Namasté

Namasté is a composite of Sanskrit words ~

Nama - bow or bend

as - I

te - you

I bow to you.

The divine light in me honors the divine light in you.

A timeless connection between two souls, recognizing equality in all.

Hands meeting over the heart - 10 fingers coming together in unity, closing the eyes, bowing the head to another and knowing in truth that we are all united.

As a general greeting, namasté is a social transaction when greeting another as well as communicating happiness as the sight of the other.  It has been said that by putting the hands together like a knife might allow one to cut through all differences moving straight toward common and shared ground known to all people in all cultures. 

I close my yoga practice using namasté and I always privately add another blessing to each student as my class ends. I guess that is the Christian in me elbowing in to lay on more love.  I have learned so much from the practice. Becoming fully present in the moment is one of the lessons I preach and am very, very good at during practice, and yet have a lot of room left for improvement off the mat. To fully experience the beauty and richness of life, you need to be fully present. Mostly present just won't do. Unfortunately, with the fast paced lives most of us fly through we become overloaded with stimulus. We allow our full attention to focus on more than one thing at a time - sometimes multiple things consume each minute. It can appear that we are slacking. Two timing our e-mail.  Double-crossing the person on the other end of the phone. The cell phone, of course. Why would you stay at home and talk on the phone, when you can be driving somewhere and getting proactively somewhere ELSE. I am reminded of the movie "Sabrina" when the she asks Linus Laraby "What do you do with all of the time you save (by taking the helicopter to the private jet)"? He is so efficient that, although he has made a great effort to "save time", he is unable to really articulate what he accomplishes in aforementioned saved time. Later in the movie she tells him "Sometimes more is just more". It isn't necessarily of higher quality. 

When we make the time that we have with our loved ones essential - we chose to make it superior. We chose to bring our focus to one special point.

By focusing only on them, in the essence of that moment, we validate the beauty of their spirit with our love. We seek the divine spark in them and meet it with our own divine spark and timeless connection is ignited.

Namasté.

Waiting

Well, we've been waiting long enough as to finally garner some attention from our agency. 

It's not what you think. 

It's not what we hoped.

Our dossier is expiring, so we need to renew some paperwork as well as get our fingerprints taken again and then pay up for all of these fun times. We drove to Omaha yesterday to have biometric fingerprints taken. Again. You never know when those circles and waves might change. 

As of April 4, we have been officially waiting 19 months, though from the application to our agency, it is more like 26 months.

We were quoted estimated wait times of 8-10 months to be matched, if I remember correctly.

When the wait would get especially difficult, along the way, "things happened" to encourage us.

Someone shared how their lives had been touched by adoption. Tenfold.

People told us they were praying for us.

I dreamed of a child on many nights.

We moved into connections with people from Ethiopia.

I've learned what Berbere is and I am not afraid to use it!

We were awarded a grant toward our adoption.

Friends and church family donated to that end.

We were awarded another grant toward bringing a child in need of a family into ours. 

We went on mission trips and lived with orphans and held their hands. 

We cried while listening to a 13 year recount what it was like to go to Ethiopia, 4 years after her Ethiopian born brothers came to her family, and love on the children still waiting to move into the arms of a family of their own. 

Our families arms are waiting. 

Where are you?

Laundry & String Theory

I really wanted to graduate from high school in Colorado and find myself strolling toward my first college class at Arizona State. WHY I was in such a rush to leave Denver -  I cannot tell you. I was advised I would not be attending ASU by the folks picking up the tab for that freshman year of classes, books and dorm room. I eventually selected Colorado State University - not because, at 18, I felt called to a particular vocation, but for the far more pivotal fact that my boyfriend was already there. How anyone under 25 truly "knows" what they should be working toward for the rest of their lives has always baffled me, especially because so many young people have not yet tackled the basics - like cooking, laundry and string theory.
I witnessed many young folks consuming copious pizza pies on Saturday night and then Sunday afternoon puzzling over both the washer and their load selections, opting to save some coin and just toss all dirties and unmentionables in the wash together. What was submerged as jeans, a crisp white Polo sweater  and a silky somthin somthin from that "new" store Victoria's Secret emerged as jeans, an indigo matted felt pullover scarcely big enough to cover a toddler and the matching indigo silky diaper cover sized panty. The deconstructed felt sweaterlet still sporting the essential yet ostentatious $75 Polo horse detail on the tiny little chest.
I don't recall these events as the subconscious push that turned my major from Philosophy to Textiles, but what the heck, let's simply call it what is. Kismet.
If I wondered what I was going to do with a Philosophy degree, I should have really become unnerved at the prospect of finding a way to support myself incorporating the "string theory" I learned in textile chemistry. So while you may ponder what string theory is and whether you can ever really grasp this cutting edge new science, you can relax while getting up close and personal with your laundry circumstance. There are coin flips to be studied (before they're sacrificed to the silver sliding coin pusher) and there is counting of the distinguishable and indistinguishable objects. A clear, yet sad example of this being the aforementioned "group wash debacle".  Two major  elements of physics at work in the  laundry room are electricity and magnetism, and I think we all know how those two crazies work together to infuse your fleece with a charge  - ultimately sending a shock down to your heals that just makes you mad. They conspire together in the dryer to abscond with one of your socks.
Trial and some expensive errors can be one of the most effective teachers there are. One time during my college days, I begged my boyfriend to lend me his NEW, super cool, black and white, new, striped sailor sweater - the one he had just bought. Wanting to return it freshly laundered, I trod out to the laundry room, carefully inserting the new, super cool garment into the wash with the appropriate suds mates, I selected the appropriate delicate cycle, some mild Woolite and off I went.  Apparently an errant troublesome red item was hidden in the jumble somehow and bled all over the sweater, lending a distinctive pink tint to the whole of it.
I. Was. Mortified.
WHO could have let this happen - this... heinous occurrence? Well, looking back, the accidental pinking should have been a sign that the relationship was tainted as well. Look and See -  even your laundry is a "sign".

Girls who love to wear pink

I graduated with a flourish and moved ahead with my life. These days  I have two daughters who delight in wearing pink!  I have used my Textiles degree to artfully arrange store front windows in South Beach, merchandise clothing for in-store displays and set up a booth for Reebok at the Miami Superbowl. Today, however, I utilize my degree to maintain all textiles residing in our home -from loads of left socks to bedroom linens. In other words, I'm a Mom who does laundry. The string theory I speak to involves only my families threads and to that end, I will work to keep us fresh and tightly bound.

Wordless Wednesday

Flummoxed

What a great word. I didn't know the exact definition so..

According to the MacBook dictionary:

"to greatly perplex or bewilder"

Origin: mid 19th century: to make untidy or confuse.

If I am honest - this might be the perfect word to describe my feelings regarding the actuality of our adoption coming to fruition. From modern day definition working backward to the origin.  In other words - 6 months ago, I may have been bewildered, but today my mind and my thoughts are untidy and confused.
Esthetically displeasing on a good day.
On a bad day - nothing less than heinous.
September 4, 2011 marked one year that we have "officially" been waiting. The real wait begin in February 2010, so all in all, it's been a while. Lately, I vacillate between thinking "we will surely be matched promptly when the courts re-open in October" to "it aint' nevah gonna happen".
While we've been waiting, we've seen some fun. Most recently, we took a trip to Colorado to visit M. parent's for a week. The ladies always have fun on vacation, and this was no exception. Grandma & Grandpa treated us to a spectacular week of activities.
As we drove toward Denver, we gazed at the sky as the clouds transfigured themselves into Deatheaters from Harry Potter as evidenced here:

We took the ladies to have dinner at a local Denver diner that M and I frequented while we were dating - it is a joint we remember fondly and the food did not disappoint: Pete's Kitchen~

 So, Grandma & Grandpa have taken on the responsibility of single-highhandedly offering sustenance to the hummingbird population that takes up residence for a time in the summer around their home. I say highhandedly, because at 9,000 feet, the whole lot is up high. I become borderline obsessed with capturing images of the little chicks - humor me here~

 The image below details just how territorial they become over their sugar water~

As much as I love the sweet little birds, I love the goats more. If you know me at all, you are acquainted with my French roots and how that affects my diet.... Chèvre is on par with water.
There is a goat dairy near my in-laws home and I fully believed it my duty to patrol pay them a visit and partake in the delectables. A benefit of this day and age being the loving care the goats receive. We fed them:

 They kissed us

 We fed them some more...

 They pleaded for more...

 And then - we were able to milk them~

The ladies looked lovely against the big Colorado sky:

One night Grandma and A made meringues with chocolate sauce - YUM!

Another day, we took G & G's jeep up to Cascade Falls~

Then - on to St. Elmo to feed the chipmunks, prairie dogs, squirrels and occasional bird~

We took in Gold Rush Days and finished with a dip in Cottonwood Creek to take the heat off of our feet~

and as the sun came up over another beautiful day, we moved back toward our lives in Iowa~

Beginnings~

 Having been asked on occasions how we were led to adopt, I thought back to the planting of the seed, if you will. While we have thoughtfully considered this path throughout our marriage- the firm foundation was set for me on my very first mission trip.  I have decided to include a journal entry from that trip to Haiti.  We had not been in Iowa very long and we were talking with some friends, who were also members of our church. The talk moved toward another church member who had been traveling for years with others to the same boys home ( a home to former street children ) and I didn't skip a beat, and added that I would love to go and help. I'm not certain how much of a help I was, but it was a life changing trip for me. Reading through this excerpt now, I am aware of so many similarities to the books I have been reading for the last 18 months to prepare for adoption, attachment, bonding to children that come from hard places. The Lord works in mysterious ways, indeed.

*Names changed

March 2008 ~ Haiti

Finally, it was time to go – weeks of talking, preparing, anticipating and now the time was upon us. What time was this, you ask? 2:30 ante meridiem, or O’dark hundred, as I call it.  My husband got up and prayed with and for us as my fellow travelers and I stood in the dim light of the entryway. We climbed into a car full of tubs of goodies for unsuspecting children and sped away into the night. That’s right – the night – O’dark hundred is still the night before the upcoming meridiem if you ask me.
The Omaha airport was surprisingly alert for 4:29 in the morning.  We checked in, entrusted our bins of goods to United Airlines and began the voyage. We changed planes, airlines and terminals in Chicago and arrived in Port-au-Prince after another change of planes in Miami. The sun was shining and there were at least 50 people waiting to offer assistance with our luggage as we stepped out of the airport. The trip to St. Joseph’s home was our first taste of Haitian city life – as least for Cathy* and I.  Lots of people walking through crowded cement streets, lined with cement walls, buildings, roofs and sidewalks.  The wild drivers of the colorful Tap-Taps blow their horns often as locals hop on and off. Folks pile their loads of stuff on top of the pick-ups, vans and flat-bed trucks and there are enough “passengers” to make even the most seasoned officer of the law run screaming from the do-nut shop without even taking their Krispie Kreme to go.  The drivers pass so closely to other vehicles that one might be tempted and easily able to whisper words of comfort to the strangers they nearly become one with.
Reaching the home was such a relief- we were warmly greeted by Michael and a few of the boys and shown to our room to get settled.
Nearly every table was full as the dinner bell rang- there was a group, we found out later they were from Boston, dining next to us and the noise of the city had nothing on them.
Evening hours didn’t diminish city sounds – loads of feral dogs barked through the night and were joined intermittently by confused roosters. Thank the Lord, I prayed, for letting us arrive safely and for those little foam jewels-earplugs! I stuffed those bad boys in and went right to sleep.
Lovely coffee at breakfast the next morning.  After a leisurely meal, we waited for the van that would drive us to the Sisters of Mercy baby hospital. This is the place that had caught my attention most upon learning of Eve’s* previous trips to Haiti. I had been so very excited to be able to help here.  The rooms were filled with rows of cribs and there were lots of people – the Sisters told us it was the visiting hour for parents. Eve, Cathy, and I put on aprons over our skirts and then separated to different rooms to see who needed what.  My first stop was a room with 4 rows of cribs running lengthwise-each identical and every child in this room had on a light green and white gingham smock shirt that tied in the back paired with a cloth diaper that had been twisted between the children’s tiny legs. The twisted diaper didn’t seem to be the most efficient use of the cloth in my humble opinion…mainly because most of the diapers were dry and many of the volunteers were wet.
The little girl who made eye contact with me was about 16 months old and had blisters all over her. Volunteers are not told why the children are in the hospital. This baby knew how to have fun and I chased her all through the hallways and played peek-a-boo to her great delight. Afterward she snuggled in my neck and I rocked with her.  I made my way back to the first  room and held a few small infants, taking turns walking with them and rocking – all of them just melted into me and not one cried until they were placed back into their crib- some seemed to weak to cry. Each room had matching tops for the children, so it was easy to recognize the room when the time came to return your child– the trick being to find the correct crib for the baby you had.  We were able to feed them and I gave a warm mixture of beans, rice and mangos to a little boy while sitting outside on a sofa with other volunteers. I was able to feed the last baby to eat that morning – a gorgeous little girl. She didn’t make a lot of eye contact with me while she was eating, but she was darling. As I went to place her back into her crib, she locked onto my eyes,   I stroked her little cheeks and told her I loved her, just like my Mom told me to.  She reached up with her small hand and placed it on the side of my face while gazing up at me.  That was the moment of connection that made leaving my own children alright – even acceptable.

Who Are You?

We enjoyed a wonderful opportunity yesterday at the International Ethiopian Christian Fellowship Church in Sioux Falls. We found the seminar to be thought provoking and we have been thinking about issues discussed with regard to ethnicity  - Ethiopian vs. "black", culture, religion. How do you see yourself and where does that identity stem from?  Research presented offered that some Ethiopian children found it hard to fit in, they were not accepted by the "African American" black culture, but they didn't feel Ethiopian because they didn't necessarily speak fluently the native language (Amharic for most) and how that affected their identity.  The information gave us a lot to think on as we continue to prepare for the child who will join our family. We will have to make a concerted effort to keep alive the Ethiopian heritage of our child as they assimilate into their American family.  It was noted that many Americans participate in symbolic celebrations of their ethnicity -even 6-7 generations removed from their homeland - for example: St. Patrick's Day for the Irish.  These symbolic celebrations are a way to re-visit a heritage and keep it alive, which is a helpful tool in maintaining a healthy self image of your originating culture.  After the program, we were served a delicious Ethiopian meal and the opportunity to meet other families who would be adopting children or had adopted children from Ethiopia. We were fortunate to be welcomed to a table with a family who has 4 girls and are currently waiting, as are we, to be matched. It was delightful to get to know them over dinner and make the connection to this beautiful family.

As I ponder where I find my own identity, my soul reaches back to New Orleans ~ to the French and Spanish roots of my family.
To the local customs and history of the Crescent City -

The French Quarter, Mardi Gras, music, foods like red beans & rice, gumbo, crawfish,

beignets  and my beloved coffee with chicory.

Even though I only lived there for a few years after my birth, the summers I spent at Meme & Paw Paws house left a deep imprint on the core of my being.  I mainly grew up in Denver and loved that city for all it offered, but my heart was shaped by the  Fleur-de-lis.

It is impossible to know just how and when things imprint on a person. This is a source of comfort and mortification as a parent as we are imperfect in that ( and all ) roles. When I think of my children's futures - I pray that they will touch other lives with love, compassion, respect, humor and leave their own unique prints that transcend time. I hope they remember how it felt to be the children I waited for and loved like I never knew possible - my sweet angel babies.