April Fool’s Day: A Love Story

My Belovedest Children:

            As we moved through our adoption process of your brother when you all were younger, I began noticing a guarded, sometimes almost weary look in the faces of other adoptive parents, specifically those who had adopted children who were not infants. When I had a conversation with them, they would be genuine and warm as they encouraged me on in our adoption journey, but part of me felt as if they were also carefully trying to avoid words that might spill out that they wanted to protect me from.

            I started to be afraid of this look in their eyes, of finding out what it meant, of the cost that likely came with it, and I certainly never wanted to own it or wear it. Now I believe I have probably perfected that certain facial expression, and I know of my own hesitancy that comes when I in turn, try to encourage other people on any difficult path they find themselves on.

            Whatever other people have experienced to wear that face of the wary and weary, for me it has been experiencing the cost of living out unconditional love. I have learned that I must make the choice to be a fool according to the world’s standards, and daily repeat that choice. God has used our adoption story to teach me something about Himself and the way He loves.

            I was the oldest in a family of twelve children, with nine adopted siblings. Some of my siblings were infants, some toddlers, and some children (the oldest was thirteen) when they joined our family. We did not experience a fairy-tale of an adoptive family. I know some of the ugly that adoptive homes can be – with hurtings from both the children and the parents.

            I had siblings go to juvenile detention centers, and after they got out, they quickly got themselves in a penitentiary for other things. I have had a younger sibling die from HIV/AIDS-related illness. I have some siblings I haven’t seen or spoken to in decades. Estrangement and woundedness currently best describes my family of origin. So you would think that I would have wanted to stay away from adoption (like my biological siblings did), but I didn’t.

            I had hope that since adoption was such a good thing, giving a home and a family to a child who didn’t have one, it would be fine. I thought that since my motives were right and I was doing something right, it would be a better outcome than what I had experienced in my childhood family. I was better prepared emotionally, had better training, was better supported, I thought. And you children were so wonderful and excited! Every night you would pray earnestly for your brother, even before we knew his name. Your loving acceptance was such a joy to see. I know it made God’s heart happy.

            So, your dad and I tenaciously fought through mountains of paperwork, collecting every last scrap of data to be compiled in our dossier. We attended meetings, courses, classes, medical exams, fingerprinting appointments, and psychological evaluations. I had to write requests to all the governments of countries and states we had ever lived in, asking for proof that we had no criminal record. We welcomed strangers into our home to assess both it and us, trying to be transparent and open as we answered very personal questions and gave our private financial information to people we didn’t know, to try to prove we could both parent and afford another child.         

            Then, after finally coming home from another country with the son we had fought so long and so hard to get, I experienced a dark depression finely mixed with a raging hatred. I honestly believed at one point that I had ruined my life by pursuing adoption. I’m not proud of this.

            I was baffled by the storm of emotions and depression I felt caught in, and felt lonely and isolated. I was afraid to share my struggle with others because it seemed so foolish to be struggling so greatly when adoption had been something I had longed for so deeply and fought to reach for so long. I was afraid to let people see the dark anger burning in my heart. I felt like a failure as a parent – what kind of a monster couldn’t love an orphaned child? I feared the cynical “I told you so,” from people who had experienced adoption struggles themselves. I couldn’t bear the obliteration of hope from possibly hearing that this anger and defeated discouragement was the way it would always be. But being put on the pedestal of pious goodness and crowned with a halo of selfless altruism ascribed to me from others who had never adopted felt like swallowing acid.

            The cause of this bewildered, blind rage and grief? 

            It was me.

            I had to come to the realization that my anger and pain was from the agonizingly slow death of my self-satisfaction. I had truly believed I was a loving, patient, compassionate, and kind parent. Adopting a child who was not biologically mine forced me to suddenly face my selfishness, impatience, harshness and unkindness. Suddenly I could not avoid seeing the aspects of myself that I was unaware of or used to carefully hide.

            Struggling to daily love, train, and care for a toddler who did not love me or even care who I was strained my last shreds of self-satisfaction, because it revealed just how much more grace I gave to you children who behaved in ways I approved of. It showed me how conditional my kindness was, and how shallow the depths of my compassion. I had to claim as my own a child who behaved as though he didn’t care if he was or not, and had not the slightest shred of gratitude for anything I had done for him and continued to do (at least not at first). And of course I realize the irrationality of even expecting it, especially from a toddler from an orphanage in another country! (My loves, please forgive me and know how truly sorry I am for this season. In a way adoption did ruin my life – the self-satisfied and blindly proud life I had known, and now am so grateful to have lost.)

            Adoption forced me to look without any rosy shades at the person I was in my own strength, and recognize that there was no way I could make myself love my son without God’s help. I hit the bottom of my capacity for love, and trapped between my raging lack and the pain of my savaged pride, I writhed in depression, shame, and anger. It’s ugly but it’s true.

            Meanwhile, your brother was a tender-hearted boy who showed concern whenever he noticed anyone sad (and still does). He has always been a quick learner, and has an infectious smile and laugh. He is an endearing and loveable kid, and our family is incredibly blessed that he is with us. I cannot imagine my life without him, and will always be so privileged that he was gifted to us by God. Of course we had things to work through. (Don’t we all?) Of course there will be on-going areas to focus on, and all of us will need to extend grace to each other, but apparently mostly to your mom (who still has so much to learn).

             After that April when we grew our family through adoption, I began, with wonder, to truly contemplate God’s incomprehensible love for me. He had the perfect Son, yet chose to adopt me into His family. My adoption cost was beyond price: His life-blood on a cross, preceded by beating, mockery, and unthinkably gruesome and heinous torture by flogging. And He knew that before He even began my adoption process, and still He proceeded. If He has that much love for me, for you, for all the ones He has called to be His children, how much more will He give me the love I need for others (Luke 11:13)!

            I marveled at God’s recklessness in pursuing a relationship with me, given the excruciating cost and on-going struggle as I feebly work to grow in my understanding of Him as my Father and what that means. My God’s sacrifice to make me His, His patience and kindness with my shallow, selfish heart, His deep tenderness as He leads me closer to Him even when I act like I don’t care – I’m beginning to grasp what the Apostle Paul talks about in 1 Corinthians 1:18-29. God’s plan to save us through a Savior’s death on a cross seems like foolishness. Who would love that much? Who would endure that kind of suffering for the ones who would reject Him? Who gives so much to those who treat His patience and enduring kindness with such contempt and scorn? What kind of crazy love is this?

            So much work, hope, pain, struggle, suffering and love given to bring a person to Himself as a son or daughter! Especially for a person who could decide to reject and discard the love offered, someone who probably will never fully grasp the sacrifice or cost paid to enact the adoption! I say this with the utmost reverence and with tears in my eyes: Our God is a Fool in His love for us, and He did the unbelievable and endured the unthinkable so that we could take our place in His home, eat the food He gives, wear the garments He provides, and have His name added to our birth certificate.

            As Michael Card sings:

“We in our foolishness thought we were wise
He played the fool and He opened our eyes
We in our weakness believed we were strong
He became helpless to show we were wrong
So we follow God’s own Fool
For only the foolish can tell
Believe the unbelievable, come be a fool as well.”[1]

            Anyone who pours out love without hesitation, pressing through the potential pain and suffering of rejection, misunderstanding, or tepid response, is reckoned a fool in the understanding of this world, because it makes no sense. There seems to be no visible gain or benefit to the love-giver.

            This, my chickadees, is why such sacrificial love is so rare and beautiful: It resembles the inherent love-nature of the God who created us. He loves because He is Love, the purest, most holy love there is: that which carries no thought for itself or regard for gain, but loves because it is all-encompassingly the highest, noblest form of regard, honor, and affection expressible.

            There is a fiery joy that comes in the outpouring of such a love. There is an unutterable delight brought in the presence of love like this – because it is to begin to enter the presence of our God of Love. In His presence is fullness of joy, and at His right hand there is pleasure forevermore (Psalm 16:11). Paul states that it was because of the joy set before Him that Jesus endured the cross, despising the shame (Hebrews 12:2). He did it because it was the rightest, holiest and purest expression of unconditional Love – and that is Who He is. When we choose to follow Jesus in this way, we too will experience this kind of joy (John 15:10-12).

            Anyone who has looked at the cost of such love and then courageously gives it anyway, regardless of the suffering that inevitably comes, is someone who reflects our Father’s character of love. Whether it’s through marriage, parenting, friendship, or any other relationship with people, this world is filled with hurting folks unable to respond to you the way they should. Children and family members will often return your love with selfishness and thoughtless disregard, friends may take advantage of you, business associates cheat you, strangers mock or dismiss you, or worse. Yet this is how we declare our God’s hope to a broken world: By being a fool with a reckless, huge love like God’s love, incomprehensible and baffling. “The message of the cross is foolish to those who are headed for destruction! But we who are being saved know it is the very power of God.” (1 Corinthians 1:18)

            April Fool’s Day is the day we brought your brother home to be part of our family. I used to struggle on this day, remembering the pain and bewildering grief of the death of my expectations and self-pride. Now I know it is a day to celebrate and remember that by my choice to follow Christ, I chose to be like a fool. I am choosing to resemble Him in pouring out my love at any cost, regardless of potential pain. Because that is how He loves me.

            I do this with such imperfection and a glaring lack of purity in the love I give. But I will fight to keep my perspective on the One who loved me with such abandoned recklessness. I will pray for the strength to hold out my arms wide to those who might wound me, keep my heart soft and open to those who might crush it, and turn repeatedly to offer that which costs me everything to those who might place a low value on it. Through it all I know that there is nothing in this life that can separate me from my Father’s incredible, indescribably deep love for me. And in that there is unspeakable joy.

I pray that each of you come to a sure understanding of His same wonderful, foolish, life-giving love for you, too, and also find this joy.

All my love always,

Mom

[1] Card, Michael. 1985. God’s Own Fool. On Scandalon. Brentwood, TN: Sparrow Records.

Masterpieces

(One of a Collection of Letters from Me to My Children)

My Dearest Loves:

            Imagine a delicate, graceful and beautifully shaped porcelain pitcher: slender handle arcing like a young tree, elegant details carved around the opening. Picture an exotic lantern made of thinly hammered metal, beams of sparkling light glowing through each intricate, carefully designed aperture in the gleaming metal. Think about a perfectly balanced, exquisitely forged sword, deadly but beautiful, sharpened so well that a piece of silk falling on it would be cut with a sound like a whisper.

            Picture anything put together, crafted, built, formed, shaped, or created by an artisan. Would anyone ever exclaim in wonder over the beauty or artistry of that piece and then behave as though the object itself was responsible for getting itself to that state, or applaud the piece and overlook the one who made it? Of course not. It would be ludicrous to even think that the object deserved the credit of the artistry, wisdom, and skill of the artisan. The object is beautiful not because it worked its own loveliness, but because it accomplished its role of being yielding, obedient, and faithful.

            Any piece of porcelain clay must be soft and willing to yield and change according to the will and pressure of the hands shaping it. But first, it is kept in the dark in a restrictive container. When it is taken out, it must endure dizzily spinning in place for a time, having cold water thrown on it at any given moment, and be pushed, pummeled, and shaped without regard to feelings. It has no control over the artisan’s possible choice to suddenly squash it all flat and start again. It is gouged and carved until everything inside itself is emptied to make a hollow space available for something else which it does not choose. Any excess is cut away, impressions and borders are pinched and pressed. Designs are stamped, painted onto or cut into its smooth surface without consulting it first.

            Then it is placed in a kiln of incredible heat for a time. Should it decide to hop out of the kiln, or manage to turn the knob down on the heat to something far more comfortable, it would render itself far less useful, as it would be untempered and unable to withstand the purpose which the artisan designed it for. If the clay piece grew angry in the fire and refused to endure the heat, cursing the hand that placed it there, disaster would follow: it would shatter.

            A piece of metal is heated and reheated also in a restrictive container, any impurities bubbling up patiently scooped out under a watchful eye and careful hand. Once solid, it is heated yet again and pounded and molded between two unyielding surfaces, experiencing both the inevitable thud of the mallet and the immobility of the anvil. If it is to be a weapon, after the heating and melting, waiting in the fire, enduring the blows, it also undergoes the grinding grit of the whetstone and the cold trickle of water for another lengthy time.

            If the metal object to be created is a lantern, it endures being stamped and pierced, pieces of itself cut out. It is also bent and formed into a shape it did not choose, hollowed and with an empty space. The strength and usefulness of the metal comes from its lack of impurities and its ability to endure both the heating and the beating. By the metal yielding to the pressing and cutting, the scars where pieces of itself were carved out become the apertures intended to show gleams of light. (Like the song from the group Switchfoot: “The wound is where the light shines through[1].”)

            Generally, my lovelies, the finer the quality and more exquisite the beauty of a finished piece correlates to the greater the amount of time invested and the more intense the workmanship put into it. At the conclusion, the craftsman receives the honor of the outcome of his labor. His wisdom and skill are applauded, and his creative genius is admired and found inspiring, his work all the more valuable simply because he was the creator.

             In the same way, you each are an incomplete masterpiece in the hand of God. Whatever the Creator has chosen for you to become, He has done so with an eye of flawless taste and a wisdom beyond comprehension. He has chosen for you what will not only bring Him the most glory and honor at your completion, but what will give you the most joy by fulfilling what you were created to be. He is the great Artisan who knows precisely what riches He can bring from the raw material we each start out as. The unique treasure we each will become will not resemble another masterpiece, and there are no repeat works.

            There comes a great freedom to my heart in recognizing that there is a Master Craftsman at work, and He is not me. There is a joy and a comfort in the peace of a trusting rest in His hands, knowing:

            1. He is actively and creatively working on me. I am in His hands every day as long as I choose to stay there. (Psalms 138:8; Philippians 2:13)

            2.) He is excited to make of me something uniquely beautiful and glorious. My part is not to seek that for myself, but to yield to His purpose and design. (Romans 12:1, Romans 8:29) In Proverbs, Wisdom speaks, describing how she rejoiced in God’s skill and presence as He established the earth and created all things (Proverbs 8:30-31). We need to be like Wisdom and also take delight and pour out our worship to God as we observe Him working and refining both ourselves and others.

            3.) He has already placed in me the essentials to fulfill the purpose He intends for me. I don’t need to look to anyone or anywhere else to find the fulfillment and meaning I need – only to Him. (Job 23:10, Philippians 1:6)

            So guess what, my chickadees? All the hopes and big dreams and desires (large and small) that you have? You can take them all to Him, like a trusting little child pouring out a box of treasures in his daddy’s lap, and ask Him to go through them all with you, knowing He will not laugh or mock you, but will lovingly hold you and them, and talk interestedly with you about them. He made your heart, and He designed you to long for certain things, to hope for specific goals. It’s a sign of your own uniqueness and inherent qualities that He wants to use to shape you into the masterpiece He knows you to be. You can trust Him to hold your dreams and desires for you, and when you ask Him to help you decide which to keep as actual treasures and which aren’t as valuable, you can be sure He will gently guide your heart to making those decisions.    

Even better, ask Him to give you more! Ask Him to give you the enormous, exhilaratingly huge dreams and hopes that only He could make real. Ask Him to increase your trust in Him, your understanding of His wisdom and power, and invite Him to take the wheel of your imagination for the wildest, most amazing trip of your life. Our God is the Giver of Dreams! He is the Creator with the hugest imagination ever! He gets giddy with joy over you (Zephaniah 3:17), and His plans for you are unsurpassed in wonder and beauty. “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no heart has imagined, what God has prepared for those who love Him.” (1 Corinthians 2:9)

            Our greatest joy and our deepest pleasure in life will come, not from gaining attention, approval, or acclaim from others, but in discovering our greatest purpose: an intimate, loving closeness with the One who created us. And as we grow in the utter satisfaction and fulfillment He gives, we will only continue to grow in our own unique beauty and glory as we become more and more what He in His infinite loving wisdom made each of us to be.

            This is the end for which He has created and continues to create us: to hold such an inexpressible joy and delight in God that we are filled up and overflowing with such force and abandon we can’t help but influence this world. He makes us to use us, to illuminate and pour out wherever we are, showing the truth of His glorious, masterful wisdom, knowledge, and the inherent Beauty He is.

            My darlings, please remember: what you become is less important than who you become. A people who actively adore and thrill at the nearness of their Creator, showing joy and peace while on the spinning potter’s wheel or enduring the flame and the whetstone, singing to the hammer’s rhythm – Such a people of God would be heart-stoppingly powerful in their faithful, glorious revelation of a God who is worthy of such trust.

            You and I are truly the living stones that build up the temple of God, both separately and collectively, chosen to house His Holy Spirit and reveal His character to the world (1 Peter 2:5). When we joyously submit to His working in us, teachable and yielded to His design and plan, we display His fingerprints on our hearts. We show His signature on our lives, declaring we are His and He is ours, joining with the beauty of Creation in asserting God’s mastery and craftsmanship (Psalm 19:1). I think His fingerprints on me are more valuable and beautiful than inlaid diamonds, because it means His hands held me and He formed me, and there is nothing more wonderful and precious than that knowledge.

            May you and I remain faithful in the flame, holding on to the hope we have, delighting in the Artisan who delights in us. May you believe the love in His eyes as He looks upon you, and rest with joy in the nail-scarred hands that hold you, knowing you are His precious masterpiece (Ephesians 2:10).

All my love always, Mom

[1] “Where the Light Shines Through”, Where the Light Shines Through. Vanguard Records. July 8, 2016.

Chocolate Sea Salt Cookies

These are some of my most favorite cookies. They are rich, dark, chocolatey, and have that tang of flakey sea salt. And they use only one stick of butter! Seriously reasons to rejoice.

This is an adaptation of Valerie Aikman-Smith’s recipe in the cookbook Salt, which was given to me as a birthday gift, and I flipped through the book to the dessert section where I landed on this and was immediately smitten forevermore. (Thank you, Hana!)

I make a recipe, then bake only one dozen, and save the rest of the dough in an airtight container in the fridge. It’s like a surprise present for myself later when I am craving a warm, gooey, chocolatey mouthful of joy but only have the patience to scoop out blobs of cold dough and bake for 10 minutes to experience the melty, dark bliss these contain. I wish you the same joy.

INGREDIENTS:

  • 1 cup all-purpose flour
  • 1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
  • 1/2 tsp baking powder
  • 1/2 tsp baking soda
  • 1/4 tsp salt
  • 2/3 cups semisweet chocolate chips
  • 1 stick butter, softened, at room temperature
  • 3/4 cup brown sugar
  • 1/4 cup white sugar
  • 1 egg
  • 1 tsp vanilla extract
  • 1 Tbsp dark or light rum (not white), optional
  • 1 1/3 cup semisweet chocolate chips (Yes, this is a second set of chocolate chips. If you’re like me, you’re already excited about this fact.)
  • Fleur de sel (if you’re super fancy) or regular sea salt
  1. Heat oven to 350 degrees F/180 degrees C.
  2. Whisk flour, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a smallish bowl.
  3. In another smallish microwave-proof bowl, carefully microwave the 2/3 cup of chocolate chips in spurts of 20 seconds or so, stirring after each set of seconds till smooth and melted.
  4. Cream together butter and sugars with a mixer (or electric handheld beater) on high speed till light and fluffy, scraping down bowl as necessary. Add egg, vanilla, rum, and melted chocolate. Continue to beat till smooth. Reduce speed to slow, add flour mixture. When that is well mixed, stir in remaining 1 1/3 cups chocolate chips.
  5. Put mixture in refrigerator for 5 mins to harden slightly (or if you’re like me, skip this part because extending the wait seems unbearable at this point). Scoop tablespoons of mixture onto lightly greased baking sheet, about 2 in/5 cm. apart. Flatten slightly with spoon. Sprinkle a little fleur de sel or a pinch of good sea salt on top of each cookie and bake in preheated oven 10 mins.

Makes approximately 24-36 cookies, depending on size of ‘tablespoons’. I make this last for at least three separate batches of 12, because they’re just exquisite when they’re warm-from-the-oven.