When I look at Losiah, I see my son.
I don
Perfection
I grew up in a family where perfection was expected. What others thought of us was THE most important agenda. I have to even say way back when my oldest was little I still had that thought process. I was so caught up in what others thought of my parenting based on how my kids acted, what my kids looked like, what car we drove, etc. I found myself yelling a lot more, stressing way more and plain not happy – with anything.
Then almost 6 years ago our little Brahm was born to our perfect little family. You know the one with the 2 kids, boy and a girl,
Her eyes, His hands
I remember the day so clearly as if it were only yesterday…
It was a few days after Christmas, the house was chilly despite the heater kicking off and on through out the morning. The kids and I were sitting on on the couch snuggled up in blankets, doing a devotional, when the phone rang. As I had done for the past 2 years my mind quickly sent up a silent prayer “Please Lord let it be our adoption agency with a referral.” After 2 long years, our prayers were answered. On the other end of the phone was our adoption caseworker announcing “we have a baby girl!”
Thirty minutes later, after the cheers settled down, we received an email of what we thought was the most beautiful baby girl in this entire world…
And 6 long months later the day finally came when our dream came true… the baby girl we had prayed for, dreamed of, and loved before she even existed, was placed in our arms in the comfort of a hotel room in Guatemala.
The miracle of adoption…
there is simply nothing more beautiful in my book.
And yet, as with any adoption story, there is another side that we often choose to ignore. The side that goes unnoticed on our adoption announcements, the side that the photo of the proud parents holding their child for the first time doesn”t show. The side we”d just as soon forget ever existed…
The empty arms of another.
For the past 8 years, from time to time, I would allow my mind to go there… I would wonder if she was okay, what she was like… did she have her eyes, did they share the same laugh?
And I wondered, if she too, wondered the same…
About a month ago I came to the decision that I needed to know the answer to these questions if at all possible. While I didn”t and still don”t feel that Aleigha is old enough to handle meeting her birth family, I also didn”t want her to one day say to me- “we were right there serving the people in Guatemala and you didn”t even try to see if they were okay?” And so, with the help of two friends- the search began.
It didn”t take long actually… we had the general area from her adoption paperwork and so Felis and I simply drove my Guatemalan friend (who speaks the native language Cakchiquel and Spanish) to that area and we started asking if anyone knew of her. We were careful not to let them know why we were asking out of respect of her privacy. We also didn”t know if she would even want to hear from us and we certainly didn”t want to cause her any harm.
After about the 12th stop we landed at the home/store of her brother-in-law..
There we were told that she no longer lived in the area, that she and her children and husband worked in the fields somewhere near the coast- but that sometimes they came back to visit. And so, with little hope, we left them a phone number, knowing we had at least tried.
Two days ago my Guatemalan friend called and told me that he had just received a phone call from her because her brother-in-law told her a Guatemalan man and two gringo”s had come by looking for her. (so much for trying to be nonchalant). Apparently it is rare for Americans to visit their area in the mountains. 🙂 Anyway, after a short conversation she was thrilled to hear it was us and agreed to meet with us. We warned her that Aleigha would not be with us, and while she was of course disappointed, she understood and we promised her we would bring pictures.
I have to admit I was pretty nervous. So many thoughts and emotions kept going through my head- I can only imagine how she felt. We sat in the car waiting and waiting, ready to give up when all of a sudden I looked up and saw a family standing near the side of the street and our eyes met. There was something about her- something so familiar. Then suddenly I felt myself needing to look away because the look of saddness I saw in her eyes pierced through me like a sword. Eyes that told a story of a loss deeper than any I could ever imagine. This woman, who had given me one of the most precious gifts I have ever been given, stood before me now, dirty, unkept, and yet beautiful all at the same time. A woman to whom I owed- more than I would ever be able to repay.
The first few minutes of our meeting felt somewhat awkward… neither of us knowing where to begin or how to break through the barriers of culture, language, and lifestyles that stood between us. We exchanged a quick hug and were then hustled into a small, Guatemalan restaurant that held 2 picnic type tables. Not knowing what to say or what to do- I thrust 5 pictures of Aleigha towards her that I had held in the grip of my hand. As she and her family poured over the pictures I began to search their faces… I saw traces of my daughter… her nose, his eyes, her silky straight hair, his hands. Something I knew Aleigha and I would never share, no matter how much she was now ”my daughter”. And in an instant, just like that, my love for this family became fierce. A part of them, was a part of me- and I felt a sense of protectiveness I didn”t expect to feel.
As the moments passed we both seemed to begin to relax. Questions that both of us had carried for years were asked- and answered. One thing that is important to me that you know is- quite often people somehow believe that a child placed for adoption is ”unwanted”. While I know that every story is different I also believe that often that is the farthest thing from the truth. Aleigha was placed for adoption for one reason and one reason only- poverty.
And her precious birth family still faces this same struggled 8 long years later.
Aleigha was born just a year after her brother. There was simply not enough food. And, not enough food equals not enough breast milk for a mother to feed two children. My heart breaks just thinking about it.
I will never understand, as long as I live, why one of my greatest blessings had to come in the form of someone elses greatest loss. But what I do know is that God understands- first hand-about the loss of a child. His one and only. And I trust that He and only He can bring about complete healing to this family.
And I also know He has us here now, for this very reason… to teach others the way to receive that healing and to bring hope to those who have so little.
Along with the pictures of Aleigha I gave to her birth family, I gave them the one thing I know that is more valuable than anything else in this world- a Bible.
And my biggest prayer is that through it they find the answers to eternal hope and salvation… and if they and the Lord allow it, I am more than willing to walk by their side through it.
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AMY BLOCK is mom to 9 beautiful blessings, 4 biological, 5 through the miracle of adoption: 2 from Guatemala, 2 through the Texas foster care system and 1 from Ethiopia. We are currently missionaries serving in Guatemala providing orphan care to the least of these and trying our best to prevent others from becoming orphans through feeding centers and outreach. Read more of her adventures at her blog Building the Blocks!Together
When we were waiting to adopt, I remember sitting in adoption training and workshops as speakers attempted to paint a realistic picture of adoption. Although I’m convinced no one can fully prepare someone to adopt, we’re thankful we were not sold the lie that adoption is glamorous and easy. Beautiful, yes. Necessary, sometimes. Easy-breezy? Never. The adoption community around us helped our family understand that we were volunteering to walk into a life-long situation built on loss, hurt, pain, and the unknown. There would be varying degrees of loss, pain, and the unknown for every adoptive household, but we knew…those elements would exist in our story moving forward. Most painfully, they would exist in our child’s story.
No matter what labels or adjectives we assign to the conversation of adoption, here’s one thing I know with certainty; adoption is miraculously brave. When families have been well-educated about what real-life adoption looks like and sign up to take on an innocent child’s grief, loss, rage, and insecurities, I’m not sure if there is anything that requires more faith and courage. Not courage in the “Pass me the cape, I’m heroic, I’ll save you” sort of way. Courage in the “we’re already imperfect in this house, feel like fat parenting failures most days while raising kids without a lot of emotional scars, and yet we’re willing to rearrange our own dysfunction to make space for another life filled with hurt and fear.”
What I did not know at the time I was sitting in adoption training and conferences was what a mess I was as an individual. I think I ignorantly thought that we could offer a stable home, hold a hurting child, and make it a little better for them. When I imagined life as an adoptive, therapeutic parent, it was mostly the child needing the therapy…the support…the love. We would be there for them. We would do what it took to help them.
Simply stated, our child would need help. We would be the ones helping. The healthy, helping the unhealthy. The strong parenting the weak. The whole raising the broken.
Nothing could have been further from the truth.
If there is one prevailing message we have been learning as a family over the past five years, it’s this one…
You can’t be near the broken without coming face to ugly face with your own brokenness.
Fear, shame, pain, anger, and insecurity cause my child to break down and lose it. My own fear, shame, pain, anger, and insecurity fuel my embarrassing responses to his behavior. To say this isn’t how I imagined these scenarios playing out pre-adoption would be laughable.
Before adopting I thought I’d be here for my child, the instrument of help and healing to my child. The real truth is, I’m simply here with my child. Walking through our hurt and dysfunction together. Holding my child after an episode that leaves us sweaty and breathless admitting that we’re both a wreck in need of healing. In need of a miracle.
Me, needing to be parented by God while I attempt to parent.
Me, a child of this fallen world and thus a child of trauma to some extent, attempting to parent a child of trauma.
On paper this seems like such a bad idea, and I guess it would be if we fail to admit that we need healing just as much as our kids do.
We’re neck deep right now in evaluations for our son, counseling, and adoption support groups. We’re learning tactics, modifying diets, getting much-needed support, education, love, and understanding. These resources are extremely valuable. Most valuable is finding ourselves in a safe community where we feel free and encouraged to fully acknowledge our own shortcomings that keep us from responding to brokenness and pain with love, empathy, and patience. Prior to adopting, I thought adoption meant inviting loss, insecurity, and hurt into our story. Instead, adoption has been just as much about realizing to what extent those elements were already a very real part of our story and what it looks like to parent a hurting child out of our own rich bank of emotional deficits.
As painful and exhausting as this part of our life is in the moment, it’s surprising how hopeful and thankful I feel.
Adoption is the gift that you never quit opening, isn’t it?
I remember sitting in adoption training and conferences while we waited to adopt. I was scared but eager to be a small part of redemption in our future child’s life. I foolishly thought our family would be used (even if it was only in a minuscule way) to bring healing and health to a child who was coming from a place of loss and pain. Instead, our son is forever the reason why God is bringing healing and health to us. Oh, the irony.
We are learning that we rarely walk before our kids through pain, loss, insecurity, and fear. We walk with them. It’s less about healing them, and more about healing together.
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Heather Hendrick is wife to Aaron and mom to four crazy boys.
How Long?
We’re not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us;
we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.
– C.S. Lewis
I came across this quote in a rather timely read of Mary Beth Chapman’s book Choosing to See
While our adoption process had been moving along fairly well- albeit slower than we had hoped for- we’ve come to a standstill. The home study is long done. Fundraising complete. Agency fees paid and sent. Our preliminary dossier carried to Russia; it should even be translated by now. All our immigration paperwork has been sent in to the US government. And now? We wait, endlessly- waiting for Moscow to lift the adoption suspension and start registering dossiers again.
I wake up every morning, hit the snooze button, and begin to pray for our little guy. I walk around our neighborhood, whispering prayers to God- asking him to AWAKE and act on our behalf. Pointing out that if he can make spring happen, raise every blade of grass to life, and command the trees to burst with blossoms- if he can create new life where only weeks ago it looked like there was none- then surely he can move a government to lift this adoption suspension. I lie down at night wondering what our little guy is doing, if he’s just getting up for the day, and hoping he’s well cared for. I imagine what it’s going to be like to finally hold him in my arms and then I force myself to think about something else, otherwise I’d never sleep.
I cry a lot because even though I know God’s putting all things back together in Christ, the effects of the fall are still too powerful. I cry out because I hate that the world is still so broken and I lament that God seems so slow to move sometimes. I cry because I don’t know whether my faith is weak or whether I’m right to be so upset in the face of brokenness.
I’m not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us;
I’m wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.
I’ve received a lot of assurances through our adoption journey. “It will all work out.” “All in God’s timing.” “He has a plan!”
Yes. True.
But “a plan” that “works out” in “God’s timing” still leaves room for lament. Think of the martyrs whose testimony far surpasses my own; their deaths were part of a plan that worked out in God’s timing… but still, they died.
The only thing I know is that somehow it all works out for God’s glory. In that, my faith is unwavering.
But in the rest of it, I cry out with the Psalmist:
How long O Lord?
Will you forget me forever?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts?
And day after day have sorrow in my heart?
I trust that this endless waiting and wondering and worrying is God’s best. I trust it works out for his glory. I’m just wondering how much more painful it’s going to be.
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Jillian Burden is an expectant mama; she and her husband are expecting their
Beautiful Feet
Driving down the road in my ginormous brown van feeling stressed and stretched and strained and DONE, I heard the whisper of the Lord posing a simple question. Whenever the Lord asks me a question, I know I’m in for some freedom. His questions always seem to lead me out of a problem and into an answer.
“What would you rather be doing?”
So simple. And immediately my complaints of dealing with sibling arguments, of correcting rude behavior, of dropping off and picking up seven children all within seven years of each other in age, figuring out AGAIN what we would have for dinner–you know the story–were transformed from overwhelming to strangely satisfying. The plain truth of it was that I would not rather be doing anything else in this world.
I love a lot about my life; I love a lot about being a mother. I think the thing I like best of all is that I get to create the first forum for the Gospel to be experienced by the seven people that God has given me to mother. Think of the missionaries over time who have had the absolute thrill, the challenge, the honor of taking the Gospel of God’s Goodness to a people for the first time.
How beautiful on the mountains
are the feet of those who bring good news,
who proclaim peace,
who bring good tidings,
who proclaim salvation,
who say to Zion,
Lord, Teach Us How To Pray
a lesson from a sermon…
“have you ever prayed for something and not gotten what you prayed for?”
have you ever thanked Jesus for NOT giving you what you asked for?
we were asked why we pray. the general consensus was “to get stuff”. but after hearing the lesson – we see it’s because we know our Father will only give us what we need. we’re praying for “YOUR” kingdom come – not “MY” kingdom come. listening to this – i mean REALLY listening to this – hit me hard.
i have vividly haunting memories of being at work in the last bathroom stall praying to God that i was not having a miscarriage. i prayed to God that i would do anything He wanted me to do if He would just let me keep this baby. that was 8 years ago, but i can remember it like it was just an hour prior. at the time i could not understand why i could not have what i asked for. i was not praying for a new car, or a house, or a new cell phone – but i was still praying for something that i wanted. i was praying for my will to be done. not what God wanted and knew i needed. it hit me hard because i knew, sitting there listening to this sermon that if God had given me what i wanted then, i probably would not be Dax’s mommy now. that stirred up a wave in me that’s pretty hard to digest.
i thank Jesus that i was not given what i thought i needed in 2004, or in 2008, and thank God that He gave me Dax because he’s more than i could have ever dreamed of.
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I am a dedicated follower of Christ, wife of 10 years, mother to our 6 month old son Daxton and our two doggies.
It’s Mothers’ Week: Remember her. Honor her.
It’s that time of year again…my favorite time of year.
The purest and brightest greens add their voices to the outside world, sweet little flower buds say they’re ready to be seen, and the air…the cold brisk air begins to fade as spring gently pushes its way in. I love this time of year. I’m ready for this time of year. Something in it breathes new life. And each year, just like the last, I’m so in need of it.
As I find myself stepping into May and the newness of the world around me, two people fall back into my mind who always do so poignantly each year as April draws to a close…my mom and my daughter. Two people, two lives, that ground me to this world.
This world…both in its brokenness and beauty. This world…both with its pain and joy.
This world…where both death and life reside.
For me, each spring, each May, marks significant moments.
May 15, 1943 – my mom’s birthday
May 17, 2003 – the day my mom met Jesus
May 8, 2008 – the day I gave life to our first child
My mom….She was not the woman who gave me physical life, but she was the woman who taught me how to live life. A woman of strength, wise, intuitive, humorous, thoughtful, courageous, etiquette queen. I received intentional lessons about the kitchen to my clothes, to people and churches and makeup and nails, how to entertain guests to strategic ways to obtain used couches on “trash day.” But mostly, she taught me what it meant to be “a lady.” That’s what she was good at. That’s what she offered me. And now, as I wear the skin of an adult, I see parts of these things in me, reflecting her. I love that. I want that. I’m grateful for that.
Yet, in the midst of the good and lessons and character development, our relationship didn’t come without pain.
She was strong, and I needed tender love.
She was precise, and I needed space to make mistakes.
She was fearless, and I needed someone to run to when I was scared.
She was strong, and I needed to learn how to ask for help.
She was consistent with correction, and I needed connection.
Brokenness and beauty.
My daughter…she’s a girl who grabs onto life with both cautiousness and boldness. She’s a helper and initiator, filled with ideas and intent. She’s simple and straightforward, yet diligently charms your heart with her words and smile and eyes. Her spirit is tender, and her mind is sharp. Her love for me melts me. The love I have for her moves me. Nurturing this life has changed me…is changing me. The parts of me that have been called out in this season are mysteriously beautiful, yet the ways I feel drained I’m confident you could see with your very eyes. You give, you serve, you pour yourself out. You find yourself weary and vulnerable, unsure and expectant. This parenting season I’m in, right now, is hard…really hard. At least the way that I’ve chosen to step into it.
Brokenness and beauty.
This season, this month, this week…it evokes my heart in a myriad of ways. I sit in the tension of both the good and the hard. And that’s OK. I believe there’s something really honoring in doing that. It honors the past, it honors the present. It allows for the future…to unfold authentically. There’s this way that our humanness can deny the hard parts. Exhausting. There’s also this way that our humanness can linger in the hard parts. Despairing. Either may make a person feel numb, justified, prideful, battered. But, that’s no way to live.
Could it be that part of
It’s Mothers’ Week: To Mothers of Unattached Children
We are sisters, you and I.You know who you are.
It’s Mothers’ Week: A Prayer for the Birthmom
Precious Heavenly Father…..
There’s a mom out there right now who is carrying life inside of her that will someday be my little child. I don’t know who she is, but I lift her up to you. I ask you to watch over her, care for her, and show her your love.
Maybe she’s young and experiencing shame over her pregnancy and battling with the knowledge that she has no choice but to give up this child that is growing inside of her. Her heart aches with confusion, pain and sorrow as she carries this burden everyday. Lord, be her Comforter. Comfort her heart, be her strength, guide her in your paths.
Maybe she’s sick and fighting for her own life, let alone the life of this young one inside of her. Maybe she has no access to medical care and she lies alone in a poor, mud house with no one to care for her or heal her hurts and show her love. Lord, be her Great Physician. Care for her physical body, ease her pain, bring her help. Let her know she is loved.
Maybe she is poor, so poor she can’t even feed the little mouths that are already in her house. She rummages for scraps everyday and comes home to crying, hungry bellies but she has nothing to give them and so she sings away their pangs of hunger as she rocks them to sleep and lays them down on a dirt floor, to rest their heads without a pillow and their bellies without food for yet another night. Lord, be her Provider. Honor her sacrifice, bring her help, wrap her momma-heart in your arms, and comfort her aching heart.
Maybe she doesn’t know you, Lord, and she’s living a life of sin and fear. Please make yourself known to her. Draw her near to you. Show her your salvation. Show her there is a God who is in control and who cares about her life. Show her that you are knitting together that tiny baby in her womb and that you know all of the intimate details of her life. I pray she would find redemption, healing and love in your arms.
Lord, I don’t know any of the specifics of her life. But I know that over this next year she is going to go through pain, pain I will never understand. Pain of giving up a child she gave birth to or pain of dying, helplessly, knowing she will never care for this life that she has produced. My heart can’t even begin to understand how her heart aches and how it will hurt and what she will experience. But I know that you understand. You’re there. You’re sovereign even over this.
Thank you for her life. Thank you for her decision to choose life. Thank you that through the pain and the suffering you will make something beautiful because your Word says you make all things beautiful. Thank you that you can make broken things whole. Thank you that even though things don’t always make sense to us and they hurt so deeply, you are in control, and you know what is best.
Please watch over her and protect that precious life inside of her. I pray that somehow, some way, she will know how grateful I am to her and for the child our hearts will share.
In Your Son’s Precious Name,
Amen
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Graciously redeemed by her Lord and Savior and Jesus lover first and foremost, Callie has been married to her husband, Luke, for 8 years and is a stay-at-home mom. They have 1 toddler son, a true miracle. They are currently in the process of adopting a kiddo from Ethiopia. God has turned their lives upside down over the last several years and completely changed the direction they thought they were headed in. They are loving every second of the “gloriously wrecked” lives they are now living and are excited about where God is leading them to live passionately and radically for Him. Come visit Callie as she writes about their journey, faith, real life, and adoption.