Making home

Our lives are in boxes. Small boxes, big boxes. Sealed cardboard containers full of both the important (baby books) and mundane (cheese grater). The things that make a life a life.

Our days are currently spent opening boxes and finding homes for the essentials. We've purposed to keep some boxes sealed-- the idea being that at the end of our stay here, we may find ourselves less inclined to label these unopened time capsules "must haves" and be more likely to part with them as we book plane tickets to Nepal. Still, the supply of boxes that must be opened and sorted seems endless. 

Even pared down, even after ruthlessly purging, even after having sent bags upon bags to Goodwill, friends, and neighbors ...

We have a lot of stuff.

So we open boxes. Put towels in drawers. Hang photos on walls.  Stack puzzles on shelves.

We make home.

The first few days here, in this cavernous, mid-century home, I felt like an intruder. A visitor comes and goes. But an intruder takes away from the space, violates it. Seeing my sewing machine claim real estate, sitting at my humble kitchen table ... all of it was wrong and unknown and somehow seemed an affront to this house, in this neighborhood, in this city. 

This is not a place we would have chosen to land. The house is more than double the size of our previous one. The style of it is all wrong for us. Our neighbors are all elderly. No one gardens anything but flowers. Well-manicured flowers. The kind that bloom with the sole purpose of being immediately cut and plunked in a vase on a coffee table.

Have I ever mentioned that we don't actually own a coffee table?

But I digress. 

Here I am, adding bits of me--of us-- to this place. Claiming it, one step at a time. Finding my footing. Embracing the here and now. Letting the foreign, unsettledness of it fade and a new ease with my norm seat itself.

This morning, as we sat at breakfast, eagle-eyed Logan peered out the open French doors. In a shot, he was up, pushing the littles along with him, shouting for Seven to grab her magnifying glass. I admit that I was irritated. There is so much to get done today, I grinched. Can't we just get through breakfast so that you guys can go off and play and I can maybe, just maybe, get this kitchen totally set right?

But the kids were too fast for me, and before I could open my mouth to berate them ("You didn't ask to be excused!") I was hearing squeals of delight. Mani came racing back in, face already flushed, voice high and thin in his excitement.

"Spiders! Four spiders making webs right out there!"

I handed Reuven off to Jo (whose interest in spiders falls somewhere between "pour bleach in my eyes" and "I could vomit right now") and followed Mani out to the deck. As advertised, four small spiders were working industriously to fill in the frames of perfect, empty webs. Each went about his or her work, oblivious to all of the eyes observing, not to mention the exclamations.

"Look at how fast they work!"

"I can see his spinnerets!"

"How do they measure it all so perfectly?"

It was Seven who finally tugged me down to peer through her oversized magnifying glass and fully appreciate the beauty of the find. She waxed poetic on the sheer joy the spider must have in making something so fabulous. Then, thoughtfully, she puckered her sweet little lips and asked the most obvious question, as only an almost-three year-old can.

"Why do the spiders make the webs, Momma?"

And I had to answer her with the only truth I know, the only thing I have to cling to right now amidst these boxes and upturned schedules.

"It's their home, baby. They make them because it's their home."

"Oh!" she clapped, going up on her tip toes and shivering with that contagious, little girl joy. "They make them for their families!"

And this is how God used four spiders, an interrupted breakfast, and a precocious preschooler to remind me that while my eyes are cast ahead, following a greater, long-term goal, I must do this thing here, before me with as much enthusiasm. Why? Because it is my home. And it is for my family.

Yes, we're in

Things have been a little ....


chaotic

unexpected

unsettled

crazy.

But we're here, in our new home-for-now. Welcome to Whale House!

Bee and Atticus

Tell me their slouches don't look similar!

She's 15. He's 11.


She likes chess, Converse, and reading. He likes chess, Converse, and reading.


Bee, meet Atticus. Atticus, meet Bee.

Atticus is a very tall American boy. Bee is an average-sized Nepali girl. Guess what that means?

TODAY

Today is the day. Monday, November 21, 2011. At 6 p.m. PST, Bee will start her visa interview. Please be in prayer as we ask the Lord to grant our daughter the ability to travel home with her father and brother for the Christmas season.

Mr. Blandings told Bee that people who she will most likely never meet this side of heaven had committed to pray for her interview, and she was both humbled and stunned. Even if this interview brings another negative answer, her heart has already been impacted by the strength of prayer and the depths of the true and living God's love for an orphaned girl cast off by Hindu society. Thank you!!!


I will update this post as soon as I hear from Kathmandu.


ADDENDUM: For those not running on a U.S. calendar or clock, the interview is Tuesday, November 22, at 8 a.m. local time in Kathmandu. Here's a handy dandy online converter to help you figure out when the interview will be taking place in your area.

UPDATE: Two and a half hours into the interview now, and still no word. Bee has to be interviewed alone, so Mr. Blandings and Atticus are pacing outside, waiting ... 

UPDATE: After a three hour interview, Bee's visa was denied by the same man who has denied her twice before. She walked out standing strong. Mr. Blandings is a puddle. I cannot thank you enough for the prayers.

Save the date

Bee's visa interview will take place on 8 a.m., Tuesday, November 22, in Nepal. Do a little number crunching, and you come up with 6 p.m. PST on Monday, November 21. 


I'll be praying like crazy. Care to join me?

Joshua 1:9

It is no small thing to put your son on a plane and send him halfway around the world.



It is no small thing to watch him collect his belongings, listen to him dream over what God has in store for him while he is abroad.


It is no small thing, too, to see him cast a glance over his shoulder as he walks through the massive, sliding doors of the airport and search for you--one last time-- to offer a reassuring smile.


I'm going now. I'm off! Can you believe it, Mom? I'm doing it! I'm really doing it. Just like you always said I would ...


Five years ago, I wondered and worried and prayed over the spectre of fear and defeat that threatened to swallow Atticus. Night after night, I would pray with him, asking God to cut his anxieties down to size, to give him victory, to help him claim the steadfast heart that Jesus wanted for him as a young man of God. More often than not, Mr. Blandings and I would slip into his bedroom just before we turned in for the night and pray once more; this time, it was Joshua 1:9. Every night, over and over, we prayed this verse:

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous! Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.

We recited it by day light, when the worries appeared. Over math that seemed too difficult. Over words that seemed too hurtful. Over fears about the future. Over questions that seemed too deep. Over a heart that seemed destined to cower.


Years later, I can tell you that the roots of this Scripture are so deep in my son's spirit that I have seen him whispering it to himself as he prepares to walk into a crowded room of people he doesn't know. 

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous! Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.

Today, Yahweh walked alongside Atticus as he took one small leap from boyhood to manhood. The God who hung the stars in the sky stood nearby as Atticus and Mr. Blandings made their way through security, found their gate, and settled in to wait a while. Then, it was Yahweh who carried my beaming boy on to a gigantic Airbus. Right now, the three of them are hurtling through the sky en route to Nepal and whatever adventures and blessings await them there.


Five years ago, none of this would have been remotely possible. Five years ago, it was a struggle for Atticus to strap into the car for a ride across the mountains without mentally steeling himself for the fiery death he knew was lurking just around every bend. Yet today, with God's help and to God's glory, this same young man kissed me fiercely as I prepared to leave him at the airport. His hands were not clammy, his face was not pale, his heart was not racing.


I must have held on a little too long for our last hug. The truth is, my heart breaks just a little bit with each day that I am away from any of my children, and knowing that it will be two weeks before this gawky man-boy is laughing at my side brings a hard lump into my throat. I was pondering this, holding on tight, as Atticus started to pull away. Sensing my hesitation, he leaned in just a tad closer, found my ear, and whispered.

"Joshua 1:9, Mom. 'Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous! Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.'"

I cried just the tiniest bit as I let him go, even though really, it would have taken nothing for me to break into full-fledged sobs.  But to what end? Has God not commanded me? I will be strong and courageous. I will not tremble, nor be dismayed, for the Lord my God is with my son ... wherever he goes.

Suffer the little children

Every once in a while, I'm reminded of what my boys' lives would be like if they hadn't found their family. It's usually an unpleasant reminder. The foster mom acquaintance I run into at Staples telling me about her newest foster son, who is 8, has FAS and RAD, and is probably headed to a group home. A photolisting snapshot of a beautiful, broken little boy whose whole life story is summed up in one pleading paragraph that is emailed to countless potential parents by a desperate social worker. A news article outlining how an innocent child was beaten to death by the people who were supposed to love and care for him the most.


Those reminders bring up an emotion that I have no words for. It's something like fear mixed with gratitude, or love swirled with a heady offering of the deepest kind of horror that a momma's heart can conjure. I leave those moments and usually grab on to the nearest child as if they are a life-preserver. As if their sweet smell can erase the hurtful waters I've just dipped my emotional toes into. As if just feeling the weight of a loved, safe child--any loved, safe child-- in my arms can erase the knowledge that someone, somewhere did horrible things to my babies and I could not stop them. As if holding that child can erase the knowledge that somewhere, right now, other children are hungry, or being hurt, or wondering why their momma hits or why the mean man has been allowed to come around again.


These are the grim thoughts that plague me when I wake up in the middle of the night and should be basking in the silence of my blessings. Always, always, my prayers slip from, "Lord, I have more than I deserve. You are so good, so good to us. You provide, you meet needs, you lavish us with more than we could ask," to, "But Lord, please be with those who feel fear tonight, with those who went to bed with empty stomachs, with those ..."


And on and on.


Because the needs never stop. And the hurt never stops. And the brokenness in the world? 


It never stops.


We can't fix it. That the truth, and I know it. I'm not so naive as to think that if we all just gave it our 110% that we'd stamp out sin in this world. It doesn't work like that, no matter how good it sounds. That's why we need Jesus. I get that. I accept it. I shout it from the rooftops.


So if the world is terribleawful, as my Mamaw likes to say, and we can't just "good deed it" into shape, what's the point?


The point is this: you might just make a difference for one suffering soul. Just one. And when you see the change in that one little person, you'll know that it was all worth it.


Adoption is an incredible way to change the trajectory of a life, a family, a community. When I look at my boys and see the blessing that they've been to the literally hundreds of people who have heard their stories, cuddled them at Sunday School, or seen their smiling faces, I can't even imagine that at one point in time I feared the unknown of bringing someone new into our family. We have had challenges (admittedly mild ones--I know others who have swam in far rougher adoption waters), we have been stretched, but ohmygoodness, we have experienced so much joy. Adoption is an amazing thing. Click here to see one of the most beautiful, moving testimonies on adoption that I've seen in a while.  I encourage everyone (yes, everyone) to pray about it and see what the Lord has to say to you on whether or not your nest is truly full.


But what if the answer is "No, adoption isn't for you"? Please, please, consider this: there are so many other ways to bring healing and succor to children in the world. Get creative. Ask God to lay it on your heart how you can specifically show Christ's love in a practical way. Then stand back and be ready to serve, because in my experience it doesn't take long before God takes you up on the offer and starts bringing opportunities to bless children to your doorstep.


Part of my family's work in Nepal involves running a children's home. This is the orphanage where Bee lives. After a series of partially comical, partially tragic circumstances, the operations of the orphanage were handed over to the nonprofit run founded by Mr. Blandings and I. It's been an eye-opening learning curve, to be sure. Paying staff, locating massive amounts of fresh, nutritious food, encouraging teens via telephone to resolve differences, finding appropriate Christian schooling options ... all while on the other side of the globe. Faith-stretching, yes. But exhilarating, as well, as we witness God's hand of protection and provision over the lives of 24 of His children-- 24 of His forgotten, cast-off children.


Let me be honest with you, though. There are days when running the home feels like a very heavy weight to bear. Why? Because out of 24 children, we have 5 without sponsors. That means that every month, we are short on finances, and corners have to be cut. A little more water has to be added to the evening dal baat. A pair of shoes has to wait to be replaced. Broken eye glasses have to be fixed with tape instead of being sent in for repair. Little things, to be sure. Little things especially in light of the bigger demons that threaten to swallow children whole in a country where child trafficking is a daily threat, and abandonment to the streets is commonplace. 


Mr. Blandings and I have been working for three months to find sponsors for our five beautiful Nepali children. While we've always known that adoption was a hard sell even in the Christian community, it's been shocking to us that the simple act of writing a check to provide for a child's basic needs is just as unlikely an action for many of those same Christians. Fifty dollars a month, we're told at every turn, is too much to ask to keep a warm roof over a child's head in a country where many kids crouch in filthy streets or huddle in freezing huts. Fifty dollars a month is too much to ask to feed a child in a country where 30,000 infants don't make it to their first birthday. Fifty dollars a month is too much to clothe a child who might otherwise be working in an Indian brothel. Fifty dollars a month is too much to provide a Christian education in a country where less than one percent of the population knows Jesus.


((sigh))


I don't get it.


Maybe adoption isn't for you. Maybe sponsoring a child isn't for you. Maybe you aren't meant to provide foster care, be a guardian ad litem, participate in a mission trip that takes you to another country to minister to hurting kids. But you can do something. Bring a neighbor's kid along with you to church. Find a local teen mom's group and volunteer to call a young mom once a week to answer questions and provide encouragement. Provide safe, no-cost daycare in your home for an at-risk child who might otherwise be a latch-key kid. Keep a close eye on the kid down the street who always seems to be the object of his parents screams. Buy gifts for Angel Tree kids. 


Don't be afraid of getting your hands dirty, writing a check, or loving in practical ways. Jesus wasn't. When we follow His example we get to see amazing things happen. Little bodies blossom, little minds grow, little spirits turn to Him. It's one of the most humbling things in the world to witness, I tell you.


No, we can't change the world. But we can change lives. And it's worth it. Trust me. 

The price of obedience

This morning, Mr. Blandings and I were counting the cost of moving our family to the mission field full-time. No, we weren't talking about the lack of Netflix in SE Asia or the fact that Seven will probably be a preschooler by the time she "meets" most of her extended family in a way she can actually remember. We were talking about the actual cost.


The money.


We need to raise $5,000 per month to support our ministries (plural) and our family. So far, we have 10% of that committed. Some days the number seems so huge that I fear I'll be 40 before I put my feet on Nepali soil. Others, I know that my God is big enough to bring in twice that completely unsolicited.


We prayed this morning, as we do every day, for God to bring in the money. Then I kind of forgot about it. (It's Mani's birthday, after all!) But this afternoon, as I got a second to sit down and check in on the cyber world, I read this post and was inspired to calculate our needs.


We need 90 families to commit $50/month to reach our goal.


Or 225 families to commit $20/month.

Or God to sway an ultra-wealthy Christian with a heart for the 10/40 window to just write us a check for a million. 


Any of those will do.

I wonder which route He'll take? 


(And by the way, if you are one of the people who God has given a heart for the people of Nepal, please read this. Keep praying! Satan is working hard to shut the door on the Truth and keep folks in the dark. I guess He hasn't read the end of the Book, huh?)

Stretching

Jo was 10 when Mr. Blandings introduced her to the formal mission trip. Together, they trooped off to Tijuana, Mexico. It was just a week, if I'm remembering correctly. They worked in a slum populated with hundreds of beautiful people and some less than savory ones, too. At night, they slept in a tent encircled with barbed wire and fencing to keep the bad guys at bay. By day, Jo learned to string electrical wiring, became intimately acquainted with a handful of aggressive ticks, and ate some of the best tacos she's ever encountered. Mr. Blandings, for his part, learned that taking a kid along on a mission trip means that you're one part missionary, one part dad ... and that's sometimes easier said than done.

It was quite a learning experience for everyone, including me. After sending my baby girl off to serve in a somewhat rugged area, though, I knew this: I want all of my kids to have that experience. And I want them to have it while they're still fairly young.

There's no better way to truly impact a child's worldview than giving them the chance to wrap their brains around some seminal truths. Even kids who, like mine, have been without the luxury of their own Wii, handheld games, cable t.v., designer clothes, etc., have plenty to consider themselves blessed with. I know that this isn't a revelation to you, but many children in many parts of the world struggle to merely eat, stay safe, and get educated. The thought of clean clothes, clear water, and creature comforts would strike them as absurd riches. 

While I know I'm blessed that my children aren't being raised that way, I do want them to realize that what they have is a gift. Even more, I want them to see their own laps as overflowing ... and learn to pass it on. 

Jo was never what I'd call a perversely jaded child. But, nonetheless, she came back from Tijuana changed. Why? The family whose home my daughter helped to build had a small baby. The baby had a hacking cough, a fire-red diaper rash, and no clothes (thanks to "neighbors" who had stolen the family's belongings the night Mr. Blandings and Jo arrived). But day after day, the baby's mother raved about how blessed her baby was since she would soon have an actual, solid roof over her head. 

That kind of joy changes a person, no matter what stage of life you're in. When you're a child, though, it alters the way you see everything: your home, your family, your friends, your community, and your faith.

Jo has now been on two trips. Her dad loves traveling with her because she's fun, she's spontaneous, she's gracious, and she can roll with whatever happens--and on the kinds of trips Mr. Blandings likes to take, a lot can happen. There are many "not sure what this is" meals served on dirt floors. Lots of sleeping wherever the opportunity presents itself. Plenty of dirty clothes worn day after day. Plenty of squatty potties.

Jo has always been the kind of kid who can take it, love it, and come back for more. 

Atticus, however, is not that kid.

There's always been something a bit more fragile about my oldest son. He's not the kind to wear his underwear two days in a row, or to skip showering, or to eat anything that may have sat on the counter a touch too long. Atticus carries hand sanitizer in the same pocket he stows his Swiss Army knife in, because he likes to make sure the blade gets a good going over. You know ... just in case. Atticus will gladly pass on a camping trip that might get too hot, or too cold, or be located somewhere that might be rainy for the bulk of the trip. He knows that it's safer to fly than drive, that handling a nightcrawler may possibly give you a rare parasite, and that sunscreen can--and should--be reapplied with fair regularity.

As a matter of fact, pretty much being in our family stretches the bits out of Atticus. I'm fairly certain that God gave him to us simply to keep him from becoming the kind of man who moves to New York city and lives, works, shops, etc., in the same building for his entire life. Unless, of course, being in our family makes him more that way. I can hear it now:

"Honey, your parents called. They want us to come to that family gathering."

((deep sigh)) "Well, alright. I'll feel guilty if I don't. But we're bringing out own food. And for goodness sake bulk up on EmergenC before we get there. You know how someone there is always biting their nails or picking their nose or something disgusting."

Mr. Blandings started trying to come up with a plan for Atticus well before his 10th birthday last spring. He toyed with staying in the US and accompanying some friends on an annual outreach to some migrant workers here. Then he tossed around a Canadian project someone we know works with that does a theater project with kids. There was even a comfy gig in South Africa entertained. But nothing came to fruition. A whole year passed, and still, he wasn't sure what to do.

Finally, after much prayer and pondering, Mr. Blandings just flat out asked Atticus where he wanted to go. To our surprise, he said Nepal.

Yes, Nepal is still where our family plans to land. But understand this: when we actually take up residence, we'll sort things out to be as comfortable as possible for our crew. We'll have beds, mosquito nets, food prepared in a fairly familiar fashion, and western toilets. We will, in other words, be hanging on to some of our American notions. And we'll be doing it after a year transitioning in Chiang Mai.

But a mission trip to Nepal ... living with Nepalis ... eating with Nepalis ... well, it's going to stretch Atticus. He might see a spider--a big one. He won't recognize the food. He's going to ride without a seatbelt and maybe even on a motorbike--without a helmet.

You see why God's plan of allowing us that year in Thailand is such a brilliant idea? Acclimation.

But this, well ...

Concerned, Mr. Blandings and I pulled Atticus aside after he announced his destination. We gently, lovingly, pointed out to him all of the potential pitfalls I've already mentioned here. In truth, we steered him to something a little easier. He was having none of it. 

In desperation, I told him my biggest fear. "Son, I want you to be comfortable."

He looked at me like I had disappointed him--and that's a very sad look to receive from one's own child. 

"Mom," he told me, "It's not about being comfortable, right? It's about being available for Jesus. I can do that.  I know I can."

So late this summer, Atticus will head to Nepal with his dad. I have no idea where they'll be staying, what they'll be eating, how they'll be getting around, or what God has in store for them. But I do know this. That boy is going to come away from this trip eyes opened wide for the spreading of the Gospel. After all, he seems to have a pretty good head start. 

Begin the begin

This is the letter we'll be sending out to some of our nearest and dearest this week:

Dear Friends and Family,

Throughout the past 15 years, our family has enjoyed numerous adventures. We’ve experienced the nomadic existence of a journalist, living in multiple states before settling in Washington nearly 9 years ago. We’ve welcomed children biologically and through adoption-- sometimes for even just a few days as a foster family. We’ve run the educational gamut: Christian preschool, homeschooling, and special needs public schooling. We’ve had cats, dogs, fish, (too many) rabbits, and even lambs who slept in our bathtub. We’ve driven cross-country in a well-loved Volvo station wagon. We’ve even been offered a reality show to showcase our slightly off-beat family. (No, we’re not kidding.)

A lot of people have called us crazy. We’re writing you today to confirm that fact. We are, in fact, crazy. To quote the Apostle Paul: If we are out of our mind, it is for the sake of God; if we are in our right mind, it is for you (2 Corinthians 5:13). In other words, the Blandings do a lot of nutty things ... like being foster parents ... like founding a nonprofit ... like getting our hands dirty in places like Mexico, Haiti, and Burma ... but we do it all because we feel called to do so by a God whom we both love and fear.

With this in mind, we are writing to invite you to join us on our next great, crazy adventure. For several years, Mr. Blandings has been traveling through Southeast Asia, ministering to and encouraging national pastors as they seek to bring the Word of God to their people. Our nonprofit, The Global Missionary, has been raising funds for those efforts. Thus far, we have been privileged to build churches, supply Bibles, train pastors, support orphaned children, and meet the practical needs of people in some areas of the world that are considered most hostile to the Gospel. Now we are taking a bigger step of faith--some would say a crazy step of faith--and working to move our entire family to live and serve among the Hindus and Buddhists of Nepal.

If you’re on The Global Missionary’s mailing list, you already know that we have partnered with Reach Nepal--a group of Nepali Christians--to take over the financial concerns of Abba House Children’s Home and the Nepal Baptist Theological Seminary in Lalitpur, Kathmandu, Nepal. While these are vital ministries and we look forward to being involved in them in a more hands-on fashion, our main call involves discipling and providing encouragement and ongoing training for the seminary graduates as they sew seeds in villages and small towns throughout the Nepali countryside. We plan on being based in Lalitpur, with Christopher traveling regularly into the rural areas to work with pastors and graduates of the seminary.

The first stage of this journey requires us to spend a year in Thailand. During that time, Mr. Blandings will work directly with others who do similar work among other people groups, receiving their guidance and taking their materials and using them to piece together a training plan for the Nepali nationals. Meanwhile, the rest of the family will have a chance to transition to life in Asia. We’ll be leaving behind many of the niceties of Western life, but Thailand still offers a stunning array of Americanized goodies. In other words, you can still send us Starbucks gift certificates if you feel moved to do so!

We are all looking forward to this amazing adventure. The idea of being united at long last with our Nepali daughter, Bee, as well as serving God full-time, has us wishing we could leave tomorrow! But, of course, there are several things that must happen before we can buy our plane tickets and set off for Asia.

First and foremost, as field missionaries, we must raise support for our work. At this time, we have calculated that our living and ministry expenses will require approximately $5,000 US per month. If you feel led to partner with us in this calling and would like more information on our expected expenditures, we’d be happy to provide you with that information. While we will most certainly be looking to work with churches and groups, it is our heartfelt desire to engage as many families and individuals as possible in supporting this work. It’s one thing to have a financial director at a church cut a monthly check from the tithes and offerings of the congregants, but it’s another thing altogether to have people actively supporting and praying for the needs and works of a ministry!

We are praying that God brings forward a small army of believers focused on sharing the Gospel in Nepal. For our part, we’ll be engaging our supporters with more than just the typical newsletter updates. People who commit to supporting us will receive an information packet filled with details about the people and culture of Nepal. We want this ministry to be yours as much as it’s ours. After all, isn’t that what the word “partner” really implies?

The entire Blandings family thanks you for your support and encouragement throughout the years. No matter where we’ve landed geographically, we’ve always known and felt the love of the beautiful individuals and families that God has placed in our lives. We know that Thailand and, eventually, Nepal, will be no different ... no matter how crazy we are.

With many blessings,
The Blandings family

Us, minus Bee

Mr. Blandings and Mary Grace
Bee, Jo, Atticus, Logan, Oliver, Manolin, and Seven


For more information:

Chiang Mai, Thailand: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chiang_Mai
Lalitpur, Nepal: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lalitpur_District,_Nepal

The details (for those who would like to know such things)

Many, many people have asked many, many questions. Seems my little video didn't satisfy the need to know, huh? For those who are curious, here are a handful of thoughts and updates on the current status of things at Casa Blandings:

*I am 17 weeks pregnant today. This is monumental. I haven't sustained a pregnancy this long since Logan, and that had a delightful end result, so I am feeling insanely blessed.

*No, we weren't "trying." As you may recall from earlier blog posts on the topic, hope had escaped us in this particular area, and I had finally found the healing I was praying for in terms of no longer coveting the blessings of others. Apparently, God took that as a sign.

*Yes, we were shocked. In truth, the only reason I took a pregnancy test was because Mr. Blandings and Jo were preparing to leave for Nepal and I was afraid of suffering a miscarriage alone. (Just being honest.) When the test was positive, I was even more concerned and actually consented to the hcG blood test at a lab. My first numbers were not, according to the tech, "promising." You can't imagine my shock and surprise when I got the call with the 48 hour results and was told that my numbers had doubled--just like they should. Still in shock, I consented to an ultrasound just before Mr. Blandings and Jo left for Nepal. At that time, we saw a healthy, rapid heartbeat and a wriggling little Seven. Talk about amazing!

*We are still planning on moving to Nepal. Our current timeline looks more like spring/summer of 2011. That will allow for Seven to be a bit sturdier before we hit the road for our big cross-country blitz just prior to leaving the States.

*Yes, I have a history of high-risk pregnancies. Jo was my only full-term baby. Both Atticus and Logan were more than a month early. Because of this, and the fact that I tend to have pre-term complications starting very early in pregnancy, I will begin medical intervention in the form of p17 shots this week. This is very good news, because I've already started having contractions and having to cut back on my normal activities. These shots weren't an option 8 years ago when I was pregnant with Logan, so I'm hopeful that they will be gentler than the trib I used with him, and still have a healthy baby at the end of the pregnancy!

*My biggest concern right now is ... school next year. I have been completely thrown for a loop on how to plan for next year. I'm still processing the whole thing, and will keep you abreast of developments and curricula choices as I make them. Anyone with experience in teaching 8th, 5th, and 3rd grades with a developmentally delayed 3 year-old and a curious 2 year-old while nursing a baby is more than welcome to chime in. Please.

*Yes, we are re-applying for Bee's visa. The application goes in next week, with her potentially arriving towards the end of May. She will only be able to stay for a few months, but we are willing to take that in exchange for time as a whole family.

*The older kids are very excited. Jo is excited about the whole deal. Atticus thinks another child will be fun. And Logan just likes babies. Their votes are boy, girl, boy. Someone is right. We'll see. Which brings us to ...

*No, we don't peek. You'll find out what I'm having shortly after I find out what equipment the Lord sent along with this one.

*Yes, I'll actually post a picture once the baby is born. And maybe I'll even commission Benny to post an update once Seven arrives, if she's willing.

"What's the point?"

An acquaintance who is--admittedly--just a tad confused by just about everything my family does, contemplates, or stands for found me in the fabric aisle of the local craft store recently. She asked to hear the news: was Bee home with us, or still in Kathmandu?

I filled her in. Beside me, Atticus scratched his neck uncomfortably, thinking of his downtrodden daddy and sister back home, and the one in Nepal whose hugs he couldn't yet receive.

Her face shifted only the slightest bit, revealing much more than words ever could. I could have told you this would happen, her eyes whispered. You just don't know when to stop, do you?

Finally, she composed herself. Placed a consoling hand on my shoulder and gave me a squeeze.

"Sometimes you have to ask yourself, 'What's the point?' huh?" she asked.

I rustled in my backpack and found my iPod. With a couple of quick clicks, I found an answer that spoke volumes, despite the dead silence all around us.

Bee and Jo, KTM, Feb. 23, 2010

What's the point?

Simply put, this:

God sets the lonely in families (Psalm 68:6)

If that's not a reason to fight on, I don't know what is.

What's the point, indeed. (harumph)

Denied

I awoke after a restless night to find an email from Mr. Blandings waiting for me. I didn't have to open it to taste the disappointment. In the subject line, he had written one word:

NO.

Bee's visa was denied. As I write this, Mr. Blandings and Jo are gathering their belongings, wadding dirty shirts and pants into bags, and preparing their hearts for one of the hardest journeys they will ever make.

They're coming home, without Bee.

The house is dark and quiet on my end. The boys have yet to stir, and I've spent the hour since I got the news paging restlessly through my Bible, begging the Lord to speak to me. Finally, as I rolled my head back onto my pillow, my eyes settled on the small plaque that hangs near my bed.

Be still, and know that I am GOD, Ps. 46:10

So I am working on being still, and on remembering that while David only needed one of the five stones he had gathered to defeat his giant, the walls of Jericho didn't come down until that final trumpet blast. Could the Lord have done it sooner? Couldn't He have toppled that wall without the silly-seeming parade? Of course He could. But He chose not to.

My heart is breaking for all of us, but mainly it is for Bee. Mr. Blandings will come home a beaten man who will struggle to understand why, who will ask the Lord if he did something wrong, if there was something he missed. Jo will return to me wiser and more compassionate than before, with a heart that now grasps fully what it is to wait upon the Lord, even when your heart's desire dangles before you. I will be here for both of them. So will a houseful of joyous boys, who will only be able to feel so much loss, having not laughed with Bee, or held her hand, or discovered how much she likes to bake. In our home, there are toddler hugs, and games to be played, and always someone who swoops behind you at just the right moment to kiss your forehead and tell you what a blessing you are.

Mr. Blandings and Jo will be beaten, but not broken.

But Bee...

Our poor Bee. She will continue to long for the thing that she has tasted. She will continue to grow in a loving atmosphere that is not quite home, cared for perfectly, but never quite a daughter. When she goes to bed at night, she will wonder. Are they still coming for me? Will this ever happen? Did I do something wrong? Am I not worthy of a family, Lord?

My biggest prayer this sad, dreary morning is that Bee, too, will be still. That God will wrap His arms around her and comfort her. That He will be the rock she clings to as she is rocked, yet again, by disappointment. The Lord sets the lonely in families. I know this much is true; I have seen it with my eyes and experienced it in my own home. God has a family for you, Bee. And He will bring you to it. Be still, and wait on Him.

And we will do the same.

El-Roi

EL-ROI (Genesis 16:1)--meaning "The Strong One Who Sees"

I love the names of God. In fact, I feel a little cheated sometimes as I read through my NIV or NASB versions of the Bible and come across yet another "the LORD" when the context of the reference is clearly alluding to one of the amazing attributes revealed in the small, humble package of a name. It's easy to forget, in a world where titles mean so little, the majesty and power that are summed up in the way God refers to himself--and is referred to by His first followers. He is The One Who Goes Before Us. Our Banner. Our Provider. And, oh, yes ... The Strong One Who Sees.

These past few days, as Mr. Blandings, Jo, and Bee have been enjoying one another in Kathmandu, we have also been engaged in a full-scale prayer effort asking God for nothing short of a miracle: We want Bee's visa, stamped, approved and in hand, in time for her to step onto the plane and come home with her father and sister.

This has been a tall order in the eyes of man. First of all, Mr. Blandings and Jo were unexpectedly detained for a full day on one of their layovers, costing them an entire day's worth of time in Nepal. Then, the disgruntled politics that upend life there from time to time intervened--a strike was planned, and closure of government offices was imminent. And then there was a clerk who was unmoved by the impassioned pleas of a 13 year-old girl wanting to be seen at the embassy in time to leave with her new family. An interview was scheduled, yes ... for the day after her father and sister left the country.

Right now, I could amaze you by saying that God moved the mountains. I could bring a smile to the face of every believer who reads this by telling you that our God came through. He conquered the roadblocks and He moved hearts. All of this would be true.

Or I could sum it up like this:

We are under the wing of The Strong One Who Sees.

Before Mr. Blandings and Jo set foot in the Seattle airport ... The One Who Goes Before Us. Before the strike was planned ... Our Banner. Before the clerk ignored Bee ... Our Provider.

El-Roi has miraculously smashed every obstacle of the princes and principalities. Only one remains as I write this: Bee's interview that will either grant or deny her visa application. It is scheduled to take place at approximately 6:15 p.m. PST today, February 23, 2010. Approximately 12 hours after the interview begins, the journey back to Seattle will begin. The only question is how many Blandings family members will board the plane. Two? Or three?

I ask for your prayers. This entire journey has already displayed the immense power and glory of God. He has done so much, and given so many people who have heard this story the chance to raise their hands to heaven and praise Him. The desire of our heart is that Thursday night, Bee will sleep for the first time in the love and safety of the home the Lord has prepared for her here, with a family celebrating her arrival. We long for this. We ask you to join us in petitioning God that this be made a reality.

Because yes, He is The Strong One Who Sees. But He is also our loving Abba, who delights in our joy and cherishes us as beloved children. And we know that what we ask, He hears.

Thank you, friends. I hope to post tomorrow with news of victory.

Sisters

Mr. Blandings and Jo heading into the airport for the journey that would lead them to Bee.

I am trying not to be jealous, but still.

On the other side of the globe, my husband has had the honor of introducing his two daughters. In the middle of the Nepali night, just outside the airport at Kathmandu, Bee and Jo met.

Mr. Blandings had dreamed of the day from the moment that he first laid eyes on Bee. Falling in love with an older child is something different than meeting a newborn, you must understand. Rather than slowly peeling back the layers of need and uncovering a personality not yet able to firmly assert itself, you are presented with a person from day one. Bee likes ice cream, the color black, and peanut M&Ms. She has a slow laugh, a shy personality, but a bubbling undercurrent of spunk that Mr. Blandings longs to see set free. Put her in the same room with Jo, he prayed, and let them fall in love with one another.

But again, it is not so easy as all that. Just as Bee is not a malleable tot, Jo is not a blank slate. They each have their own passions and dislikes. They have their own way of communicating, of feeling, and of spending their time. They have histories that do not include one another, and cultures that come nowhere close to mirroring the same values or traditions. One is 13, dark-skinned, and carrying in her heart the rejection of a lifetime as an unwanted castoff. The other is 12, fair, and curious as to what it will mean to share the title "daughter" with someone for the very first time.

The first night, there was barely enough time for introductions before the exhausted travelers escaped to their beds. The next morning, I can only imagine my careful, conscientious Jo treading lightly around her new sister, wondering just who this person was. Mr. Blandings said that they seemed to like one another, even though there was no immediate ease, no instant kinship that bubbled between them.

Then, of course, as these things will happen, opportunity presented itself. After a day spent traversing the consulate, taking in some sights and generally being together, the children at the orphanage all gathered together for a game of UNO. The rules, it seems, are somewhat different in Nepal. Jo didn't mind, because even here in the States, we've encountered other styles of play. In Nepal, it's not the first person to lay down all their cards that wins. Rather, it's the last person to go out ... or at least, that's the way the children convinced them to play. At any rate, a whole passel of children ages 8 and up slowly made their way through the game. Finally, it was down to just two players. The final round, as it were.

Jo versus Bee, of course.

And this is when Mr. Blandings finally saw his daughters. Because even though both girls held Draw 4 cards that could have squashed their competitor ... they chose not to.

The children around them danced and shouted, "It's sister against sister!"

And they were right. In that moment, it was clear. Twenty-four hours before, they had been strangers in an airport, wondering how one felt about the other. But now, neither was willing to stomp on the other's heart--not that delicate place where a seed was blooming. Because in time, most likely, there will be love. First acceptance, then respect, and at long last, love. Not immediately. Not without growing pains. But it will happen. Mr. Blandings is sure of it now.

Sisters. What a beautiful word.

A shameless plug for my Jo

In February, Jo is going to Nepal with her daddy.

Not planning on going.

Not hoping to go.

Nope, she's going. Period. No ifs, ands, or buts.

Her mind is made up.

She is going in February. She wants to plant her feet on Nepali soil. But most of all ... she wants to be at the head of the line for giving Bee a big old hug and welcoming her to the family. If all goes well, she'll be escorting her new big sister home.

Now all she needs is $1,500 for a plane ticket.

In typical Jo style, this has not daunted her one little bit. She pulled out her account book, tabulated how long she has to sell off some bunnies, and began plotting other cash-generating opportunities. Among them? Her recent passion for bookmarking making.

In this vein, my little dynamo has recently set up an etsy shop, the better to peddle her wares. As a good momma, I'm giving her a shout-out here. Therefore:

If you'd like to help Jo get one step closer to her dream of meeting her big sister in February, would you please take a gander at her etsy site? And even if you're not in the market for a bookmark for yourself or as a gift to give this year, could you please pray that God brings the funds forward for her? She'd love to know that folks were lifting her desire before the Lord!

Jo's shop: Mission to Nepal

The leaving kind

It sounds cliché, but when we shared the news of our planned move to Nepal with Mr. Blandings' parents, there was wailing and gnashing of teeth. You may have asked yourself what that Biblical phrase sounds like when transferred from the abstract text on a page to a real, live sound pouring from the lips of an individual. Do yourself a favor--try not to find out.

Truthfully, Mr. Blandings and I have caused such furor before. We have, after all, simply refused to live the kind of lives that fit into safe, tidy boxes. We were the couple that stomped and fumed over the location of our wedding (we gave in on that one). We were the thoughtless ones who got pregnant six months after said wedding. We were the malcontents who left the Catholic Church. We are the black sheep who decided to homeschool. We are the callous branch of the tree that lives thousands of miles away.

All in all, we cause heartache. And wailing. And yes, gnashing of teeth.

Madame Blandings, mother of my Mr. Blandings, has never quite forgiven us for causing her worry. I can't help but picture her wringing her hands from time to time, fretting over what we might do next. One income. No cable television. Adoption from foster care. International travel without an air conditioned tour bus. No prom for Jo. Dear Lord, help them help themselves!

I'm not sure where Madame Blandings went wrong, but her parenting efforts did not turn out a successful lawyer who spends long winter weekends skiing with his 1.5 children and rail-thin, doctor of wife. Instead, her oldest son drives a beater Volvo every day after kissing his wife good-bye and passing his hand in blessing over a rabble of children whose idea of snow fun is lashing salvaged bits of 2x4 from our discard wood pile out back to their rain boots.

Mothers worry. We know this down in our bones; The price of holding a child to your neck and feeling his breathing gradually fall into step with your own is to have your heart intertwined with his forever. You will sit up on feverish nights and pray sickness away. You will wince at hurts real and perceived. You will grieve the losses and dance in the victories. Forever, you will want the best for this little soul entrusted to your care.

But let's be honest--some children worry us more than others. They touch our softest, deepest heart-places and we link with that need in an almost primal way. Quite often, these are the selfsame children who seem programmed--almost from the moment they take their first breath--to chafe and kick against the very emotions that we ourselves can not help but lay over them like warm blankets on crisp nights. Why, Lord, why?

You may have a child like this in your own heart and home. Unabashedly independent, yet still so tender. Curious, but somehow nervous, as if his own explorations might bring him to a place where the whole applecart of his tenuous little being might be upended. Needy. Passionate. Unique.

I have one of these children myself, so I completely understand what Mr. Blandings' favorite aunt told me about his childhood one afternoon shortly before we were married:

"You have to understand, Mary Grace--the very first step Mr. Blandings ever took was a step away from his mother. She wanted to keep him so close, but all he ever did was go beyond her, getting into all kinds of trouble. I don't think she's ever forgiven him for that."

She hasn't. Her son, my husband, is still the little boy who will not behave. He is still escaping from his play-pen, straying into the unsafe places, and finding ways to vex her ... when all she's trying to do is make him happy.

Because surely, if anyone knows the key to a child's happiness, it's his mother, right? I know that I ascribe to this theory. Try this, you'll like it. Read this book, you'll enjoy it. You will tire of that sport, dear. Wear your coat, you'll get cold. How different is this from telling your son he should move back to the city he called home 20 years ago--the city where you still live? How much more peaceful is it to be the mother of children--even adult children--who are accounted for day and night? Who are financially secure? Who have all they could ever ask for? Whose lives are as easy and comfortable as you could ever ask?

While discussing Nepal, Madame Blandings said that we could not understand the kind of pain we have inflicted on her, and I agree. I don't know what it's like to wonder if my son is working, sleep-addled and exhausted, through yet another overtime shift to pay for Christmas gifts this year. I don't have to wonder if my boys are taking eating well, if they are adored as they ought to be, or if they are just a paycheck to a selfish woman who is too lazy to pull her own weight. I'm not there yet. But yes, I am treasuring all of these things up in my heart. Someday, after all, I will be the mother of boys who are no longer boys, but men.

The parting shot in our painful conversation with the elder Blandings' was this--

Tears in her voice, a tinge of anger seeping through, Madame Blandings addressed me, specifically.

"I hope you never go through this, Mary Grace. I hope you never know what it's like to have your kids scattering all over the earth and not even know whose hands they are in."

And this, I think, is the thing I am treasuring up the most.

Because I'll be honest, my heart leaps with delight at the thought of three, five, seven Blandings clans popping up in the hardest-to-reach areas of the globe. My heart mourns the missed Christmases and the birthdays without cupcakes, yes. But on a larger scale, I admit that I dream of being the kind of woman who God uses to multiply not just through biology, but throughout His Kingdom in a mighty movement of seed-planting.

I know in whose hands I have placed my children. And trust me, they are far better off with Him than they would ever be in the safe boxes which I might construct for them.

My prayer is that I can keep this momentum, that my heart stays fixed on this desire. Even as my children grown, and their leashes get longer and longer, and the stakes for their hearts just creep higher ... Lord, never let me forget that risks taken in Your Name are to be applauded, not run through a cost-benefit analysis. Let me grit my teeth through the feats of faith that You might lead my children through as You use them for Your purposes. Let me be the first one to step up in prayer and practice.

And most of all, Lord Jesus, let me never value safe above saved. Especially not when it comes to my own beloved children.

More updates than you can shake a stick at

There are too many loose ends trembling in the breeze at Casa Blandings right now. Some are short-term, and will be resolved as soon as either Mr. Blandings or myself finally gets the chance to make the phone call/write the email/etc. that will effectively check that item off of our to-do list. Others are more long-term aspects of our lives that are building, slowly, to a momentum. They're all linked, like a giant floor puzzle that is literally covering our lives at the moment. It feels pretty messy around here. But I can't complain, really. God is good, and He's got the details so ... don't worry, be happy, right?

Update #1--Nepal. "So, how are your plans coming?" Thanks for asking! They're going quite well, actually. Together, Mr. Blandings and I recently gave our nonprofit board and our pastor our estimated monthly expenditures. I used my handy-dandy Mac to whip up not one, but two quite posh-looking videos that outline our service goals in the area. We're working on an informational packet to send out to interested individuals and churches. And God has worked wonders; we already have a very nice portion of our support pledged ...all without asking anyone for a dime. Nice touch, Lord!

Our target date for the actual move to Kathmandu is September or October of 2010. Prior to that, we'll be traveling cross-country for several weeks, visiting with family members who haven't seen us in years and making presentations to anyone (churches, Bible study groups, missions boards, homeschool groups, etc.) who have an interest in learning about Nepal and the work being done there. We're looking forward to the traveling, since it will be a greatly-expanded version of the adventure that brought us to WA seven years ago. I'm doing the bulk of the leg-work, so I get to squeeze in all the little spots we're dying to see as well as all the people we want to lay eyes on before we move into the next, thrilling adventure that God has planned for us.

Update #2--Bee's visa. "When are you thinking she'll get here?" That's a good one. We just don't know. A major snag has been hit in terms of securing a passport for Bee; her birthdate is glaringly incorrect on all of her official paperwork. We're talking the kind of error that puts the folks down at Homeland Security on major alert. So until that error can be corrected, we're in a holding pattern. We had hoped that she'd be with us for the holidays, but it's clear to us now that it just won't happen without God picking up Mt. Everest and dropping it in, say, WA state. Which He could do. We're not doubting that. But we're thinking February at the earliest, anyhow.

Update #3--Oli's adoption. "Is he yours yet?" Oliver's paperwork was postponed in its transition from the regular social worker's office to the adoption worker's office. This delay was caused by our beloved Georgie, who has yet to actually file, process, or do anything according to the time frame set forth by the federal government. I don't know how she manages it, actually. It's her super power or something.

So here it is November, and his adoption should have been finished in just four or five more weeks. But it won't be. We're looking at February at the earliest. Again.

Update #4--Mani's adoption. "Did his birthmom relinquish or what?" No, Manolin's birthmom has not relinquished. Choosing to stay firmly in what is becoming the familiar territory of foster care, in which the birthparents deny their inability to parent no matter what their circumstances, Mani's biomom is contesting the termination. From prison. With a ten year no contact order in place.

Termination trial is scheduled for ... wait for it ... February.

But you already knew that, right? :-)