I just read this great post on international adoption.  You should read it too.  And take note of the passage from Amos…

For I know how many are your offenses
and how great your sins.

There are those who oppress the innocent and take bribes
and deprive the poor of justice in the courts.
 Therefore the prudent keep quiet in such times,
for the times are evil.

Seek good, not evil,
that you may live.
Then the Lord God Almighty will be with you,
just as you say he is.
Hate evil, love good;
maintain justice in the courts.
Perhaps the Lord God Almighty will have mercy
on the remnant of Joseph. – Amos 5:12-15

If you seek good and not evil in every other area of your life and you know that seeking good is the requirement for having God with you in every situation, why would you choose to participate in evil in order to adopt?  God loves adoption.  He promised to place the lonely in families.  But He also made it very clear that anyone who follows Him should not participate in injustice.

That’s my soapbox for today.

Friends and family, many of you have heard us talk about the Ogden family for the last four years.  They have three biological children, three adopted children, and they are planning to pick up their 7th child in two weeks.  WE LOVE THIS FAMILY DEARLY!

Driving back to DC from Florida today they were in a terrible accident.  All of them are injured, but I’m calling everyone I know to pray for their son Patrick.  He is Kira’s age, a senior in high school with his whole life ahead of him. He was ejected from their vehicle and has a very serious brain injury.  PRAY!!  PRAY!!  PRAY!!  I just talked to Chris and she said the only thing they need is prayer for Patrick.  Please stop what you’re doing and PRAY NOW!!  God is still in the healing business!

Matthew 18:19 Again I say to you, if two of you agree on earth about anything they ask, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven.

I’ve tried to digest and put my thoughts into words for the last two days concerning the Russian ban on US adoptions.  My heart literally hurts.  My stomach is literally turning.  The tears I have shed have been very real.

My friend Lexi at Mostly True Stuff has done a great job at putting into words what is swirling around in my brain.  Go read it!!  http://www.mostlytruestuff.com/2012/12/the-most-vulnerable.html

Luke 2:10-11 ¹⁰ but the angel reassured them. “Don’t be afraid!” he said. “I bring you good news that will bring great joy to all people. ¹¹ The Savior—yes, the Messiah, the Lord—has been born today in Bethlehem, the city of David!

Three days  before Christmas I found myself panicking about all that was left to be done.  There were gifts to be wrapped and sweets to be baked and groceries to be bought.  At the risk of fighting a crowd, I went to the Fort Belvoir commissary at 7pm on Saturday night.  As I drove up I was delighted to find the parking lot nearly empty.  Unfortunately, the shelves inside were also empty.  They were completely out of potatoes.  Seriously?  How does a grocery store run out of potatoes?

As I was checking out I was a little preoccupied with thoughts about having to go to another grocery store and my drippy nose.  Off topic: Am I the only person whose nose decides to start dripping at the moments when it’s not possible for you to wipe it?

Anyway, in the midst of wondering if the cashier could see the snot dripping out of my nose and dreading another shopping venture, I caught a glimpse of the man bagging my groceries.  He appeared to be in his seventies and I automatically assumed that he was a Vietnam veteran.  As quickly as I began to wonder how a veteran could end up bagging groceries at the local military base for tips, I dismissed the thought that he was a veteran.  I realized that he was ritualistically tapping the bags and feeling the surface of every item he bagged.  He was also mumbling under his breath and not making eye contact.  Like any Mom with two stimmers at home would do, I automatically diagnosed him on the autism spectrum.

I have been a commissary-shopping military spouse for almost 19 years.  If you’re a numbers person, that’s roughly 2000 commissary trips.  I can’t remember a single one of those trips where the bagger didn’t attempt to strike up a conversation on the way to my vehicle.  Not until Saturday night.  The only sounds coming from the man consisted of mumbling under his breath in the same way Seth does when he’s attempting to control his “pretend”.

As he loaded my groceries into the back of my car he began to speak out-loud, to himself.  He was telling himself where to put the bags.  He was speaking to himself in English, but with an accent that screamed eastern Europe.  I listened for a minute, stepped closer, and asked, “Where are you from?”  Without looking at me he responded, “Bulgaria.  It’s in Europe.”  Me~ “I know. My daughter is from Serbia.  We adopted her two years ago.”  He lifted his head, made eye contact and tears begin to drip down his cheeks.  As the tears in my own eyes threatened to spill over, I blurted out, “She’s autistic.”  His weeping turned to heart-wrenching sobs as he cried out, “Thank you!  Thank you!  Thank you!”

I wish I could say that we stood there talking for hours and that I learned his whole life story and that I knew what happened to him that led him to be so moved by the fact that we adopted Sofija.  But none of that happened.  He broke eye contact and quickly walked away after I slipped a tip into his hand.  I then climbed into my driver’s seat and fell to pieces.

I firmly believe that you should never let a man cry alone.  Since he ran off before I could get a good cry in with him, I decided to call my dear hubby and see if he would join in my sob-fest.  He laughed and reminded me that I know where the man works and that I could probably go back and find him later.  Thanks, DH.  I WILL be stalking the old Bulgarian stimmer.  I must know his story.

Three grocery stores, hours of wrapping, and two days of cooking, caroling, and eating later, Seth threw my bedroom door open and screamed, “Merry Christmas! Come open presents!”  I’m pretty sure I moaned and told him to go away and come back in an hour.  He did go away, but he was back in less than ten minutes to announce that he had woken up all of his siblings and that they were all waiting for us.  Thanks for being obedient and for showing compassion for the fact that your parents were up until 3AM, Seth.  Thanks a lot.

I held back tears as I walked into the living room.  This Christmas was a bitter-sweet.  My first baby girl shares a birthday with Jesus.  This Christmas Jesus turned 2012 and my baby girl turned 18.  She can legally vote, sign a contract, buy a lottery ticket,  and join the military.  The list of evils in this world that her Daddy and I can protect her from just grew much smaller.  On top of my little girl becoming a woman, I had tears in my eyes over the absence of so many people I love.  The first call of the day on Christmas has always come from MawMaw.  There was no phone call today.  Every single gift under the tree this year was purchased by the six people who live in our house or by my daughter’s boyfriend.  The guest room was empty.  There were no personal cards from MawMaw on the Christmas tree and there was very little wrapped up underneath it.  This Christmas made me sad.

You see… I was so wrapped up in all that was missing this Christmas that it was really easy to forget all that was here.

At the end of the day, after making a birthday cake and celebrating my daughter, I sat down and read the Christmas story in the Bible.  We’ve read it several times over the last few days, but this time I read it in search of joy.   ^…but the angel reassured them. “Don’t be afraid!” he said. “I bring you good news that will bring GREAT JOY to all the people. The Savior—yes, the Messiah, the Lord—has been born today in Bethlehem, the city of David! ~ I’m pretty sure I’m one of “the all”.  I’m  pretty sure that you are too.

Great.  Jesus’ birth is supposed to bring me a little joy and peace.  So why the heck was I so sad on the day that is set aside to celebrate Jesus’ birth?  I wish I could say that reading that verse brought me overwhelming joy and that I totally got over the fact that my Mom and her parents are no longer alive.  Or that I stopped being sad that none of our extended family was with us to celebrate Christmas or my daughter’s birthday.  I wish I could say that today did not leave me with the feeling that our family has become very small.  But I can’t.

After reading the actual account of Jesus’ birth, I went back to the book of Isaiah and read what was prophesied about Jesus before he was born.

Isaiah 9:1,6  Nevertheless, that time of darkness and despair will not go on forever…For a child is born to us, a son is given to us.  The government will rest on his shoulders.  And he will be called: Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

2012 is almost over.  The darkness and despair that this year has held WILL pass. My Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, and the Prince of my Peace was born.  Not only do we celebrate his birthday today (yes, I know it’s not possible that He was born in December), but God also gave me the most amazing little girl on Christmas.  And this Christmas, she still lives at home.  This Christmas there aren’t gifts still sitting under the tree for Sofija.  This Christmas, Sofija is not still waiting in Serbia for a family to call her own.  This Christmas, my husband was lying next to me in bed when Seth threw our door open.  This year, he isn’t in Iraq or Afghanistan or some other far away land celebrating the births of Jesus and his daughter without his family.  No matter how small our family felt this Christmas, we were all together.  And… this Christmas I know without a doubt that everyone in this house knows what Christmas is all about.

So, just like I’ve been choosing hope for the last couple of months, I’m choosing the joy and peace that were promised to me.  Oh yeah… I’m also choosing to make it my mission to befriend the 70-something Bulgarian autistic man at the commissary.

With countless blog posts, tweets, and facebook statuses already dedicated to the tragedy in Connecticut last week, I really wanted to keep my two-cents to myself.  And then… the shooter’s brother went and said something about autism.  The media and internet ran with it and for 48hours every parent of a child on the autism spectrum held their breath.

This autism-parenting gig has been one of my most intense Daddy-daughter dances.  I have to daily put my feet on God’s and let him guide my steps.  Like all my other Daddy-daughter dances, I often forget that I’m not in the lead and stumble all over my feet (and His).

This weekend I’ve been committed to letting Him lead.  Tonight, we had a little dance party in our house.  In the middle of watching Sofija learn how to led her Daddy lead, I felt peace about entering the discussion on what happened in Newtown.

There are a couple of things the world should know about autism.

1) Autism is not a mental illness.  It is a developmental disorder.  A neurodevelopmental disorder to be specific.  Are some people on the autism spectrum mentally ill?  Yes.  So are some people who drive cars and shop at Wal-Mart.  In fact, I’d venture to say that the percentage of mentally ill people shopping at Wal-Mart is much higher than the percentage of mentally ill people living with autism.

2) Autism DOES NOT lead to calculated violence.  Individuals with autism will sometimes have out outbursts of anger and aggression.  These outbursts are always situational and impulsive.  When the situation passes, so does the aggressive behavior.  Autism related aggression is reactive.  The violence displayed in Newtown, CT was causal.  They ARE NOT the same.

In case you’re wondering why I decided to add my two cents, I’m scared for my babies.  Tomorrow I will send them out into a world that’s a little different from the one I sent them out into last week.  Tomorrow they will encounter children and adults who’ve spent the last three days listening to the media and the world-wide web build a correlation between autism and what happened in Connecticut.  Tomorrow I will wake early and spend time on my face before God claiming protection over them.  While parents of neuro-typical kids are on their knees claiming protection from crazed shooters, I will be claiming protection from those who would put my babies into a box with a truly mentally ill young man.

When you see smiling pictures of the babies whose lives were taken on Friday next to a picture of the disturbed young man who took their lives, I ask that you not associate every autistic child you know with the killer.

Seth and Sofija have autism.  Neither of them is capable of doing what Adam Lanza did.

And just like her Mama, Sofija is learning to let her Daddy take the lead. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zbY3TOXD5ug

If you’re partying with us this holiday season, you should read this… http://www.differentdream.com/2012/12/5-holiday-party-tips-to-welcome-kids-with-special-needs/

I’d like to add a bit to tip #5.  In the two and half years that Sofija has been a part of our family we have declined several invitations or accepted invitations and then missed the party because we were in the middle of dealing with a meltdown.  Everyone in our house thrives on social interaction and community.  Just because we are not able to show up for a party or event does not in any way mean that we do not want to be there.  So PLEASE keep inviting us!  And if we do not make it, say a prayer for us.  We need it.

As I walked into Sofija’s room this morning to wake her, she sat up in bed, threw her arms in the air and announced, “Mama, I am SO beautiful!” Good morning to you too, Baby Girl.

Less than ten minutes later, as I’m stirring the oatmeal, Seth walks in the kitchen holding a pair of scissors in his right hand. With his left hand he points to the very top of his head and says, “Can you fix this? I couldn’t make it stop sticking up so I cut it. But I think you need to cut it some more.” Um, no sir. I don’t think I can do anything with that 1/8 inch of hair you left attached to your scalp. Looks like we’ll be using lots of hairspray on the crown of his head til that hacked mess grows out.

Kids at school I clean up and get ready to head to the hospital for my very first mammogram. My first one should have been done about five years ago. But after fighting one type of cancer, it took me a few years to build up the courage to have a test done just to see if I have some other type. To be honest, if my clinic would stop sending me those annoying letters telling me to call and schedule it, I’d be happy to spend a few more years building up my courage. After the last annoying letter I called the number at the bottom. Since I had to wait a month for the first available appointment I figured it was probably a good idea to follow through and actually show up.

When I arrived at the “Breast Care Clinic” I was handed a clipboard with a questionnaire that included a pretty graphic drawing of boobs. Boobs that somewhat resemble my own. Lovely. Have you ever had cancer? ~ Yes. What type? Where? Treatment? Surgeries? Do you have implants? ~ Yes. The next question… “Which breast?” Seriously? Do people get just one? Who are these people? Now I’m really curious. I wanna meet these women. Not sure that I could do so without staring at their chest, but nevertheless, I wanna meet them.

Clothes off from the waist up. Gown open in front. Nice lady asked me to follow her. The machines are not nearly as intimidating as I anticipated. Everything is nice and beige and plastic looking. No ice cold metal in sight. As I walk to the machine that’s clearly designed to squeeze my boobs she says, “Wait a second. You have implants? I have another form for you to fill out.” It was a release form that said something like, “Occasionally implants rupture during mammogram, but the risk of cancer far outweighs that of leaking saline or silicone.” It also said something like, “Some ruptures are not immediately noticeable and may cause a slow leak that can lead to other really bad stuff.” Lovely.

In some past blogpost (I can’t remember which one) I wrote about the fact that I’ve gained weight over the last year. I also mentioned that I’ve watched my boobs go to one size and then two sizes bigger than what I bought and paid for. The minute the nice lady got started doing her job, I realized that I REALLY should have had my first mammogram when I was much thinner. more boob=more squishing. The squishing hurts. It’s not unbearable and quite honestly it was more pleasant than any single test I have endured to look at my thyroid and neck. But I’m not gonna lie. It hurts.

At the point when I thought she had squished my boobs from every possible angle and that she must certainly have the appropriate number of pictures, the real fun began. Remember the implant release form? Nice lady stopped being nice. She says in the nastiest sweetest voice, “Now I’m going to displace your implants and try to get all the same pictures without the implants in the way.” WHAAA??? How is that possible? Oh NO! That so does not feel right! How are they ever going to get back where they’re supposed to be?

And then she moved them all around again. And again. And again.

So what do you do after your girls have been abused? You go bra shopping. At least that’s what I did. The bra I was wearing just did not seem nearly gentle enough and I couldn’t think of a single one in my drawer at home that might make them feel better either. Where does one go to find high quality comfortable brassieres? Target. I have a confession to make. Every time I shop the clearance rack at Target, I want the maternity stuff. Another true confession: I’m wearing a Target maternity shirt as I type. Not that I’m pregnant or ever again plan to be. I just think the Target maternity designers are the very best of the Target designers. And besides… the maternity stuff does a good job of covering up my weight gain. Oh, and the nursing bras. Why is it that the softest, cushiest, stretchiest, most comfortable bras are designed just for nursing moms? Well, guess what? I’m nursing some sore mams today. And those nursing bras looked like just the perfect thing to make them feel better. Because I have actually been through the pain of being engorged and because I have no need for flaps on my bras, I tore myself away from the nursing section, found something comparable sans flaps, and filled my cart with $80 worth of toiletries and what-nots. The girls felt better already.

So now I wait. Isn’t that just the absolute worst part of any medical test? The waiting. Grrrr. While I’m waiting I think that I will lay down in my bed tonight, pretend all the weight has not been gained, and tell myself that I am SO beautiful.

While celebrating a dear friend’s birthday a couple nights ago the topic of uncertainty came into play.  We didn’t dwell there for very long, but I’ve been blatantly aware lately that almost everyone in my inner circle is currently in a season of transition and uncertainty.  It’s bizarre.  Transition is never easy because it always entails a giving up of old and an accepting of new.  But when you tie uncertainty to the other side of a transition, it becomes downright painful.  That is the season where our family and so many of the people we dearly love are right now dwelling.  Impending deployments.  Jobs lost and jobs hoped for.  Homes lost and uncertain living arrangements.  Babies lost and babies dreamt of.  Graduations.  Chronic illnesses.  Career altering/ending accusations and investigations.  Retirements. Strained marriages.  Parenting challenges.  The fiscal cliff.  And on and on and on… I love spending time in prayer, but I’m running out of time in my day to pray over all the uncertainties.  After all, I really think God approves of me pausing from prayer long enough to feed my family and catch up on the laundry.  So today, I’m simply giving it all to God, standing on these verses, and offering them to anyone who is living in hard times, as hope.  Just keep choosing hope! (that little instruction was as much for me as it is for anyone else.)

Psalm 46:1 God is our refuge and strength,
always ready to help in times of trouble.

Psalm 91:2 This I declare about the Lord:
He alone is my refuge, my place of safety;
he is my God, and I trust him.

2 Samuel 22:3 my God is my rock, in whom I find protection.
He is my shield, the power that saves me,
and my place of safety.
He is my refuge, my savior,
the one who saves me from violence.

Psalm 94:22 my God is my rock, in whom I find protection.
He is my shield, the power that saves me,
and my place of safety.
He is my refuge, my savior,
the one who saves me from violence.

Philippians 2:13 For God is working in you, giving you the desire and the power to do what pleases him.

Psalm 73:26 My health may fail, and my spirit may grow weak,
but God remains the strength of my heart;
he is mine forever.

Psalm 84:5 What joy for those whose strength comes from the Lord,…

Proverbs 10:29 The way of the Lord is a stronghold to those with integrity,
but it destroys the wicked.

Psalm 18:35 You have given me your shield of victory.
Your right hand supports me;
your help has made me great.

Ephesians 3:16 I pray that from his glorious, unlimited resources he will empower you with inner strength through his Spirit.

Colossians 1:11 We also pray that you will be strengthened with all his glorious power so you will have all the endurance and patience you need. May you be filled with joy,

And last…   Nahum 1:7  The Lord is good,
a strong refuge when trouble comes.
He is close to those who trust in him.

I trust you, Lord.  Please stay close.

Today began with my third consecutive way-too-early morning.  I like watching the sunrise, but three days in a row for a night owl like myself, this is just a little ridiculous.  In my ultra-tired state I fed the two stimmers and my dear hubby (who had foot surgery two days ago) breakfast and hoped for an hour of peace and a morning nap.  While they were eating I checked my email and found the following message from the nurse at my endo’s office…

Hi Ms Calvaresi:
The labs are back, I will have Dr Brackbill the on call fellow review. Them
in his note Dr hoang said he wanted to keep your TSH target between .5-1.0
right now the TSH is 0.024 we will see what Dr Brackbill will say.
I place a t-con to him, let me know if he does not call you.
Take care
lidia

So… that explains the heart palpitations, exhaustion, and constant tears I’ve been experiencing for a couple of months.

Immediately after receiving confirmation that I’m not healthy, Sofija asked for a cup of milk.  One of her favorite stims is to shake any container holding liquid right next to her head.  So, unless we’re sitting at the table she still drinks from sippy cups.  As I went to put the lid on her cup of milk, she grabbed at the cup, knocking it over and spilling milk all over the countertop, floor, refrigerator, and stove.  I screamed and immediately felt tears spilling from my eyes.  The words I screamed were, “Why did you do that?  Why couldn’t you wait for me to put the lid on it and hand it to you?  Now look what you’ve done!”  As she ran crying to her Tata’s side on the couch and I began to clean the mess I heard a voice speak loudly and clearly, “Why do you try to take control of situations?  Why don’t you wait for ME to finish MY job and then hand you what I’ve promised?  How many messes do you make because you stop having faith or being patient?”  As my tears began to pour from my eyes to my chin to the puddle of milk on the floor, I replied, “I got it, God.”

Isaiah 40:31 AMP  But those who wait for the Lord [who expect, look for, and hope in Him] shall change and renew their strength and power; they shall lift their wings and mount up [close to God] as eagles [mount up to the sun]; they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint or become tired.

Throughout this last year, if you asked me to describe my state of mind, I could wrap it up in one word.  Despair.

From Dictionary.com:

Today I learned of a woman who is in Serbia (right this minute) loving on “the least of these”.  If you know me, you know my heart for Serbia.  If you know my daughter, you know how desperately “Serbia’s least” need some lovin’.  Go read Beck’s post and pray for the precious lives she’s coming in contact with.  And while you’re at it (praying), pray for God to continue to build divine relationships, open doors, and provide resources, for those of us who are called to serve Serbia.  Thanks 🙂