I Like to Dance Every Day

Our first day on this most recent visit with the boys we got to witness a new song they had just learned...

I like to dance every day.

I like to dance every day.

I like to dance every day.

Because I know He loves me.

(Click on picture below for video - hoping it works!)

Friends, this is the kind of stuff that keeps us all sane in this forever long wait.  We just keep dancing.  We just keep singing.  And we just keep believing.  Because we know that we are deeply loved by a comforting Father.

We still don't have a definite homecoming date, but the next step we are waiting to complete is the printing of their passports.  After that we wait for visas, and THEN we can bring them home.  But there's still no way to know how long each of these things will take, as there are signatures, stamps of approval, etc, etc. that have to happen.  What should really only take a few weeks could still be another few months or more.  But we dance every day.  And wait. And hope.

A few highlights from our trip (besides this fantastic song)...

Wendy has learned more and more English!  My first day there, he said, "nice to meet you, mom," which I figure he thinks is a greeting for everyone and not just for someone he just met.  Nonetheless, it warmed my heart.   He is my son who wants to "pataje" (share) everything he has!  I give him candy, and he says, "mom, pataje ak tout moun?" (share with everyone?)  He also likes to fart on people - anyone - even someone he has newly met (sorry, Jon Peters).  I am not sure where he learned this - do you know, Todd Ramey?  I love my son's ability to dance to the beat of his own drum - and any drum for that matter.  He can't stop dancing, which will make for an AMAZING addition to our Ramey family dance parties.


Woody wants to please us so badly.  Everytime I watch him in class or sing a song with his friends, he flashes me this smile that might as well translate to "Do you see how well I'm doing, Mom?"  I just love it - probably because that little achiever spirit speaks to my own desire to please.  I get him - a lot.  One day when I was walking alone down to meet the boys at the basketball court I noticed a beautiful rose that had just bloomed, so I took a picture.  Later, without knowing about my picture, Woody had picked that same rose (with a little help from Daddy) and brought it to me for my hair.  He is a quiet and charming boy.  I love his sweet spirit!  And he needs everything in its place  - again, like his mama.


Wilnes struggles because he has no other kid his age in the orphanage anymore.  He gets lonely.  He is growing facial hair.  He voice is deeper.  He hangs out mostly with some of the workers, so he vacillates between being a kid and an adult.  But on this trip he really let himself be a kid - and let me be his mama.  Several times he put his arm around me and leaned into me tight and just let me hold him.  He is almost my height now - which I realize isn't saying much - but it was so sweet to me for my big boy to let me hold him - to let himself be safely loved and held.  He has struggled the past year, for many reasons, so it was a joy to see him smile and laugh so much on this trip (even though he still refuses to do it in pictures because it isn't "cool" - but we caught a few anyway).  He dearly loves the little ones in the orphanage, and it is so sweet to see how much they love him too.  He is super excited about America and ready to play soccer here!

While it is incredibly exciting they will be coming home soon, we are all also terrified! This is new territory for each of us.  We are joyful, yet we are all grieving the lives we are about to leave behind.  Change is still change. Loss is still loss.  We showed them pictures of our house (their new house), and even though they were smiling, I noticed their little tummies were moving in and out so fast - shallow little breaths that seemed to say, "this is scary."  And we totally get that! We can't know for sure the hardships that are to come. But we know we will be okay.  We'll make one stitch at a time on this quilt of life and turn it into something beautiful together.  And we'll dance every day, because He loves us. 

Parenting on days like today

My mentor and friend Amy recently asked me, “What is it like to parent from afar?”  I laughed from sheer confusion, sadness, and probably insanity.  It is hard to describe.  In that moment my answer was that I just keep showing up whenever I can.  One of us goes to Haiti to see them every 3-4 months.  It is hard on us in a lot of ways logistically – time, money, etc - but of course emotionally as well.  It rips our heart out (and theirs) every time we say goodbye.  But my response to this is always, “The hellos are worth the goodbyes.”  I want my boys to feel and know, “See, guys, we are here again for you.  We are fighting to bring you home.  We are here with you.”

But then what do we do in that time in between when we’re not physically there? Especially on a day like today, the 4 year anniversary of the Haiti earthquake, when my boys feel the effects of their trauma and grief even more than usual?  Amy’s question, one I think about a lot, is an ongoing learning experience.  There are lots of parenting books out there, but none that I’ve found so far about “How to parent your 3 sons in Haiti that you’ve been waiting to bring home for 4 years and have no clue how much longer you will wait.”  (Sidenote for self– maybe I’ll write that book).  I find myself grappling a lot with fear and shame that maybe I’m not parenting “good enough.”  I should be there today to hold my sons and tell them it will all be okay!  What can I do?  And where the hell is the book that tells me what to do?!

And then I found one.  Totally forgot I have this really cool book called the Bible - which you can now download as an app on your phone.  I woke up this morning thinking about what Wendy, one of my twins, said about the earthquake one time.  In his sweet little Creole he told me, “everything was shaking, but the nannies came to hold us.”  Just picture that with me.  As I thought about that and the ways God sends us comfort in our trouble, I was drawn to Psalm 91.  I read it many times this morning, and here is what I heard God saying to me through this passage:  “I will come to you when you’re in trouble.  I will send my angels.  I am your refuge – come, get under my wings.”  Those nannies were angels holding my boys and so many others.  Those angels hold you and me.  When I can’t physically hold and protect my sons today or any other day, I know who is.  “Godspeed” is the name of the song we play every time I’m with them in Haiti.  It has a line that says “God hears amen wherever we are” and another that says “oh my love will fly to you each night on angels’ wings.”  We’ve been singing those lines together for 4 years.  And in my human nature sometimes I still forget that God is doing the parenting – whether I can be there physically or not. My boys are held in His arms.  And so am I.  I rest in this promise.  And that’s how I parent from afar.  

**My background in the music business won't let me end this post without crediting Radney Foster for writing the lyrics to "Godspeed."  Thanks for writing a song that speaks my heart and makes me cry a really ugly cry.  Amen.

Still believing, even though it hurts

Todd is currently on top of the roof hanging Christmas lights and swearing. I’m sitting here writing while downloading really cheesy Christmas music.  I’ve got a warm cup of tea and a cute little snowman candle glowing.  We got all our Christmas decorations out and up.  We just need to trim the tree, and then we’re done!  And then everything will be better, right? 

We woke up on Thanksgiving Day, both of us cranky and unsure what to be thankful for.  Yes, we are the Bah-humbugs this year.  OF COURSE we have plenty to be thankful for – and we aren’t so cynical and bitter that we can’t find some gratitude.  It is just that we are now on the fourth holiday season without our sons here to share it with us.  We are angry, and mostly sad and heartbroken – not just for us, but for their young and tender hearts.  It is way past time for them to come home.

Yes, so now onto that popular question – WHEN WILL THEY COME HOME?  ANY NEWS?  WHAT’S THE STATUS?  We wish we knew.  We wish it was easy to explain the process.  We don’t even understand it sometimes.  The trouble is that every situation is different, and every stage of the process requires something that sometimes we have to wait even longer on.  Most recently, we’ve been waiting on an ID card for one of our boy’s biological parents.  We couldn’t progress to the next stage until the courts had the proper ID for that parent – and that ID took over a year to obtain.  There is no explanation for this.  In fact, I just renewed my driver's license here in Tennessee a few weeks ago.  It took me 1 hour – not 1 year.  But with every step of this process we learn more and more about the difficulties Haiti faces every day in just doing “normal” business.  That ID finally did come, but now there is a strike, and courts are not open.  So we wait some more. 

Yes, we were under every impression and belief this Christmas would be different – that our boys would be home with us.  But we are hanging lights and trimming the tree just as the year before – with continued sadness but no less hope than before.  And we truly don’t mean to be bah-humbug.  We just want to be honest and authentic about where we are. We are hurting.  But we press on.  We continue hoping. And we knew when we started this journey it would be hard and painful.  While so many people mean well, we don’t need anymore pep talks, bible verses, or fluffy spiritual jargon.  We believe in God, His Son Jesus, and the Holy Spirit.  We know and trust their great power and love through this.  And we don’t ever begin to assume we know better than God and His timing.  We lean on Him every day.  And we also know it’s possible to love and lean on God and still hurt. 

So I drink my tea and listen to Kenny and Dolly sing “I Believe in Santa Claus" one more time.  I hang the ornaments we all made together last Christmas and put them on this sweet little Charlie Brown Christmas tree that proudly sits in our front window.  It somehow screams to the outside, “our boys are coming!  They are coming! They will be here!” We hang their stockings.  We cry.  And we hold each other tight because we have each other to get us through the wait.  And we have the comforting presence of God who also knows very well how it feels to hurt for His children.  

Waiting in the Rain

Some seasons just have a lot of rain.

Literally and figuratively, this summer has rained on me a lot.  I do not like being vulnerable or allowing others to see my “mess,” but the longer and harder it rains, the more I feel prompted to seek shelter in my authenticity and brokenness.

Todd and I just rounded the 3.5 year mark of waiting on our children.  We are thankful for answers, signatures, and milestones that have been completed.  Yet, the sorrow and pain still come in waves.  It’s hard to hold hope and grief at the same time, yet very possible.  I do it every day. It’s exhausting.

I have also been sick - really sick since May.  I have gone to the doctor so many times with no clear answers of what is wrong except maybe “you’re too stressed. What can you do to eliminate stress in your life?”  My answer is, “Can you bring my babies home from Haiti?”  There is no pill I can take for that – not one.  Thankfully I have found a wonderful doctor who has found that along with a broken heart, there is another reason for my ailments, and it’s being treated.  But it’s a LONG hard process of changing my diet, taking supplements, and waiting for my body to rid itself of what it no longer needs.  And this may take another several weeks.  Really?!  More waiting?  What is all this waiting mess about?  Can I just get some relief NOW?  Okay, that was my really impatient part needing to vent.  I feel better now.  But seriously, with every step in this process of bringing our boys home, my body and soul remind me of the toll it takes on them too.  And I must listen.  We all must listen to the messages our bodies have for us.  To slow down.  To wait.  To nurture.  To pray.  To feel.  To trust the process of life. 

On one of my hardest sick days as I prayed and cried, I ran across one verse that led me to explore the verses around it for context.  I looked it up in The Message version.  It’s a long one, but totally worth the time to read.   And I end this post with it, because it really just sums it all up. I am pregnant.  It hurts.  But God is near. 

Romans 8:22-28 MSG
"All around us we observe a pregnant creation. The difficult times of pain throughout the world are simply birth pangs. But it’s not only around us; it’s within us. The Spirit of God is arousing us within. We’re also feeling the birth pangs. These sterile and barren bodies of ours are yearning for full deliverance. That is why waiting does not diminish us, any more than waiting diminishes a pregnant mother. We are enlarged in the waiting. We, of course, don’t see what is enlarging us. But the longer we wait, the larger we become, and the more joyful our expectancy. Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God’s Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don’t know how or what to pray, it doesn’t matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That’s why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good."

How many kids are here?

This was the question that sent me into tears. I am not angry about the question or the person who asked it.  I am angry my kids aren’t here.  All the kids in the family lined up to hunt Easter eggs.  It was adorable.  I thought contributing $6 to the prize egg would make me feel better. It didn’t.  I thought hiding the eggs would feel better.  It didn’t.  I thought helping a child find an egg would feel better.  It didn’t.  All I could think was “man, I wish my kids were here.“  Three years later that is all I can think about.  And I still believe they will hunt Easter eggs here – along with their super sweet cousins. 

 

But if anything brought a smile, it was this guy - determined to find eggs and ready to wrestle for them.  I find hope - every day I look for hope.  And I have hope our boys will hunt eggs with their  cousins, laugh at their big white family, and get hugs from all these people who love them so much!

"Rejoice in hope. Be patient in tribulation.  Be constant in prayer." (Romans 12:12)

Why do you want to adopt THREE kids?

I was faced with this question again recently.  It wasn’t the first time, and I’m guessing it won’t be the last.  Sadly, it is sometimes asked with doubt or ridicule, but mostly from those with sincere wonder.  When asked, I sort of freeze.  How do I even answer that question?  There is no simple answer that is going to make sense to the questioner.  Half the time it doesn’t make sense to me!  If I say, “God has called us to these kids,” we sometimes get the blank stare or rolled eyes as if we’re in a crazy cult, and I’m about to ask them to come to a worship rally where they will be asked to adopt three kids too. 

The immediate answer is “I don’t know.”  Does a mother having triplets WANT to have triplets?  I know the answer I might get to that – “Well, those are her biological kids.”  But do you really think she put in an order for 3? A woman having triplets will love and care for her children even though she never imagined having three at once.  My adopted children are no less mine than if I birthed them.

And even though my answer is “I don’t know,” here is what I do know….

*I know I met our 3 sons Wilnes, Wendy, and Woody 3 years ago this February. 

*I know when their hearts met mine I was their mama.

*I know I am scared, because parenting will be hard. 

*I know people will question our interracial family. 

*I know people will question our ability to handle this.

*I know we will not have to do this alone. 

*I know I am a good Mom.  I know Todd is a good Dad. 

*I know we love those boys so much that it just flows out my eyes most days.   

*I know we are sad, because there are three people missing from our table. 

*I know that three years of waiting has felt like ten. 

*I know my heart aches to be with them.

*I know Who holds tomorrow. 

We did not seek out to adopt three kids, so we may never have an answer for the question.  But I think what I can now answer is, “It never felt like a choice. Wilnes, Woody, and Wendy are our sons.  That is why we are adopting them.”  I mean, just look at our family picture – it sort of feels like it answers the question on its own. 

And now to the “WHEN?”  Still wishing we had an answer to that.  Even though we have moved to a very important stage of the process, we are now waiting for a signature to move forward again.   If you would like to pray with our family about this, please pray for a certain woman’s heart and hand to be swift in signing our documents for our three children.  Even with that signature it won’t be time for them to come home, but it will move us closer.

A quick update on our Christmas visit – the boys were THRILLED to decorate ornaments and a tree and have their very own stockings.  They rearranged the nativity scene every day, which I thought was pretty insightful since Baby Jesus must have had lots of visitors in and out -probably the way it feels in their creche (where they live is called a creche, which we learned is another word for nativity).  It was the first time for all of us to be together as a family since April 2011.  It felt right.  It felt peaceful.  It felt hopeful.  

Long Distance Parenting

There’s a confusion that sets in – when you have become parents, but not yet “parenting.”  Our children are an ocean away.  We look at their pictures, laugh at the videos, and talk about all the things we’re going to do with them when they’re with us.  We’ve been doing that for 2.5 years.  I have a new found respect for all parents – the ones with their children under their roof, ones with children in other places, or ones who are waiting for children in some way.  There is much confusion about parenting, especially when you have absolutely zero control.  I am guessing this time in our lives is preparing us for the reality that at some point our boys will need to be individuals- facing their own battles, learning their own lessons, making their own decisions.  But at 9 and 13?  Every day I am with them in Haiti, they ask “you leave tomorrow, Mom?”  Every day is a preparation for the most devastating pain of separation.  Each of us psyche ourselves up for the heartache and let down – like when we ask God for that one thing we need really bad, testifying that we’ll stop sinning and cussing if we could just get it NOW (whole-heartedly knowing we won’t get it right away).  That’s where we all are now.  We’re dancing to Michael Jackson songs one minute, singing Dixie Chicks “Godspeed” as we lay our heads down at night, and praying each time that God sees our desperate plea to be together – these boys are Ramey boys. They are Todd and Laura’s boys.

My friends tell me about their biological children and how they exhibit so much of each of them – look like them, act like them, have similar personalilties. Well, our boys don’t look like us, but they are Rameys/Melroses.  Wilnes makes friends with everyone.  He likes to tell people about Jesus.  When he’s sad, he can’t contain it – he’ll find a place away from everyone to get it all out.  And he can’t wait to learn something new. Woody is quiet yet knows exactly when to speak up.  He has the voice of an angel and takes pride in owning his Mama’s Bible.  He sometimes has a slight stutter – his sweet anxious moments are evident of his desire to do something well. Wendy wants to be friends with everyone and be happy all the time.  He wants to dance, sing, eat a lot, put on sunglasses, and laugh. And together, wow, I have never seen brothers be such a team. They work together in such a precious way. They really look out for each other. They are genuinely concerned for each other and their family.

I know we slack on blog posts.  To be honest, we feel discouraged not having any updates – everyone wants to know when they will be home.  We do too.  While we still believe our children will be with us, we are exhausted and frustrated.  We have tried to keep recent posts more about them – so you can get to know them as we do.  However, this post is more about sharing our very desperate and broken hearts.  It may be really more for us than anyone else.  And someday we want our boys to know this part of the story too. 

If you’ve followed our story from the first post, then you know we’ve known our sons for about 2.5 years now and have been in the process of adopting them for almost 2 years.  People keep asking why it’s taking us so long.  It’s complicated to answer, but the short version of the story is we are stuck because of an antiquated law in Haiti that states adoptive parents must be 35 and married 10 years.  We moved forward with our process, first and foremost, because we know these are our sons and are willing to fight for them.  Second, we had knowledge that previous “underage” families made it through the process with Presidential Dispensation as long as they were found fit to adopt.  Third, we were told the law has been on the table to be changed (age 30, married 5 years).  Between those three things the only thing we know for sure is we are still fighting. 

So, what do we do in the meantime? What do we tell our boys? What do we tell people who ask?  We aren’t posting from a place of hopelessness, but more in a place of desperately seeking prayers and support from people who love our children and want them home as much as we do.  We still BELIEVE.  We know the timing will be right, but we also get so tired of hearing that – “It’s all in God’s timing.” We know that.  Yes, we trust God’s timing and His care for them while we wait.  At the same time, we hurt.  We are sad.  We are grieving for our children.  And it dawned on me recently, that’s what God knows most about.  Not only did he sacrifice His son, but he watches all of His children struggle and hurt daily.  He is not physically with us, but He is always present.  I really can trust that He knows our hurting parent hearts.  He knows our boys’ hurting hearts.  He knows all the reasons why we are stuck.   He knows the time when we will be in joyful celebration of bringing our sons home.  So, we put our hope in that.  We keep believing.  We keep going to visit them and reminding them they are our precious sons, but most importantly, they are God’s children.  And so are we.   He does not leave any of us as orphans. 

I am attaching a link to a friend’s blog here.  Their family is in the same situation (under 35) and adopting from the same orphanage as our boys.  She was recently asked, “so when will you give up?”  Her response is beautiful, so I wanted to share it here in case any of you have wondered this about the Rameys.  We share her heart on this.  There will be no giving up.