In July, my husband and I traveled to China to serve with Bring Me Hope to provide a camp experience for orphans. As prepared as you think you are with packing lists and immunizations and reading all you can beforehand, I wasn’t at all prepared for what God had in store for me.
My heart was broken. My heart was broken over each one of those children He brought to that camp. Broken.
During my second week in Xi’an, I had the tremendous blessing of spending 5 days with a sweet little boy [David]. I’ll never forget seeing him for the first time. He immediately reached for my hand and held it with a tight grip. He didn’t want to let me go. I noticed right away that he had some difficulty walking. And, as we walked to the edge of the room together to play, I became more aware of the trouble he had walking. As I walked easily in stride, I could feel his body shift from left to right as we walked hand in hand. He has scoliosis. I imagine that the years of little to no treatment and no family to help him get what he needs has contributed to his rhythmic gait.
But, his spirit is so bright. He smiled up at me with an excited grin and told our translator he was excited to come to camp. Every few minutes, he would shift his entire body to turn and smile at my translator and me. I remember consciously noticing what a beautiful smile he had.
That first afternoon, we played badminton until we could play no more. And, he laughed and played with joy despite the differences in how God formed his shape.
When I think about [David], I think first of his sweet spirit–quick to listen, eager to try new things and soak every bit out of camp that he could. He had two close buddies at camp. They all lived in the orphanage together, and it was very easy to tell that they were best buds, three peas in a pod. It occurred to me that they were probably the closest thing he has to a family, the closest thing he has experienced of what it feels like to belong.
He was made paper ready, made available for international adoption when he was only 5 years old.
He just turned 8.
And, for nearly 3 years, he has waited, paper ready to be adopted.
[David] seemed most happy when he was beside his two best friends. I couldn’t help but picture him home with a family, HIS family, and how happy he would be, how much potential he has, how much he’d grow and thrive. And, how tightly he’d hold the hand of his mother and father.
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This little boy’s name has been changed for the purpose of advocating.
Waiting under the stairs of the courthouse. It felt like time was crawling at a snail’s pace. My emotions were swirling. What was I supposed to be experiencing? Relief? Joy? Giddy excitement? Exhaustion? In my confusion, each sensation took a brief swirl through my body and brought eyes brimming with tears, cold sweats, yawns, giggles, and inevitably full blown sobs.
The kids made an honest attempt at patience, although the contentment brought by coloring books and snacks waned quickly. They sensed the weight of the morning’s events, yet as more friends and family surrounded us with their love and support, the children settled.
4 years and 10 months…we have waited this long to be here. This was it. The final step, the last event, the only thing seperating us from being fully united as a family. And, we were here. I started to sense the wave of relief rising behind me. Forcing steady, slow breaths and whispering praises, we clung to each other whenever a moment allowed.
Our name was at last called, and we filed into the court room, children racing to the jury box (to which the baliff said, “look, it’s a jury of his peers!”) as we gathered our little ones to the long table. Surreal.
I was washing Li’l Empress’ face the other day after a particularly messy bout with a “peeder budder and jelly sammich.” I took an extra breath of a moment to study her face, lingering over her deep, bottomless black-brown eyes and her sweet little rosebud lips. And the scar just under her lower lip. The scar that halts my admiration of her beauty and her sweetness every time I notice it anew. The scar that reminds me just how different parenting this child of mine really is.
You see, this particular scar doesn’t fit with all the other little tiny scars that dot her face and torso. Those scars tell me the tale of a nasty case of chicken pox while she still lived in China. They remind me of my own experiences with pitiful little patches of drying and crusting skin. I have quite a few similar scars of my own. I can empathize with her misery. Those scars make me sad for her itchy, feverish days in someone else’s care but they don’t really evoke any other response. They feel common. Normal.
But this scar? This scar is very different to me.
In pure physical appearance, it looks different. Not much larger than the chicken pox marks, it is noticeable for the way it interrupts her lower lip just ever so slightly. It’s whiter. Longer. Jagged. I can easily assign it to a nasty fall. Or maybe a tumble down the stairs. After all, I do have five kids. We’ve had our fair share of bumps, bruises, and split lips. And my girl is really physical. It’s not a hard conclusion to reach, with very little “connecting the dots” necessary. On the surface.
But underneath that simple conclusion? There is nothing simple about it. Its physical appearance lends itself to contemplation of its origins. And that, my friend, is where it feels so very important. So markedly different for me.
What happened to split that pretty little lip?
Who held you when you cried?
Did you feel reassured and comforted?
Is that the first big boo-boo you ever experienced?
Did the blood from that cut make you freak out as you do now?
Is THAT where that comes from?
And so many more… so. many. more. questions. Questions on top of questions. Questions that lead me to more questions.
I stop that train of thought in its tracks. Screeching halt, throwing the brake till smoke billows. I can almost taste the acrid smoke as I swallow and change the course of that train that wants to barrel on ahead, down the tracks.
Because that train is going nowhere good. Nowhere because these are the questions to which I will never have any real answers. I will likely never know definitive conclusions to my mother’s-heart questions. That’s the hard part, isn’t it? The part that is so incredibly different about parenting this girl of mine. That’s one of the risks, the unknowns, that we take on when we sign up for this thing called adoption.
You see, each of my older kids have scars. I know that the little orzo-shaped scar under Shaggy’s eye is from the headboard that fell on his head. I remember praising the Lord for His protection that night, that the rails of the headboard missed his nose, grazing his cheekbone instead.
I can see the scars on Baby BlueEyes’ lower lip and instantly remember the pain and fear we all struggled through that awful summer day. I know the heart-scars that that experience left behind.
Because no matter how old they are or how tall they tower over me, I was there from.the.very.beginning. There for each of those little life experiences that scarred my precious ones. I remember it all, in my momma’s heart, in many ways as if it were yesterday. A momma doesn’t forget, does she?
So I stop that train. And change the tracks. Change my thoughts. I go down a different railroad all together. I turn my train of thought to gratitude.
Thanking the Lord for the care she did receive.
Praising Him for protecting her, from the worst outcomes
of things like chicken pox and falls.
Honoring the Maker who created those pretty little rosebud lips.
Glorifying The Father that knew her and held her
before I even knew her, preparing her heart for mine.
And I take that extra breath of a moment to go back to her deep and bottomless black-brown eyes. I kiss those lips, taking care to plant my kiss on the scar. And I tell her again that I love her. In my heart, I whisper that I love the scar, too.
For a while now, my dreams have been of paperwork and notaries. Every night. This was one of many reasons why I was so grateful to turn over the paperwork and start the wait.
I’ve been having a new dream: A tiny bright light in the distance, beaming with an intensity that pulses like a heartbeat. It’s beautiful.
But there are thoughts you have in the darkness that no one prepares you for.
Right now, adoption is literally under attack. There is much concern about trafficking and adoption abuse. When you begin the adoption journey, these facts hit you in the face and chase you in the night.
What if my child could have remained with their parents for a few dollars a month? What if there is a mother crying in the night for the child she just gave up due to poverty?
It’s enough to make you quit. Or take the entire adoption loan and donate it to a mother, or a family, or a village.
Dr. Jane Aronson responded to the recent adoption concerns in the Huffington Post yesterday: “Why did we create such a marvelous bureaucracy to improve international adoption practices and not pour some of that money into the welfare of mothers in these countries?”
The reality is that if we feed the mothers, we feed the children. If we educate the mothers, we save the children. If we give parents access to antiretroviral medications for HIV/AIDS, lives are saved and families remain intact.
I have noticed that parents of internationally adopted children naturally fall into a common stream of charities or causes. You would think it would be “Adopt! We did it! It’s great!” It is; but it’s not. The causes are AIDS, poverty, and clean water. It is a natural progression to care for these things when you care for a child affected by AIDS, poverty, and famine. Promoting these issues are promoting orphan care.
There is a major dilemna that we all must face as Christians at some point. As Americans, we are ALL wealthy in comparison to the rest of this world. As Americans, we are known to the rest of this world as a “Christian nation.”
Americans give to the hungry at a low percentage of their GNP (gross national product) in comparison to other nations. What are we, as individual wealthy Christian Americans, telling the poverty-stricken world around us about Jesus Christ? What are we telling the world about the Gospels?
We are NOT the widow giving up her two coins.
We are the rich, making a big show of our tiny gifts.
Our adoption is not fixing any large problem. It is just an act of obedience. You may not feel called to adopt, but I will tell you that you can still do something to impact the orphan crisis in a huge way…you can sponsor a child. You can be an active voice for the hungry and the poor, putting action behind your voice. You can be aware that “if you have food in the refrigerator, clothes on your back, a roof overhead and a place to sleep, you are richer than seventy five percent of the people in the world.”
We can raise our children to understand that our wealth is determined by what we give to Jesus, not what we keep for ourselves. We can give until it hurts; the essense of “sacrificial giving.” It’s a lesson that I think I will have to spend the rest of my life learning, as I struggle to un-learn the American Dream and realign myself with the words of Jesus Christ.
When I get caught up in the ethics of adoption, I remember the waiting children in the videos. Waiting in cribs that are lined up like kennels. Waiting in beds lined with chicken wire, crying for their loss of everything, waiting for us to figure out what to do with them, while we argue over pie charts about how to do it.
Paul and I have been called to carry one of these children, maybe more than one, as our own. I don’t know why. I don’t have to. It’s just The Plan. What happens after that point will be our mission and responsibility for the rest of our lives; to care for and promote that child’s country, to bring to the attention of other Christians the poverty and disease that is swallowing children and people whole. I am grateful for this burden.
When we look back 3 months, we can really see how far our little girl has come.
But, there are times that the sadness and the heartache of China overwhelms her, and she is overcome with homesickness and grief.
Nothing that I can point to initiates these “sad days.” But, there is an obvious change in her face and it is so often, instantaneous.
She reaches for daddy or I to hold her while she cries in our arms. The moments are fewer and farther between, and they last for less than an hour, but they do come.
And, they come when I least expect it.
I don’t ever expect for her to stop being sad or stop missing China. Maybe I am a bit pessimitic or a bit realistic, whatever you want to call it. I don’t believe I can ever replace the hole that was left when she was abandoned or the grief that she wasn’t adopted by her foster family and sent back to the orphanage. I do believe the Lord will meet her where she is and begin to heal her heart and the feelings of rejection and abandonment she carries around, but I do think there will always be a longing or even a sadness for what was home, for what was familiar. Talking to many adult adoptees, there always seems to be a longing for what was or should have been.
I can’t imagine why anyone would believe that an adopted child should be thankful for their new home and not be sad. They have been taken away from everything familiar, even if it wasn’t always good.
Familiar is good.
Just look at the women who go back to their husbands who abuse them or the children who cry out for mom and dad even though they are abused.
Familiar is home. Familiar is what we crave. We don’t want new all of the time; we want the same. The same smells, the same language, the same food, the same people.
If there are any adoptive parents in the process out there reading this, here is a reality check.
New isn’t always better. It’s another change for our kiddos. Another “something” or “someone” to get use to and the thankfulness will not be there for quite sometime until its familiar.
And that takes lots of time.
Be patient.
Give more of yourself than you ever thought possible.
Let them see and feel your love.
Someday they will understand what adoption is about and what life would have been like for them where they came from.
Someday they will reach for you when they are scared or sad.
Someday you will be the first one they run to to show off their latest critter they’ve caught or their newest accomplishment.
Someday you will be mama or daddy.
Someday they will say “I love you” all on their own.
Don’t expect them to feel “lucky” that you adopted them. Expect them to be sad or angry or depressed because you took them away from familiar things.
And wait for the smiles to come. Because they will come. When you least expect it.
See. Look at our little monkey smiling all goofy for us.
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Branda McEwen
I am a mother to four children–the newest of which is our 8 year old Man Yu, 6 chickens, 3 gerbils, 2 cats, 1 dog and a multitude of birds. I am married to my sweet & amazing hunk of a hubby, Michael, for the past 12 years. In addition to being a stay-at-home mom, I am honored to be a part of An Orphan’s Wish as their Human Resources Director and serve the children still waiting for families. We welcome your visit into our world at Days Made of Now.
Adoption is difficult…have I said that before? It is. It is difficult.
Beautiful.
Painful.
Confusing.
Fulfilling.
Dirty.
Messy.
Gut-wrenching.
Joy-inducing.
As Katie Davis says, “it is the gospel in my living room.”
Bonding is one of those things that I never thought about until I was expecting Elijah. During the 9 months I carried him I was plagued by the doubt of a brand new mother…would I be a good mother? Would I mess him up? I read books and I came across this concept of ‘bonding’…they said that some people bonded right away with their babies and for some people it took longer. What did THAT mean? Did they mean that I could be taking care of a baby that didn’t feel like my own? Was I going to be despondent and depressed after giving birth because I didn’t love my baby?? And it seemed like it could be up to fate…a simple dealing of the cards…some people bond, some don’t. WHAT?!?!? I freaked out. Then I remembered, I don’t believe in fate! God gave me this baby and love comes from GOD…not from nature, not from genetics, not from the air…love comes from God and He will develop it and grow it.
Thankfully, for a brand new mama who was already struggling with confidence, I did not struggle to bond with my baby when he came. I didn’t even have to try. It was completely natural and I never thought about bonding again…until my next blessing was put in my arms 2.5 years later and my first thought was, “Who is THAT?”
I had to try a little harder with Iliana. I loved her, without a doubt…but she wasn’t as familiar. I held her and babied her and loved on her, just as I had with Elijah and slowly, over the next few weeks, I was hooked. My ah-ha moment…so THAT’S what they meant about bonding…
With both of my bonding examples God filled me with love…I didn’t get to watch Him do it with Elijah–it was immediate–so fast that I didn’t even realize I had been blessed…but with Iliana, I got to watch Him grow my love for my baby girl. He filled me up with love for her so clearly & measurably that I was able to praise Him for it daily.
Bonding is really just a scientific label for loving. While most of the time we use the word love when we are describing how we feel…it really is an action. Bonding is the action of loving. When I was bonding with Iliana, I would sing to her, hold her, rock her, dress her, feed her, soothe her, bathe her, talk to her… all loving actions that grew love for her in my heart. It is the same with adoption.
One of my very favorite books in the Bible is 1 John. Long before I was a parent, I loved this scripture. It has helped me– a rather closed, careful person by nature– to open up and to love others. God has used 1 John 4 especially in my life to teach me. When Jared and I were first starting to date, God used 1 John 4:18 to help me to open up to Jared when I was scared to be vulnerable. 1 John 4:7-12 specifically spoke to all those questions I had in my heart (and from others) while we were going through the adoption process…How can I love a child that is not my own flesh and blood? Can I love them as much?
Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God…no one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and His love is made complete in us…and so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God and God in Him.
I love love love this. It fills me with peace and gives me confidence. God IS love. The love I have for Elijah is not made less because I love Judah…it multiplies…and not because I am some endless fount of love, but because God in me gives me more of Himself.
If I practice love on Canaan and Eden, I love them. My heart grows more connected with them. But I have to actively love them. No, it isn’t natural…but it is against my selfish, sinful nature to love ANYone more than myself. The God in me trumps my sin-nature. Oh, how I thank Him for this. Instead of limited, selfish love; I have God-sized, supernatural love to give to my children–ALL of my children.
The practice and process of bonding with my ‘homegrown’ children all took place when they were babies. It’s the same with Canaan and Eden. They are in their ‘infant’ stage in our family and I bond with them the same way I bonded with Iliana.
I dress them.
Even though they can dress themselves, I frequently help them–not because they need my help but because they need to learn to rely on me.
I talk to them.
And with this, I have to make the conscious effort to make eye contact with them. I don’t know why, but my natural tendency while keeping myself guarded is to not make eye contact with people. I have to force myself to look at my kiddos in their eyes when I talk to them and to listen to them with my eyes.
I bathe them.
Yep, I’m their mom. I’m responsible for their messes, bodies included.
I hold them and soothe them.
Canaan’s tendency when he came home was to soothe himself. I pretty much had to force myself on him at first when he would hurt himself. He didn’t want my sympathy–it didn’t help him. Slowly, he grew to accept it and now, he needs me more.
I laugh with them.
Very important. We have fun together. Tickles. Wrestle. Chase. Draw. Dance. Sing.
Fun together.
I share my drink with them.
Weird huh? I have never been a parent who shares my food with my kids. They drink out of their own glasses because I think floaties in my drink are gross …but with Canaan and Eden, for some reason, the sharing of spit warms my heart to them. Kinda like a mark that they are mine. Call me crazy…but it really, really helps.
Bonding. The practice of loving–actively, consciously. And God supports it, enables it, IS it.
Gotta love the real.
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Rebekah Motley
My name is Rebekah. I’ve been married to my husband Jared for 10 years. We were missionaries in Italy for a few years until God changed our plans and brought us back to the States. So now, I am a cattleman’s wife, working the ranch alongside my husband whenever I can. I am also the mother of 6 kiddos–4 home grown and 2 blessings through adoption. We brought our children home from Ethiopia in December of 2010. I am also a professional photographer who uses photography and blogging to keep a record of our life during these crazy and precious childhood years.
In July, my husband and I traveled to China to serve with Bring Me Hope to provide a camp experience for orphans. As prepared as you think you are with packing lists and immunizations and reading all you can beforehand, I wasn’t at all prepared for what God had in store for me.
When I think about [David], I think first of his sweet spirit–quick to listen, eager to try new things and soak every bit out of camp that he could. He had two close buddies at camp. They all lived in the orphanage together, and it was very easy to tell that they were best buds, three peas in a pod. It occurred to me that they were probably the closest thing he has to a family, the closest thing he has experienced of what it feels like to belong.
What if my child could have remained with their parents for a few dollars a month? What if there is a mother crying in the night for the child she just gave up due to poverty?
Americans give to the hungry at a low percentage of their GNP (gross national product) in comparison to other nations. What are we, as individual wealthy Christian Americans, telling the poverty-stricken world around us about Jesus Christ? What are we telling the world about the Gospels?
