I know the post title seems a little "generic" and might make you roll your eyes, but I can not tell a lie...sometimes I take my life for granted.
I wake up and open my eyes - never really appreciating that I can use all my 5 senses...instead, I groan because all I can hear are the kids crying because they are hungry and need to be changed.
I get in my car and yell - never really appreciating that I am blessed enough to own a car and can afford the gas that it requires...instead I am pulling my hair out because God forbid I have to sit in even a minute of traffic to get anywhere.
I get home and sit on the couch - never really appreciating that the house has AC when it is so hot outside ...instead I complain that I don't have a minute to myself after work before the kids want my attention until 10p at night when they go to sleep.
I forget that there are people in this world who are forced to flee the place that they call home in order to escape from being killed in the middle of the night. They trek across the sand in the heat with sips - not gallons - of water to split between their 10 children. Stopping for a nap means the possibility of having to choose to leave 2 of those children behind to slowly die because they have 8 other children to worry about getting to safety.
Those people - the ones who are put to the test on a daily basis - turn to God for strength...and they are at peace with the decisions they have had to make to survive.
I was raised in a Catholic home and went to church every Sunday as a kid, but I am not a deeply religious person. Honestly, if I was in their position, I don't know what I would do or how I would act. I can tell you that I most definitely would not be okay with leaving anyone behind...and if I had to make that tough choice, I would NOT be praising God for taking my loved one(s) "home".
Reading stories like this make me want to spend every waking moment that I can with my children...and appreciate the fact that I have not been forced to make those difficult decisions. I love my kiddos with all of my being...and after reading this, those little things that I stressed about before don't even deserve my attention now.
What do you take for granted?
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 17
Tuesday, October 13
Lesson #5 - The Word "Adoption' Is Too Big For Small Minds
I have always known, from the time I could talk, that I was adopted. I mean, it was a little hard to hide since my parents look VERY different from myself. My parents always told me that they didn't choose me, but that I chose them - which, to a preschooler is pretty darn cool. The one thing my parents didn't tell me, either because they wanted to shield me or due to their own naivety, was that the word "adoption" is not taught to everyone. It is difficult for a 4-year-old to understand that while her family is normal - to her - it is very ABnormal to everyone else. Well, school was going to teach me that lesson the hard way.
When I think about the times that I tried to explain my home situation, my mind goes back to elementary and middle schools. My first day of Kindergarten does not stand out in my head...the day I was made fun of for being adopted, does. I was on the playground with a hop-scotch group when one of the girls asked why my mommy an daddy looked different than me. With excitement I began to explain how my family-unit came to be...yet, as soon as I mentioned "adoption" everyone froze. Try as I might, my abilities to explain the word just didn't suffice. I got confused looks, befuddled comments and some even ignored me. Soon enough we all forgot and went about our business. That day went by like any other day at school. I finished my game during recess, sang during music, colored during art and got on the bus to go home.
The next day was quite a different story. I found myself back outside at recess, with my same play group, playing hop-scotch after lunch. The tone, however, was quite different than from the day before. Suddenly, one girl (whom I thought was a dear friend, but what did I know at 4-years old?!) looked at me and said, "Your mommy and daddy aren't your real parents." I'm sorry, what?! What do you MEAN they aren't my real parents?! They take care of me, feed me when I'm hungry, comfort me when I cry, fix my bo-bo's when I get hurt...isn't that what real parents do?? The concept of my parents not REALLY being my parents was very foreign to me. The girl then proceeds to say, "Your real mommy and daddy didn't love you...so they decided to give you up to another mommy and daddy." WHOA!!! I had never thought of it like that before. Thoughts were swirling through my head - thoughts that I had never thought before. The hop-scotch game quickly ended when the girl said, "Ha-ha...you're parents don't love you," and then threw a rock at me.
That night, with tears in my eyes, I went to my parents to inquire as to whether or not they loved me. My parents were, of course, taken aback by my questions and asked where they were coming from. I told them about my experience at school and explained what the girl in my class had said to me. My mom began crying. I'm sure she knew the topic would come up at some point, but I don't think she was quite ready to explain it to my 5-year-old mind.
She started by saying that she and my father loved me very much. In fact, they loved me even MORE because they thought of me as a gift from God. She explained that, for one reason or another, she and my father couldn't have a baby together. While my parents were trying to have a baby, they went to many doctor visits to figure out why they weren't having children. Then, one day, a good friend went to my parents and said that she knew of a woman who had gotten pregnant by accident. This woman didn't have the means or resources to take care of a child, but she didn't want to get rid of it. Finding a happy home for her child was her only option - and she choose my parents. It all made sense after my mom explained everything and I was glad that .
I saw my family with new eyes after that night. I know it sounds heavy and, for a 5-year-old, it really was deeper than any Kindergartener should have to understand. The next day at school, when that mean little girl came up to me at recess, I was able to look her in the face and say - with confidence - that my mommy and daddy probably loved me MORE than her mommy and daddy loved her. Now, I know that probably wasn't true, but it sounded good as it came out of my mouth. Seeing her run away crying also instilled a sense of "gotcha." From that point on, I had the whole story to tell - just in case any OTHER kid wanted to tell me that my mommy and daddy didn't love me...to the contrary, they loved me more than words could describe.
When I think about the times that I tried to explain my home situation, my mind goes back to elementary and middle schools. My first day of Kindergarten does not stand out in my head...the day I was made fun of for being adopted, does. I was on the playground with a hop-scotch group when one of the girls asked why my mommy an daddy looked different than me. With excitement I began to explain how my family-unit came to be...yet, as soon as I mentioned "adoption" everyone froze. Try as I might, my abilities to explain the word just didn't suffice. I got confused looks, befuddled comments and some even ignored me. Soon enough we all forgot and went about our business. That day went by like any other day at school. I finished my game during recess, sang during music, colored during art and got on the bus to go home.
The next day was quite a different story. I found myself back outside at recess, with my same play group, playing hop-scotch after lunch. The tone, however, was quite different than from the day before. Suddenly, one girl (whom I thought was a dear friend, but what did I know at 4-years old?!) looked at me and said, "Your mommy and daddy aren't your real parents." I'm sorry, what?! What do you MEAN they aren't my real parents?! They take care of me, feed me when I'm hungry, comfort me when I cry, fix my bo-bo's when I get hurt...isn't that what real parents do?? The concept of my parents not REALLY being my parents was very foreign to me. The girl then proceeds to say, "Your real mommy and daddy didn't love you...so they decided to give you up to another mommy and daddy." WHOA!!! I had never thought of it like that before. Thoughts were swirling through my head - thoughts that I had never thought before. The hop-scotch game quickly ended when the girl said, "Ha-ha...you're parents don't love you," and then threw a rock at me.
That night, with tears in my eyes, I went to my parents to inquire as to whether or not they loved me. My parents were, of course, taken aback by my questions and asked where they were coming from. I told them about my experience at school and explained what the girl in my class had said to me. My mom began crying. I'm sure she knew the topic would come up at some point, but I don't think she was quite ready to explain it to my 5-year-old mind.
She started by saying that she and my father loved me very much. In fact, they loved me even MORE because they thought of me as a gift from God. She explained that, for one reason or another, she and my father couldn't have a baby together. While my parents were trying to have a baby, they went to many doctor visits to figure out why they weren't having children. Then, one day, a good friend went to my parents and said that she knew of a woman who had gotten pregnant by accident. This woman didn't have the means or resources to take care of a child, but she didn't want to get rid of it. Finding a happy home for her child was her only option - and she choose my parents. It all made sense after my mom explained everything and I was glad that .
I saw my family with new eyes after that night. I know it sounds heavy and, for a 5-year-old, it really was deeper than any Kindergartener should have to understand. The next day at school, when that mean little girl came up to me at recess, I was able to look her in the face and say - with confidence - that my mommy and daddy probably loved me MORE than her mommy and daddy loved her. Now, I know that probably wasn't true, but it sounded good as it came out of my mouth. Seeing her run away crying also instilled a sense of "gotcha." From that point on, I had the whole story to tell - just in case any OTHER kid wanted to tell me that my mommy and daddy didn't love me...to the contrary, they loved me more than words could describe.
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