Tag Archives: ethiopia

Why my sons wear #44: Baseball, Racism, and My Last name

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Stranger: Which one is yours?
Me: The one right there. Haskins #44.
Stranger (looking at me to make sure I am white): Which one?
Me: The black kid right there.
Stranger: Oh really?

Awkward silence ensues

Ever since we brought Isaac and Jonah home from Ethiopia, this sort of interaction has been common for my wife around their sporting events.  Parents trying to match each player up with their appropriate family, begin to realize the colors don’t exactly coordinate with all the kids on the team.

To break the silence we usually say something like, “I can’t believe you didn’t notice the family resemblance?”  And in no way do we begrudge these moments. We have actually become very thankful for the opportunities they provide to talk about adoption and the gospel.

Much of our kid’s sports activities have centered around baseball. Right now, we have 4 boys playing in 4 different leagues, all at the same park. One benefit to spending so much time at the same ballpark is that everyone knows our family. They have also come to know that the Haskins’ kids come in all kinds of shapes, shades, and sizes.  And yet, there is one thing they all share in common. On the diamond, they all wear #44.

When my oldest son Titus began playing t-ball, we decided he would wear #44. We are big Atlanta Braves fans.  And while Chipper Jones will always be our favorite Brave, we thought the history that Hank Aaron represented was important for our family to remember and champion.

I do not agree with everything Aaron has ever said or done. However, I do respect the price he paid to play in the Majors. Jackie Robinson was responsible for breaking the color barrier in baseball.  But for men like Aaron, who began his career by playing primarily in the South, there were still many horrible obstacles to endure. I wanted my kids to know this about the ‘real’ HR king and appreciate it.

To begin with the #44 was just a unique tool to teach our kids about racism.  Honestly, for me, it was more about Braves folklore than anything else. However, now seeing this number underneath my last name on my son’s jerseys causes me to reflect more on my own story than anyone else’s.

I remember standing in line at the post office with the first gift I would ever give my two new sons, who were still in an orphanage in Ethiopia.  As I prepared to send two Atlanta Braves hats to them, I realized one day these boys would also wear #44.  I began to daydream about two little boys, once orphaned in Africa, running onto a little league diamond with my last name across their backs.  I began to tear up right there in the post office thinking about how amazing this would be to see.

As much as I hate to admit it, racism was a part of life in the small rural town in Tennessee where I was raised. Compared to the violence of the 50s and 60s it could have been considered a quiet racism.  But it’s underlying wickedness was just as loud as the Tennessee orange we wore every Saturday to cheer on our beloved Vols!

The residue of such awful days gone by could still be heard in words used around our dinner tables and in our churches on Sunday. In these private and still very segregated settings, words were spoken and jokes were told that would have started riots in our desegregated lunchrooms on Monday. My stomach still turns to think about the sort of racist hypocrisy that even I was guilty of behind the closed doors of my home and church.

That’s why the first time I actually saw all four of my sons, two white and two black, standing with my last name and #44 across their backs this number was more than just neat baseball history for me.  For me, it represented a redemptive moment for my whole family.  It represented a transformation that I have seen even among members of my extended family as they all have embraced my two newest sons.

This summer my kids were spending some time with my grandparents in Tennessee. One of my black sons, Isaac, crawled into my (very white) grandfather’s lap and asked him, “Are you a Haskins too?” My grandfather responded, “Yes sir. I’m a Haskins just like you!”
There was a day when he wouldn’t have been so eager to share his last name with a black grandson. I’m certain my family line included folks who thought Hank Aaron didn’t deserve to play Major League baseball because of his race.  And yet, that moment between my granddad and his grandson, formerly from Ethiopia, was a repudiation to the such racism.

Haskins #44 constantly calls my attention to these kind of stories that I thank God my family is experiencing.  Haskins #44 also reminds me that if the Father is ever asked, “Which one is yours?”  He will not be ashamed to say, “That one right there. Haskins the former racist!”

Ethiopian Adoptions Delayed

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As announced, on March 10, 2011, the Ethiopian Ministry of Women’s, Children’s and Youth Affairs reduced the processing of intercountry adoption cases from 50 per day to 5 per day.

The Ministry of Women’s, Children’s and Youth Affairs approves the matching of orphans with families before the cases are heard in the Ethiopian court.

There is still uncertainty as to how this will affect cases the Ministry of Women’s, Children’s and Youth Affairs has already approved and sent on to Ethiopian Court.

According to joint council US Embassy officials have a scheduled meeting with the Ministry of Women’s, Children’s and Youth Affairs for Monday, March 14, 2011.

In attempts to alleviate international scrutiny over alleged corruption in the system, Ethiopia has been adjusting its adoption procedures for some time now. Many believe this cut back is an unnecessary overreaction to only a few instances of corruption.

Please continue to pray for the 5 million orphans in Ethiopia!

As lesson in eschatology from an Ethiopian orphanage

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As we drove through Addis Ababa the excitement about receiving our two newest sons was numbed by the blatant display of poverty along the streets.  The mass of humanity before us was sprinkled with ‘outcasts’ whose residence was at best a worn blanket or a piece of plastic.  Beggars drug their deformed legs on the pavement.  The aroma of roasted corn cooked and sold on the sidewalk waffled through the air.  Every now and then, the undeniable odor of refuse was added to the smog. If poverty has a smell, this is it!

I stared speechless out the car window as our driver recounted details of Isaac and Jonah’s life. He recounted the death of a mother and biological siblings.  He explained how it was impossible for their father to provide for them.

When they first arrived at the orphanage they both were severely malnourished.  Jonah had no mobility. His ankles were like jello. Questions about the beggars with deformed limbs no longer needed to be asked.  I now seemed to know firsthand why they drug themselves along the ground.

We finally turned down a gravel road that led us up to a metal gate.  I had seen this security gate in pictures and videos.  I had imagined this moment for months but it was not happening like I had imagined.

Certain parts of Addis have to share electricity in 24hr shifts.  This was a day when the electricity at the home happened to be out. There was also a thunderstorm rumbling in the background. I remember thinking, “This is no hallmark moment!”  And yet, the darkness and gloom was about to be overcome by the moment we had been waiting months to experience.

As the metal door was pulled open, I heard some of the nannies yell for Kenesa and Melkamu.  I walked down a dark hallway worried that the gloomy conditions would make the transition even more difficult.  As I turned to go up some stairs, two little boys met me.  I could not make out their faces, but I knew them and they knew me. They reached for us!

Isaac was the closest so I grabbed him. He tightly squeezed my neck with his thin arms. I don’t know if he was scared or excited.  I do know he had been waiting for me and was ready for something. With tears in her eyes, Danae went for Jonah.  In this moment pictures, videos, thoughts, and prayers became reality.  We were holding our new sons.

Jonah brought to us the pictures of our family we sent them months earlier.  Isaac showed me with pride their metal bunk beds. Before leaving, they made sure to hug and kiss all their friends.  After seeing many others come and go, it was now their turn to leave.  Isaac kept saying something that began with words I could not understand, but included, “airplane” and ended with, “to America!” He had obviously been prepared to leave and was ready to go.

I know this is not normal.  Many children when leaving an orphanage kick and scream to stay. This is one reason why the details of this day are so imprinted on my heart and mind. To this day I relive these moments every time one of them runs to my open arms.

We talk about this Day alot around our house. I pray we never shake the details that still seem so vivid. This day has often caused me to consider another Day.  The Day that is coming when the Eastern sky will be ripped open as the Son sweeps into this present orphanage.  The Day when He comes to rescue all who have been preparing to go with Him. The Day He comes to take over the world. On this Day all darkness and gloom will be shot with the light of His glory.

I pray constantly that all our kids begin to look for and hope in this Day the same way  Isaac and Jonah looked for the day when we arrived to bring them home.

Unlike Isaac and Jonah, my problem is that I am constantly lulled into forgetting how much bigger and better this Day will be than anything else I have ever experienced.  This is why I so desperately need the transitioning work of Spirit in my life. While He has already called me away from sin, He continues to convince me with the authoritative Words of Christ of the glorious details of this coming Day.

We know in part what this will be like if our hearts have been born from above. But on that Day we will see Him, know Him, and be like Him in an instant. For this reason we pray, “Abba Father!” and “Come Lord Jesus! Come quickly!”

Are we really considering the cost?

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Last night an older gentlemen at church cornered me and asked, “How much does it cost to adopt from Ethiopia?”  When I answered the question, the man looked as if he would literally pass out.  He then acted amazed that anyone could actually do it.

I began thinking about the reality that no one acts so shocked when they find out how much we pay for our cars and houses. And yet, the cost of an adoption is a cost for which we have no context to consider.

It’s true that one of the very first questions folks have to ask when considering adoption is, “How much does it cost?”  The issue of finances is probably the biggest obstacle families face when adopting. Most families will spend the majority of the process raising funds, while trying to figure out how to pay pressing fees.  Obviously, families who want to adopt will have to consider the financial cost.  But, is there a far greater cost we are all failing to consider?

The sad reality is that there are many couples choosing not to adopt because they feel the money just isn’t available.  There are others who are refusing to help support them because it feels irrelevant, even when it comes to the enterprise of kingdom investments.  Meanwhile, we all seem to be thinking hard about how to squeeze enough money out of our monthly budgets for fast food and new cell phone apps.

When it comes to caring for orphaned children around the world, the cost is far greater than anything we could ever imagine.  Whether you are the face of love for a child without a family or you help give so some else can be, the issue is not the money.  The issue is obeying Jesus. The cost is one of ignoring Him and His brothers and sisters who presently languish in abandonment.

Jesus gives us a breakdown of the price paid for this in Matthew 25:41-46

Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not clothe me, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’ Then they also will answer, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to you?’ Then he will answer them, saying, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’ And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.

May we be more shocked by what it will cost us to ignore Jesus than what it cost to adopt one of the least of these!

Mike Hamilton – UT Athletic Director

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As a Vol fan I could not help but point to this story. Mike Hamilton University of Tennessee Athletic Director adopted 3 children from Ethiopia last year around the same time we brought Isaac and Jonah home. “Hamilton and his wife, Beth, will host an April 15 gala to raise awareness about orphans and ongoing work in Africa.“

Babel and the Language of Adoption

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A few weeks ago Jonah (2yrs) met a man who knew Amharic.  We encouraged the man to try and speak to him in his former tongue.  Danae and I held our breath waiting to see how he would respond.  With a sense of confusion, Jonah looked at us to see if we approved.  He then looked at the man and said, “My name is Jonah!”  While Isaac (4yrs) remembers some Amharic, Jonah has forgotten most of his former vocabulary in a matter of five months.

This is something I don’t feel guilty about.  Not because English is better than Amharic, but because it is the language of our family, their family. There are even English words and phrases more unique to us than other families.  There is a thick Haskins’ dialect that you would hear from them, even if they were adopted from within the U.S.  This is what adoption does.

The barriers in communication that we have struggled through the last five months are not new to my family.  They are not new to any family who has adopted internationally. It is the residue of an ancient curse.

In Genesis 11, the consumation of man’s pride is met with the judgment of God.  Protecting man from sinking further into his exaltation, God separated men by confusing their language.  The story God is telling went from one family to many families. And yet, the curse of many words is not the final word.

Immediately, following the episode of Babel, the story of Abraham’s adoption begins.  God calls Abraham away from his family into a new family.  He tells him He will create through him a great family with a great name.  This family will bless all families.

Adoption is God’s way of redemption from the curse.  Throughout the Scripture, we see God speaking His word into the world full of many words.  Those who believe His word are adopted from the many families into one family, God’s family.

In Acts 2, we see peoples from the many words coming together at Pentecost to hear one word.  It is the word of the gospel.  It is a word about the man we call the Word, the Promise God gave Abraham in Genesis 12. The Word is overcoming many words and creating one family with one word.

Adoption meets the separation that occurred at Babel head on with one language.  In Christ, it is the redemptive sound of the gospel.  It transforms words rooted in pride that bring corruption into words seasoned with grace.  This new language spoken by your new family is to  overwhelm all other competing words, especially the words of your former father, sounds you should remember but can’t quite make them out.

I long for the day when I hear the sounds of my former wickedness and like Jonah all I know to do is turn to my Father.  And all I remember is my new name.

One year later – knowing them and knowing Him!

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One year ago I clicked on an email attachment and saw these two faces.  My wife and I had just committed to adopting them.  As this picture came up on my computer screen, I knew very little about them.  The feelings of contentment I now have when I hear their infectious laughter reverberate in our home I had never felt.  I had no idea how prideful I would be when noticing looks on the faces of strangers in public when they hear them call me daddy.

While I was clicking on a picture, thinking I was beginning a journey to know as father two boys thousands of miles away, God was taking me on a journey to know Him as Father in ways I never thought possible.

I know better the love my Father set upon me before the foundation of the world.  I am more amazed of my Father’s devotion to rescue me before I wanted to be rescued.  I am more confident in the truth of my own adoption and acceptance as a son in the Son.

One year ago, all I thought was that there were two little boys who had been left at an orphanage in Ethiopia and they needed us.  I never knew how much I needed them. I never knew how they would be used to teach me of a my Father’s love. But my Father knew!

AABC Orphan Sunday Audio

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Orphan Sunday at Ashland Avenue Baptist Church included one of the most powerful songs I have ever heard “Rescue Me” written and sung by Pastor Nate BeVier.  All of Pastor Nate’s songs are gloriously Christ-centered, but this one is my new favorite. On Sunday evening, Pastor David E. Prince and myself engaged in a practical conversation on adoption.  You can listen to the audio here or visit the AABC sermon page and download the following resources.

Rescue Me by Pastor Nate BeVier

A Practical Conversation on Adoption David E. Prince and Jeremy Haskins

A former orphan’s battle cry on behalf of his church

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This past Sunday before lunch, Isaac prayed his first prayer in English.  Isaac has been home from Ethiopia just two months now. He is transitioning from Amharic to English.   As he prayed, he thanked God for his family, his brothers and sisters by name.  He thanked God for his daddy and mommy.  For most kids, that would have been good enough.  But for Isaac, there is an extended family that has been apart of his life from the time we were apart of his life.  He ended his prayer by thanking God for his church, our church, Ashland Avenue Baptist Church.

On the Sunday morning that I announced from the pulpit that we were starting the adoption process a man immediately walked up to me and handed me a check for $1,500.00 to help with our expenses. Over half of our adoption expenses were alleviated by the folks of AABC.  Two families donated frequent flyer miles that took care of our plane tickets to Ethiopia.  A week before we left, a group of senior ladies gave us an envelope full of cash they had raised for us.  The one requirement they gave for the gift was that the boys call all of them ‘Nanny’.  On several occasions, I have noticed a few of Isaac and Jonah’s new ‘nannies’ tear up as they admire them from a distance.

Through the 9 month process it took to get our boys home, thousands of prayers were cried on their behalf.  On May 6, 2009, our court date in Ethiopia, my inbox was full of messages inquiring whether or not we passed. Once the news was out that we had two new sons in Ethiopia, my phone was overloaded with text messages and voice mails praising and thanking God for His provision.

Such concern for orphans has not only been displayed toward Isaac and Jonah.  Over the last year AABC has given close to $40,000.00 toward adoption and orphan care.  In 2009,  5 children were rescued from around the world.  As a church, we are presently praying for two more families who are adopting children from China and Ethiopia. We hope these families will be home with their kids before Christmas.

From the outside, it may not seem to be much.  But, as I walk among the members of this church, I sense the rumblings of a religious movement that is leading to radical sacrifice for the most helpless among us.

Why?  Because the people of AABC believe the gospel.  This is a congregation who continually exhibits the sort of joy and service that comes from being in right relationship with God.  What you see in this fellowship is not a cold dead sunday morning full of generic religious activity.  It’s a vibrant religion that is fleshed out in helping the most needy around the world.  It’s what the book of James says happens when your relationship with God is alive.  It’s faith with works. It’s pure and undefiled gospel ministry.

Isaac’s prayer said more than any of us realized around our lunch table.  We smiled at each other and thought, “Isn’t that cute!.” And yet, there was trembling in the cosmos.  This simple barely understood prayer was a declaration to the forces of darkness.  The principalities and powers were put on alert that there is church in Lexington, Kentucky who is warring against the serpent’s kingdom, a kingdom that would rather have my sons dead of malnutrition in Ethiopia.

We gave him the name Isaac to remind us that he is a son of promise.  Our prayer is the one day he will be a true son of promise.  At this time, he is the fulfillment of his church’s promise.  Nine months before he arrived home they promised him, “We will not leave you as an orphan!”

“Thank you for church!”  More than you will ever know, Isaac. More than you will ever know!