The Noise

Baxter has gone deaf just in time. At nearly age 13, he has always been a nervous dog and definitely always a momma’s boy. He has never cared for people in general and now his house is full of banging drums, dancing children, and lots of running and yelling. This was some kind of divine gift to our dog to go deaf while I was in Africa and just before his house erupted in chaos. Now he can sleep peacefully while the children thunder around him. 

If only Jason and I had the same gift…kidding, of course. But in all honesty the gentle, quiet spirit that used to be a mark of our house has flipped upside down. Our new kids seem unsettled in the quiet and look for ways to create noise. Much of the noise is fun and beautiful: Gifty is always singing, Kai is always asking questions, Kumba is playing on some noise-maker, Addi is constantly laughing or demanding a sibling to see something, and even Shiloh has joined in with the pounding of her feet running up and down-up and down-up and down the hallways in play.

Truth be told, there is also much strain in this new noise. Even the good noises, the happy, joyful noises can be a strain. A level of stress that we have never met with. Wailing, pouting, crying, and fighting over adjusting to new rules and expectations or exhaustion from the constant learning and activity level or, with five kids, a battle for attention. Very literally, I hear the constant cadence of “mom, mom, mom, mom, mom…” in my restless sleep. Many moments I long for the deaf, gentle peace that Baxter attains amid the chaos.

Can I just say…yes, I think I will…this is HARD.

Adoption is made out to be some sort of glorified family with graceful and strong parents and brave, adaptive children. A perfect picture of God’s design for his family. There are lovely pictures with happy, well-adjusted children with their smiling parents and the bright sun shining on them creating the ideal of joy and hope. (Coming soon to a family near you…and I will say that are stunning pictures and it was joyful.) But, inside the house the kids aren’t the only ones crying and frustrated with all the newness. 

The hardest part for me, a quiet person by nature, is the noise. There is never a time to collect my thoughts before some noise, good or bad, is interrupting my thoughts.

Here is what I love, though. There really is hope. And when their is hope there is love, strength, patience, peace, joy, kindness…sound familiar?

And then there is that word “long-suffering”, or in some versions “patience”, stuck in there. And I wonder how long we need to strive. And he answers, “run as if you aim to win.” But that doesn’t seem like an answer because there is no finish line, no mark I see in the future with a ribbon to be cut and a medal to be won. I already feel out of breath and my legs are already aching and I don’t know how much further I have to go. So, then Jesus looks at me (I love that part because he doesn’t just say this but he looks at me when he says it!), “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.” Then, I sigh, and get out of bed because today holds the promise that this adoption is good even when it is hard.

As I walk down the hallway to the beginnings of little and not-so-little noises coming from the kid’s room, I nudge Baxter from his silent sleep because, truthfully, I think he likes Kai more than me now and I know he wouldn’t want to miss a chance to get scratched.