White Momma, Asian Kids: Reflections on Race

I pulled at the corners of my eyes, slanting them until all I could see was light and distorted faces. Then, I strung together a long chain of “Chinese-Japanese” words, “Ching, ching, chong, chang, chong.” It got me some laughs. Other kids did it too, so I guessed it was no big thing. I was a nice little girl after all, who would never hurt a soul. There was rarely an Asian anywhere near my playground anyway.
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I heard comments. Racists ones. I didn’t understand, but when the words landed, my gut recognized ugliness. Not at my house, but I heard them sometimes at extended family or neighborhood gatherings, stores or sporting events. I heard opinions about African Americans, Mexicans, Asians. Sometimes the voices were from people I knew to be hateful, but sometimes they came from people I knew to be nice. I’m not sure how I responded, but likely with silence.
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One African American family lived in our middle-class suburban neighborhood. The daughter, Terri, was my fifth-grade class buddy. I liked her. She was smart and liked Scooby Doo and swinging high like me. I didn’t exclude her in my play at home, but we didn’t hang out like we did at school. She lived a few streets away. I don’t remember inviting her to my house, or she inviting me, more than a couple times. The kids I built forts with, the ones I have all the Lone Oak Drive memories with, well, they all looked just like me.

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My sister and I were once travelling unaware into a small Kentucky town. When we got close to the town center, a frightening roar entered the car windows. Curious, we turned a corner. Before us was a gathering of angry men in pointed, white hoods. It took a minute to process, but the hate scorched our eyes and hearts on impact. The KKK was real. Though our turnaround was instant, the memory is vivid.

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Was I a racist as a child? Even unintentionally?

Am I now?

I’d really rather not think on these things.

I am a white, middle class woman, and I have had experiences with racism. Some big, some small. I’ve heard it, seen it, and participated in it through my own ignorance and silence.

Now, as parent to three Asian-Americans, when I hear of kids slanting their eyes and speaking in “Chinese”, my heart hurts. Momma bear gets protective.

I am no longer passive about racism. I’ve allowed myself to wrestle with it. I’ve stood on the soil of Africa and Haiti and China, and considered how the place of my birth, the color of my skin, has altered the trajectory of my life for my benefit.

“Not being racist” doesn’t cut it anymore. I’ve seen too much, and three of my kids have beautiful, Asian, brown skin. They have silky, straight, black hair, almond eyes and differently shaped noses. I want them to see themselves represented in the world we’re planted in. They are watching, and collecting memories of their own. They’ve already experienced racism through stereotypes and their own encounters of kids “speaking Chinese-Japanese” with slanted eyes.

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As they grow, I suspect they’ll wrestle and have more experiences with racism, and prejudices against differences, just as I have. If I want to honor and guide the full child, I get no free pass to not talk about racism and differences.

I want to raise up little allies, be an ally, to people who live and look differently. My husband and I want to raise our kids up with intention. We can’t assume that not saying racist things will be enough to protect them from even unintentional racist notions. The world is so ugly, but we can shed light into the darkness.
    
I have felt guilty, protective and angry, for how I’ve neglected to reconcile race in my world, but I don’t want to get stuck there. It isn’t helpful. We want to be better and do better. We want to open our hearts, home and table to more voices, friendships, and experiences. Not in the pounding my head guiltily against the wall, here’s another area this momma doesn’t measure up, way. That’s not sustainable. More in let’s get creative, mix things up and breathe the world more deeply in ways.

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Prayer: 
I’m asking God to have His way with the ugly places in our hearts. I’m asking him to show me ways that racism might saturate my thinking. I’m asking for the words to talk to our kids. For the boldness to set an example on responding to racist comments and playground games. I am asking the Lord to continue to color our family’s world with people. I pray that He’ll stir our hearts and open our eyes to our neighborhood, community and world.

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Voices We Listen To: The last racist protest in the news shed some light on a pattern that needed changing. Fired up and ready to use my voice, I was devouring blog posts. But I realized, other than some MLK quotes, everything I was sharing about race, was written by a white person. I love that my white-skinned sisters are trying to be allies, but in times of flared tension, I don’t want to only hear from them. So I went looking for what my black friends, Hispanic neighbors, or Muslim writers, were thinking. I admit my need to be enlightened, challenged.

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Honest Talk:

I really didn’t want to show my kids the news video of white hooded men gripping tiki-torches and chanting hate. I really didn’t want to tell my kids that the contractor daddy just talked to won’t be doing the painting he bid on because he added that he “never hires any of them Mexican workers” to his sales pitch. I really don’t want to explain to my kids that all races and cultures have racism. That though not everyone is racist, every group has pockets of racist people. None of us, regardless of our appearance, is protected from bigotry. I’d rather not talk to my kids about our country’s history of slave run plantations, “colored bathrooms”, Japanese internment camps or low pay of migrant workers. I’d rather not explain to my kid why people have swastikas on their parade banners.

But I need to if we want to be a family of difference makers.

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What Voices Fill My Home?

We listen to podcasts, watch Netflix, play Spotify, have a basket of library books on the coffee table and scroll Instagram. How many of these voices, chefs, pastors, authors and characters are white? Too many.

Adding some new Pandora stations is such an easy way to raise up culturally tuned in kids. We have kitchen dance parties to Lecrae, “Latinos En La Casa”, and “Indian Vibes”. We do homework to “Chinese Traditional”.

I’ve widened my social media following to include the perspectives of Ravi Zacharias, Awesomely Luvvie, Francis Lam, ChihYu Smith, Nat Geo Travel, Jo Saxton, Khalida Brohi, Eugene Cho, Wynter Pitts, Preemptive Love, Esther Havens, Latasha Morrison, Confessions of a Muslim Mom, Tony Evans, Naptime is Sacred, and Grandpa Chan.

When roaming the library, I always try to grab a book or two with characters that don’t look just like us. Check out Here We Read, I Love Books and I Can Not Lie, and The Sweet Pea Girls on Instragram for globally minded suggestions.

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What Toys Do the Kids Play With?

Diversifying toys is easy. Our Barbie and baby doll baskets are filled with plastic skin in all shades and eyes in all shapes.

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Who Are We Friends With?

The honest answer? Mostly white people. Yes, thankfully, many of those white people have biracial, adoptive families. But, sadly, I’ve never had a deeper than casual friendship on a long-term basis with anyone who didn’t match the hue of my skin color. Lord, please change this.

Being around matching people is easier. You mostly agree, like mostly the same food, dress mostly the same. It’s comforting, until you begin to see others, all others, in all their creative shapes and forms, and realize you are missing out.

I want my kids’ worlds to be wider than mine was. Until college, I was mostly around white people. My interaction with Asians was limited to a couple exchange students.

We’ve been intentional to put our kids in a school with kids of all races and cultures, and thankfully their neighborhood friends are white, African-American and Hispanic. But we want them to see their parents connecting more and more widely, more deeply, to their friends’ parents. Neighbors have taught us to roll tamales and brought us El Salvadorian pupusa, and we have had so much fun. Our prayer is that the people we invite to our table continues to broaden.

Is it weird to pray for Chinese friends? Probably, but I am doing it anyway.

(In full disclosure, I deleted this section ten times. This girl who has travelled the world, earned a degree in multicultural education, mothers three children born in China and is fascinated with cultures, is so not cool with my friend status.)

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What Food Are We Eating?


We love to take our kids to a truly authentic Chinese restaurant, where being white makes you stand out. We love this for our family. We want our taste buds to grow, in a fun way, with the foods we bring in and the eateries we seek out. 

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I had no idea how my eyes were closed before, though I thought them wide open. Skin color, races and cultures, I thought them fascinating, but it wasn’t personal to me. It is now.

I hope you’ll join me in self-reflection. Let’s consider how our world’s might be too small, what people we might be missing out on, what tastes await us, and what the books we read and the songs we hum might be teaching our kids.

Lord, make us change makers for our kids and our communities.
I’d love to learn from you. If there is a voice you listen to that I should add to my world, please share.

Courage, dear hearts.

Originally shared on No Hands But Ours.




Beyond Ourselves: My Gotcha Day Reality

It’s the pinnacle of the adoption journey. We build a beautiful image of what gotcha day will be, and hold hard to that as we wait. Much preparation goes into readiness for caring for the child we’ve seen only in pictures. We study bonding techniques and possible reactions, and pack and repack little backpacks. But as moms can do, we often fail to prepare our own hearts.

On our first gotcha day, I was unprepared for my reaction. Looking back on that sacred moment, I see a brave mask. I smiled, went through the motions and loved on our new little one. Only my husband and I knew about the unexpected bubbled up emotions that spilled over into the day I assumed would be magical.

We’d waited for five years to feel the weight of Claire in our arms, and prayed through a hundred obstacles to bring her home. When adoption day arrived, I was giddy. Until we found ourselves on the steps of the orphanage. Suddenly, I was flooded with a perfect storm of emotions, a smash up of every “feel” that could be felt. My reaction didn’t build gradually. It slammed me with a surprising abruptness.

When ushered into a conference room for our long awaited moment, the decision to adopt suddenly felt ridiculous. I couldn’t fathom why I was stepping out of my going-just-fine life and onto ground beyond my comfort zone borders. The sound of voices was muted by the pounding of my heart. I avoided looking at the camera, as I was busy mapping out an escape route. Giddiness faded to fear.

Finally, with weak knees and trembling hands, I held her tiny self for the first time. And a war began in my head, heart and prayers that would last a few days. I knew she was a gift. I knew I loved her, but inadequacy was shouting, “I CAN’T DO THIS!”

Brave? Beautiful and honorable feelings? Not so much. 

Though we were strangers, Claire and I held onto each other for dear life. Though shaken, we knew it was deeply good. She coped with sleep, and I led my heart, simply doing the next thing before me. We both were fragile, just getting by moment to moment. My guilt was as consuming as my trepidation, as I didn’t think there was space for a mom to be terrified of her child.

But in God’s sovereignty over details, my husband was peaceful, full of faith, and instinctively protective of his girls. While Claire melted safely into her daddy’s arms, I begged my own Father to comfort me. There are moments in this life when a Father’s arms are needed, aren’t there?
Intense panic over the first few days gradually gave way to waves of peace and joy, and eventually my heart righted itself.

Later, I pretended it had been the magical moment I’d planned. Privately, I was embarrassed that my feelings had failed me. My weak and fearful human side flared up and cried panic.

The truth is we fail. We are inadequate. Thankfully, God simply asks us to say yes. In His glorious way, He can work with you and me. Even when we doubt. Even when we want to run away from His grand adventure called adoption and back toward our comfort zones.

Three years later, we were back in China for two more children.

First came Eli, and his “gotcha” was full of joy. This time, I carried the wisdom of experience. The giant step into adoption had already been taken and God had met us out on the water. Eli’s precious little self walked into our lives without any hesitation on his part or mine. Some gotcha moments are magical.

Next, on that same trip, came fragile, feverish, screaming, swatting and terrified Evelyn. And my emotion smash-up returned. The step into complex medical needs sent panic tumbling in again.
Though fainthearted, I went through the motions of traveling from her healing home to her home province, in care of her nanny. My head wanted out, but my heart tentatively knew better. Been there and done that. The night before her nanny released her, I sobbed for her needs and my weakness. Though my faith told a different message, my flesh was holding up a stop sign.

Continue reading over at No Hands But Ours.

Fault Lines (August No Hands But Ours Post)

It takes an earthquake to remind us that we walk on the crust 
of an unfinished earth. ~ Charles Kuralt
At some point in my heart, you became just our little girl. You moved from orphan with a file, to a longed for daughter, to newly adopted, to just a loved girl with an incredible, unfinished redemption story.

But there was a time….
when your world looked monumentally different
when your infant eyes peered into the face of another mother
when your world cracked open, a giant fault line forming between what should have been and what was to be
when you were in the gut-wrenching epicenter of loss, the in-between: no mother, no home, no orphanage, no records, no plan
when you became an orphan in a building filled with orphans
when all you understood of love was a nanny’s care
when meals were tasks on a busy nanny’s list

Then, mercifully, you were somewhere in-between again. On the other side of the world, our family saw your face and recognized you as our own. The label orphan was no longer yours to carry. You didn’t feel it, but your world was trembling again.
Then, there was a time…
when you went on living unaware in Chengdu, China, no idea that a room was being painted pink, papers with your name being pushed, and your photo framed
when you couldn’t fathom the magnitude of love reaching for you from across oceans

Next, in one swift moment, your world cracked open again as your nanny carried you in her arms one last time, making her way to a conference room. A door opened, and your world collided with ours. All of us trembled, knowing life as we knew it was behind us. The earth didn’t shatter, just pieces of our hearts. You sobbed until you could only sleep, somehow knowing that another fault line had formed, a traumatic end and a scary, but hopeful, beginning.     


Then, newly adopted, there was time….
when a hotel room became common ground for tentative smiles and guarded trust
when you boarded a plane bound for the world’s other side, clinging to two almost strangers, toward all things new
when teary eyed strangers at an airport cheered because you’d finally arrived
when your little feet padded through your new home, investigating, but overwhelmed by the stimulation, something missing in institutional life
when you first sat at a family table, binge eating in case the food ran out, an orphan at heart still
when you weren’t sure about sleeping alone without the familiar rumblings of a roomful of other children, the only lullaby you’d ever known
when cleft clinic doctors evaluated your palate and prescribed dental surgery and years of speech therapy
when your pediatrician caught you up on shots and treated orphanage parasites
when you’d plop indiscriminately into the lap of anyone who’d give attention, hungry to fill up your far too empty love tank
when we wondered if you’d ever find your voice, or attach to us as mommy and daddy
 

Continue reading over at No Hands But Ours. 

China Trip Video

So grateful to our friend, Jill, for making this crazy awesome video of our China trip pictures.   It is song perfection and such a great  way to reflect on our experience. 

Coming on Home at Thanksgiving!

It was one wild and beautiful ride. 26 days.  6 Chinese cities.  All kinds of transportation.  Intense emotion.  Highs and lows.  The most amazing cultural experience. The closest family time.  Prayers answered.  Gifts given.   Delicious food and nasty food. Messing up and stepping up and all kinds of laughs.  Living fully.  Trusting completely.  Blessing. 

 

It was an absolutely amazing experience.  We could have stayed if we hadn't been missing such a big part of our heart. 

 

The plane ride was EXHAUSTING, LONG and thankfully OVER!  In between diaper blowouts, drying tiny jeans in a hand dryer in a Tokyo bathroom, some movies, hot towels and a jillion snacks, the kids slept, slept and slept for most of LONG flight.   

 

The whole crazy thing ended on Thanksgiving day with two sisters running toward each other in an airport.  These are some of our favorite photos of the whole trip!

 

Introducing siblings is all kinds of incredible.   

Seeing our family there was such a relief, a release, a gift!



To  Eli, the whole thing was hilarious.  

Our flight arrived in the middle of turkey time, so we argued with these two families about staying with family at home, but they gave their Thanksgiving away anyway. 



"There's nothing half so pleasant as coming home again." ~Margaret Sangster

"There's nothing half so pleasant as coming home again."

~Margaret Sangster

 

Last Stop...Guangzhou Zoo

Our last day in Guangzhou was spent at the zoo! 

It was a sad place for animals, but Sophia, Eli and I had a fun morning being outside.  

A fun highlight was getting up close and personal with some giraffes.

 Seeing pandas in China was our last must do before jetting back across the ocean.

Cruisin' Down the Pearl River (Guangzhou)

The story is almost complete, but not before a few more memories from the journey. 

On one of our last nights in Guangzhou, we hoped on cruise down the Pearl River. 

We'd always heard less than stellar reviews, so we'd planned to go to a highly recommended circus.

Unfortunately, Evie wasn't feeling well that day, so we decided to join the cruise fun and make the most of it.  When in China, make the most of every single second, right? 

 

So., I boarded the boat with these two cuties.

Thankfully, we gobbled down some pizza before boarding, because the food was less than stellar, but the littles had a blast,

and we got to eat with this sweet family. 

 The lights of the city drew lots of ooohs and aaahs,

and there was plenty  of time to get our silly on. 

 The entertainment was...memorable.  Eli even got a chance to get in on the act. 

 

 

 So grateful to our sweet guide, Aron, who also was our GZ guide with Claire!  She was the best guide that we had the whole trip!

 

Dear Team Leader

Dear Team Leader,

Oh my!  What a ride.  What a year.  What a life.

Thank you for saying yes to this journey back four years ago, in the spring when we said yes to Eli and Evie and yes everyday since then no matter what we faced.  Comfort is not your goal and your life is evidence of that.

 

Thanks for always going before us, leading with a servant's heart. Thank you for often handling so much of our paperwork, for coordinating our trip without a travel agent, for championing all things medical for Evie, for fighting through roadblocks for us, for listening to me cry while you sat at an airport gate in Africa, for changing courses when needed, and for never giving up. 

I am so grateful for you, your fun sense of adventure, your big faith, and your global heart. 

 

You led this team like a master traveler.  Filling bottles in airports when you would rather have,

snoozed it up.  

The most amazing footsteps are being left for your FOUR crazy kids to follow after. Plus, you know how to keep it silly with funny dance moves and faces.  Yes, I sometimes say that you are more responsible than any reasonable person needs to be, but in China, my oh my, you GOT 'ER DONE!  Thanks for being our Sherpa, our paperwork handler, money exchanger, shopper and food delivery service and rock. 

You embraced China and your littles followed after.  You didn't want OUT of China, you wanted IN.  Three little Chinese Americans in our family mean China is part of us.  You embraced it, and I loved it. 

 

It was a messy, beautiful, emotional, incredible trip.  Thanks for taking care of the team on the fun days and the tough ones. 

 

 

Love,

Your Team

US Consulate Appointment

Our entire China trip was scheduled around this most important appointment.  Adoptive parents spend a week in the child's province doing China paperwork and then a week in Guangzhou for US paperwork.  On Wednesday morning, our group arrived at the Consulate General of the United States of America ready to get official.

 

 

Outside the building was a long line of Chinese nationals waiting in line for visas to travel to the US.  Thankfully, we were ushered in for an appointment just for our group.  The building is new and the process was so much more efficient than Claire's.   We earnestly love China, but there is always such a feeling of patriotism standing on US embassy grounds.  

 

We all stood with hands raised promising to care for our children and never abandon them. We then were called up by family to talk through our paperwork and get more fingerprints.   The feeling is SUCH a rush. Such a sense of completion after such a hard fight.  We feel like we literally had battled for three years to get to that morning.  So many roadblocks, but all broken through in God's most perfect timing. 

 



Travel Buddy

  

Dear Travel Buddy,

 

We squeezed hands on the airplane flying over the ocean toward China and promised each other we'd do this crazy trip together.   And what an adventure we've had.  7 Chinese cities, 5 hotels, planes, trains, boats, vans, taxis and buses.  What a gift it has been to have you with us. 

 

Not going to lie, we waffled big time about bringing you. You have a strong little will and we just weren't sure.  Something in my gut though told me that you would step up.  That you needed this. 

So glad we said yes. 

 

Most importantly, you have been a bridge with your little brother and sister at a time when they were so frightened and so unsure of what was happening.  You've made them laugh, held their hands, pushed a stroller, played with them, taught them to take baths, held them, carried things for them, shared with them and sacrificed for them.  There have been lots of waiting in meetings and airports and you've been so patient. You might have even been there to give a hug to your momma just when she needed one. 

You've seen art, learned history, soaked in culture and been a celebrity everywhere you've gone.  We have hardly done the schoolwork we brought, but we are quite certain the learning has been immense. 



You've really seen China.  We like to be travelers rather than tourists and you've done just that.  You've eaten noodles for breakfast and acquired an appreciation for dumplings. Squatty potties are just part of the fun, right?! (OK, that might be a stretch.) Walking the backstreets of China, seeing real life, has widened you.  Your heart has gone global. 



Your little 6 year old self has walked on the Great Wall and shopped in backstreet markets. 

 We just know that you are forever changed.  Walking the halls of an orphanage and holding fragile little ones at Heartbridge will do just that.  Our late night conversations about birth parents, abandonment and all things China have been evidence of your heart change. 

It seems as though you might have grown up a couple years during these four weeks.  We've had our tears and our grumpy and tired moments, but I think they are part of it, don't you?  We are so far from perfect, my girl.  Remember that our hearts fail, but God never ever does...no matter where He takes you.  This wild ride together falls among our favorite memories with you. 

 

So proud and love you more,

Mommy and Daddy