Now I know as soon as I say this, some will think I am advocating that we should “feel sorry” for our kids or that we should be permissive and let misbehavior slide because of their history or where they came from.  Nothing, absolutely nothing, could be farther from the truth.  Compassion is not pity or even sympathy, and it never means that we allow what’s less than best for our kids to become good enough.  Instead, compassion involves empathy; but true compassion is so much more than just a feeling. 

We focused on this all-important subject of compassion in Chapter 2 of Created To Connect, where we talked about true compassion being essential for adoptive and foster parents to be all that God has called us to be in the lives and healing journeys of our kids.  True compassion is love in action, and it is beautifully illustrated in the kind of love that Paul describes as being the “greatest” in 1 Corinthians 13.  It is the kind of love I once heard described as “wanting what’s best for another and being committed to pursue it, no matter what the cost.”  Properly understood and rightly lived, there is nothing permissive or easy about this.  Compassion is hard – at times very hard – but I am discovering that it is always the answer.

For me as a mom having compassion for my kids means that I must be willing to ‘enter in’ to their world and meet them right where they are, even as I refuse to let them stay there.  Having compassion for my kids means that I must embrace all of them and honestly acknowledge their history, their pain and their challenges, while never allowing their past (or mine) to be an excuse for pursuing anything less than God’s best for our future together.  Having compassion means that I must continually look inward and honestly examine my own heart, even as I depend on God as the source of all healing and transformation.  Having compassion means I must lay down my pride, selfishness and self-centeredness, and die to myself daily as I give myself away time after time for as long as it takes.

As I read through the pages of scripture there is no escaping the abounding and relentless compassion of God.  I am loved by a forgiving and gracious God that is slow to anger, abounding in love and compassion.  So too must my parenting be informed, motivated, infused and overflowing with this same kind of compassion. 

I am encouraged that so many other moms are discovering this too – moms like Jen and Colleen.  As I ‘listen in’ on their thoughts and struggles, I know that I am not alone…but as hard as it is I am convinced we are headed in the right direction.  Don’t get me wrong, the learning, the understanding, the principles, the discipline strategies – those are all important aspects of being the parent that God has called me to be.  But I can only be a true reflection God’s love to my kids…I can only love and train them well if I answer every question, address every issue, overcome every challenge and meet every need with compassion.

Watch as Amy Monroe talks about the importance of learning and modeling how to repair with your kids.

Empowered To Connect, together with Show Hope, will host the Empowered To Connect Conference — a two-day conference for adoptive and foster parents, ministry leaders and professionals designed to help them better understand how to connect with children from hard places in order to help them heal and become all that God desires for them to be. This conference will feature Dr. Karyn Purvis, and is ideal for adoptive and foster parents, those considering adoption or foster care and those who are serving and supporting others, including social workers, agency professionals, church staff and ministry leaders, counselors, therapists and others involved in adoption and foster care.

We hope that you will join us for the Empowered To Connect Conference in Dallas on February 17-18, 2012!

The kids were home for Christmas break and one son in particular was being more than a handful.  This was very uncharacteristic for him.  The first day we thought it was simply childhood Christmas excitement.  By the second day, we were beginning to lose our patience.  When I arrived home this day my wife was almost at her wits’ end.  Nagging, whining, crying, bugging siblings, arguing, you name it.  But why?  Didn’t he know Christmas was almost here?  Had he forgotten that Santa was “making his list and checking it twice?”  Wasn’t he aware of how much mom and dad had to do in order to get ready for Christmas?  For so many reasons, now was not the time for him to be acting this way.

What I did next doesn’t come naturally to me.  Try as I might to ‘practice what I preach,’ I admit that my default reaction to situations like this is to ‘lay down the law.’  But something told me there was much, much more going on than simply bad behavior.  Call it what you will, I like to think of it as my God-given “adoptive dad instinct.” So I said to my son, “Let’s go for a walk.”  And after a little cajoling, he agreed and so off we went.

We walked for a while engaged in nothing but small talk.  Eventually I changed the subject.  “So what’s going on?” I asked. 

“Nothing,” he answered. 

“Of course,” I thought sarcastically to myself.  But I persisted.

“Mom says you’ve really been acting up the last few days,” I continued.  He nodded in agreement.  “That’s not really like you.  Is something wrong?  Are you worried about something?  Maybe upset about something?”

This time he shrugged his shoulders and just kinda hung his head and shook it side to side, ever so slightly.  I’d seen that look before.  It told me I was on the right track.  And then he gave it away. 

“Do I have to tell you?” he asked.  This is the tell-tale question he always asks when he has something he really needs to talk about, but is a little afraid to bring it up.  More often than not the subject is adoption-related.  So I gave him the response I always give when he asks me this question.  “Of course you don’t have to, but you know I always want to hear what you are thinking – no matter what it is.”

And then he practically blurted it out.  “Dad, Christmas just stinks!” he exclaimed.  “I know I am supposed to love it and be having fun, but I just hate it.  I really do.”

It instantly occurred to me that somehow I managed to have the only elementary school-aged child in all of America who actually hates Christmas.  But I quickly asked the obvious question, “Why?”

“Because it makes me really sad,” he said. “It makes me think about my birthmom and my birth family.  I wonder what they are doing.  Do you think they think about me?”

“I bet they do,” I replied.  “No…I am sure they do.  And did you know something else?  You’re not the only kid that thinks Christmas stinks because of that very same reason.”

“I’m not?” he said, finally slowing down to look directly at me. 

I grabbed his hand and we continued.  “No.  You know Ms. Melanie who was adopted when she was a little girl?” I asked. 

“Yeh,” he replied. 

“She’s told me a million times that lots of special occasions, like Christmas, birthdays, even Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, are really hard for her.  She even has a special name for those times that make her kinda sad and make her think of her birth parents and her birth family.  She calls them ‘trigger moments.’  This happens a lot for people who were adopted, and not just when they are kids.  She says that even though she is an adult, it still happens for her sometimes,” I explained.

I’ve always heard the expression “the weight of the world being lifted off of your shoulders,” but I don’t think I’d ever literally seen it happen until this moment.  It was though he realized in an instant that everything he had been feeling and thinking was not only “ok,” it was also very real and quite normal.  And the fact that I was understanding, even if it could not fully understand – that was all he seemed to need.

Our walk lasted over an hour as we continued talking about what he had been feeling and processing over the past several days.  We talked about how it was “ok” to feel these things, but it wasn’t “ok” to act the way he had been acting.  Instead, he needed to find a way to talk with mom or me about it.  As important, I assured him we would do a better job of being available for him, especially during times like these.

I can’t honestly say that I truly understand all that he must have been feeling or thinking in his little heart and mind.  And frankly, the connection between all of that and his behavior still somewhat alludes me.  But I know that his feelings are very real. 

Amidst all of the tinsel and lights and despite the excitement of being out of school and the anticipation of the gifts and fun of Christmas day, the reality is that my kids – not unlike other kids who were adopted – still have profound losses that cannot be erased and must not be ignored.  And sometimes, even against their own wishes, their past and what they have lost comes crashing in.  Even at happy times like Christmas.

In the face of all this, my job – whether at Christmas, on birthdays, on Father’s Day or whenever – is to always be available for my kids.  To be open and willing to listen and talk, and allow all of who they are to become part of our holidays and special occasions.  As we do this, I realize more and more that rather than taking away from these happy times, embracing them and all of their past allows them to be more fully present – and allows us, as a family, to be more connected as we move forward. 

After learning from my son why Christmas stinks sometimes, I no longer look at Christmas quite the same as I once did.  But of course I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Click here for a PDF of this article published in the December 2011 issue of Adoption Today.

For further reading on this subject (sometimes referred to as “traumaversaries”), read this article — Traumaversaries: Lessening the Impact of Adopted Children’s Annual Triggers.

She was nine years old.  Her parents were exhausted and always seemed stressed.  There was so much shouting and drama at home that she escaped to her friend’s house, where life was calm.  It seemed that she practically lived there for a year.  Life had changed so much, but she couldn’t talk to her mom who always seemed worried.

He remembered a time when dinner was a happy event.  Now, at twelve years old, he dreaded coming to the table.  Everyone was on high alert waiting for the screaming and raging to begin.  Mom barely had the energy to cook anymore, so dinner wasn’t likely to be that good.  It was probably easier to stay away from home.

He was two, but had only joined the family recently.  He came from a “hard place” and feared loud noises that reminded him of traumas from his own history.  When the screaming started, he curled himself up tightly, rocking back and forth, eyes glazed over, as he escaped inside his mind.  His little heart beat so quickly, but nobody could comfort him, they were all busy.

What could have happened to these children?  I can tell you, because they are my children and this is their story.

Dr. Karyn Purvis speaks about the importance of giving children “voice,” and we have embraced this as we’ve loved and cared for our children from “hard places.”  But what about the children that were already in our family?  Did we neglect to give them voice?  Did we fail to meet their needs as we desperately worked to help our most traumatized children?

I can tell you that we did, and it breaks my heart to acknowledge it.  In March 2007, we brought three children home from Ethiopia.  One of them brought severe challenges that turned our family upside down.  Our home, which had once been a very happy place, was now in constant tumult.  And the children already in our family suffered more than we could have imagined.

In many ways, we failed them.  In our effort to bring healing to our children from “hard places” we created a “hard place” for our other children.  In our effort to give our children from “hard places” voice, we neglected to give our other children “voice.”  This is the hard truth.

We could never have imagined what was happening in our home, and we struggled to find our footing.  I’m afraid we expected our other children to somehow simply adjust and cope.  Instead, they lost their way and they lost the ability to reach us.  When we weren’t in the throes of coping with our wounded children, we were talking, praying, making calls, and sinking lower every day.

Two years into our journey, we began working with a gifted adoption therapist who helped us with our children from “hard places.”  We began to see some light shining down into the pit where we found ourselves.  Every other week we were able to process the events in our home with somebody who really understood and could help us.  Our children began to respond to therapy and we slowly began to recover.

But what about our other children?  Were they meeting with a professional every other week?  Were they having their concerns heard?  Were they gaining new strategies for coping with what their family and home had become?  Nearly 18 months into therapy we realized that our other children were not going to spontaneously recover.  We needed to intentionally help them find their voices again and make our home a safe place for them. 

We began by creating a safer home environment for our youngest children.  As Dr. Purvis writes in The Connected Child: “You provide “felt safety” when you arrange the environment and adjust your behavior so your children can feel in a profound and basic way that they are truly safe in their home and with you.”

Staggering bedtimes and putting the more disruptive child to bed first, gave our other children the focused time they needed.  It also increased their feelings of safety knowing that when they were tucked into bed, there sibling was settled.  There would be no tantrums occurring and no unkind words or physical aggression would come their way. They could rest and let themselves sleep.

Initially all of our children were educated together, but we made the decision to separate them in order to give some children daily respite and others an environment where they also felt safer.  By removing competition among siblings, our children from “hard places” were able to relax and learn.

Once our little ones were more secure, we focused on the older children.  One evening we hired a babysitter for the five youngest and took our six oldest out for dinner where we talked, laughed, ate, and just enjoyed being with them.  When we returned home, we put the little ones to bed and gathered in our family room where the boys pulled the furniture into a tight circle. We told our children that we wanted to understand how they were feeling.  We recognized that our dream of loving and serving orphans through adoption was not playing out the way we had envisioned.  We acknowledged our family’s difficult situation and how each of our children had been impacted.  We then gave each of them an opportunity to talk about their feelings without interruption.  It was a very moving, sobering, and hopeful time, and one that Russ and I will never forget.

As a result of that conversation, we worked harder to alleviate the stress and pressures of our older children.  We hired people to provide respite and other assistance, simplified our lives even more, and made choices to no longer leave a particular younger sibling in their care.  We also tried to free Russ up to spend time with our older children, even making it possible for him to take two ministry trips to Kenya with our older sons.

We had to dig deep to find our family foundation again.  We had to grieve the loss of the family we once were and learn to embrace the family we were becoming.  Giving all of our children “voice” and creating “felt safety” were integral to that process.

If you are experiencing significant challenges with your child from “hard places” and your other children are struggling, I urge you to look into the faces of your children and take a deep breath.  Get some help, take the time, and connect with your other children.  Their world has been shaken, like yours, and they are looking to you to hold the family together.  By the grace of God, you are able to do it.

Watch as Michael Monroe explains what it means for parents to give their children the gift of voice.

Take this morning for example. Mornings before school can be dicey in general, but for the most part we have our routine down and we’ve learned – parents and kids alike – how to make things run smoothly. Every once in a while, however, someone decides to mix things up. Maybe it’s because the kids went to bed late or one of them isn’t feeling well. Or maybe it’s for no reason at all, as was the case today. Whatever the reason, my kids need a father that can handle whatever they throw his way. I want to be that kind of father. Not some of the time; all of the time. But today I wasn’t. Today, I was the problem.

It started simply enough – Amy asked Grant (our 9 year old) to take his medicine. It happens every morning. It’s no big deal. But today he didn’t want to – and he made that clear. That happens. I know it shouldn’t, but it does. So I heard what was going on and decided to get involved to “help out.” But somewhere along the way I lost my focus…and then my perspective…and then my way.

In my response I wounded my son’s spirit and damaged our connection. In my attempt to stop disrespect, I was disrespectful. In my attempt to respond to a fear-driven response, I responded in a way that brought about more fear. In my attempt to thwart my son’s bid for control, I was controlling. In my attempt to stop the yelling, I raised my voice. Who am I kidding – I yelled. In my attempt to keep things moving forward, I caused us all (as the other kids watched on) to take a huge step backward.

There is no doubt my son was wrong, but that’s really not the point at all. My litany of wrongs didn’t make his wrong right. Instead, my behavior made everything worse. I was the problem today – and if I am honest, this wasn’t the first time and, sadly, it won’t be the last.

And I know I’m not alone. None other than the Apostle Paul had this very same problem – no, not as a parent, but my real issue is not limited merely to being a sorry father. My issue is that I am imperfect, woefully so at times, and I live in a world that is imperfect and made up other imperfect people. It is the age old problem of sin and the brokenness that sin has created.

Paul talked about this very plainly in his letter to the church in Rome: “I’m full of myself—after all, I’ve spent a long time in sin’s prison. What I don’t understand about myself is that I decide one way, but then I act another, doing things I absolutely despise. So if I can’t be trusted to figure out what is best for myself and then do it, it becomes obvious that God’s command is necessary. But I need something more! For if I know the law but still can’t keep it, and if the power of sin within me keeps sabotaging my best intentions, I obviously need help! I realize that I don’t have what it takes. I can will it, but I can’t do it. I decide to do good, but I don’t really do it; I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway. My decisions, such as they are, don’t result in actions. Something has gone wrong deep within me and gets the better of me every time. It happens so regularly that it’s predictable. The moment I decide to do good, sin is there to trip me up. I truly delight in God’s commands, but it’s pretty obvious that not all of me joins in that delight. Parts of me covertly rebel, and just when I least expect it, they take charge. I’ve tried everything and nothing helps. I’m at the end of my rope. Is there no one who can do anything for me? Isn’t that the real question?” (Romans 7:14-25, The Message).

But Paul was not without hope – and neither am I. He continues, “The answer, thank God, is that Jesus Christ can and does. He acted to set things right in this life of contradictions where I want to serve God with all my heart and mind, but am pulled by the influence of sin to do something totally different. With the arrival of Jesus, the Messiah, that fateful dilemma is resolved. Those who enter into Christ’s being-here-for-us no longer have to live under a continuous, low-lying black cloud. A new power is in operation. The Spirit of life in Christ, like a strong wind, has magnificently cleared the air, freeing you from a fated lifetime of brutal tyranny at the hands of sin and death.” (Romans 8:1-2, The Message).

The hope of this truth is that by God’s Spirit I can be empowered to become the kind of father that I long to be…the kind of father my kids need me to be. Because of what Christ has done and is doing, I have access to the source of strength and power that can equip and enable me to handle this and every situation in a way that shows love, builds connection and leads my children in the way of the Master. So this is the hope that I find comfort in today, even as I wrestle with the guilt and shame that rolls over me like waves.

Once we both calmed down, Grant and I were able to begin to repair our connection before he left for school. And frankly, I cannot wait to get home today to continue that healing process. I think maybe we will take a walk after baseball practice and I will explain to him (again) that I love him deeply, even though I make mistakes and don’t always show it like I should. I think I will ask him again to forgive me for each offense – my anger, my yelling, my frustration and disrespect – and ask him if we can start over. And I know what he’ll say. After all, we have lots of experience with second chances and trying again in our family.

For further insights watch The Importance of Repairing Your Mistakes.

Watch as Dr. Karyn Purvis explains why it is important for parents to repair their mistakes, and how repair can actually encourage growth and strengthen the relationship between parent and child.