Tell Me They're Beautiful

I haven't been offended in a really long time and honestly I can't remember the last time I took offense to something.  Being offended is a choice, really.  And one that I feel I'm pretty good about not making.  It wasn't until two recent events that my spirit was stirred up and I wasn't happy with a comment that was made to me, about our family and my boys.
This parenting gig has brought out traits in me that I didn't even know existed.  Feelings being mustered and my spirit being stirred.  I get that our adoption was a choice and that through my choice I was no longer going to be just another face in the crowd, I was choosing to be different.  But guess what, I really hate being different sometimes.  My own self-confidence struggles and my whole life I tried to blend in.  Something I did really well and something that became detrimental to my soul. Sharing my heart, my sin, my passions is difficult for me.  I love to listen, empathize, and be present with others but please don't call me to open up my book, my story.  God is challenging me in that daily, I know that one day He is calling me to share it all.

  

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Jeff, my three boys, and I all went to get an oil change in my car.  The boys were looking at the car magazines and I was trying to bring my youngest to sit still for just a few more minutes.  We were finally able to pay and leave when the lady behind the counter loudly asked "are they adopted?!"  I was annoyed, honestly, and just smiled and said yes (I hope I smiled).  She then proceeded with "well, I wasn't sure if they were foster or adopted.  But that's just great.  Good for y'all."  At this point I just grabbed my kids and walked to the car.  Jeff has a sweeter disposition than I and I wasn't feeling it at that moment.  I've had other people ask and I'm thrilled to share but that day I was not up for describing the details of my family.
Let me stop and explain something, her heart and curiosity weren't the problem, really.  It was the question and her approach.  Yes, my boys don't look like us and yes they realize we look different and they HATE it.  I live in a world where I look like 90% of the people I come in contact with on a daily basis so feeling different isn't something I feel daily or understand real clearly.  It wasn't until I moved to Houston and began teaching that I learned what it felt like to look different than my surroundings, yet even then I went home every day and was in the presence of people that shared the same skin color as I.  I had two amazing colleagues that taught on both sides of me that helped bring out my own prejudices, discriminations, and own life experiences that contributed to my own whiteness. Never had I thought being colorblind was racist and never did I think I had any racial tendencies. I thought I saw all people as equal and that I wasn't racist in the least. But I was wrong and those sweet, sweet friends took the time to educate me about white privilege, humility, and their own culture.  Now that I'm a mom to three beautiful boys that turn heads when they call me mom, I'm seeing first hand the ignorance of my own white race.
Don't make my boys feel any different than they already do.  Don't stare at a family because they don't look like the norm.  Look at the mom, tell her that her kids are beautiful and that she's doing a great job.  Leave room for a story to evolve.  Don't let those sweet ears hear or hearts to break just because you are curious. Once again their story was apparent to everyone else and once again they were reminded of the sin and pain that brought them to us. Yes God protected them, and yes God is redeeming them but the pain is and always will be there.  I hope that one day they can embrace their difference and be proud to show off their family.  I pray that God will have a redemption story for them that is beyond all understanding. I wish I could say that the incident was isolated and that my boys will flourish in our small town and that they won't feel the prejudices or be discriminated against but tonight I was reminded of the truth once again.

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Tonight at VBS, I dropped all my kids off.  My youngest turns three in about four-ish months and they allowed him to come and be part of the 3yo class.  He went last night and seemed to do well.  As I was getting him all settled in a teacher comes over and has this conversations with me

T: "Does Christopher speak any english?"

Me: "Yes, very well actually.  You just need to talk to him."  

T: "oh ok great.  The teachers in his class were wondering.  He's just really quiet and shy, I guess."

Me: "No he can talk really well.  Just make him respond to you and you can understand him as well as any 4yo"

T: "oh ok, I'm sorry.  We just weren't sure"

Me: (trying to smile) "It's ok, just hold him accountable to whatever you are asking the other kids to do"

Please don't assume that because he's brown he doesn't speak any english.  How many white parents of white kids did you approach and ask that question.  Probably none.  

This feeling of offense is yucky and I know that it's from the enemy but my heart hurts for my boys. This isn't about me.  It's about them and their feeling of separation, their isolation and their desire to look like their mom and dad.  

And don't be a white christian that ministers to minorities and assume that they have a bad home life, do drugs, or will end up in jail.  You're not doing something great by feeding the hungry, housing the homeless, or rescuing the fallen if you think you're above it all.  I promise, non-traditional families, families of a different race, ethnic or cultural group than you are just like you and me.  True love and genuine relationships and guess what, you may find yourself your new best friend.  

Remember, if you're curious and want to know more just tell me they're beautiful and I will probably tell you our beautiful story.