Three Months of Ana Sofia

My friend put together an awesome review of the main baby books out there, as well as some of her thoughts on becoming a parent. This is something to have bookmarked to share with new moms. This month I have been thinking and praying about the refugee situation, and what I want my kids to know about your kids. 
Ana Sofia is so much bigger/stronger/interestinger than I thought she would be at three months. The whole "newborn baby" phase only lasts a couple of weeks. You know, the part where you are scared you are going to break them and they look alien-ish and bleh. It seems like every day Ana shows me a little more of her growing personality and funny faces. There is also a lot of drool involved.

(Tongue out--her most common expression)

At two months and one day she rolled over for the first time, now making mom and dad nervous more than ever. 

With Brazilian holidays we were able to go to the beach and have a great time with friends:

I am enjoying this phase of baby-ness a lot, as we take her with us to Living Stones and let her join into our lives. On the days when Ana and I don't join dad at Living Stones, she is a bit fussy, and lets me know she'd rather be out and about. Here she is, helping us teach Portuguese and English. It is the kids (at Living Stones) favorite question: which language does she speak? 

She enjoys talking to herself, talking to us, and complaining. Her laugh has also evolved into the most show-stopping thing at our house. We then go running for the camera, which magically turns off her laugh the instant it turns on. Here is our attempt to capture this joy: 

I Want my Kids to Know About Your Kids (to parents of refugees)

Every day my husband and I work with a different group of kids in Brazil doing different things, to share Jesus. But today I added one thing: I wanted my kids to know about your kids. So I pushed through tears and told a story:
A little boy, his brother, and parents running away. His father working hard, and paying quite a bit of money to get them on a small boat to somewhere better. The boat breaking, the life jackets not working, one by one—the father watching them drowning. Alan washed up on the shore and into my heart. Over 2,500 other Alans drowning.
Canada denying visas. Other countries denying sanctuary. What can we do? We can pray. We can use our voice to cry out to God, who is everywhere, and to people, who are His hands. We can let them know we care. And one very small way—we can use social media for good. And I said if they wanted to take a picture with me, to add to the sea of hashtags, they could. And they did.

They cried with me. As I stumbled over my Portuguese and whispered the thought I have over and over: “Did you choose to be born here in Brazil? Did I choose to be born in the USA? Did Alan choose to be born in Syria? That could have been me. That could have been you.”

I want my kids to know about your kids because they could have been your kids—I could have been you. And so I am not afraid to shock them with “that picture,” and I am not going to shy away from holding them when they cry for Alan too. I want my kids to know about your kids because I want them to know they can make a difference in the world by caring, by learning and listening and doing.

I want my kids to know about your kids from me—before they hear a derogatory remark about immigrants. I want them to love. I want them to “weep with those who weep.” I want them to grow up and meet your kids and share Jesus with them. I want my kids to know about your kids so one day they will see them in heaven.

#Iamamigrant

If you were born in a different country, or in a different state than you are now in; if you have ever moved from one home to another, you are (or have been) a migrant. Think of birds, migrating—it is simply someone “on the move.”
I have been a migrant for over 10 years. Before that, I was born and raised in the same home. And it was a good life. But I grew…I changed. I made choices that took me far from home. Every migrant has a story of change; reasons why, reasons why not.

I am an immigrant (?)
Immigrant adds “im” which means “in” to migrant. It denotes a more permanent (and out of country) move—a move you have chosen to remain in. I have invested 10 years of my life in Brazil. I love Brazil. I have a Brazilian (anchor) baby. Brazil will always be a part of my life. Will I always live here? I don’t know. My life is not my own, and I haven’t been informed of the future.

My husband is an immigrant from Jamaica. His whole family has the story that my family had a couple generations back. Immigration is what began, formed, and grew America--much to the pain and suffering of those already located here. Let’s not repeat that story—or build a wall.

 (Caid in Jamaica)

I do not have solutions for the current migrant/immigrant situation in the USA. I do not have solutions for the refugee situation in Europe. But I do understand wanting the chance to live in another country. I know each time I applied for a visa I silently begged, “Please give me this opportunity.” Brazil took a chance on me: they let me in.

I welcome refugees
Refugee is the term for someone who cannot return home for fear of serious harm. They are forced to flee. And as time goes on, I am sure more terms will be made for more reasons that people migrate—because for every migration, there is a story. For every story, there are reasons why, and why not.
I welcome refugees, I welcome migrants, I welcome immigrants. I don’t do this because they deserve it or don’t deserve it. I don’t do it because they are good people or bad people. Sometimes I don’t even do it because I want to: I do it because I am a Christian, and I have given my life to Christ, and two rules He gave me are to love Him and to love others.
I am not saying it is my governments’ job to take care of them: I am saying it is my job to love them—to love my neighbor. And my neighbor lives in Syria, In Mexico, in Afghanistan. And I don’t know what “love” will look like tomorrow—I barely know what it looks like right now—but I am looking for it. And I am doing what I know to do.

I am asking my government to welcome refugees, to allow them in. I am asking my friends, my family, my kids to welcome--and to love--their neighbors as they would want to be loved, as God has loved them. Because that is what I believe. Because that is the kind of world I want to live in.

Two Months of Ana Sofia

Caid and I still feel like pretty good parents, meaning we haven't had any accidents/emergencies/sicknesses. I have been learning a lot and enjoying even the middle of the night feedings, which don't happen very often anymore as she has been sleeping 11ish-6ish lately! The best part about this second month has been being able to go to Living Stones programs with Ana Sofia: sharing our joy with the kids, and seeing her do so well, surrounded by kids.

I must say, Brazil is a wonderful place to have a baby. Everyone bends over backwards to make sure she (and I) are taken care of--strangers even stop traffic to help me cross the street! We are so grateful for everyone's help and consideration. 

Currently on my kindle (best thing ever while breastfeeding!) from the library (I can borrow e-books online from Indiana in Brazil!) is "Surprised by Motherhood" by Lisa-Jo Baker. She is an incredible writer who had her first child in Africa. Here are some of the things she wrote that resonated with me: "Next time I’d do motherhood differently. I’d just revel in the daily, sleep deprived merry-go-round and eat a lot more chocolate cake."

"It is one thing to read about and imagine the birth stories of a hundred other women; it is quite another to witness a brand new being you have pushed out of your own body cough and gasp his way to a first breath as lungs that have never held oxygen before expand for the first time. It is one thing to understand with your head that man was made in his Father God’s image; it is quite another to look into the crinkly eyes of a wailing infant and hear his cries soften as you whisper, “I’m your mama” and you see your own image imprinted over his profile. It is sacred. It is bloody. It is real. It is truth that climbs off the pages of Scripture and leaps alive into your arms when theoretical beliefs in a Creator give way to experiencing the act of creation." 

"Mothers may want to find room to breathe, to weep, to panic. But they don’t want it to end---this delivering, shaping, cheering, loving, bringing life into the world. With this boy wrapped in my arms, this flesh and blood and bone that I had grown in my womb, clinging to me, I understood what the God parent feels for me. To die for this love-yes, it made sense."

"I cradled it in my arms—all this new life. the Creator’s Spirit lingered on her skin, in her hair. There was a reverence in the air; she was still so fresh in the making from the passing of His hands to mine. And me—I was so aware of my rough, scuffed self with skin stained from years of living on this silent planet that only stubbornly, in fits and starts, acknowledges its Maker." 

Ana and I did a photo shoot for Caid's first Father's Day (Father's day in Brazil is the second Sunday of August), so her "two month video" is in two parts--Caid's Father's day video and her official video;)

Two month video:

Sunday Funday

Sundays have always been special to me, but especially while living alone in Brazil, I made sure to celebrate them. Now married and a mom, I am working to make sure these quiet, sacred moments still exist. I put together a list of things that have blessed me on Sundays--that "fill up my cup" for the rest of the week, especially while being far from home.

 (getting everyone ready for church)

Since church is in Portuguese, I appreciate some spiritually encouraging words in my first language as well, and so visit these websites (or sign up for e-mails from them)

Ann Voskamp (my favorite)

Especially for missionaries

Making a Home

A family making a difference

A missions agency I admire (They put together a magazine called "The Cry." Find the PDF on the site
Caid and I have enjoyed watching the Shaytards and the NiveNulls on their youtube vlogs, funny families that remind us of daily life in the USA.

Some things I have personally found that help me unwind and prepare for a new week are to:
Write a blog (check)
Do extra Bible study early in the morning
Make sure the house is clean Saturday night
Chicken day (so I don't have to cook--we buy chicken, rice and beans from the lady across the street from us every sunday)
Catch up on emails to close friends (I love you guys)
And we try to make sure to call our families on Sunday! Can't forget to check in:).

Have a wonderful Sunday!

Middle of the Night Eurekas

After teaching kids for over 15 years, I can see it. I don't catch it all the time, but most of the time I can identify the change in a child's face when they "get it." The Eureka moment. The small window that teachers live for when you feel invincible because you can tell the information is connecting. In that moment you know you are inspiring them. That is the time that makes it all worth it-- the low pay, the long hours preparing-- they GOT it. The window to the soul. 

I have gotten good at noticing when this time might be sneaking up-- I don't want to miss it. Knowing it is coming is part of what makes me a good teacher because it keeps me focused and on point. It shoots adrenaline in me and makes me enjoy myself...in turn letting the students enjoy themselves. 

Being a mom is different from being a teacher. Those moments sneak up on me. They come at the most random time and it makes me catch my breath because I almost missed them. I realize that the influence, the ah-ha moment came and went and I barely saw it. As a newborn, her whole life is an Eureka moment. 

It makes me scared to look away. What if that second, that instant that shapes my daughters life comes and goes and I was too busy cleaning the house - or worse-- watching TV or Facebook? (or posting a blog??)

As a teacher, I have learned how to control the environment and the situation as much as possible to lead to a positive learning experience. But being a mom informs me that life happens everywhere and always and it is uncontrollable and my daughter is still learning every second of it. 

I don't want to miss it, I want to live it right next to her. This is often exhausting. This is sometimes exhilarating, as I catch her studying me from the corner of my eye. I am not the 5th grade teacher she will remember that inspired her that one time--I am the one who will show her what "normal" looks like. 

I am the one who will--or will not--set her up with roots and wings. There are some answers , some places in her heart that only I can answer and fill, and if I don't, they will remain empty (or require therapy).

She is sleeping now. As I look at her I realize she just gave me learning and understanding I didn't have before. We make a good team. 

August 9th was Father's day here in Brazil:

The Best is Love

(Five weeks and trying to fly)

She is old enough now to want to stare at my face for hours. Well, until she is hungry or pooping or sleeping again. And it makes me stop life and just stare back. Mostly because I am not used to someone adoring me like that—wanting nothing more in life than to just SEE me. And I know it won’t last forever. She will figure out the TV has more interesting faces. She will want to discover everything else in life. But right now, it is just me. Mommy.

I know that every moment I invest in her is worth it. She has taken over my life. And I don’t hold it against her—I love her even more for it. How weird is that? I wonder if I have more kids, if I will have anything like this kinda time for them. The newness would have worn off by then. The first kid will be calling loudly. Life will continue to claim my time. I feel rather sorry for any future kids I have already—because all kids should be given time—this individual investment. This eye contact. This running conversation that I have with her about everything and nothing because the baby book says it is mentally stimulating for her.

I tell her she is one lucky girl. All she wants is food—all she understands is food. And I give her so much more…because I have been given so much. I give in direct proportion to what I have received. Then a thought tears through me: what of the parents who have nothing? What do they give their babies? I think it is harder for the parent than the child because they know exactly what they are not giving whereas the child only understands a small part of what they are missing (at least when they are young). Poverty now looks even uglier to me.

If something were to happen to me, suddenly, I want her to know how much I loved her. I am not sure how to write that in her baby book—at least not in a way that will explain and soothe my absence over all ages and phases that she goes through. I don’t know how this whole thing works, being a parent, but I think it is pretty much about doing the best I can with what I have right now. And the best is always love.