The first fall of snow is not only an event, it is a magical event. You go to bed in one kind of a world and wake up in another quite different, and if this is not enchantment then where is it to be found? – J. B. Priestley
Happiness is not a matter of intensity but of balance, order, rhythm and harmony. – Thomas Merton
I used to believe that happiness was a matter of intensity. I craved stimulation of all the senses, all the time. I needed to feel life in order to be sure I was alive.
Over the last year, I’ve had more stimulation of the senses than I could ever have dreamed. We all have. That constant onslaught makes you tender and sore. It makes you crave quietude. And it often makes happiness feel elusive. We forgot how to be happy in the storm that is trauma. Trauma is evil. Trauma steals all good things. It is hell.
And then Brian and I had a talk at a restaurant dinner table recently…
The gentle, orderly rhythm that is provided by our prayer life and homeschool studies, the flow of the liturgical seasons, the joy of marking holidays and holy days with simple, joyful celebrations. That is what heals the soul, what brings happiness back to the hearth, what dispels darkness.
“If geography is prose, maps are iconography.” Lennart Meri
It has been a light week here since we finished our main lesson block on Tuesday. So today, Louis and Sophie made up a game to play with the United States map. It’s rather like that game you play with a group of dots where each player takes a turn making a line between two dots and the one who closes the box claims it. Louis won this time ’round.
And then Louis spent some time tracing rivers and highways. We talked some about our friend Fran who walked the entire length of Route 20 from Albany (Oregon) to Boston in 2012.
Then the older kids worked together to locate both state and national capitals. And then made the map of the world look like a nice game of Global Thermonuclear Warfare. It was at once amusing and slightly unsettling. The winner for the longest range missile is Tonga, which managed to reach Japan going round the long way.
Geography was my favourite subject growing up and I’m extremely gratified that my own children are having so much fun with it, too.
In case you’re curious, our pretty maps are from National Geographic, and our frames are from Michael’s. The latter are wood with a plastic sheet to protect the maps. We just use regular dry erase markers.
Today is one year. One year since we walked into that orphanage in a tiny Bulgarian village and our world changed forever.
For many families, the day that they arrive at the orphanage (or foster home) to pick up their child(ren) is a happy day to be celebrated every year. But when you adopt an older child – a much older child – it’s a day that is bittersweet to commemorate. It is the day on which they are rescued. It is the beginning of a new life, a second chance. It is a full ride to the School of Love.
But it costs them everything.
It is the day on which they’ve lost all that they know. Everything. It is devastating. They have lost their language and culture, they’ve lost all of their friends, they’ve lost familiar surroundings, and any adult they had come to trust. They’ve lost the possibility of being reunited with their birth family. No matter what we are to our children, how much we love them, how hard we try to keep language and culture alive, we are not replacements for those people and things they’ve lost. They are being saved from a life they (please, God) will never truly understand. But they won’t know that until they are grown, until they are themselves parents. Perhaps they will never fully appreciate what they have lost and gained.
It takes enormous strength to leave behind little pieces of their hearts and give the rest to someone new. #adoption @familycentered
It takes a great measure of bravery for these kids to keep their heads up and move on into a new life about which they know nothing. It takes enormous strength to leave behind little pieces of their hearts and give the rest to someone new. Some kids, particularly much older ones, can never give the rest of their hearts to their new families. They cling desperately to the remains. They don’t know that this act of preservation isn’t saving them at all. They slowly die inside. Only they can choose whether to love or not. Some never choose love.
We left pieces of our hearts behind in Bulgaria, too. One child in particular became very special to us throughout the process of adopting Nick and Olivia. We left the orphanage that day knowing that we might never meet again this side of Heaven. And we loved each other well. We smiled and we laughed, we hugged and we kissed. We held hands. And we wept. We sobbed as we tore pieces of our hearts off and handed them to each other. And it remains one of the most enduring and precious memories I have.
For the work that God has done through us.
For the children we rescued.
For the love they’ve brought into our lives.
For their resilience, and their bravery.
For the strength we have gained through the difficulties.
For the wisdom and courage to follow our hearts.
For the desire to keep on helping those left behind.
For a daughter who is ever present in our hearts, if not in our arms.