Friday night laundry returns...on Saturday

So I was gearing myself up for a "Friday night laundry" post and it took me a few hours before I realized it's not Friday! Oh well...

It is hard to believe that a little over a year ago I wrote my first "Friday night laundry"post. I went back and read the first one and it seems like it was just last night that I was writing it. Those feelings and emotions are still so fresh in my mind.

Along with three of my little Jungle Book friends, we have started a little tradition. From time to time (and usually if I am not in a hurry) I will pull them from their nursery to come "help" me do laundry. I sort and fill the machines and they toss all the clothes in. They take their work very seriously :)

I still love to go in and look at the baby clothes hanging on the lines. I am still reminded of the faces that come to mind when I look at them. A year later, different faces come to mind, as some kids have left us and those clothes are now being worn by different children. I grieve for the one that is no longer here, but am thankful for the needed care they've received and that more children are entering our doors to receive the medical care and attention they need.

I was sharing with a medical intern we have that when kids that you've grown close to leave, it is often difficult to start over with new kids, knowing that they too at some point will go. I have been discouraged with myself and my inability emotionally to initiate those new bonds lately. It seemed so easy twelve months ago...

So much of our work here comes with a combination of sorrow and joy; it is often difficult to separate the two. We rejoice when a child is matched to a forever family, but our hearts are heavy when we have to say goodbye. We deeply grieve the loss of a child's life, but God is gracious to give us peace in knowing that they are no longer in pain. We are anxious when a child is going to have life-saving surgery, but are thankful that they are being given a chance for healing.

Yet despite these things, I still want to relish each moment, find joy in these times that I may never get to replicate, with children that I have come to love so dearly. I don't want to miss an opportunity.
I don't want to be afraid to love because I am afraid of loss.

It would be much easier and faster to just do the laundry by myself. But I want to choose the memory, I want to choose to spend those precious moments with them and trust that in some way they matter, both to them, and to me. In that same way, it would be easier to keep my heart to myself at times, but I want to choose relationship, I want to choose to love, and I want to choose to trust that it matters, both to them, and to me.

At a loss for words

Lately, I feel like I keep getting inspired to write, but when I try to put my thoughts to words, the words won't come. Or if they come, they don't quite do justice to what I am trying to express. Not fully, at least.

I feel as though living in a house with 140 precious babies should always afford something to write about. And it often does; whether it's a story about one of them, or something God is teaching me through being with them. But again, sometimes words cannot fully express the feelings that are surging inside. Whether they are feelings of love, adoration, fear, pain, joy, excitement. Or all of them simultaneously.

I read this quote last night, written in a friend's blog:

"Sometimes seeds have to grow a while before you can harvest them. This is also true of thoughts and words. We live in such an instantaneous age. Everyone is slinging content around, trying to be louder, righter, insightfuler...I am trying to think about where my roots are right now and not be so concerned about my branches." -Jamie Laslo

I think I feel a responsiblity to write. I have been shown overwhelming support during my time here, and with that I feel comes a responsibilty to share what is happening. And I want to share.

I have wrestled much lately with the thought that "this is not the way it is supposed to be"...yes, I love that I get to be here, I love that our children are loved, cared for, and receive wonderful medical care. But this is not the way it is supposed to be. They should be with their mommies and daddies. Yes, we are here, and we love them dearly; but we cannot keep them forever, as a family should. At some point we have to let them go and trust that they will continue to be cared for. And sometimes, there are no words to describe those feelings. It's not that they aren't present, they most definitely are, but it's really difficult to find the words to express those feelings, because they run so deep.

A picture I took a few days ago does a good job of illustrating this..

 



 



This is the view from a 6th floor window in our building. On a clear day, we have an amazing view of the city skyline. But on many days, this is all we can see. Even though I cannot see the city, I know it's there, because I've seen it before. The buildings are there, I just can't focus through the fog enough to grasp a glimpse.

And so it is with these feelings and trying to fit them with words. They are undoubtebly there, but often it's difficult to grasp them, to really paint the picture of what you want to see before you in writing, what you want others to see.

But I also know that the fog won't be there forever and that possibly tomorrow, possibly next week, I will see those buildings again. And so it will be with these words. Possibly tomorrow, possibly next week, possibly next month, the words will come once more.

But for now, as Jamie said, I will try to "think about where my roots are right now and not be so concerned about my branches."

In a nutshell

It hit me this morning as the nannies were getting kids ready to go outside and one pulled out a long-sleeved hoodie for one of the kids to wear. Summer is quickly coming to an end.

The weather has started to cool a bit here in Luoyang and although the afternoons are still pretty warm, the mornings and evenings bring a much-welcomed chill. Posts of home on Facebook talk of football season and pumpkin spiced lattes at Starbucks. Autumn cannot be far.

The summer has come and gone in the blink of an eye. Between visitors, teams, trips and activities, our day-to-day has quickly turned into months. It's hard to believe that this time last year I was just beginning to settle in here. Now I wonder where much of the time has gone.

Here are just a few highlights and snapshots from the past few months...




Summer kick-off family dinner. This summer brought us two amazing interns, Abby and Dan. Dan was with us through August and Abby will be with us through October. They have both been a gift in so many ways to all of us.

 

Mikey and I did a weekend trip to Beijing in June to hike and camp at the Great Wall. Pretty amazing experience.

 

 

Preschool field trips to the zoo...

 

...and the aquarium

 

 

Water days have definitely been a highlight this summer, both for the kids and adults!

 

Another Hong Kong Visa run (although I cannot complain...)

 

 

A train trip to ChengDu with Abby... finally getting to see pandas!

You can hold and get your picture taken with a panda at this reserve; unfortunately it's $200 to do so, so my compromise was touching one of the red pandas we saw along the trail...for free :)

Abby and "the Choco family"

We also got to enjoy a really fantastic dinner out one evening

 

 

 

At the end of our time in ChengDu, Abby had to fly out unexpectedly to Hong Kong with a baby from Beijing in need of surgery. As we packed our bags in haste, she made the comment that this was our summer "in a nutshell." And it has been. It has been a crazy summer with unexpected turns. It has been busy to say the least, but it has been full. It has been difficult, but it has been good. The summer has held some sad days, but also some of our sweetest days. I think in a way I expected the summer to bring somewhat of a break (emotionally, at least), with groups in and out, trips here and there, but it has surprisingly been one of my hardest "seasons" since arriving. Saying goodbye to our kids never gets easier, and sickness and death do not take vacations; so in the midst of our summer haste, we have still had to find quiet moments to grieve and reflect, but our Father has been gracious to give us those opportunities and to be able do so in community.

 

This fall will bring many changes for us. In just a few weeks, we'll be saying goodbye to Abby, who will return to the States. It will be odd going back to life without a roomate, and the loss of a sweet friend's presense will definitely be felt. Mikey will be moving to Beijing, which will leave a great gap at Maria's in so many ways; and not just at Maria's, but in each of our individual lives. Thankfully he will only be a few hours away and we will still get to see him frequently; on the other hand, it will be hard having him a few hours away and not just minutes across town.  I will miss having my best friend just moments away. Our medical staff often has many moving parts as babies need to be taken for surgeries and visas need renewing. I will be going back to the States for a month-long visit in November. One day is rarely like the last, and we never know what a week will hold.

 

In a nutshell, I am continually learning that His grace is sufficient for me. It is sufficient in times of peace and in times of unrest. It is sufficient in difficulty and in joy. It is sufficient for the ever-changing circumstances in our lives, because despite what may change around us and even how we may change, He remains the same.



A time to reflect

I am currently in Hong Kong, spending a week away from my home in China to process my visa for the next year. It is hard to believe that my first year is coming to a close and a new one is about to begin.

I am spending this week at a retreat center and looking forward to a time of rest as well as a time of processing and reflection over the past year (which explains the multiple blogs I have written today and will hopefully write throughout the week...I am making up for the lack of writing over the past two months!).

It has been a very full year to say the least. Full of "really high highs and really low lows" as Abby says (Abby is one of our summer interns and has become a very dear friend over the past few months). It has been a year full of laughter and life, intermingled with loss and sadness. Full of hugs, kisses, love, and surprises. Full of support, encouragement, and moments of being simply overwhelmed by God's faithfulness.

It has been a year of discovering parts of me that I didn't know existed, both beautiful and ugly, and parts that I've tried to keep hidden but are crying to come out. I have seen the best of me come out along with the worst of me. I have seen how giving I can be one minute, and how selfish I can be the next. I have seen a confident and strong side of myself along with a very fearful and anxious side of me. Essentially, I have seen my best hand-in-hand with my worst.

In showing me more of myself, God has also shown me more of Himself. He has shown me just how weak I am and how desperate I am for His grace to come through for me daily. He has shown me how much He values life. He has shown Himself to be faithful in abundant ways, not only providing for my basic needs, but giving me so many extra joys along the way.

I hope you will be encouraged as you read. I know that healing comes with reflection as we take a look back and are able to see in hindsight the things that we could not see or understand in the moment. I trust that the journey will continue and there is still much for me to see and learn, and countless ways in which God still desires to shape and mold me into the image of His son.

Thank you for following in the journey with me.

Learning to say goodbye

I am not a huge fan of goodbyes.

Living here, I have had to learn how to say goodbye from time to time. Sometimes given weeks or months to process how to say goodbye; at other times quite suddenly. I am not sure which I dread most.

I have grown quite fond of this group of little people on our 2nd floor. It took months for them to warm up to me, but one day one finally warmed up, and eventually the others followed suit. Since then, rarely a day goes by that I don't stop in to see them. I have watched them go from crawling babies to running toddlers, full of life, laughter, and spunky personalities.

The first to warm up was Jillian, my sweet "Ji Ji"... we bonded over Cinderella. Each night, right around 7:15, her ayis would put in the movie and she out of all the kids seemed the most captivated by it. Cinderella is my favorite Disney movie, so I started sitting with her to watch, and soon sitting by her turned to her warmly snuggling up in my lap each evening. Sometimes we'd sing along (well, it was more like me humming and her laughing) and other times we'd dance. My favorite times though were when she would just snuggle up with me and let me hold her as we watched.

Slowly the others warmed up and night after night they would try to squeeze as many of their little bodies on my lap as possible. Going in to see them each night became a bit of a safe-haven for me. I knew that no matter what kind of day I'd had, I could always go see my little friends and even if just for a few moments forget the troubles of that day. They helped me remember why I was there.

This group of babies all came to MBH last spring with cleft lip and palate. Their lips had been fixed last summer, and they were all able to have their palates closed this summer. I knew eventually their time would come to return to their original orphanage. But in the meantime, I wanted to continue to soak in as much time with them as possible.

Over the past few months, we've enjoyed quite a few evening dance parties...

One day early this summer, Mikey graciously advised that I prepare myself for saying goodbye to them. Eventually, the email came that a couple of them would be leaving us to return to their original units. We had about a week's notice, so I was able to spend very intentional time with them. By this time, they had all grown so active and busy that Ji Ji would rarely stop to sit in my lap; we would play and dance and run, but rarely would we just sit. But something was different on her last night, almost as if she knew this was it. As 7:15 rolled around, her ayis put in a music video. She came and snuggled up in my lap as she had done months ago, and just let me hold her. She didn't seem to care about all the other kids dancing around her, she just sat and moved to the music in my lap. It was such a gift to have that time with her. I could think of no better way to have said goodbye.

I know that many more goodbyes will come during my time here. Each one will be unique and different. Some will be hard and others will be full of grace and peace. Some will come with hope, others will come with pain and unanswered questions. In whatever form they come, whether planned or unexpected, I want to know that I did all I could to love that child during the time that they were with us. I know I cannot do that for all of our children, but can do so for a few.

Thankfully, many of their leaves come with hope. A few months after their surgeries, we found out that many of them have been matched with families and will soon be adopted. It doesn't make saying goodbye easy, but it does give us great hope for their future.



How to save a life

We have had a really full month at MBHOH, ending with a student group this week. Their presence brought much life and laughter to our home this week.

In the presence of life and laughter, I was reminded on two occasions this week of the reality that is our life at Maria's. Yes, there is life. There is laughter. There is joy. But there is also pain. There is suffering. There is death.

I was in the office one day, which is a shared space with one of our nurses. As I sat at my desk, one of our babies was brought in and given oxygen. He had a heart condition and his little heart had begun to fail him. I watched as Jona, Mariah, and Lily stood over him, took his temperature, listened to his heart, and loving patted his back as he struggled to continue breathing. I walked over and held his little hand, which at this time was quite blue. As I continued to watch, I was amazed at the way the three of them lovingly cared for him in what were to be his last few hours. I became overwhelmed by the fact that this is what they do. They save lives. And at times, saving a life means not giving up, but allowing the babies to let go comfortably and in loving hands.

Another day this week, I woke up to an email from our nurses that another one of our babies had passed. This came unexpectedly and although our hearts were deeply heavy that day, I know without a doubt that she was loved and lovingly cared for during her last days with us.

I write this just as a way to help you understand (and to help me process) the reality of our life here. As I mentioned above, there is great life and laughter in our home; but there is also great sadness and pain that comes with human suffering and death. And not just death, but the death of a child. It is easy for us who are not part of the medical staff to shield ourselves at times from the reality of death in our home, but at other times, it is unescapable. And the truth is, as much as it hurts, I don't want to escape it, because it is real. It also helps me to understand and overwhelmingly appreciate the love and work that our doctors and nurses pour into our babies day in and day out. They are the ones who carry the heavy load of suffering, but somehow find a way to keep going, to keep loving, to keep caring, even through the pain of continued loss.

Sweeping dust off of dust

"For he knows how weak we are; he remembers we are only dust" Psalm 103: 14

This morning as I sat by the window reading, I noticed an interesting site on the road in front of our building. There has been a massive overhaul of the road over the past few months and to say it's been a mess would be a great understatement. As I watched the tractors and bulldozers, something caught my eye: there were a few men sweeping dust off of the dirt road. I think I chuckled inside as I thought of how seemingly pointless and absurd this was. One man was working his way down and as he swept, dust clouds formed and settled where the had previously swept. Being six stories up, maybe there was something I didn't see, but from where I sat it looked like they were trying to sweep dust off of dust.

As I continued to watch and think, I wondered if this is sometimes how I perceive God and His work in my life. I feel like I have been reminded a lot lately that we are but dust. I get so discouraged and disappointed with myself and assume that God feels the same way; but He knows that I am only dust. Not that He has no expectations from me, but He made me, He knows my frame. He knows that I will fail, He knows that I will sin, He knows that I will let others down and let myself down. He knows I will question His goodness and His love for me. He knows.

So often I wonder if it's not like sweeping dust off of dust; seemingly pointless and sometimes absurd. The dust often settles back right where it was lifted from.

But what I cannot see in this moment is that in that place where that man is sweeping, there will one day be a road. I cannot see it, but I know there will be. One day that road will be complete and in some way, his sweeping dust will be a part of that road being complete.

And so it is with me. One day I will be made complete, whole, in the perfect image of my Maker. I know it, even though I cannot see it. In the mean time, He must sweep dust off of dust in order to make me more and more like Himself. Some days it seems pointless and absurd, but I know that day will come, when all will be complete in Him.

I am grateful that He does not see as I see, that He knows purpose in continually sweeping...

"The  LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of all the earth. He never grows weak or weary. No one can measure the depths of his understanding." Isaiah 40: 28