Tag: Lessons and Musings Page 14 of 21

Middles

By Amy Medina

On June 17, 2012

In Other

We see but middles.

So wrote Andree Seu, one of my favorite-ever columnists.

Things that seem good can end up bad.

Things that seem bad can end up good.

We see only the middle.

Things appear opposite of their true condition for a while, she writes.

There are people who think things are going badly for them, when actually things are going quite well, but they do not perceive it yet.

Think of the life of Joseph.

The favorite of his father: That’s good!

Jealous brothers sell him as a slave: That’s bad.

Top of the heap at Potiphar’s house: That’s good!

Sent to prison for something he didn’t do: That’s bad.

And so on. So is the story good or bad?

What was evil, God used for good.

Romans 8:28. It’s all good for those who love God. But now, we see only middles.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot with Lily’s story. The timing of when we brought her home, last summer, is still affecting us now. We went through delay after delay after delay. Unnecessary, ridiculous delays. And I knew then that those delays would affect us now. As they indeed are.

We want to go home this summer. It’s been over two years since we’ve been home. The only family members who have met Lily are my parents. We want to go home!

But the delay in bringing her home meant a delay in getting her adoption finalized. No finalization means no passport. No passport means no bringing her out of the country.

And now, I am seeing only middles.

All those delays last summer: That’s bad.

But in April we got assigned a great judge with a reputation for being pro-adoption, and getting court hearings done quickly: That’s good!

We got our first hearing the very next week: That’s good!

Even though the social worker, Gil [who was in Kenya], and the paperwork were not at that hearing, the judge still started the adoption process: That’s good!

The next hearing was set for June 6th. The judge, the social worker, the paperwork all showed up: That’s amazing!

At this point, I started thinking, Yes! God’s going to do it! He’s going to fix all those problems from the delays last summer and get us through a lightning fast court process!

At the June 6th hearing, the judge heard our case, but put off the ruling for another week: That’s…..disappointing, but not too bad.

So we went back June 13th–last Wednesday. And he said that the ruling still has not been made, so come back this Tuesday: That’s getting kind of bad. We are running out of time.

From a few months ago, we thought our chances would be slim to take Lily home this summer, so we made plans to take two separate trips: Gil and Josiah would go for two weeks in July, and Grace and I would go for two weeks in August. We bought plane tickets….hoping that we might have to change them. And then when we got this great judge, and he brought us in so quickly, I really got my hopes up. Yes! It’s going to work out.

So I wonder: What, exactly, is going on here, God? Are you making this happen, or aren’t you?

But I have learned: He is making something happen. It has purpose; it has meaning, and there is rhyme and reason to it. I just can’t see it, and I might not ever see anything but the middle for a long time.

And that’s okay. Because even the good stuff won’t necessarily last, and I know the bad stuff won’t. So circumstances don’t really matter, do they? What matters is God, and His promises, and that one day, when we see the End, it will definitely, utterly, be All Good.

Chocolate and Milk

By Amy Medina

On June 7, 2012

In Adoption, Book Recommendations, Race and Diversity

“We were not made to make much of blackness. We were not made to make much of whiteness. We were not made to make much of self or humanity in general. We were made to make much of God.”

I grew up pretty much oblivious to race.

My childhood neighborhood in California was multi-ethnic. My best friend was Indian. Then I spent six years in three African countries.

Back in California in high school and college, I spent 8 years doing ministry in multi-ethnic neighborhoods. Camp counselor for two summers for kids who were mostly black and hispanic. Worked four years for a black employer.

As an adult I spent seven years teaching kids from all kinds of ethnicities. Spent nine of the last eleven years in Tanzania.

As I was growing up, white people were kinda boring to me. Travel and cultures, that’s what fascinated me. The fact that Gil is half-hispanic? Dream come true.

So adopting African children was just sort of obvious. I mean, we wanted to adopt, we were living in Tanzania, and there are two million orphans here. So should we adopt from Africa? Duh. The fact that my kids have dark skin was just….beautiful. And though I always loved the idea of raising a family that mirrored what heaven will look like, I never set out to be a billboard for race reconciliation.

But I’ve been thinking.

Grace and I have been making our way through the American Girl books. And Addy is a little girl living during the time of the Civil War. She’s a slave; she escapes to Philadelphia, but continues to live with segregation even in freedom.

I want Grace to know these things. She is African but has an American passport. One day it is likely she will live in the States. She needs to know.

But did I ever realize how difficult it would be to read her stories about white oppression of black people? Sitting there on the couch, my arm around her, her Mommy in every way, with nothing but the color of our skin separating us. Teaching her how people who looked like me made people who looked like her into slaves. And then even when that was over, wouldn’t even let them use the same bathroom.

I never knew how hard it would be.

And then I read this book (not to Grace!). And I know it’s controversial and not everyone likes it, but I personally was deeply moved. Because I am white, and my daughter is black. Because I have “help.” Because even though I knew the history, there’s nothing like seeing it through the eyes of someone else through a story.

Since I’ve always thought multi-ethnicities were so cool, I think I unintentionally ignored the pain that so many have experienced (are experiencing) because of their race. Even, often, at the hands of those who call themselves followers of Christ. And since we live in Africa, I never fully, truly contemplated the discrimination my own kids could face in America.

John Piper, one of my favorite-ever authors, and who also has an African-American daughter, recently published this book: Bloodlines: Race, Cross, and the Christian.

It’s not my favorite Piper book. But as a theological treatise on why Christians should intentionally pursue racial reconciliation? It’s excellent.

“That I am chosen for salvation in spite of my ugly and deadening sinfulness…that my rebellious and resistant heart was conquered by sovereign grace….if these truths do not make me a humble servant of racial diversity and harmony, then I have not seen them or loved them as I ought.”

“When we feel or think or act with disdain or disrespect or avoidance or exclusion or malice toward a person simply because he or she is of another race or another ethnic group, we are, in effect, saying that Jesus acted in a foolish way toward us. You don’t want to say that.”

My favorite section was on inter-racial marriage. Really, really good stuff. Especially because inter-racial adoption is so similar.

“As long as we disapprove of [inter-racial marriage], we will be pushing our children, and therefore ourselves, away from each other. The effect of that is not harmony, not respect and not equality of opportunity. Separation has never produced mutual understanding and respect. It has produced ignorance, suspicion, impersonal stereotyping, demeaning innuendo, and corporate self-exaltation.”

I humbly recognize that, growing up in my privileged, white life, I will never understand the oppression that minority groups have experienced in America. But yet, God has entrusted me with these beautiful children. So it is therefore my job to do everything I can to try to understand.

Somehow, our family must become a picture of racial reconciliation. Somehow, I must teach my kids how to love, forgive, and reach out beyond racial lines. Somehow, I must teach them how to understand the challenges and history and sorrows of their race, even though I haven’t experienced it myself.

I am inadequate for this task. The weight of the burden is heavy. But yet, it is important and necessary. And worth it.

My kids are sitting on the kitchen floor drinking chocolate milk as I write this. I think chocolate and milk make an excellent combination, don’t you?

Untitled Post

By Amy Medina

On March 22, 2012

In Other

I know, it’s been a week since I’ve written. Sorry, I don’t want to make you wait that long. Because I’m afraid you’ll stop coming back.

The car is getting serviced, so we are stuck at home. It’s raining, which allows for blessed breeze. We enjoy it while we can, knowing that as soon as the sun comes out, so will the humidity. Esta and I just finished cleaning the oven. It doesn’t look much different, considering it is 10 years old. But my old lady oven keeps on baking my bread perfectly, so I can’t justify replacing her.

Mama Raymond is here to do the girls’ hair today. Dora is on, Lily is sitting patiently, and Mama Raymond just took a break to pull an enormous breast out of her shirt and feed her baby. No one in this house blinks an eyelash at that.

Pretzel rolls are rising on the counter. Josiah is outside with Paul, our gardener, who is roaring him around the yard in the wheelbarrow in the rain. I just wrote an article for the HOPAC newsletter on how if we want our kids to unplug from media, then maybe we as parents need to do so as well. And now I am on my laptop, blogging. Ha.

I have lots of posts in my head, but they are all frivilous and will probably go in the “Interesting and Amusing in My Daily Life” category. But my camera is broken (a new one is coming) and I am afraid of using Gil’s big ol’ honkin’ one.

Plus, I just don’t feel very frivilous right now. It’s been a hard week.

You know those weeks? It’s not like anything tragic happened; just a whole lot of little sorrows and frustrations and hurts that build up until they spill over all at once and you become a blubbering mess. I think I shocked my poor husband, because I am only very rarely like that.

But this Mommy thing is hard, you know? And you know that it requires sacrifice, but sometimes it seems like you can’t give away anything else. And then you find that you do it anyway. And you are tired of feeling guilty and tired of picking up one more toy and just tired.

And sometimes, I’m tired of Africa too. But here I am.

But today is a new day and God’s grace is always sufficient and Heaven will be much, much better. Pretzel rolls really help too.

No Regrets

By Amy Medina

On January 11, 2012

In Other

Recently I was talking to a good friend of mine, someone who is in her late 60’s and been a missionary literally her entire life. Godly, gentle, and very, very wise. We were talking about parenting, and I said something about teaching children “first-time obedience.”

She chuckled. “Oh, is that what Christians are teaching now? In my day, you were supposed to count to three.”

And of course, as any of you know who have read recent Christian books, counting to three is anathema. Tantamount to something like…..high frutose corn syrup. If you count to three, your children will certainly end up doing drugs.

Yet, interestingly enough, this friend of mine has three wonderful, godly children. One of them has a PhD in ancient languages, or something like that. They are certainly not hobos.

And you know what else? They went to boarding school.

I have realized recently, I actually know a lot of people who went to boarding school, some as young as third grade. They are all pretty amazing people. And you know why they went? Because back then, it is what was expected of missionary parents. I think, “I could never send my 8-year-old to boarding school.”

Except that I believe that first-time obedience is important. Because it is, right? Right? I know that first-time obedience is good and boarding school (or public school, or whatever) is bad. Because, ummm….

Why do I think that again?

Because everybody does. And everybody knows that’s what you are supposed to do.

Of course, there are reasons. Backed up by five explicit points of Scripture. Of course. Which I then should have my children memorize.

Don’t you think the missionaries of the past backed up their parenting choices with Scripture?

I have struggled a lot these past five years as a mother. You’ve read about some of it here. And I have made some progress. Yet still, for a long time, was this burden of guilt on me. This feeling that I just wasn’t getting it right. That if only I did more crafts, or more read-alouds, or taught them more Bible verses, or the names of more countries—then I would be a good mom. Because, it seemed, that’s what everyone else was doing.

But recently I read an article that really changed my perspective. It’s calledThe Seven Blindspots of Homeschoolingby Reb Bradley. First, let me give a disclaimer here: I think homeschooling is great. By posting this link, I am not intending on criticizing homeschooling. I have many, many friends who homeschool, and it’s possible that if we ever live in the States, I could join those ranks myself. It’s one of the reasons I got a teaching degree. Now, currently I think I would be compelled towards public school for my kids (more on that some other time), but that’s not to say that I would never consider homeschooling.

But really,Bradley’s articleis not about homeschooling. It’s about a certain type of Christian parenting—basically the type that says, “If you do this and this and this, and don’t do that, your kids will turn out perfect.” And though I’ve never ascribed to all the “techniques” that Reb Bradley writes about, the one thing that was the most encouraging—life changing, really—for me, was this idea:

There is no formula.

There are no guarantees.

There is no system to follow to ensure your children will turn out “godly.”

None.

There are biblical parenting principles, but they are pretty basic: Love unconditionally. Teach obedience. Disciple. Build relationships.

And then what? Your kids will be perfect?

Nope.

Then you leave the rest to God. And His sovereignty. And His work in their lives.

Because no matter how much I train, how much I discipline, how much time I spend with them, how much I shelter, there are no guarantees.

And that is why a parent who homeschools her children from K-12 may have a child who turns out to be a godly gem, and a parent who prayerfully, tearfully sends her child away to boarding school at age 8 may also have a child who turns out to be a godly gem. Or on the other hand, the opposite could happen in either situation. Reb Bradley gives plenty of examples.

The truth is, there is freedom. Freedom to prayerfully choose how I want to discipline, and to what extent. Prayerfully choose how I want to educate my children. What I want them to wear, how much media to expose them to, who their friends are. I can look at my own personality, the situation of my family, my children’s dispositions….and I can choose.

Of course there is freedom in Christ. Didn’t I know that already? Isn’t that what the gospel is all about? So why then, do I get so uptight when I think I am not following the “parenting rules?”

Probably because, I assumed that those rules were supposed to “work.” So reading this article was like heaving a huge sigh of relief.

Oh. Those rules don’t necessarily “work” after all.

I don’t need to worry. Or feel guilty.

And then I remember….Oh yeah, I went to boarding school too. For my 9th grade year. My parents were in Ethiopia; I went to Kenya. I don’t know who cried more—my mom or me. We didn’t feel any pressure for me to go—we just both knew that it was the right choice.

And it was hard. I cried a lot. There was no internet back then. I got to talk on the phone with my parents once a month. My mom and I handwrote letters to each other each week.

But you know what? It was one of the most incredible times of my life. Not necessarily fun. But my maturity grew in leaps and bounds. My faith in God became my own for probably the first time. It was, certainly, one of the best things that happened to me.

Reb Bradley writes, “Sometimes as parents we give ourselves way too much credit for the power we have in our children’s lives.”

Amen. May I remind myself of that daily as I seek to do my job well, without any regrets, and yet ultimately know my children are in God’s hands.

(But I’m still afraid to count to three. 🙂

Grace for the Day

By Amy Medina

On October 7, 2011

In Other

I don’t have many complete and coherent thoughts these days. They come in scattered little bursts and are mostly focused on the next thing to get done.

This has been the hardest parenting month of my life. And I feel like such a wimp, knowing that there are many moms out there who have special needs children or lots more children than me, and I wonder how exactly they do it, since I feel like at any given moment I just might burst into tears. I daydream of sending Josiah to pre-school. Or boarding school.

I guess I had it easy before, since I had never had three children all crying at the same time. Or have a child throw a fit in church before. Or in the Benson Online Internet office. And when people in said internet office first question whether or not these really are my children, and look at me very skeptically when I assure them that they are, and then I have to carry said children out bodily, kicking and screaming simply because of one yellow crayon, it doesn’t do much for one’s self-confidence as a mother.

Whenever I think I have learned a lesson in selflessness, my children make sure I have another. I end the day emotionally and mentally exhausted though I haven’t done any real coherent thinking. Disciplining all day long makes me want to crawl into a hole. I can’t minister to people the way I want to; I don’t have time to read; nothing ever seems to be done well. I just realized today that I will have to miss our mission’s conference in Kenya next April (which only happens once every couple of years) because Lily won’t have a passport by then. I cried.

Yet I am so thankful. Thankful for this chance for my own self-will to be ripped out of me. Thankful that I can learn, one more time, that God doesn’t need me to “get things done” the way that I think He does. Thankful for the opportunity to be confronted with my own selfishness. Thankful to learn just a little bit more what it means to lay down my life. To have my pride cut out from underneath me that somehow I thought I was a “good” mother…whatever that means anyway.

It’s all grace. Grace if I am able to get through a day. Grace if I get a good night’s sleep. Grace that my daughter is doing so well in school. Grace that Lily has shown such tremendous progress. Grace that I have been given good work to do. Grace if my children turn out “right.” Grace that I am His. That I have a purpose, a plan, true love, this great salvation, a future filled with hope. Not much else matters other than grace.

Everyone needs a little Grace in their lives. Or a lot.