Thoughts For Now, Thoughts For Later

For the past couple of days I've been sitting on a post, one which I was reluctant to publish due to its deeply personal nature.  There are parts of that post that I'm not sure I'm quite willing to divulge yet, for one reason or another.  I went back and forth with myself for days, leaving the blog interface up, deciding whether to hit 'publish' or whether to save it for later.  I knew I would eventually put it out there - it wasn't a question of yes or no, just a question of when.  But I have decided, for now, to keep those thoughts to myself and take things in a different direction.  Do not be concerned - you are not missing out on anything of great importance - the goal of the post was just to give some background information about where I was in my life prior to my discovery of Reece's Rainbow; but it is a very heavy post, and for now, there are so many other things I want to say.

My heart aches today.  At times it jumps for joy, for the grins and giggles of the many angels who are already home with their forever families, but today, it truly aches for the ones who are still waiting.

This little boy, though even at ten years old, he knows no words, spoke to me loud and clear today.  I need somebody to love me.


Read what Reece's Rainbow has to say about sweet 'Brett':  Boy, Born August 23, 2001

Diagnosis: Down Syndrome, Severe lagging behind in his development, Alopetio areata.  The photo was taken on May 2009.   This child had a rough start in his life.   Immediately after giving birth to him in the open country she abandoned him on the field.  He was found and taken to the hospital.   His condition was poor but the doctors saved his life.

SINGLE MOMS, OLDER PARENTS, & LARGE FAMILIES WELCOME, EASY TRAVEL

$97.70 is available towards the cost of my adoption!

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Oh, Brett.  I never thought a little boy would speak to me the way you have.  I've raised girls.  My boy, my dear borrowed boy, only stayed with me through about 20 short months.  Little girls have always had a hold on my heart... but you, sweet little Brett, abandoned by your mother, left to die... and then rescued only to languish in a horrid institution with no family to love you... Brett, ten years old but so very tiny, growing ever nearer to that un-adoptable age of 16, but still very much a child... how my heart aches that I can't just jump on a plane and come get you and bring you home to a family who would love you for the special person that you are.  


People, if you are out there reading, won't you consider bringing Brett home?  I know he's somebody's son.  God did not put him on this earth and deliver him from certain death only for him to die alone in a stark, cold institution.  His Mommy is out there somewhere, I just know it.  His region is relatively popular for adoptions because they place fewer restrictions on adoptive families with regards to age, family size and travel.  It is also a region in desperate need, for these children are wasting away.


I've been up all night, ideas bouncing around my head for what to blog about next.  I have so much to say, but how and when to say it continue to befuddle me.  I thought I had a plan for a post today, and then a little face caught my eye... and all the sudden that plan wasn't so important anymore.  That post, like the one before it, will wait for another day.  


Today, I just ask you, to look into the eyes of this little boy.  Hear the words he cannot speak.  Feel the love he has to give to a Mama he does not yet know.  Hold him in your hearts, keep him in your prayers, share his story with your friends... in hopes that Brett might soon find his Forever Family, before it's too late.  


This day, incidentally, is the anniversary of the day my uncle Tony was lost to Down Syndrome, at ten years old, the same age as Brett.  Ask my mom, my uncles and my aunt.  Ask them what a blessing he was on their lives.  These children, too, will be a blessing on the lives of the families who take them in.  They just need to be given a chance.  I love you, Uncle Tony.  I know you're up in heaven playing with your suitcase and your trucks and your M&Ms... watching over these precious souls... waiting for the day they can go home, just like I am.  


These are my thoughts for today.  Two little boys with Down Syndrome, separated by time, space, heaven and earth... but special, to someone.  Somebody's son.  Somebody's brother.  Somebody's friend

Remember these faces

What did you do today?  Did you get some last minute Christmas shopping in?  Try to navigate the crowded aisles of your local Wal-Mart to pick up stocking stuffers?  Bake cookies?  Take a nap?  Fight traffic to get to the mall one last time?

This is 'Lilly'.

From www.reecesrainbow.org.

Lilly is four years old.  The photo is a little older as well, she's probably not quite as young-looking as she is here, but undoubtedly still significantly behind.  Lilly has Down Syndrome along with a significant heart defect that needs surgery.  She lives in an orphanage in Eastern Europe.  At four years old, Lilly is at risk of being transferred to an adult mental institution soon, where she will surely die.

Do you know what Lilly did today?  She ate from a grated bottle (this is a bottle with the nipple cut off, so that thicker liquids can flow through), she lay alone in her crib, bored, doing repetitive behaviors in a feeble attempt to entertain herself, she listened to her peers cry, and then she went to sleep with no mommy or daddy to tuck her in.

This is 'Katelyn'.

From www.reecesrainbow.org.

Katelyn is already five years old and has been transferred to an adult mental institution.  This picture is about two years old.  She is being supported so she was likely not walking then, at three, and likely is not now, at five.  Katelyn has Down Syndrome, but her heart is healthy.  By all accounts she should be able to live a very normal life - but that her days have been lived out in an orphanage.  IF little Katelyn is still alive (90% of children with Down Syndrome die within the first year after transfer to these institutions), she spent today crying out for someone to care for her, wondering when, or if, she would be fed again, and having never known the love of a family.



This is 'Calvin'.

From www.reecesrainbow.org.

Calvin is a joyful 3-year-old whose language skills are flourishing despite living in a bilingual orphanage.  He loves to play and learn and gets along wonderfully with other children.  Calvin's only crime is that he was born HIV+.  AIDS may have taken his mother, or she may have died of another cause or left him because she couldn't raise him, but now Calvin lives out his days in an orphanage.  Ask Calvin what he did today.  I bet he didn't drive down the street, mesmerized by the twinkling Christmas lights.  I'll bet he didn't reach over his mama's shoulder grabbing for a candy cane at the store.  I'll bet he didn't hear his mommy tell him she loves him.


This is 'Margit'.

From www.reecesrainbow.org.

Precious Margit.  She reminds me of my beloved 'borrowed' girl, A, in this photo... with those bangs, silly grin and pink coat.  Margit is 10 years old.  At her age, she is significantly less likely than some of the younger children to be adopted.  Her diagnosis is Down Syndrome.  But Margit is very much still a child, who would like nothing more this Christmas than a mommy or daddy.  Margit does not have a mommy or daddy to rush out just days before Christmas to get her one last gift.  She has little if any possessions to her name, and she'll spend this Christmas, just like all her other ones, without a family to love her.  Oh, dear Margit, how you remind me of my little princess.  I'd bring you home right now if I could.



This is 'Dale'.

From www.reecesrainbow.org.

Dale is two.  Look here, how he's almost reaching for you from halfway across the world.  Dale has vision problems and is likely partially if not fully blind.  Dale spent today with not even the sight of the bars of his crib around him for stimulation.  He heard the familiar sounds of other children crying, rocking, banging.  I'll bet he didn't hear "I love you".  I'll bet he didn't get tucked into bed with a Christmas story, a cup of milk and a kiss on the nose.  No, Dale fell asleep tonight just like he does every other night; completely and utterly alone.


Take these children in.  View their beautiful faces.  Know that these are only a fraction of the children waiting on Reece's Rainbow.  Remember them, as you go about your last minute shopping, as you hustle and bustle with preparations for the holidays... and remember that it's not going to be a Merry Christmas for everyone... not yet.

But then...



Finally, meet 'Veronika'.

'Veronika' is 9 years old.  But you might know her as Katie.

Photos from www.theblessingofverity.com with permission.

Yup.  Veronika and Katie are one and the same.  These photos are of the same nine-year-old little girl.  But whereas Veronika faced day after day, Christmas after Christmas, of being left alone in a crib on the top floor of a crumbling orphanage, sometimes without so much as another face to look at, starving, suffering, dying...


Katie has a family.

Because someone answered that call in their lives to go get her, because someone looked at the 'cost' of saving her life, and said "This is nothing God can't handle".  Because someone said YES, to Veronika, that same little girl, now known as Katie, will have a Merry Christmas this year.  She'll be surrounded by her loving mommy and daddy and ten siblings who absolutely adore her.  She'll hear the singing, see the twinkling lights, watch the first snow fall, and go to sleep tonight with a full belly in a warm bed with a family who loves her.



Remember the faces of those five children; Lilly, Katelyn, Calvin, Margit, Dale.  As you go about the hustle and bustle of your holiday, remember how they're spending theirs.  Remember the face of Veronika, the little girl who was all alone at the orphanage.  Then remember the face of little Katie, the same girl, but redeemed through the love of a family and the love of God... and maybe, as you fall asleep tonight... think of the world just a little differently.

Disjointed Thoughts and Christmas Gifts

Over the past few days, a number of blog posts have been bouncing around in my head, none of them dominant enough to become the subject of a new post, until now.  Even now, my thoughts are rather disjointed and don't fall into the pattern of one succinct post.  But nevertheless, I have things to share, so a disjointed post this shall be.

Late yesterday I received an early Christmas present; one that had been purchased at no store, wrapped in no shiny paper, placed under any tree.  In fact, those who gave to me this gift, which I already treasure above all others, had no idea they were even giving it.

Weeks ago my eyes were opened to the plight of special needs children abroad by the story of one little girl from an unnamed orphanage in an unnamed country.  This little girl.  I read her story, I looked at the photos of her amazing transformation from emaciated orphan, to beloved daughter.  A website called Reece's Rainbow led me to the blogs of many other families who had adopted from similar orphanages.  Though at first, the family of that first little girl who shared my name, chose not to share what orphanage or even what country their daughter came from, after a little more research and a lot more reading, I had a pretty good idea where it was.  I learned that though all children in orphanages suffer for want of a mother or father, some suffered a worse fate than others as they were treated poorly and warehoused rather than nurtured.  The orphanage where little Katie came from, though not indicative of all orphanages in her country, was one of the worst, due to a cold-hearted director who allowed the children to languish instead of flourish, who cared more for herself than for these tiny souls who depended on her.  A common thread among every person who had come across tales of this orphanage, was an echoing cry of "How can this be allowed to happen?"

Friends, have you heard the phrase "All that is necessary for evil to triumph, is for good men to sit and do nothing"?  Here it applies more than anything else.  Good was not present in this orphanage.  It was not present in this person who was left in charge of these children's care.  This allowed the force of evil to creep in and take over.  Evil is a cunning foe.  It seeps in through the cracks and grows like a weed, taking over anywhere that good is not there to fight it.  Some believe that this evil is directly caused by Satan.  Others such as myself believe in a more abstract version of Satan; as a representation of the evil in the world.  Still others believe it is simply human flaw allowed to grow out of control.  But what is common among all of these, is the belief that evil... is evil.  It's wrong, it's terrible, it's willful destruction of good and innocence.


Yesterday I learned more about how such evil could be allowed to endanger; truly end the lives of many innocent children.  In Bulgaria, where I had previously deduced that Katie was from, an orphanage director must be either a pediatrician or a family physician.  These people, once assigned to their posts, are very difficult to remove, and in some places oversight of their actions is negligible or nonexistant.  In other places, those who see these horrors for themselves turn a blind eye; or halfheartedly try to take action and fail.  But here, in this orphanage from whence came little Katie-bird, GOOD had triumphed over that evil.

A special investigation had occurred.  A group had gone into the orphanage unannounced and documented many human rights violations, deaths, cover-ups, abuse, neglect... horrors which are nearly unspeakable to those of us who have lived pleasant, first-world lives.  The investigative team issued a report, and on the authority of that report, charges were brought up against the director of the orphanage.  As of yesterday, we learned that this director who had evil in her heart, who had allowed these horrible things to happen to these children, had been FIRED!

A Christmas miracle.  A triumph of good over evil.  A reward for the hard work and dedication so many people put in to help these children.  An act of God.  Any of these, all of these, can be used to describe this news.  Ultimately though, there are people we must thank for their efforts to put an end to the torment these children faced daily.  One of them is little Katie's mother, Susanna, who humbly gives the credit for this miracle over to God, but who played no small part by witnessing and documenting the horrors of the orphanage, in changing the circumstances for the children therein.  One of them is a woman named Toni, whom I know only through the writings of various adoptive families, and who is clearly a kindred heart, who worked tirelessly to seek justice for these children.  The countless Babas (this word is Bulgarian, and I am told it is akin to 'grandmother' or 'Nana') who spend their time with the children of the orphanage, providing the only human contact these children may see in weeks, months, years.  I'm sure there are others who remain unnamed.  And finally, there are the children, who hung on so long, who fought so hard, to be alive and there to be witnessed.  Little ones, you had no idea as you lie there, that you were all the while working to save others from the same horrible fate that had befallen you.

This, this is the greatest Christmas gift I could have been given.  Thoughts still bounce around my head; about my surgery, about the future of orphanages like this one, about 'homes' for older children and psychiatric institutions to which children as young as four are transferred among various countries... to the value placed on materialism at this time of year when God's neediest children are all but forgotten... scripture quotes float about my mind... I'm sure many posts are to follow this somewhat disjointed one about other thoughts, topics, realizations... but this one needed to be posted today.  Any readership I have here is likely quite small, but in the event that it is out there at all, every other person deserves to be given the same gift I was this Christmas; so this post needed to be published.

I want to end only with a thank you... to every one of the people whose words, actions, or mere existence, went into changing the circumstances these children face.  Let us hope that in the coming days we will see good done in their lives, changes made, so that other children don't have to follow in the footsteps of those who went before them.  And a thank you, to everyone who brought this news to the attention of all who carried these children in their hearts and minds every day... to those who unknowingly gave me the best gift I will receive this year.  Thank you.

Pieces of a Puzzle

I know I'm not the first one to notice this metaphor, however, I feel it certainly applies to me and my situation with regards to adoption.  I feel as though my adoption of a child, or children, will be a beautiful, completed puzzle; at which point we'll start on another challenging puzzle which is learning to live together as a family and deal with special needs.  But I've always been told to take things one step at a time, and this time, I'm doing the puzzle one piece at a time.

The first couple pieces of the puzzle, were actually pieces borrowed from others' puzzles.  Their stories of adoption, the stories of the children still waiting in orphanages and mental institutions, the videos and photos of children desperately in need of a loving family, which prompted me to open the box and start working on this puzzle.  Creating this blog was another piece.  Tomorrow, I will add yet another piece.

For years I have struggled with endometriosis, a condition which could make me infertile if not treated properly, and even then can sometimes be a cause for infertility for no discernible reason.  To date, I have had two surgeries to remove the endometriosis tissue, and two surgeries to stop internal bleeding following my second surgery.  That was in March, and I was hoping it would bring to an end the pain I have been in nonstop for over a year now.  It provided some respite, but unfortunately, the pain came back, a little bit at a time, and then all the time.  I saw more doctors.  I had more tests done.  Finally, I decided on a course of action.

Because the exact source of my pain could well be a combination of factors, I opted to have surgery to remove my gallbladder via laparoscopy, and have the doctors excise any endometriosis or adhesions they find while they're in there.  In discussion with the surgeon, it was also decided that due to the nature and location of my pain, and its habit of landing me in the emergency room, that it would also be best to remove my appendix.  There are currently no signs that anything is wrong with it, but the endometriosis puts me at a higher risk for problems with it, and while I have it, every time I visit the hospital for pain, they have to do a CT scan to rule out appendicitis, which exposes me to a lot of radiation, which can also be harmful to my fertility as well as my overall health.

So, where that puts us, is scheduled for a laparoscopy tomorrow at 10:40 AM.  I have to be at the hospital two hours early.  In all, the surgery will remove my gallbladder, appendix, and any endometriosis or adhesions that they happen to find.  I am going to request to be kept overnight due to my bad reaction to surgery in March.  I was so close to being sent home then, they were preparing my discharge papers, when I fainted and my blood pressure plummeted.  Had I gone home, I would have likely died.  That's not a risk I'm willing to take; I promised a certain 12-year-old that I would not die on her.

Now, as to why this is a piece of my adoption puzzle, there are two reasons.  The first is that the endometriosis, repeated surgeries, radiation and adhesions all make it more difficult for me to conceive a child naturally.  Since I was 18 I had always known I wanted only one biological child, and after that I would be content to have a hysterectomy to end the effects of the endometriosis.  Most recently, I still hold onto that hope that I will be able to have a biological child, and don't intend to consent to a hysterectomy before that happens, unless it becomes clear that it will not happen, but, this disease was one of the first things that opened my heart to adoption.  I've always known I wanted many children.  Whose genes they have or whose womb they come from is not a matter of great importance to me.  When I was first diagnosed, I remember asking God, why me, why THIS particular disease?  Why did I, a person who wanted more than anything to be a mom, have to get a disease that could lead to infertility?  Couldn't it have been anything else?

But anything else wouldn't be the right piece to fit into my puzzle.  Anything else might've prevented me from starting the puzzle in the first place.  So now, I feel as though I have an answer to those "Whys" I asked so long ago, and continued to ask for years.  God was preparing me for adoption.

The second piece to the puzzle that comes from this surgery is the one that will enable me to be a good mother to my children.  Having been in constant pain for a year, I've struggled to maintain a job and family life while faced with such physical health problems, ones which also hurt my heart.  It is my hope that this surgery will end the pain, at least for most of the time, and allow me to live a happy, healthy life, pursue a well-paying job in order to pay my bills and save for the future of my family, and of course, attach the other pieces of the puzzle.  Getting better, that's the piece of the puzzle I'm working on now.

So it's slow going.  It's one step at a time.  It's for this reason that I thank God that I was called to adoption at such a young age, so I could prepare myself in every way for His will, without feeling rushed to take immediate action (which I am certainly sorry that I can't do, but by putting this puzzle together, piece by piece, I know I'm getting closer and closer to that goal).

Little ones out there, this surgery is as much for you as it is for me.  Dear God, please watch over me and my health as I go into this time of uncertainty, for I feel that truly your work in my life is not finished yet.  I have the potential to do so much more good, to reach the state of happiness I've been striving for all my life.  And there's a few little kiddos out there who would already miss me if I were gone, so please, God, help me with this piece of the puzzle, so I can continue to work on it and complete Your beautiful work of art.

One piece at a time.  Someday, the puzzle will be complete and beautiful, and I will give thanks for all these trials that have led me to this point.  Thank you, God, for showing me the "why".

Heroism

Did you click the X yet?

Think you know what I'm going to say here, just by the title of this post?

I challenge you to keep reading, and likely discover you're wrong.

Thoughts of this post have been bouncing around in my head constantly in the little under 24 hours before I wrote my first one and officially announced my intention to adopt internationally to anyone who would listen.  I have hopes that they will come together with some degree of cohesiveness, but a lot has happened in 24 hours, so those hopes may not be realized ;)  However, much of it has to do with my three Dear Borrowed Kids (DBKs, in the words of a friend.  Please see my 'about me') and will be omitted out of respect for them and their families.

Suffice to say, that six years ago, close to this time of year, I was, as I am now, called to a higher purpose than the one I had set out for myself.  I was sixteen, a junior in high school taking a nearly full schedule of advanced classes.  And yet, God had set these two little girls in my life, one of them two years old, and one of them six years old.  Caring for them was nothing short of a full time job with a high emotional commitment.  I was told over and over, that I couldn't possibly care for these children as often as I had agreed to, and still 'live my life'.

Now, that last bit confused me.  How was I supposed to live my life, if not to love God's littlest and neediest children?  Was I supposed to party?  Go out at night and come back after curfew?  Join a club I didn't care about?  If living my life wasn't what I was doing... what was it?

Today I've been reminded of those early days, where I felt an uneasiness in my stomach due to the disconnect between what I felt called by God to do, and what I was being told by everyone in my life to do.  I even remember coming into school late one too many days because I'd been up late with one of the girls, and getting my first ever detention.  When I started sobbing, the attendance office sent me to the vice principal to talk.  I told him why I was late for school, that I had recently taken on another little one to love.  I remember very clearly, he propped his elbows on his desk, looked across the desk at me, and he said "It sounds like you need to determine where your priorities are."  I looked him straight in the eyes back across the desk, and said, "With all due respect, sir, if you'd like me to do that, I'm obliged to tell you that they're not with my school work, but with two little girls who need me."  He nodded, as if to say 'fair enough'.  I served my detention.  And I went home, and did what God had called me to do.  Now, six years later, those two little girls are still in my life, and I would truly do anything for them.

Why do I bring this up now?  I'm not sure if I realized it at the time, or if it wasn't until later, but I feel that the naysayers in those days, the ones who told me I surely couldn't care for these children, that I had to 'be a teenager'... thought, that rather than wanting to spend my time with those little girls, that I was doing it out of some sort of misguided sense of heroism.  They were wrong.  Sure, I recognized that the girls had something to gain through the time I spent with them, but I didn't do it because it was "the right thing to do" or because it made me somehow special; I did it because I wanted to.

In the 24 hours since I made public my feelings about international adoption, I feel that I'm facing the same sort of opposition, from people who simply don't understand my motivation.  I don't resent that; in fact, I thank God for preparing me early to deal with it.  Never would I have guessed that the morning I spent crying in the vice principal's office of my high school would be at the forefront of my mind six years later.  But as I did then, let me try to explain.  Some may understand, some may not, and that's okay.  I didn't need anyone else's approval to make the right choice for us when I was sixteen, and I don't need it at 22.

First of all, I want to make clear that the choices I made when I was sixteen did not make me some sort of hero.   For years I found myself trying to explain to strangers, yes, I take care of them every day, no, I don't accept money, and no, I'm not special because of that.  I'm just me.  I wouldn't have been happy had I turned them away.  I wasn't satisfied to live the life of a 'typical' American teenager.  I was called to a higher purpose, and I met that call.  Today people still tell me that I'm somehow special, and I ask them, at what point could I have made a different choice?  When could I have chosen to do nothing when I could have done something, and been satisfied with that?  No, that wouldn't do.  My choices weren't selfish... but they weren't selfless either.  I only did what was right for all of us.

Second; I don't expect adoption to make me a hero.  Do I think the families who take in children who would otherwise have no one to love them are doing a wonderful thing, of course; but any of them who went into their adoption journeys with the right motivations didn't do it out of some misguided sense of heroism.  They did it because it was right for their families, it was right for the children they wanted to bring home, and they felt it was right by God, or whatever higher power they believe in.

The difference may seem like splitting hairs, but in reality, it's all the difference in the world.  It would be unfair to bring a child into your home because you thought it would make you a hero, because you were excited at the thought of being considered 'special' in the eyes of others, or because someone else did it and you had to do the same lest someone consider you less special, less admirable.  In fact, to the contrary, I respect very much the decisions of families who feel that adoption, international or domestic, is not right for them.  It's just as selfless a decision as the one to adopt; the only difference being what someone discerns is right for their circumstances.

No, these families bring their children home because they want them.  Because they look at their photos every day, thinking of them left without a mommy or a daddy in an orphanage in a far away land, and they can't bear the thought that this child, who they've already fallen in love with for the little person they are, will never have a family.  Page through the blogs of the Reece's Rainbow families.  International adoption takes a long time.  There are waiting periods before you can take your child home; it's not like going to the pet shop and picking out an animal to take home with you.  There are long waits where you are left to reflect on your decision and your life, and you know what most people do with this time?

They miss their children.


Yes, that's right, children that in some cases they haven't even met.  Children that they already know are a part of their families, just through stories and photos.  Then, they travel across waters and continents, to bring home their little ones.  They humble themselves by seeking financial help from others to save these young lives.  In many cases, they later go on to help fund raise for other families.  And why do they do it?  Because they want their children.  Because they love them.  


Six years ago, what I tried to explain to people when little M and little A came into my life, is the same thing I'm explaining now.  The decision to love a child, to care for them, to bring them into your home, is not, should not, be one made because you want to be a hero.  It's one made, because, as so many families know, there was never really any decision at all.  This is right for them, it's right for their children, and it's right by their beliefs.

I've known for a long time that God would call me to something big, that I needed Him to show me my purpose, and He has.  I wouldn't be happy, wouldn't be satisfied with my life, if I turned away from it.  This is right for me.  It will be right for my child.  It will be right by my God.

Go ahead, call me crazy.

A few weeks ago, someone on a message board I frequent, www.car-seat.org, posted that she had seen a photo of a tiny child, said to be nine years old, weighing only 10 lbs, in an infant seat.  Opening the post, I thought, that's surely impossible, children have been born weighing more than that!  A nine year old could surely never be that tiny.  Then someone linked the blog address of that little girl's mother.  I clicked over to see this child and came upon a blog called The Blessing of Verity.  There, I read the story of a mom named Susanna, her eleven children, and her two youngest daughters, Verity, who was born with Down's Syndrome, and Katie, a little girl sharing my own name whom they had just brought home from Eastern Europe.  If you'd like to 'meet' Katie for yourself, check out Susanna's blog.  There are some recent pictures of Katie doing absolutely beautifully after only a month home!

I watched this video (click to watch).  I want to warn you before you view it, that you are about to see shocking, sad things right before your eyes - but it is worth it.  The reality is, we are often sheltered here in America, unaware of just how terrible the situations of others are.  We get swept up, especially this time of year, in commecialism, want, drama... first world problems.  Yet every day that someone here frets over getting a toy at Walmart on Black Friday, children sit in orphanages and mental institutions around the world, left to languish without a family to love or care for them, or enough food to fill their bellies.  These children can't 'click away' from the sad video; it is their life.  They can't close the depressing blog post; they are living it.  Watch the video.  Don't bury your head in the sand.  See what I saw, what so many others saw, that brought to light the condition of these poor children.

After watching the video and reading Katie's story, I clicked over to another site, the website of the organization through which Katie and hundreds of other children have now been adopted.  It is a site called Reece's Rainbow.  On Reece's Rainbow, you will see many, many children with special needs, from Down's Syndrome, to FAS, to physical abnormalities, and even to a few children who might have been completely developmentally typical had they not lived out every one of their days in an institution.  Take a moment.  Look at the faces of these children.  Look at their eyes.  Eyes filled with sadness, having never known the love of a family; to eyes filled with hope and joy at the prospect of going 'home'.  Read their stories.  Think back to that video.  Right now, as you sit comfortable, safe and warm in your home, these children are all but abandoned, alone, starving.

So why am I posting this, if not just to send a huge guilt trip out to everyone who has been caught up with 'first world problems'?  Simple:  Only by spreading awareness, can we truly CHANGE the conditions these children are in.  Yes, international adoption is very expensive.  Yes, there are children right here in the United States in need of families.  Yes, the process can be very difficult and at times absolutely heartwrenching.  But should we turn away, from the smallest, neediest members of this world, simply because the job is too big?

I'm sure you can all see what I'm getting at.  Of course I don't expect everyone to share my passion for children, to bring them into their home, to jump immediately into the frustrating yet rewarding world of adoption; but do I think we should help?  Absolutely.  $25,000 is a hefty ransom on the head of a child.  I certainly don't have even a fraction of that sitting in my bank account, and I don't expect anyone else to either.  But since when do we give up on children, on people, because they cost us money?  Since when do we decide someone is not worth saving because the treatment needed to save them is too expensive?  No, I don't expect you all to read this post and instantly decide to adopt internationally.  If you feel called to do so, as I did when I read about little Katie (I think our shared name was God's little tap on my shoulder, that He was calling me to a higher purpose than that to which I had called myself), that's wonderful.  There are many, many children on Reece's Rainbow still waiting for a Forever Family.  But if you don't?  Maybe you could spare a few dollars, or ask for contributions in a child's name in place of Christmas gifts.  I personally can't think of a better way to celebrate the birth of our Lord than to be blessed enough to help His children; for each and every one of them are made in His image.  And if you don't share those views about the reason for the season, you must at least agree that at some time in your life, you've realized that the greatest gift, is to give.  Give, just a little.  If you can't give, a situation I'm in right now, then share the story of these children.  Share it with the people around you, so that they might share it, and word might spread, until we raise all the money needed for their ransoms, and bring them all home.

But I didn't start a blog simply to ask other people to put time, money and effort towards the costs of these children.  No, I started a blog, to chronicle my own journey.  If you know me, I'm sure you've guessed where I'm going with this.  From the moment I watched that video, saw those poor emaciated children, alone and crying out for food, for love, for interaction... I knew.  I have been called by a higher power than myself, to make a difference.

So go ahead.  Call me crazy.  Tell me I'll never raise $25,000.  Tell me I'm being naive.  Tell me that just like many of my 'projects', I'll lose my resolve.  Tell me it won't work out.  Tell me I don't have the resources.  Tell me there are simply too many children to help, and their problems too great.

But I won't listen.

It's not going to happen today, or tomorrow, or even next year, but one day, I am going to bring one of these children home.  Maybe more than one.  Maybe so many that my home is bursting at the seams.

Nearly every family's blog that I have read has commented on how at some point, someone told them they were wasting their time and money, that they were making this choice for selfish reasons, or that they were using their children to further a political agenda.  The harshest criticisms have been thrown towards these selfless individuals who choose to heed this calling in their lives.  Does it stop them?  No.  Will it stop me?  Not one bit.

It's a big task.  It's a lifelong commitment.  It's a lot of money.  It opens you up to heartbreak, to criticism and to stress and strain. But click back over to Susanna's blog, and look at Katie's smiling face, bow in her hair, propping her head up on her hand.  I know her mama would tell you that she was worth every cent, and every tear.

$25,000 is a lot to raise.  There are many requirements, which vary widely by country, to adopt internationally.  So, rather than give up, call it too big of a job, I start now.  The minimum age requirement is 25.  There are approximately 845 days between me and the age of 25.  I choose not to see that as an obstacle; I choose to see it as a gift.  I have 845 days to prepare myself, a home, a life, a ransom, for the life of a child.  I have the most amazing angel in Heaven looking out for me and my child-to-be, my dear friend Angie who herself hoped to adopt twin boys someday.  In my mind's eye, I can see her, in her words, "legs dangling off the edge of a cloud", looking down and telling me I can do it.  What mountains can't be moved with Heaven on my side?

So today, I start with awareness.  I start with the very first post of this blog, which I hope to be a legacy of love, a 'birth story' for a child to read someday.  I have surgery scheduled later this week.  The first order of business, aside from writing on this blog, is to have that surgery and heal myself, all the while working on raising awareness about the condition of these kids, and maybe even doing some fundraising for families who are ready to bring home their children now; in fact, I know of a Mama right here in my home town waiting to bring home two more children.  Then, I work on finding a job which will pay my living expenses and allow me to put a little away every day for my adoption fund.  Those are the first steps down a long and winding road.  It will lead places I didn't expect.  There will be roadblocks and delays.  I may not have a clear map in front of me, showing me exactly which point to strive toward next.  But I will reach the finish line, and I will bring home my child.

I plan to continue blogging about this journey - right now the posts will mostly be about my thoughts, about other adoptive families with permission from the parents, about children waiting on Reece's Rainbow.  Eventually I hope to use it to keep tabs on my own fundraising efforts, and ultimately, my journey to bring home one of these angels.  Please feel free to follow my journey and that of those who have walked this path before me.  If you feel so led, start a journey of your own.  There is an amazingly supportive community out there working tirelessly and never quitting until every last child has a home.  Join it, in whatever way you choose.

And yes, if you want to, call me crazy.  How is that different from any other day?  ;)  Go on, I've invited you.  But if you think you'll stop me, think again, because this crazy lady, is on a mission.

Meet crazy, goofy, me!