looked at his hands and I zoomed in on her hands so that he could see the similarities.
"She was so beautiful and I'm so glad that we got to meet her and give her a big hug and talk to her about how much she loved you."
Caleb was quite as I was talking to Josh about his mom.
"I wish I had a picture of my mom."
I almost knew that's what he was thinking.
"I wish we did, too. But we got to talk to the cop who met her and she told him to take care of you for her. She didn't want to give you up, but she knew that was what was best for you. She was a caring and loving mother who wanted you to be safe and have a loving family. Maybe someday we will be able to meet her...wouldn't that be awesome?"
He nodded and smiled.
Immediately one of them took my hat and threw it across the bedroom, and I knew "the moment" was over. I snuggled with them a bit more, read a verse out of their 'verse books" with them, and then prayed with them before bed.
I don't know what's going on in their little minds and hearts, but I pray that my interactions with them will make them feel safe to share all their emotions and questions as the years unfold. I'm so glad that they are my sons and that we get to be a part of shaping their futures. What a privilege and pleasure, even on some days when they're little buggers to keep under control!
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