About twenty minutes and some days ago, I saw, from the corner of my eye, this hair. It rivaled mine in every way except pigment. I strolled on over and introduced myself. She introduced herself as Jami Armine. We've been late night texting and swapping sarcasm "like we are the oldest and dearest of friends." (Kathleen Kelly of the little bookstore.) Today she has blessed us with her heart on adopting her own version of my Sam. His name too happens to be Sam. Sam 2.0 Here is her story...
We currently have seven children. They range in age from 21 year to 7 months. 4 biological, 1 adopted, 1 almost adopted, and a wee baby foster daughter.
Our 4-year-old son, Sam is… well, he’s a hot mess.
Although, we are often offered congratulatory praise for our “awesomeness” for opening our home to the boy, the truth is… He saved our lives.
At a time when all was lost, I made a ridiculously inappropriate phone call and stammered, “We want to adopt.”
Nine months from that day, we met Sam.
And we laughed again.
We smiled again.
We hoped again.
We stopped sleeping through the night… again.
Sam has a non-stop chatter. Oddly enough, in spite of the fact that he has been in our home since he was ten-days-old and we are Texans of German – Scottish-Norwegian descent – Sam has a little bit of a Mexico-ish dialect. And he can’t say cheese, but he says queso perfectly.
Ours in not to question why.
And lately he has this thing he says, with a Hispanic quick tongue. He says it repeatedly after a question.
It gets to be laughable. Especially in a two-part question.
Sam: Can I have cookies and go outside? Ya? No? Ya? NO? Ya? Or NO?
Me: You can go outside, but you can’t have cookies because it is almost time for dinner.
Sam: Ya? No?
Me: No. No, and Ya.
Sam: Ya? No?
Me: No. No. Ya.
Sam: No-Ya I have cookies and go outside?
Me: Ya, no? Wait, what?
Inevitably, we just give him anything he asks for.
So the other day someone asked me how we knew for sure that God was calling us to foster and adopt. I can honestly say I was self-willed in this. It was on my heart, we wanted to rewrite our story. Stop being the “Poor Amerines” and be instead, people of joy.
And I didn’t wait for a ya.
I didn’t wait for a no.
We just jumped in… head first.
In other scenarios we have prayed and asked, or begged for clarity. And there have been other times we have used the Ya? No? tactic to quickly get our way. And then we have someone to blame when it blows up. You said “Ya? No? Oh wait you didn’t say ya?”
But you can’t stump God.
Nor can you out-wit Him.
“We aren’t called to (adopt, foster, give, donate…)”
“We aren’t called to (adopt, foster, give, donate…)”
And sorry, that is ballarky. Yes, we have clear and concise words from God that guide us, like our first placement, a real live human boy… that I knew wasn’t our son. But spare yourself, and those around you the “I am not called…” Because there are a million ways to serve the least of these and we are ALL called to that. (Matthew 25:40)
And He who gives also takes away. (Job 1:21) And that hurts. We were never told it wouldn’t hurt.
Loving hurts.
Yet we are all called to love. (John 13:34)
And I am momma to a quirky little Mexican boy. He makes us laugh. He teaches us daily.
Sometimes there is a clear answer and sometimes there is simply a clear risk. But the risk has been worth the pain.
The truth is our God moves how He moves and saves how He saves. He called us each to care for the orphans and the widows. He encouraged us to give until it hurts. (Luke 9:23-25) To walk away from your possessions, let the dead bury the dead and follow Him. (Matthew 19:21)
And this, is much easier said than done.
I fully assume you know where I speak from…
Ya? No?
May your floors be sticky and your calling ordained.
Love, Jami
Defend the weak and the fatherless, uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed. Psalm 82:3
Visit Jami at Sacred Ground Sticky Floors
Visit Jami at Sacred Ground Sticky Floors
No comments:
Post a Comment