Landing

This morning, I walked into what is now likely to be our new church for the second time. I dropped the littlest ones off at the nursery without incident and Josh and I had a little time to rest quietly and just soak in the anticipation of spending time with other believers. This is definitely a first since we moved. Getting three little people to church on time while my husband is traveling, let alone early, is no easy feat.

An older white gentleman sat down next to us. He didn't leave that semi-awkward empty seat that people usually leave when they don't know you. He just sat down, stuck his hand out, introduced himself to both of us and asked me this question:

"How did you find our church?"

I answered him honestly, trusting that what I was seeing in his church would enable him to receive what I said without awkwardness. (Some white people panic when you use the word diversity. They just do.)

"Honestly, sir, I went to the website and clicked on leadership. I saw that you have a diverse team of leaders here and that's not easy to find."

He told me that he'd heard that before and that if that's what we were looking for, we'd find it here.

I don't doubt him. One look on stage shows me a black woman on drums, a diverse choir and a range of people of different backgrounds playing the instruments. A black pastor gets up to lead a time in prayer ministry and a white pastor gets up to share the word. As we pass the peace around us, we shake hands of people older than me and younger, children, black, white and latinx.

I watch the rows in front of me who are filled with hearing-impaired people who are worshiping through sign language, their voices quiet but their joy evident. They are led by a woman who is signing the words and songs of the service and clearly loves what she does. I didn't even know they had a hearing-impaired ministry but it starts a great conversation with my son.

My younger boys are with women of various backgrounds and children who look like them and their brother.

We could fit here.

Some might think that looking at the faces of a leadership team online is an irresponsible way to choose a church. Even racist.

But here's the deal.

When we adopted our sons, we made a choice. A conscious choice that we would not white-wash their world. That we would live in neighborhoods where they might make friends of multiple backgrounds. That they would not be the only black boys in their classes. That the churches we choose, especially as they grow and learn and begin to wrestle with what it means to be black boys with white parents in a racist America, those churches would have racial mirrors for them. Leaders, men and women, with voices of truth in their lives. Friends, boys and girls, who might look like them and their brother, who would wrestle through the chaos of growing up faithful in a world that may not understand that choice.

Many people look at denomination first. Or style of worship. Or the core set of beliefs. Or the type of children's ministry available. Or the mission statement. Or the location or stance on women in ministry or centrality of communion or...well, any number of pretty important issues.

For us, those things had to come second.

And you know what?

We don't want a diversity of leadership and congregation just for our boys. We want it for ourselves. To hear from people who are different from me: who didn't, in my case, grow up in a predominantly white, middle class, northeastern town. To hear from people of different ecumenical backgrounds than my husband and I were raised in. To value the incredibly beautiful diversity of God's church both in our every day lives and when we gather with the physical representation of that church each week.

So, yes.

We look first at that leadership page. And if the church at it's very core isn't reflecting what we hope to see in the larger congregation, we don't bother. We are a multiethnic family. This is a non-negotiable.

Will it mean that we might be in churches during the course of our lives that we don't 100% agree with.

YEP.

But since that has pretty much always been true of any church we've joined because my husband and I aren't the same exact person with the same exact beliefs, we've been there. Done that. And finding a community that loves God, loves others, strives for truth and justice and looks like our family is enough for us right now.

We don't need perfect theological alignment to dive in.

So, after almost five months of trial and error and visiting and praying, I think we may be landing.

And friends, it cannot come soon enough. This introvert is just about out of Sunday morning visitor small talk.

Waking Up

It's MLK Day. I haven't had a lot of time to ponder it this year. I've seen a lot of his "nice" quotes up around Facebook. Quotes about love and peace. I think, like a lot of white people, that those quotes summed him up for me until just a few years ago. Growing up with whitewashed history, I was only taught one version of racial engagement: be colorblind, preach colorblindness, never talk about race ever. And didn't Martin Luther King just want us all to get along? He was about LOVE, people. End of story.

King, however, also had a lot of stuff to say that I'm guessing many of us white people wouldn't put in the "nice" category. Excerpts from speeches that we didn't see in our history books. A quick visit to his national memorial in D.C. will give you a brief but powerful education (and please, for the love of all that is holy, go. You will not regret it.) He wasn't always nice. He was, unashamedly, honest. And a lot of what he had to say applies today in stark ways.

Bottom line, we have got to wake up. Not as much has changed as we were led to believe growing up. Racism is very much alive and just as ugly as ever.

This post is brief for a reason. I had a heck of a nonstop day. But I didn't want this day to go unmentioned. I am grateful for the people in my life who did not allow me to sit in my colorblindness. I am grateful for the friends who got mad at me, who made me angry with them, who shared their stories, who taught me what Dr. King was really about, who prepared me at least on some level for what it would mean to be raising children of color in a very broken system.

So, friends.

Educate yourselves. Educate your children. Put the effort in. Read real histories, not whitewashed textbooks. Don't buy children's books that depict slavery as "not that bad." Talk to your kids about Ferguson and Charleston and Baltimore. Say the names of people who have died solely due to the color of their skin THIS YEAR. Say them out loud. Mourn them.

Colorblindness does nothing but deny the inherent beauty of God's creation while silencing the voices of those who have not been treated with the full dignity which that accords.

Colorblindness, my friends, is a surefire way to teach your kids to be racists.

PUT in the effort. Caring about this, listening to real stories, recognizing our own biases, speaking up in the face of this continued evil, joining in action and policy that works towards ending unjust systems...THAT is the only way we will see change.

Dr. King said it decades ago and we must say it with him. We have much to learn. So let's be in the business of dropping our selfish defenses, our guilt, our helplessness, our indifference, whatever it is that keeps you standing still and silent in the face of so much pain, and start doing the work that will wake us up.

Moment of Grace

I was sitting on the deck stairs, the early evening autumn light trickling across the backyard through the neighbors' trees. The baby was in my arms, watching his brothers laugh and play with their father alongside them. And I felt a sudden quickening of my heart, an inexplicable intake of breath.

It was a moment of grace.

One moment in a constant day of feeding and changing and discipline and hurry.

But in that moment, that light coming through the trees was like a shaft of light to my heart.

"You made it. Look around you. Smiles, laughter, health, bounty. You made it."

Sometimes you are in something painful or challenging or dark for so long that you almost don't notice when the darkness shifts. And it might only shift by millimeters, but it starts to recede. Little by little, moment by moment. And then that light streaks in and you can see. See what God has done, see the scars and the hope, see the good even in the midst of the everyday challenges.

A moment of grace.

I will always be marked by our miscarriage. Our years of infertility have left their scars. The ups and downs of waiting on our boys changed who I am. This past year of tantrums and battles and fatigue and the completely overwhelming nature of being a mom to two children under two has challenged me to love deeper and more unconditionally than I thought possible.

And in that moment of grace, I could see.

See my laughing toddler and realize with a shock that he hadn't had any meltdowns that day. Not one. See my eight-year-old who went from being an only child in a calm, quiet house to the oldest of three boys in nonstop chaos in just a year and a half's time. And to see him loving it, embracing it. To see it changing him for good. To see this baby who is emerging from the newborn phase laughing and sleeping and staring us down when we eat in front of him and remembering that we didn't even know about him five months ago. To see this man with whom I've chosen to walk life, a true partner, encourager, the hardest-working and most generous man I know, who loves his family with unwavering fierceness.

A moment of grace.

To drink it in, give thanks, take stock and look forward in hope to what our family is becoming. To know these moments will come and go, that some days will still be long and hard, but that God is faithful. That he gives grace and strength. That he gifts us with these moments where we can suddenly see and know that He is good.

This morning, as I reflect on that moment I am reminded of the words of one of my favorite songs:

"Let hope rise and darkness tremble
In your Holy light
That every eye will see
Jesus, Our God
Great and mighty to be praised "  (From "With Everything" by Hillsong United )

Even sitting among the dirty dishes and the long lists for the day ahead, I am asking hope to continue to rise. To see the darkness continue to fade. To move boldly forward in ways that draw myself and others to know God better.

To see more moments of grace and light and make them as much a part of who I am as the scars have been. I don't need the scars to fade - but they are so much more beautiful in the light.

The Years of Yeses

This is going to be short and sweet because, well, everything is these days.

These days we are chasing a non-stop 18-month-old, sometimes with a 3 week old bouncing along in our arms, praying we aren't doing him irrevocable damage by subjecting him to all the chaos of our lives.

These days a lot of people look at us in public and say "How old are they? Woah, you've got your hands full, don't you?"

These days, as is necessary in this particular phase, our life revolves around making sure our oldest gets to school and soccer practice and gets that daily snuggle he still needs even while we balance keeping the toddler from drinking from oily street puddles and making sure the newborn stays fed and dry and has no one poking him in the eye.

But twelve years ago, these types of days were a distant dream. Something we could pretend to imagine but really have no idea of how all-encompassing, how overwhelming, how fulfilling and exhausting they would would feel all at the same time.

June 7, 2003, Leaving our wedding reception

But twelve years ago we knew one thing: We were saying yes to each other forever and yes to whatever would happen for us and to us in the meantime.

That meant we said yes to becoming parents and then crashing our way through the "two working parents" childhood of Josh and all of the "ships passing in the night" that that meant for us at the time.

November 3, 2006, Josh is born

That meant we said yes to a hard year of struggling to communicate and having to remember why we said yes in the first place when he had a tough spell around the five year mark.

That meant we said yes to struggling through the loss of our second child, through the ensuing fertility treatments and years of infertility and eventual death of that dream.

June 14, 2013, Leaving NC for WI

That meant we said yes to years of training and home studies and invasive questions about our sex lives and parenting and family relationships to pursue adoption.

That meant we said yes to my husband starting a new career and moving from friends and family and starting over twice with new schools and churches and relationships and rhythms to our lives.

That meant we said yes to putting my own career on hold when we brought our second son home from foster care last year and to continuing to stay home for a bit longer now that his younger brother is here, too.

January 9, 2014, Nate joins the family

It means we will say yes again to whatever comes when this post-doc is finished in Wisconsin, we will say it together, we will move again (most likely) and we will start up life again somewhere new, hopefully for the long haul.

May 13, 2015, Jayce joins the family

It has meant saying yes over and over again to each other. To remembering the "I wills" of our wedding day. To remembering that before the dog and the boys and the guinea pigs and all the moves and changes, we said yes, first and foremost, to each other. To a covenant of life together no matter what. To putting our marriage before our children so that our children will be parented by parents who unashamedly love and honor each other and are, therefore, better at loving them.

So today, as we celebrate 12 years, we do it with puffy eyes and exhausted bodies. We do it with full hearts as we watch our sons run around the backyard, playing soccer, laughing and crying after worshiping with our church family this morning. We do it as we look at each other knowing that there will not be a big fancy dinner out this year. There might just be a quiet, miraculous hour tonight when all 3 are asleep at the same time.

I suspect that we will just sit together and soak it in. Maybe with a glass of wine or a margarita. Maybe we'll hold hands and just sit and remember the yeses. And maybe we'll just fall asleep on each other's shoulders.

I hope we do.

Because as much as marriage is the hardest work in the world, it is worth every second. And the thing I want my three boys to know most of all as they grow up, besides the fact that God loves them more deeply and truly than we ever could, is that their parents made a promise to love each other and to love them, even on the days where love doesn't feel good. That our yeses as husband and wife put each other first in a way that will hopefully trickle down to their own understanding of what it means to have a true partner some day.

So, I'm just going to say it at the end here because it needs to be said outright and boldly.

I love my kids. And I will give them everything I have.

But they are not the center of my universe.

God is.

And it was before Him and many witnesses that I promised all the yeses to my husband, including giving him all of me. Before, during and after our kids are long gone from our home.

May God always grant us the energy to remember that and not let the chaos of the daily or the tyranny of the urgent (read, toddler) distract us from that fundamental promise that formed our family in the first place.

Happy 12 years to us. I look forward to the next yes, the next adventure with the most generous, patient husband a woman could ever hope for.

Sabering

We aren't big on play weapons around here.

Except, of course, for light sabers.

For two years in a row, they have been a key part of our birthday celebrations. Most of his friends own at least one and, if none happen to be around, they are all more than willing to use any other potential longish object to have their battles. Pool noodles, balloons, sticks.

One of the things I've noticed, though, is that they break easily. In our home, this is most likely due to a predatory 1-year-old, but we decided that having some kind of proper storage might elongate the lives of the ones still remaining.

So, having stared at an old pallet in our garage for way too long, I decided to go ahead and try to make something fun out of it and help our storage problem all in one.

Here is what I did:

(1) I took an old pallet that we had from a delivery this past summer that was just taking up space in our garage. (Free)

(2) I cut down the pallet to size, nailed in lose nails and sanded it down with the help of one handsome fellow.

(3) I bought some pipe insulation (in charcoal gray to go with our color scheme) and cut it down to about 5 inches long. I also slit it down the middle. I made three of these. (Cost about $2)

(4) Then we painted the pallet. First, we did a lovely dark blue and fully saturated the wood. Then we did a loose brush over the top with a navy to give it a sort of weathered look. ($4 for the paint)

(5) Then I added a fun accent phrase and hot glued the small pieces of insulation to the bottom.

(6) Add lightsabers and go! We are looking forward to revamping my older son's room to plan around this piece. He told us he's too grown up for his primary colors bedroom, so Star Wars it is! This will hang on the wall and keep those trusty sabers organized.

Naptime Challenge Day 2 - Pen and Paper

We had a reasonable morning around here. Lots of eating, a few hours at the gym and tons of rolling around on what seems to be the toughest balloon ever known in the history of man. I hate to think what'll happen when that thing eventually blows. Ah well, fun for now. Tears later, I'm sure.

As littlest just went down for a nap, I came downstairs ready to do my challenge.

Here's Day 2:

(1) Again, leave little person(s) room and ignore tyrannical lists for now.

(2) Get out a pen and paper. Or that notecard you picked up on clearance at Target two years ago and promptly never used.

(3) Sit down and write an actual note. Yes, a handwritten note with pen and ink. Pick just one person. (or two if you are feeling cah-razy today.) Mine is going to be a "I've been thinking about you and sad we never find time to skype or talk but you are a big part of my life and I wanted to say hi" type of note.

(4) Get out an envelope, address the darn thing and, if you even own any at this point, put a stamp on it. If you are like me and don't do this crucial step, your note will sit on your counter until everything you wrote in it becomes irrelevent and you have to start from scratch two years from now the next time you see cute notepaper on sale.

(5) Do whatever you need to do with it to make sure it actually gets mailed.

That's it.

A note. From you to someone you love or miss or just want to remind that he or she matters.

Naptime Challenge Day 1 - Dance It Out

If you didn't read yesterday's post, I am attempting to integrate a new habit during my youngest son's naptime in an effort to focus my freedom. I'm going to try it for a week- if it turns out it adds stress, I'm dropping it, but I invite you to give it a try with me.

Naptime challenge for today?

(1) Leave your child's room - ignore the mess and the lists and find your ipod or computer or whatever plays music around your house.

(2) Find a wide open space and your favorite song.

(3) Turn it up as loud as you can without waking the kiddo(s).

(4) Then, my friends, DANCE IT OUT.

Seriously, dance like you used to when your husband wasn't home and you had the house to yourself with no kids and the sun was shining and you could do any move you wanted without anyone pulling on you or interrupting you or requesting a different song.

Dance it out.

Naptime Challenge

Choice is a powerful thing.

And for someone who has too many interests, lots of responsibilities and to-do lists posted on every floor of her home, choice can be paralyzing.

Parents of little people will understand that moment of elation and freedom and possibility when you leave the room of a napping toddler. Most likely, if your child is like mine, you haven't sat down properly since you woke up 6 hours before. You've put out fires, quelled tantrums, chased little people back into time-outs for pinching you in the boom boom as you try to make them lunch, read the same books over and over to curious little minds, kept them from flinging themselves off playground precipices and, hopefully, giggled a lot in the midst of it all. And now he or she or they are asleep. And you have somewhere between 1 and 3 hours to get EVERY. SINGLE. OTHER. THING done. To press the reset button on patience and sanity and hope. To maybe even quietly rejoice in the victories of the morning.

Seriously, though. Dinner prep, laundry, shower, clean up the train wreck that occurred the first half of the day, get ready for the older to arrive home from school and head to soccer or drums or whatever. The list goes on. And it's rarely fully checked off in this season. I often don't know where to even start.

And you know what? Some days the sheer magnitude of what I could accomplish in those short minutes prevents me from accomplishing anything at all.

So, I had an idea.

What if I did ONE thing every afternoon that had nothing to do with my lists. Nothing to do with keeping the house going or survival or keeping my personal hygiene to at least a mildly socially acceptable level?

What if I did one thing during his nap that was either just for fun or for the good of someone else?

Maybe the tyranny of the rest of it would seem less chaotic if I started the afternoon differently. Rather than coming straight down to the lists, taking even 10 minutes to do something totally different.

So I'm going to try a week-long experiment. Every afternoon starting tomorrow (except the weekends), when I walk down from his room to a quiet house and a few hours of possibility, I am going to post one challenge. Just one thing that I am going to attempt to engage with that is not on my to-do lists.

If anyone wants to try it with me, consider this your invitation. I'm hoping that changing up my routine in just one small, quantifiable way will open me up to tackling all the things that really do need to get done with just a bit more focus, joy and satisfaction.

Becoming Superhero

My son has a favorite caregiver at the Y. If she's there, we have no problems at drop-off. If not, well, you know.

Just yesterday as I was signing him in, a young father was dropping off his two children. She, as usual, welcomed them with cheerfulness and made the dad feel secure in leaving them. He happened to ask her about her own family and she shared that she had three daughters, all now young adults, and that she was close to all of them. He asked her her secret.

"The key is not to react. Just to listen, to respond as well you can and to make it clear that they can come to you for anything."

"Even in the teen years? I'm kinda worried about those. " He said.

"Especially in the teen years. You might even find you like them." She said.

Not to react, huh? Challenge extended, Carolyn. Challenge extended.

You see, I am not a big fan of drama. Some days the second my son wakes up I know we are in for it. The look in his eye when I enter his room, the tantrum while he is still in the crib because I did something unknowable wrong when I walked in. The audacity of my intent to change his diaper and attempt to put pants on a toddler. All these things can start our day with drama. I've found when it starts that way, it rarely gets better. My firstborn wasn't quite this challenging in the drama area. Clingy? Sure. Had his own share of challenges? Yup. But the colossal tantrums are a new thing for me.

I was sharing with a group of women who I have become close with over the past months how some days I just wake up and I already dread the day. I fear the tantrums. I plan every move two steps ahead in order to contribute to as few as possible.

And to be honest? I HATE that I do that. I hate the dread, the fear, the pre-tantrum walking on eggshells.  I was having trouble relating just how my brain feels when he is screaming at the top of his lungs and a friend sent me a post by Momastery that nailed it.

"My first instinct is to freak out. My first instinct is to remember that yes, this chaos is proof that I have ruined my life and the lives of everyone in my home and that we are a disaster of a family and that no mother, in the entire history of mothers, has ever been forced to endure the drama, decibels and general suffering of this moment. My instinct is to tear my clothes and throw myself on the floor and bawl and cry out worthless declarations like “I can’t TAKE this anymore!” My first instinct is to allow my anxiety and angst to pour out like gasoline on a raging fire and indulge in a full-on mommy meltdown."

Yup, that's it. Even if I am rational and calm and ready for it, that's where my brain goes when things get so loud that I can no longer think. Her solution was to put a smiley face on a paper bag and try to defuse the situation by wearing it on her head. I tried this but quickly abandoned ship when my son mistook it for a punching bag.

SO, I felt like it would be helpful to begin to find ways to help my soul handle this phase. Everyone assures me it won't last forever and I hang on to that promise with a white-knuckle grip. In the meantime, strategies.

I recently heard about a study done in Psychology Today that looked at a person's body posture and it's relation to the relative power and control one feels. If it were possible to find an image of a female superhero that didn't look hypersexualized, I'd go ahead and post that right now for us all so we could have a nice image in our head. Suffice it to say, that ain't happening.

The byline of the article says this: "Stand like a superhero, feel like a superhero, act like a superhero."

I should backpedal for one moment in case some of you are worried I'm about to delve into some kind of argument that super-parenthood can exist and that you will be plunged into deep wells of self-loathing and feel terrible that all you can accomplish during the day is keeping your child fed. 

Rest assured, I don't believe supermom or superdad exists.

This is an argument for something else entirely. 

This is an argument for posture.

At some point, as I mentioned earlier, I began to dread our days together. I'd wake up defeated. I tried getting up earlier than him and spending time in scripture and prayer and reading. I like to do this anyway. But, like many toddlers, he has radar. I swear, he KNOWS when my alarm is about to go off and will wake up one minute before it just to cause the most amount of damage to my psyche possible. So, sometimes I can get up before him and read in peace and feel ready. Other times, I have about 4 minutes to get my self out of that bed and get my head on straight before it's a full-scale screaming meltdown from the next room over.

So, I began to wonder if this study might impact my mornings a little bit. What if, especially on those mornings when I didn't have time to truly prepare myself, I became a superhero? Just for two minutes? The study just proposes that putting oneself in a stance with open posture will do what you need, but it's a lot more fun for my husband to stumble in on me in my jammies, hands on hips, legs apart, shoulders back and chin pointed up a la Superwoman. Our bodies are amazing - if we stand like this we get a rush of testosterone and we actually feel more powerful and in control. If we hunch or cringe in a closed posture? We feel stress. So my curling up into myself in dread was actually causing my body to create extra stress before I even walked in his room. Helpful.

So, for four days straight now, I have become superhero. Just for a few minutes. Just before I go in to get him. 

And you know what? Whether it's the placebo effect of expecting to feel different or because this works, I have walked into that room with my head held high. With confidence that we were going to have a good morning. With cheerfulness and readiness and hope. With fewer stressful and chaotic emotions banging around in me and a better well of patience with which to respond. And he has responded to that. We have had fewer tantrums. He has followed some directions (a very new thing for him) and we have laughed together more than we have in a long time. 

This is no small thing for us. 

My son actually did sleep in a bit this morning giving me time to spend time with God and then write this. But before I hear him calling upstairs, it's time to go stand up straight for a few minutes and get my morning dose of superhero. 

Is it time to go get yours? 

Diversifying Our Movie Shelf

We all grow up with our favorite movies- the ones that we remember bringing us comfort or teaching us some important lesson for the first time or the ones that we watched over and over at sleepovers with our best friends, memorizing every line and spontaneous dance number. (Yes, I grew up in the 80's.)

As we grow, maybe our tastes diversify a little in genre - we watch movies with more daring ratings, maybe we have friends with different backgrounds who introduce us to movies we've never seen. I think, though, with the way that Hollywood is, we need to be pretty intentional if we want to expose ourselves and our kids to movies with racially diverse casts, movies that do not have a white savior theme, movies that may tell us a different story of what life was and is really like in America.

As my oldest son is finally at the age to watch movies with deeper themes and questions, I recently polled friends on Facebook asking for help, which turned into a list I am excited to dive into. I also did some searches of my own to try to find some movies to add.

I broke the list into two main categories- General Movies and Historically Based Movies. These are all movies that someone deems appropriate for children and I've included their ratings, if they have one as well as their descriptions as found on IMDB or Amazon. I have not seen them all yet so please have grace if something is NOT actually a great movie to include. I'll continue to update the post as I see them if anything needs to be omitted.

Without further ado, here is what I have come up with. So far. It is by no means exhaustive. If you see a glaring omission, I would LOVE to hear from you in the comments section and will gladly and gratefully amend the post to reflect any missed movies.

Enjoy!

Children’s Movies with Diverse Casts

GENERAL MOVIES

Animated

UNRATED

Spirited Away (and all the Miyazaki movies) - ANIME - A wondrous fantasy about a young girl, Chihiro, trapped in a strange new world of spirits. When her parents undergo a mysterious transformation, she must call upon the courage she never knew she had to free herself and return her family to the outside world.

Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron - Join Spirit, a wild young mustang, as he sets out on an action-packed quest against impossible odds to regain his freedom and save his homeland. In his courageous and thrilling journey across the majestic wilderness of the American frontier, Spirit forms a remarkable friendship with a young Lakota brave, outwits a relentless squadron of soldiers, and falls for a beautiful paint mare named Rain.

G RATED

The Emperor’s New Groove – G - Emperor Kuzco is turned into a llama by his ex-administrator Yzma, and must now regain his throne with the help of Pacha, the gentle llama herder.

My Neighbor Totoro – G - Follow the adventures of Satsuki and her four-year-old sister Mei when they move into a new home in the countryside. To their delight, they discover that their new neighbor is a mysterious forest spirit called Totoro -- who can be seen only through the eyes of a child. Totoro introduces them to extraordinary characters -- including a cat that doubles as a bus! -- and takes them on an incredible journey.

Brother Bear- G- When a young Inuit hunter needlessly kills a bear, he is magically changed into a bear himself as punishment with a talkative cub being his only guide to changing back

Princess and the Frog – G - A waitress, desperate to fulfill her dreams as a restaurant owner, is set on a journey to turn a frog prince back into a human being, but she has to face the same problem after she kisses him.

Mulan – G - To save her father from death in the army, a young maiden secretly goes in his place and becomes one of China's greatest heroines in the process.

PG RATED

Lilo & Stitch – PG - A Hawaiian girl adopts an unusual pet who is actually a notorious extra-terrestrial fugitive from the law.

Big Hero 6 –PG -  The special bond that develops between plus-sized inflatable robot Baymax, and prodigy Hiro Hamada, who team up with a group of friends to form a band of high-tech heroes.

Non-Animated

UNRATED

Polly – TV Movie- An musical adaptation of the book "Pollyanna" set in the 1950's in which an orphan tries to use gladness to unite the people in a small southern town

Cinderella (Disney Rogers and Hammerstein Version) – TV  Movie- Updated version of the classic Rodgers and Hammerstein musical of the classic fairy-tale, with an all-star, multi-racial cast.

The Tap Dance Kid – TV Show- Eight year old wants to be a tap dancer like his uncle.

The Way Home – (Korean w/ subtitles) – Seven-year-old Sang-woo is left with his grandmother in a remote village while his mother looks for work. Through his grandmother’s boundless patience and devotion, he learns to embrace empathy, humility and the importance of family.

Coyote Waits- TV Movie- Two tribal cops uncover a plot involving a lost fortune, an historical artifact and a mythical Coyote on a Navajo reservation.

G-RATED

The Wiz – G - An adaption of "The Wizard of Oz" that tries to capture the essence of the African American experience.

PG-RATED

Spy Kids – PG – The children of secret-agent parents must save them from danger.

Like Mike – PG – When a hoops-loving fourteen year old with a dream to play in the NBA finds a mysterious pair of old sneakers, he makes the leap from playground hijinks to superstardom.

My Lucky Elephant –PG- Shot on location in the jungles of Thailand, this action adventure focuses on an orphan boy and his relationship with an abandoned elephant named Lucky. Together they overcome one adversity after another to survive, ultimately succeeding when Lucky charms everyone and becomes the star painter at an Elephant's Art Academy.

The Watsons Go to Birmingham –PG - The film chronicles the ordinary interactions and everyday routines of the Watsons, an African American family living in Flint, Michigan, and how they are drastically changed after they go to visit Grandma in Alabama in the summer of 1963.

Annie (new version) –PG -  A foster kid who lives with her mean foster mom sees her life change when business tycoon and New York mayoral candidate Will Stacks makes a thinly-veiled campaign move and takes her in.

Akeelah and the Bee – PG - A young girl from South Los Angeles tries to make it to the National Spelling Bee.

Karate Kid (new version) – PG - Work causes a single mother to move to China with her young son; in his new home, the boy embraces kung fu, taught to him by a master.

Space Jam – PG - Michael Jordan agrees to help the Looney Toons play a basketball game vs. alien slavers to determine their freedom.

Journey 2: The Mysterious Island – PG - Sean Anderson partners with his mom's husband on a mission to find his grandfather, who is thought to be missing on a mythical island.

Daddy Day Care – PG - Two men get laid off and have to become stay-at-home dads when they can't find jobs. This inspires them to open their own day-care center.

Corrina, Corrina – PG – When Manny Singer’s wife dies, his young daughter Molly becomes mute and withdrawn. To help cope with looking after Molly, he hires sassy housekeeper Corrina Washington, who coaxes Molly out of her shell and shows father and daughter a whole new way of life. 

Sister Act 2 – PG – Deloris Van Cartier is again asked to don the nun’s habit to help a run-down Catholic school, presided over by Mother Superior. And if trying to reach out to a class full of uninterested students wasn’t bad enough, the sisters discover that the school is due to be closed by the unscrupulous local authority chief, Mr. Crisp.

Linsanity – PG - The life story of basketball sensation, Jeremy Lin.

PG-13 MOVIES

Dr. Doolittle –  PG-13 - A Doctor finds out that he can understand what animals are saying. And the animals find out that he understands.

Whale Rider – PG-13 - A small Maori village faces a crisis when the heir to the leadership of the Ngati Konohi dies at birth and is survived only by his twin sister, Pai. Although disregarded by her grandfather and shunned by the village people, twelve-year-old Pai remains certain of her calling and trains herself in the ways and customs of her people. With remarkable grace, Pai finds the strength to challenge her family and embraces a thousand years of tradition in order to fulfill her destiny.

Smoke Signals- PG-13 – Young Indian man Thomas is a nerd in his reservation, wearing oversize glasses and telling everyone stories no one wants to hear. His parents died in a fire in 1976 and Thomas was saved by Arnold. Arnold soon left his family and his tough son Victor and Victor hasn’t seen his father for 10 years. When Victor hears Arnold has died, Thomas offers him funding for the trip to get Arnold’s remains but only if Thomas will also go with him. Thomas and Victor hit the road.

Remember the Titans - PG-13 - The true story of a newly appointed African-American coach and his high school team on their first season as a racially integrated unit.

Historically Based Movies

Ruby Bridges –  TV Movie – The true story of Ruby Bridges, an African-American girl who, in 1960 at age 6, helped integrate the all-white schools of New Orleans.

Selma Lord Selma – TV Movie- In 1965 Alabama, an 11 year old girl is touched by a speech by Martin Luther King, Jr. and becomes a debout follower. But her resolution is tested when she joins others in the famed march from Selma to Montgomery.

Our Friend Martin – TV Movie – This is the story of a black teenager named Miles who has to go on a class field trip to the museum of learning what Martin Luther King, Jr. did for humanity, he thinks that he’d rather play baseball. But the trip turns into an exciting adventure when he and his best friend, Randy, who is white, are sent back in time, meeting Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. at several points during his life.

Heroes of Freedom: Stories of Harriet Tubman and Rosa Parks – Educational Video – summary unavailable

Race to Freedom: The Underground Railroad – TV Movie-  A number of slaves risk their lives to escape their masters with their only help coming from the famous secret slave escape network.

March On and More Stories About African American History – INCLUDES 4 SHOWS –

MARCH ON!: THE DAY MY BROTHER MARTIN CHANGED THE WORLD (Written by Dr. Christine King Farris, illustrated by London Ladd, narrated by Lynn Whitfield) Martin Luther King Jr. s sister travels back to 1963 to present a personal, stirring account of the remarkable day when Dr. King delivered his I HAVE A DREAM Speech.

MARTIN S BIG WORDS (Written by Doreen Rappaport, illustrated by Bryan Collier, narrated by Michael Clarke Duncan) Using quotes from some of his beloved speeches, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. comes to life in this profound and important biography about beliefs and dreams and following one s heart.

ROSA (Written and narrated by Nikki Giovanni, illustrated by Bryan Collier) On December 1, 1955, Rosa Parks boarded a Montgomery, Alabama city bus and refused to give up her seat to a white man, an act that ignited a revolution and changed history.

HENRY S FREEDOM BOX: A TRUE STORY FROM THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD (Written by Ellen Levine, illustrated by Kadir Nelson, narrated by Jerry Dixon) The powerful true story of a young slave who mails himself to freedom.

Eyes on the Prize- NR -  Eyes on the Prize tells the definitive story of the civil rights era from the point of view of the ordinary men and women whose extraordinary actions launched a movement that changed the fabric of American life, and embodied a struggle whose reverberations continue to be felt today. Winner of numerous awards, Eyes on the Prize is the most critically acclaimed documentary on civil rights in America.

4 Little Girls – Documentary - A documentary of the notorious racial terrorist bombing of an African American church during the Civil Rights Movement.

Harriet Tubman : Inspiring Animated Heroes – True story of Harriet Tubman’s involvement in the underground railroad, helping to free 300 slaves.

The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman –PG -  Story of a black woman in the South who was born into slavery in the 1850s and lives to become a part of the civil rights movement in the 1960s.

Having Our Say: The Delaney Sisters First One Hundred Years – TV Movie- Tells the story of Sadie and Bessie Delany, two African-American sisters who both lived past the age of 100.

Betty and Coretta - TV Movie- The widows of Martin Luther King and Malcolm X and how they carry on as single mothers after the assassination of their husbands.

The Rosa Parks Story – TV Movie- The story of the civil rights heroine whose refusal to obey racial bus segregation was just one of her acts in her fight for justice.

Polly Comin’ Home – TV Movie - Broadway style songs are used to tell this interesting story of an ingenious orphan who gets involved in matchmaking and striving for inter-racial understanding in 1956 Alabama.

Geronimo: An American Legend – PG-13 –The story of the apache chief and his armed resistance to the US Government’s subjugation of his people.

If We Don't Teach It

This past week my son had a friend over to play for a few hours. Most of their time was spent as usual...legos, playing in the snow, lots of giggling. After one particularly long stretch out in the cold, they came inside and settled at my table for some hot chocolate.

And then.

Then, this seven-year-old, this guest in my house, looked straight at me and told me a racist joke about a Chinese person and started laughing. My son looked at me- I think he knew something wasn't right about it but he wasn't sure what exactly was going on. I was speechless. What do you say to a young child who has just said something like this?

So, I engaged him in a discussion. I asked him where he'd learned the joke. He made it up. I asked him why he thought it was funny. He said "it just is" and told me the punch line again and started laughing. I asked him whether he thought it was kind to say things that make fun of people. He shrugged me off and said it was no big deal and that he was just trying to be funny.

No big deal? Really?

Now, I could have let this go, right? After all, he's just a kid. There was no Chinese person in the room that might be offended, right? No one would know he ever said it except for me and my son. Thi kid is not even my kid so it's maybe not really my place, anyway. Probably his "intent" was not to be malicious. You hear a lot about intent regarding racism, especially from us white people. Well, if he didn't INTEND for it to be mean, what's the big deal, right? Can't we just take things less seriously and laugh?

Ah. No, actually. Just because he didn't intend to be rude doesn't mean that he wasn't. Intent does not cover over all manner of sins. Just because there was nobody there to be offended or hurt does not mean that the offense should be left alone.

And here's the deal. MY son was watching and listening. MY son wanted to see what a person is supposed to do in this situation. And you know what? Maybe I'm old fashioned, but I subscribe to that school of parenting that says that when a kid is at your home, he abides by your rules. And in our house? Kind words are the rule. Non-racist jokes are the rule. And honesty in confrontation is the rule.

Let me backpedal a minute here. I do not think this child's parents taught him this joke. I doubt they walk around telling racist jokes in his presence. I don't know if he's told them this joke or not and how they reacted. I am not trying to make a statement about their parenting because I know our kids sometimes say crazy things we probably never hear about. But I do think that if I stay silent just because this is a kid and I might hurt his feelings, I am not only teaching my own child that silence is an acceptable avenue when presented with injustice but I am also missing a chance to say something that maybe this child hasn't yet heard. After all, us white people aren't exactly known for educating our kids about racism from a young age.

So I tried to be gentle and keep my frustration in check. I explained why the joke wasn't acceptable and why I felt he shouldn't tell it anymore. Again, he shrugged it off. I made it clear that it would be completely unacceptable in our home and that if he continued to speak that way he would no longer be welcome here. He understood that particular point and promised not to tell it again. Hot chocolate finished, they moved on to play.

And friends?

I am not kidding you, not 20 minutes later, that same child looked me square in the eye and made a sexist comment. Some of you who know me well know that at this point this kid was likely in danger of a full out rant. Seriously?

Yet again I engaged him. Yet again he shrugged it off. Yet again I made it clear that anyone who is going to speak about girls that way in my home will not be invited back. My son's big eyes followed both these confrontations. He took it all in.

Now, I don't know if this kid will come over again. To be honest, I wouldn't really mind if he was no longer in the social mix.(There's a deeper story there unrelated to this most recent interaction.)

But the bigger issue to me is this - how has this happened? How has a young boy of seven already learned to make racist jokes? To make comments that disparage girls and their interests? To ALREADY not care if someone is offended by the jokes. How? Where did he learn it? Why hasn't he unlearned it? Does his family talk about racism or sexism or injustice?

I don't know.

But I do know this.

Our kids are going to get an education about these issues somewhere. They are going to hear things we don't want them to hear. Sometimes they are going to say things we don't want them to say. But they are never too young to begin to understand the power of their words. That old "sticks and stones" crap? I think we've all learned that that saying only existed to help us pretend that someone's words can't hurt when in reality we know that some of the most painful memories we carry are those linked to words. And if I choose silence in the face of these things, I am teaching my children that silence is acceptable. That shrugging it off or laughing it off is the right thing to do. That not causing trouble is the kind route.

I don't want them to learn those things.

I want them to know that they can choose kindness and honesty and truth. And that when someone, anyone, says something offensive, they have the right to speak up. To defend themselves, to defend the target of the joke (whether or not he or she is present), to challenge the teller to think about his or her words. To encourage that person to choose kindness and goodness. And if I don't know exactly what to say in every situation that comes up? Well, then what a great chance to continue my own education. To listen well and read good books and articles and grow myself and still do my best to stand for truth in those moments. To apologize when I fail and get it wrong.

If we as adults don't place ourselves in a place of humility to continue to learn and then teach these things to the children with whom we come in contact, clearly and often, through directives and examples, our kids will likely learn that popularity and humor are more important than character and truth and justice.

May it not be so.

Poems and Rainbows

It's difficult at this point to remember the years upon years of bedtime prayers issued by my oldest son in humble petition of a baby brother and sister. The questions he would ask about why his friends had them and he didn't. The conversations about why he wanted one and how much he looked forward to what it would be like to be a big brother. The practice of those skills on the children of dear friends of ours. The yearning, really, to love someone in that special way only siblings can. Before he even became a brother, he knew that role meant something.

One year into that reality, this kid has gone through a big transition. An only child for seven years with only memories of one home, we uprooted him from that home, school, church and friends, moved him across the country and gave him a baby brother all in the space of 7 months. And those long-awaited dreams of playing with his brother and teaching him soccer and legos, well, those dreams were still deferred to the reality of a little person who really just laid around and cried. A lot.

We, of course, have the obligatory joys and memorable pictures. Older brother holding younger brother for the first time, feeding him, letting him sleep in his lap, reading him books, pushing him on the swing or stroller, holding his hand while he learned to walk.

But the real fun? It's just beginning.

These two are finally becoming friends. The younger one reserves the majority of his hugs for his brother during the day. He likes to ride on his back like a horse. He likes to imitate every single thing his older brother does. Already. If his brother is at the table, the meal goes better. In the car? Smoother ride. And my 8-year-old, who I worried would be bored until his brother was much older, returns the adoration. Asks for hugs. Loves to be the first one in the room when he's getting up from his nap, loves to chase him around the house and help him down the slide and teach him his sign language.

We see how they feel about each other in these sweet daily interactions.

But just yesterday, we saw even more clearly what is going on in my eight-year-old's heart when his teacher sent a poem home from school. Apparently the kids had been asked to write a poem about something they love during creative writing time. The teacher was so overcome with the sweetness of what he wrote that she made a copy and sent it home.

Seriously.

There it is. And in case you are having trouble making out that final line? "There is some magic flowing through us". I gotta admit, I don't totally know what that line means, but it's pretty dang sweet.

We worried so much about what it would be like for him to want something so badly and not be sure if the reality would live up to the hype. We worried about his transition from only child. We worried about those months when his brother kept us up all night and we had less energy and patience for him. And now that we are out of that first year tunnel that involves mostly survival, we are so grateful to see what God has done in his heart towards this little guy, towards this brother for whom he longed and waited and prayed.

This mama's heart is melting today. I know their relationship won't always be poems and rainbows. I know the first time the little one wrecks a lego creation we will have a serious issue on hand. Or when he won't leave my older son and his friends alone on a playdate. But right now? Right now I am taking a moment to be thankful for the ways that our family has changed, for the ways my older son has grown in his capacity to love and for the reality that my younger son is growing up with a brother who loves "everything about him."

All the Unknowns

Every two weeks, I faithfully take out my pathetic little camera phone and snap a shot of my littlest. I compose a short text with some updates and send it all along to his birthmother. In 10 1/2 months, I had gotten two replies. Two. That's 34 messages and only twice had they been acknowledged. Both times, his BM stressed how hard this is and how much she missed him, so I'm not sitting around feeling annoyed or bitter about her lack of reply. Simply put, I have no idea what she's going through and I don't begrudge her her silence.

Two text messages. Until his birthday this past weekend during during which we were surprised (and so very excited) to receive a birthday message for him and the first pictures we've ever received of his birth mother and half sister. Treasure, really, in the adoption world. We were so grateful and those pictures will go right in his life book. But you know what? I want so much more for him than 3 text messages and a few pictures.

Daily something arises in his little life and I wonder if it's just his unique personality or if one of his birth parents was like this. I don't have his biological grandparents to ask those fun questions- "Did his dad scream with delight like this as a baby? Did his mom blow kisses to the dog, too? Were either of them this mind-bogglingly large at this age?" I don't know who he looks like - the recent picture we received was more of an artsy profile shot. No idea whose toes he has or which expressions mirror which parent.

All the unknowns feel like a loss to us. I can only imagine what they will feel like to him when he realizes them.

One of the things I pray for daily is that his BM will change her mind about meeting us all. I have these fantasies of us sharing Thanksgiving dinner in 10 years or meeting up every few months to laugh and chat or, at the very least, when we likely need to leave Wisconsin in a year and a half, being willing to hang out at a coffee shop for a few, potentially awkward, minutes so she can meet him before we move very far away. Not to say that we wouldn't return for him to see her- we knew when we adopted here that we were also quite possibly making a lifelong commitment to Wisconsin.

But you know what I want to know? How long has his family been here? What is his sister like? She looks sassy and sweet in her picture, having struck this adorable little pose with her hand on her hip and this huge smile lighting up her face. How is his BM handling the loss of him TODAY? How can we support her and love her?

And possibly the hardest part of all of this is that we will truly never know his birth father. That door closed a long time ago. We may eventually get answers to the pieces of his life puzzle on his BM's side but the other side will always stay dark. There will always be more unknowns for him than for my other son. And having to tell him about that man? I don't look forward to the hurt and confusion it will cause when that day comes but he deserves to know his story.

Before we adopted, I remember a friend of mine with two internationally adopted children lamenting the fact that there will be whole pieces of their lives that don't include her. The first years of their lives in orphanages, their birth stories, the missing newborn pictures. When they first spoke or walk. There was a whole other life these kids had lived.

I cannot imagine how that feels.

Having our little guy come to us at 6 weeks old, we have gotten to experience a lot of the firsts. His brother and I watched him take his first steps exactly two weeks ago. I get to hear him call the dog "God" and I was there the first time he called for Mama from his crib. I've rocked him to sleep for almost 11 months now. I watched him learn to grab things and sit up and recognize us and crawl with passionate delight towards his dad when he gets home at night. He didn't have much going on in life before we met him- pretty much that newborn trifecta of eat, sleep and poop at his foster parents home. We did miss his birth, his coming home, his first smile - but he's rewarded us with about 10,000 since then so I guess we're ok. In the grand scheme of things, we didn't miss much.

I am grateful I'll be able to tell him anecdotes about him as a baby and fill in some of his story. But I also long for the ability to tell him more. To fill in hard gaps. To help him learn how to cleave to God when his human story cannot be enough for him and, to be honest, might be entirely too much to take in. To teach him ways to work through questions of identity and community that will be more confusing for him being raised by white parents.

There will always be unknowns. That's adoption. We welcomed the unexpected and the unanswerable into our lives when we signed all the papers.

We also welcomed deep joy in the midst of the all the questions. I am hoping that as we continue on this path, as he grows more and learns to talk and hears his story, that he will be able to fully mourn the losses and unknowns even as the Lord teaches him to fully delight in Him.

Advent is a season for pondering the suffering in our lives and in the world- and right now, we don't feel much of that. We are in a place characterized more by joy right now. It would be tempting to jump straight to Christmas. But I am no stranger to the idea that our joys are made sharper, more intense by the sorrows we've experienced- I did spend 6 advents and Christmases longing for this child, waiting in sorrow, mourning the loss of Amara. The sorrows our little guy has in store will be no easy thing to work through. We will cry alongside him when he's hurt, we will fight alongside and before him when he is treated unjustly, we will mourn alongside him when the pieces we have of his story only cause confusion.

May we continue to learn to both mourn and delight as the time of his understanding approaches so that he might, as much as possible, learn those things with parents who know them, too.

The Delight

No one ever said that parenting is easy. Well, maybe somebody said it, but I'm sure if he did he was delusional. Or particularly gifted in dealing with unreasonable and illogical humans. 

I've learned, though, that finding small things to enjoy and delight in each day goes a long way. And one of my favorite parts of being a mother these past 8 years is watching my sons with their father. 

The way my firstborn would wait at the back window with the dog for his daddy to get home from work. 

The way my youngest now goes charging in his loud, passionate way down the hall when he hears the kitchen door open, yelling until his dad picks him up. The difference between the two ways they deal with this is so telling of their personalities- one, cautious, thoughtful and always a little older than he really was and the younger who never stops moving, exploring and throws himself at everything.

Hands down, though, one of my current joys is watching the youngest at the end of dinner. 

It's become habit that when the youngest is clearly finished, my husband will get up and walk over to the piano and play some music to keep dinner time going a little longer so the oldest one (and usually me) can finish our food. The sheer anticipation and joy of that walk and those first few notes played cannot be described with anything other than a video. 

Seriously, people.

The grinning, the clapping, the dancing. The realization dawning on his face of what's going to happen as his daddy walks across the room. It's almost too much. And I know this is one part of the early years that I will miss deeply when he's older. When he goes through apathetic phases or times when he doesn't feel like a rousing family band moment is all that cool. 

It struck me this week as I watched this scene unfold for the umpteenth time, how much my husband's actions mirror the Lord's. How we are going through the day, the regular, mundane activities of cooking, eating, cleaning up and how he sees us. He knows what we delight in. He knows the aspect of His character that we need to see, to know better, to yearn for. And he reveals himself to us. In sweet, moments like this. Like a daddy walking slowly to the piano to create music for his infant, he longs to bring delight to us. I love how watching my husband be a father has shown me so much of my own heavenly Father's heart for us. 

It brings to mind a verse that has always meant much to my music-loving, dancing soul:

The Lord your God is in your midst,

    a warrior who gives victory;

he will rejoice over you with gladness,

    he will renew you in his love;

he will exult over you with loud singing. 

Zephaniah 3:17 (RSV)

This picture of a God who loves us, who fights for us, who renews us and who covers us with his song. That is a picture of fatherhood that is one worth pondering, one worth embracing. 

I am so grateful my sons are growing up with a daddy who knows how to delight in them and to bring them joy, who is constantly discerning what it means to cover them with his love and exult over them. When the evening piano times fade, as most phases do, I eagerly anticipate what new and fresh and delightful ways the Lord will continue to teach us who He is through this crazy and exhausting thing we call parenting.