The following is something my wife Sarah wrote today, and it brilliantly illustrates what is on my mind.  I probably could not have written this today, but wanted to share her words.

From Sarah's Blog Today, March 8:

Eighteen years ago today, my husband's father died.

It started out like any other day. Phil was a junior in high school, the only child of two incredibly loving parents. Phil's dad, Ed, was the senior pastor at a large, thriving and growing church in Tucson, Arizona. His mom was just about as sweet and kind as anyone you've ever met.

Mom & Dad were in Seattle for a couple of days, teaching at a church where they had many friends, and had lived before. Phil stayed in Tucson. It was a Sunday afternoon. Phil got a phone call from someone his family knew in Seattle. Ed had been in a pretty bad car accident.

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We have some incredible news to share. This is not your run of the mill incredible news. This is over the top, mind blowing incredible news. This is news that has sent us to the moon and back several times over the last few days. Over a year ago, I wrote a blog about our heart for adoption, about how we felt God strongly calling us to expand our family. You can read it here.

So, people, here’s our news: WE ARE GOING TO PICK UP OUR SON THE LAST WEEK OF MARCH. THAT’S FOUR WEEKS FROM NOW. We started the adoption process in October of 2009 and now, just a short 5 months later, we have a court date. If you are at all familiar with normal international adoption processes, this is really, really fast. My husband’s brother’s family waited over two years. Other friends have waited eighteen months.

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On a recent Saturday, I attended a funeral to honor the passing of a friend’s mom. All I knew driving to the funeral was that she died of cancer, and that funerals are almost always sad. This particular day proved the latter wrong.

People say, or at least I’ve heard it said, that funerals bring people and memories together. The strange thing with this funeral is that I hardly knew my friend’s mom. All I wanted to do was support my friend through what has been a tough year. I decided to carpool with four friends, all of which shared the same sentiment: support our friend during this time of loss.

If you Google mapped our journey, it began in New York City to North Jersey to a quick stop at a rest area for gas and coffee and then a straight shot down the New Jersey Turnpike toward Princeton. During our drive, the five of us caught up on life, discussed various current events, commented on the blandness of the Turnpike scenery and then before you knew it, arrived at our destination.

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When Mark and I are "on our game" (which we are not right now), we like to do affirmations with the kids at the dinner table. Generally it involves us going around the table and saying a few things we like about each kid, and a few ways they have made us proud that day. We haven't done this since Kembe came home, and the other night as we were eating it occurred to me that we needed to include him in this tradition.

I went around the table, saying the usual things. As we affirmed Jafta, and then India, and then each other, Kembe sat there quietly, with wide eyes and a curious look. I could tell he understood what I was saying and was watching with anticipation. Then, it was his turn. I told him in my best Krenglish how much I loved him, how funny he is, how nice he is to the baby, how handsome he is, and how happy we are that he is in our family.

Oh my word. If I could have somehow captured the look on his face at this moment, it would melt your heart. He just got this look about him that I've never seen. It was pure joy . . . just unadulterated excitement and pride and happiness. He was BEAMING. And seeing him, I just thought: this.

This is what every child longs for and deserves . . . the adoration and affection from a parent. This is why I spent the better part of a day sounding off at a small portion of a news program dissing adoption. This is why I get so frustrated with attempts to shut down children being placed in the home of a loving family, because of something like race, or location, or sexual orientation, or finances, or home size.

When you see a glimpse of a child getting it - this. This family thing. When that starts to click and you get to bear witness to it . . . I just don't think there is anything more beautiful.

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1/15 UPDATE: Kristen and her daughter are back on US soil. They were evacuated in the middle of the night to a military base in New Jersey. They will be home by this evening. 

 

My sister-in-law, Kristen Howerton, was in Haiti with her infant daughter and soon to be adopted son when a 7.0 earthquake struck. You know her as the author of the Mama Manifesto blog here on Conversant Life. Kristen has not updated her Conversant column but, she has been able to post to her personal blog. You can click here to read her story so far.

She has been in contact with her husband, Mark, and all three are safe. The Livesays, the American missionaries she's with are also OK. The children at the orphanage made it out of the building safely. You can read updates from the Livesays and Kristen at http://www.livesayhaiti.blogspot.com/. They are updating as often as they possibly can in the midst of power outages and general chaos.

I've just returned home from a 75 minute walk with my dog, Jonah. Instead of going to Snug Harbor, which is across the street from my house, I decided to walk a bit further - to Silver Lakes Park - and let Jonah loose in the dog park there. I did not check the weather or temperature outside before we left, but I knew pretty quickly that it was really, really cold out. (I've just learned, upon returning, that it was 27, but with the windchill, "feels like 13." Yes, indeed, it did. We had a beautiful walk, though, and while my glasses are still fogged up and my fingers have not quite thawed out, I'm glad we went. We both needed the exercise and fresh air.

I decided this morning that I would pack up all my Christmas decorations this afternoon, so in a little bit that's what I'm going to do. When we got in from our walk, I carried the empty Christmas boxes upstairs to my apartment from my storage area on the first floor, and, once again, am thinking of my grandmother, Alice Biscomb, and how much I miss her. I miss her at times throughout the year, but especially at Christmas, because I inherited many of my most beloved decorations from her, including my manger scene.

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If you have read any of my previous posts as of late, you will realize that not long ago, my wife and I left Southern California in order to move to the wonderful land of Boise, Idaho.  We love it here so far, but it is really hard to change.  So many times, I have looked back (as if to Egypt) remembering all of the good things I had, and how good I had it.

Although my desire is not to go back, it is easy to remember the good, and forget the bad, while focusing as much on the hard things where I am at.  When I really think about it, I just don't care for discomfort.  Anyone relate?  There are times when I just would much rather be complacent and comfortable.

We miss our friends and the familiarity of the old place.  And it is hard to learn new ways around, find new stores and restaurants, etc.  It is hard to make new friends.  It is hard to stretch ourselves.

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A link to my personal blog for a family lesson on mouth math.

Peace,

alicia

So my sister has the apron on, little cousin is begging to go to the park.  Some family aren't coming because they are upset and others are sitting in traffic on their way as I type.  Dad just yelled out, "Let the football games begin" and Mom is trying to squeeze one more place at the table.  Grandma has only insulted me once so far with an attempted compliment and our British friend is photographing every dish...   Just another holiday here at the Brooks' home.

In a couple of hours we'll be all settled in.  The prayers will be said and the food will be shared.  And then someone will bust out the first of Aunt Katherine's brownies and the stories will begin.   My grandmother has seven brothers and sisters.  They were raised in Hong Kong.  I have spent many Thanksgivings eating brownies and listening to their adventures.  This year there will only be two of them at the table- my grandmother and her sister in law are the ones left of that generation.  Considering the dwindling group, the stories become more precious. 

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Click here to share in a warm moment between my youngest and me, his "sicky mommy". ..that I posted on my personal blog.