Sometimes Lily talks about wanting to go back to her “old place,” as she calls her orphanage – her home for 4 years. She was loved there. She was a sick little baby who against the odds grew to be a sick little girl, sick but spunky. Her referral described her as “stubborn and coquettish” and it was all too true. We’ve been learning a lot from this little firecracker.
It was one of those moments when discipline seems unfair and being the littlest and having to follow rules is simply no fun anymore… “I want go back my old place.” she said, chin quivering a little bit.
Wrapping her arms tightly around Lily, my mom told her about how sad we all would be if Lily left. She was in our family now, she was our special. Lily squinted her eyes, pursed up her lips and blushed the way only she can when she feels loved and wanted. “I stuck,” she said.
Since that day, the word “stuck” has earned itself a new meaning in our family. “I stuck with you,” Lily says as she snuggles close – knowing that she’s safe and wanted and that the love of a mama and daddy won’t ever run out. “I stuck” she’ll sullenly announce when the little responsibilities of being in a family get tiresome. “We all stuck…” she’ll figure, naming each of her big brothers and sisters – all of us part of a big stuck-together-family.
She was sitting on her bed, ready to turn off the lights and go to sleep when she started remembering. “You meet my friend?” she asked. “At my old place?” Oh, yes, we did meet her old roommates when we visited her orphanage at the time of her adoption. There were three bunk beds, so six girls to a room. She had been the littlest, and three of the girls still in her room had been her friends. They remembered her, even though it had been over a year since she had slept on her bottom bunk. They called her name and she introduce her family. Her family.
“On my friends,” she continued, “she not stuck. I think… probably… she want be stuck.”
“Can we pray for her?”
This was the first time that we heard Lily express and acknowledge the fact that the friends from her “old place” are still orphans, waiting for a mommy and daddy of their own. They’re waiting to be stuck.
“Claire stuck. Levi stuck. Joshua stuck. Yanyin stuck.” Lily goes down the list of her friends. “Ohh… (she remembers other close friends who have yet to be matched with families)… they stuck? We pray for them.”
Let’s join Lily in hoping and praying that one day, every child knows what it is to be wanted, chosen and stuck.
________________________
Hannah Samuels
When Hannah traveled to China in 2002 with her parents to adopt her sister Elisabeth, she fell in love with the country and people. In 2004, when her other sister Naomi was adopted, she started dreaming of going back. It took 5 years for that dream to come true. She now serves in a foster home for special needs orphans in China. Hannah spends her days studying, writing for the foster home and on her personal blog, Loving Dangerously, and most importantly, holding babies. Hannah loves the adventure of living overseas with her family. It’s not always easy, but it’s always worth it.
i try to remember and can’t. i try really, really hard. but when i go back in my mind, it’s not there. i then i remember it didn’t happen that way. all it takes is a clip of a commercial…the one with the mothers holding their new born babies, and my mind goes racing back to the day when i gave birth to Sophia. but i didn’t. and it’s one of the the strangest feelings i’ve ever had. the first time it happened, i kind of freaked out. i was watching some movie on tv, and there she was, a new mommy holding that precious little baby, and in my mind i thought, “oh, how sweet…i remember how i felt when i…” and then i froze. no, i don’t remember that, but oh how it feels like i should! we’ve been home with sophia for over a year now and God has sealed us together so tightly as a family, that i forget we went to China! i feel as if i gave birth to her…i feel as if it should’ve have happened! the first time i had that realization, i cried. i guess i was grieveing what didn’t happen, but i was also just plain feeling sorry for myself because one day i would so love to tell sophia about the day i gave birth to her. and on top f that, i never want her to feel as if she is different than any other little boy or girl whose mommy and daddy love them and brought them home a few days after entering the world. so, i did what i always do…i turned to Him. and He did what He always does… He gently reminded me of His perfect plan. His plan of how He brought our family together that day in China… the way He wanted to. He reminded me that i need to trust in Him when the time comes to explain those things to her, and that giving birth is miraculous. whether it’s natural or supernatural, like ours was. after the initital shock of trying to conjure up a memeory that was not there, i realized how blessed i was to feel that way. she IS my daughter, and yes, I am her real mommy. nothing will ever change that. our circumstances are different, but boy are they incredible! today we celebrate her birthday. and even though i may not remember the day she was born, there is someone who does. a nameless woman, halfway around the world, who, today, i’m sure, is remembering the day she walked into a hospital in Nanjing three years ago and gave birth to the sweetest little girl on earth. her memories, i’m sure, are filled with pain. i can’t even imagine what she may be feeling. i pray for her today. i pray that God somehow will let her know that the child she gave birth to is with a family (and i mean a great big family!) that loves her beyond the moon and back. i wish i could thank her. thank her for loving her enough to risk going into a hospital to give birth. to thank her for choosing a better life for her. to thank her for following God’s plan…even if she didn’t know what she was doing. one day i may be able to do that. only God knows…but for right now, i pray that today will bring peace to her. we have such a beautiful story of love to share with our daughter one day. and although our memories with her start at 21 months old, i think we are doin a pretty good job of making some wonderful memories with her. today is her day. and we will celebrate the joy of who she is in our lives. a daughter we can’t imagine never not having. and it really doesn’t matter how God did it. i’m just so glad He DID!
__________________________
Margy Hughes
Margy and her husband, Darren, traveled to China in November 2011 to bring their daughter home. Sophia Li was 21 months old at the time and has been helping Margy burn lots of calories ever since. The three live in southeastern NC and enjoy ice cream, visiting Disney World whenever possible, and being a forever family that God brought together by His perfect design. You can follow their story on her blog, Hughes House.
He has me wrapped around his little chubby finger.
Those eyes.
Those cheeks.
That smile.
I love to just stare at him and take in all the details of this amazing little creation. He is a masterpiece.
I was thinking the other day (as I often do) about his birth family. It thrills me that he is ours, but it makes me sad sometimes to think about what his birth family is missing out on. He is such a treasure, and it’s hard to believe that the people who made him don’t get to enjoy him each day.
But as I tried to comprehend the complexity of adoption, God gave me a small glimpse of what adoption really looks like. It’s not always about neglect, abandonment, or betrayal. Many times, it is really about LOVE.
Imagine a struggling artist. He works and toils to create beautiful imagery that captures the eye and touches the soul. In his small, dimly-lit apartment he covers a canvas with shades, colors and images that reflect the very core of his being. A piece of who he is is transferred into this work of art.
When it is completed, he is filled with awe at the beauty of his own creation. Yet he knows that his humble home is no place for a masterpiece such as this. There is a part of him that wishes to keep the painting for himself and be able to look at it as often as he wants. But he knows deep down that his painting is worthy of a grander display than what he can offer.
He calls museum curators and art critics to come and view his masterpiece. They are all struck with the raw emotion that is evident in the brushstrokes and lines of his painting. Many of them offer him a great price, but finally, he settles on one particular gentleman who seems to really grasp the meaning behind the work of art. It doesn’t even seem possible to put a price on the artist’s labor of love, but they finally agree on an amount and the gentleman covers the canvas and, smiling, walks away.
The artist watches the gentleman until he can’t see him anymore. Then he turns, heart heavy, and begins to clean up some remaining paints and rags that were left over from his work. He knows he has done the right thing. If he would have kept the painting, the conditions of his apartment would have taken their toll on its quality. Few would have been able to see and enjoy the beauty of his masterpiece. But where the painting was headed, it would be cared for, displayed and enjoyed the way that a true work of art should be.
He loved his creation enough to give it away.
Josiah is a masterpiece. He is someone’s creation. His features, personality, stature- everything about him is a reflection of the ones who made him. He was loved enough by those who made him that they wanted something better for him. They knew he was worthy of greater care than what they could provide. So selflessly, they chose to share their work of art with us. And what a humbling thought to be given such an incredible treasure.
I thank God every day that Josiah’s birth family chose to give him life. I am thankful that we are the ones that God chose to care for that life. I am thankful for the beautiful gift that is adoption.
And I am thankful that, because of the Master Artist, we are all a reflection of the love of our Creator.
________________________________________
Heather Fallis
Heather Fallis is a wife, mother, preschool director, youth pastor, writer, musician and coffee addict. She and her husband have two biological daughters and recently adopted a son from South Korea. Heather has documented their miraculous adoption journey in hopes of inspiring and encouraging others who have dreams of adopting. You can read more at www.ourheart-n-seoul.com.
The words in my inbox were words I had read before.
we’ve been prayerfully considering adoption…but we are both still wrestling with a lot of fear and uncertainty….I know God will provide, but I really don’t know how to move beyond this place of fear.
The same words have been parts of other messages from other women. The same words had been written on my own heart years ago.
I remember when our family story began. Mark and I met at Young Life camp right before my senior year of college. Only 3 months later, after only phone calls and emails (which was nearly brand new), we started talking serious, and I knew where we were headed. After one of those late night phone calls with Mark, I called my mom, and I cried. I was scared out of my mind. I knew he was amazing and that God was leading and I was following — all good things. But, I was so uncomfortable and scared of the unknown and the commitment I was likely to be saying yes to soon. Fear and uncertainty filled me. My mom said something seemingly not all that brilliant; yet, 15 years later, here I am with her words still playing over in my head. They were words that quieted me and helped me move past my own self in spite of myself.
Kelly, I’d be worried if you weren’t scared.
Here’s the thing. Adoption is a big deal. And, wrestling with fear and uncertainty is right where you should be. It’s all part of the adoption journey. If we take that lightly and not wrestle with it, well, that’s when I’d be concerned.
It’s really not about having the best parenting skills or being able to stay at home or knowing all about attachment or all that we can wrongly claim as making as fully able and therefore ready. It’s about discerning if God has called you to it and if He has, if that timing is now. Even after we discerned that ourselves, I still battled fear, fear that literally took me prostrate to the ground at times. Some days while we waited, I wondered if we were making a mistake. I wondered if I forced something and if we were headed down the wrong path, if I’d be able to cut it, if I could really love a child who wasn’t “my own,” if I was motivated by the wrong reasons. But, God wouldn’t let us not do it. So, we pressed on. It wasn’t the easiest road–the wait, looking over files of very real children, traveling across the world, coming home with a toddler who was now our own, the grafting process. But, I know that right here is where God wants me to be, even when I’m overwhelmed by my inadequacy and wondering what He’s doing.
No one is “perfect” for this journey. But, He is and the journey itself is when He has called you to it.
________________________________________
Kelly Raudenbush
Forever changed by our experience of being adopted and adopting, Kelly is a stay-at-home mom/manager to 4 children and a professional juggler, juggling her calling as wife and mother with her secondary callings (editing and serving adoptive families through The Sparrow Fund). You can learn more about their adoption story, how they’ve been changed, and what life for them looks like on their personal blog.
This special season of adjustment for our family, a birthday was kind of a big deal to get through. For Keturah, it probably held some special challenges, but nothing that she didn’t make it through with grace. She’s adjusted to the big sister role beautifully.
It’s the mama in this equation that’s struggling.
Patrick’s presence at Urbana undoubtedly added to how difficult the day was for me in degree, but I somehow think that what I found hard would have been hard had he been here too.
“Hard?” you ask, “how was celebrating Keturah’s birthday hard, exactly?”
Now before I go on to tell you exactly what I mean by hard, let me first state that I share this side of my story not only to acknowledge the less-than-picture-perfect moments of our lives, but more specifically to share some of those moments of our lives post-adoption. I’ve beenhonest about adoption issues here before. It’snot easy.
I also desire to make perfectly clear that most of the ‘issues’ I speak of lie with me and not Marilla. She’s got her own issues, to be sure, but what I’m writing about today concerns my personal response to the reality of parenting an adopted toddler at this stage in the game.
Please do not mistake my self-disclosure as anti-adoption sentiment. It’s not. I’m being honest too, when I say that I love Marilla, and would absolutely adopt her all over again.
Okay, now to spell it out. Celebrating Keturah’s birthday was:
H. AR. D.
H —Harried, but Holding it together.
I started off the day just feeling pulled in too many directions.
My desire was to celebrate Keturah’s birthday by making her the center of attention. To date in our family life, it has proven to be a reasonable expectation that the birthday girl or boy gets mom and dad’s attention, and is generally given preferential treatment. Because that is our custom, the non-birthday child has enjoyed taking part in this celebration, knowing that his or her day is coming.
Marilla, being new to our family, and over the last four months being the primary recipient of most preferential treatment, has no concept of what it means to celebrate a sibling. Why didn’t she get to blow out the candles? She doesn’t know that she’s got a day of her own marked on a different month of the calendar, and doesn’t realize that there is no injustice, and no threat to her position in preferring jiejie for a day.
Marilla needed explanation and guidance through every element of Keturah’s party. This kind of teaching opportunity I would have been glad to seize during another friend’s birthday celebration—staying close by, whispering instructions and affirmations into her ear as we navigated new territory together—but on Keturah’s birthday, Marilla’s needs just served to make me feel pulled in the wrong direction . . . away from my birthday girl.
I ended up with Marilla on my hip or at my side for the majority of the morning (while administrating party games, and barking all kinds of orders at my poorsister), when I would have preferred to draw Keturah in under my arm. The presence of other moms and my sister’s help (she cleaned up at least one accident while I got a wet little girl to the potty), allowed things to go as smoothly as they could given my own internal tug-of-war, and I managed to keep these growing emotions under control for the morning.
By Marilla’s naptime, though, as my sister manned the older two over lunch, I continued to struggle.
AR — Angry & Resentful.
With the party behind us, I thought that I’d be able to have some quiet moments with Keturah—maybe talking about her party, maybe playing with a few of her presents. An over-tired Marilla required a nap time bottle from me, while my sister manned lunch and party-clean-up for the older two.
I’m ashamed to admit it, but I did not do well with Marilla’s nap time needs. I felt she’d robbed me of special time with Keturah, and I took it out on her. I was impatient as she took her bottle. When she had trouble settling (and remember, she’d spent the morning being overstimulated) I just felt angry. I demanded that she “relax” and “stop moving around,” and “go to sleep”. I resented her presence and her needs because they seemed maliciously in direct opposition to my own desires.
I did eventually get to leave a sleeping Marilla’s side, but I must have carried that anger and resentment along with me. It only escalated when a premature wake up dictated that I excuse myself from listening to Keturah’s pretend play with her stuffed animals in her kitty-cat box to tend to Marilla.
D — Desperate.
I don’t like to admit to anger or resentment. Or desperation. But I’m glad that the range of intense emotions that I felt on that afternoon lead me to that place of admitting that it was so hard that it hurt, and that I just couldn’t hold it together on my own.
As I rocked an unhappy and over-tired two-year-old in my arms and desperately prayed aloud over her, she finally settled again. At the end of all of my own resources, I crawled to the opposite side of our bed, and just cried my heart out to heaven. No words. Just tears.
It’s uncomfortable to be desperate. And I loathe the process of getting there. I hate that I don’t learn enough from these cycles: holding-it-together –> anger & resentment. I want to be living there in that final place of desperation that’s so inevitable at this particularly challenging stage of life.
It’s in the desperate moments that I realize how high and unreasonable my own expectations are, and how it’s not my job to meet every need of each my children all of the time—however much I’d like to.
So, yes, Keturah’s birthday was really, really hard. That’s the rest of the story. The honest truth.
Funny how that stuff doesn’t end up in the birthday pictures, somehow, but I would hate to forget it.
___________________________
Kim Smith
Kim met and married her husband Patrick while living and working in Asia in 2004. Their first two children, a son and a daughter, both born in Beijing, came along shortly after. Their adopted daughter, Marilla, was born in Henan province in 2010, then joined their family through the China adoption program as a two-year-old this past fall. You can catch snippets of the Smiths’ day-to-day lives at home in China, on their family blog, Asiaramblin.
This post is part of my lenten series: 40 prayers for Russia’s orphans. Won’t you join us in lifting up some of the most vulnerable children in our world today? * Day 8
As we drove around Moscow going to various appointments or to visit Arie, John and I had a lot of time to talk with our facilitator and translator. She was such a wonderful woman, full of kindness andentirely capable. We asked her opinion on many things. Once, John asked her what happens to older orphans. We knew the statistics were grim (majority either turn to crime, prostitution, or suicide), but we wanted to know step-by-step what actually happened to them. In Moscow at least, the children leave the orphanage “homes” when they are 17 or 18 years old and the government provides an apartment (to own, not just rent) and tuition for a college education. Mostly, she said, these young adults are encouraged to learn a trade.
When we heard this, our initial reaction was something like that’s actually not too bad, but then our facilitator went on: the young men and women who have spent their whole lives in an orphanage are often unable to cope with the world once they leave. They’ve had meals prepared, clothes and school supplies bought, they’ve lived in community their entire lives, and they just don’t have the skills to live alone. They become terribly lonely. The worst, she said, are holidays. When every other college student returns to Mom and Dad for New Years or summer holidays, these orphaned students have no one. Just think for a minute when you were in college or just starting out in the world. Think about how many times you called home, emailed, or visited your parents to ask for advice or just for a hot meal and come company. These young adults have no one.
Many of the young children in baby homes right now are the offspring of young men and women who grew up as orphans themselves. Having grown up without an example to follow, they simply do not know how to parent.
There are organizations that exist to help these young people not just survive but thrive. They provide mentorship, classes for life skills, and invaluable direction for those who don’t know where to turn. We should remember to pray for them, especially now.
*
God who guides our every step,
Today we pray for the young men and women who have just left or are about to leave their orphanage homes. They are in deep need of your love and guidance. We pray you will provide for them in very practical ways.
Give them a safe place to live, food to eat, an education, and a way to be fulfilled in their work. We thank you that the government provides many of these things in Russia.
However, we know that it is not enough. We also pray that you will bring older and wiser people into their lives to provide wisdom and direction. We pray you will give them a community in which they experience real love. Give them a place to go for the holidays, someone to call for advice, and a loving hand to hold as they figure out how to make their way in the world.
Provide them with spiritual direction through your church. Bring them missionaries, clergy members, and believers to share your gospel truth. May they find unwavering peace and lifelong direction in your precious word.
As adoptions in Russia close, we pray that you will bless the people and organizations who help these older orphans with all that they need. Make them a blessing in their country.
We thank you for every good and perfect gift; we know they all come for you.
Be with these oldest orphans today, we pray in Jesus’ name.
Amen.
___________________________
Jillian Burden
Jillian Burden and her husband John welcomed their son home from
Russia in November 2012. Follow their journey to adoption and
parenting joy at www.addingaburden.com.
There is a story there, one I have bits and pieces of. All babies get here through labors and tryings and struggles. I am sure there was giving up of hope, some anguish and dispare, but then eventual sweet deliverance. I know there was an almighty Hand of grace and provision over your somewhat amazing entrance to the world. You came into this very scary world and lived. You amaze me!
It is day’s like today when all I feel is fight from you that I remember that little fact about you… you have fought fights I will never know.
Tonight when I laid you down for bed I asked you gently, “What is your problem today, huh? Why are you having such a hard time?” Then I am transported to what I think that day might have been like and I remember a baby with amazingly soft hair and rosebud lips was fighting to be born, fighting to live and fighting to not be left on her own. Oh what a trivial life I live, sweet one!
Sometimes I ache to just have been a fly on the wall of the room you came into being in.
I have this one almost sacred photo of the day you were born. It is beyond special to me. It conveys feelings and thoughts that are real and raw. Everyone looking someplace other that at you, the star of the day. Most birth photos don’t look like this and I know that it wasn’t any one’s fault, they just didn’t know what to do with a situation that was as cloudy as the photo.
Your birth was planned very specifically to grant you life! Simply amazing! You also had so many things take place to bring you to our family. Sometimes it boggles my mind. Sometimes it makes me mad. Sometimes I don’t understand why others wouldn’t have cared for you like they should have. It still amazes me because those events were something utterly out of my control and brought into action through visibly unalterable events by the One who did have a plan for you.
Even when we met, I wasn’t sure about you. This is a fact that I have only uttered to a few people. When I met you I thought… “God? What am I suppose to do here?” and His fairly clear prompting was, “Marci, do the next thing and do it rightly.” We did that, and it brought you home eventually. His plan has been perfectly wrought in the annals of time! His will could not be thwarted, over and over again this proved true. I am thankful I had the where-with-all to listen and obey.
Today I held you and your fought me.
Then you’d kiss me.
Then you’d fight me.
Then you’d say “Hey Mom??? Sorry…”
Then you’d fight me.
Then you’d lay your head on my chest and seep in.
This isn’t normal, but it was today. It is ok Thea. You don’t have to be sorry, never never, for struggling. You are a survivor, but you don’t have to fight anymore. You are home.
Know that your birth was a joyous event! It made me a mom for the fifth time! You joined our family that day. Your birth mom became mother that day! She learned to love in real ways. You have made me a far better person. You have brought joy to grandparents, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, cousins and friends. On the day of your birth I know God was unfolding a plan for you… all the way to the end, for His glory and for your benefit. I am excited, baby girl, to see where it goes!
You were named Thea Agnes Katsiime because we know God is Holy and in that we Give Thanks!
I know this is sort of a serious birthday letter, but you are two and won’t read it for a long time.
I hope it brings you perspective… because perspective is priceless.
Happy 2nd Birthday my sweet baby!
Love,
Mommy
_________________________
Marci Miller
Marci Miller and her husband Tim live and work at a camp for socially and economically disadvantaged youth, many of whom are foster or former foster children. This is their 8th summer at CBX and their 11th summer in camp ministry.They currently have 5 children, ages 7, 6, 5, 4 and 2 years old. The 6 and 2 year olds came home through the miracle of adoption late in 2011. Marci blogs about their adventures in parenting, ministry, homeschooling and adoption at She Can Laugh…
Every child deserves to be accepted, to have a family, to be loved.
“I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.” John 14:18
Join us in linking up with Marie Osborne and #SpreadtheLove this Valentine’s Day!
#SpreadtheLove is a social media campaign and blog link-up uniting bloggers, writers, parents, photographers, story tellers, friends, in honor of orphans, desperately seeking forever families.
Paul has been delving deeper into his life story as of late. Partly because I finally got it together enough to transfer his story from “out of my mouth” (his phrase for the paperless storytelling that sometimes happens in those dark and dreamy moments before sleep) and onto the printed page. And while I love “out of my mouth” stories, there is something solid and substantial about holding a story, with its heft and crackle and smells of ink, firmly in one’s hand.
We are a people of story. We need stories to learn, to grow, to make sense of the world around us. Stories connect us to our past, give us roots, a sense of place and permanency, fill us with resolve to spread our wings and seek new adventure. Stories give us hope.
No man can know where he is going unless he knows exactly where he has been and exactly how he arrived at his present place. – Maya Angelou
Children from hard places especially need story, need to tell and retell story in part to answer the big questions that comprise their past: Who am I? What happened to me? Is what happened to me my fault? What will happen to me now?
These life stories can be difficult because they contain such sadness and tragedy and loss. There are unanswered questions – unanswerable questions. Paul’s story, which is his own private story and only his to tell when he is ready, contains many such questions. There are huge gaps about which we know nothing. It’s a many-piece puzzle with no picture reference and no way of knowing how many pieces might be missing. It’s easy to want to fill in the gaps with wishful, loving platitudes “Your first mother and father loved you so much that…” or with what-might-have-beens or with outright untruths. But this is something we cannot do. We cannot lie or platitude or wish away those hard gaps.
I naturally use story in my counseling work (where it is sometimes called narrative therapy or metaphor therapy, which you really only need to know if you’re preparing for the board exam). My office is stuffed with folktales and fables and “Tell a Story” games and personal narratives littered on scraps of paper, complete with childish illustrations.
Sometimes I get calls or emails from teachers whose students have written such a story with a bit more…darkness…than they are used to seeing. One student with a hard, hard past, after months of games and metaphors and play both in my office and in family therapy, finally penned his story to paper. Penned it for a class essay project, which after reading the teacher quickly escorted to me.
The student entered my office warily, and when he saw the story on the table his eyes blazed and his arms crossed.
“You’re not in trouble,” I said. (They never are in trouble with the “upstairs Mrs. Thompson.” That role is completely out of my giftedness. They may have to engage in some natural consequences or “energy renewers” when they are with me, and I have been known to encourage students whose poor choices left havoc in their wake to get busy cleaning up said havoc, but never “in trouble”.)
He didn’t look convinced. “This is Powerful.” I looked him in the eye, placed my hand on the story. “Powerful.”
“It is?” He seemed to consider this. He knew full well that the story he’d written wasn’t “good” or “neat” or “lovely”, knew it wasn’t written with the only goal an A at the end, knew the language contained therein wasn’t much tolerated at this private Christian school. But powerful? Yes.
We sat at the table and read the story and acknowledged its pain and considered it in the objective sunlight streaming from my brilliant window and both knew something had changed, something had healed.
“It isn’t finished,” he said finally, with that twinkle in his eye I’d learned to recognize.
“No,” I agreed. “It isn’t finished.”
And he went on to write more of his story, and he is still writing, and now the stories reach beyond himself to others, to my own little guy, from healing his own hurt to understanding and empathizing with the hurt of those who’ve walked a similar path.
And so we help Paul tell his story with those same goals of understanding, healing, growing, with those same goals of hope. Patty Cogen, in Parenting Your Internationally Adopted Child, recommends using the wording Big Change in the child’s life story to note those life altering losses and transitions surrounding first family, caregivers, orphanages, adoption, moves. So much out of their control. So many Big Changes.
Paul has questions. “But how did you know to find me MIS?” he asked one evening after pouring over the pictures of one such Big Change, the day we met, May 7, 2012.
So many thoughts whirled through my head. How had we known how to find him? How had our little family connected with this one particular little boy half a world away? International adoption laws and adoption agencies and missionaries and matching meetings that seem on the surface so random yet are anything but. “We prayed for a little boy and God used our adoption agency to help us find you,” I finally answered.
He considered this. “But how did God even talk?” he wondered. Then, brightening. “I know! In you’s heart.”
In my heart. Absolutely in my heart. That is where his story and my story connect, where his part one ends and part two begins, the day his name flashed across my email, the day I saw his pictures, the day I read what little I know of the first part of his story – joyfully and fiercely in my heart.
_________________________________
Kristi Thompson
Kristi and her husband of 19 years stay busy loving, laughing and chauffeuring their teenage daughter (biological) and kindergarten son (home six months from Lesotho) around their Kentucky home. Kristi works part-time as an elementary school counselor (and as such knows parenting advice is easier said than done and that all of parenting is an on-your-knees-with-God proposition) and part-time as a writing instructor with the Institute of Children’s Literature (as an excuse to read really great books before anyone else) and any-other-spare-minute (none) writing children’s books. Since she “thinks through her fingers” she shares their adoption journey as a coping mechanism on her personal blog.
“Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe”
The sun is shining through my window this morning as I wake. The faithfulness of God is more evident to me this morning than I have noticed in past mornings. I get up and breathe… “Lord, help me finish well…”
Today is the day before I leave to visit my son in Haiti. Today is the day that ends the “Week before I leave”. Tomorrow will be my ninth trip to visit my son. The “week before we leave” has been faithfully painful in different ways since we began our journey between these two countries 2 years ago. Tomorrow will be my 9th trip to see my son who I long for daily, but also to leave him again. Tomorrow will be my 9th trip to bring my son a part of his future, but also to speak of the future that is not fully clear yet. Tomorrow will be my 9th trip to leave my worries here alone, but also to leave my 3 other children behind. Tomorrow I will walk ahead into this journey that has been both glorious and devastating all at the same time.
The “week before I leave” has always given me a fight. I am one that will make lists and plan…take notice of what is ahead and anticipate all of my needs! What I can not do is anticipate everything that will interrupt those plans to sabotage my entire goals of finishing the way I wanted to. I have many things lined out in my mind that that tell me, “Once this happens, you will be okay to go…okay to leave.”
Leaving is never something my mind, heart or body can fully embrace without concerns. Fears and anxiety come from the underlying knowledge that it’s impossible for everything to be ‘okay’ when it comes to leaving. I have a list: for the grocery store, for the packing bag, for the time with kids before we leave, for the things to do before we leave, for the bills to pay and the mail to send off. I think if these lists get done, then I will be okay.
But every day of that “week before we leave”, I am shaken. Every list, every need within my family, every road to accomplishment meets an obstacle that shakes my trust that things will “be okay”. I am like a soda can that is shaken causing bubbles to erupt and give pressure…leaving me to spew everything that has risen up in me due to the shaking of these obstacles.
Almost always I yield to arrogance and attempt to control my week. The irony is that this attempt almost kills me every time. I go into distress because I can’t get to the store because someone gets sick or our car breaks down. I don’t account for the normal emotional drama and parenting that has to continue despite my stress or to do lists. My attempt to control only yields fruit of anger, bitterness and blaming everyone.
As I am shaken by this “week before leaving”, I am reminded that I am not all knowing. I do not hold all things together. I do not rule time and providences. I do not know what I need. I cannot live on my own. I am broken, meant to be shaken, so that I can see that I need my faithful and loving Father who is God of all of these things.
My God is at work. And I have been adopted into His kingdom that cannot be shaken to destruction. He says that He will work all things for my good, to His glory even when I don’t know what that practically looks like.
I begin this last day of this “week before leaving”, that has been one of the hardest weeks out of the 9 times leaving, taking a new breath. I see Him. Despite all of the darkness that the week has seemed to give, the sun still comes up. My God is faithful and is my help. Nothing will be okay if I act as god and seek to help myself. But I know that everything will be okay because my God is indeed my help and it is my prayer that I will finish in this truth today.
So as we walk in this month of thanksgiving, I am thankful for the shaking that happens to me in my adoption journey. It testifies that I am not God, but that I need Him desperately. It testifies that I am a part of a kingdom that cannot be shaken and for that I am thankful and in awe of my LORD who has once again shown himself faithful. I will leave tomorrow and everything will be okay.
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Kimberly Stewart
I am married to Michael Stewart. We live in Austin, TX with our 3 children, Wesley-Grant (7 yrs), Sally (6 yrs) and Karis (4 yrs) while waiting on our son, Kelly who is 5 yrs old, to come home from Haiti. We have been in the process of adoption for almost 2 years. We are imperfect people but loved perfectly by a gracious and loving God. Follow our journey on our family blog.
