Risk

Lately we've been calling Krassi "Krassimir Danger Glewwe" or "Krassimir Trouble Glewwe" as he's becoming stronger, more adventurous, and just overall more alive and little-boyish.

We think this is a good thing. ;) Though it sure does make us have to work a little harder to take care of him! I think often of how much "easier" it would be to do what the staff at his orphanage did for so many years - keep them in their cribs so they never have the chance to learn to use their muscles - feed them only the bare minimum so they don't have any strength - never encourage them to try new things, but instead teach them through experience that you're safer if you just stay still and don't make waves.

In short, keep them (barely) alive, but rob them of living.

Nope. Not around here! Around here we take on the risky business of living life every day. We get dirty (and even eat it, sometimes!), we fall down, we get scrapes and bruises (though no broken bones for our kids. Yet.) So, with that, guess what Krassi did by himself today.

Yup. He pulled himself up to standing again completely independently. Twice. And this time, it wasn't by the desk and window where he had really good solid grip well placed where he could really rely on his upper body strength. Not at all. The first time was up onto the couch (lowish, nothing to really grab onto), and the second onto the Duplo table (a better height and a good edge to grip, but also open underneath so prone to the problem of his knees sliding too far forward under the edge).

Look at that boy! I was close by, but he did this ALL BY HIMSELF!!! (Thank you, Leah, for taking the photo so I could stay close.)

And, of course, Rinnah, budding photographer, wanted to take some. Here he is with my hands coming up as he's wearing out. Getting down is still not something he's really good at.

And ha! she caught the moment when his legs gave out a little too far above the floor and I was able to catch him before he tumbled all the way down.

But I can't always catch him. I can count just in the last 24 hours three times when we heard a great big thump as he tumbled - not even from a fully pulled up position, but from an even less hazardous position where he still is lacking in the strength and foresight to keep himself safe.

Because when you've lived in a crib for 9 years you never get to learn what it means to fall. I'm sure he's going to bed some nights with bruises that he never had when he lived his life "safely" in a crib. (And I'm saying that gritting my teeth at the thought of what his former life entailed, and the broad-reaching ramifications that life had for him and his "brothers and sisters.")

~~~

It's tough as a mom watching your three-year-old daughter running really fast on the concrete driveway (thinking oooh - go a little slower! don't fall down and skin up those precious knees!) or remembering Owen learning to ride with training wheels (heart in the throat as one of the training wheels gets stuck in a rut and he...almost...no - phew - didn't fall over) or seeing your oldest daughter swinging so high that there's that little bump at the peak of the swing. But in order to grow you have to take chances, push your limits, and sometimes you have to fall to learn how gravity works, and to learn how (and why!) you can do it differently next time.

Life is risky business. And there's no way to risk-proof our children (or ourselves, for that matter!) from what life brings our way. And, really, if we tried to protect our children from every hurt we would end up doing more damage in the long run.

~~~

It's taken me a number of days to be able to write about what I'm going to share next because it cuts at my heart so deeply.

Last week Krassi lost another one of his "brothers" from his years in the Pleven orphanage. Tiny Tommy had lived nearly 16 years in that place before his mommy and daddy found him and eagerly welcomed him home. Sixteen is a magic number because in many countries (Bulgaria included) it marks the age at which you are deemed too old to be adopted. For a severely physically and mentally handicapped child like Tommy, his sixteenth birthday would have meant a transfer to an adult mental institution where he would have spent the rest of his days (and likely relatively few days because he's not able to fend for himself).

But that's not what happened. God worked through many seemingly impossible events to make it possible for Tommy's family to get through the hoops that adoption brings to be able to bring him home instead. Watching through photos and reading how he's grown over the last year (and a bit more) has been such a joy! After sixteen years of nothing, Tommy was surrounded by an exuberant family who have given him so many opportunities to live! After nearly seventeen years with no speech, he recently learned to say mama. Because he finally HAD a mama to say it to. ;)

Tommy joyfully patting a horse

And then last week we learned that he lost his life by accidental drowning.

It is so hard to even type those words.

My friend's precious son is gone.



And every time I think of it (which has been quite often over the last four days!!) something deep inside of me keeps saying life is risky. There is danger lurking around every corner. So get out there and live!!! As much as it rips my heart to think about this beloved boy being gone, and the pain that his family is going through right now, all I can think is, "Satan! You lost this battle! This little boy is no longer with us, but he had a chance to live before he died! He was loved! His life is one is part of a story of following God in obedience whatever the challenges along the way, and whatever the outcome, and God will be the victorious one in this story, too!"