Unpacking my China Bag ~ Part 1

I do a lot of traveling--between working in China, speaking and attending conferences.

And I have a confession to make (you know what they say, confession is good for the soul), I actually get excited when an email pops up in my inbox announcing my “Mileage Rewards” statement is attached—I know….how pathetic is that?!

But I just get this rush when I see those miles racking up because I know in the end; I’m going to get some free flights.  I get free checked luggage.  I get to board the plane before other people so I can actually have a spot in the overhead bin (don’t EVEN get me started on that topic—argh!!)  AND I even get those fancy luggage tags which proudly announce to the airlines that I am a “Gold Member” who is entitled to all these perks.

For those of you who know me, and I am just keeping it totally REAL today, you know that this girl is very competitive.  So the thought of anything free or getting something that someone else may be paying for just….well…..it feels really good.  “Lord, help this daughter of yours.  Continue to teach me humility, because I sure do need it.”

 But I have something else I need to confess.  (I guess today is going to be my day of confession).  Tucked away in the very back corner of my closet is a small suitcase which I lovingly call “my China bag.”  And inside of this bag are all the things one would never need for travel unless they were going to China for three weeks.  Of course, I have all the normal things, but then there is the converter, the Chinese power strip, and my treasure box of notes translated into Chinese so I can maneuver around China without a translator.

So all that being said, I have the distinct honor, okay maybe it’s a little pathetic, of saying if I received a phone call this very minute that I needed to go to China, I could be packed and heading out the door within an hour.  Why?  Because I never unpack my China bag.  I grab it; pack another small suitcase with a few clothes.  My passport.  Photo ID.  Credit card.  And I’m off. 

 

When I get home from China, after I take the coveted long hot shower (if you’ve traveled internationally you KNOW what I’m talking about).  I immediately unpack my suitcase. No matter how tired I am, I unpack my suitcase, because I want all my clothes washed, both clean and dirty.  I want everything inside that suit case to be out emptied, and I want the suite case to be shoved back under my bed.  I don’t want to see it and I don’t want to smell it.

And before I lay my head down on my pillow to sleep, my unpacked China bag goes back to the rear corner of my closet.  Tucked away to make sure I cannot see it.

I have to be honest; I’ve never really given this ritual of mine a whole lot of thought.  I guess in my mind, I thought I was just being my typical Type A personality.  That was until a couple weeks ago after “the incident” at the hospital with our son.  If you’ve not read my post from March 13^th then I would encourage you to read it, because if not, the rest of this post is not going to make sense to you.

I can remember the first week we were home with our son I would look up in the rear view mirror to check on the kids, and it was SO strange seeing one of the kids from the orphanage in my vehicle.  I know, you are probably thinking, Vickie that is an awful thing to say.  But I couldn’t help it.  It actually reminded me of the time when I was in high school, and got home from a night of bowling with friends, only to discover I still had those ridiculous looking clown bowling shoes on.  It really felt like I had accidentally taken something that didn’t belong to me. 

You see, when I got home from China this time I went through my same ritual.  I unpacked my bag, emptied my normal suitcase and tossed it under the bed.  I threw everything in the wash, whether clean or dirty.  And of course my China bag went to back rear corner of my closet.  The smell and thoughts of China were gone, and the thoughts of the orphanage were tucked away safely into the back of my mind.

But this time it didn’t work.  Every time I would see my son, I would have visions of him, along with all of the other children back at the orphanage.  So I thought, ‘I can handle this, I’m only going to think about the good memories I had of him.  Playing catch.  Building Legos.  Playing dress up for a parade.  Reading books to him.’

But then my mind would drift to the hard stuff.  Seeing him dressed in rags.  Looking at his filthy skin with patches of built up dirt.  The smell from either not bathing, or bathing with dirty water.  Watching him hide his food in a safe place so it would be there once he returned from playing.  And I think the worse memory was seeing him, and all the other children, waving goodbye to me through the orphanage gate when it was time to go home.

As his English progressed, things started going from hard to really hard.

 

He would tell me things like, I was hungry in China.  I was cold.  He told me about a fight he got into because an older boy tried to take his blanket one night.  (btw, he lost this fight and has the scar to prove it).  So not only did he share things with me that I already knew, he was filling my mind with even more things that made my heart ache all the more for the kids left behind.  

As I went through those two weeks of non-stop crying, I finally came to the realization that when I packed my bags in China to come home this last time, not only was I bringing my son home, I was also bringing home seven years worth of  memories that had been hidden away for so long.

There was absolutely no way for me to avoid dealing with it any longer.  I was going to have to figure out a way to process all of this.

To be continued………

Why Continue to Blog?

That is the question I’ve been contemplating recently.  As I begin to venture deeper into the waters of speaking and writing, it’s what most of the “others do.” For those of you who know me, you know that I am not one to follow the ‘norm,’ rather I tend to march to my own beat.

Honestly, the thought of actually continuing to blog after our last adoption sounded more like an obligation, rather than something I would enjoy doing.  And the last thing in the world I needed was one more commitment, or thing to do in my life. 

My life is filled with so many ‘usual’ things like my church family, my husband, raising my children.  But my life is also filled with so many ‘unusual’ things like my work in China, caring for orphans, adoption advocacy, speaking.  But none of those things really seemed to tip the scale one way or the other as I contemplated the idea of whether or not I should continue to blog.

But then all of that changed because of four words spoken to me recently by one of my pastors, “You need to cry.”   I thought, what an odd thing to say to me, especially considering what had just happened less than 5 minutes earlier.  We had a very traumatic thing happen to us when we took our son in for a medical procedure, and once he had entered the operating room I broke down and sobbed in my husband’s arms.

So for my pastor, who witnessed the whole thing, to say to me “You need to cry.”  I was a little perplexed.  But then he said something else, “You are really tough.”  Now, THAT IS something that I have heard before and it brought sense to his first statement of me needing to cry.

I’ve spent the past seven years traveling back and forth to China working in a couple different orphanages. Some of the things I’ve seen and experienced I’ve shared with this pastor.  But I think it’s only brought me to tears two times, and then they were only tears—I never really cried. 

I’ve seen and experienced firsthand the lives these children live day in and day out.  Now if I told you I witnessed abuse, neglect or trauma, you probably wouldn’t be surprised.  But if I talked about the realities of a child living their life in an orphanage, you probably would be surprised.  Why—because it would be things most people would not think about.

Children raising children.  Fighting for survival to get through another day.  Wondering who will get the warmest pair of pants, or even a blanket for bed at night.  Worry about the basics of food and shelter.  A four year old crying out for her mama because she’s just been abandoned.  A little deaf girl holding my hand, begging me with her eyes to take her home.  A dying baby placed in my arms and the nanny begging me to help her.  And then there is just everyday life for the child living amongst other children who are trying to survive just like they are.  If you cry, you are laughed at.  If you are sad, you are ignored.  If you are angry, you are beaten.   If you are hurt, you stuff down the pain so you don’t feel it.   The list could go on and on.

Not only do I not talk about these things, I don’t allow myself to think about them either.  Why?  Because if I think about them, then I have to deal with them.  And if I have to deal with them, then I have to feel their pain.  I would much rather roll up my sleeves and get to work to help them, rather than opening up my heart to feel their pain and suffering.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love every single child and baby I have touched in those seven years. But once I get on that plane for the long ride to the other side of the world called home, that is usually the last time I will allow myself to think about the details of what I’ve just gone through.  The rest stays behind in China, and the memories stay locked up inside my mind.  I never allow myself to process it, other than to share bits and pieces with my husband, and sometimes my pastor.

And that worked for me up until the incident at the hospital.  When my pastor said, “You need to cry.”  Something inside of me broke.  Once he and my husband left the hospital that day, I stayed behind to sit by my son’s bed……..and I started to cry.  After a couple hours of this I actually thought about calling him and asking, “What did you do?!  What did you pray for?!  Did you ask God to make me cry?!”  I was just so shocked that I wasn’t able to shake the emotions!  I cried all that afternoon.  Then I cried all that night.  Then I cried the next day.  And the next.  And the next.  I have cried every day, and it has now been almost two weeks.

Every time I look into one of my children’s faces I can’t see them, instead I see the kids back at the orphanage, and the realities of what their lives look like every day, which I’ve stored away in my mind.

When I saw my son at the hospital go from fear to complete trauma, I had the unfortunate ability, to be inside his mind and his heart.  I knew the driving force behind his fear.  I knew the driving force behind his survival skills, as he kicked them into high gear to fight with every ounce of power he had inside of him.   And I knew he was fighting to survive the best he could, just like he had done so many years in the orphanage.

And the worse thing about all of it was there was not a single thing I could do to help him.  Even though he now has a family and parents who love him, I couldn’t make him understand that he didn’t need to fight anymore—that we would do the fighting for him.  That we would be ones to take care of him and make sure he was safe.

So why should I continue to blog…..because I have to if I’m going to continue to do the work God has called me to do.  The tears that I’ve cried have been tears of healing.  If I do not remain whole and healthy, I am of no use to those children, or to my own children here at home—I am of no use to my God and the work He has for me to do.

So I’ve taken this blog site and transformed it from one of an adoption journey, to a journey through the ministry God has called for me.  My hope is that it will be used not so much as a means for me to keep my thoughts and feelings processed, but more importantly as a blessing to others and that God will take my transparency and use it for His glory.

In His Service,

Vickie

We Hear But Do We Listen?

My favorite time of the day is when my alarm clock goes off at 5:00 am.  I know, you probably think I'm crazy--heck, I think I'm crazy sometimes to get up that early when I really don't need to.  But I love the quietness of my home early in the morning.  I love to light the fireplace and some candles, as I smell the aroma of my coffee brewing.

This time of the morning brings with it three hours of uninterrupted time to spend with God before my husband and kids get up for the day.  What I've learned through that time of quietness is that God is always faithful to meet me there.  And I have no doubt God not only enjoys that time with me well, but He also looks forward to it as much as I do.

And why is that?  Because even though I use this time to have my devotions and read God's word, I spend a lot of my time just talking with God.  When we pray, it is no different than having a conversation with anyone else.  You speak, and the person you are speaking to speaks back.  And in the quietness of my mornings, I can not only hear Him, but I can listen to Him as well.

Yesterday was one of those days that God reminded me of just how important it is to not only hear God, but to listen to Him.

I always spend a short time in prayer before I have my devotions, than I'll have my full prayer time afterwards.  As I was praying for a specific person, God started to really press in on me about this person.  So I spent some more time praying for their family, their job and for them personally.  After I was finished, I went to start my devotions and as I opened my Bible God made it very clear that He wanted more from me for this person.  He wanted me to let this person know that He had put them on my heart and that I was praying for them.

So early in the morning, I turn on my computer and sent this person an email.  Once I finished typing the last sentence I could feel this huge sense of relief and peace come over me, so I even typed this my email to this person, letting them know what I had just felt from God.  I knew that God had this person's back--whatever the situation was.

And you know, it didn't matter that God didn't show me what the issue was, all that matter was that God wanted me to intercede in prayer for this person AND He wanted this person to know that He had their back.

Later that afternoon this person emailed me saying what perfect timing my email was and that once they read it that morning (they were obviously up early as well) their load lightened and they were still feeling that lightness even at the end of their work day when they were sending their email to me.

It would be easy for me to say, 'Wow, how amazing that God chose to use me today!'  But honestly, my thought was, 'Wow, how awesome is God that He wanted to make sure this person knew that He loves them and how He always has their back!'

God was willing to interrupt my morning to make sure this person knew that God was thinking about them and wanted to encourage them.  And had I not been listening to God speaking to me, this person would have missed out on God's message to them.

It made me wonder how many other times God has told me things, and I heard Him, but I wasn't listening to Him.  It was such a great reminder of how many wonderful things God has for us when we are willing to spend those quiet moments with Him.  He has so much to say to us, all we need to do is listen.

"Dear children, let us not love with words or speech, but with actions and in truth."  1John 3:18

Vickie