Tammy

A Chocolate Bar and Foster Care

Posted on June 19, 2016 by Tammy

I walked into class and noticed that one of my favorite students was missing. A missing student always makes my heart uneasy. It means one thing. Sickness. The news wasn’t good this time either. My 11 year old student had fallen and broken his leg. He is now on bed rest for two months.

As soon as class was over, I made my way over to the dormitory. Propped up on pillows and alone in a room full of twin size beds, I found my friend. He put on a brave face and I held back my tears as I saw his leg wrapped from his thigh down.

“Come sit down, Teacher.” He welcomed me into the room. I sat gently on the corner of his bed, hoping not to disturb his leg as he struggled to open the top drawer of the tiny plastic storage drawers that sit next to each bed. Those drawers. They represent everything that belong to these kids. It is their space. That is all that they have.

He pulled out a small chocolate bar. He held the treasure in both hands and extended them to me. “Please eat, Teacher.”

He was welcoming me. Giving me all that he had in a gesture of hospitality. My eyes were filled to the brim with tears for a second time. I shook my head and refused. I could not eat his chocolate.

He continued to insist.

My head knew that he needed me to accept. My heart was protesting. How could I take something from a child who has almost nothing.

I have been rolling this story through my mind for days. I have considered the huge smile he gave me as I broke that tiny candy in half and shared its sweetness. “You like chocolate. Right?!” He was so proud to be offering something to me. Giving and not just receiving.

The ultimate act of hospitality.

This young boy sharing a corner of his bed, giving me all that he had in joy – it is an example to me. Since his accident we have been sharing an hour, two afternoons a week. He has some small thing waiting for me and I pull out a game to amuse him. On Thursday he had saved a cherry from his afternoon fruit. (Sniff. Sniff. I mean, who wouldn’t cry over an orphan giving them a saved cherry. Right?!)

So, I have just been thinking. Often I want to make hospitality into some kind of Pinterest event. I often claim I don’t have time to have people join our table because I don’t have some perfect meal or a clean house to present. I strive for perfection and that robs me of the joy of relationship. I think great hospitality can look like a tiny chocolate bar given in great love. Maybe it doesn’t have to look like a perfect center piece, gourmet food, and well planned dinner conversation.

Because God wasn’t blowing my mind enough with this whole idea….

This week I have had the joy of watching first time foster parents prepare for a little one. They haven’t had a baby around the house in years and they were gathering things and preparing their home for a crawling, milk drinking, life-changing bundle.

Talk about hospitality. Who does that?

I was amazed. I am not talking about being amazed that they were buying things for a kiddo who will never share their name, although I think that is down right selfless. I am talking about loving a child who is not your own as if they were. Opening your home and your heart with the belief that kids need families and a safe place to learn, heal, and be loved. The foster dad said to me, “We don’t feel called to adopt, but this is a way that we can support adoption. We can love this kiddo as he waits.” That is an example of hospitality that blows my mind.

I am sorry Martha Stewart. You have nothing on my friends.

A chocolate bar. Opening your home to a foster child. Two pretty extreme examples of hospitality for me to ponder. God has been tapping me on the shoulder and reminding me to open my heart and home in a way that is unique to me whether it be big or small.

Hospitality. I am rethinking the word.

that is a wrap.

Posted on June 4, 2016June 4, 2016 by Tammy

The day that seemed so far away last August….it has arrived. We have wrapped up our school year and celebrated with some of our favorite Chinese food, hot pot. We survived. Another year of homeschooling in the books and I do believe that we all are a bit smarter. At least, I am smarter. That is something to celebrate! (My 5th time through Kindergarten was the charm. I think I might have passed this time!)

Here is a peek at what we accomplished and how much our kiddos have grown.

Little Man: Our Kindergarten graduate (kinda)

Age: 5

We started Kindergarten with this kiddo because he was dying to do school with the other kids and frankly we homeschool so we have the freedom to start when the kids want to learn. Another layer of honesty, he is a busy kid. Giving him things to learn keeps him busy with the rest of us. Win. Win. Now – what to do next fall? My grand plan had been two years of Kindergarten, then he informed me that he had passed kindergarten and sure hoped 1st grade would be more of a challenge. HA! Now, if he could just learn to sit still in a chair. Hmmm.

Favorite subject: Geography. This kid knows crazy facts about the States and can put together a State puzzle faster than I can. Need to know a capital or in what order a State entered the union? Ask Little Man. I am not joking.

What he wants to be when he grows up: A baker or a dragon trainer.

Favorite food: Noodles

Biggest accomplishment: He is well on his way toward reading and knows his basic math facts. He claims knowing how to add and subtract is not an accomplishment – “You just use your fingers. Everyone knows that.”

Little Monkey: Our 3rd Grade Graduate

Age: 9

Favorite subject: Reading and art. Little Monkey also added piano to her list of studies this year. She is whizzing through the first book, but isn’t so sure about playing in front of people for the recital coming in a few weeks.

What she wants to be when she grows up: A baker or a teacher (Not sure what is up with my kids all wanting to bake. I told them I would hire them now!)

Favorite food: Rice

Biggest accomplishment: Learning to read music and completing a special science course that she chose. If I was giving out end of the year awards, “most diligent” would be hers. She is so good about staying focused, going down her list of daily work. She is becoming more and more independent in her work. Maybe that is what I should have put for biggest accomplishment; she is growing in confidence and character.

Roo: Our 6th Grade Graduate

Age: 12

Of all of our children, Roo loves homeschooling the most. I often find her sitting in a corner of her room working away on a school assignment with headphones tuning out the rest of the world.

Favorite subject: Art and piano

Biggest accomplishment: Roo has learned how to use iMovie and is using this new platform to extend her creativity. Many afternoons, you will find her along with her two best friends dressing up for roles in the latest film they are producing. She might be creative, but she also is rock’n sentence diagraming. She can tell you the difference between an IO, DO, OPN and PN faster than any kid I know. Helps to have a daddy who is a whiz at languages. (Have I mentioned that my kids are smarter than I am? Makes homeschooling more and more challenging!)

What she wants to be when she grows up: An artist, film maker, or a beautician.

Favorite food: Broccoli soup and French bread

Soccer Dude: Our 8th grade graduate

Age: 14

This kid will be in High School this fall. What?!# He started his school career going to a Chinese emersion preschool in Michigan. It seems like yesterday…kinda. We have all come a long way since then.

Favorite subject: History

Biggest accomplishment: Surviving online classes with North Star Academy. He took two online classes this year – Math and Language Arts. It was a huge learning curve, but by the end of the year we were getting in the swing of things. We are leaning towards him taking a full course load at NSA next year. It has its pros and cons, for sure, but they offer classes he wants like Latin and advanced science classes.

What I love about homeschooling at this age…the great conversations. There is nothing like sitting down with your teen and hearing their perspective on what went wrong during the Civil War. I love hearing his passion for equality, human rights and what he would do differently if he were in leadership. Add that to his volunteer work with the disabled children at the orphanage….he is going to be a world changer. Okay, I am a proud mom. A proud mom who is struggling thru the teen years, but seeing the beauty of them too.

Favorite food: Coke and candy (Keep’n it real, folks!)

What he wants to be when he grows up: He isn’t sure. Actually, that helps this momma’s heart. He might be entering High School in the fall, but he isn’t ready to launch into the world yet. We still have some time!

Homeschooling four kids at once. Check. Makes me think I can handle five. Just say’n.

Weekend Visits

Posted on May 14, 2016 by Tammy

Some of the greatest things in my life I have stumbled into. Our weekend visits would be easily put in this category.

It started with a Christmas party. One of my art classes was able to come over to our home to decorate sugar cookies, eat pizza and see our Christmas tree. It was soooo much fun. One student wasn’t able to come because he was sick. He was disappointed and asked if he could come some other time. That is where the idea was planted.

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It has taken some time to get the approvals, but we were able to sign out the guy who missed the Christmas party. I made pizza, we took him to the park to fly a kite and my kids taught him how to play dominos. It was even more fun than the Christmas party. My sweet student ate up the one on one attention and enjoyed a Saturday out of the orphanage. My family found great joy in serving together and opening our home to this amazing kiddo.

The thing is, if I had been sitting down trying to decide how we should be spending our time this semester, weekend visits would not have made the list. I probably would have doubted if it was good for my students. I would have wondered if it would be too hard on our family. I wasn’t sure if I could handle a teen in a wheelchair. [Our city isn’t the easiest to manage if you are handicapped.] We don’t have a car. The bus and a wheelchair? Going to a park with a teen in a wheelchair? It seemed like a daunting idea. Maybe that is why God had us stumble into this. He knew I would have said no!

But, it wasn’t as hard as I thought and the blessings of the day far out weighed the obstacles. Actually, our four super kids took a vote and decided we should do it once a month.

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The next guy we wanted to have for a Saturday (we will call him Ben) often has classes on Saturday mornings so we waited and asked for him to join our family on a holiday. I asked Ben if he would want to come hang out with us – not all 12 year old boys want to go hang out with their art teacher. His response with tears in his eyes, “Oh, yes, teacher. Please take me away from here.” When the social worker suggested that we have him stay with us for the whole weekend, how could I say no? That is how we stumbled even further into our weekend visitors and the joy they are giving our family.

We had the best weekend. Ben put together his first lego set with Soccer Dude. Roo introduced him to the art of origami and the youngest two taught him many, many card and board games. He pretended to like pizza and enjoyed our time out at the park. Our family learned that having a teen in a wheelchair really isn’t that big of a deal. I can’t tell you how many times I looked up and thought – “Why do I fear older child adoption?”

It was so hard to take him back to the orphanage that Monday.

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My students – many of them are normal kids who have a hope for the future. Family would be a part of that hope. I am not saying that older child adoption would be easy, but in a few short days I realized that it would be worth all of the effort. Yet, for many of these kids the dream of family will never be realized. After a child turns 5 years old, their chances of adoption are close to none. Chances are even slimmer for boys. Most adoptive families are hoping to adopt a girl who is as young as possible. I get that. I also felt that way during our first adoption. I get wondering if a 5 year old will embrace family life, if they will overcome the years they spent in an institution, if there will be life long effects from medical needs that have gone unmet. All of these are huge looming questions in an adoptive parent’s mind and they should be considered. Then to consider all that with a 12 year old – the idea seems daunting.

But there is another side.

The next week in my art class three of the teen boys made a circle around me with their wheelchairs. They obviously had gotten all the details of the weekend from Ben. They had questions. “Ben says you have four kids…two are adopted? Where are they from? Do they know their birthparents?”

I was taken back by their questions at first. I thought they would be curious about what we ate, what our home looked like, or if we were rich. Instead all of their questions surrounded my kids.

“We are like them.” They said. “We don’t know our birthparents. We don’t have family. Why don’t you adopt one of us?”

For as long as I live, I will never forget the haunting look of a child who believes they are unwanted. My heart will be forever shaped by the hope in the eyes of these young teen boys who are desperate for the love of a mother. This is not what I used to think about when I pictured a teenage boy who has grown up in an institution. They have dreams of an education. They have hopes of leaving the orphanage, but even more they have a longing for acceptance and love that can only be found through a family – when they are given a last name.

Family. Forever. It means something. These teens know that.

Our weekend visits, they don’t meet the needs of my students, but it is something. I am hoping that these boys learn that they are loved by a teacher and her family. I also am hoping as I share their stories that the word will get out. There are 12 year old boys waiting and hoping for a family. They are not scary. They are kids. They need a last name. Pray for them. Consider adoption. Give to a family who is able to adopt. Become a foster family. Share their stories. Be a part of the solution.

Just what the doctor ordered

Posted on April 29, 2016 by Tammy

When you live in a city of 1.5 million people, a day in the forest is a much needed break, especially for Hubby and I. We both grew up country. Although I am not sure I could ever really fit back into rural farm life, at times my heart needs a hike in the woods, mud on my shoes, and the sound of birds rather than cars.

This week was “Sports Week” at the university. It is a week of track and field activities and no classes. The Chinese teachers must participate. They let the foreign teachers off the hook. So, Hubby had the week off. We used the break to rent a driver to take us out of the city for the day. Hiking and a picnic were good for our souls.

This is one of the first times we have hiked with Little Man not riding on my back. Keep in mind that his prosthetic doesn’t have an ankle joint. (Once he is older and we don’t live in a remote area, there is an option to make a leg with a moveable ankle.) At the beginning of the climb, he told the family, “This is the first time I will climb a mountain.” He picked a walking stick and set his mind to it…and did it. He kept asking if we were climbing Mt. Everest. HA. Someday Little Man, someday. He really is a wonder and I don’t doubt that he could climb Everest if he decided to.

Little Man’s favorite part of the day was conquering the mountain, but my favorite was find a clearing with a stream. We sat and rested while the kids played with sticks, dug in the mud, and got wet. A perfect afternoon in my book.

I am so thankful for God’s creation and His provision of a day off when it is needed most.

Ending the post with a few bonus pictures of the kids for Nana. They sure have grown. Probably was all the fresh country air.

Saying Goodbye

Posted on April 16, 2016April 17, 2016 by Tammy

There was a well worn path in the dirt road from our house to my grandmother’s two bedroom home. I could make it there on my purple bike with the plastic streamers coming out of the handle bars in five minutes flat if the red-winged black birds in the oak tree at the corner didn’t take me out. Grandma knew I was scared of those birds. I told her everything.

On one of my visits, she proudly pulled out a large pinwheel. I was confused when I first saw it. Then she told me I should hold it over my head as I rode to her house. The pinwheel whistled as I rode my bike and scared those stupid birds. Nothing would keep us from our afternoon visits.

I’m not really sure how we filled all of the hours we spent together.

She helped me with my homework. I always was up for a ride to “the city” to help her buy groceries. We ate red licorice together and painted our nails….always with clear polish. I watched hours of Gospel Sing TV with her, and she attended every band concert, play, and art show. She taught me to drive and took me on my first airplane ride to visit the cousins in Florida. When I was all grown up and traveling on my own, she wrote to me weekly on her old typewriter and mailed me phone cards.

When I was a self-conscious middle schooler, she taught me to sew. She had this way of making me feel like the most talented kid while at the same time telling me truth without sugar coating. Her words still ring in my ears: “You don’t have to be perfect. It will all iron out.” What seemed like a lesson in stitching a seam on my latest 4-H project, really was so much more. She knew me and my struggles.

This week, I lost part of my heart. Alzheimers (what I now call the cruelest of all diseases) has slowly been stealing her from me. Robbing us of any new memories. But, I guess I am still the little girl on that purple bike….hoping to race faster than the black birds. Every time I was able to sit next to her on the couch in her nursing home, I was hoping for one more moment. We had always been good at sitting together and not doing to much. I could take in her smell, feel her presence, and pretend we were just watching the Gaithers together.

Even that is now gone.

I have gone back and forth about writing this blog post. I usually save this space for stories about living and teaching cross-culturally and how that affects raising my family. I wasn’t sure if writing about the death of my grandmother fit that.

This week, as I have cried over her death, the miles between my childhood home and Asia have felt even longer. I wanted to stand at her graveside. I wanted to cry with my family, who would understand why I am 40 but a weeping mess over losing my grandmother friend.

But, it is even more than that.

Some of my tears this week are over my mother and my own children. I am crying because my kids can’t ride their bikes down the road and eat licorice with a grandparent who loves them with extravagance. In my grief, I question the stolen moments that might shape my own children.

Living cross-culturally, it is what we are called to, but man, sometimes the cost is high. I want to write and say it is all worth it. But, honestly, I am not sure if I will ever know if it is or not.

What is worth something…following Jesus and trusting him with my heart. I guess that means I should trust him with the heart of my kiddos and be thankful for video chats. So much easier to write that then to truly live it out.

Years ago, Dr. Kinlaw gave a sermon at a summer camp that included a story of a young single woman who was living cross-culturally. She was asked if she was scared of living so far from home in a strange land by herself. Her response. “I am more scared of NOT living where God wants me to be.” I can’t remember the rest of that sermon. Actually, I am pretty proud of myself for remembering anything from 20 years ago! Funny, the things that come to mind as you are grieving. The simple answer that young woman gave….I want it to be my answer as well. With all my heart, I want to be where God calls us.

Lord, help me in my weakness. Help me when the days are hard and my tears fall in abundance.

Often, when I sat next to Grandma at church, tears would gently slip from one eye. She joked with me that she had a leaky eye and not to worry. The one time I really remember seeing Grandma cry was when she said good-bye to me as I was leaving for college. She sobbed – deep heart wrenching cries as we hugged in the driveway.

Now, I am the one sobbing as I have to say good-bye to her. There are no promises about Christmas and spring breaks….but I am thankful to know there is the promise of eternity.

What happens when you pray…

Posted on April 10, 2016April 10, 2016 by Tammy

I often ask you to pray for the kids who are heavy on my heart – the kids without families. My students. The ones I love and hope to see in forever families. Ever wonder what results from those prayers? You are in for a treat today. Here is a guest post from a friend of ours who can tell you from first hand experience what happens when you, my amazing blog readers, pray.

Dear followers of this special blog who pray:

I’d like to say that these days I don’t have the life I was going to. For one thing I’m homeschooling, a thing I don’t particularly love. I’m also juggling eye-opening tantrums, both public and private. And, as I guy who’d rather change activities every five hours, I’m sometimes changing them every five minutes and finding it a challenge.

My soul is worn.

And my plans were better.

Maybe they weren’t super-clear plans, but, as this past fall we joyously marked the conclusion of 15 years of babies and pre-schoolers in the house—boy, did our ears ring that day—I had all sorts of plans that could have made use of that quiet. Any number of dusty pursuits that could have been brought off the back burner.

But. My plans aren’t what happened.

What did happen was the impossible. Or, at least, something that, just one year ago, I would have called inconceivable in the extreme. And our house is quiet no longer.

The paperwork says he’s fourteen. Though he looks certainly younger, and his emotional, psychological, or social age—whichever you please, I’m not being technical, here—seems usually closer to two. Our ears are ringing plenty, now, too, though not from quiet. For this guy—perhaps not unlike a kid you’ve known?—didn’t come with a volume control (or many other kinds of control, for that matter). So it’s not just our ears, but our heads, even our whole selves, ringing some days.

And it’s largely your doing.

Adoption is hard, isn’t it? At least the worst of the feral screaming and self-injurious flailing seems to be over (or so we hope). But it’s still difficult, for he’s a kid from a hard place, and the transitional throes of switching to beloved son from institutional inhabitant can be extreme. And even when he is fine, we at times still aren’t. An energetic, self-absorbed, as-easily-wounding-as-getting-wounded entity of tireless underfoot-ness—no matter how happy—truly can make your day drag by.

But saving one kid is good, right? It is. It truly is. And, way back when, that’s what we signed up for: one. One adoption.*

How did this guy ever become number three?

That wasn’t my plan. In fact, you could have pretty much said about me last year that I was anti-adoption. Not again. No way. Not us. But. You were praying.

And, more unexpectedly than snow in summer, God spoke. To—of all people—our oldest teenager (the one who’d said he’d run away if we ever considered adopting again, and to whom I always replied with laughing assurance about that being the last thing he needed to worry about):

“Mom, I think we’re supposed to adopt this one.”

What?

He was putting together videos—to help update their files—of six older kids from the local orphanage. The boy that our teenager was talking about said in his video that he wanted an American family, a big family, and a family with younger siblings. Our family was check, check, and check, and my wife’s heart began to melt.

But not me. Not in the least. Sure, I’ll pray this kid gets a family, but that family as sure-as-shootin’ ain’t going to be ours. No way were we going to think about adopting another kid. And a teenager to boot? Be serious. Even my wife concurred as readily as I did that our family was stretching its limits beyond what we could handle already.

But you were praying. And her burden grew.

She resisted it. Asked repeatedly for the burden to be taken away, and I was all encouragement: “It will go away, dear. It will. The burden will fade. There will be another family for him.” I knew: All I had to do was outlast her. Outlast that completely irrational burden brought on by übercompassion and her over-sensitive heart. “Honey,” she pleaded with me one day as her burden only got stronger, “would you consider at least just praying about it?”

“Uh…no?” Why would I pray for something I didn’t have the least intention of considering?

But you were praying.

And the rest of that long, long story (that I now call “God’s 2×4”)—of how a boy called Manning come to be in our family, and how I was the only one who needed to be outlasted—has been told in other places already.**

Sometimes it isn’t our compassion that saves. Some of us don’t even have a whole lot of what might be called compassion. God can save just the same.

You prayed for Manning, and, because of it, things and powers and hearts that were not otherwise going to be moved were moved. A boy on the verge of a life sentence to institutional existence was spared. Though he might possibly have known abuse and neglect and hopelessness as companions forever, now this same boy notices and repeats (well, shouts, rather) the word “Jesus” every time he hears it in speech or song. Though not long ago he may have been doomed to never mature beyond hurt and anger and revenge and manipulation, now we’re building up trust. Just tonight he put his headphones on my ears so I could know which was his favorite Chinese worship song: “Isn’t it moving, Dad?”

It’s largely your doing, you know.

You prayed. And he’s home.

*The story of the Johnsons’ first adoption (and how that unexpectedly became two) can be found in Lily Was the Valley: Undone by Adoption, available on Amazon in both Kindle and softcover formats.
**Those who would enjoy reading the full story of the genesis of this most unlikely of third adoptions can do so at dannrobertjohnson.com, the earliest ten entries.

Your next project? Pray for “Hemingway” my youngest, happiest and sweetest student. He is four years old, a Down Syndrome super star who loves painting with the color yellow. He is waiting for his family to take a step of faith and come get him. Pray that he isn’t destined to life in an institution. Instead, may a family see his sweet face and recognize the value of his life and embrace him into their family.

You can contact Amanda (amanda.h@chiadopt.org) a social worker with Children’s House International to get more information on how to adopt him.

Just a side note: if our family can get approved to adopt and overcome the hurdles…ANYONE can. Seriously. I am sure the Johnsons would say the same!

Twists and turns along the road

Posted on April 2, 2016April 2, 2016 by Tammy

Pizza and catching up with an old friend – two rare treats that came my way last week. This friend, although absent from my daily life for years, has made significant impact on my life. Just been pondering where I would have been. Just been walking down memory lane.

7 years ago (Could it have really been that long?) we were in the throws of adoption paperwork for our little Monkey. The process was taking so very long. We watched other families get approval and travel to their sweet babies while we waited…and waited…and waited. At the same time, a natural disaster had struck in the part of China where little Monkey was living. It was heart breaking, excruciating, mind numbing…and then some.

I remember venting all my woes to my dear friend over dinner in our home. She was the special education director at the orphanage in our city. She challenged me. “Do something while you wait. It will make it easier.” That is where it started.

As I waited for little Monkey, I taught one art class once a week. One class of 8 students. I thought it would keep me busy and give me something to do rather than check my email like a crazy woman, hoping for news about our adoption. Instead, the children in my class helped heal my broken heart; they taught me to serve and to love in a way I didn’t know was possible. It amazes me.

Our journey to adopt had begun as a seed in my heart as a college student. Hubby and I knew it would be a part of our family story from the beginning. What we didn’t know – that adoption would take us on a heart journey that didn’t end with our youngest two children. Our hearts and eyes were open to the world of orphans, children with special needs and we would be forever changed.

I shake my head and laugh as I look back on those times, 7 long short years ago. I thought it was about waiting for our daughter, Little Monkey, to join our family. It wasn’t about the wait at all. I was learning about the Father’s heart.

This was a pretty big twist in my life story. I had no idea the joy my heart would glean from painting with a child suffering with Cerebral Palsy. The surprise was mine when I learned to communicate with a non-verbal pre-schooler with Downs Syndrome. I didn’t know the peace that would wash over me while holding the hand of a child with Autism. I have learned that every life has value and my life is deeper when I see God’s image in each one of His children. Pretty big stuff. It has shaped me.

The twists and turns that my journey with Jesus has taken – they take my breath away. It is easy to see how He was leading my heart as I look back. It gives me courage for the future. I am so sure that there are more bends in the road. He is leading us down a path and we can’t see the end. I want to trust Him. The lessons He has for me to learn…they are good. The road He is taking me down…will make me better. Even when I don’t understand the bends in the path, He is good. He is leading.

Recently, I was asked to share at a conference about how and why I work and live where I do. I laughed at the request. Seriously, I am the last person that should be inspiring others on knowing where God is calling them. As I prepped that talk with honest words of ending up in a place that I didn’t expect, I was reminded again that my story with its bends twists and turns probably isn’t that unique. When we make our own plan…it is just that…ours. He has so much more for us than we ever could hope or dream for. I am living His dream.

I was so desperate 7 years ago. I wanted my waiting to be over, to hold my precious daughter in my arms. What joy to look back and see how God used that time of waiting for so much more. In this season, I wonder again. What will I see with such clarity 7 years from now.

Trusting Him in the journey. Taking one bend in the road at a time.

And then he did a face plant…

Posted on March 19, 2016March 19, 2016 by Tammy

My first mistake was telling Little Man he could ride his tricycle to the market. An unseasonably warm day made me unusually optimistic on how much I could carry with a kindergartener and a tricycle in tow. Lesson learned.

A box in one arm, several days’ veggies and fruit in a bag on the other with the tricycle slung over my shoulder, Little Man and I started crossing the road to start the trek home. He was holding the hem of my jacket as we stepped off the curb. I am not really sure what happened next. It all went so fast and slow at the same time. We had plenty of time to cross the road in front of the white car that suddenly seemed to be barreling down on us when Little Man’s leg came off. Velocity taking over, his body kept going and he landed hard on the pavement near the other side of the road.

You know those moments? The moments when you are standing in the road deciding if you should let the car run over your son’s leg or scoop him up and comfort him — all the while trying to untangle yourself from a bag of broccoli, apples and tomatoes. AND while doing all this, you are thinking in the back of your mind….”Wow, I guess his leg really isn’t fitting that great these days!” See what I mean? Never in my life did I think there would be such a moment. I chose wiping tears and checking for broken bones and blood. Little Man was not happy with that choice, and he began screaming even louder that his leg was about to be road kill.

In enters a stranger.

Just a little cultural context. It is not common to help strangers. Friends and family, absolutely. Strangers, no. It is culturally common to stop and watch, but not to help. Let’s just say, in all of my years living in Asia I have been stared at A LOT more than I have been helped.

Wednesday was different.

A man stepped out into the road, rescued Little Man’s leg, retrieved the roll away tricycle and was at my side helping me steady a weeping boy. He held a little hand while I checked for wounds (there were none) and slid an intact prosthetic leg back in place. When I finally had enough wits to look up at the man, I said. “You are a very nice man.” His reply was with typical Asian modesty, “No, not at all.”

And he walked away.

We made it back home with a story to tell over dinner. All of the kids marveled at the nice man who stopped to help. “I want to be a nice Chinese man like that.” Little Man exclaimed. It truly is amazing how a few moments of help can make a deep impression on those around us. It reminds me of a statement our pastor in Michigan used to say often, “Small things done with great love make a big difference.” Okay, rescuing a prosthetic leg from being run over by a car actually was kinda a big thing. But, the few minutes he took to help us…well that was a small moment from his life and I am very thankful. It made a big difference to us.

I want to be that type of person…willing to stop for a moment and help. We can make grand plans on how to live out our faith and how to love those around us, but if we aren’t able to slow down and embrace the unexpected moments – well, it is worthless. I am striving to live a life of service that will encourage those around me and I am so thankful when the blessing is turned my way.

Silence

Posted on March 12, 2016 by Tammy

Been pretty quiet over here on the blog lately. Oh, we have been doing stuff. Two of my kiddos have celebrated birthdays. We traveled to Thailand for a training conference and some much needed vacay time. That, of course, says nothing about art lessons, orphanage visits, English classes and homeschooling. So there has been stuff. I just haven’t felt like writing about it.

This past Fall I have had my heart broken like never before. I couldn’t really explain it, write about it, or even verbalize it. I just cried. Jesus was taking me on a journey into the depths of his heart and it hurt to weep with him, but that is what I felt called to do. Children who wait for families. Not enough families. Kids without access to medical care or education. Sweet loving children with no hope of a future. Students who have never heard. Not easy stuff and – for sure – not stuff that makes for award winning, light-hearted blog writing.

Through my tears, I have tried to come up with many plans to do something about it all. Maybe I should get my masters in social work in order to have more influence. Should we adopt again? Maybe if we were in the States, we could tell more people about the needs and more families would feel led to adopt or give towards adoptions? How could I advocate more? Is becoming a foster family the way to go?

I want to DO something.

Silence.

More weeping.

I had the opportunity to hold two pretty special kiddos this week. After I teach, I go to the third floor of the orphanage where children who are bed ridden spend their days. They are not able to feed themselves, move from their wheelchairs or beds and many of them are unable to communicate. I go there to help feed these precious souls. I spoon feed them mush, wipe their faces, and rub backs. You wouldn’t believe the smiles that are my rewards.

This week, I walked in and immediately noticed that one of the teens was laboring for breath and was swollen. My heart knew. His time is coming to an end. I sat next to him, held his hand and brushed back the hair from his face as a prayer bubbled up from within me.

Last night we hung out with some special friends who have unexpectedly become foster parents. I took a turn holding the smallest of babies with perfect eye lashes and tiny fingers. I marveled at the perfection, wondered about her future, sighed with contentment knowing that she is in the best of care while she waits. A prayer bubbled up from within me.

This business of weeping – I think it is teaching me to pray.

When I am surrounded by situations that are out of my control and when the river of tears can not be tamed…praying is the only response.

My Crazy Life – December edition

Posted on December 28, 2015December 28, 2015 by Tammy

December is just one of those months. Every year I get so homesick for my extended family and Christmas traditions that I could burst into tears at any given moment. But, every year we have the privilege of celebrating Christmas cross-culturally, I am filled with joy at the opportunities to experience the true meaning of Advent. I could explode over the wonder of it all. My crazy life.

This year was like the others, busy with open houses for students, story telling, cookie baking, Christmas art projects, frosting and sprinkles. It has been breath taking…and so very fun. I really think that this month will go down in the books as one of the best Christmas seasons ever. It wasn’t perfect. I burnt cookies, got overwhelmed by the number of guests that came through our home, and Little Man picked his nose through his debut in the Christmas play. (Friend, that could be a post on its own. My son dressed as a wiseman digging for treasure up his nose. Yes, he saw me give him the “momma stink eye.” Then says to me FROM STAGE, “Just a second, I almost have it!” He then pulled it out and flung it. True story. Sigh.)

So it wasn’t perfect, but there were moments that I will treasure for years to come. I was able to be the first one to share the Christmas story with a student. How perfect is that? Decorating sugar cookies with all of my art students who called the frosting paint and couldn’t keep themselves from licking everything…Okay, a little gross, but oh so priceless. My children hosting and helping. I think that treasure is the one I will ponder the most. Soccer Dude pushing a wheel chair and breaking off bits of cookies to put in the lips of children who are paralyzed. That is a gift.

There are many days that I long for Christmas of the past when I was at home with my parents and eating western food and attending a Christmas eve service. But honestly, if next Christmas would find us back in the States, I would miss what I have here. My crazy life. True story.