I’ve left all of you lovely people out of the adoption loop for the past month.
Partly because some of the information that allows the story to make sense isn’t my story to tell.
But also because the reality of our adoption journey thus far is sometimes a little difficult to put into words.

I first told you about K, the birth mom we had been matched with, back in June.
Then, the birth father came into the picture.
Then, K began to say things to us that made us think she was probably going to keep her baby.
We found out that this was her final decision 3 weeks ago.

K and I have built a friendship over the past couple of months and I told her to keep me posted with any baby news.

I got a text Tuesday morning that she was in labor and that night she had her baby…not our baby.

Tuesday was a hard day for me.

But God took care of me as he always does.
He brought this verse to my mind.

This is the day the Lord has made;
let us rejoice and be glad in it.
Psalm 118:24

Every time sadness, worry or fear crept in to my mind, Max and I would sing this song.
We sang it a lot on Tuesday.

I kept thinking…
If we were at the hospital meeting our new son that day, I would be rejoicing.
I would be glad.
That’s easy.

God reminded me that even in my sadness, I can be glad.
I can be glad because of all of the blessings He has given me. I have an amazing husband, a precious boy, great family and friends, a house, clothes, freedom and on and on and on.

But more than anything else, I can be glad because I have a relationship with Jesus.
I get to have a relationship with Jesus.
I felt His presence all day and Him saying to me, “I know this is hard, Abby, but this is so, so good for you. Trust me.”

So, in the midst of my sadness, I’m choosing gladness.

May all who seek you rejoice and be glad in you.
Psalm 70:4

But let all who take refuge in you be glad;
let them ever sing for joy.
Psalm 5:11

Surely this is our God;
we trusted in him, and he saved us.
This is the Lord, we trusted in him;
let us rejoice and be glad in his salvation.
Isaiah 25:9

May you be glad in whatever circumstance God has you in today.

____________________________

Abby has been married to her college sweetheart, Wes, for 8 years. After 5 years of infertility, they began the journey of domestic adoption. Blessed with a (more than they had planned) open adoption experience, they were able to witness the birth of their first child, Max, in the summer of 2010. Wes and Abby are trusting God as he leads them in their relationship with Max’s birth family and as they journey through adoption number two. You can follow their story at Akers of Love.

I have been quite ill this week with an influenza type chest cold.

Apparently my immune system did not get the memo that it is summer, not winter.

My kids are not used to seeing me laying on the couch for days at a time–have I ever mentioned I’m a bit hyper? (I always tell parents of active kids that while it may be hard to parent, it is a blessing in adulthood.)

Anyhoo, all that lounging created a lot of angst for my kids. Not just normal angst.

Mei Mei sat and watched me cough. She showed great concern throughout the days, then finally, hesitatingly asked, “Mommy no die? Mommy cancer?”

Knife in the heart. No words for how it shatters my soul that even our newly adopted kids know the evil of cancer–and silently worry that death’s tentacles linger.

No. Words.

And yet their fears go infinitely deeper, especially for my kids adopted at older ages.

They fear the loss of their mother. They fear in a way that goes way beyond what most children can conceive.

Every child’s deepest fear is the loss of their mother.

And adopted kids? They fear loss infinitely more. They KNOW. They’ve LIVED it.

They know what it is to cry for a mother who only exists in their dreams. They know abandonment. They know what it is to go unprotected, untouched, unloved. They know what it is to be alone. THEY KNOW. And they FEAR it will happen again, no matter how much I try to convince them that it won’t.

And really, how can I be sure? How can I be sure I’ll live through my kids’ childhoods?

I reassure my children that I will do everything in my power to be safe; to live a long and healthy life. I wear my seatbelt, go for check-ups and eat my veggies. I even find myself being extra careful because of their precautions. (When Hubby and I went to Hawaii, I refused to kite-sail because Vu’s last words to me on departure were, “Mommy, please don’t die!”)

But there are no certainties–and they know it. They know it even more clearly in our family where cancer and death has shown its evil grasp.

It comes up in conversations. Lan Lan says that if I ever die she is going to be so mad at me! Mad! Oh, my sweet, spicy girl.

Vu says that if I ever die he is going to die too. He has even gone so far as to consider ways he might achieve it. When he first started asking me questions like how long it would take to die of starvation I was concerned. In reality, I know he was simply longing for a solution of how he would possibly survive the loss of his mother–yet again.

The only solution that really seems to help my kids is to talk about it–to quit denying the possibilities and instead face them head on. I let them know we have a plan for the unthinkable, reassuring their tender hearts that they will NEVER be alone again. We talk about who will care for them (especially if both parents die) and how our relatives and friends will rally around, encircling them with abundant love and devotion.

My kids feel especially surrounded by love when I remind them of ALL the people in their lives who love them; individually naming each and every sibling, relative, godparent, friend, neighbor, teacher and counselor.

And, of course, I remind them of the One who loves them more than all those people combined. The One who created them. The One who cried with them in their darkest hours and who will take their hurts and use it against evil, for good.

And most importantly, I remind my kids that death is only temporary. Eventually, we will all be together for eternity. ETERNITY. There will be no tears, no sadness, no loss, no devastation. No cancer. No death.

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death, or mourning, or crying, or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” ~ Revelation 21:4

Joe always loved theme parks. At Knott’s Berry Farm

Recently, I had a candid chat with a friend of mine who is parenting former orphans. It was Mother’s Day, which is one of those slightly awkward holidays when you aren’t the only mommy your child has ever had. She has also faced infertility, making it an even harder day. She was overwhelmed by the loss and brokenness that accompanies adoption. Hurting for her children, but also herself, at the years of life she didn’t get to see.

The hard thing about loving someone so much it hurts is that, well, it hurts. When you think about their loss and pain, you just ache and wish you could take it on yourself.

Sometimes the brokenness is overwhelming.

Sometimes it’s maddening to think about all you’ve missed.

Sometimes you just want to tell your child, “YOU are remarkable. Your life has been harder than just about anyone I know and yet you have somehow come through it all with a tender heart.”

Sometimes you actually do tell your child that.

So, what do you do with all of the grief and loss and brokenness?

Gloss over it and pretend it didn’t happen? Sometimes that’s a good option, frankly. It’s sort of hard for kids to heal if they’re reminded all the time of their wounds. But, obviously, that’s slapping a bandaid on a big, big hurt.

Where I’ve noticed the greatest moments of redemption are in the firsts. Which are (ironically) usually the most painful reminders of all that’s been lost. I didn’t get to see my child’s first step. I don’t know how much be weighed at birth. Or when he got his first tooth or said his first word. I grieve all of that, but I cannot focus on it. That wouldn’t help anyone.

So we manufacture firsts. We choose to celebrate the firsts that might seem insignificant to others.

The first unsolicited hug.
The first time he had ice cream and winced at the cold with every bite.
The first time he pushed away a plate of food without pleading for more.
The first time he saw the ocean.
The first “I love you.”
The first time he went to a movie.
The first time he fell asleep without clinging to me for dear life.
The first time he celebrated his birthday.

We make a big, big deal out of these things.

We see the brokenness for what it is, which allows us to stand in awe of the wholeness that comes out of it.

This healing – it doesn’t come from a family, although that certainly helps. It doesn’t come from a book or counselor or therapy method.

It is God Himself who takes these little lives and makes them whole again. He redeems all the lost firsts and shows us that sometimes the manufactured firsts are even better, because they remind us of His goodness.

________________________________________

Lara is a Jesus-loving, book-reading, coffee-drinking, kid-chasing farmer”s wife of 5 years. She and her beloved farmer, Jon, have three kids: Cade, Ambrose, and Ellie. They brought their most recent addition home from Uganda in October 2011. Follow along on their journey at The Farmer”s Wife Tells All.

We joined the “Century Club” today (meaning we have been waiting 100 days to receive our letter of approval/acceptance from China to adopt our daughter). Thankfully, not too many adoptive families achieve this status, but for whatever reason, our adoption journey includes being a part of the “Club.” I know in my heart there is something beautiful and wonderful that will come out of this wait. There is a purpose. And there is an end. Not today, but some day the wait will be over, and our Little One will be home.

When this season ends, I hope I am more like Jesus. Refined. Stronger in my faith and character. More equipped to meet the difficulties and hardships the next season is sure to bring.

God is so faithful in encouraging my heart as I wait, whether it be through a promise in Scripture, the gift of a darling Chinese doll, a phone call from a friend, or the opportunity to send a box of supplies to my daughter”s Healing Home.

So, while I never dreamed we would reach Day 100 without our LOA and I am sad, I decided to celebrate 100 today with the kids.

We counted 100 steps.

We ran  down the road for 100 seconds. (During this 100 seconds, the dog managed to get sprayed by a skunk. Stinky!!)

We dug for treasures in our 100 year old barn.

Ori told me he had 100 treasures. I”m pretty sure he does.

We played in the 100 degree heat (it”s sooo dry!!).

Ori and Calla each strung 50 Cheerios on to a pipe cleaner to make 100 (then they ate 100 cheerios, I”m pretty sure).

I”m thinking ice cream might be necessary tonight. Maybe we can each lick our ice cream cones 100 times?

It”s a good day. Resting in the fact that my God is faithful, all-knowing, and good. Even the heartache of joining the Century Club is for my good.

______________________________

Julie is a former middle school teacher turned stay-at-home mom who is passionate about children. She and her husband, Ian, have been married for 8 years. They have two biological children, both born prematurely. God placed adoption on Julie”s heart as a child and it was something Ian and Julie discussed off and on throughout their marriage. However, when their daughter Calla was born at 26-weeks and faced many challenges, they became interested in special needs adoption. Currently, Ian and Julie are waiting to bring home their precious 17-month old little girl from China. Julie blogs about motherhood, adoption, and toddler activities at Breezy Acres Farm.