Ferguson, My Take

When I was in 5th grade, a friend of mine who is not a member of my church approached me and informed me that because I am Mormon, I wasn't allowed to drink soda.  I told her that I could drink soda, to which she raised her voice, "No! I know that you can't drink soda! Mormons aren't allowed to drink any soda."  As all of our friends' eyes turned to me, a rush of frustration and exasperation swept over me.  I knew what was and wasn't allowed in my religion.  She was not of my faith, so why did she insist that she knew better than me what my beliefs were?

So, what does this have to do with Ferguson and Michael Brown?  Frankly, it has nothing at all to do with the specific incident or the case itself, but I believe it has everything to do with the nation's reaction to it.  I don't know exactly what happened that fateful August day.  I wasn't there and neither were you.  Did Officer Wilson pursue and shoot an innocent man because  he was African American?  Or, did he chase him and shoot him because he was angry? Did he feel his life was in danger?  I don't know.  I wasn't there and neither were you.  

But, here's what I do know.  There is a reason the Ferguson community reacted the way they did.  They are saying that they're tired of being treated a certain way.  Michael Brown has become a symbol, just as Trayvon Martin was a symbol.  White people who argue that what happened in those cases wasn't because of racism or that it isn't being reported accurately in the media are missing the point.  Stop talking and listen.  Listen to the people who are trying to tell us what their experience is, how they are feeling, the problems in their communities.  If you aren't a black young man, then you have no way of knowing what a black young man feels like or what he goes through.  So, stop telling the black community what they are or are not experiencing!  Or, how they should or should not react to an incident in their community!

I am not a black woman, so I have no idea what it feels like to be a black woman in America.  If one of my African American friends tells me of her life experiences and how she feels in society, guess what, I listen.  Just as ridiculous as it was for my 5th grade friend to insist she knew better than me what my religion's standards were, it is equally ridiculous for non-black Americans to tell black Americans that their feelings and experiences aren't valid or accurate.  

Similarly, as a white mother to 3 black children, I have experiences that many people can't relate to both black and white.  I've had many people try to tell me that incidents of racism that my family has had really weren't racism, that I was reading into things, or being oversensitive, or that person really didn't mean it that way.  My favorite one was that they weren't talking about my children, as if insulting African Americans in general is not insulting to my children.  Why?  Because my kids have white parents?

What I would've appreciated my 5th grade friend doing was to ask me, "Are Mormons allowed to drink soda? Can you drink that?" And, even better if she would've listened to my answer.  Instead of telling black Americans why they're wrong about Ferguson, why not listen to what they are saying about their experiences and their frustrations with society?  And, even better if we set aside our own defensiveness and work together to fix the problems that continually plague our country.

Mourning a Loss That Never Happened

As is typical in foster care, I have had some highs and lows these last few weeks. Having a pre-adoptive placement of our sweet Special K is ten times easier than a regular foster placement, any day. Special K is already walking and talking, a little, and we know he is ours never to be taken away. At least, that's what his caseworker tells us. We are so grateful to have another son and to know that everyone's intention is for us to adopt him. All of this is good. But, my heart has been grieving lately.

Our previous foster son, Baby S, who was with us from birth until 9 months old, just celebrated his 1st birthday. We were happy to be able to celebrate with him and his birth family; grateful for their generosity including us. Baby S is turning out to be a little ball of charisma, cuteness and charm. I miss him beyond words! It is so nice to see him every few weeks, but I miss my baby cuddling with me every night before bedtime. I miss being his mama. And, it makes me mourn having missed all of that with Special K. I didn't get to see Special K in the hospital as a newborn like I did with Baby S and all my other babies. I didn't get to see his firsts or be the one he bonded with. As I watched Baby S at his birthday party and held Special K on my lap, I grieved not only for missing Baby S but for missing Special K's infancy.

Yes, Special K has a bright future ahead of him now with a mommy and daddy and four older siblings to look out for him. I look at his gorgeous face and am amazed that I have once again been given a gift that is beyond value. There is no way to measure the joy and gratitude. I just didn't expect to grieve over losing a baby I never had. Special K was not my baby. He is my boy now, and I will give him everything I possibly can to make his life happy. What every child deserves. But, some losses stay with you, and I don't think I'll ever fully get over not only losing our little Baby S, but losing those days of infancy with Special K.

P.S. These are my ruminations on the feelings of loss that I as an adult have had. I can write in a blog about it and process the pain. But, for these little ones in foster care, their pain is exponentially more intolerable. Yet, they don't have the words or the ability to understand the losses they endure. Special K's pain must be so much more than mine, but he can't express it. I do recognize that.

Why I Have to Keep Blogging

I've taken a serious break from blogging mostly because I was feeling too overwhelmed by my everyday life. In that time, we got licensed to do foster care and had our first placement, a 5-day-old baby boy who became (in my heart, at least) my baby.  He spent 9 months with us until July of this year when he was returned to his mom and dad.

To say that the last year has been an emotional rollercoaster is a gross understatement.  My heart has grown, been twisted, torn and expanded in ways I never expected. I didn't expect to fall so helplessly in love. I didn't expect his birth parents to get it together. I didn't expect that a mere 2 months after our foster baby went home, we would be blessed with a gorgeous 21 month-old boy who we will be adopting!!!  

Nothing about the past year has gone how I thought it would. But, I am so grateful for the bumpy windy road we have travelled.  Two months ago, I was not grateful. I was heartbroken. Isn't that just how life is? When things seem darkest, the light comes bursting in.  Sometimes it happens quickly and unexpectedly. Other times, the light comes slowly, so slowly that you feel like the darkness will never end.  

Now, I have 5 children and one who comes to stay on the weekends.  It turns out that just because our foster baby's case ended, hasn't meant our relationship with him or his parents is over.  We get to continue to help our sweet baby boy and be a support to the whole family.  What could be better than seeing the results of putting my heart on the line to love a child who would not be mine?  What could be better than having another little boy come to our family who brought the light with him that dispelled the darkness of our grief?  Now, I understand that there was a plan all along.  I just needed to wait for the light to shine again so I could see it. 

The Truth About This Summer

First off I have to do some advertising for my home-based preschool - Little Amigos Preschool - www.littleamigospreschool.com. We're registering for the Fall 2013 semester, and I'm happy to continue to offer a preschool option for families on a budget. We use a pay-as-you-go tuition system where you only pay for the classes your child attends ($15/class). For more info, visit our website - www.littleamigospreschool.com.

Now, onto my rantings about this summer. I love my children. I'll just start there. And, we had grand plans for doing our own little summer school at home and swim classes and soccer and gymnastics and riding bikes and playing outside. June was pretty close to that. We had lots of sports activities and did a theme for each week for our at-home summer school. In fact, the first few weeks of June, I actually did lessons and projects with the kids. Our themes included "Under the Sea", "Asia", "Outer Space", and I can't even remember the others. We started the summer out strong.

July, unfortunately, has been more like this - 1) bedtimes have gotten later and later, 2) wake-up times have gotten later and later, 3) our summer school has officially ended a month early, 4) I let my kids skip their sports classes (except Maija who is preparing to be on the competition gymanstics team), 5) kids fighting, 6) me yelling at them to stop yelling at each other, 7) more fighting, and 8) WAY too much TV (Dr. Who, anyone?). Sigh.

I suppose I should just be proud of myself that June went almost as planned and embrace the chaos. We have 1 month left of summer break. I can do hard things!

End of the Year - That Was Fast!

You know how time is relative? If one were to use my blog to measure time, the old saying "time flies" would literally be true. My last post lamented the start of a new school year, and now next week is the end of the school year. Where did it go? Seriously, I want to know. Where did the time go?

Although, I am baffled by how fast the year has passed, here are a few clues:

- I started a home-based preschool
- We began getting certified for foster care
- We sold our house
- We lived in a hotel for a month with 4 kids (waiting for the new house)
- Moved into the new house
- Got settled and...
- It was the end of the school year

Yep, that's pretty much how it all went. Here is a sort of photo essay of the year.

Photo by Rachel Eng Photography

Photo by Rachel Eng Photography

Photo by Rachel Eng Photography

Photo by Rachel Eng Photography

Another School Year? Really?

It seems like the years are flying, and the beginning of a new school year is always a poignant reminder that children grow up.  This year is no exception. We've had 2 big milestones with Rebekah starting kindergarten and Forest starting preschool. It's hard to believe that they are getting so big. Maija started second grade and is turning 8 in a few months. It just doesn't seem real.


Here are pictures of their first days of school

First Day of Second Grade - Maija

First Day of Kindergarten - Bekah

Bekah & friend Julia - They were so excited when they found out they're in the same class and sitting next to each other.

First Day of Preschool - Forest

Finland and How I Never Knew My Mother

I know, I know. It's been ages since I last blogged, and the posts seem to be fewer and farther between as time passes. It's not that I have nothing to say. Anyone who knows me at all is well aware that I have plenty to say, pretty much all the time. But, as a very good friend pointed out to my soon-to-be-husband back in 2003, "You have no idea how many dead horses you will be beating." In other words a lot of what I have to say is the same stuff I always say. How many times can I blog about poopy diapers, toddler tantrums, soccer games and the majority of what makes up my days? I often think, "I should blog about that. Oh wait, I already have."

Today I have something new to blog about, Finland. My two oldest daughters and I just returned from a weeklong trip there to visit my mother and father. My mom is from Finland and she and my dad are currently living there as missionaries. They've been in Finland for almost a year and have five months to go. Although I've been to Finland several times, my last trip there was 26 years ago. A lot changes in a quarter century.

My perspective as an adult is very different than it was as a young teenager. My adolescent memories of Finland include being irritated that I had nothing "fun" to do, listening to my walkman (yeah, that dates me), and being puzzled by how emotional my mother was. Her mother was in a retirement home at the time and was suffering from dementia. There were times when she didn't even recognize my mother. Unfortunately, as a teenager I was more worried about myself than my grieving mother. My grandmother passed away not long after our trip. Needless to say, that visit to Finland was a bit depressing.

This time around was quite the opposite! We had such a great time enjoying the greenery, the myriad lakes, the people, the language, visiting old friends, and most importantly seeing all the things about Finland that make my mother who she is. All of these things that I had thought were my mother's quirks, like making really runny scrambled eggs, turn out to be Finnish things. My mother's serious demeanor which melts into warmth and sweetness when you get to know her. Her love of cheese and rye crackers. The tone of her voice and the rhythms of her speech. Her nose. My mother's skepticism and her love of beauty. I came to understand things about my mother that I had never fully understood in a lifetime of being her daughter.

One particularly poignant experience was when we visited the home she was raised in. Many times mother told me of the impoverished circumstances she had grown up in. Her family lived in a large house that was shared by six families. The space allotted to my mom's family included a small kitchen with an attached living room which also doubled as their collective bedroom. That's it. They partitioned the room by hanging curtains. There was no plumbing or bathroom (or shower for that matter.) All residents of the house shared a common outhouse and sauna which were not connected to the house. Imagine a freezing winter's night in Finland and having to go to the bathroom...outside. The sauna was their means of bathing. They would sweat out the dirt and grime and then rinse off in cold water.

I thought I had a pretty clear mental image of what the living conditions were, but when we went to the house, I was stunned to see how small my mother's living space was and the general condition of the house. I had a whole new appreciation for my mother's strength and determination, and also for how blessed her life had been since then. It's almost beyond description the differences between her life then and her life now.

Watching my mom interact and converse in her own language, her own culture, in her homeland, I've never seen her so at ease and at peace. And, to have her two eldest grandchildren with her (and her daughter, too) to share it with, my mother seemed to be happier than I've seen her in years. I am so grateful we made the trip and grateful to Kent for staying home with the two babies (I can't imagine how hard the trip would've been with two toddlers in tow.)
It's amazing to me that you can have one of the most intimate relationships known to man, that of mother and daughter, and decades of shared time and experiences, yet in the end I hadn't really fully known or understood her. And, I probably will never know all that makes her who she is. It goes to show you that one can never know another person's heart, not completely. Our own perspective gets in the way.

Motherhood: Work, Hobby, or Political Spin?

It's 11pm and my job is not done. Little feet run in and out of bedrooms where they should be sleeping. My five-year-old repeatedly comes to tell me that she's scared and can't fall asleep, and my seven-year-old is crying because I'm upset that she's not in bed. I've been taking care of children since 7am, and apparently I have miles to go before I sleep. Anyone who tells me that what I'm doing does not qualify as work is gonna get a verbal smackdown because I'm completely exhausted.

Before you rush down to the Comments link to tell me how I can get my children to sleep and how I could do things better, I'll preemptively defend myself by mentioning that Kent has been out of town for almost 3 weeks now, and even though I have help from our Finnish friend who's staying with us, my children are SO ready to have their daddy home. And, so am I. No matter how you slice it, this mothering business is hard work. That's right...work!

In the last week a new round of the Mommy Wars has erupted over comments made by Hilary Rosen that Ann Romney, wife of Republican presidential nominee Mitt Romney, "never worked a day in her life" because she chose to be a stay-at-home mother to five children. So, if taking care of children is not work what are daycare providers doing? What are nannies doing? How about teachers? Maybe this attitude towards caring for children is the underlying reason that teachers are paid so little. Or is it a career choice only when one is caring for other people's children? If you choose to care for your own children, it's a copout.

I've worked in a variety of jobs since I was 14 years old. I've been a waitress, a cashier, a customer service rep, a corporate trainer, a high school teacher, a research assistant, a computer programmer, and a doctoral student. Then I had my first baby and after a year of trying to juggle a PhD program and being a new mother, I chose to stay home full-time which I have done for six years now. Without a doubt, I have never had such a demanding and overwhelming job in all my life. It is ten times harder than being a full-time high school teacher. It's harder than getting a PhD. It's harder than waiting tables. It's harder than any other job I've had because it is unrelenting. I don't get sick days or personal days. I'm at work 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

I know it's a choice to stay home, and I also know that many women would like to stay home but can't. I also openly acknowledge that I don't know what it's like to work full-time and raise children. Especially for single mothers, it must completely overwhelming at times. I know many amazing women who work and raise kids, and I have nothing but respect for them. But, that's just the point. I won't tell a working mother that they've never worked a day in their life because they haven't stayed home with kids. So, don't tell me that what I'm doing every day isn't work, especially at the end of a sixteen-hour-day with four children 7 years-old and younger...and I'm about to start the nightshift.

Love Letter to Brenner Pass

(Note: For those who don't understand all the Mormon lingo in this post, here's the shorthand. For a time I was the leader of my congregation's - Brenner Pass - women's group, and this post is deidcated to those women.)

Dear women of the Brenner Pass ward:

Last week I attended my new ward's Relief Society birthday activity. We had an amazing dinner and beautiful music. I had fun chatting with my new friends. But, sitting there and looking around at all of the women, I felt like something was missing. I realized that there were so many women I didn't know and whose lives I knew almost nothing about. And, I missed you, deeply.

For that moment I remembered how close I felt to all of you and the love I had for each one of you. I shared so many moments of joy with you and moments of sadness and pain. I knew your children and your husbands. I knew your worries and I worried with you.

As much as I love our new ward, there is a hole in my heart without you. Thank you for letting me into your lives and for being my friends and my sisters. I miss you terribly. I wanted you to know that. But, most of all, I wanted you to know that I love you.

Love,
Me

Poor Poor Blog

My poor neglected blog. It's not that I don't love you anymore, but I have to confess that I am in another relationship with Facebook. I could tell you that I've been neglecting you because I've been so busy with the kids, which is true, and that someone has been sick on and off since Christmas. That's true, too. But, the real reason is that Facebook is where I turn to first when I have pictures or info to share with the world. Facebook only expects me to write a quick sentence or two, but you, my dear blog, require many sentences. And time.

Like Newt Gingrich I would ask you to be in an open relationship because Facebook doesn't care if I have other relationships. But I know that you require time, attention, cute backgrounds, uploaded pictures, and witty prose. I guess I'll let you decide, oh blog of mine, if posting once a month is enough to make you happy or not. Call me callous, but I can't promise you any more than that right now.

Please forgive me,
The writer of the blog

Merry Christmas 2011

A Pirate Christmas

Well, I'm not sure if the pirates have stolen Christmas or they're just in Christmas denial. My children were watching Jake and the Neverland Pirates on Disney and the episode was all about Winter Treasure Day. Now in case you're unfamiliar with Winter Treasure Day as I was, let me share with you what I discovered. Winter Treasure Day is celebrated some time in winter when there is plenty of snow. Presents are given to friends and loved ones while they enjoy a decorated Winter Treasure Day tree. Hmmm..what a novel idea.

So, I asked my two daughters what Winter Treasure Day is, and they both said (with an added tone of "Duh! Mom!"), "It's Christmas!" I wondered what other pirate holiday knowledge these girls had. "Why don't they just call it Christmas then?" The profound answer they gave (again with the "Duh! Mom!" tone), "Because they're pirates!" Oh, right. I forgot that pirates can't celebrate Christmas even in a cartoon. It's just not PC enough for those scurvy pirates.

You Too!

Have you ever been at the concessions at the movie theater, and when the attendant tells you, "Enjoy the movie," you say, "You too!"? I've also done this at the airport. "Enjoy your flight." "You too." Then you realize two minutes later as you're already walking away that that didn't make any sense. It's that automatic response to "Take care", "Have a nice day", etc.

Today when my little two-year-old Forest was headed downstairs to play with his sisters, I told him, "Have a good time." And he yelled back, "You have a good time, too, Mama!". Adorable! And the best part is that he sincerely meant it. It wasn't an automatic "you too" but a sincere little child's thoughtfulness. I love that boy! I'm pretty sure I have the best kids on the planet.

Speaking of my amazing children, I can't believe how fast they're growing. Maija turns 7 in a month. Rebekah turns 5 in three weeks, and Forest turns 3 in three months. Kiira will be 18 months old on January 2nd and will start attending nursery at church. I'm a little nervous to take her to her well-child check-up because she isn't walking independently yet. I'm trying not to worry about it too much, but we'll see. She has taken a few steps on her own and cruises all over the place as long as she's holding on to something. Anyone ever had a late walker? Like 18 months old or older late?

Good But Not Too Good

"That’s way too much earnestness for the ironic. It’s way too much idealism for the cynical. And it’s way too much selflessness for the self-absorbed."

I was reading an opinion piece here about why Tim Tebow's religiosity bothers so many people. I'm not one for getting in people's faces in general, and I'm not sure I would be so out there with my religion. However, I find it fascinating that Tebow's expressions of faith are considered controversial and cause such a visceral reaction.

It makes me think of a couple of friends of mine. One is an extremely generous person who is always thinking of others and doing kind things, usually anonymously. The other friend is very fun to be around and extremely quick-witted, but generally gives only to her closest friends and family. I don't want to judge my second friend too harshly, because I'm not sure that I'm any better than her in this regard. However, it happened that one day the generous friend had something that she decided to share anonymously with a woman whom she didn't know well but thought she needed cheering up. Our funny friend found out about this and angrily confronted my generous friend, "How could you give that to her?!? You barely know her. You always do this! Did you stop to think that maybe your good friends wanted that? You are so selfish!"

My generous friend was floored. She couldn't understand why she was accused of being selfish for doing something kind. She confided in me that not only were her feelings hurt, but she lost a lot of respect for our funny friend. I realized that our friend's reaction most likely was not about the actual thing my generous friend shared, but more of a reaction to her kindness in general. I think it made her feel guilty. I think my funny friend felt all of her flaws were being pointed out every time our generous friend did something generous.

I share this because I think that is part of the problem many have with Tim Tebow's expressions of his religious faith. It's a slap in the face to see someone actually striving to live their faith. It's the same reason that heroes in today's movies and TV shows always have major character flaws; nobody can really be entirely good. Everybody has skeletons in their closet. Everyone does bad things. Nobody can really live a life of high moral values. It's not realistic, and it's just downright offensive if somebody does it. At least, that seems to be the current view in our society. You can be good, but not too good.

Within the Mormon culture, I've seen this same pattern. Yes, you should keep the commandments, but don't be so obvious about it. Don't make me feel bad if I choose to do a few things wrong. You're the one who has the problem because you're just too good, or you're just trying to appear to be that good. I've met many a member of the church who believes that the only reason anyone would strive to keep all the commandments is to impress everyone else. What's interesting is how much these reactions reveal about the person having them. Which leads me back to Tim Tebow. The only reason his religiosity bothers people so much is because it reveals to them so much about themselves, and they don't like that.

Times and Seasons

When my first child Maija was born and I was home with her pretty much full time, I felt like with this blessing of a beautiful baby girl also came a new kind of challenge I'd never experienced before. I felt like I would never have any freedom ever again and that my whole existence revolved around feedings and diaper changes. It's that fog that a mother goes through with every new baby, but with the first it's the scariest because you don't know yet that at some point you will get more than 2 hours of sleep at a time.

It was during this newborn fog that I complained to my mother about my feelings of isolation and lack of freedom. My mother said a very wise thing to me. She told me that there are times and seasons for everything and the day would come when my children would be older, and I'd have the time and freedom that I missed so much. That thought has gotten me through many a difficult day of crying children, constant messes, and unending diaper changes.

One of the things that I gave up in order to focus on having, adopting and raising babies was my career as a teacher and future professor. I was a PhD student in Education when Maija was born and after a year of struggling to continue the program (and after being told by one of my professors that I had no business having babies while I was getting a PhD...story for another day), I finally decided to quit the program. Although there were a lot of things that led me to quit, the primary reason was my desire to have children and raise them myself. Several friends and family members tried to convince me to continue, but once I prayed about it, I knew it was the right decision for me. Although it was a painful experience, it ended up being a blessing for our whole family. I know now that if I had stayed in the program we would never have had Rebekah because of the pressures to not have children while in school.

Have I ever regretted my decision? No. Have I given up on being an educator and getting my PhD someday? No. Because I know that there are times and seasons for everything. Now is my time to raise my four little children and focus on being a mother. The day will come when I will have the time and freedom to continue school if I so choose. And, interestingly I have been slowly and almost imperceptibly moving into a new season with my children now that my baby is almost 18 months and we have no plans for any more babies (see my previous post here for more on that.). For the first time in six years I am teaching again as a substitute teacher, and I'm loving it. I'm able to pick and choose when and how much I work, and I can still be home most of the time with the kids. I feel blessed to be a mother and blessed to be a teacher again. I can see now that my mother was exactly right. Nothing ever stays the same, and we don't have to be or do all things at once. As women, we can have it all, but it doesn't have to be all right now!!!

Subliminal Baby

I had a truly frightening experience last night. I was visiting a friend who just gave birth to her third child a month ago. Her baby girl is absolutely beautiful. I was holding her (the baby, not the friend) and she looked in my eyes and smiled. That's when things got really scary. She started cooing at me, and I thought to myself, "I could do another baby."

What in the world? My baby is only 16 months old and is just barely walking and talking. I still have 2 kids in diapers and only one of my four children is in school all day. What kind of subliminal power did this baby have that caused such a crazy thought to enter my mind? Of course, I could never mention my scary experience to my husband; I'm pretty sure he would go catatonic. Please don't misunderstand me. I love my four babies, but I am so ready to get past the diapers, high chairs, bottles, urine, poop, and carseat phase. When we adopted Kiira, we both felt like our family was complete. And I think it is. Which is why my experience last night scared the crud out of me.

This reminds me of a study I read about years ago. Researchers found that when they showed women pictures of babies, their pupils dilated. However, they did not find the same reaction in men, although men's pupils did dilate when shown pictures of women. Go figure! I really do think that there is a biological reaction women have to babies. But, as sweet and beautiful as my friend's baby is, I was happy to have her smile and coo at me and then hand her back to her mommy.

8 Blissfull Years and Counting

Okay maybe not everything has been bliss in the last eight years. We've had our share of trials and challenges (hello, 4 kids in 5 years!) but at least the marriage part has been pretty close to blissfull. I'm so grateful to have married the best man I know. I'm not just saying that for the blog. Kent really is an amazing man, father and husband. I lucked out. Here's to many more years of traveling life's road together and beyond.

Colorado - Families Supporting Adoption

I am excited to be a guest blogger at the Colorado Families Supporting Adoption (FSA) blog. I'll be writing once a month. My first official post is about open adoption and the hesitation some people have about openness with their children's birth parents.

"To Be Open or Not To Be Open"

Why We Adopted Black Babies

Any adoptive parent can tell you that adoption related questions are often the most intrusive, insensitive and outright rude. That's not to say that other parents haven't experienced the rude comment or two from an occasional stranger. But, with adoption for some reason people often think they have carte blanche to say or ask whatever the heck they want.

I've been asked more times than I can count if my two adopted children are my "real" children (I change their poopy diapers and rock them to sleep at night, so I REALLY am their mother), if they are siblings (they are now), how much did they cost (how much did your c-sections cost?), do my two biological children accept them (huh? as much as any siblings accept each other, whatever that means), but the most jarring question I've been asked repeatedly is why we adopted black children. To be clear, I've been asked that by both white and black people.

It is a loaded question. Sometimes it's loaded with accusations or mistrust. Sometimes it's loaded with curiosity or ignorance. Sometimes it's loaded with racism. The answer to that question is even trickier. We did not set out to adopt black children; we set out to adopt children. When the agency asked us what race of baby we wanted, we said, "It doesn't matter. We just want the child that is meant to be in our family." We filled out our homestudy paperwork, did our fingerprints and background checks, said lots of prayers and waited to be chosen by a birth mother. Why did our children's birth mothers pick a white family for their children to grow up in? As much as people may want a logical straightforward answer, the REAL answer is that God led us all to each other.

The first time our adoption agency talked to us about Forest, the strongest, warmest feeling flooded my heart and I knew he was meant to be our son. We had just said no to the agency the day before about a white baby boy, not because he was white, but because it didn't feel right. He wasn't our boy. Forest was our boy, and even though we both felt so strongly that he was meant to be with us, his birth mother didn't pick us. We were disappointed and confused. Three days later, she delivered Forest and chose us to be his parents. We both cried when we got the phone call and eleven hours after his birth we were holding him in the hospital.

Kiira's story was different but just as beautiful. Forest was only 9 months old when I began having very strong feelings that there was another baby meant to be in our family. I was terrified to tell Kent, and he pretty much thought I was insane at first. But, after several days, he came back to me and said he had prayed about it and that I should go ahead and contact the agency. Kiira was born nine months later and after 2 failed placements. Nine months later. That meant that when I had the impressions that there was another baby, she had just been conceived. Kiira's birth mother chose us 2 weeks before Kiira's birth and being with her and her/our baby in the hospital was a spiritual experience.

There is a plan that is greater than all of us. God works in all of our lives to bring us to where and with whom we need to be. We adopted black babies because Forest and Kiira were meant to be in our family and they are black. Their blackness has enriched our lives in ways we never could've anticipated, and more importantly the essence of who they are, their spirits, have completed our family. None of us would've been who we were meant to be without them, and they will become the people God plans for them to be because of our being together.

I think most people who ask why we adopted black children are looking for a race-based answer or at least a racial justification. The honest answer, however, is spiritual and more than just skin-deep.

Follow-up: Why Saudi Women Need Drivers

I just read THIS article that the Saudi Arabian woman who was set to receive 10 lashings (see previous post) as punishment for driving has been released and the punishment rescinded. Good news.