Magnetics in the Toilet and Missing Greek Mythology Papers

Our youngest daughter, whom we often refer to as Nappy (short for Napoleon -- she's quite a dictator, although not a very successful one), has, of late, been spreading her wings. Her most recent outstanding accomplishment was climbing into her wheelchair, but the list goes far beyond that.

She has also discovered the joy of pulling step stools where 'ere she wants to climb. This new freedom and confidence is great. However, it's leading to some fairly easy to solve mysteries.

For instance, Swimmer Girl (my nine year old) had spent a week writing synopsis of information on various Greek Gods and mythology about them. A week. For her, that's a significant chunk of her lifetime. The papers, which were kept on her desk, are now no where to be found. Needless to say, she wasn't happy about going back to the drawing board, and I'm still not sure where they went, except that I suspect a cute little blond girl toting a step stool may have had something to do with the disappearance.

Not long after that we had the "mystery of the missing bracelets". My poor persecuted Swimmer Girl could not find her bracelets that she had left on the dining room table. Oddly enough they turned up under the table cloth, near Nappy's seat. Again, I can't be certain, but I believe this was a crime branded with a capital "N".

Then, there were the magnetics in the toilet. I saw them as I was about to lift her onto the toilet.

"Hey," I observed, my Sherlock Holmes nature shining through, "There are magnetics in the toilet! How'd those get there?"

Totally innocent blue eyes, eyes wide with shock and horror, looked back at me.

"I have no idea."

"Did you put them in there?"

"No."

I called to whatever kids were nearby and all but my 5-year-old princess came in. I looked at the 4 of them. The truth was fairly obvious.

Looking at my 11, 10, and 9 year old, I said, "Well, I know it wasn't you, you, or you... so you all can leave."

Nappy looked at me. I said, "It's pretty obvious isn't it."

"Yes," she replied, eye lashes batting. "It must be ****." Of course, blame the sister!

I called our princess in, and asked her what she knew about it. Nothing. I looked again at Nappy.

"Sorry mommy, I think it was me that dropped them in the toilet."

"Why?" I asked. I'm a glutton for punishment, so I always ask that question. Really, I understand that there is no reason why. But, somewhere, deep in my heart, I just have to believe that children do have a reason for what they do.

"Because." She responded.

"Not good enough." I said, "Why did you drop the magnetics in the toilet."

"Mom," she sighed. "You know...." She looked at me, pursed her lips and shook her head. "It is what it is."

I had to ask, didn't I? I hoped that perhaps a natural consequence would drive the point home. Unfortunately, having her retrieve them didn't produce the repentance I had hoped. There was no sadness about sticking her hand in the toilet -- only mild curiosity and something akin to.... pride?

"Guess what guys!" she told her siblings, "I stuck my hand in the toilet and MOMMY told me to!"

Ya, right. Show me a Dobson book that addresses a kid like that!

How Do You Climb into Your Wheelchair? "By My Own!"

Climbing into a wheelchair might not seem like a big accomplishment, but to us it is! We were told, almost a year ago, that our youngest daughter would not only never be able to climb into a wheelchair, but to also wheel one! Now she can do both!




Her accomplishment makes me think of Helen Keller's famous quote, "Though the world is full of suffering, it's also full of the overcoming of it."

Blue Jays, Exercise and Spritual Growth

Over Christmas, we got the wonderful privilege of paying a plumber thousands of dollars to rip up our front yard and replace the main drain leading to our home. The result was a nice rescinding of the sewage in our basement, and a terrible increase of mud everywhere else. Now,what was once our front yard became a mound of mud (to which I was always telling green bottle boy, "no, you can't climb it, no you can't climb it, no you can't climb it. Okay, fine, you can."). After a month of heavy rain, it took on the look of a giraffe grave yard -- one long hole in the ground with dirt mounded around the hole. Then, after my husband and three oldest kids shoveled for a while, it looked like a big slop of mud. And, now, that's where it's staying until the weather is such that we can seed the grass.

I hate paying plumbers. I hope I'm not offending anyone with that, because I really appreciate plumbers, I just hate paying them. I hate paying doctors, too, but it's all necessary. I hate how it looks, and I really hate all the mud. No matter what we do, the mud spills onto the sidewalk, the porch and the kids' shoes. It gets on my daughter's wheel chair, and then we have mud all over the house.

While I'm at it. I also hate to exercise. It's just so boring no matter what I do. I used to exercise with this video I bought at half-price books, but after watching the same video again and again, then I got to the point where I was mocking the exercise guy and thinking, "If he says, 'You can do it! This ain't no fluff! If you want fluff go and buy a pillow!" again, I'm going to find him and stuff a pillow in his mouth!" It was worse than the Christian radio host who went through a phase saying, "That gives me glory bumps!" Oh grow up already! Nobody says that!

So, sometimes I can find something interesting to watch at the gym while I exercise. That's pretty good, but then you have to get up really early in the morning if you don't want to wait for a treadmill or take the kids with you. Who wants to get up out of a nice warm bed early in the morning to go work a treadmill? I sure don't! But, in an effort to be Christ-like towards the guy in my workout video, I decided that I have to take the early morning at the gym tactic.

You might be wondering what my dirty front yard, and exercise has to do with anything, especially blue jays, but I really do have a point. See, the dirty front yard also got us thinking about moving again. We've really wanted to move into a bigger and flatter house. However, when it came to the point where we had to pay for the plumbing this Christmas, we realized that we couldn't do both. Even though we feel crunched in our house, and even though we really want to move into something where the girls can be more independent in the bathroom, it's just not an option for us right now. Needless to say it was a disappointment. I hated that mud.

Then, yesterday, as the kids and I were sitting in our living room reading the Bible, one of the kids jumped up and pointed out the window.

"Look!" he said, "Blue Jays!"

Sure enough, on the mud in our front yard were 4 or 5 beautiful blue jays pecking at the ground. They were gorgeous in contrast to all the mud surrounding them. As we watched them, two male cardinals joined them and our little front yard was speckled with brilliant reds and blues. Soon other smaller birds were joining them: robins, chickadees, and finches. Then, one of my kids noticed something else.

"All the birds are only in our yard."

They certainly were! With all the mud in our yard, it was a feast of exposed worms, grubs and pill bugs. If a car passed at that moment, they would've thought that Dr. Doolittle lived at our house. And, if you could've seen the excitement on my children's faces, you would've thought that the Cincinnati Zoo had set up shop in our front yard.

Really, from Green Bottle Boy's perspective, the mud is one of the greatest blessings God has poured out on him! This morning, as I sat in the chair near our front window praying, I started thinking about how the mud is really a blessing for all of us. I really don't want to be an "upwardly mobile"-focused family. I want to teach them to be content where ever we are, even if where we are isn't comfortable, even if it isn't "functional" by our standards. If we really need a different house, God will send us the means to have a different house. Our job isn't to concern ourselves with that, it's to use our current house to practice contentment and endurance.

Now, you might still wonder what exercise has to do with all this. We'll my quiet time this morning came about directly from exercise.

This morning, as the alarm clock went off, my husband and I had a session of mutual submission. I was so tired, the room was so cold and I just didn't want to get up. However, I just didn't want to look like I was a slacker. It seemed like it would all work better if I could make it look like I was only thinking of other people.

"You can go to the Y first, really I don't mind." I said, certain that I could get him to go first, and then it'd be too late for me to go in the morning.

"No, that's okay." Darn it!

Hit the snooze. 9 minutes later there's more beeping.

"You can go ahead, sweetheart. After all, you have be at work by 8:00."

"No, that's okay. You can go first."

Hit the snooze. 9 minutes later there's even more beeping.

"You can go ahead, you should leave now. It's too late for me, but if you go now, then there's still time for you to workout before work." See? I'm a really sacrificial spouse!

Silence.

"I think that I should have my quiet time first."

What a great guy! Here I was thinking about how I could get myself out of exercising, and he came up with the way to get us BOTH out of it (until evening, at least)! It was too late to exercise because we had to spend time with God! Obviously that has to come first!

Ahh! Exercise! See! It can lead to spiritual growth!

Darfur: Another Way to Help

Below you can see my beautiful children, doing their part to help stop a genocide. You can too, by going to this link . The Chinese government, by not only purchasing over 70% of Sudan's oil, but by also supplying the government with the weapons necessary to accomplish their genocide, needs to see that people know what's happening. Savedarfur.org is publishing these photos on their website and will also print them on banners to be displayed at a rally on April 9th in San Francisco. Again, another way to help -- for free!

Darfur and the Good America

I just finished reading another great book. If you read my blog, you probably wonder how I have time to raise 5 children, home school them and read so many books. It's really quite easy. I just don't clean my house. No one seems to care anyway, and I would rather read than clean. I also blame my husband because he brings me books every day, and I figure that if he really wanted a clean kitchen floor, he'd stop bringing home so many books.

Anyway, this book is called The Translator: A Tribesman's Memoir of Darfur. As you can also probably tell from my blog, I'm not really into light reading. Sometimes I am, but mostly I'm into reading stuff that's exciting, controversial or at least unusual. The author of this book Daoud Hari, is a Zhaghawa tribesman from the Darfur Region of Sudan. Although he's from a small village in the desert, he was able to obtain an education and speaks several languages, thus has worked as a translator for the reporters wanting to enter Darfur and retrieve the truth about what's happening there.

Incidentally, for people who don't know what's happening there, it's a genocide. There are two groups of people in Sudan: indigenous Africans and a ruling Arab minority (placed in charge of Sudan when Britain pulled out back in the 1950s). General Omar Hassan Ahmad Al-Bashir is the president of the Sudanese government. He has overseen the expansion of sharia law, and closed the mouths of all opposition. He also has established friendly ties with Osama bin Laden and other fundamentalist terrorists (of the muslim variety, not Jerry Falwell), allowing them to open training camps in Sudan. Yet, our military is caught up in a war in Iraq! Go Figure.


Without going into what is probably necessary detail, Bashir armed traveling bands of Arabs, called Janjaweed, to wipe out the indigenous population of Darfur. The death toll estimates range from an unlikely 100,000 to the more-than-likely 400,000, with about 200,000 refugees fleeing to the neighboring country of Chad since the year 2003.

While Hari tells the horrifying story of his country, I'm impressed with his faith in the sovereignty of God (while he and I would differ on exactly who God is -- he's Muslim). Many times through out the book, Hari takes courageous steps to sneak reporters into Darfur, and continues down incredibly dangerous roads believing he is doing what God requires of him. The other aspect about him personally that comes through in the book is his sense of humor, with chapter titles such as "Our Bad Situation Gets Worse" (He, a driver and reporter, had been captured and beaten in the previous chapter -- getting worse was days of imprisonment and torture), and also in his whimsical one-liners that were interspersed throughout the story. Not enough to laugh out loud, but enough to see not only his humanity but the humanity of the people that are being slaughtered.

There were also interesting parts in regard to the USA. After he, an American reporter and their driver were captured, beaten and then transferred to a government detainment center, he wrote about how bleak their future looked. A cruel military leader, believing that they were spies, had just informed them that they were going to be tortured until they revealed all their information.

"Torture was the popular new thing," writes Hari "because Guantanamo and Abu Ghraib were everywhere in the news at that time, and crazy men like this were now getting permission to be crazy."

Just a little sentence, written by someone who now lives safely in America, that should just send shock waves of guilt down every American's spine. Guantanamo, while revealing just how "christian" our nation really is, has brought a totally different American influence to the world than most Americans would hope. What an incredible shame. What an incredible evil.

But then, the other side....

After weeks of prison and daily torture, the prisoners were moved again, and this time, finally taken to a court. When they walked into the courtroom, there awaited a surprise:

"What was extraordinary was that standing in the back of the courtroom were four U.S. soldiers in their uniforms: a Marine, two U.S. Army Officers, and a U.S. Air Force officer. I had some idea that some wheels were turning to do something for us. But look at these guys, My God, you have no idea what they looked like to us. They came up to us, and Paul [American Reporter] was very moved to see them. This made the officers very emotional and everyone was wiping their eyes.

"Depending on your situation in the world, U.S. soldiers may not always be what you want to see, but for the first moment in all this time, I thought that I would probably not die today. I did not think the danger was over....but certainly not today -- not with those guys in the back of the room smiling and winking at us. The good America was in the room." (italics mine!)

The Good America! Wouldn't it be great if we were always the "good America"? I felt really proud to be American when I read that. Am I part of the "good America"? I hope so! I've seen the good America when I saw the line of hopeful immigrants waiting to try for an immigrant visa at the Warsaw embassy in Poland. I saw the good America in my daughters' orphanages when most of the children there were wearing clothing donated by Americans. I also saw it when I was told by many people in those countries that they knew that Americans would come to adopt the girls -- no one else would be willing. Even in this book the author points out that many communities in both the US and Europe have taken in thousands of Sudanese refugee boys and helped them start new lives. It just stinks that when we're not good, we're really bad.

I won't ruin the rest of the story by telling you how it ends, although you'd have to guess that Hari doesn't die since he wrote the book. However, I will lead you to an interesting thought.

There is a really easy way that you can influence the tide of events in Darfur!

All wars have to be financed in someway. Certainly, as an American currently financing a war, you're aware of that! The genocide in Sudan is being financed by the selling of Sudan's oil and natural resources. The biggest offender is China (who also politically supports the government of Sudan), but unfortunately, a number of large American investiment firms invest in the companies that are buying that oil! Over 70% of the profit from selling that oil goes into the genocide, and without the money, the genocide would have to stop. This idea is called "divestment", and has been used to peacefully bring about change in other international violent situations.

By clicking on this link you can go to the Divest for Darfur website and sign a petition to urge the big offenders to withdraw their support and invest elsewhere. It only takes a few seconds to do, and, especially if you have money invested with these banks, it's something you really should do.


To quote Hari, "The leaders of the world can solve this problem, and the people of Darfur can go home,if the leaders see that people everywhere care deeply enough to talk to the about this... For it has no meaning to take risks for news stories unless the people who read them will act."

Well, you've read it, so now it's time to act. Be Good America. Be Christ.

The Race Factor

Well, the other day, my daughter had her first experience with racism. She's taking a gym class at our local Y, and the grievous (more for me than her) event happened there. They had been placed into different groups for relay races and a little boy -- the one with the green shirt, according to my daughter-- tapped her on the shoulder and said, "You're funny looking."

She turned around and ignored him. He tapped her again. She looked at him.

"You have funny eyes and really funny puffy cheeks. You're funny looking."

When she told me this, I had to remind myself that this was a little kid. I had to bite my tongue,because I couldn't sink to his level no matter how much I wanted to sweetly say, "I'm sorry that happened honey. The poor little boy is obviously really stupid and has culturally ignorant parents. He probably never leaves his house and his only experience with other cultures is Dora the Explorer. These are the people we pity, dear, because these are the people that lead truly pitiful, unenlightened lives."

Instead, my heart buckled a little and I said, "What did you do?"

"Nothing. He hurt my feelings and made my eyes feel like I had tears." She looked at me, and I had to inwardly laugh that ANYBODY would think a girl as absolutely beautiful as my daughter was funny looking. Then she went on.

"But then a funny thing happened. I couldn't think of anything to say then, but then the rest of the day I thought about all the things I should've said to him."

I explained to her the normal human failing of only being able to think of a comeback hours after an experience happens and then asked her, "What did you think?"

"I should've told him that I was from a part of the world where everyone has puffy cheeks. That there is a whole country full of beautiful puffy cheeked people and that that's what I am. I am a beautiful Kazakh girl."

Oh YA! That's my girl!!!! She's a doll and she knows it. Still, though, there's a part of me that grieves over the fact that there will always be stupid people, and most of them don't have the excuse of being a 5-year-old boy.

I was thinking of this in light of all the race-talks surrounding Obama and Clinton. While what we experience is nothing like what African-Americans experience in terms of racism, we've had a taste of it with our family, and it's definitely hurtful and frustrating.

Since we are blessed with not having cable television, and we don't watch much television news, I haven't had the privilege to see Obama's pastors infamous speech -- until today.

Admittedly, there's a lot of anger in the sermon, but there's also a lot of passion, and to differentiate the two is somewhat difficult. And, while, I'd hardly call Obama a poor black man, I think that the point Jeremiah Wright seems to be making in the beginning, is that Jesus, as a Jew living under Roman occupation, can relate to the suffering of an average black man. He's talking about a "mold", a stereo type, if you will, of what person has the advantage: white, rich and elite. Who can deny what he's saying? While there have been definite strides in the area of civil rights and equality, we hardly live in a nation where all men and women have equal advantages and equal opportunities.

On these counts, he's right. Hillary (or I) has never had a cab pass me by because of my skin color. I've never had my race defined as "non human". Although there are many people around the world that would term my girls, because of their disabilities, "non human", and we do run across those people occasionally. Nobody has ever called me, Hillary, George W. Bush or John McCain a nigger. Nobody has ever judged us because of our skin color -- it's a perspective we just can't have. It's a suffering that we can't really understand, but we sure have a calling to be sensitive to.

I do, however, identify with the need he talked about with having to work harder and prove yourself over people who are not as intelligent or qualified as you. My oldest daughter has to do this every time she tries something new with new people. It isn't fair, it isn't just and it isn't right. God does, however, bless her in that it develops a tenacious persistence and strength of character unusual in a 9-year-old. People can be as ignorant as they want in pre-judging her because of her disabilities, but in the end, God's plan will prevail. She'll accomplish all that God wants her too, and then lots of people who said she couldn't will feel really silly (as well they should!). So, these problems can be a catalyst to greater faith. I think you could say similar things about racial discrimination.

What saddened me about his sermon was that he's done the same thing as the religious right. He's politicized the gospel -- just in the opposite direction. Obama, who, while on Late Night With David Letterman, once said, "This country is still the last best hope on earth." is hardly the savior anyone is looking for. Hillary, who is not only not black, but would like to socialize everything in this nation so we can be like the second Soviet Union, and who has no understanding of poverty, discrimination or anything else, is not the savior. And, John McCain, while appearing to be a pretty good guy, isn't either. There's only one, and how sad that Rev. Wright has confused Him with these other people, and chosen to use his pulpit for political purposes (I sure hope he isn't planning on keeping any tax-exempt status with his church!) .

It strikes me that Obama's Christianity is a pretty accurate representation of American Christianity: a bit of politics, mixed with social and civic religion, and devoutly tied to a political party. It's a means to an end, just with his "end" (not meaning that physically!) being different than those on the right.


But, I have to say, that I agree with Rev. Wright about 1 thing: I'm glad that he has a God that understands what it's like to be a part of an oppressed group. I truly am, and I'm truly thankful that that same God will forgive him for his political transgressions (preaching politics in the church) just like He forgives all the religious right pastors that do the same for the Republican party.



To all the politicians out there, I'd just like to say, 'JESUS DIDN"T COME TO EARTH TO GIVE YOU A NEW DEMOGRAPHIC TO SOLICIT VOTES FROM! STOP DRAGGING HIS BEAUTIFUL NAME THROUGH YOUR GARBAGE PILE OF POLITICAL RHETORIC!"

And, to that racist little boy who said my daughter is funny-looking, I'd just like to say this:

YOU WON'T BE THINKING THAT WHEN YOUR 16!
Amen.

Two Birthdays

On March 12, my youngest son, green-bottle boy, turned 10. It's hard for me to believe all that's happened in these 10 years. His birth was the catalyst for so many choices we would eventually make with our family -- namely, the decision to adopt. When I was almost 5 months pregnant with him, a routine ultrasound revealed that green-bottle boy had a birth defect with his brain.

I was floored by the news, alone for the ultra sound (it wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last, so we didn't think we both needed to be there for it). The doctor was baffled by what was then referred to as a "mysterious bump" on his head. The mystery of it was unnerving -- it could be absolutely nothing, brain protruding though the skull or a fatty tumor. We spent the next 4 months dealing with the shock and grief involved in know that something was wrong, but not knowing what, and unsure of if he would even live.

However, on March 12 Green-Bottle Boy made his loud debut, and three weeks later had brain surgery to correct what was then diagnosed as a cranial menegecil. He made a complete and total recovery -- in fact, he smiled his first smile the evening after his brain surgery.

He was an easy going, lovable baby with a great sense of humor. The next year flew by quickly, and we drove home to my parents to celebrate his birthday -- the weekend following his actual date, the weekend of March 20, 1999.

Also on March 20, 1999, in a small city in Ukraine, unbeknownst to us, our oldest daughter was born. Her birthparents, I'm certain, had no prior knowledge of her birth defects. The shock and grief they faced on a day that they likely thought would be full of joy, was probably only increased by the negative attitudes of the doctors and nurses who should've been there to encourage and support them. But instead, likely insisted that she should be turned over to the state, that her disabilities couldn't be handled by them and that she would probably just die anyway.

I've often thought back to the irony of the fact that while I was happily celebrating the birthday of my son, far away on the other side of the world, a couple was grieving the loss of their daughter. And our daughter, an infant though she was, was grieving the loss of all that sounded and felt normal to her. I also think it's interesting that because we celebrated green-bottle boy's birthday exactly 8 days after the actual date, I remember what I was doing the day my daughter was born.

I'd be lying if I said that on her birthday I don't think of her birth parents. I do, and I suspect that at some level she does too. I'm certain that they remember that today is the anniversary of her birth. As a Mom, I know that this date must be carved into her birthmother's memory whether she wants it there or not. I wonder if they have peace, if they know Christ, and if they know that they are forgiven. I wonder if, on each March 20, they grieve for what was lost. I also wonder if they know what a great life she now has, and if they have any inkling of all the joy that they have missed over the years. I wonder if they have any idea how God's hand protected our daughter, guiding to a great orphanage and then home to a family on the other side of the world. I wonder if they have any idea how incredibly grateful we are that they left her in safe hands, and that we have been given such a tremendous gift by them.

So now, Green-bottle boy and Swimmer Girl are best friends. They love having birthdays one after another, and the are like two peas in a pod. But, I 've always really thought that they were joined long before they ever met, and you can't have one without the other.