On being John-John's Mommy

John-John at the zoo in Kiev, Ukraine. He loved the giant animal statues you could climb on that were everywhere.

Above all else, guard your heart...Proverbs 4:23

Well, it is Saturday morning, and I am writing my weekly blog and wondering why my body/brain cannot let me sleep in just once. You would think that after a very busy, full week I would be able to sleep at least until 6. You would be wrong, because I was up and at 'em at 5:30 this morning. Stink!

I try to use this blog as a way to encourage those who read it and to hold myself accountable for what God is teaching me. Sometimes, that means that I get to tell you about the fun things (or hard things) that are happening in my life. Sometimes, I get to relate great victories that God is winning in my heart and life. And sometimes, it means confessing that I am a giant, discouraged glob of failure, that just when I think I have it all together and have this whole I-live-in-Russia thing figured out, I find that I am, as the writer of Hebrews puts it, not even ready for solid food in terms of my Christian maturity. Unfortunately, this is one of those times.

I have written before about the challenges of being John-John's mom. He can be the gentlest, sweetest child on earth, or he can be defiant and difficult beyond words. And after seven years of being his mommy, I should be a pro at dealing with the difficulties. I should be, but I am not. And what is the biggest challenge John faces? Change. Any kind of change throws him for a loop and causes untold heartache for the whole family. So we try to prepare him for what is going to happen at every turn, so that he knows what he is facing, what the schedule will be, and what is expected of him. A great example of this is school. John-John is doing great at school--working hard and behaving well. In fact, in two and a half weeks of school, he has only had one melt-down, and that was over writing, which is difficult for him, and he pulled himself together on his own. But school is very structured. The routine is the same every week. This is comforting to him and helps him survive the frustrations that can arise. A perfect example of what happens when we forget to prepare him for something different is last night's all-school picnic.

John-John knew we were going to the picnic after school. He knew there would be food, and that he would be allowed to play with his friends. But we forgot to tell him there would be an auction of treats from the States as a fundraiser for the junior class. More importantly, we forgot to tell him that we would not be able to participate in the auction because we simply do not have the money for that kind of thing. Our company provides the basic necessities of life, which is so great, but for ISC families, there is no extra money at all. In fact, it can be difficult to purchase basic necessities some months. I am not complaining--we do not have to raise our own support because of the faithful gifts of millions of Southern Baptists, and that is a huge blessing. But the reality is that we don't have money for extras. And some of the families who do raise their own funds have lots of money, so there just isn't any way for us to compete with them in an auction for things, frankly, we don't need. But try telling that to a hyperactive 7-year-old whose medication has worn off and who desperately wants the box of pop-tarts being auctioned because he hasn't seen a pop-tart in a year. Does he NEED the pop-tart? No. But he doesn't understand that he doesn't need them. All he knows is that someone is getting those pop-tarts, it's not him, and that doesn't seem fair. It went downhill from there, ending with Marc and I having to catch him as he ran away from us and carry him to the car to take him home. He screamed so hard on the way home that the veins on his forehead stood out. To his credit, he calmed himself enough to walk into our apartment building under his own steam, and once the meltdown was over, have a pretty good evening. But the damage was done. Marc and I were completely discouraged, wondering if Russia is the best place to bring a special-needs child.

When I sat down this morning to analyze last night's complete disaster, I had to assess what it was I was so upset about, what I had found so discouraging. Was it my concern for my child, for his well-being, for his future...or was it my embarrassment at his behavior? Was I honestly upset about the impact of this episode on him, or was I upset about the perception by others that I am a less-than-perfect mother with a less-than-perfect child? Of course, it does upset me that he completely implodes over disappointments, over change. It hurts me that he is so tender and gentle that he can be a target for kids who aren't so gentle or tender. But what really concerned me last night was how others would see me. And the really awful thing is that John-John knew that better than I did. He came to me later in the night, put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Don't worry, Mommy. People will forget in a couple of weeks what I did. It will be ok." Ouch. For a kid who has made huge progress in the last year, when we couldn't even consider what putting him in school might be like, maybe the biggest setback is not the meltdown he had last night, but the mom who focuses on the setback and not the progress.

So, dear reader, what deep, spiritual meaning can I glean from this? To paraphrase Bob and Larry of Veggie Tales fame, God made John-John special, and He loves him very much. God designed him, flaws and all, and has a special plan for my boy. But I have to trust that His plan is better than my plan, that His love is better than my love. You know what? John-John isn't like other kids, and he may not ever be like other kids. And I have to be okay with that, and I have to not care what other people think. You know who worried me the most last night? Another couple whose response to seeing John-John act different was to tell me that if we would just discipline him more, he would stop acting like that. A couple who stopped inviting us over and doing stuff with us when they discerned that he was less-than-perfect. I love these people, and they are well-meaning, but why am I more about their reaction or perception than I am about my own child's best interests? He is a great kid, and without him, my life would be less. Less funny, less emotional, less passionate, less interesting. Less. So I am going to say this out loud for the whole world to hear: my kid is not like everybody else's kid, and when I see other kids with my kid, I often think the advantage is all his. He is funny and kind and gentle, he loves all God's creatures, even the gross ones (maybe especially the gross ones), he leaves dinosaurs in the bathtub and freezer, and every Russian alive thinks he is wonderful, so it turns out he's more of a missionary than the rest of us, because he talks to everybody he meets and charms them all. So there. How do you like them apples?

Alright, it's time for me to go. I am taking the girls to the mall to see if we can find some cheap school stuff. Hannah's backpack is a disaster of disorganization, and we still have some soccer stuff to get. Pray for us--the mall on a Saturday is a nightmare. At least we're taking public transportation, which is much easier than driving. Wherever you are in the world, I pray that God is showing you daily how much He loves the special people in your life, and that you are prepared for a full day of college football. Go Gators! Blessings to you and yours!

His,
Kellye