When I quit my full-time nursing job in the Air Force, I thought I was finally done cleaning up urine, feces, vomit, and sputum.
But what did I know?
I was only six months into motherhood then.
The puking started in our household about three weeks ago and it stopped over a week later. The whole saga began when Lucy woke herself up early from her nap. She had projectile vomited all over herself and her crib. The puke kept coming almost every thirty minutes after that, until it finally stopped late that night before she went to bed.
And then you can probably guess what happened. Less than two days later, Tess started puking, and puked every thirty minutes for the rest of the day.
Tess, laid-out on my lap between puke-sessions.
Then we thought we were in the clear.
Until about four days later, when Chris started complaining of nausea. And then the next day Tess started having diarrhea, and at one point it was coming out both ends. That same night Lucy also pooped in the bathtub, and the following morning she woke up covered in vomit. I think she'd slept in it, because it was already dry and crusty when I got her up. Chris was still laid out in bed, so I was manning the house-hospital all by myself for a couple of days, scrubbing floors, replenishing Gatorade, throwing away defiled underwear, and trying to keep our dog away from all the excrements, which she finds appetizing.
It all transported me back to the good-ole days working on a medical-surgical floor, with multiple patients with different ailments, who were dripping, spewing, and excreting bodily fluids in all the wrong places. When I went to nursing school almost ten years ago, I didn't know how much it would prepare me for motherhood. But what do ya know? God doesn't waste a thing!
All of these bodily excrements have been topped off by puddles of pee-pee I've been finding around the house, wondering "who done it?" It turns out that my suspicions were right all along: our dog, Texanna.
Finally, this week, I admitted to myself that these sporadic urine accidents weren't so sporadic anymore, so I took her to the vet this morning. It has been an eye-opener to realize that my furry baby isn't a baby anymore. She's an old lady who now suffers from urinary incontinence.
Tex, taking an afternoon snooze...getting so gray on her chinny-chin-chin.
And here I am--currently in the midst of my female cycle, keeping my heating pad and Motrin close at hand--and I'm in jaw-dropping awe of how controlled we are by the flesh...by all the bodily fluids that this flesh excretes.
During our life cycles we have these babies and we teach them and clean up after them and it wears us out...and then we grow old and we start making messes of our own and our children clean up after us while they start to have their own babies.
We spend the first 2-5 years of our lives (give or take a few) learning how to put our pee-pees and poo-poos in the right place, and it's hard work, you know, it's a real skill. And all it takes is a little virus or old age, and before we know it, we no longer possess control over our own bodily functions.
It's all very humbling.
In light of the past several weeks, I think the term "physical perfection" is an oxymoron. The flesh perpetually keeps us humble; we are slaves to the material world. It seems to me that all of humanity is at the mercy of forces much bigger and smaller than ourselves. Cleaning up the aftermath of stomach bugs and incontinence is evidence enough that when it comes to this fragile thing called life...the birthing, the growing, the aging, the illness...
we have no control.
Thank God for hardwood floors and washing machines.
Tomorrow is the first official day of summer, but in my book, summer is already here. The hills of Northern California have turned from vivid green to rusty blonde, like the grass has decided to hibernate until the rain returns in November. The sky looks like a big ceiling coated in light blue paint, with no variation or texture other than the abrasive ball of heat that moves across its surface. I sit here at my desk, looking out at all of it, and I think about how my life mirrors the landscape.
I remember when summer used to feel full of excitement, activity, and change, but ever since I graduated from college, it seems to have become quite the opposite. The heat makes me want to stand still. The monotonous, cloudless skies feel uninspiring.
I exchanged emails with a friend of mine last week, and we talked about how hard it sometimes is to carry on with the daily grind of raising a young family, of doing the same thing over and over again without change or newness. But this is life, after all. Peaks and valleys come and go, but in between the slopes of change lie the flat, sturdy plains. Dry. Dull. Austere. Just like the steady, summertime heat.
I currently find myself on one of these dry plains, having just descended from a steep, invigorating mountain, and I'm starting to settle into the new landscape, to adjust my eyes to the change of scenery, which is still beautiful in its own right, but not quite as flashy as the dramatic mountain view I encountered last winter. I know there are more dramatic landscapes soon to come, so I'm trying to slow down and enjoy this lull while it lasts. But I also find myself wondering about what it is inside of us that tends to resist the flat lands, that longs to speed through the sameness into more dynamic topography?
If my life were a road trip right now, I presume I'd be driving through rows of flat cornfields somewhere in Nebraska. The sun would be blaring through my windshield and I'd be flipping through my iPod, fanatically looking for a new song to play to break up the boredom. A trickle of sweat would start to trail down the back of my neck, and I'd start to feel that the miles that I've logged thus far haven't gotten me anywhere. But I'd keep driving, waiting for the landscape to change, waiting for some cloud cover to break up the heat, and waiting for some sort of sign to indicate progress. But perhaps I'd also take note that the Great Plains are called the American "heartland" for a reason.
A few days ago I read something that seemed to tie all of these thoughts together. I keep going back to it, and it gives me pleasure to read it. It makes me realize the intrinsic value of the season and landscape of life I now find myself in:
Drudgery is the touchstone of character. The great hindrance in spiritual life is that we will look for big things to do...There are times when there is no illumination and no thrill, but just the daily round, the common task. Routine is God's way of saving us between our times of inspiration. Do not expect God always to give you His thrilling minutes, but learn to live in the domain of drudgery by the power of God. --Oswald Chambers.
So here I am--here many of us probably are--in the "domain of drudgery," in the steady summer heat on dry flat land. Supposedly, this is a blessed place. Perhaps the reason we resist it so much is because it forces us to practice more self-awareness, to embrace monotony and discomfort. In the absence of thrills and constant change, we can no longer drown ourselves out.
What does the domain of drudgery specifically look like for us right now? Well, I have to continually surrender this adoption process to God. I am feeling frustrated that my efforts to complete our dossier in a timely manner have backfired, as we are experiencing paperwork set backs at US Immigration due to factors beyond our control. It feels like this whole thing is at a stand still. Stuck. We are at the point of the journey when it feels like we'll never arrive. I know, I know, you might tell me that "the journey is the destination"...yada yada yada...
And like Oswald Chambers says, routine does feel like the glue that holds me together during times like these. I'm thankful for a summer schedule I can sink my teeth into. I'm grateful for the new gym that opened up two miles down the road. I'm thankful for grad school and Mom's Day Out and the company of good friends.
Perhaps I'll look back on this time and see how it built character and endurance, how the waiting enlarged my heart, how the uncertainty matured my faith, but right now, I'm just on the open road tryin' to keep my eyes on the flat, hot pavement.
What season and landscape do you find yourself in?
What does the domain of drudgery look like for you?
So, according to my calendar, I'm just about six months "pregnant" now, and over the past weeks I've been experiencing sudden, intense cravings for Chinese food. Go figure.
There is a hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant less than one mile down the road that serves up some amazing chow-mein. The noodles are salty, earthy, and doughy...wholly satisfying. They soothe my waiting spirit, my primal maternal angst, which is starting to groan and moan daily as we wait for our referral from China.
Chris and I had a date night a few weeks ago and we went out to eat...Chinese food again. Each time we crack open our fortune cookies at the end of the meal, I hope for some sort of sign, wanting God to cosmically communicate some secret message that indicates how this will all pan out and when it will all go down. But instead, I open up my crinkled piece of paper and read,
"a modest man never talks to himself."
Hmmm...whatever. That gives me nothing.
We are nearing the end of paperwork now, and every evening when Chris comes home with the mail, I ask...
Did IT come?
That is, our approval from US Immigration, the last prized piece of paper we need before our dossier is COMPLETE.
We're coming up on two months since we sent in our application, which is the usual amount of time it takes China families to get immigration's approval, so it should be any day now.
In the meantime, we are just waiting...drinking tea, eating lots of noodles, and reading lots of meaningless fortunes.
We hope and anticipate that our dossier will be in China by the end of July, and that we will find out who our boy is by the end of the summer.
***
In other news, I'm reminded that nothing passes the time like busyness and distraction, which equals SCHOOL for me. I'm back in school this summer, completing the final two classes before I start my thesis, which I'm still uncertain about, but I'll cross that bridge when it comes.
The class I'm currently taking is Advanced Workshop in Poetry II. This is actually the first poetry class I've ever taken--I volunteered to move up into the advanced level course because it was going to cancel unless a few more students joined. I also moved up because the professor of this class is one cool dude and is the head of our whole MFA program. So far, so good.
The description of our "student lounge"--the message board where we can virtually raise our hands and ask questions--reads:
This is the Student Lounge. It has plush leather chairs and a mini-fridge filled with travel sized bottles of Cristal. There is a masseuse on call, and take my word, the personal chef creates the gustatory experience of a lifetime. If you have forgotten your smoking jacket, loaners can be found on the rack to your left, next to the Rodin. Yes, indeed, the National University MFA program spares no expense!
Needless to say, the Student Lounge is my kinda place, and it's amazing what kind of classroom you can create for yourself when it's left to your imagination.
Anyhow, some words that immediately come to mind though when I think of poetry are:
frivolous
impractical
unnecessary
melodramatic
And...I suppose it can be all of these things...and I LOVE IT. Perhaps I have an affinity for impracticality. I think Chris is expecting me to change my track from nonfiction to poetry. I'm not sure, but we'll see. Poetry, just like prose, seems to be GOOD THERAPY. Putting thought and emotion into words is cathartic and freeing, and I find that it offers a great sense of pleasure and relief in the midst of life circumstances that are largely out of our control. So, in that sense, poetry is the most practical and necessary thing ever!
So...you guys may be seeing more poetry up in here over the next eight weeks.
For me it's been hot tea, chinese noodles, and poetry...
"seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, and plead for the widow." --Isaiah 1:17.
This is the second time I'm sitting down to write this post. I wrote it yesterday for the first time. Then, as I was uploading some photos, the entire thing disappeared. Poof. Gone. Let me say that never, in almost four years of blogging, has that happened. I don't think it is a coincidence. Something tells me that something doesn't want the content of this post to be exposed to the light. It is so disturbing that it's hard to write about, read about, and think about.
***
A little girl sits in a cold, dark, bare room. Every day, about ten to fifteen men come into her room. They rape and abuse her. When they are done, they leave her alone in the room until another man comes in. She has been locked up in this room for three years. Her parents sold her as a sex slave when she was nine years old.
***
This is just one of many gut-wrenching stories Chris and I heard this past Sunday morning as we sat in church. A man named Don Brewster, an American pastor in Cambodia who founded Agape International Missions, shared about the reality of child sex-trafficking in Cambodia.
Sex trafficking is a massive problem all throughout the world today. It happens overseas, and it happens locally in the United States, but the situation in Cambodia is unique.
Don shared that everyday, hundreds of pedophiles from all over the world, particularly the United States, fly into Phnom Penh to visit the brothels in Svay Pak--a small Cambodian village that is globally known by these predators as a trafficking hot spot. What these men do to these girls is inhuman. They find the youngest girls they can, sometimes as young as three years old.
One of the girls who had experienced such abuse stood on the stage at church on Sunday. She came to the states back in 2008 to testify against a U.S. Marine officer who had done unspeakable things to her. That day in court, for five grueling hours, she sat on a witness stand and recalled and verbalized the horrifying things that were done to her by this man. She stood up and spoke so that this man could never do these things to another girl again. This man is now in prison for life. This precious young lady now lives with a foster family here in California--they stood by her side as she took the stage on Sunday.
As Chris and I sat in church and listened to these horrifying, true stories, we felt sick to our stomachs. You probably know where my mind went. To Tess, to Lu...to one of them being that little girl in that cold, dark room, bearing an unspeakable amount of violence day after day.
It is hard to imagine that evil on this scale is real and running rampant.
But it is.
Every day, every hour, every minute.
How can I absorb these stories and then go home and assume my normal American suburban life? I came home from church on Sunday with my stomach up in my throat. These stories and images run through my mind every night as I lie in bed. When I hear stories like this, it makes me want to drop everything and go to Cambodia to help. But that's just not possible for our family, at least, not right now. So what can I do in the midst of where God has me? What can any of us do?
It might not be a lot, but I want to try and raise awareness about this. I know I don't have masses of blog followers, but at least it's a start. I hope my voice can help raise prayer and financial support for those who are boldly fighting against this grotesque evil on the front lines, both in the US and in Cambodia. So, here's some vital info and practical ways you and I can help behind the scenes...
I know that sex-trafficking has gotten a lot more publicity over the past couple of years. It is a massive issue globally, as well as right here in our own country, our own hometowns. According to a fact sheet published by Agape International, human trafficking produces $32,000,000,000 in annual trade for traffickers. Worldwide, there are nearly two million childrenin the commercial sex trade.
In Cambodia, many parents sell their children for sex so they can eat. Sometimes it's so they can buy a TV. Poverty seems to be the precursor to so many evils that occur in our world today--AIDS, orphaned children, sex and drug trafficking...and the list goes on. Where poverty is present, evil has a foothold. According to UNICEF, 55,000 women and girls are trapped in the sex trade industry in Cambodia. 35% of these are under the age of 16. The police in Cambodia know what's going on, but many turn their heads because they benefit from it.
If the police and the government won't intervene, and if the children's' own parents--the ones who are supposed to protect them--are selling them into this, then how can this ever change? Who will help?
The only hope for change is THE CHURCH.
Agape International Missions (AIM) is making a dent in this heinous industry by rescuing its victims and providing them with a place to recover. The Agape Restoration Center--one of the ministry centers of AIM--provides long-term aftercare, counseling, and education for many of these girls. It is here that many of them learn about Christ's love for them and the hope they have in Him.
AIM also started Rahab's House Church, pictured above. This building is a former brothel, but then AIM came along and leased it, and now it is a place where people in the community can hear about Christ's love and receive food, medical care, education, and childcare.
Please watch the ABC NEWS video below that features Agape International. It is only about four minutes long and gives an accurate view of the situation in Sway Pak. Don Brewster, director of AIM, is also on this clip:
If you want to support AIM in Cambodia, you can visit their website and read more about their operation. So far, they have rescued over two hundred girls from the sex trade. You can support them by praying and become part of their prayer team.
You can also support by making a financial donation--keeping their programs up and running requires a lot of expenses. Don and his wife, Bridget, are back in California now to raise more support before they return to Cambodia.
***
As for the United States...our own turf...things get a little more complicated, a little less cut and dry.
I don't know a lot yet. I've done some reading, and so far, this is what I understand about the situation.
Firstly, I want to say that I can see why people turn their heads to this stuff. I've read many news articles over the past few days and the content is the stuff of nightmares. I have a hard time reading it. But not reading it won't make it go away. And as a mother of two girls, I need to know what is going on...I need to be in touch with reality, with the world that my girls will grow up in.
The Washington Times put out an article in the past month entitled
"Sex Trafficking in the U.S. called 'epidemic'." It is estimated that about 70% of the girls in the US sex trade are runaways from broken homes. They are in foster care or have run away from foster care. They come from horrible home situations, where one or both parents abuse drugs. Many have been physically and sexually abused from a young age. They are seduced and manipulated by a man who promises them a better life--a life which turns out to be another nightmare. Many of these girls believe they have no other options.
But what about the other 30%? I think we want to believe that if our young girls come from good, middle-upperclass, educated homes, then they are safe. What I'm coming to believe as I dig deeper is that no one is safe. I read one troubling article about a girl who was taken out of her own driveway while her parents were at home. She was found forty days later in an apartment complex in Phoenix, Arizona, in a storage drawer underneath a bed. She had been drugged and raped repeatedly.
The statistics make my head spin. This crime is not limited to age, race, gender, or background. It knows no limits.
As Don Brewster mentions on his blog, our federal government spends $15 billion to fight drug trafficking, while the federal budget only allots $110 million for human trafficking. $110 million is a lot of money...but compared to $15 billion it's mere pocket change. The numbers say that addressing this isn't a very high priority to our government representatives.
So what can we do here in the US?
Write your senator an e-mail and voice your concern. If you are a pessimist like me, you may think that this won't do anything. Maybe it won't. But if you don't do anything, then it definitely won't do anything.
Also, the more research I do about adoption and sex-trafficking, the more troubled I am about our country's foster care system. This system is JACKED UP. So many children are re-abused in this system. When Chris and I were praying about this adoption, we were grieved by the realities of our nation's foster care system, and we also knew that with girls as young as we have, it would not be safe at this stage in the game to become foster parents. This system needs to be infiltrated by foster families who are equipped to help these children. There are many options to help children in the foster care system beyond becoming a foster parent.
If you have a heart to get involved and volunteer your time to some struggling kids in your own city--many of whom are vulnerable to sex-trafficking--I highly recommend reading this post by Kristen Howerton over at Rage Against the Minivan: YOU DON'T NEED TO ADOPT TO CARE FOR ORPHANS.
Is there a need for more funding and stronger legislation in the fight against sex-trafficking? Sure.
But this is also beyond what money and laws can do. This is an evil so deep that only God Himself can conquer. But I do believe that as His followers, we are expected to fight this evil in some way and He wants to use us--His Church--to do it.
If you are still reading this, I want to thank you for hanging in there. This is a difficult topic. I will close with a quote from Don Brewster's blog:
"From a biblical perspective it is easily seen that evil is only overcome by sacrifice. However, this biblical truth has also been confirmed in the historical fight against slavery. The victories achieved have only come through sacrifice, the sacrifice of many.
So what is sacrifice? Webster defines sacrifice as “the surrender of something prized or desirable for the sake of something considered having a higher or more pressing claim.” But I believe that definition falls short of the sacrifice necessary to defeat child sex slavery. From Webster's definition we might think of giving up something we want as sacrifice. But true sacrifice, the sacrifice that frees slaves, results from sacrificing from what we have or need. This true sacrifice is painful. Still, if we are willing to endure that pain, the pain of giving up what we need or have (time, talent, and treasure) children will be set free from an unimaginable horror. Personally, I cannot think of a thing I have that is more prized or desirable than that. Now I pray for the strength to live out that belief."
Many people are perplexed when we tell them we are adopting a boy from China.
Is that even possible? I thought they only had orphan girls?
That was my first response, too. But then I found out that the opposite is true--that there are indeed, thousands of little boys in China who need homes as well. There is a massive need, both in China and in other countries (including our own) for boys to find forever families.
This is a video that Love Without Boundaries put out to raise awareness about the boys who wait. It's pretty awesome. Maybe God is calling you...
During the spring of my junior year of high school, I ran track. I was tired of all the politics and pressure that came with playing soccer, so I decided to rebel and try something new. It was a way to stay in shape for field hockey season in the fall, which was my main sport, my true love.
I was mainly a sprinter. 100 meter dash, 200 meter dash. In the rare event that someone was needed for the 400 meter dash, I would fill in, but only with reluctance and angst.
400 meters equals one lap around the track. It’s not that far, right? Don’t let looks deceive you. This is why this race is so treacherous. It looks easy to outsiders, but those who run it and train for it know it requires a supernatural blend of speed and endurance. Not for the faint of heart.
In fact, I’ve recently been thinking that the dynamics of running the 400 aren’t so different from the daily race of mothering small children. It goes a little something like this...
7 a.m. The starting gun fires when my firstborn comes to my bedside. My muscles are rested, poised, ready for the race. I take off in a hurry, serving up breakfast to the children and the dog, getting everyone clothed and ready for the day. I’ve sucked down my morning coffee and I’m feeling good as I go around that first curve. No biggy, I’m in the lead! Hey, this is easy, I could do a few more laps after this! My energy and ambitions run high. Bring it on.
9:30 a.m. I’m nearing the end of the front curve and I’m starting down the back straight. I’ve gained momentum and I’m keeping speed, still feeling good. I drop my preschooler off at school and it’s just me and the toddler now. Doin’ fine, running errands, getting things done. Look at me! Smokin’! I check things off my to-do list. The wind rushes through my hair. My legs carry me quickly.
12:00 noon. I’m nearing the end of the back straight and my muscles aren’t as sharp and responsive. My energy is starting to sag. I feed the toddler lunch and change another diaper. I clean up breakfast and lunch dishes. I do some laundry. I’m starting to break a sweat and I’m starting to smell of perspiration. I need a shower. My blood sugar starts to drop. I put the toddler down for her nap. I need some lunch. I need some more caffeine. I trudge onward, not quite as inspired, but still making ground.
3:00 p.m. I’m rounding the back curve and my muscles are feeling drained, tired. They’ve exhausted the readily available glucose in my bloodstream but they still need more fuel to carry on. I make a cup of coffee, looking for a pick-me-up. The toddler is awake and is starting to run laps around me. The afternoon sun streams in the kitchen windows, tired yet relentless. The finish line is in sight, but it still seems so far away. How can I still have so much distance to cover? Dinnertime and bath-time routines still lie before me. My speed wanes and I’m slowly losing feeling in my legs. This isn’t the time to slow down though. Maybe I should have paced myself...I still have to pick up the preschooler from school.
5:30 p.m. The armpit of the day. I’m starting to feel desperate. I finish the back curve and start down the home stretch. There’s still 100 meters before me, the most crucial part of the race. I’m wondering where my endurance has gone. It feels like the race should be over but I’ve got to keep going. The runners children behind me threaten to overtake me. The preschooler is whining from hunger and fatigue, wondering where dinner is. The toddler is in destruction mode, pulling books of the shelves and climbing over the family room furniture. My brain is in a fog, my energy sapped. I get dinner on the table. I’m too tired to eat. The cramps feel like knives in my side. I need a strong drink. Lord, help me.
7:00 p.m. There’s only 50 more meters between me and the finish line. The children are bathed and ready for bed. Just a little more ways to go...I can do it...I can do it! I see the finish line clearly now. I’m almost there. I can no longer feel my legs. They are numb from overexertion. My vision blurs and my lungs sting. I don’t know how I’m moving but I am. Just a few more feet. Bedtime stories and prayers are all that’s left. Just a few more minutes...
8:00 p.m. I made it! I finished the race! I fall into in a lifeless heap in the middle of the track, wondering what just happened to me, gasping for breath. The lights are out and the doors are shut. The children are asleep. My muscles tingle and my head hurts. I lie there for another thirty minutes before I feel the life start to come back into me. I continue to breathe. My entire body is weak. I need to eat. Rest has never felt so good. I relish the moments of quiet and stillness before I get to do it all over again tomorrow.
***
Most days, I feel like I’m just running in a circle. I can feel the exertion and the fatigue, but it’s hard to calculate progress when you run the same terrain over and over again. This race is run every day, and every day it challenges me. Every day I run this loop and sometimes I wish I ran cross country instead...I wish for a slower pace and a more scenic route. But I know I’m building strength and endurance, even if it doesn’t always seem that way. And in the end, the repetition and stability of this track is what helps my children mature and grow, so that one day, they can run the race too...
