Saturday, January 18, 2014

The Change to Charles

For the majority of you who’ve been confused about my name for awhile, it’s about to get much clearer. One thing you’ve probably understood is that Angie’s national/international adoption + immigration + step-parent-adoption + citizenship has been complicated. For that reason, I've lived in limbo between maintaining my last name legally as Spears, since Angie wasn't changing her name yet and we didn't want to run into anymore trouble than we already do traveling internationally together, and starting the switchover professionally to Charles.

Leaving "Team Spears" and all that implies is not something I do without a heavy heart. But I trust that the next time there's a race to be run or an adventure to be had they'll let us join up as honorary members. On the other hand, it is with no reservations whatsoever that I drop all references to Brittany Spears. I did not really teach her to dance, I'm sorry if I lead you astray when you asked if we were cousins.

Angie has her own misgivings.  Not that she'd have any desire to team up for another race the rest of her life, nor does she really even know who Britney is, but she is understandably a bit weary of change.  

When she was born her given name was Girasol. She hated it, kids made fun of her. It wasn't until she'd been with me for a year that I learned of her original name, and showed her its true meaning.  She thought it meant oil, because she saw it on bottles for cooking. I explained it was actually a perfect name for her as her laughter and beauty could brighten any room. To prove it, I typed in "Girasol" to Google Images and showed her how appropriate her name had been. As the screen lit up, so did her face. Her first name was Sunflower.


But since she didn't care for Girasol, her second mom, the woman who was raising her, changed her name to her own; Angelica, and she carried her "mother" and "father"'s last names: Angelica Titile Villegas.

When I met her, she revealed to me that her name reminded her of her "mother" who'd abused her, so we shortened it to Angie. A few months later, when the adoption was finalized, we lengthened it to Angelica "Angie" Kira Spears.

Angie embraced those name changes, because they were clearly signifying change for the better. She's been a little more hesitant this time. She's learned to spell Spears, she's fallen in love with my parents, the Bulos, she can finally sign her name in less than three minutes.

So, in preparation for the transition I've been writing Spears Charles for both of us, gently easing her into it. In Florida, over Thanksgiving, she was drawing and wrote a big fancy bubble letter "Angie SC." I asked her what the SC was for, "Spears Charles," she replied. "But do you know what else starts with SC?" I prompted. "Where are you from?" Again, her face lit up with recognition: Santa Cruz.  Her hometown in Bolivia, where we lived together and she spent most of her childhood, holds the same initials as her new last names. She can move on, but she doesn't have to forget the past.

Yesterday, we had a hearing for Jon's adoption of Angie. Of course, he was approved, who could doubt all he has to offer this little vulnerable life.


If you run into Ange, we welcome your help in embracing her new apellido--last name. Switching to Spears symbolized Angie's transition into a forever family, her adoption of a mother, and a promising future. The change to Charles only bears more hope. Hope that a father brings for a stable home. A covenant marriage to lean into and learn to trust that even though there will always be change, there are some things you can rely on to remain true. 

Angie, you have been an example to all of us that God is trustworthy, and He answers the prayers of a tiny child, abandoned by the rest of the world, but never far from her Heavenly Father's plan; to give her a family.

"Father to the fatherless, defender of widows—this is God, whose dwelling is holy. God places the lonely in families." -Psalm 68:5-6

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

From Gut-Wrenching to Heart Melting

I've heard it said that adopted kids start to settle in once they've been with their "forever family" longer than they lived without them. Uh, so, right about the time Angie's heading off to college she'll get comfortable and compliant? Great for her professors I guess. But what about us?!

On a good day, I daydream about adopting more. On a bad day, I fantasize about an empty nest.


Today, was a bad day. The worst in awhile. I complained about an extended Christmas break, when the Polar Vortex kept my little one at home two extra days, and kept me from a full work day. But really, if put head to head "Happy Snow-day Angie" even when she's up in my grill all day, is probably far preferable to "Grouchy Back-to-school, showering, homework, and basketball-practice Angie." I have got to learn to be content in all circumstances, or at least some!


I read Jen Hatmaker's new blog post last night about difficult relationships, I even reposted it. No, I didn't assume reposting it would be enough to reap some relational benefits. I actually tried to use some of her ideas.


I will pray for two things in regard to this child: love and selflessness. Dear God, give me a heart overflowing with love and banish my selfishness with your awesome magic powers.


When it comes down to it, I’d rather work hard on a difficult relationship than flounder in frustration over it, waiting for it to miraculously improve. Inertia is no friend of healthy relationships.

I probably wouldn't have expected instant results, except a few hours after she posted the article, Jen added this note on Facebook:

You guys, practiced my blog tips on Remy today, and at bedtime prayers (me first, her second), I thanked God for how precious He made her, and she said: "Mama? Take my turn and pray again because your words are just so sweet!" FOR THE LOVE. I'm serious. For the love. Anyone else have a small victory today with your person?

Uh no. I mean, I at least was hoping for 'same to improved' on the peace in the home scale, not total mother-daughter MELTDOWN. But we chose the meltdown. I'll spare you the details, just know that it was ugly around here from shortly after the bus brought her home around 3pm till an artificially early bedtime of 8 o'clock.  

By then things had simmered down enough; ignoring-defiant Angie had been replaced with the sweet-repentant version, so we attempted some semblance of our bedtime routine, minus Daddy who's out of town. Yesterday, at a friend's adoption fundraiser ice cream outing, we ran into Angie's church small group leader and she asked us to be reading Psalm 139 before class on Sunday.

Could she have been some kind of an angel, or a prophet? 

Last night, I read it to Angie in Spanish. Tonight, I picked up the bilingual Bible and started into the English translation half-heartedly, until I began to melt...

Lord, you have examined my heart
    and know everything about me.
    You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.
    You know everything I do.
You know what I am going to say
    even before I say it, Lord.
You go before me and follow me.
    You place your hand of blessing on my head.

Just being reminded that He knows me SO well, when I fall SO short, yet He continues to love me, was too much. I had to agree with David, "Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too great for me to understand!"

As if that wasn't enough, then God took it up a notch.

Angie did something she never does, she asked if she could read, she hates to read out loud. But she read better than I've ever heard her! She read these words:
You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body
    and knit me together in my mother’s womb
Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!    
Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it.
You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion,
    as I was woven together in the dark of the womb.

You saw me before I was born. 
Every day of my life was recorded in your book. 
Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.
How precious are your thoughts about me, O God.
    They cannot be numbered!
I can’t even count them;
    they outnumber the grains of sand!

Where are the tissues?!!?!?

He had me at: He made all the delicate, inner parts of her body and knit her together in her mother's womb, but He didn't stop there... Every day of her life was recorded, every moment laid out.

His thoughts about her are precious.

When I can't muster one precious thought about the child, God's cannot be counted, they outnumber the grains of sand. 

Oh, there are no words. Forgive me Lord, for my...everything.

Then, Angie opened up to me that today was unexpectedly her best friend's last day at school, and that she hadn't finished making her a friendship bracelet yet. Oh, heart that was melted is now being ripped out. If only she'd told me her sorrows at the beginning of our afternoon, instead of raging. Or, if only I'd assumed the best about her, if only I'd extended her a little more grace... Next time...

Psalm 139 closes with a prayer we personalized tonight for ourselves, maybe you can use it too.
"Point out anything in me that offends you, 
and lead me along the path of everlasting life."

Goodnight friends, I'm exhausted. Life is exhausting.