Let me introduce you to some people who are pretty important people in our world. Around our house, they are affectionately known as the “BK Team,” but in the real estate world, they are known as “BakerKatz.” These are the people who make our lives run and keep everyone (i.e. Jason and all of his women) afloat.
Well, let me put an addendum on that. Really I should say, Traci and Jennifer keep our lives afloat. Because let’s face it BK Boys, if you take away the BK Women, you pretty much don’t have BakerKatz. They are the ones who keep Dana and Sus sane, Jason focused, Kenneth culturally updated, Neil hilarious, Lunden Italian, and Ben willing to stick around. And…this is an important one here – they keep snacks in the kitchen.
Last December, BakerKatz celebrated 10 years as a company, so Traci master-minded this incredible video to show as a surprise for Kenneth and Jason at the company holiday party. I interviewed my three girls (we only had three at the time) for the video, and here is Caroline’s response…an official commentary on what’s important in the BKOffice:
Let’s go back to that keeping Sus sane thing. Both Jennifer and Traci are something I am not: resourceful. And they don’t dissolve in a crisis in a puddle of tears. (No wonder Jason likes them so much.) They figure it out. Jack Bauer style. While everyone else is sleeping, I’m pretty sure Traci and Jennifer are up, figuring out how to save the world.
They can figure out how to do anything at any time with any budget from any point on the globe. Need to figure out how to get from the rural Indian countryside to a major city airport in a rickshaw? No problem. Need to figure out how to purchase a building, prepare LOI’s, and keep clients eating out of the palm of your hand? Done. Need to figure out how to review a document from the middle of the hills in the Lake District where there’s no internet reception? Got it. Need to figure out how to get a refund on tickets when Continental merged with United and it takes you four days to get from Houston to Scotland and you are stranded with three kids, without luggage, on the floor of the airport in Frankfurt, Germany? Piece of cake. Need to figure out how to add an adopted kid to your insurance policy whose official name is still LingYu Xu (the name, apparently, of a famous Chinese pop star), but her adopted name is Mia Grace Baker? Easy. Kid’s stuff. Need to figure out how to wade through all things paperwork and birth a baby through notarized documents, FedEx packages, certified checks, and official copies of birth certificates, social security cards (I still don’t know where my husband’s is), marriage licenses, and proof after fingerprint proof that YOU ARE NOT A CRIMINAL?!? Not a problem.
I can say with utmost confidence that if Jennifer and Traci were not around, there is a strong possibility that Mia Grace would not be around either. I would have plunged off of the paperwork face of the earth and shriveled up in a hole somewhere to die a slow death.
So that’s why, when we returned from China with Mia Grace safe and sound in our arms, some of the very first people I wanted her to meet where her BK Family. They had skin in the game, so to speak, just like Jason and I did.
And, of course, Mia Grace took to the BKWomen like a rat to a cheeto…literally. She was won over by the snacks…and, of course, the huge smiles on their faces and tremendous love in their hearts.
BakerKatz, the Baker Six couldn’t be more thankful for each of you, and of course, for all of the SNACKS!!!
Remembering can be a painful thing. Sometimes it’s hard to think about certain phases or seasons of our life because it feels like nothing good lies beneath that particular blanket of the past. Either other people hurt us too deeply or we messed up too royally for there to ever be beauty that lies underneath the ashes.
But that’s not what God’s Word tells us. Throughout the pages of Isaiah, Jeremiah, Joel, and Hosea, He promises His people that not only does He redeem their past, but He restores their past, weaving it back together from the torn and broken fragments lying around them.
Sometimes we do not see this redemption or restoration until we are with Him in our eternal Home, but sometimes He lets us see glimpses in the here and now. And when we do, we stand amazed. Astonished that anything good could come out of such ashes.
Kenneth Bailey says it this way in his book The Good Shepherd :
“Jeremiah asks his readers to remember the Lord who returned them from ‘the north country.’…How much they had suffered was not forgotten, but neither was it their primary focus….What mattered was their redemption and their Redeemer, not their suffering” (p. 73).
I don’t know what suffering you have in your past, but I do know that the same Weaver who wove a Suffering Savior and Redeemer through the pages of Israel’s history can weave that same Savior through the pages of your history. My prayer is that He gives you eyes to see and thankful hearts to receive the blanket of beauty He is weaving.
I took time this morning
To peer under the blanket of my life.
The hues, they astonished me,
In all their darks and brights.
I found treasure underneath
The rough texture on the top,
I found treasure underneath
That had grown and never stopped.
So take time to peer beneath
The blanket of your days,
And what you find is waiting
Is the weaving of your ways
With threads of goodness, threads of beauty,
Threads of hidden joys,
Woven while you slept on a loom of faithful love.
Because the past is not the past
As you remember or you’ve made it.
The past is the Weaver’s
And underneath is all His blanket.
Our past is set upon His loom
And mended with His Hands
And heals in beautiful, mysterious ways
While conforming to His plans.
So set aside the lens of dark
And seething bitterness,
And put on the lens of a thankful heart,
Watching for His hope.
What you will find waiting
Beneath every blackest sorrow
Is the Shepherd and the Weaver
Who has never ceased to follow
The rhythms and the patterns and the evils of your days
With covenantal, faithful love
Bought back from all your sorrow.
~Susannah Baker, September, 2015
“The God before whom my fathers
Abraham and Isaac walked,
The God who has been my shepherd
All my life to this day,
The angel who has redeemed me from all evil,
Bless the lads;
And may my name live on in them…”
Last week was our first week of starting back to school. (I know, I know – the rest of the world has been back in school since July. Trust me – I was counting down the days until I could wave good-bye to everyone at 8am. I tried not to look too gleeful as I dropped them off in their classrooms last Wednesday morning with the knowledge I wouldn’t see their knee-highed legs again until 3:30pm that afternoon.)
It was a “soft start” kind of a week since they were only in school for half the week. We go to a school where my kids attend school on campus on Mondays and Wednesdays, and I home school them on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Fridays are “free days”, where good home school moms take their kids to places like museums, historical markers, and the original log cabin where Laura Ingalls grew up. By Friday, I am usually laying on the couch in a comatose state attempting to take a four hour nap while my kids are left to entertain themselves in the house with art projects left over from the summer. I am in full support of Jessica Trozzo’s statement, my friend and fellow homeschooling mom, that “our kids have really fun lives; I don’t feel the need to entertain them every Friday.” At least, that’s how I comfort myself when I lay down on the couch on Fridays.
Anywho, last Thursday was our first home school day and Friday was “free.”
So this week is official – we are really back in school. Yesterday was our first Tuesday home day, and I have to be honest, I had forgotten from last year what long days Tuesday are. Thursdays we have a little more breathing room. If we didn’t have time to fit Grammar in, or we forgot about Science, we can squeeze it in over the weekend. But there is no squeezing on a Tuesday; everything has to be crammed in to be turned in and ready to go for a campus school day on Wednesday. And by yesterday evening, when Jason walked in the door, I didn’t even have words left to tell him how the day was. All of my words had been used up by 3pm, and all that was left was silence or an occasional grunt.
I wish by the end of the day on Tuesdays I felt tired like I had run a really good race or completed a really good workout. But it’s not that kind of tired. It’s a tired like someone has taken me to a woodshed out in the backyard, laid me over their knees, and given me a good, sound spanking. I know that might sound strange, but to put it another way, at the end of a Tuesday, I never feel like, “Wow, that was a hard day but it was a GREAT day! I just excelled in my role as a mom; what a fabulous mom I must be!” It’s more like, “Wow, I can’t believe I blew it THAT MANY TIMES IN ONE DAY.” And if I have any words left, there are usually spent in saying “I’m sorry,” as in “I’m sorry for yelling when you dropped your peanut butter and jelly sandwich on our newly washed rug.” Or “I’m sorry for yelling when I was reading to you about the planets and you lunged for our cat so you could play with her and act like I wasn’t doing my best to educate your brain about Pluto (which isn’t even a planet anymore, by the way, according to a vote by some astronomical board! I felt robbed, cheated of my knowledge of the planet line ups when I was in third grade. I always felt like Pluto was nice little dot at the end.)” And “I’m sorry when you whined for the hundredth time about having to learn to write the letter “A”, I told you if you did that again, you would spent the rest of your life in time out because this is simply part of pre-K; I already finished pre-K and know how to write my letter A’s.”
Are you getting the picture? We’re not exactly the Brady Bunch over here on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I feel more like a circus master running a four ring circus.
It doesn’t help, either, that I am teaching Sunday School for the first time on Sunday since getting back from China. Which means every morning at 5am I drag myself out of bed and stumble downstairs to sip on a cup of coffee while I try to put coherent thoughts about the Bible together in my brain and on paper. I love trying to put coherent thoughts about the Bible together; what’s tough about teaching, particularly this week, is that to teach a good lesson, you have to live a good lesson. You have to hold your own life up under the bright light of the Word of God and let it convict, challenge, and change you if you don’t want to be a hypocrite when you stand up there on Sunday morning.
All that to say, this week’s lesson has been particularly challenging because it’s on the parable of “The Great Banquet” that Jesus tells at a dinner party in Luke 14:16-24. I always find the toughest, most challenging lessons to teach are on the words of Jesus Himself. His words are just so – hard. And difficult to understand. And I always find myself so lacking underneath the weight of the words of this God-Man who came and flipped the world upside down with His justice, mercy, love, and grace. Particularly during a season when I am struggling to give grace to my kids, much less to a waiting, hurting, groaning world.
I won’t go into all the details of the parable, but what has given me hope this home school week are the three groups of people invited to the banquet Jesus outlines in Luke 14. The first group represent the religious elite, the people who sit in the pews, who know the Word of God backwards and forwards, who have grown up in church, but do not know Jesus Himself. They are hell-bent on making their own rules and regulations to the Great Feast and Table of the Lord, and Jesus, with all of His grace, is messing up their guest list. With tax collectors like Zaccheus. Prostitutes like Mary Magdelene. Blind beggars like Bartimaeus, truth seekers like Nicodemus, blue-collar, uneducated fisherman like Peter and demon-possessed Gentiles like the man from Gerasene.
Not only do they dislike Jesus, but they are doing everything in their power to completely stop the banquet from even taking place. So they refuse to come. No show at the last minute in a deliberate attempt to publicly humiliate the host and bring him shame and dishonor.
So how does the Host respond? Does He go out and wreak havoc on all of those who have rejected His invitation to His table? Quite the opposite. In the words of Kenneth Bailey, “The host reprocesses his anger into grace” and begins to invite to his banquet all those who could never pay him back. He tells his slave, “Go out quickly to the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in the poor and crippled and blind and lame.” This second group of invitees represented the lost sheep of Israel that Jesus came to seek and to save, but it also represents you and me. It represents all those who are outcasts and who have been on the outskirts their whole lives but now, according to the lavish mercy and grace of God, have been invited in. I know because I have one of these invitees who sits at my table on a daily basis. She has black hair and brown eyes and the cutest little dimple over her right cheek you have ever seen.
She is a daily reminder to me of GRACE. Of the grace that sits at our table and the grace that is the only ticket to sit at the table to come. And her story of being outcast, abandoned, forsaken, and then brought in to a family and to a table is a reminder to me of all of our stories. Sometimes, though, it’s easy for me to forget my story and my need for an invitation in. Because let me tell you, more times than not, I am in the first group. The religious group. The group that thinks I have no need of the Savior’s table or can make up my own rules and set my own table. And then Jesus’ grace undoes me and I move from outside the door to take my place at the table with all of the rest of the broken invitees. I know that once I yielded to Christ as Lord I have never lost my place at His table, but I sure do have the tendency to get up and move around at lot.
Yesterday, I took Mia Grace to a long time friend and gifted photographer to have her picture taken, an official portrait for the Baker Girl Wall of Fame. Cindy had never met Mia Grace but was well aware of her story and how long we had waited to bring her home. As soon as she saw her, she started to weep. And throughout the photo session she wept. After every few pictures, she had to put her camera down to wipe away her tears.
I have discovered that Mia Grace has this effect on people. In the midst of our everyday, day-to-day, rat race and craziness, Mia Grace is this burst of…grace. A reminder of our invitation to the table. A reminder that we, too, are invited in. To sit down. To pull up a chair. To be called family. To know and be known. And to feast. Not in spite of our brokenness, but because of our brokenness. And because of the Host who died to make us whole.
So today, whoever you are, whatever your brokenness looks like, whatever your past or present, and wherever you’ve been, keep the feast, accept the invitation, and sit down. You have a Savior who is waiting.
When I was little, my mother NEVER let me look at Barbies, much less play with them.
So why in the world would my daughter come home with this book from the local public library used book sale with THIS in her hands, bouight for her by her grandmother??
Gotta love grandmothers…and we sure do love ours!!!
I know I haven’t posted in a while…and for that, I apologize. After all of the adrenaline and excitement involved with going to China to get Mia Grace and coming home to introduce her to her new “normal”, all of the words just…left me. That’s not entirely true. The words were still there, circulating beneath my thoughts and our days; it was just that I was too weary to let them out. I think both Jason and I discovered that while we were prepared (at some level) for food issues, sleep issues, attachment issues, language issues, what we were not prepared for was the issue of…weariness. Attaching to an 18 month old you have never met, is from a different country, is used to a different language, different food, and whole different way of doing life is plain ol’ exhausting. So Jason gave our family a gift that was a blessing beyond words – a week at the beach.
The big girls don’t start school until after Labor Day (today in fact!), so we packed up our swim suits, flip flops, and t-shirts, and spent a week in Florida.
It was heavenly to do nothing but sit in a chair or in the sand and look out over the wide expanse of sand and sea and simply soak in beauty while enjoying the company of one another’s presence without any other demands. Our biggest decision of the day was when to go frequent our favorite snow cone trailer truck in the little town close by, just a bike ride away.
I wasn’t sure how Mia Grace would respond to the texture of sand or the wide expanse of the sea, but to my surprise and delight, she loved every minute of it. She loved running the tiny grains of sand through her fingers and loved the feeling of sand poured over her toes. She dug in the sand for hours with her small shovel and pail underneath the brim of her big pink hat.
And she loved being held out in the blue waters with daddy, her big brown eyes wide as she slowly took everything in, including the salty waves.
More often than not, Jason and I are mountain people. We love to hike, conquer a peak, conquer a trail, and soak in mountain air and mountain views. The majesty of the mountains moves both of us in ways the ocean sometimes does not. But this week, instead of the mountains, we both instinctively knew we needed the beach. It took me getting there and looking out at the view multiple times before I finally understood why.
While the mountains represent the glory and majesty of God in my life, almost a mysterious calling to go up and beyond to new heights and new adventures, the ocean represents, to me at least, the love of God. It is as if this wide, warm blanket is spread out over the earth, stretching as far as the eye can see. And with each wave that the tide brings in, the words are heard in my heart and soul, “You are loved…you are loved…you are loved.”
I think that’s what Jason and I and the girls needed to hear. Because after weeks of learning to love this new little person in our midst, we needed to hear that we were loved as well. We were cared for under the blanket and tender care of God’s love while pouring out love on another.
A picture of this came so vividly and beautifully the last morning of our trip. Well, let me back up. The first morning of our trip, we gathered up all of our beach gear, lathered everyone in sunscreen, and headed down to our spot by the water. We were still getting situated when the guy under the umbrella next to us said, “Look! There’s a dolphin!” We looked up to see a family of five out in the surf with a five to six foot long, dark shape gliding in the waves just a few feet from them. It didn’t take long to realize from the fin on the back and the angles on the body underneath that was no dolphin…it was a shark. Apparently, the family in the surf realized the same thing and made a bee-line out of the waves back onto the safety of the shore.
For the next thirty minutes or so, not one shark, not two sharks, but five or six sharks made their way to the edge of the surf, coming so close to the shore you could almost touch them.
If you are like my husband, Jason, then seeing sharks that close up in the surf just about makes your day. He was so gleeful, so excited, he waded OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SURF to try to get a close up view. Geez. Ever since I’ve known him, one of his life aspirations is to go down into the shark cages off of the coast line of Australia or South Africa to get a close up view of the great whites. No thank you. No sir. Not me. Just the mention of the word “shark” sends a cold feeling down from my spine into my toes. Not only was I up on the shore at first mention of the word “shark,” but I stayed up on that shore for the next two days. I like the safety and security of the sand between my toes more than the possibility of a shark nibbling on them.
We never saw the sharks again after that first day (thankfully), and I eventually did get in and enjoy the water, but every time I was in the water, there was always a near by thought that the sharks COULD reappear. But at some point, the decision had to made to resolutely forget about the sharks, or the possibility of them, if the water was ever going to be enjoyed.
So the last morning of our trip, I was on an early morning run on the beach. Not many people were out, and if they were, they were walking or running along the shore like me. But along our stretch of beach, only two people were in the early morning waters – a daddy with his little boy who couldn’t have been more than 18 months old, blonde curls bobbing on his head, and his orange pacifier still in his mouth. They were enjoying the vastness of the ocean, just the two of them, probably trying to beat the heat of the day.
It was such a beautiful picture – a big, strong daddy holding his young son safely and securely in the waters. And all of a sudden, the reasons for our trip became crystal clear. “You know” the Lord whispered to my heart, “that’s why I brought you here. Out in the ocean, anything can happen. Anything can swim up. There is so much to fear. But not when you are in My Arms. In My Arms, you are safe and secure, you have nothing to fear, and the rhythm of life is the rhythm of the waves, ‘You are loved…you are loved…you are loved.'”
The past two months with Mia Grace have felt a bit like that first day on the beach with sharks in the water. There has just been so much unknown. Anything at any point could come up and grab you taking sleep, taking rest, taking security, from her mainly, and from us as well.
But our time at the beach was a reminder that in the unknown, the love of the Father holds us, comforts us, and gives us the ability to take delight in the process of loving and being loved, no matter what may come.
Underneath that blanket of love and thankfulness we rested and came home, ready to start the school year, ready to continue through the new normal with Mia Grace. Sometimes that’s all we need – not another adventure and not another activity – just another reminder of His arms, holding us close in the vast expanse of His love.
Praying you know that same, good, holding kind of love today,
The Baker Six
My husband grew up in a male-dominated household. Yes, he had a mother and a sister, but his larger-than-life father, my husband, and his two brothers dominated the scene. They are all tall, broad-shouldered, and their favorite past-times include hunting, sports, anything outdoors, and did I mention hunting? My sister-in-law, Cara, and my mother-in-law were great sports about everything sport-related. They went with the flow, learned to like watching any sort of game with a ball, and my sister-in-law even consented to being nicknamed “Carl.” I will never forget going on a hike with my mother-in-law a few years into marriage; we saw a clod of dried animal poop on the trail, and I as skirted around it, SHE PICKED IT UP. WITH HER BARE HANDS. And proceeded to carry it down the mountain so she could ask the guide at the bottom what kind of animal made a mess like that. If that woman isn’t a great boy’s mom, I don’t know who is.
All of this to say that I find it one of life’s greatest ironies that out of my father and mother-in-law’s ten grandchildren, eight are girls. Yes, that’s right. Eight. Four belong to Jason’s sister, Cara, and her husband, Lance. Four belong to Jason and me. And the two boys (bless their hearts) belong to Jason’s brother, Jake, and his wife, Haley. The last remaining brother, Josh, and his wife, Laura Grace, have yet to have children, but even if they have four boys, the girls will still rule the roost in the Baker family. Irony is sweet sometimes.
When we returned from China, the Berkmans (Jason’s sister’s family) were on their family vacation, trekking through the mountains of Montana. But last Saturday, as soon as they landed, they made a bee-line for our front door to meet the newest Baker/Berkman cousin. And let me tell you, it was a moment. I think Mia Grace is still wondering who all those females were swarming around her, squealing with delight.
I’ve tried to guard Mia Grace from too many “overwhelmed” moments, but this was just one of those moments she was just going to have to be overwhelmed. As she was passed from loving arms to loving arms, I kept thinking, “You have no idea how much you are going to love these people one day!”
It was the same feeling I had at the airport when she encountered so many loving arms and faces of dear family and friends.
And shock of all shocks, the person she preferred most out of everyone was…Lance.
My oldest niece had to pry her out of his arms so she could get a hug in! I’m thinking she just new a great-girl dad when she saw one.
The girls were so sweet with MG; they walked her around and around the house…
spilled her toys out on the floor and played with her…
and even helped me give her a bath…
I have loved watching the way kids love on Mia Grace in a way that is so natural, open, and all-embracing. They never ask about her nose or lip, never are stand-offish because her skin is a different color, and never seem to wonder about the fact that her past is so very different from theirs. They just love her. Fully. Right where she is. There is a something about the heart of a child that loves another child with a need so deeply, and that is something I have never had the privilege of observing until the past few weeks with Mia Grace. From Berkman cousins, to Baker boy cousins, to Ince cousins, to neighbors, to dear friends, children love and embrace this child, and it is so moving to see.
Hannah, the oldest cousin, spent the week with her fellow cheerleaders at cheerleading camp, and I know how much she has missed seeing Mia Grace. So last night, I did another thing that probably wouldn’t rank as a top ten moment with most newly adoptive parents – (I’m still feeling a bit of mommy guilt) – but I surprised Hannah, along with the other ten cheerleaders, with a surprise visit from Mia Grace.
It was priceless to see MG in the midst of all these girls who looked nothing like her, had nothing in common with her story, but hung on every word and were captivated by all 17 pounds of her. I pray in the midst of cheerleading camp, God did something in the hearts of those 14 year old’s. Who knows? Maybe there are a few adoptive mommas in there one day…
One last thing – one morning this week as I went to refill my cup of coffee, I noticed a text message on my phone from Cara. The message read, “We were wondering what it feels like to be Mia Grace” and had this picture beneath:
I laughed so hard I think I snorted coffee up my nose! Only Cara. Or, should I say, only Carl…there are definitely benefits to being raised by brothers.
But in Mia Grace’s case, instead of a brother, her Uncle Carl will do just fine
So, let’s face it…I’m tired. Pooped, really. We have one week down under our belts (almost two weeks, really), and now that we are home and the adrenaline has worn off, I’m just plain ol’ tired. But Mia Grace makes even the tiredness sweet.
She is sweet in the big moments of meeting new people and going new places, and she is sweet in the small moments of babbling baby talk and spewing out things like kale mixed with spinach, mango, and raspberries. (Baby food has come a long way in five years since I had my last baby! The most creative entre Catoline had was peas.)
We have had lots of exciting big moments, like finally getting to meet all of our 1300 cousins! We actually only have 9 cousins, but put 13 kids (including my four) all under the age of 14 in the same room and all of a sudden it feels like 1300 instead of only 13.
Last weekend, my brother, Taylor, and sister-in-law, Robin, brought over their youngest child, baby Susannah, to meet Mia Grace. It was so much fun to put them down on the floor next to each other and just sit back to watch what would happen. There was a lot of baby pointing and staring, and eventually they crawled over next to each other to poke one another in the face. (Actually, MG did all of the poking. It’s sort of a sign of affection. If she likes you, she hits and pokes you in the face…we’ve got to work on that! It’s not a great way to make friends, as Susu can attest to.)
But a great moment for me as a mom came when I scooped up Susu and put her in my lap. Mia Grace immediately noticed and did not like that at all! She crawled over, began to cry, and tried to push Susu off! Bad for Susu but a great sign of healthy attachment to mom!
It was so interesting watching Susu as a normal, healthy ten month old. Her crawling was so purposeful, quick, and exploratory. She constantly pulled up on furniture and wanted to try to walk. And at the slightest little bump or fall, she would cry like a typical ten-month-old and want mommy’s hugs and kisses. Even though Mia Grace is almost twice Susu’s age (she was 18 months old on July 31st), she is smaller than Susu. Re-reading notes I took from a class on adoption and attachment over a year ago, I was reminded that kids raised in institutionalized care are usually half their age developmentally. Seeing MG next to Susu reinforced that to me. Her crawling is slow, sometimes hesitant, and is never exploratory. She only crawls to come to find me when she cannot see me. I have seen her pull up only once on a piece of furniture, and she has yet to cry when she bumps her head or scrapes her knee. On the way to the doctor on Tuesday, she quietly picked a scab (one that was not ready to be picked) off of her leg and had an oozing wound by the time we parked and got out of the car. She never uttered a sound and I had no idea what she was doing until I stopped the car. It is moments like these that I remember where Mia Grace came from. She is our daughter, she belongs to our family, but her past is still something that creeps up into her present. I call reminders from her past “orphanagisms,” and they are what we daily pray over and work towards healing.
But like I said, Mia Grace makes each and every day a joy. Every morning when I wake up and peer down at her small frame in the pack and play next to our bed, I still can’t believe that she’s ours. And at the dinner table, with her high chair sandwiched between Jason’s chair and mine, her hair all a mess from running her sticky hands through it, Jason and I still look at each other in amazement. Sometimes it still feels like we are babysitting – like good friends of ours went out of town on a long trip and left us with Mia Grace, but they will be headed back any minute to pick her up. But nope. She’s ours. And she’s here to stay, which is just fine with us. The Baker Six just wouldn’t be complete without her.
The past two days have presented new challenges – doctors visits. I don’t know why, but doing anything new with Mia Grace always reveals a low level of anxiety and stress in me. Part of me wonders if each new outing will cause her anxiety or stress, part of me is trying to remember all of the questions I need to remember to ask each doctor concerning her health, part of me is trying to remember and figure exactly what I need to bring with me for an 18 month old – it’s amazing how quickly one forgets! – and then, of course, I’m balancing and juggling the other three.
I can’t tell you how strange it is to walk into a doctor’s office and fill out new patient forms for MG but have to leave so many questions and sections blank: was your child premature? Don’t know. Did the mother smoke or use drugs during pregnancy? Don’t know that one either. What is her family medical history? Cancer? Strokes? High Blood Pressure? No clue. When did she take her first steps? Not sure. Birth weight? There isn’t a record of it. Hospital delivered in? Don’t know that one either. Probably a hut in a village somewhere in southeast China.
Just like the stares of others can jar me (which, by the way, people have been giving us lots of smiles the past two days – it’s been great!), the realization of how much I don’t know about this child who is my daughter can jar me too. There is so much in her life I have missed up to this point, and many of those blanks I will never know how to fill in.
And there’s that great word. Mia Grace makes every step going forward so much easier and more joyful than I ever anticipated. She cried, legitimately cried, when our dentist, Dr. Harrison, looked in her mouth, and she was terrified when our pediatrician, Dr. Pielop, looked in her ears and down her throat. Praise God! I’ve never been more excited about normal 18 month old tears! And she turned to me to be comforted and was ABLE to be comforted after some rocking and pats on the back.
And the dentist’s and doctor’s reports were so positive. They were gentle and kind and encouraging with both Mia Grace and with me. Leaving their offices was like exhaling a huge pent up sigh of relief.
I left Dr. Pielop’s office today, relieved to have the first doctor’s visit behind us, and thought, “Well, that wasn’t so bad. Glad I don’t need to stress over things like that,” only to have two grown men running after me, flagging me down in the parking garage.
I had left the stroller sitting out behind my car, reversed, backed over the stroller, and started driving away…without a clue I had done any of those things. I was just relieved I had at least remembered to put Mia Grace in the car. Geez. Lizzie piped up from the back seat, “Are you embarrassed, mom?”
Yes, Lizzie, I am a little embarrassed. Thanks for pointing that out.
But Mia Grace proves time and again that I don’t need to stress – I just need to trust, day in and day out, new experience after new experience, first after first, that the Lord’s got this. He’s got her – always has – and He’s got me. The progress she has made in bonding and attachment with our family has truly been amazing. The only thing I can give credit to is prayer. She is joyful, sweet, loving, a cuddler, and already cries for momma. What a difference each day makes. It is literally as if the ground of her heart has been saturated with the prayers of so many of you for so long now that she simply is able to respond to us. She seems to be grasping the concept of “family” quickly, which is remarkable considering she spent almost every day of her life in an orphanage with no family and every night in a room with ten other beds of parentless children.
And if all that wasn’t enough, she has started sleeping through the night! We are on our second full night of sleep now, which is a great thing considering Jason described sleeping with her as like sleeping with a baby raccoon. Wherever you happen to be, she moves there, finds your exposed skin…and scratches. And moves. And kicks. So we were both relieved to have the baby raccoon sleep in the pack and play by our bed all through the night!
Please continue to pray for us and pray for her. For wisdom in our parenting decisions concerning her and our other three girls. For trust and not stress. And specifically, for Jason’s neck. He woke up with muscle spasms in his neck last night and has been in a great deal of pain.
Last thing, speaking of Jason, Mia Grace has been having a bit of a tough time with Dad ever since coming home to Houston. She sometimes starts to cry when he holds her and seems just a little unsure of this male presence she probably is not used to. Last night, Jason was holding her and started to tickle her and her laugh was so cute, I had to share it with you. Definitely making progress with Daddy:
We so appreciate each of you and the grace and love you have given our family through this season.
Hoping you sleep well,
The Baker Six
Last night I took Caroline and Mia Grace to Orange Leaf for some frozen yogurt. I haven’t had any since returning from China, and on long, hot summer evenings, yogurt always sounds like a treat. (Obviously, from the past few posts, our family is not on a gluten-free, sugar-free diet. We are on more of what you would call a “Welcome-to-America-and eat-cake-and-ice-cream-and-french-fries-kind-of-diet.” Maybe we will decide to go back to healthy eating when MG starts sleeping through the night.) But I’m going to be really honest; while the yogurt was good, I was a bit taken aback by all the stares. I’m just still not used to them. They startle me. Jar me on the inside. Take me aback.
I’ve never been one to like to have attention drawn to myself (just ask my mom), but it’s pretty clear that staring is something I am going to have to get used to now that Mia Grace is a part of our family.
I was used to the stares in China; they actually didn’t bother me. And I really didn’t blame anyone for staring. The stares were an expected response to blonde heads, blue eyes, and white faces with one Chinese baby smack dab in the middle.
But I wasn’t prepared for the stares here in the States. I don’t know why – I should have been. I should have taken a clue from the guy sitting next to me in the waiting area for our plane from Houston to Chicago before we even had Mia Grace. It came up that we were headed to China to adopt a baby, and he said, “Can I ask you a question? Why are you adopting a baby from China when there are so many babies here in America that need to be adopted? Just curious.”
Wow. I don’t think that’s a question I would even ask a close friend, much less a total stranger.
I think I mumbled something about feeling “called” and “led” and used trite, overstated Christian jargon that probably made no sense to the man and walked away trying to collect my thoughts. Jason had a really eloquent response when I posed the question to him later, but eloquent responses usually elude me in the urgency of a moment.
But that should have been the heads up. Many people in America are thrilled that we have added a Chinese daughter to our family; but some Americans also don’t understand why we would spend so much money, take so much time, and travel half way across the world to adopt a child that is not only miles but cultures away from us. The reasons why should be saved for another blog. But his comments should have prepped me for the stares.
From the moment we walked off our sheltering runway from our plane from Hong Kong to America, we were assaulted by stares in wide open spaces. Me especially, since I’m usually the one carrying Mia Grace.
And just a word of caution to all of us who want to stare – and I am including myself in those who stare because I’ve done plenty of staring over the course of my 38 years – PEOPLE KNOW WHEN YOU ARE STARING AT THEM.
I’ve always thought I could sneak a side glance and the person I am watching would have no clue.
They always know. Why? Because I know. I can feel it in the back of my baby carrier or see it from the turn of people’s heads from my peripheral vision. And immediately, I start sweating and begin to ask questions, “Why are people staring? Is it because I have an Asian baby in my baby carrier and I have white skin? Or is it the faint scar above her lip and the flattened nostril on the left? Is it just plain old curiosity? Or genuine love or appreciation for the child on my hip who is close to my heart?”
And let me give us starers one more piece of advice – if we are going to stare, and let’s face it, we all are going to stare at some point or another – SMILE. Smile at the person. Smile at the child. Smile at the family. I don’t blame people for staring; I probably would stare too and try to figure out the story behind the baby carrier. But what really jars me is not the stares; it’s the stares without the smiles. It the lingering looks, the side glances that continue throughout our meal, or our walk, or our frozen yogurt outing. So just know (at least from my very limited experience with stares the past few days), if you see a family who has a child with different color skin, or a handicap, or a different look, or is just plain ODD, a smile goes a long, long way. It takes the edge off of the stare and says, “I’m not staring because I’m wondering why you didn’t adopt an American baby without a flattened nostril or cleft lip, I’m staring because whatever your story is, I like it, and I like you, so be at ease.”
It was a relief to take our frozen yogurt to the tables outside and sit in a stare-free zone and enjoy the faces of my two girls in front of me. I didn’t get one smile in Orange Leaf last night; just stares. And one smile would have made all the difference.
Trust me; I’m not feeling sorry for myself or crying tears over tonight. It’s just the reality of adopting a baby from a different race. I just have to get used to being an anomaly. And I will get used to it – over time.
But until then, just remember to smile when you choose to stare. It makes the bitter edge of being different…sweet.
One more thing, as we drove home from Orange Leaf, Mia Grace started to fuss in her car seat. I looked back and this is what I saw:
Mia Grace had stopped her crying and fallen asleep while holding Caroline’s hand. Our differences are giving us the capacity for comfort. It’s a lesson our whole family is learning, one little hand at a time.
We are so thankful for each of you and the joy and comfort each one of you brings; in the days ahead, I am looking forward to seeing each of your encouraging smiles.
The Baker Six