Tag: Adoption Page 8 of 23

I worry about screwing up my kids.

Maybe everyone has that worry, but I think I’ve got more reason to. My kids are Tanzanian by blood, growing up in Tanzania, but by American parents. Where will they fit? Will they be able to identify with Tanzanian culture? Will they be able to identify with American culture? I read the news and think, Will they be able to one day navigate African-American culture? I look at my skin color and think, Am I adequate to help them figure all of this out?

I’ve learned a few things by raising black kids. They’ve helped me see the world through their eyes. My daughter Grace received this birthday card from a friend earlier this year:

I’ve never seen my nine-year-old get so excited about a card before. “Look, Mommy!” she shouted. “This card has me on it! That’s me! How did they find a card with me on it?”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the drawing on the card really looks nothing like her. But in that brief exchange, my daughter taught me a whole lot about race. It only took brown skin and curly black hair for Grace to see herself. I’ve learned that Yes, it’s really important for kids to see themselves in movies, books, and billboards, whether they are black, white, Asian, or Hispanic. It’s a good thing that more of this is happening in our culture.

So in our house, we celebrate brown-ness and make sure it has a prominent place in our family’s culture. We love Gabby Douglas and Michaela DePrince. Our favorite movie right now is the new Annie (which makes me tear up every.single.time) and my kids even have a Daddy who went to the movie theater and asked to bring home the life-size cardboard cutout.

Being mom of black kids has made me notice the subtle superiority of white-ness in my own culture. Have you ever taken a close look at the make-up aisle in Walmart? Most department store mannequins? The color of standard band-aids? The color of Jesus in most Bible story books? How the color peach is often synonymous with skin-color?

Then I wonder, Is it really superiority that causes this? Or it is just that we are from a white-majority culture that tends to be clueless? I was recently bemoaning to Gil the lack of pre-teen chapter books that have dark-skinned main characters. But he gently reminded me that this might not be an issue of racial prejudice. It could just be that most authors are white, and people tend to write about what they know. Is that true? Or is there really a bias among publishers? It could be neither. Or both. But is it right to assume the worst?

It’s so complicated, isn’t it? We cannot deny that racism still exists in our society. We cannot deny that minorities often have a right to feel angry. I’ve lived as a minority in Tanzania for 11 years, and it’s given me just a small taste of racial profiling. Even yesterday, when I was in town, I was slapped with a big fine for an inconsequential traffic violation. I felt very picked on for 1) being white and 2) being a woman. I was absolutely furious, and it took 15 minutes of ranting to Gil before I calmed down. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to experience things much worse over a lifetime.

But at the same time, what is the answer? Affirmative action? More laws? Diversity training? Can we force people to think differently? Our society has tried….but has it worked? Maybe to some degree, but obviously not entirely.

Change has to come from the heart. Not from the government, not from the schools, not from the newspapers.

So as a mom of black kids, what will I teach my kids about race? How do I keep from screwing up their identities? How do I make sure they understand their value, give them the confidence to stand up for themselves, and yet prevent a victim mentality?

I find my answers in the gospel.

1) The Bible teaches that every person has value. Every person is made in the image of God, regardless of race, sex, culture, country, whether handicapped, unborn, or terminally ill. Every person has dignity. Every person has an eternal soul.

I would challenge you to find one other worldview, one other world religion, that gives that kind of value to every single person in the human race. There is none. Of course, not every Christian acts this way (see point #2). And of course, people with other worldviews can still believe it, but if they do, they will always be borrowing from Christianity. The only way we can see every human as having equal value is by believing that we are created in the image of God.

2) Every person, whether oppressor or oppressed, has a sinful heart. All of us stand in judgment before God. White America is not the only population to struggle with racial prejudice. We see it in India in the caste system; we saw it in Rwanda when men and women slaughtered 1 million of their friends and neighbors of a different tribe. We saw in it Liberia, when freed American slaves set up a colony in Africa and proceeded to oppress the local Africans. And we see it in the New Testament, when over and over again, Paul and the other writers seek to break down the barrier between Jews and Gentiles.

This is our nature. We must accept this. Instead of pointing fingers, instead of looking for excuses, we must look inside our own hearts and see that the seeds of hate and prejudice and superiority reside in all of us. We can’t just assume, That’s their problem, not mine, because it’s all of our problem.

3) The answer is found at the Cross. I just don’t see any other solution. The Cross brings us all down to the same level–we all have blown it; we all need to be rescued from our own wretched hearts. Not one of us has the right to think we are better than someone else. We all need Jesus; we all need him to change our hearts and our thinking. We need the love that only he can give to overflow to those around us.

4) Our primary identity is found there–at the foot of the cross. God gives us the eyes to see the value of every person. The cross gives us the perspective that no one has the right to feel superior. Yes, we can celebrate our cultures and our colors and the things that make us different, because God created culture and he loves it. But that culture does not define us. It is only secondary to who we are before God, and who we can become in Christ.

This is what I plead in prayer for my children. Yes, I know they will be confused about where they belong in this world. I know they will struggle with their identity. But I pray they can begin to see that African-ness or American-ness or brownness or whiteness really does not matter when we are all at the foot of the cross.

I would want my kids to know that, no matter what color they were. I hope you do too.

For he himself is our peace, who has made the two groups one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility. (Ephesians 2:14)

Behind the Smiling Photographs

By Amy Medina

On April 18, 2015

In Other

My kids were relating to me the adoption story of one of their friends. Well, adoption always starts with something sad, I reminded them.

Sometimes I have to remind myself too, because I tend to forget. We are a happy family. Josiah loves hiding behind doors and scaring people. Grace is enthusiastic about everything. Lily loves to be chased and has an infectious giggle. We eat dinner together every night. We love playing games. We dance a lot. There’s a lot of tickling.

Of course, we have grumpiness and meanness and sometimes they drive me batty. He’s not helping! She hit me! I’m telling! But it’s all normal. I forget, often, that my kids are adopted. I forget that they have pasts that didn’t involve me.

This school year, one of our children has been having some “incidents” of bad behavior in class. It started out somewhat mild, but continued to escalate until January, when we knew we needed to really take action. This child would be set off by certain triggers, which would turn into loud, long, and uncontrollable outbursts.

I was a teacher for 7 years before I became a mom. All I could think was, Oh no, my kid is that kid.

So Gil and I did what we had always done with our children’s sinful behavior, and what has always worked. We set out very clear and significant rewards and consequences, and we followed through on them. We made a behavior chart. We had long, solemn talks with this child. As a family, we role played school-day scenarios, which always ended with everyone laughing in heaps on the floor.

Unfortunately, at school there was no laughing. Our plan did not work. In fact, it got worse. A lot worse. During one terrible week, I broke down and cried. I wasn’t just concerned for my child. I was scared. We had been trying everything we could think of. What else could we do?

In desperation, I wrote to Elaine, a friend of mine who is an adoption specialist. I described my child’s behavior. Could this be an adoption issue? I asked.

She wrote back almost immediately. Absolutely, she said. No doubt. She answered my questions and sent me all sorts of articles and links to read.

Suddenly it all became very clear. Of course! I thought about my child’s past. I thought about how the school environment could trigger things from the past. It made sense! My child wasn’t acting out of defiance; my child was acting out of fear.

My friend reminded me that all adopted children have experienced trauma. Even if they were adopted as infants, there is still trauma. A baby bonds with his or her mother while in the womb. God’s original plan is for children to stay with their birth mothers. When that doesn’t happen, there’s trauma. All of my children came from incredibly competent and loving orphanages, but they were still orphanages. Children are not meant to be in orphanages. Period.

Gil and I, along with our child’s wonderful teacher, started looking at our child’s behavior from an entirely different angle. We made a different plan. We are doing less fighting against the behavior and more addressing the underlying issue. For parents like us, who tend to be no-nonsense and generally expect obedience from our children, this feels permissive. It goes against some of our instincts. But it’s working!

It’s been almost a month now, and we’ve had a lot less incidents. I’ve noticed a confidence in my child that wasn’t there before. My child is happier and friendlier. Most importantly, I feel so much closer to my child’s heart. I feel like I understand some of the behavior of the last few years…and I have a lot more compassion.

I realize that so far, our kids’ struggles have been pretty mild compared to what some adoptive families go through. But I’m sharing this story because I want to give other adoptive families hope, and because I want to encourage school teachers, Sunday School teachers, and coaches of adopted kids to also be willing to consider other angles as well. Elaine told me to start at this website, and now I’m passing it onto you.

Adoption always starts with something sad. But by the grace of God, that never has to be the end of the story.

When You Became Mine

By Amy Medina

On March 18, 2015

In Adoption

On the day you were born, your cord was not cut, nor were you washed with water to make you clean, nor were you wrapped in cloths. No one looked on you with pity or had compassion enough to do any of these things for you. Rather, you were thrown out into the open field, for on the day you were born you were despised. (Ezekiel 16:4-5)

I find it interesting that so many people are shocked that some African women would dump their newborns into a pit latrine.

My last post quickly shot up into my #1 most-read post, with over 7000 hits. (I realize that’s small potatoes in the blog world, but it’s a lot for my tiny corner of the internet.)

It certainly was not my most inspired piece of writing. So all I can figure is that it was sensational enough to shock people into reading and sharing.

But why?

Why is it so shocking that women in Africa leave their newborns to die?

Is dumping a baby into a toilet more barbaric than jabbing a scalpel into a baby’s neck, suctioning out her brains, and crushing her skull? Or simply vacuuming her life away, piece by piece, as she struggles to get away?

After all, that’s what happened to over a million babies in America last year. Legally.

At least Tanzania has the sense to make child murder illegal.

In Tanzania, there’s not a lot of hope for unwanted babies, when adoption is so culturally unacceptable. But in America, there’s tens of thousands of couples who wait months….years….for the phone call that there’s a baby waiting for them. Yet still, we throw away a million babies a year.

Listen. My heart breaks for these mamas. I can’t imagine the despair, the hopelessness, the fear, that compels a mama to dump her newborn into a toilet pit. Or to pay money for someone to suck out her baby’s brains. I think of the 17-year-old who is terrified she’ll be kicked out of school. Or the prostitute who doesn’t see a way out. Or the desperate mama who just doesn’t know how she’ll feed one more child.

It goes against a woman’s deepest instinct to turn her back on her child. The heartache that leads her to that point must be unfathomable. Yes, Christians, let’s be known for advocating for the babies. But let’s be known for advocating for the mamas too.

But don’t just weep for the African babies who are thrown away. Weep for the American ones too–and those all over the world, for that matter. (Ironically, one of the few (only?) similarities between the United States and North Korea is that they both permit abortions past 20 weeks–two of only seven countries in the entire world that allow them.)

Yet

There is redemption for a baby lifted out of a toilet pit and given life and love.

There is redemption for the adoptive mother when that child fills empty spaces in her heart.

There is redemption for the birth mother who sacrificially gives her child a chance at life. And there’s even redemption available for the one who doesn’t.

Because in that picture, there is the reminder that we all are in the toilet pit, until the Day when we are lifted out and made Sons or Daughters.

Then I passed by and saw you kicking about in your blood, and as you lay there in your blood I said to you, “Live!” I made you grow like a plant of the field….I gave you my solemn oath and entered into a covenant with you, declares the Sovereign Lord, and you became mine. (Ezekiel 16:6, 8)

The Grim Reality of Bathroom Door Locks

By Amy Medina

On March 15, 2015

In Other

Last week, Alyssa and I visited Lucy’s home, where we were treated like royalty. Lucy continues to impress me with her love for Jesus and people, which was even more evident in her home and neighborhood. And her incredible sense of humor makes her a fantastic Kiswahili teacher.

But it was no laughing matter when she explained to us why there’s a lock on the outside of her bathroom door. It seemed strange–after all, there’s nothing worth stealing inside.

Most people in Tanzania have pit toilets, and Lucy’s house is no exception. She explained that the government tells people to lock their bathrooms, so that women will not abandon their newborn babies to the depths of the pit.

What a horrifying reality. In fact, I know two such children–now adopted (but not by us)–who were rescued on their birth days from such a nightmare.

Whenever I talk about adoption with my Tanzanian friends, every single one can tell me of an instance when they came across an abandoned baby. Though not always alive.

For most, they are found too late to rescue. And those that are, live their entire lives on the streets or in an orphanage. There are over 2 million orphans in Tanzania, and maybe only a couple dozen get adopted every year.

Which is why it makes me mad when UNICEF and other such organizations are so anti-international adoption, and anti-orphanage, and are heavily influencing developing countries (including Tanzania) to be the same way. YES, let’s work at family reunification whenever possible. YES, let’s work at getting corruption out of the adoption process. And by all means, tell people to put a lock on their bathroom doors.

For many children, there is no family to be reunified with. Let’s at least redeem their stories by helping them find a new one.

March 19: Follow-up to this post here: When You Became Mine. Why is it so shocking that women in Africa leave their newborns to die? Is dumping a baby into a toilet more barbaric than jabbing a scalpel into a baby’s neck, suctioning out her brains, and crushing her skull? Or simply vacuuming her life away, piece by piece, as she struggles to get away?

Additional note added in 2016: Since I wrote this post, I now have many more mixed feelings on the issue of international adoption. Please read this series I wrote: I Wish It Wasn’t True: The Dark Side of International Adoption.

She’s At My Table

By Amy Medina

On July 26, 2014

In Other

Do you remember the story of Zawadi? Click the link, if you never read it. And even if you did, read it again, because it’s a pretty cool story.

Zawadi has been home for almost a year now, but it happened shortly after we left for the States, so we never got to get to know her and we never got to celebrate with Ben and Lauren.

So it’s pretty amazing and wonderful and awesome that now she’s at my table, and playing with my children. Her parents are some of our best friends, so the kids will practically be raised as cousins.

We’re pretty happy about that.

Tag: Adoption Page 8 of 23

The Black Girl on the Birthday Card….and Other Lessons on Race

Behind the Smiling Photographs

When You Became Mine

The Grim Reality of Bathroom Door Locks

She’s At My Table