Palmer brought home school awards today for being on the Principal’s list, and for being a Triple A Achiever: Academics, Attendance, and Attitude. I know that every award a child receives is special, but given where we were six months ago, I consider this nearly miraculous. He “aged” 3 years, entered school in a different language, skipped a grade, and is getting all A’s while having a great attitude. Thank you, Lord, for blessing us with such a special boy! Congratulations Palmer!
School has been back in full swing for several weeks now, as has our spring semester schedule. Here’s a peek:
Yes, church activities are at least 4 nights a week. We’ve discovered that the kids function best with lots of sleep. After all, their brains are working HARD. Bedtime is 7:00 p.m., which is broken several nights a week because of church activities.
The kids are participating in Upward, not as much because we care about sports, but so they can see their dad. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t see Ken on Saturdays really at all, and would miss him on Monday, Tuesday, and still have to share him on Wednesday.
Palmer continues to do well at school, but it’s just a lot to learn a language and skip a grade. Imagine sending your kids to boarding school in Germany and asking them to skip a grade at the same time. Tough stuff. We’ve been afraid that we are setting him up for failure. Thursday is our only night at home, but he usually has 2 hours of homework on Thursday night. This week, after his book reading, his reading comprehension worksheet, his math worksheet, Ken said, “Okay, now it’s time to study for your spelling test,” Palmer burst into tears.
I wrote a note to Palmer’s teacher and she sent back a lovely email, and talked about adjusting his expectations. She confirmed what we know: that he is “super smart.” He WILL catch up, but perhaps we need to try to do it at a little slower pace. Since he skipped the second half of Kindergarten, he’s expected to be working with concepts that he was never introduced to. For instance, he is supposed to do double digit subtraction, but he never made it to subtraction in the first place. This is why homework takes forever, and requires our 100% participation.
So we are reworking Palmer’s academic expectations to cause less frustration. He does LOVE school, and it’s hard for him not to be the smartest in the class because he works way harder than other kids. He really is in an unfair situation, through no fault of his own, but he is trying SO hard!
Addie has reacted to the pressure differently. We had an S-team meeting this week with her teacher, the school psychologist, the speech pathologist, the guidance counselor, and the principal. Addie has started refusing to do work, taking her clothes off at school and pretending she doesn’t know how to put them on (even though she dresses herself every morning), doing very poor work, and not living up to behavioral expectations. The teacher let us know this week that the honeymoon period is over, and she is acting out in many ways. And true to form, she has started wetting her pants intentionally again. Not at school, just while she is with Ken and me. Lucky us.
Addie has been a mystery all of us because her behavior is contradictory and unpredictable. She behaves perfectly well for strangers, but once you are no longer a stranger, it changes. She does struggle with fine motor skills, so we know she has some physical deficiencies, but her intelligence has been difficult to assess. At home, she has no problem counting objects. At school, she not only doesn’t count, she doesn’t know her numbers. This makes the math that she is expected to do at school impossible.
All of this is common for kids from traumatic backgrounds, and comes as no huge surprise, but is nonetheless frustrating to everyone involved. Adding to the pressure is the policy of Metro Nashville Public Schools that she HAS to go to first grade next year, so the gap her in her performance will continue to grow.
She needs help. We need help. She works on homework for the same time period that Palmer does. Every evening, she is expected to correct assignments that she didn’t do correctly at school, review letters, numbers, and sounds, practice cutting and coloring, review sight words, read two books with a parent, and on and on. Again 100% participation from parents for up to 2 hours a day.
The school has been hesitant to have Addie undergo testing because she is a Kindergartener, she doesn’t speak English other than single words and a very occasional sentence, and she has a traumatic past. But they cannot give her any extra help without testing her. And if they are going to diagnose her as being delayed, it has to occur before she turns age 7, which is this spring. Still they don’t want to “label” her.
Finally, I blurted out, “Label her! At least that will give us some help. Labels can be undone.” The S-team agreed.
So testing of Addie is going to begin shortly. She is going to receive some unfortunate diagnoses, but it will give her increased access to services that will help her instead of leaving her floundering in a class, but forced to move forward. And her teacher will no longer have to handle Addie, plus 18 others.
Addie has been through unfathomable trauma, and she is still figuring out how to handle that grief. If she can be busy enough, naughty enough, or giggle enough, she doesn’t have to face it. For the first time ever, she is with a family who is in this with her for the long haul, and rather than this being comforting, it is frightening. When will we abandon her? When will we send her away? Will we still love her if she does nothing we tell her to do? These are all questions she has to answer in her own mind. To be expected to learn to read, do math, color in the lines, and sit still is difficult with all of that going on inside. To not have the language to process it with us makes it even harder, which is why we are insistent that she learn English so we can help her heal.
For me, this semester has added additional responsibility related to my former boss’s sudden retirement in the fall. I’ve always worked 40-50 hours per week in the spring and fall, and 60-80 in the summer. This semester, I have been given additional responsibilities in the University Clinic on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, seeing faculty, staff, students and their families. I’ve tried to compensate for this by going in an hour early and working through lunch. Still, I’m already falling behind, and still trying to figure out how to get home in time to manage dinner, homework, and bedtime routine by 7:00 p.m. especially given our already packed evening schedule and the profound emotional and academic needs of our children. Ken does the lion’s share of just about everything between the time he picks up the kids from school at 3:00 and when he has to leave most evenings at 5:00 p.m.
This weekend, Palmer has had the flu, and I’m afraid Addie probably isn’t far behind, so we have quarantined the kids. I have been sick since October with a nasty productive cough. Still. We have laid on the couch for two days, and as miserable as we all feel, it has been glorious. No pressure, no learning, just relaxing together. Indeed, we need more time just like this. Minus the flu, of course.
In October, we sat down with the kids and told them it was their job to learn to speak English. In America, in order to get a job, you have to go to school and learn English. When they spoke only English, we would give them a bicycle, and they would begin to get an allowance.
Palmer immediately looked excited and started speaking in English phrases. Addie looked very disappointed.
Over the last few months, Palmer has been speaking increasing amounts of English, but on a daily basis, his sister, who didn’t care to speak English regardless of bribery, would engage him in a conversation and he would reply in Lingala.
Finally, the night we returned from the beach, we told them that their days of speaking Lingala were over. We had been patient, but if they wanted to be a part of our family, English is the language our family speaks.They had been a family unto themselves, and the core of that was language. I lived with Addie for almost 5 months without ever having a conversation with her. She only needed Palmer because he spoke Lingala. Lingala was tearing our family apart.
After several days of time-outs and reprimands, the shackles of Lingala were broken and our kids started to speak in English, even to each other.
The first day they went an entire day without Lingala was yesterday. So this morning, there was $8 for Palmer waiting at his breakfast plate, and $6 for Addie. And in the 15 short minutes it wasn’t raining after church today, we let them have their bicycles. Here are a few snapshots of the event.
We’re so thankful to have our kids now fervently working to communicate with us!
As expected, as soon as we got home from the beach, Ken repacked to take 37 college students to the annual college conference in Atlanta. Addie and Palmer didn’t return to school until today, so I officially had a week with the kids without Ken.
Looking ahead at the next year, I know that times that Ken and I get to spend together are rare, I realized that it will be difficult for us to do a lot of the family-friendly adventures around Nashville. By the time the kids are out of school for the summer, I will be mired in my busiest time of year.
I decided that now was the time to make some memories with the kids. Fortunately, my parents flew in for the week and joined our adventures and helped me man-handle the kids. So, last week we:
The kids were exceptionally good. We laughed a lot. At one point, when we were watching Annie, Addie turned to me, and said, “I love you mommy.” I actually had to ask her three times what she said, because she had never told me that spontaneously before. The next night, Palmer gave me a kiss on the cheek for the first time.
We had a great time, even though we were missing Ken terribly. I was thankful that the kids were willing to have a year’s worth of fun with me last week. The memories will last a lifetime!
Palmer and Addie December 2011
Palmer and Addie December 2012
When last I wrote, I was in the throes of trying to get to December 1st. I almost didn’t make it, literally.
The week after Thanksgiving, I caught a nasty strep that nearly caused me to go into respiratory failure, twice. The first time was IN the doctor’s office, and since it was the allergist office, they had the necessary equipment to keep me from dying. After getting a load of medications to open my airways, I begged the NP to keep me functioning that week because I had accreditation going on at work, and I rather like my job and wanted to keep it.
Having been through her fair share of accreditation processes, she gave me twice the dose of steroids than we typically give even the worst patients, a massive dose of antibiotics, and was kind enough not to admit me to the hospital. I went back to work that day, trying to avoid people because I was still contagious, and I went back the next. In the midst of the that day, someone’s perfume or something in the air ducts triggered my lungs. I called Ken to come and get me because I knew it was too serious for me to drive. Other faculty and students came to my aid, and fortunately gathered together enough medicines to keep me alive in spite of my bluish tinge (which is usually the last thing that happens before I lose consciousness and my airways close).
Now, of course, after nearly dying twice in two days, which is probably more exhausting than it seems, of course I was able to rest and relax. Of course not! Ken had Upward Sports sign ups in the evenings that week, so I had to take care of the kids. Not only fixing dinner, doing baths, story time and the like, but the new massive amount of homework that the kids now have.
Yes, it was also the week that the kids skipped grades.
Palmer was coming home with 2-4 hours of homework. Not because it was really that much for an English-speaking child, but because he doesn’t speak English or read, his homework requires 100% supervision and parent involvement. Addie has such poor fine motor skills, she can’t complete her tasks at school, and what she doesn’t do, her teacher sends home. So every night, we try to help her improve her skills (remember the OT says she has the motor skills of a 3-year-old) cutting, coloring, writing and even just sitting still. I was getting notes home from her teacher almost every day about her lack of behavioral control and motor skills. So she works for 2 hours in the evenings as well.
Did I mention I had almost died twice in the midst of all this?
The day after I almost died the second time was the accreditation site visit. I took my nebulizer to work with me and smoked it like a peace pipe in between interviews and the frantic scurry to pull whatever documents they wanted. And I taught class in the midst of it all, and arranged guest lecturers for my former boss’s class — oh yes, remember that my boss was diagnosed with a brain tumor and suddenly retired 3 weeks before accreditation. He had been a part of the program for somewhere around 30 years, so he knew everything about the program. His presence is missed in many ways.
I made it through accreditation week still breathing, and found that the next week was prospective student interviews, and since I was now back to working full-time, I was leading an interview team, teaching on lunch breaks, and trying to get the rest of my job done in spare moments, followed by running home and starting the homework parade with Palmer and Addie.
I was in sad shape. Such sad shape that my poor busy PA students started making meals for our family in spite of it being the week before finals. Our family surely would have starved otherwise. I have never seen students take care of a professor like that. I am blessed that our program is indeed like a family.
At the end of interviews, I found that there were massive amounts of information and reports to be compiled before the end of the year. And I had to write and grade finals, coordinate the rest of the grades for the program, grade research presentations for the second year PA students, and on and on and on.
December 1st was just a mirage. All the things I had put aside to get to December 1st came tumbling down around me in a heaping to-do list.
Then came the Christmas party list. In the first 17 days of December, we had: One preschool/Kindergarten party, one kids party, one college work party, one youth ministry volunteer party, one staff/board party, one college student party, one neighborhood Christmas party, one staff Christmas party, one college ministry party, one children’s church program, one adult church program, one youth church program, one school program. Every evening was either an activity, or making up for the fact that we were out the night before. Thirteen events in seventeen days. On top of the two hours of homework every night.
And of course I still wasn’t well. (I’ve now been sick for over 12 weeks straight.) The NP started wondering why I have no immune system. So we took advantage of our already-paid $5000 deductible, and I had a slew of immune studies, a chest CT, a sinus CT. There were some interesting findings which open up some new treatment options for me, but in the end, essentially I’m sick because I’m exhausted. We all are.
So that’s where I’ve been: in survival mode.
Our kids have now been officially reaged to 6 and 8, although their birth certificates will still be wrong. They will be changing grades and Addie changing schools, on Monday, November 26th. Are they ready? No. There is just too much to learn for kids who don’t speak English. And in the last week, Addie has: pushed another child down, hit a child, peed on her mattress purposely, had a wrestling match at school, ran out of the classroom multiple times, run around the room during lunch time, and stolen toys from her school. Clearly she is acting out — over fear of her new school, or because she is testing boundaries, or because she is simply feeling like being a wild child. Not good news when she is getting ready to move to a more structured classroom. But ready or not, here they come!
Our department at work is going through reaccreditation next week. The importance of this process cannot be overestimated, nor can the amount of work. And with my boss’s sudden unexpected retirement, I have had to return to work full-time plus. There is just too much to do. Having Thanksgiving off is doubtful.
I cannot get over my pneumonia, which is no huge surprise, given the above. I have now had a productive cough and intermittent fever for 7 weeks.
The good news is that by December 1st, we will be past all of this. If I can just make it to December 1st.
This afternoon our agency finally heard from the embassy today, and they are willing to accept our court documents as-is. No further corrections are needed.
So we DON’T have to go back to court.
We DO get to move forward and file our immigration paperwork and begin the process of bringing the kids home!
So here’s what the timeline from here begins to look like:
If I were to hazard a guess, I’d estimate that we’d be travelling between July and October. I know it’s a broad range, but represents the time ranges that other families have had once they’ve received CONA.
Thank you so much to all of you who are “not okay” with our adoption not moving forward. I firmly believe that without your prayers, we would still be waiting for paperwork. It’s no coincidence at all that within days of your earnest prayers, we received what we had already been waiting 2 months for, and within 24 hours of each other.
You MUST be praying. HARD! Keep it up! There is more paperwork processing, officials reviewing, travelling and other adventures to come!
What a crazy hard, delightful, heart-wrenching, celebratory few days we’ve had! We drove up to Marion on Sunday and spent the evening with a wonderful friend with whom we had been on staff for five years. The next morning, Ken and I divided and conquered a couple of different visits with friends and colleagues, and then met back together to travel the final 90 minutes to Pastor Dave’s memorial service.
The last few weeks of his life, God woke me in the night to pray for Dave. On this side of heaven, he never knew how many times I was breathless from the pain he was in, or that I was “sitting up with him” praying over him — even hundreds of miles away. I believe God woke me when he breathed his last breath. I had learned when I was in full-time medical practice, God always told me the moment when one of my patients passed into eternity. Each time it happened, the Holy Spirit made it very clear to me that I had just lost my patient, even if I was miles away from the hospital, and even when death came unexpectedly. I would confirm it later in the patient’s chart, and it was always the exact minute. Though Pastor Dave was never my patient, I believe God woke me when He called him home too. The following night, after weeks of insomnia, I was finally able to sleep — until the night before the memorial service. It was time to pray over his family.
Pastor Dave’s family graciously offered to extend “family” status to us, and we met with Pastor Dave’s family, sat with them at the service, and then dined with the extended family afterwards. I don’t think I’ve laughed and cried simultaneously so much in my life. I miss Pastor Dave deeply, and a part of me had somehow hoped that we would be able to work together again — to relive the laughter, to see hundreds more souls come to Christ, to dream God-sized dreams together. I still can’t quite believe he’s gone. Though we’ve not lived in the same town for nearly a decade now, I feel his absence, and the world doesn’t seem quite right.
Pastor Dave preached at his own memorial service on video, and I’ll never forget the seven most important things he talked about. His genuine love for his lovely wife Susan, his family, his church, his neighbors, and his Lord were so clear. In the midst of all the tears as he said his final good-bye to all of us on video, and after the final song was sung, the officiate announced one last crazy plan that Pastor Dave had orchestrated: a treasure hunt. Clues had been placed, treasure had been hidden, and instructions were given to those who wanted to have one last adventure with Pastor Dave. Even at his memorial service, Pastor Dave couldn’t have us leave without smiles on our faces.
We shared more laughter and stories after the funeral with several former coworkers — one of whom is now living in Minnesota, one now living in Maryland — who had also knew they couldn’t miss the chance to honor and celebrate the life of the man who had such clear anointing on his life, and we were each blessed to have been a part of his ministry. Dinner with the family was like being “home” again.
We arrived back in Nashville in the wee hours of the morning, and we spent much of the drive remembering all the miraculous things that happened to Pastor Dave, all the fun times we had sitting at a table with him, how in some very dark days his love and friendship meant the world to us. I never want to forget a single story, a single laugh, a single lesson.
Here is one of my favorite Pastor Dave stories that happened during the time we worked with him in Marion, as he wrote it. Even if you don’t know Pastor Dave, please read –you’ll catch a glimpse of God’s anointing:
I was on my way up the elevator to the 5th floor of the jail chapel wondering what I was going to speak about. Chaplain Brady had called me just an hour ago to fill in as a speaker for someone who had cancelled. For some reason, I was reminded of a tragedy that had happened twenty years ago while pastoring my first church . . . four children were playing near a stone quarry the week before Christmas. Their mother had warned them not to go out onto the ice because it had not been cold enough yet, but as children do, they wandered out on the ice and one of them broke through. His brother tried to rescue him and broke through too. The sister tried a rescue as well, and yes, she broke through the ice also. The only one left on shore was the seven-year old brother and he ran for help. When the rescuers came, it was too late. All three of the children had drowned. I officiated the saddest funeral of my life. Three children, all of one family, three days before Christmas. If only they had heeded their mother’s warning!
Well, I told this story to the prisoners and made the comparison: You are in trouble now because you did not heed warning after warning. When are you going to listen? It’s too late for those children, but it’s not too late for you! You can still be rescued. Come to Jesus! He is reaching for you!
Thirteen men raised their hands to make commitments to Christ that night. When the service was over, one prisoner on the back row stayed with his head down, weeping. The guards were nudging him, but he continued to sit there and weep.
The officer gave me a look that meant, “Come tell this man to go, or we will.” I went over and sat next to him. The prisoner asked, “Are you really the man who preached the funeral for those three children twenty years ago?” I told him that I was. He raised up his head for the first time and looked at me. “I was that seven-year old boy who ran for help.”
By now I was weeping, the guards were weeping, one officer went over and looked out the window so it would not be noticed that he was crying. I asked the prisoner, “What are you in here for?” He said, “A car backed out and hit my car, and when the officer ran a check, he said there was a warrant for my arrest.” When I asked what for, He said, “It was for failure to pay child support, but I have neer been married and I don’t have any children. It’s a mistake, but now I see that God wanted me to be here to hear a message from a man who preached the funeral of my sisters and brothers. Now that I have accepted Christ as my Savior, does this mean I will get to see them again?”
“You will see them again,” I replied.
Now I understand why God would have a volunteer cancel in the last hour, why Chaplain Brady thought of calling me, why a ‘mistake’ in the police computer system held an innocent man in jail, why this twenty year old tragedy came to my mind. God had orchestrated all of these events to create a divine appointment to help heal a wounded 27-year-old man who saw his siblings drown when he was only seven years old.
Coincidence? No . . . A Divine appointment.
–Pastor David Terhune
How fortunate we were to spend some of the early years of our ministry with him! I’m so thankful that a Divine appointment caused our paths to cross with Pastor Dave.
Where in the World Are Our Kids? 