After finding warm clothes for Abigail (in unpacking her things, I found items I had almost forgot existed: skirts, an undershirt, dresses, tights) and getting all children dressed down to their shoes, I prepared oatmeal for breakfast. (Abigail’s enthusiastic remark was, “Oatmeal’s my favorite!” On the other hand, when Phil later asked her which book at home was her favorite, she looked at the board book she had in her hand, which I think was completely new to her, and said, “This one!” So I’m not sure she knows what “favorite” means, but it was quite charming.)
And then the children played together for much of the rest of the day. Isaiah, ever the hospitable one, read Horton books to Abigail, and showed her how to play simple games. Phil did myriad things to improve our living quarters: hung shelving in the bathroom, after getting the potty box set up inside (not quite indoor plumbing, but no one has to go outside in the rain now, so it’s pretty close as exciting—wow!); put up smoke detectors and hung the fire extinguisher; helped move shelving; began to move the kitchen into the barn. And, best of all, figured out the wiring so the heater unit works. It’s incredibly noisy, and, without a thermostat, requires manual shut off and turn on at the breaker, but it increased the temperature in the house to livability.
I started the process of decluttering and putting in order. I effectively switched just about all the possessions in my house, and that requires a certain level of discombobulation. And it requires decisions on just about everything: what’s the best place for this piece of paper? Where should I store the jam? Do these shoes actually fit anyone?
Meanwhile, the children ran around. Abigail was thrilled to be able to look out the window and see real pigs (it is rather cool; I agree). She wished she could pet the sheep, and went with Isaiah to hold the keets (which, by the way, are growing quite well). The three middle children ran up to the well tailings and dug and played until their hands were red with cold.
At that point, as I looked around my living room at all the yet-scattered things; as I looked at my three cold children with no hot water available; as I looked at the floor, covered with red-muddy shoes and red-muddy footprints; and, mostly, as 5pm loomed, the prospect of preparing dinner as I had lunch (I knew where nothing for the kitchen was: inside the trailer? In the barn? On a table?), my life became temporarily intolerable.
We went to the Bessettes.
A fire in the fireplace, warm water to clean the dishes after dinner, Austyn and Laney to play with Abigail and the others … it was a needed respite.
Then off to Bible study, where the children outnumbered the adults, and home, exhausted, to bed.
Abigail is, in every respect, an outstanding child. She is polite, enthusiastic, cheerful. She plays beautifully with the boys or on her own. She’s not a picky eater. She never asks for treats or electronic entertainment. But even with all that, it is harder than I expected to have a strange child from a different home here. I don't know her family culture, and she doesn't know mine. For example, at Bible study tonight, we were singing. At one point, she stood up and started raising her hands, moving with the music. I wasn't sure if she was worshiping or showing off or merely replicating what she does at her home church. It was disconcerting.
I heard that when a couple gets married, there are two relationships to figure out: man to woman and woman to man. When a child comes, it is six relationships, as you add woman to child, man to child, child to woman, and child to man.
We had, then, thirty separate relationships in our home. To take one new person into our family of six increased the relationships in this 224 square feet to 42. That’s a lot of interacting. And I grieve for little Joe who has no quiet place for a good nap, and I grieve for sweet Abraham who was getting left out, but bravely said, "I'll come, too!" when Isaiah and Abigail were running off to play (not intentionally mean, but simply unobservant). And I grieve for Abigail, who had fun today—anything is fun for a day—but will miss her family soon enough. I grieve for Isaiah, who, on a day of beautiful hospitality also showed character faults. And I grieve for Jadon, who strives so hard (typical first child) and is such an earnest follower of Jesus, he breaks my heart with his little helpful things, but has such a prickly exterior, it's hard to get through to him.
If I am tired adding a godly, well-trained little girl to our household for a time, let’s pray harder for adoptive parents, whose children have much harder things in their pasts.
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