Squadouche instead of Paradise

Orphans sometimes have a hard time figuring out what’s going on once they’re adopted. For instance, we heard about a little boy who was adopted from Ethiopia and was told of the incredible home he would have once he reached America. His nannies promised him the works. They told him all about American homes with their fancy indoor plumbing, their new-fangled air conditioning, and their electronic gaming consoles. The little boy was so excited. When his parents put him on the jumbo jet to fly home, he became inconsolable. He shrieked with terror for hours and hours. Not knowing his language, they could not figure out what was wrong.

This went on for some time, and finally an Ethiopian woman on the plane came over to help. She found out that the boy thought that the airplane was his new home. He had no concept that some contraption could actually fly through the air, over an ocean, to America. He assumed that he had to share his new “home” with the several hundred other people on the flight. He thought his airplane seat was his new bed. He thought his living space was the row in between his two parents. He thought the airplane food was his new diet.

He was horrified.

My favorite C.S. Lewis quote (and there are so many good ones!) is from his sermon Weight of Glory:

We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.

Could a person literally be living his life like an “ignorant child” who is “making mud pies in a slum”? He cannot imagine something better so he settles for squadouche instead of paradise. He settles for an airplane instead of a mansion.

How about you?

What are you holding on to?

We had to read a lot of books about adoption to prepare for ours. It was a mandatory part of our training. One of the books said that orphans will often have trouble sharing. They have lived for so long owning so little, that what they have is held very tightly.
When I was leafing through my pictures of our recent visit to meet Matthew, this truth popped. The American families had each brought some toy to share with all the kids. There was a round of bubbles. There was a round of bouncy balls. There was a round of sidewalk chalk. There was a round of stickers. Each time we would move to another round, Matthew would grab the new toy, but keep the last toy in his other hand. This was visible in almost every photograph we took of him. He would be playing soccer with me, and clutching onto his bouncy ball. He was writing on the ground with chalk, and clutching his sheet of stickers. He would be bouncing a ball, and clutching the bubbles. He would not put them down. He would not release them. He did not want to let go.

Observing this was a little sad, but it also made me think of my own life. It’s like the Lord gives me a gift, and I am so happy about it, but I can’t seem to release something else in my life that it was meant to replace. It made me wonder how many things do I forfeit in order to hold onto the old? What have I missed out on because of my fear of letting go? How much anxiety does this cause?

How is it for you? What are you holding onto so tightly that you can’t receive the gift that God is holding out to you?

1 Peter 5:7: Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.

Check out my interview on Jason Boyett's blog today...

Matthew, Orphans, and the Starfish Cliché

When I met my adopted son Matthew for the first time, my wife and I were surrounded by other children. We would try to snap a picture of him on our digital camera, but when we looked at the camera screen 4 or 5 other kids would be in the frame. They loved the attention.

Africa has an orphan crisis.

• Some estimates say that there are 53.1 million orphans in sub-Saharan Africa.
  You would have to add up all the children in Denmark, Sweden, Ireland, Norway and Canada to reach that number.
• That’s 12% of all the children in sub-Saharan Africa.
• 30% of these children lost parents to AIDS.
• Every day, 5,760 more children become orphans.
• Every 15 seconds, another child in Africa becomes an AIDS orphan.

Stats like these can be overwhelming. They can cause us to throw up our hands and ask, “Is there really any hope?” The stats can be more discouraging than enabling. They can cause us to shrink back instead of move forward.

When I met Matthew, though, I was reminded of the perhaps clichéd story of the boy and the starfish. You know the one. It goes like this:

A boy was on a beach throwing starfish into the sea. The sun was hot and the starfish were dying because a wave had brought them too far out into the sand. Problem was, there were starfish as far as the eye could see across the dunes. A man came across and shook his head at the boy. “You’re wasting your time kid!” he said. “Can’t you see how many starfish there are? You could throw them back for days and have no impact at all. It would only be a drop in the bucket. You’re not making any difference.” The boy was unperturbed. He picked up another starfish and hurled it into the water. He had a look of satisfaction on his face as he said,

“It made a difference for THAT one.”

And that’s just how I felt when I met Matthew.