Love 101

We are calling our little boy Vanya for short - a loving nickname.

Why Vanya? Well, when you take his daddy’s Scots-Irish name “Ian” and translate it into a Slavic name, you get “Ivan”. Then make it into a cute little boy’s name the Slavic way – and Vanya comes out. It is like calling a little boy named John “Johnny”.

And, yes, we are going to change his name from his birth name. Why rename him? We want him to know that he is our son – because a son receives a name from his parents. We also want him to hold onto his Bulgarian heritage – because it is an intricate part of him. So this little nickname will achieve both purposes!

Vanya is expected to come soon… maybe Christmas! Or there about…

However, even though we are expecting, we are trying not to have any expectations.

Why?

We know so little about Vanya. What we do know will probably change by the time we get him home or turned out to be incorrect. On top of that, we are dealing with a little soul that has not had the benefit of love and attention, adequate nutrition and exercise, and very little exposure to what it means to be human. He spent his first two years or so laying in a crib with no one speaking to him or around him, no one holding him, and no way to see how people act or behave. That he is as advanced as he is – just having learned to sit up, to walk a little, to say a couple of words – shows that he has great potential for growth. But we really don’t know…

So we are setting our expectations for only the most basic of things… things like we are adopting a little boy. He will need lots of love and extra attention. He will not understand English. He probably will be scared.

We are not expecting him to love us at first sight. In any way, shape, or form.

Unconditional love – or even love in any form – is a foreign concept for the vast majority of children living in orphanages. If they are lucky, people will be kind to them. But this is in no way love. Based on the cultural view of orphans in Eastern Europe, it is unlikely that even kindness will be known to kids in orphanages.

So our first task and privilege as adoptive parents is to teach our son about love. Free and unconditional, unending, abundant love. Until Vanya is taught what love is, he will not love us – or anyone.

On the syllabus of our Love 101 course:

·         Love is patient – we will give him forever to learn to love – no deadlines.

·         Love is kind – we will always seek to do what is best for him.

·         It does not envy – we will be jealous for him – not of him.

·         It does not boast – it is not about our accomplishments as parents, but about him.

·         It is not proud – we will be low so that he may climb high.

·         It does not dishonor others – we shun shame and bring honor to him.

·         It is not self-seeking – we will lay down our lives for his welfare.

·         It is not easily angered – we will respond appropriately without wrath.

·         It keeps no record of wrongs – we will not hold past failures against him.

·         Love does not delight in evil– we delight in the good in him.

·         But rejoices with the truth – we will be honest to him.

·         It always protects – we will shelter him from all that is not good for him.

·         Always trusts – we will give him the benefit of the doubt.

·         Always hopes – we will be optimistic about his future.

·         Always perseveres – we will face challenges for him and together as a family.

Notice that all these actions are ours – we are his teachers and will be demonstrating the concept and power of love to him. He will have his homework, yes, but the burden of the work is on us. This is how he will learn to love – he will be taught with words, with actions, with hugs and kisses, with sacrifice and hard work.

It reminds me of that heavenly principle, “Because He first loved us…”

A Very Happy Father’s Day

Diary of a Soon-to-be Daddy

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

 Father’s Day is now yesterday’s news. It was Sunday – two days ago. By now all the crazy Father’s Day ties have been worn once and secretly put away to be forgotten about, the Father’s Day lunches have been eaten and paid for, and the Father’s Day congratulations said, heard, and promptly forgotten. For most American dads, the drudgery of fatherhood has resumed, almost uninterrupted, leaving Father’s Day but a memory.

Except, of course, for my Father’s Day.

My Father’s Day this year was my first Father’s Day. And even though I didn’t have my “firstborn” son in my arms to share the day with, I still had a day that commemorated our relationship (even though that relationship is still distinctly one-sided!).

Last week we received notice from the adoption agency that we had been officially “matched” with Vanya (our nickname for him), the three-year-old Bulgarian boy we’re adopting – our son. Matching does not mean everything’s done and we can simply go pick him up. No, there is still lots to do. But it does mean that no-one else can adopt him. No other Bulgarian, American, or anyone else can call him their son. No-one has that right any longer – just us. So even though there’s still legal mumbo-jumbo to wrangle, visitations to be approved, and so forth, he is, for all intents and purposes, our son. The great thing was that this happened last Wednesday (June 12). That was the day before Mel’s birthday (the 13^th), a few days before Vanya’s third birthday, and four days before Father’s Day. So it made for a week of “days”, and it made for the perfect Father’s Day.

The reason this is such a big deal to me is because last year, even though we had begun the adoption process by Father’s Day, I couldn’t really celebrate it. We hadn’t got to the part of the process where we were able to pick a kid yet. We didn’t even know Vanya existed then. At that point, the adoption was still a goal-less activity, a race without a trophy at the end. It was horrible. I had the loving heart of a father (I’ve had one for quite a long time now actually), but no child to direct it toward. One of my closest friends wished me Happy Father’s Day last year, and while I knew in my brain that she meant it with nothing but love and kindness to me, I still wanted to react negatively toward her. It was a day of grief – the antithesis of what Father’s Day is supposed to be.

This year, though, was entirely different. It was a joy. We have selected Vanya to be ours, he has been matched to us so no-one else can snatch him away, and we are ploughing forward with the legal mumbo-jumbo so we can go see him in the fall. His birthday and Mel’s birthday were only recently celebrated, and my own dad was out here from California doing ministry work. I got to spend time with him over the weekend, go kayaking with him, make him a Father’s Day card too, and take him to the most amazing cheese shop and restaurant for lunch.

But best of all, I was wished Happy Father’s Day by many of my friends, and for the first time in years (in fact, since the dreaded 2010 I mentioned last week), it didn’t hurt like hell! So many of my friends came up, said “Happy Father’s Day!!!” and gave me big hugs. One lady, herself an adoptive mother, told Mel to “make sure you wish Ian a Happy Father’s Day and get him an ugly tie or something!” It felt like I’d joined the cool kids’ club! It was great! AND, I even got that tie from Mel – palm trees on a blue background!

Even though Vanya is still across the sea and doesn’t know we even exist yet, he is still my son, and I his father. No, I haven’t changed a diaper yet, I haven’t been woken up at ungodly hours by his incessant screaming, I haven’t sat through hospital visits or boring school plays or excruciating sports games. Some “real” fathers may question whether I have the “right” to enjoy a Father’s Day since I haven’t done these things yet. But I feel I do. I am a dad nonetheless. Mel and I have put in countless hours to make Vanya our son. We have fought countless battles, raised funds, and missed out on hobbies and time with friends just so we can have something other people take for granted. We have made Vanya our son, and we love him as our son. He is our son and I his father. So it was a very Happy Father’s Day indeed!

God Redeems the Wasted Years

Diary of a Soon-to-be Daddy

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

God Redeems the Wasted Years

The year 2010 was a wasted year for both Mel and me. It was a complete loss; a trial, a tribulation; a year of underemployment and frustration and grief for us. And those of you that had the misfortune of knowing us (or specifically me) during that year will remember just what a catastrophic disaster and unending debacle it was.

It started out in the fall of 2009 in the aftermath of our move to DC. We knew we were supposed to be here but we ended up not knowing why. Originally, I had thought I would take my graduate degree in global political and economic development and work for USAID, the State Department, or another government agency or non-profit organization whose business it was to help countries develop their economies and political systems. This job never worked out, mostly due to the fact that there were very few jobs in this field in DC at the time, and also because I had a head full of theories without any hands-on work to show for it.

Then I started losing the eyesight in my right eye. I went from having tolerably good vision in that eye (I could see 20/60 with my glasses on – which is good for me considering the vision problems I have) to having no vision at all. My left eye doesn’t see as well, so in essence, I lost the better of my two eyes. This was crushing and grievous because my parents and I had fought for years to preserve my sight from the degenerative condition that now was exacting its heinous victory over me. 

Finally, in 2010, Mel and I discovered that our dreams of having children were just not going to happen like we planned. This was the very large straw that broke the camel’s very weak back. Life was over at this point. It felt like there was no point in even living. The year 2010 drew to a close with Mel and I battered and broken, disheartened and discouraged, me still underemployed and us now without a hope for children. The year was a gigantic loss. It was the worst year of my life. 

But God redeems the wasted years.

Somewhere across the pond in Bulgaria, also in fall of 2009 when my miseries began, a Bulgarian woman realized that she was pregnant in what I can only assume was not a good situation. Less than nine months later, a boy who would later become our son was born prematurely and abandoned to the Bulgarian orphanage system. A little boy was born that terrible year – 2010. 

He was abandoned and discarded, punished for someone else’s misdeeds. He didn’t ask to be born; he certainly didn’t ask to be left without a loving mom and dad. A new life that should have been full of hope and promise and love was suddenly cast aside and forgotten about. A human being, a person, a child who will one day become a strong man was dumped in a crib, fed through a tube, and forgotten about. 2010, his birth year, may as well have been the worst year of his life too. 

But again, God redeems the wasted years. 

This year, three years after the worst year of my life and possibly the worst year of our son’s life, God has brought us together. We were both once wasted and discarded people. Society looked at both of us and said, “Who cares?” But this year we are brought together. No, we haven’t seen the boy yet in person (that will most likely happen in September or October). We’re not even officially matched yet (which is why we can’t show photos of him). But I know in my heart of hearts that the Lord has set him aside for us. The Lord’s voice is too clear and the signs too obvious for me to question them without coming to a resounding YES. In the midst of my hopelessness and despair, the Lord was bringing me a son. In the midst of our son’s year of birth and abandonment, our Father in Heaven was setting aside for him a new father and mother. God was busy redeeming the worst year ever for all of us.

This week we not only celebrate Mel’s birthday, but also our son’s. We can’t say exactly the date he was born because, as I said above, we’re not officially matched yet and there’s legal mumbo-jumbo in the way. But his birthday is close at hand. While he is only turning three and thus may not be aware of birthdays and holidays and special events and such, we can be sure that he will probably have an underwhelming birthday – no balloons, no cake, no presents, and no mom and dad to shower him with love. But this year, hopefully, he will be brought home to his mother and father. He doesn’t know it yet, but this year he will be placed in a home. This year he will receive love like he’s never known. This year he will be redeemed.

Because God redeems the wasted years.

Faith Child

Being the logophile that I am... I was daydreaming about words the other day.

All sorts of words.... The one I was lingering on especially was "peace child", which was coined by Don Richardson, and has come to mean practices or understandings native to non-western cultures which can be used to illustrate the meaning of the Gospel. It is based on the story of the evangelism of a Paupa New Ginea tribe... you can read about it here or in his book.

Then my mind wandered to other similar words, and considered the term "love child". Not quite the same genre of thought, to be sure. It is a rosy term hippies (and maybe others too, but not within my experience) use to refer to children born out of wedlock... meaning that the child is the overflow of their "free love". I grew up with a lot of these "love children" in Northern California. Quite honestly, it seemed like, while they were born out of "love", they did not continue to be loved, or even wanted... so many hurt and broken souls... some resilient, others destitute. Yes, there were some who were loved and cherished beyond everything else… but most… not so much.

“Wouldn’t it be great if we would change the meaning of that word?” I thought, “What if we called all the children who were truly loved and wanted, “love” children?” Then my mind turned to my empty arms… and to my little boy across the ocean. “He is my love child, in the literal sense of the word,” I thought.

But then a great and mighty, yet silent, Voice interrupted my thoughts.

“He is your faith child,” He said.

My restless mind and heart stood still. It was the truth and I recognized it with awe. Though we love our little boy enough to climb every wall between us, to give our all to bring him home, to sacrifice our time, money, and sanity to make this orphan our son, to love him fully and completely… he is not the natural result of our love. He is, however, our faith child. He is the supernatural result of our faith.

We know that God did not want our little boy to be born into sad circumstances and to be abandoned by the woman who was supposed to love him. We know that the years of neglect, pain, and suffering he has gone through were not the hope of God for his life. But God did arrange for his rescue! We know that God has placed this little one into our arms; he is our son! He is 100% ours! It is a simple, strong example of how faith works: God promised him to us. We believed with faith that we would see that promise come true, and we began to take the necessary steps to prepare, knowing that God is faithful to all His promises. And now, true to His word, God has given him to us – he is the fulfillment of God’s promise. He is our faith child!

While we see his face now, we still have miles to go before he is in our arms, tucked into his little bed in our home, snuggling his teddy bear, or play-westling with his daddy. Obstacles will probably arise and there will be wide rivers to cross. But how can we worry or fear? All of God's promises are Yes and Amen... and while it may not be easy, we know the outcome already. We will overcome. We have a son... a promised son.