Monthly Archives: March 2017

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Lovence – special needs, special boy (unexpected, unbelievable, beautiful).

For a boy who doesn’t speak, he sure says a lot.

And he surprises me. All the time.

Lovence was rescued from a mountain village in May, 2012. He was four years old and fourteen pounds. He couldn’t walk or talk, he gorged himself on food only to throw it all up. He was never expected to survive…

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And yet he did.

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When the orphanage director asked if we would consider adopting him, I was scared. I’m an older parent. I’m limited on energy. I’m selfish. Could I take on a boy with such severe special needs? Did I have it in me?

I prayed. I wondered. Brian prayed. We talked. We asked.

We went to visit and held him in our arms.

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We were still scared, still uncertain. But our hearts were opened to a beautiful boy with an amazing heart.

I’m embarrassed when I think back to my questions. I feel so grateful today. So honored. So blessed. He is an incredible boy with a heart of gold. For a child who was neglected and abused, his heart is full of love. For a boy who suffered so deeply, he loves so easily. He is strong, kind, loving and brave.

He has surprised us with his capacity. Within six months he feeds himself, makes a great cup of coffee, uses some sign language, and has gained boatloads of confidence. He is fully potty trained after eight long years (thanks to my hubby’s persistent love and care in that area). He runs and climbs and tumbles and jumps. His hearty belly laugh gets us all going – it’s wild with abandon and full of joy.

He is our miracle boy and I can’t believe we get to raise him.

When Lovence first came home, his history of heartache would leak out at night. For the first five months, he would cry nearly every evening when we put him in bed. We’d cuddle next to him and wipe the tears from his cheeks. We’d pray and talk and hold him fast. One evening I took him to bed and curled up next to him. I expected tears, but when I looked over – glimmering in the dark were his bright beautiful teeth. He was smiling. He leaned in close and put his head on my shoulder.

Oh, how I love you son.

Lovence sits with us every Sunday at church. He’ll hold our hands and lean against us. Last Sunday, he held his arms up to me and I lifted him up. He smiled his beautiful smile and as the music played he lifted his face skyward.

He was worshipping. I have no doubt. 

And that made me think about heaven one day. Of course I hope he gets to speak and use words here, but if not, I will get to hear him in heaven. His body will be healed, the broken synapses in his mind will be fully restored. He’ll run up to me with a strong gait and wrap his arms around me. “I love you, Mom,” I imagine him saying.

And I’ll be a puddle. A heap on the heavenly floor. Just like right now as I think of it. Tears, sniffles, joy.

I had no idea that my special needs son would be one of the greatest gifts God would ever give me.

But he is.
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Samantha – the little of our bigs (my guinea pig baby)

Poor Samantha. She was my parenting guinea pig.

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For thirteen years she was an only child. When I married Brian, she became the youngest of four. Then we adopted four little ones and now she’s smack in the middle of eight.

Talk about an identity crisis. She likes to joke that she has issues from every season. Poor thing. It’s not easy controlling the world while being the center of attention and yet still working to make sure everyone gets along.

I’m sorry, babe.

Samantha saw me at my worst. I remember when I quit smoking – and then gave in to a craving. I stood outside our little duplex after she went to bed and I lit up. Moments later as I put the cigarette to my lips, I looked in the sliding glass window to see her pale face pressed up against it, tears in her eyes. I had told her I wouldn’t smoke again and her deep disappointment flushed my cheeks red.

Parenting fail.

Sam saw me at my best. I remember falling so in love with Jesus and worshipping as I worked out in my garage one night. I was singing, loud and off key, eyes closed. When I opened my eyes she was standing there, big smile on her face. She came over and leaned in to kiss my cheek. “You really love him, don’t you mom?”

“Oh baby, I do. I really do.”

Later that night she had a youth event. When she climbed back into the car, she told me how they had to write something on a piece of paper and throw it into the fire. A wish, a hope, a dream and then give it to God. I asked her what she wrote. She smiled at me. “I wrote that I want to love Jesus like my mom loves Jesus.”

Parenting win.

I was messy with Sam. Broken and foolish some days, smart and adventurous on others – and she took every bit of the ride with me. She had a front row seat to the drama of my recovery from selfishness/stupidity/sin (a drama still unfolding). The good decisions followed by lousy ones with some random perplexing ones in between.

I let good people into her life. I let stupid people into her life. I was her hero and her heartbreak. We chair danced on eternal road trips and ate ramen noodles with gusto and delight. We slept out on the trampoline, walked to the 7-11 for ice cream cones, laughed until our bellies hurt and curled up to watch one hour of Full House nearly every night.

She spent way too much time in daycare and grew up way too soon.

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But we did it together.

Sam is now 25 years old. She works full time as an escrow processor, has her own place and is proud owner of a beautiful german shepherd, Captain. She is smart, kind, strong and belly laugh funny. She is fiercely loyal and an unwavering advocate for the underdog. She loves deeply. She’ll come over these days and wrap her arms around me in the middle of our chaos. I’ll let go. “Not done, Mom.” And I’ll wrap my arms around her again and settle in to her warm embrace.

Samantha is my original God kiss. My love for her made me want to be a better human. And because of my trial and error with her, my other seven God kiss babies get a better me.

Thank you, Samantha. I love you.

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