.From Jim's Journal.

I was organizing our documents yesterday, and I found these excerpts from Jim's journal. They were written during our very first trip to Ethiopia in January 2011. I had never read this before, but it brought everything back and solidified our heart's desire to spend our lives for the King and His Kingdom in the country buried in our soul. (yes, this is shared with permission.)

.First morning in Ethiopia.

Wow, what a stark contrast already. I woke through the night to the sounds of Timkat, the most important festival in Ethiopian culture. It is the remembrance of Jesus’ baptism. All night there were horns droning a low, almost eerie rhythm. People chanted… all to celebrate the occasion John passed His authority to Jesus… on a day when Ethiopia begins the process of passing Jamesy’s authority to me.

When we woke this morning I smelled the scent I have been desperate for… one I had only gotten a brief waft of from the fabric on Jo’s prized package. It smells like a camp fire… but more than that, like dirt. This morning I stepped into the shower with the water running and I could smell it in the water… the earth. It is certainly a more basic way of life here… but it is my hope to discover that Christ permeated poverty… for the earth is Yours.

One of the great symbols of the American dream is the white picket fence… here in Ethiopia, they have their own version of that… It is scrap metal, all rusted out, but sufficient to mark out your plod of soil. What a stark contrast, beautifully painted picket fences versus tattered ugly scrap metal (or did I get that backwards?)

As we drove in last night I tried to see all I could. Homeless men and women were everywhere. What gripped me particularly was seeing a woman carrying her child at 11:15 at night, I was thinking “where are they going to settle down? What street corner or back alley was to be their bed tonight?"

.Wednesday in Ethiopia.

Today was our official “Meetcha Day.” Picture this: we go out to lunch at a nice Italian restaurant that features Ethiopian art; a queasy stomach from nerves, but managed to eat my filet mignon; beautiful art, didn’t buy but wanted to; my first Coke in 2 years, it was awesome; and a nagging sense of the unknown. 

About 15 minutes after lunch we arrived at the transition home.

Cue the “This is one of the top 5 moments in my life” sound effect.

Walking into the journey I wanted to be a learner, not full of expectations - like he will wrap his arms around me and call me “daddy.” Learn I did. I learned that adoption, like surgery, involves pain before healing can come. When we were given Jamesy, he wept… he cried tears of fear, tears of loss, of the unexpected and certainly unknown. He sensed that in this moment, his world was changing forever… and while for me that was a very exciting thing, for him… it was plain frightening. I knew, like a surgeon knows, that after the pain, there is healing, and after the healing, you are whole. He sensed that he was in for change; all he knew was going to leave him. He is losing the opportunity to grow up in his homeland, beautiful Ethiopia; he is losing his culture, its values, its distinction... for what? For something more valuable than all that: Family. Oh, I will try my best, and probably fail, to foster his sense of culture, many of its values, certainly its beauty and distinction.

One other thing I am learning… “it’s fun to share.” If you did not know this about me, I am a complete germ-a-phoebe. I was not initially sure how I would respond to my son, but as time went on in the early stages of the adoption process and paper-chasing, I knew that I loved him and that none of that mattered. Today, a very compassionate, loving nanny came to me with her hands stretched out, full of popcorn. (A real treat in Ethiopia.) I said, “no thanks.” I thought she certainly would enjoy it, plus she handles many sick kids daily, plus it is a developing country and I did not see it prepared, plus… then she said, “it’s fun to share” to which three other nannies looked at me and said, it’s fun to share.” So, I sheepishly took two kernels out of her hands and she passed the rest on to Tiffany. Phew… but it wasn’t over. She was back with a plate-full for me. So, I sat down and ate… every piece, even ones that fell on the floor that nannies walk on and babies drool all over all day. And you know what? It’s fun to share.

Many other mixed feeling I am processing at the moment, but I will leave it at that. Seriously, one of the best days of my life!!

.Jesus in Poverty.

One of the things I was hopeful to see was how the Gospel existed in poverty. What did it mean to its people? What is He to them? On Wednesday, I got my first glimpse. While sitting with the nannies in the room full of babies, I was asked whether Jamesy would grow up to know and understand Christ. 

What a powerful, humbling question. 

Powerful because it showed how much these people cared for each child. Humbling because I am not sure I would have ever heard that question posed in that kind of setting in the States. And when I said "yes", I was greeted with huge cheers and several expressions of “Praise the Lord” and “God is good.”

 As the conversation continued its winding road that follows me, even to Ethiopia, the nannies discovered I was a Pastor. They were thrilled. They promptly brought me infant after infant, expressing to me ways in which I could pray for that child. One girl in particular was of great concern to them. Her mother and father died, and her adoptive parents had already come for court. Apparently, it did not go well. The little girl cried every day for five days. So, I took her in my arms. I told her she was loved. I held her tight, kissed her cheeks, and prayed: Oh God, she has already experienced such great loss. May your hand of healing be in her heart. May she bond with her new family and know you love. May she be twice adopted, once to her forever family and once to You. I realized somewhere in the mix that that room was full of more pain than my 30 years had known. That child alone had experienced more loss than I can fathom. How sheltered I have been. And yet, one thing is the same: The power of Christ.

Jesus is here in Ethiopia. Ethiopians and Americans share struggles on the government, social, moral and economic levels. Their burden is poverty, ours wealth… and yet, the Gospel prevails. Praise the Lord, God is good.

.To My Son.

Jamesy, I was looking at pictures of the day we met. You wept. There were tears as big as raindrops rolling down your face. It made me think: there is One that will come who will wipe every tear from every eye. He has promised not to leave you fatherless. He cares for you. He desperately wants to make you whole. While I am not Him, I want to be like Him for you. I care more deeply for you than I ever thought possible for another human. I have a love for you so intense it overshadows my deepest fears and insecurities. Jamesy, I love you and it is my life’s mission to show you, along with your brother and sister, the love of the Father. I am a poor reflection, but I am desperate to be more accurate. I have found you in distress, and I am desperate to care for you!

.Drawn in by the Rhythm.

As a special gift, we bought Jamesy a recordable book. Hopefully he will enjoy it while we are away. But in the meantime… It’s so funny how, no matter what, we expect kids to respond a certain way to a gift, and no matter what, they don’t respond the way we’d hoped. Jamesy looked at the book, we turned it to the page with our voices; he shut it… and began to bang away. And, yes, he was right- it made an excellent drum. I tapped out pattern after pattern to his delight… and when I looked up, every baby in the room was either crawling to me or dancing along. It was uncanny. The craziest part was that I am certain they understood the rhythm much better than I.

.Oh, My God.

 I saw hell today. Live and in person. It was not as I thought… I thought I would look on the streets and see lame and crippled men, women, and children and gasp at the reality of their life without Christ. I did see them, but it was not them that moved me. It was him [Habi]… and right now I am angry. Not bitter- motivated. He is maybe 13, legal to be adopted, but too old for an orphanage. His chances of adoption: 0%. He faces the impossible task of growing up on the streets of Ethiopia, begging, crying out for help… and my initial response? “Don’t look at him. His words to Tiff, (I want to go to America with you and be your son) are mere manipulation.” 

Sick? Me too. Who am I?

It’s been said that you cannot deny the plight of the orphan when one is sitting in your lap. Well, you cannot deny the travesty that is this young boy’s future. He is on a path to hopeless poverty; capped by an eternity apart from the only One Who can show him true love. Oh my God… when will I wake to Your call for my life (all of our lives). I feel the weight of Matthew 25 pressing on me.

The truth? I was nervous to give him food, which I had, and money, which I had, because I feared for my safety. {gag} Doesn’t sound like Luke 9 or 14, or a host of other calls on my life. Thankfully, he came back to our car and Tiff was able to give him food and gum, etc. In return, he gave her a simple bracelet. I honestly think she would sooner lose her engagement ring than that bracelet. Me too.

.I Don’t Know How.

Comfort zones… mine, his. His, in a room with 12 or 13 other infants cooing, playing, sleeping, crying. Mine, in a place full of excess, plush surroundings, fear of the unknown, greed, self-righteousness. How do I shatter my comfort zone while simultaneously leading him out of his? How do I love him deeply enough this week so that he knows that when I leave him, I am leaving only to prepare a place for him? That even though I must go to a place where I am unseen, my words will ring true to him… “I love you… I will be back… this is the only way.” What do I say???

I am not God, but oh do I better understand His challenge… How do I do it? I am insufficient, He is all sufficient.

Adoption, like redemption is messy, painful and hard to understand… but, on both counts, so worth it! Oh that I may see You today as I long for my son to see me. May I trust You as I grope for him to trust me. May I rest in Your Words the way I am desperate for him to rest in mine… but I don’t know how, please help me Lord.

.Cheap Help.

I finally got to go on my walk. I have been nagging Tiffany to walk downtown with me for days and she finally said yes.

Before coming to Addis Abba we were warned on several occasions not to give anything to the beggars – not to speak to them or look them in the eye. We were informed that it was not safe, that we would be mobbed. So, for fear I did not. Then, the Spirit of God hit me like a ton of bricks… what are you doing, Jim?

So as we walked I began responding to the Spirit and ignoring the warnings and pulling money out of my pocket, one birr at a time. I was not mobbed, I was thanked. I was not endangered, I was blessed. Time after time looking into the eyes of people who had hope for the day… One birr at a time.

And the cost you ask? One birr is roughly six cents. Hope at the cost of six cents. Wow. I am exasperated of the sentiment that those living in America just cannot squeeze it into their budget to help the poor and needy of our world. It has got to stop. At least in my heart!

Jim, never forget that man, lying on the blanket, holding his hands out with his lone leg curled beneath him.

.Comfort.

So attachment and bonding has been trickier than I imagined. Even after all of the reading and research, I thought it would be relatively easy, but it has not been. Don’t get me wrong, I knew it was possible there could be struggles… I just didn’t think with my son. Tiffany and I looked at each other after the first day and said our attachment time will be at least six weeks!

Today was a good day. Jamesy looked both Tiffany and I right in the face! We had heard from many people who took pictures and loved on them that he must have lack of sight because he did not look them in the face.We have learned he lacks much more trust than he does sight. He is coming along though, every kiss, every bottle, and every spoon of pasta screams, “I love you and I will not leave you as an orphan.” Even if he never attaches to us, we are forever attached to him!

God, may you show Jamesy that he can rest in my arms, that I will always be here to comfort him. 

.What It's {really} Like.

We chose him. I saw his photo, and I knew he was mine. I've shared before that knowing what we know now, we still would have chosen him. We knew that he had special needs (I pray someday a new better word is created for this.), and we knew that the extent of those needs was unknown. But he was and is our son.

We chose him understanding this.

So because of that, I sometimes feel as if I cannot admit to how hard it can be living out this reality. I am nervous that the people who never supported our decision to adopt in the first place, will have ammunition to throw in our faces. I wish I didn't care and that it didn't hurt, but it does. So I only share bits and pieces of the hard, and then I feel guilty for even that. I want to live transparently and truthfully.

And truthfully many days, my world is filled with hard, pain, intensity, and guilt.

Everything changed the moment we brought Jameson home. It does with every new child brought into a home, but with Jamesy the change was drastic and intensified. Although Jamesy was no longer blind, it seemed every few months we were receiving a new diagnosis for him. His latest diagnosis came this fall, and it made so many pieces to our sweet Jamesy puzzle fall into place. So many things about him make sense now. Autism. While the diagnosis remains unofficial, he was evaluated this fall by a child Psychiatrist, who given the outcomes of his tests, solidly believes he is definitely on the spectrum - he came out right in the middle of the spectrum for everything. He cannot get the official diagnosis until he is seen by a specialist (we have an appointment for 2 years from now - that's small town living for you).

The past, almost three years, have been hard. The hardest of my entire life, and the loneliest. I thought the adoption journey was lonely, but I had no idea what this parenting journey would bring. I thought that after Jamesy got home things would settle, and that I would just be one of "the moms" again. But I stopped being able to relate somewhere along the way. Perhaps it was because my little guy was missing milestones left and right, and I was fighting to get help for him. I began to feel very alone as a mom. My Jamesy was different. He came to us, different from us, and the majority of our world, in appearances, and now it was more and more obvious that he was different in every way. For a long time I thought it was attachment, and that maybe I had not done enough to cocoon him in the beginning and help him learn to bond and attach, and I felt deep, painful, guilt. Maybe those hours (hours where I had to miss out on spending time with my Cadi and Scotty) spent every afternoon, every night in the rocking chair, rocking his screaming, writhing, little body weren't enough. Maybe I should have done more. I felt guilt for the moments that he would scream out at night, and my eyes would squeeze tightly shut in exhaustion at the thought of having to get up and go to him again. Maybe he somehow knew that there were moments that I would have given anything to pull the covers back up over my head. Maybe if I had caught the seizures when we first brought him home, and pushed the doctors to do tests, maybe then his brain would not be so shambled, and he would have begun talking on time. Maybe because I was so busy homeschooling Cadi, and entertaining Scotty, and praying my heart out for Habi to survive the streets, I didn't work hard enough with Jamesy, and maybe that is why he was so far behind. Maybe a year was too early to leave him and get away for a bit with my husband. All these thoughts have plagued me, and the guilt has hung heavy on my shoulders. It's all from the enemy, and while I know that, it is still hard to shake it off and grab hold of the truth.

I love my Jameson so much my heart hurts to look at him sometimes. He is beautiful and funny and so, so smart. Someday the world will see how smart he is, and until then I will be his biggest fan. Jamesy has brought big joy into our home and so much laughter. He is vibrant and adorable and ours. His giggles send the whole family running to see what's so funny. His smile is magnetic, and he draws people into his world even when he is not easily drawn into theirs. He is affectionate and he is teaching me so much about the heart of God. I do not regret one moment of mommying him. He is so much a part of our family, that it is impossible to imagine our life without him. I look at him, and I forget that it was not I who birthed him.

Yet there remains excruciating moments, like when I watch a friend's baby -over 2 years younger then mine - do things that my Jamesy still cannot do. Or when I hear my nephew, who is a year younger, carry on a full, articulate conversation. It's in those moments that my heart breaks, and I feel as if I cannot breathe. It is in those moments when I see my baby's reality, and fear for his future digs its icy fingers into my heart. As hard as many of my days are, I know Jamesy's are hard too. Every thing is work for him. What we take for granted and comes so easily to so many of us is hard, hard work for my boy. And that hurts his mommy's heart. But I know that this is building perseverance and character in him, and in me.

My reality is that the past three years have been hard. I have gone through denial, anger, guilt, sadness, and probably even a touch of depression. There are days when I feel trapped in my home, and the only release I have is social media. So I go to it, just to know that there is an outside world beyond these four walls - sometimes to make myself find the beauty in the here and now, and sometimes to vent just to hear from others that I am really not alone. There are moments, as an introvert, where I feel such a need to get away from it all - just to breathe and refresh. I am just now starting to deal with some of my feelings in all of this and process the hurt and the fears and the horrible guilt. My husband has been my rock, and he has listened to me cry and scream and battle these thoughts, and all the while he is battling his own.

Through this all, I do feel hope. Hope that this is not it. Hope that God has beautiful plans for our family - for our Jamesy. Hope for Jamesy's future. Hope that somehow all of the pain is being worked into something more beautiful then I could imagine and something way bigger then ourselves. Hope that I am truly not alone, and every step of the way I am being gently guided. Hope that though I will never be strong enough for this, Jesus is so perfected in all my weaknesses, and He never asked for my strength. He asked me to be willing, and even now at the end of the day, I am still willing.

Though I share this transparently, I don't do it for sympathy or for my readers to feel sorry for me - I'm not looking for pity. I do it for those of you who feel isolated, fearful, guilty, tired, abandoned, etc. I want you to know that you are not alone. I am not alone. Jesus is near.

.One Year Later.

One year ago today we flew into Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Hours later we walked into Jamesy's baby room and scooped him up forever. Being in Jamesy's birth country and witnessing things that I still cannot talk about without completely breaking down, things that still haunt my dreams, was the privilege of a lifetime. For God to choose to allow me to get away from my small, sheltered narcissistic life and get a tiny glimpse into things that break His heart every single day has changed me. The tiny taste of suffering I was allowed to witness, that I had before been ignorant, and even more regrettably, apathetic to, shook something deep inside of me. This journey was about more than an adoption, more than Jamesy, more than even orphan care or social justice, and most assuredly it was about more than me. After a year out, I can confidently say that a big part of this journey was God removing my blindness and the callouses upon my heart in order to reveal to me and allow me, to partake in the pain and suffering of others. It has taken me a year to be able to honestly say that it is a blessing to see things a little bit closer to how God sees them, to enter into human suffering and pain so beyond anything that I have ever dealt with. To feel and live and know with this new bruised heart is a gift. My heart lurches and my stomach tightens to realize and accept that except from the grace of God, I could have lived and died this small, shallow life with a cold, hard heart thinking that this was how God meant for me to live my life - a water-downed version of Christianity - an impostor of a disciple, but that was not His plan. I now choose pain rather than ignorance or numbness. It is a blessing to feel. It is a blessing to step inside the suffering and pain in this world, because I carry inside of me The Hope and The Answer to this world's suffering.





I honestly do not know how or what to write today. This past year I have been part of something so much greater than myself. I have witnessed redemption in a tangible way and come face to face with the reality of what my own redemption and adoption cost God and His beloved Son. Redemption is costly. It is so costly. God has written me into a story I never imagined or in and of my flesh even desired, being part of. I was graced with a front row seat as God grafted an orphan into our family and miraculously (but not easily - redemption is never easy) made him our son. Jamesy's story unfolded before me as he transitioned from living in an orphanage to living inside of and becoming part of a family. I saw firsthand the sorrow, brokenness, and sadness that follows a child who has been orphaned. Fear that was palpable has been heavy in our home and has still not released her clutch on our son. 15 months in an institution and 12 months with his family is just starting to heal the wounds that our son carries. I was not adequate to integrate Jamesy into our family. This has been the hardest year of parenting yet. There were many dark moments and at times days, because I could not heal my son. I could not fix his wounds. I could not take away the first fifteen months of his life which were stolen from him, where he was orphaned, alone, mistreated, and rejected. I could not replace the nine months that he laid solitary in a crib, too malnourished to even lift his head. There were days that I tried to do it, but I could not. And somewhere along the way, I finally realized  God never asked me to do it. He just asked me to be His vessel, to let Him heal Jamesy's heart through me, and He did and He is and He will. It was all God. I was simply invited to participate.











I have learned so much in this past year being Mommy to Jamesy. I have learned that God delights in magnificent transformations that only He is capable of. I have seen him transform sadness into joy and ashes into beauty. In one year, I have witnessed a redemption miracle right inside of my home. A miracle that is not complete, for there is far more work to be done. Work in my stubborn heart and healing in Jamesy's, and perhaps this year I am more prepared and ready for it.

God isn't finished writing this story. I am patiently awaiting the tilt of His pen, and the turn of the page as He inks a new chapter onto my life.

Happy one year Gotcha Day, Jameson Yonas Byron, I am so thankful to be chosen to be your Mama, and grateful that we both rest in the arms of the only true Refuge and the One who cares for His children

 perfectly.

 

This is/was our "adoption journey" song. Someday it will appear in our adoption video - whenever we actually get that done. {grin}

.The Hair Post {Take 2}.

I apologize right away for those of you who read here and are not mommying chocolate babies. This post will be an absolute bore to you. However, I had enough requests for this information that I decided to write this up. Perhaps some day I will look back and laugh at the lengths we went to for our brown eyed boy's hair. I wrote a post about Jamesy's hair care a little over a year ago, after I had played with Jamesy's hair for about a month. I was pretty green back then, and still feel that way. However, we have discovered what works for Jamesy's hair right now, at this length, and what definitely does not work. To check out the old post click here.

I used to be really ignorant about black hair - I thought it was all the same. Boy was I wrong. Black hair, just like white hair comes in a variety of types, textures and curl patterns. All african hair is not equal, and even all regional hair - for example Ethiopian hair - is not equal. After I understood this, I set out to determine how to classify Jamesy's hair. This helped give me a launching point for what products would work best for him, as many black hair products use the hair classification system. The standard is the Andre Walker hair typing system. For example, when a product advertises that it is good for "4b" type hair - this is the classification system it is referring to. You can check out a detailed description of the hair types here. Jamesy's hair is actually considered a subtype. He primarily has 3c hair (although along the nape of his neck, he has 3a hair and the back middle of his head has 4b hair - this too is typical of black hair).

Type 3c hair has tight curls in corkscrews

• Circumference: Pencil or straw
• The curls can be either kinky, or very tightly curled, with lots and lots of strands densely packed together
• Getting this type of hair to blow dry straight is more challenging than for 3a or 3b, but it usually can be done
• The very tight curls are usually fine in texture
• 3c celebrities: Heather Headley, Alicia Keyes, Jada Pinkett-Smith
[Copied from here.]

 

Jada Pinkett-Smith has type 3c hair. [source]

I will share our hair routine for Jamesy, but I mentioned the above because what works for my son may not work for your child. It all depends on the hair type, texture, curl pattern, and how the hair responds to product overall. This has been a lot of trial and error for us, but perhaps this will give a starting point for those Mamas with new chocolate babies.

Jamesy's Hair Care Routine:

• Cowash - We continue to cowash Jamesy's hair. While his hair is not the most fragile type, it is fragile and does breaks and tangle easily. We have found cowashing to help with this. Once a week Jamesy gets cowashed. This means that his hair is washed with conditioner rather than shampoo. Jamesy only gets a shampoo about once a month to once every month and a half (when he is shampooed I use Suave Naturals Tropical Coconut Shampoo). This has worked well for his hair. His hair just soaks in moisture, and we have not noticed any build-up. His scalp is nice and healthy as well. I cowash a little differently than some people. I first wash with Suave Naturals Tropical Coconut Conditioner. I use about two very large handfuls (this is why I use a cheap conditioner!) and massage it into his curls and scalp. I then use a wide tooth comb or my fingers and comb through his curls. This is the only time I ever comb his hair anymore. After his hair is combed through I rinse his curls thorougly, and then I massage in Yes to Cucumbers  (this conditioner is formulated for color treated hair, but because of this I find it very gentle. It makes Jamesy's hair so silky, and it smells wonderful.)- enough to fit in the palm of my hand. I then let Jamesy play around in the tub for about 5 minutes while the conditioner hangs out in his curls. I only rinse this conditioner about half way out of Jamesy's hair, letting some remain in.

 There are primarily two styles that I do on Jamesy's hair as of now: a wash and go and twisted locks.

• Wash and Go - This is easy and our go-to hair style for Jamesy. After bath, I gently pat his head with a towel - I do not rub his hair with the towel. Then I massage Nutiva Organic Extra Virgin Coconut Oil (the smell is amazing, and I actually massage this in head to toe on Jamesy) liberally onto his scalp and hair. After the coconut oil I seal the moisture in Jamesy's curls with Karen's Body Beautiful Heavenly Jojoba Oil (probably about 2-3 Tablespoons -his hair sucks up oils). Then I lather in TIGI Bed Head Foxy Curls Contour Cream and finger his curls into place. This product is actually mine (and unfortunately it is not natural, although I am pleased that the first ingredient is water). It was a happy accident that I tried it on Jamesy a little bit ago. I fell in love with how it worked on his curls, even though it is not made for black hair care per say. And that is it! I just let his curls rest and try not to touch them until they are dry. At nap time and bed time he wears a sleep cap (which is actually a cheap lycra swim cap that works beautifully to protect his curls). We also use one when Jamesy is wearing a winter hat or hood or riding in his carseat for a long time.
• To Refresh - When Jamesy awakes or if his curls just need some revitalizing, I spray them liberally with Suave for Kids Detangling Spray in Double Dutch Apple, and I play around with his curls with my fingers. I then use the Jojoba Oil again - about 2 tsp to slip through his curls. If his hair is especially crazy I will add a bit more of the TIGI Bed Head Foxy Curls Contour Cream.

 

This was after a wash and go the night before. It had been refreshed in the morning. (He was not thrilled with a picture at the moment.)

The second style I use on Jamesy is twisted curls. This is our favorite, and it took me a long time to get it right. However, I still have not been succesful in getting it to last more than a few days. Supposedly it should be able to last for three weeks. I would love that! One problem is that peple tend to rub his curls when they are twisted and this frizzes them, but beyond that they just don't last for him. (Help!!)

• Twisted Curls -I do the same as above with the cowash, Coconut Oil, and Jojoba Oil. I then take a heaping palm full of Cantu Shea Butter Leave-In Conditioning Repair Cream making sure to saturate every single curl. Most people then start at the nape of the neck, but Jamesy has a sensitive scalp. He gets really fidgety if I begin there, and he does better if I start at the top front. I then get a glob of My Honey Child Twist Out Creme on my fingers and section out a small strand to run it through - the strand will be white with the cream, but it dries clear. I then twist the hair in one direction twisting it down as tight to his scalp as I can and he will allow. I then repeat with his whole head of hair. This usually takes about one hour. I then let the twists dry and do not touch them. This is very important so that they dry without frizzing. Jamesy sleeps with his sleep cap on for this style. When he wakes up the twists are flattened, and I fluff them with my fingers and a bit of Jojoba Oil (we love this stuff!), and often I will have to retwist at the nape of his neck because of the looseness of the curls back there.

Jamesy's hair right after being twisted while still wet. (You can tell here how similar his twists look to Jada's above.)







This is after about three days wearing his twists.


I suppose there is actually one more style that I use on him, and that is the twist out. But it is hardly a style. After he has worn his twists as long as possible, I finger through them. This gives him a nice big fro!





I also tried cornrows on him the other day, but they were not tight enough or small enough. Perhaps we will get it professionally done for this summer. He looked so cute!




And that is it! We have tried so many products, and I am sure we will continue to find new products we love. But for now this is what works best for Jamesy. If you can afford it, I would reccomend Oyin Handmade Frank Juice as a refresher rather than the Suave detangler. It just got too pricey for us with the amount I was using, but the smell is soooo good. It smells like Ethiopia! I know this is a hair post, but as far as skin (because chocolate skin also has special needs), I use coconut oil and I continue to love The Fabulous Body Butter by Sister's Smith in Brown Sugar scent. His skin is so soft, and he always smells edible! He gets lathered day and night with both to prevent his skin from becoming ashy.

I apologize for being very sparse with my writing here lately - especially for Momentous Monday and Wedded Wednesday. Our lives have kind of exploded in busyness (this post took me a week and a half to write), and I am just trying to keep my head above water. I will keep writing as I can fit it in, but it may not follow any set schedule for now. Please give me grace. I appreciate you all!

**Edited to add: Jamesy has not had a hair cut (except for a teeny trim by me at the nape of his neck where he has the looser curls) in a year, since bringing him home. We plan to grow it a bit bigger, and then we will search for a barber who cuts black hair to shape it up. There is none in the town where we live. They have all said they could buzz it, but that is it. EEK!!

.Evolution of the Hair.

It's no secret. We are obsessed with this boy's hair. I had spent countless hours researching how to care for it, style it, maintain it, etc. before bringing Jamesy home. And then I researched again after bringing him home, as I continued to learn more about his texture, culture, and what was and wasn't working for his beautiful curls. Hair is a big deal in black culture and in Ethiopia. Therefore, Jamesy's hair is now a big deal to us.

I wanted to share with you in photos the evolution of his hair throughout this past year. I know I have been contacted quite a bit by adoptive families about Jamesy's hair routine/care, and I have only been able to keep up with a few emails. So, now is your chance, if you have a question that you think I may be able to answer, leave it in the comments. I wrote a post here, but things have changed a bit as I learn more and more of what works for Jamesy's hair type (3c if you are wondering, except for a patch in that back which is 4b). So if there is interest (I don't want to write a post and bore the majority of my readers), I would love to write another post on what is working now after a year of trial and error. Just shoot me your questions.

Here is the evolution of the hair.

His hair in January when we first met him.

His hair in March when we picked him up. (It had been cut once since we had seen him last. It has not been cut since!)

First time with product in his hair!

One month home.

Summer sunshine was great for his hair growth!

Mommy practicing parts.

The sleep cap made it's presence in Jamesy's hair routine.

First twist out 'Fro.

Working on elongating his curls with some new product.

Rocking the "wash n' go".

Jamesy right after a cowash. The only time he ever gets his curls combed through is during a cowash, which happens about once a week. We are only 'pooing about once a month this winter.

Mommy finally perfected twisted locks and found a great locking cream!

More twisted locks - my current favorite style for Jamesy. I only wish they lasted longer than a week. (Need to teach the white people in his life not to touch them or rub them! Ha!)

Before his morning routine AKA bed head.

Faux 'Fro Hawk.

What happens when he sleeps in a hawk!

 And that the evolution of Jamesy's hair over this past year. I cannot wait to see where this next year takes his hair. We are thinking cornrows are in his near future!

.On This Day.

I stare at this screen, at that photo, through blurry, tear filled eyes. My emotions are right on the surface bubbling up and threatening to spill out all over this post. I want to do this justice, so that I can share the experience, but my words will always, always fall short. It seems as if we had waited an excruciatingly long time to meet him. When in reality it was only just a little over four months. We had chosen him, pretty much the moment our eyes landed on his photograph. The fact that he had "special needs" was of little merit, all that mattered was that he was the one we were waiting for - he was our son - our child, knit into our heart by a sovereign, merciful Creator. Our thoughts, prayers, emotions, finances had all been building up, getting ready, for this exact moment.



On this day, one year ago, we met, kissed, came face to face with our son, Jameson Yonas. We wrapped our arms around a minuscule and yet very tangible representation of our redemption in Jesus Christ. Our world collided with Ethiopia, and we came face to face with God's heart for orphans as we took one into our embrace and burrowed him deep into our hearts. He left the arms of his nanny as an orphan and entered our arms as a cherished, beloved, sought-after son. And how much more has God done that for us in our spiritual adoption? I was given the gift of new eyes when God painted me into this picture on this day, one year ago.
 

I remember landing in Addis the night before (close to midnight I believe) we were to meet our son. I strained my eyes through the darkness outside the tiny window in the plane anxious to see something of this foreign country that birthed my son. A lump immediately formed thick and burning in my throat. We are here, we are here, my heart practically beat through my chest. I was a ball of nervous energy and exhaustion. Customs was easy, and soon we were through security in this tiny airport in the capital city. My eyes drank in the sight of the beautiful Ethiopian people around me. I stared. Watching them, memorizing their culture, their body language, their gestures. We are here, we are here. I immediately felt frumpy in my comfy travel clothes and "bottle cap-lensed" glasses that I had been wearing for 48 hours. The people were stunning with their satiny, velvet, milk chocolate skin, perfectly curled exotic hair, and lithe, lean bodies. Beauty surrounded us, and I was mesmerized by God's creation of these people. Surely He had taken extra time with Ethiopians!

Dawit, our driver, must have spotted us a mile away. I wonder what gave us away? Perhaps it was our pasty white skin, our bedraggled appearance, the shell-shocked look on our faces, or maybe it was the oodles of donation bins and suitcases we dragged behind us. He immediately came over flashing his sideways grin, and then our guide, T, hopped up off the floor, took out his ear bud and introduce himself. I was mesmerized. I stared. These men knew my son. They had held him, seen him, and would take us to him after a night's rest. We are here, we are here.

Walking outside the airport I was immediately hit by warm, dry air. We had left bitter cold NY weather. And people, everywhere. Confusion, cars, vans, people swirled in front of me. I struggled to pull my luggage and keep up, eyes hungry to see it all. As we bumped down the potted streets in the fifteen passenger van, I wondered what side of the road we were supposed to be on? It seemed as if we were using it all, and even the sidewalks at times. My face was pressed up against the glass of the van. Jim reached over me and opened the window. Music and laughter and shouting and barking and honking floated in at us, and smells. Smells of garbage and decay, of poverty, of frankincense, of mystery wafted in and introduced itself to us. I gasped as I saw men and women and children making the broken down sidewalks, literally next to garbage, their beds for the night. The sights, the sounds of those moments are what I drifted off to sleep to that night in our little cozy bed, anxious to meet our son the next day.

The actual day is a blur. I remember meeting other families adopting through AWAA, eating breakfast, falling in love with the fresh squeezed pineapple juice, the strong black coffee, and the exotic breakfast foods. But just like the night before it was the people that mesmerized me - the cook and his easy smile and gentle eyes, the lady behind the desk and her kindness, her soft lilting voice, our guides and our driver. It was happening already, God was embedding the people of Ethiopia into a permanent place in my heart.

We got our schedule for the week and a chance to talk with our guides and adoption friends for much of the morning. Then we went for what seemed to be an excruciatingly long lunch at a little Italian restaurant in an Ethiopian art gallery. I was quickly learning that Ethiopia had one pace - slow. And I would grow to love it, but that day all I wanted to do was fast forward the lunch and hold my son. I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, not really understanding the money conversion, and ate without tasting a thing. My heart was beating in my throat, and my hands were trembling and clammy.



But really before I knew it we were crammed back inside of that van and headed for the moment that would change our life forever. This next part I have written about before. I wrote it last year, soon after our meetcha moment.


How do I put into words....

 

the emotions of this moment, this culmination of so much prayer, anticipation. I am inadequate. It was everything and nothing like I had imagined. As our van bumped down the street that held the Transition Home, that held my son, my heart beat out of sync, clapping against my chest manically. Tears spilled at my lids, as the America World sign came into view. Then those gates, oh those gates that I had seen in countless other adopting family's photos and videos. Only this time they were real....there....before me. As the gates opened my heart began to thrash even more wildly. My eyes blurred, my throat burned. We were the first family alphabetically to meet our child. This was it. No more waiting. No more wondering.

 

We handed off cameras, and stood on the porch.


What to expect?


What to expect? My heart beat out.


 

The moments seemed to slow to an eternity, and then he was there before us, being brought to us. He was woken from a nap for our moment, and terrified. He cried huge crocodile tears, and as I held him to my thumping chest his chest beat out a similar rhythm as mine. Wild. Flesh, blood, hearts. My son. The one that God sewed into my heart the very first time I learned of Ethiopia and her orphans.



My hands were so hungry to know him, his curls- soft and springy, his skin- chocolate satin, his cheeks and neck begged to be kissed, and my lips found them over and over, as his tears splashed me wet and warm. He smells of Africa. I smell of another world, and it frightened him. He would bury his head in my neck and nuzzle in my shoulders, and then quickly withdraw from the foreignness of my scent, my shape.



Jim reached out to him. Daddy, son, they were perfect as their tears mingled.


 

I wondered if it would feel anything like real love. And it did. It does. He settled. He slept in our arms for hours, we began to bond over a bottle, and rice, and songs and dance. Giggles, little hands exploring my face, my hair, and my hands mimicking back.
 

He is my son. Heart of my heart.


The dance has begun.

And on this day, one year later, we remember the dance and it continues and expands, as we wait for the day we bring home another.

But for now on this day we rejoice, we give thanks, and we marvel that God could call our family to something so beautiful as this. I know not all are called to adoption, but if you feel that gentle, knowing - that tugging that can only come from the Holy Spirit, let me assure you that it is hard, heart breaking, and lonely. Adoption will break you and change you and destroy the life you once knew. But none of that matters and it pales in comparison to the gloriously, beautiful, perfect way that adoption becomes worth it all when we see our adoption in Jesus Christ for what it truly is.

Adoption is the highest possibly BLESSING that we received in our redemption in Jesus.

In love he predestined us for adoption through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will.
 Ephesians 1:5