Again.

It's a beautiful February day in Knoxville.  So beautiful and warm that if you walk outside you'd easily mistaken it for any given day in September.  It is perfect.  As I opened the sunroof yesterday and rolled down the windows in the van, I glanced back to see what Tyson thought of it.  Immediately, his face was covered in a smile from ear to ear that looked as though he was about to laugh out loud at any second.  He was oblivious to my noticing, but in that instant, I knew that despite his insisting on not speaking any Amharic, eating any Ethiopian food, or talking to anyone that reminds him of Ethiopia, you can't take the Ethiopian out of him.  That same wide-toothed grin was a constant when he sat by the window on my lap with the windows down driving through crazy traffic Addis.  His love for the wind in his face is still very much present.  My heart smiled, knowing he had to be remembering his first home, even if he never confessed it.  Sometimes, verbalizing things is just too hard, but having memories to internally review and process is a gift.  One I am grateful for. 
Our days have turned to weeks and those weeks have quickly turned to months.  We have been home 3 months and just celebrated having met Tyson for the first time 4 months ago.  Two more days and we will be 4 months since sitting in that rundown courthouse behind door 106 watching the swift strokes of the judge's pen across the page declaring Tyson our son.  The days and weeks and months at home haven't all been easy or fun, but they have all been beautiful in their own ways.  Each one purposed and refining, teaching and rewarding.  Perhaps the one thing that runs through them all like a needle on a thread, weaving them all together is this:  grace.  There have been plenty of days I have had to extend it liberally with extra intentionality and I know if Tyson were typing he would say the same thing about me.  As grace has woven in and out, there have been plenty of opportunities for me to reflect on the sufficiency of God's grace as it pertains to our need.  I will never forget since I think about it about a million times a week taking a Beth Moore bible study several years ago when she discussed His sufficient grace.  She reminded me then and He reminds me now, that His grace is fully sufficient for my need.... not my fears, not my anxieties, not what I make up in my mind MIGHT happen, but for what God actually asks me (my family) to walk through.  BIG SIGH.  What freedom!  We don't have to fret over every single "what if?" wringing our hands like we have to have it all figured it.  What we DO have to have is a whole lot of trust in the One guiding, leading, preparing the way, and walking with us. 
Most of our days are so fun.  We have many laughs throughout the day and nothing undoes me like his spontaneous hugs and his constant playing with my hair (despite the fact that I constantly have his hair oil in MY hair).  Worth it.  As most of you know, our four oldest kids go to a small Christian school housed inside our church.  This school has been, and continues to be, a huge blessing to our family.  We love the teachers and administrators as well as the other families.  When we were first trying to figure out what to do about starting Tyson in school just before we left for Ethiopia last fall, our plan was to send him to school with the other kids in January.  Then, we remembered the kindergarten teacher would be going on maternity leave in February and we knew that wasn't going to be a good situation for anybody involved (except we are over the moon excited for her and her sweet baby boy!).  So, we set our hearts on praying about what God wanted us to do and somehow before I knew it, I was homeschooling him and he was actually learning.  No one was more surprised than me.  As the days have turned to weeks, Tyson is (mostly) thriving at school.  This week has been especially challenging with more-than-normal tears over sight words and math problems, but here's the deal:  HE KNOWS THEM.  I can't even believe what a fast, motivated learner he is.  Not every day is awesome (looking at you, yesterday), but for the most part it hasn't just been rewarding to watch him learn, but it has opened up all kinds of great discussion.
For example, last week we were talking about what he wanted to eat for lunch because he now eats us out of house and home.  Something about the conversation must have made him remember about packing his lunch for school in Ethiopia.  He told me about how he had to pack his lunch every day and "carried a blue lunch box."  My heart skipped a beat which isn't entirely unusual since I have frequent PVC's but you get the point at his wanting to talk about it.  I sat up and listened intently, wanting to grab every detail.  As noted before, he typically doesn't want to have anything to do with anything Ethiopia (which is fairly normal at this point in the process).  Tyson went on to explain how one day someone pulled his blue lunchbox off of his blue backpack and broke it.  Just when you don't think you could hate a 5 year old living on the other side of the globe, you do. Well, "hate" might be too strong of a  word or maybe not.  I tried to get him to tell me the child's name, but he says he couldn't remember.  I am skeptical, but in time we can revisit it.  I asked him to tell me more.  He went on, "And then, from that day until you came to pick me up, I put my lunchbox inside my blue backpack because it was broken."  Of course you did, baby, of course you did.  Still looking intently into his face, trying to hide my shock from his opening up, I said, "what else did you do at school or at the orphanage?"  Thinking eyes.  Then he said, "we ate in blue chairs."  Something triggered in me and I remembered seeing blue stackable chairs in one of the photos we had received of him while we were still waiting.  But, I kept listening.  "And, Mommy, before this orphanage, I was at another place." I shook my head agreeing.  "And there, I ate bread and drank tea. Sometimes we had sugar for tea and sometimes we didn't.  If no sugar, then milk."  PLEAE KEEP TALKING. "We didn't always eat as much there, but I loved the bread."  And just like that, my mind and heart were struck by the reality (again) that our sweet boy has endured so much.  There is so much about his story we don't know. A life he lived before us. Without us.  When he gives us glimpses into his world before us, I am SO GRATEFUL.  When he finished talking, I attempted to prolong the conversation by going through the videos and pictures we had received of him during the wait.  He scooted up close to me and we watched and listened and looked together, his hair smelling good just under my nose.  It was as if he was understanding for the very first time how long we had known about him.  I finally found those blue chairs stacked up just over his right shoulder in a photo of him while he was doing English tutoring last July.  His eyes lit up at seeing those chairs and shaking his head, "yes." He struggled to watch the videos of him singing and speaking in Amharic and playing with his friends, but he was excited to see all of the photos.  I tried to hold back the tears as we looked together, but I couldn't keep them all in.  So many of those pictures brought back the frustration, longing, waiting, & grief that surrounded that season for me.  Yet, here we were, together, looking at those memories.  I sighed a prayer of gratitude (again) and about the time I was finishing up our walk down memory lane, Tyson looked up at me and said, "Mommy cry happy tears because I am home." And I cried.  Again. 
Just this past week, however, I saw a glimpse of the old life come through in a brief episode that came like an unexpected streak of lightning, gone nearly as fast as it had come.  Wednesday's are my night "off" from cooking dinner.  So, the kids often share a bag of French fries that Regan cooks or a sandwich or hot dogs or whatever their little hearts desire that they can make without me:). As you well know, if you are a regular to the blog, Tyson's love language is FRENCH FRIES and he asks to go out to eat for lunch everyday to get fries. So, the typical Wednesday "thing" is for Regan to make the fries and the two of them eat the majority of the batch.  This past Wednesday Tyson made his plate and loaded it down with the precise amount of ketchup he wanted and put it on the table.  About the time he went to sit down to eat, he realized he needed to use the restroom.  So, he hopped down and went off to the bathroom.  I happened to follow him in there to finish getting ready before church and everyone has to use our bathroom for everything for some reason.  As he finished up in the restroom something switched and it was as if panic took over.  He frantically started yelling, "Don't eat my fries.  Don't eat my fries," nearly in tears as he hurriedly pulled up his pants.  I was trying to reassure him that no one would touch them, but it was as if he couldn't even hear me due to his frantic state.  He ran into the kitchen, wide-eyed, fully expecting to see other kids stuffing their faces with his fries.  Suddenly it seemed as though he instantly remembered that he is here and his food is "safe."  Again, in that precise moment I saw a glimpse of a little boy who often wanted to eat, but feared for his life that there wouldn't be enough for him.  Can you even imagine my glee when he asked me for two ham sandwiches yesterday and he ate every bite?  I smiled watching, knowing each of these meals pushes those "old" fears farther away.  But, I was also struck by the tangible picture before me of how quickly our old man can rear his head.  We can bury who we were before we were adopted into Jesus' family and rise to walk a new life.  Yet, a remnant of the old man is always there. If we let our mind drift too much, in an instant we can be right back to an emotional state of trying to survive on our own, only depending on ourselves.  After Tyson realized his fries were just as he'd left them, he sat down, breathed deep, and started eating,  as if nothing had happened.  Yet, the wet streaks at the corners of his eyes were a clear reminder to us both that the old life is in there and it can't simply disappear.  I certaintly wouldn't expect or even want it to.  But, I can't walk away and not be changed.  It forces me to at least confess (again) to Jesus that I will never know exactly what it was like to watch me before I "came home."  What it must've been like for Him to be orchestrating events, circumstances, conversations, people, and protection around my life to simply let me see His love for me, while I went on my way, minding my own business.  I breathe a prayer of gratitude that I can read and see how long He waited for me and that He was longing for me to come to Him, but I can't possibly know exactly what it cost, how it felt, or how deeply He longed for me.  Those photos on the screen of Tyson from the orphanage moved me to tears because I knew the pursuit and what all it took to get here... where we were getting to really know each other.  The pursuit wasn't lost on me.  But, spiritually, sometimes I fear the pursuit and great lengths He goes to in order to show us His love and His provision over us is somehow lost in all the "newness of life".  Tyson's "I love you's" aren't non-existent and sometimes he says it and I think he even surprises himself.  But, more times than not, one of us will say, "Tyson, I love you." and his response is, "okay."  We look at each other and grin. again.  But, it doesn't change how we feel about him.  We still love him (and all the kids) with an unconditional love that can't be swayed with mere human action or word.  And then, I am drawn back in (again) to pondering over my sheer lack of  verbalizing to Jesus often enough that I love Him.  Yes, I see His handiwork, His provision, His plans, His protection, His blessings, His gifts, His opportunities, His freedom, His mercies, His grace, His forgiveness, His love.  I see it all around me... He is constantly whispering, "I love you."  Yet, sometimes all I can seem to muster up is an "okay."  It doesn't change how He feels about me one bit, but there is something inside me that wants to, not only accept His astounding love and abundant life, but to express it verbally!  Inside each of us as the war wages between the old man and the new man, we can choose to refuse to discuss the old life, the old "language," the old "friends," the old "food," the old "routine," but when the windows are rolled down and the wind blows on our face, instantly we can be right back where we came from. again.  Remembering our past is good!  It certainly gives us a clear picture of how far we've come with Jesus.  But, as each of us remember, let us do it with hearts bowed down and hands and heads raised high in gratitude with resounding, "I love you"'s for all He has done for us!
As Tyson finished up that plate of fries and brought me his plate in the kitchen, I knelt down and said, "Hey buddy, sit with Mommy for a second, " patting the kitchen floor beside me.  There, on the floor, I said, "Let Mommy take care of you.  You aren't alone anymore.  We are a family and families take care of each other.  You never have to fear not having food here.  Do you understand?"  And just like that, a tear fell on his face.  One single tear out of his left eye.  He grinned and nodded "yes."  He hugged me and played with my hair during the hug and ran to go outside.  As he did, I said, "I love you, Ty."  Just as the door closed behind him I heard, "I love you, too, mom," as he ran off to play.  I closed my eyes and whispered, "I love You, too," to the One who made me His mom and offered me the distinct privilege of seeing the gospel in a fresh, new way.  Again.