Treasure

I've been thinking lately about what exactly Jesus meant when referred to "treasures in heaven" in Matthew 6:19-24. The obvious answer that jumps out to me is that the only thing you take from this earth to heaven is people, so the treasure would be people.

But are the treasures only people? Over the years, I've met Christians who take that so literally that they "evangelize" everyone they see, passing out tracts, witnessing to every unsuspecting waiter, waitress, cashier and banker they come in contact with, focusing on "converts" as treasures. It draws to mind the image of Scrooge McDuck from the old Donald Duck Cartoons. Whenever he'd see money, he'd get dollar signs in his eyes. These people, in my overactive imagination, get diamonds and rubies in their eyes when they see people. Instead of corporate greed, we get to see gospel greed.

At the same time, as we spent time in my daughter's orphanages, I became overwhelmed with the sense that those little children were treasures-in-heaven. I mean you can spend your money on a lot of things, but how often can you spend money on something (an adoption) and it lead to something eternal? Investing in missionaries, homeless shelters, food pantries, mentoring clubs -- they all have the potential to yield eternal treasures. Of course, treasures would still be people...

So, I want to store up these treasures in heaven and I don't want to spend my money on things that will be destroyed by moths and dust, or stolen by thieves. At the same time, I know that I can't sink every penny I have into adopting orphans, though we've done a pretty good job at that so far. Outside of the physical needs of me and my family, there are other desires as well. If all we do is sacrifice everything, then I know that, eventually, we'd become bitter angry old souls who feel isolated from life. I, personally, think that was the cause of Mother Theresa's controversial spiritual struggle. She sacrificed to the point where she actually denied herself even glimpses of God's treasures from here on earth.

So, I was thinking about what I should spend my "discretionary" income on. For my children, I can blow it all on silly things like Webkinz, dvds, trips to McDonalds, big birthday parties and big wardrobes, or I can use it to give them glimpses of God's treasures. I can take them on trips to places where we can see God's majesty, like the mountains or the oceans. I can purchase curriculum that not only develops their intellect but also stimulates their imagination, and helps them to develop intimacy with God and compassion for their fellow humans. I can also invest in lessons and activities that will give them skills to last their lifetime, giving them an outlet of joy as they minister in a world full of suffering.

For myself, wouldn't it be the same? I should invest in only the things that will bring me closer to God, give me an understanding of majesty and bring me lasting joy as I minister in a world full of suffering.

What I'm wondering, though, is if we confuse the tools we can use to get to God's treasures as God's treasure. Soccer, piano, scouting, duck farming, swimming -- these aren't God's treasures, but the joy that they can produce in us, and the relationships they can bring into our lives are. So, in confusion, we give too much time money and attention to them (we even expand them to things as silly as Circus Camp), and engage in far too many of them for our own good. Or we take something that would be good on a local level, and then extend it to the "select" level, spending our weekends travelling to other cities to compete, or spending thousands of dollars on the "perfect" instrument. Not that those things are always bad, or always bad choices, but that those things start to own us and our schedules, and then we miss the actual treasure that God had for us, the eternal part that can come from those things. We see the gift as the blessing, rather than the relationship with the Giver as the blessing. After all, when we get a gift, the real blessing is in that the giver loved us enough to give the gift.

Well, I have many more thoughts on this idea, but my 11 year old (Lawyer/Social Advocate Boy) is trying to make spaghetti sauce and my kitchen may not recover from his attempt if I don't go help him now.

Deb Fixes the Myths of Therapy

Our oldest daughter came to our home, despite multiple handicaps and a life spent in an orphanage, completely able to keep up with her peers. She could dress herself, feed herself and even handle the bathroom on her own.

So, of course, nearly every medical professional, teacher and child "specialist" we met with encouraged us to place her in therapy.

"You know, she would be able to have free occupational therapy through the state -- part of the early intervention program. Your public schools would have to pay for it." One well meaning teacher told me.



"Why?" I asked. "She can do everything at an age appropriate level."

"Yes, but, it's free and would help."

Now, I should've asked, "Help with what?" but I just let it drop.

Another problem that occurred to people was the fact that our daughter spoke "Russian". That's in quotes because she actually spoke Ukrainian, which is a different language than Russian, but I could never convince people of that.

So, people kept telling me (despite the fact that she was picking up English so fast she was speaking in full sentences within a couple months of coming home) that she needed speech therapy. Of course, our insurance didn't agree, so they weren't willing to pay for it. I ended up calling our local public school to see what speech services were available for 3 year olds.

"Oh yes," the school system lady told me, "she certainly needs therapy! You need to enroll her in our preschool and then she'll get the services she needs."

"What services?" I asked.

"She can be a part of our class which has a focus on language development."

"So, all the kids have language problems?"

"Most of them."

Okay, so to learn English, I am supposed to take her away from her well-spoken older brothers and immerse her in a classroom full of kids who have language problems? Oh, that's logical!

Incidentally, 5 years later, our daughter took the Stanford Achievement test and tested at the 95th percentile and higher in her language abilities. Drat! I wish I had taken them up on that "speech therapy"! Maybe she'd actually be equal with her peer group rather than ahead of most of them.

Thankfully, our next daughter avoided all that junk, probably because her differences are not very noticeable to onlookers since it is just some missing hand and arm parts.

But our youngest, the one that can't walk, she's gotten the fullest treatment. Not just therapy, not just intervention, but a life that should be structured around therapy: therapeutic preschool.


Now, apparently, our daughter "should've" been fitted for her power chair at 18 months. She wasn't adopted until she was nearly three (what can I say, we're slackers), so she was already "behind schedule". So, to really help her catch up here was the plan:

1) Have her fitted for a 300 lb power chair that she can use no where except therapeutic preschool
2) Enroll her in therapeutic preschool so she can use the chair


Now, I love the idea of taking a child out of an institution, putting her into a family, and then placing her in an institution! That's just great for promoting healthy attachment!


Not all therapy is a hoax, of course, but I am just amazed at how quickly these professionals are willing to categorize my children. Our middle daughter provides another example. When she was originally assessed after her adoption, upon looking at her file, the first thing the occupational therapist said was,

"Well, she's from Kazakhstan so were definitely looking at fetal alcohol syndrome."

Not, "there's a chance for fetal alcohol syndrome" or "she's at risk for fetal alcohol syndrome" but, "she's got it". How's that for racial profiling?!

By the way, she doesn't have Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. Perhaps her birth family, who were Kazak, not Russian, were Muslim and didn't drink? I don't know, but I do know that I could've started years of therapy for a disability she didn't have because someone made a judgement about her based upon where she was born!

Intervention, where needed, is a good thing. Intervention, when inappropriately applied, robs my children of time they should be spending having a childhood.

Are my husband and I the only people that are really looking out for our girls?

Of course, any intervention we seek for them doesn't line our pockets or give us job security... so perhaps that's why we question more.

A Beautiful Heart

Sometimes I ponder what our oldest daughter's future would have been if we had not adopted her. While the information is always sketchy, there are some things that I do know for sure. One thing is that her caregivers were terribly worried that she would not be adopted before she turned 4. At age 4, the children are evaluated and sent to various orphanage boarding schools (rather than a baby house, which will house any baby). If there is any defect detected by this very subjective evaluation, the child is then sent to an institution for the disabled. There, she would face not only a future with no family, but with no education, near starvation and no stimulation at all. (See Abandoned to the State, Cruelty and Neglect in Russian Orphanages to get a taste of what life would be like -- these aren't photos that you would want a young child to view. ) Another thing I know is that although most people in the Former Soviet Union don't talk about it, enough have for people to know that this type of institution is far too common. Of course, even just one institution like that is far too many!

But, today, our dear little 8-year-old is not tied to a chair, or left sitting in a dark room or forced to lie in a bed all day (unless she gets in trouble, and then it wouldn't be all day, just for a while). Instead, she's out in our front yard, playing in the snow, pretending to be an Inuit foraging for food for herself and her sled dog team.


Minutes earlier she was inside, reading through a box of prayer cards that we had received from Operation Christmas Child.

"Mom, what's a refugee camp?"
"Why would we need to pray for children that are in a war? How can a child be in a war?"
"Why would a child have AIDS?"
"Why are there so many children living in sewers?"
"Why would children live in garbage dumps?"

Such hard questions to answer to a child who doesn't even really remember her life in an orphanage! All she remembers is the security of having our family, a family that is far from perfect, but much better than no family at all. In an odd twist though, she does know something about that part of her life... She'll tell people that she knows that she would have a different life in Ukraine. She does know that she would not be reading, swimming or playing the piano if she hadn't been adopted. She knows that she wouldn't know about Skyline Chili, Mexican food, or Cream of Wheat. She knows she wouldn't have her beloved service dog or a family that loves her.

Of course, that doesn't mean she's not a kid. She still disobeys, she still makes mistakes, like flushing when the plumber's working on the pipes, and she still has times where she covets what other people have. But, we never expected her to say, "Oh thank you, Mom and Dad, for rescuing me and giving me life!" any more than we expect our boys to say, "Thank you so much for birthing me and giving me life!"


Her musings, today, touched me because she does, obviously, feel a connection to suffering children. None of our other kids pay attention to those prayer cards. She studies them. She remembers to pray for them. She talks about them.

So, today I didn't ponder what her life would've been like if we hadn't adopted her, I pondered what my life would be like if we hadn't. Taking her suffering and making it mine has been one of the most defining and life changing things I've ever done -- and the most rewarding. On the day we met her, there was no question in either I or my husband's mind that this child was ours and that any of the details of her disabilities would pale in comparison to the joy of having her in our life. She sparkled like a jewel among all the adorable children in her orphanage, always a gleam in her eye. Although, I might say that sometimes that gleam is more of a spark than a gleam!

I've learned so much from her (the least of which is probably what I can do with 1 arm, making me much more efficient at many physical tasks!), that I can't even count the ways it's been a blessing. The courage that she showed during her hip surgery and recovery was far beyond anything that I could muster. Her ability to deal with the indignity of having to use a bed pan and have her parents dress her for weeks after her surgery astounded us. It was like the harder something was, the higher she rose. But, it's her unyielding belief that God is good and loves her unconditionally, despite what life has thrown at her that astounds me the most.

So today, as she innocently flipped through the cards, I was blessed once again by the fact that the Lord chose me to be the mother of such a beautiful little heart that sees past the pain and loss in her own life and desires to bless others.

Now, if only I could get her to clean her room with a good attitude!