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 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.

Watch as Dr. Karyn Purvis encourages parents to ‘count the cost’ as they engage the adoption and foster care journey in a way that leads to true hope and healing.

Click here for more Empowered To Connect resources that focus on helping parents ‘count the cost’ of the adoption and foster care journey.

I need to stop.

This is the crucial moment when I need to stop the “mad cycle” and see it for what it really is.

She is sad.

Sadness has woven its way into her life in ways you and I can hardly imagine. Imagine her in an orphanage as a small child feeling sad; there is no mommy to say, “Honey, come sit with me. Let me hold you.” No, when she was sad, she learned that it felt much better to be mad. Mad felt good, sad felt overwhelming and unending.

She lived where there were few adults to carefully watch over her and guide her through her feelings, so she protected herself by being mad. How did she cope? She turned away from the adults and became bossy toward the other children. She felt some relief from the sorrow that had been building up in her heart. She was in control once again; nobody could hurt her.

She kept account of wrong doings, slights, and disappointments, which she carefully filed in her mind. She could hold a grudge like nobody’s business. Stories of days of refusing to speak to a certain teacher or nanny were told to us. Refusal to eat, work, or make eye contact were not uncommon for her.

Then she joined our family and we saw a child who was easily angered, tried to control the other children, and was stubborn beyond reason. And disrespect? We weren’t sure she even knew she was supposed to respect us because she sure didn’t act like it.

When I remember where she has come from, I can see past her “mad” to the real “sad.” I can hold myself in a nurturing mode and keep building those bonds of attachment. I can speak the truth to her: “Honey, you look angry, but I can see that your heart is actually feeling sad.” This is often all it takes to break through the mad.

Recently we had a moment just like this. I talked frankly with her about my love for her, the love of Jesus, and His power to heal her sadness. I encouraged her to let go of her “mad,” even if it meant feeling those deep sad feelings. She turned her eyes from me and I waited. It wasn’t long before she said, “Mommy, I’m sorry. Please forgive me for being so naughty. I know you love me. I’m just sad that my Mom died and you never had your Mom die so you don’t know how bad it feels.”

Her “mad” turned to “sad” –- we’re making progress.

I had spent the better part of an entire week using her strategies of “connecting while correcting” with all four of my kids. They were all out of school for the summer, and looking back I must have been crazy to try this when they were home all day. By the end of that week I was literally exhausted — physically and emotionally. I never imagined that this “connecting while correcting” would take so much time and energy. Threatening to put my kids in “time out” or taking something away was so much easier than this.

So when I called Dr. Purvis I pretty much told her that she was crazy and that this approach of hers would never work for us. I know what you are thinking — who am I to tell the expert that her methods didn’t work? Pretty bold, huh? But she was very gracious and reminded me about the part of the book that talked about this thing called “investment parenting.” She also reminded me that she never promised this would be easy or that it was a magic formula that would work overnight. She reiterated that it would take time and there were no shortcuts — at least none worth taking. Most importantly, she emphasized that it would take both Michael and me being ruthlessly consistent in applying this approach. So with that encouragement I went back to “practicing” again.

It’s funny sometimes that parents forget how important practice is, especially when it comes to using parenting strategies that focus on connecting even while we are correcting. How many times as children did we hear our parents remind us that “practice makes perfect”? And how many times have we said the same thing to our children. But for some reason, as parents we forget this. While we are quick to remind our kids to practice their soccer or baseball, piano or dance, math facts or spelling words, we rarely apply the same discipline when it comes to us “practicing” our parenting.

Three years after I called Dr. Purvis to let her know she was crazy, I am still at it, daily practicing how to connect with my kids in every situation, especially those that call for correction as well. Oh, I still get it wrong plenty of times, and sometimes I even have to say “I’m sorry” (something that doesn’t come easy for me as a mom, but that’s another subject for another day). I guess practice doesn’t actually make perfect after all, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t important.

As I have continued to practice over these last few years I have seen remarkable changes in my kids and their behaviors, and in me as well. My kids and I are much more connected than before, and what I was certain would never work is changing our family for the better.

Amy Monroe writes a regular column – A Mother’s Heart – on the Tapestry blog, where this article originally appeared.

Watch as Amy Monroe explains the importance of practice for both parents and children.

Read Parenting Take Practice to learn more about Amy’s experience in learning the importance of practice in parenting.

Watch as Dr. Karyn Purvis talks about authentic and healthy independence and how parents can best foster this with their child.

As I listen to dads who don’t share the adoption or foster experience, I realize how normal being an adoptive dad is. I can relate to almost everything they talk about because I’ve experienced it myself. But I know that there are more than a few things about my experience as an adoptive dad that these other dads can’t relate to. I am generally ok with that. Most of the time I don’t really think about my kids being different. It is just who they are, and a part of who we are. But every once in a while I notice it, and it can leave me feeling a bit misunderstood and even isolated, except among other adoptive parents.

“Typical” is the word that seems to have replaced the word “normal” in the world of adoption and foster care. This is probably for good reason. After all, children that have backgrounds involving trauma, abuse, abandonment and institutionalization aren’t abnormal, but they often don’t develop in the same way and at the same pace as a “typically developing” child. And as many adoptive and foster parents have discovered, neither do they generally respond to the “typical” parenting strategies. But that’s an entirely different conversation.

In many ways my son Carter is a typical six-year-old boy. He loves to play sports, ride his scooter, fight with his brother, bother his sister, act silly, give a good hug and eat as much candy as he can. But in other ways he is anything but typical, at least if your point of reference is other “typical” kids, whoever they are. Because of his history, Carter faces many challenges that most typical kids don’t. Many of those challenges he has already overcome. Others he and we are still working on. But I can tell you that this atypical little boy has already learned a lot of valuable life lessons, and has taught me more than a few as well.

Carter is not typical for other reasons as well. It’s all too easy to look at him and some of his lingering challenges as a glass that is half empty. But on those days when I slow down enough to take a step back and look at the entirety of the picture that is my son, I realize that his life is already, at the age of only six, a glass that is full and overflowing.

Typical kids don’t experience the series of hurdles that life’s circumstances have thrown his way. Who am I kidding, most typical kids wouldn’t survive his start in life. Typical kids don’t endure the years of illnesses and surgeries and bounce back in record time, every time. Typical kids don’t go to countless therapies, refrain from eating most of the foods that kids love, take all kinds of medications and supplements, and on most days without so much as even a whimper. Many typical kids don’t have the same ‘can do’ spirit and love for life.

Don’t get me wrong, I know that some children face far greater and graver challenges than my son. Still I hope it doesn’t come across as bragging when I say that he is one amazing and resilient kid. Yet I know that this kind of proud dad talk just doesn’t seem to fit when I’m at the water cooler talking with dads who have typical kids. Their kids are soccer stars or geniuses, or so they are convinced. Imagine if I chimed in “Oh yeh? Well Carter scored a goal in his soccer game and his therapists say he is rock star at speech AND occupational therapy.” See what I mean? I suspect I would be left standing there with my coffee as everyone suddenly looks at their blackberries and realize they are all late for a meeting.

Loving this atypical son of mine can be very challenging and extremely humbling. More often than not, however, it reveals far more about my shortcomings and flaws than it does about his. For me to love him well I must learn to be anything but typical myself. No, I don’t need to be some sort of super-dad or become a child rearing expert. But neither can I put things into default mode or on cruise control. I need to constantly meet him where he is, even as he takes two steps forward on some days and one step back on others. I need to remember and celebrate how far he has come. And I must always be willing to kindly and firmly take him by the hand and walk with him side-by-side in the direction that together we need to go.

I am realizing that I cannot have Carter and also have a “typical” son. Far from being any sort of sacrifice, this reality is nothing but a blessing from God, for which I am forever thankful. As this atypical son of mine continues making me, day-by-day, into a rather atypical father, I am learning how much I still have to learn. And yet, I clearly see all that he has already taught me.

So maybe next time the guys start to brag about their kids I should just call it like it is. Or maybe not. I’m not sure they will understand why a six-year-old boy from Guatemala is, in many ways, a hero to me. After all, heroes are supposed to be strong and courageous; they are supposed to inspire you and be larger than life. Exactly.

This article appeared in the June 2011 issue of Adoption Today.  Click here to download a pdf of the article.