Once our eyes are opened

Once our eyes are opened, 

we can't pretend we don't know what to do. 

God who weighs our hearts and keeps our souls, 

knows that we know, 

 and holds us responsible to act. 

 Proverbs 24:12

Angela     11

Camille     5

Daniel     6

Hanson     6

Eric   3

Mikey     4

Nana     5

Noel    7

Quinn    7

Vijay    4

Valery    5

What do all these little ones have in common?  

That they all look pretty helpless?  

That they are all passed over, again and again, on the waiting child list?  

That they all are diagnosed with hydrocephalus?  

That they are all beautiful?  

That they are all waiting for somebody to take a leap of faith and claim them as their very own child?  

If you said "All of the above," you are correct.  

These children are all featured on Reece's Rainbow, and have all been waiting for years and years to be chosen.  

Hydrocephalus can be a very intimidating diagnosis to commit to.  It's so risky.  The unknown is daunting.  

Many of you will remember seeing the following photo on the waiting child list a while back:

Of course, you won't find his photo there any longer.  God prompted the hearts of a very ordinary mom and dad:

to take a huge leap of faith

and to commit to this tiny little lamb of a boy.  Back then he was known as "Edwin," and his medical description was definitely enough to keep this mom and dad awake at night more than a few nights while they waited to finally meet him.  What would he be like?  What would he need?  Would he spend half his life in a hospital?  Would he need immediate surgery when he arrived home?  Would they be able to care for a child with such extensive needs?  Could they afford to parent such a child?  How would it affect their other children to add this child to the family?  Those parents, of course, were Derek and myself, and I just came across a video I took of him on our second visit with him:

Yes, that was my son.  Weak.  Scared.  Frighteningly thin.  Nearly bald, with flaky, scabby skin and dry, cracking lips.  Helpless.  Avoiding eye contact.  Not wanting to be touched.  Screaming in terror when hugged or picked up.  Looking cautiously hopeful one moment, then miserable and close to tears the next.  Unable to hold up his own head.  Hands so weak they could barely hold on to a toy.  Not that he had any idea what to do with a toy anyway.  To go back now, months later, and watch this video again now, I see how completely shut down and stoic my dear Micah was in the previous chapter of his life.  

I had forgotten.  

If you read this blog often, you probably already know that the boy in the video above is a boy we do not see around here anymore!  Now, five short months later, we have a feisty, curious little firecracker of a boy, determined to get into things, slam doors, climb all over the furniture, and make lots and lots of noise!  

He loves to cuddle and to be tickled.  

He loves to pull himself to standing and to exercise those skinny little legs, over and over again, all day long.  
He loves to scoot himself into his brothers' and sisters' bedrooms and get into their stuff.  

He loves to eat oatmeal and yogurt and ice cream.  
He loves to go to therapy.  

He loves to be tucked into his feather-soft bed every night with his story, song, and prayer, and he loves, even more, to be waken up every morning by his mommy and share a big giggly cuddle.  This precious little miracle of a boy loves life!

I ask that you, my dear readers, would scroll back up to the top and look into the eyes of those waiting children again.  And that you would pray for each child, by name, that their turn will come soon.  That some mom and dad somewhere will answer God's holy nudge and take a leap of faith.  That those parents will be able to look past the diagnoses and see the light shining in those sweet faces.  Pray with me that each one of those children might know life outside of a crib.  That somebody will give them a reason to hope.  That they might have a chance to get into stuff and explore and go to therapy and get the medical treatment they so desperately need.  And the love of a family that they need even more.  
Pray!  

With God all things are possible.

Matthew 19:26

River Festival

Ever tried taking six kids to a really noisy, crowded, busy street festival?  Alone?  Without back-up?  Four of those kids with special needs?  Two in wheelchairs?  If you have not yet had the pleasure of this experience, here is a peek at how that looks:

 In other words, not too bad.  We survived, anyway!  Sweet, dear Micah was absolutely miserable, feeling overwhelmed and overstimulated, and made sure to let everybody know it.  For three hours straight he let everybody know just how miserable he was.  He made a good go at trying to make the rest of us miserable as well, but luckily it was so darn noisy at this event that his crying, screaming, and shrieking were mostly drown out.

First, all six of the kids marched and/or rolled in the Kids Parade.  No pictures of that, as I also found myself marching in the parade, and was too busy trying to distract my writhing, hysterical little Micah while also carrying my whooping, hair-pulling Gideon in a backpack, push two wheelchairs simultaneously, calm Isaac down because he wasn't sure he was going to hear the announcer say his name over the sound of Micah screaming, and trying to complement and acknowledge the not-freaking-out behavior of Josiah and Gracie in the midst of all that.  Whew.  Needless to say, I was ready to go home at that point, but Isaac had been looking forward to the talent show ALL YEAR LONG, so of course we couldn't leave yet!  After the parade, he ran to the van, retrieved his violin, and entered himself into the talent show.  Here he is, eagerly waiting for his turn on the stage (while admiring his participation medal for marching in the parade):

 I *almost* had the camera ready in time to catch all of his performance.  Isaac forgot to use the microphone, but you can see that it turned out fine.  And my dear Isaac never suffers a moment of stage-fright.  It just doesn't occur to him to worry about other people and what they might think.  I can't even imagine!  I would faint if that were me up there!

 

And when the talent show was over, Isaac was awarded first place!  He hadn't realized that there was a $25 prize, and he is seriously over the moon with excitement about the mind-boggling possibilities that this windfall presents:

Meanwhile, Micah was still desperate to go home:

 Gideon had calmed down and was loving riding 

on mommy's back in the Ergo:

 Isaac was just glowing:

 Blessing was adorable, as always:

 and Josiah and Gracie were itching 

to play some carnival games:

 Micah was absolutely inconsolable, did not want anybody to touch him or talk to him, and just really, really did not want to be there.  I totally felt for the little guy, but seriously, the other kids had been looking forward to this event for a full year.  How completely unfair would it have been to make everybody else leave?  I felt really torn, knowing how miserable Micah was, but we can't just sit inside our house forever for fear that Micah might cry, either.  And I had been hopeful that he would react better than he did.  If you recall, he was very calm at the Fourth of July festival just a few weeks earlier.  I take him out in public quite often now, and more often than not, he is stoic and longsuffering, and sometimes I catch him actually enjoying himself.  

So I have no idea what made the difference, but I do know that Micah had decided that he was not going to stop screaming until I got him away from this torture.  It gave me (and maybe him, too) flashbacks to a very long, noisy car ride five months ago in Ukraine.  That day, so long ago, when my dear Micah, hysterically terrified, fought and screamed for HOURS during the car ride to get passports . . . Yeah.  This was very much like that day.  Except I had sort of thought we had gotten past all of that.  

But the kids had tickets, and the streets were lined with carnival games, so we stayed.  And played.  

And picked out prizes at the prize booth.  Whoopee cushions and plastic parachuting men and lollipops and those flimsy balsa-wood gliders that break when you try to put them together . . . ahhhh!  Kid heaven! 

 Finally I figured out that if I put a lollipop into Micah's mouth every time he tried to wail, he would clamp his mouth shut.  He really doesn't like lollipops.  He would rather be quiet than be forced to taste a lollipop.  After three hours straight of hysteria, he was finally quiet. 

 Micah even calmed down enough to eat some ice cream!  (He loves ice cream.)  So we ended the event on a good note.  Full tummies, empty wallet, pockets full of trinkets, useless plastic junk, and candy wrappers, and Isaac swinging his violin case in one hand and a first-place medal in the other.  And boy, was Micah relieved when we finally piled into the van to head back home.  But next year?  I am bringing some back-up!

The Unfortunate Haircut

Not exactly adoption-related, since Gideon was only watching and giggling, and had the good sense to remain uninvolved, but Josiah found some scissors and decided to give his little sister her first haircut.  sigh.  I was not planning on cutting Gracie's hair quite yet.  She suddenly looks so much . . . older.  

Little Gracie before the haircut, with baby-soft hair trailing half-way down her back:

 

Gracie's unique multi-length "layered" look, courtesy of a big brother who really should have known better . . . I'm just glad we caught him when we did.  Who knows how much more he would have chopped?  It could have been much worse, I know:

 

 After a trip to the beauty parlor, Gracie is sporting this cute big-girl look:

Not really a huge change, I know, but my baby is just growing up before my very eyes!  It's just taking me some time to adjust to her being a big girl, I guess.  But long hair, short hair, or bald, my Gracie is beautiful, full of sweetness and grace and sugar and spice.