Category: Realities

Expectations, realities, real struggles

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Waiting: Month Three

This waiting, it sucks.

You’re shocked I know.

But here’s the thing about waiting for three plus years – sometimes your pride tricks you into thinking you’ve actually gotten good at it. Like you’ve conquered it and are so content and experienced at it you’ve got it under control.

Then you get smacked upside the head with what seems like an impossible weight of waiting you can’t possibly live through. For us, that smack came last week when we learned we are still 12 or so months away from bringing “J” home.

And here’s the thing about that weight – we can’t carry it. We must wait on the Lord. Not in a cheesy just stand on the sidelines and pick daisies all day while something in the Heavens magically comes together.

We have to wait on Him. Lean on Him. Ugly cry out to Him.Get on our knees before Him.Give it all over to Him.

Only when I am crushed by God, do I truly wait on Him. It’s sad but true. My humanness can’t do it otherwise.

So here we are: crushed and waiting. Thankful that He’s got this. He’s not finished writing this story, it’s just going to take a little longer than we thought it would. Like three years longer. But who’s counting?

p.s. For those of you who are reading because you’re in the DRC process and care about the logistics – there were more errors found on our Consent to Adopt and our attorney was robbed at gunpoint. He lost his cell phone, computer and passport. (he was out of country) Therefore, we don’t know if the Consent to Adopt has been signed by the mayor yet or not.

The reason for the additional wait is because we have an amazing agency who cares about the children of the DRC – ALL of them, not just the ones who can be adopted, and is working hard to build a relationship with the government officials instead of working around them. Building relationships takes time but they are committed long term to the care of the vulnerable children of the DRC.

____________________________________________

Lindsy Wallace

Lindsy and her husband William lead the Orphan Care Ministry at Antioch Church in Louisville, Kentucky and are passionate about sharing God

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Finding Her Rhythm

Janie has been showing us a different side of her during these past few weeks. Tantrums…long ones…die hard not giving up and refusing to say “sorry” or “please.”

This morning was a perfect example. As soon as she got up and crawled up on the couch with me, she asked for a drink and before I could even answer she fell back and started kicking those feet together like I was going to tell her “no.”

The morning continued with many little battles with me praying my way through them. Battles of not wanting any socks to wanting socks to going through 4 pairs of socks to finally wearing socks…changing her pull up and not wanting the one I had and having to dump out the entire box of pull ups to find the exact one she wanted…falling on the floor because, I don’t even remember why…think I was praying to keep it together at the time!!!

Then…she is ready to go with her “duckys” for show and tell and a big ole smile on her face. I had to take a picture since it was hard to believe this little angel was so not a little angel all morning. Oh, the life of a 4 year old.

I took her happy little self to school and went to my happy place, the pool. I love to swim. It is my “nothing” time, free from any noise but the water. I do all my praying, problem solving, and deep thinking in that pool. I push myself hard and generally just feel better about life when I am finished. Many a day, Hank can just take one look at me and say, “I’m thinking you may want to go swim or run.” I know he is motivated by the fact that I’m nicer when finished.

As I swam today, I just could not get a rhythm, fighting the water instead of going with it. Thoughts were running through my mind about how some days swimming or running feel so great and other days it is plain hard, and you can’t get a good rhythm going. I had been praying for Janie and it hit me–that is what she is doing. She has lost her rhythm with our family. She has gone from her world in China to her world with her new family and sometimes it is just plain hard on her. This precious child is struggling in her own way: fits, bossiness, refusing to say please, etc. Madeline struggles many days with her place in this world and now Janie is showing me this side as well. I know through my experiences with Madeline that once she works it out in her little mind, she is oh so precious and sweet. My job is to help Janie work through this with understanding and love. I am learning to pray my way through these battles and try not to get caught up in them! I am thankful that this is a season and she will heal and grow over time. Oh how we love this child, brat and all.

Ecclesiastes 3:1
“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens”

___________________________

Paige Wright

Mine is a story of heartbreak and happiness with God’s enormous mercy upon me. I lost my first husband to brain cancer when we had been married 15 years. Our children were 8, 10, and 11. Shortly after his death, God blessed me with my husband Hank. We have been blessed with 3 more children, one the easy way and the other 2 through adoption. I did not start our blog until we were in the process of adopting our 2nd little girl from China. We live in Tennessee with our 3 youngest, 10, 5 and 4. Our older 2 are married and live in town and the original baby of the family is a senior in college. Our family is one crazy machine, lots of laughter and lots of whining!

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Attachment and Bare Feet: 6 Months Home

I love little bare feet.

Our youngest son William has been home from Ethiopia for six months now, and he continues to make great strides in his attachment process. A while back I posted Sweet Little Breakthrough about how he had started doing little things that seem like no big deal with our bio kids, but mean the world with kiddos who have been adopted at an older age (holding my hand without protest, for instance). In that same vein, the picture above represents so much more than than cute little piggy toes (and chipped nail polish).

When William came home, one of the first things we noticed was that he was obsessed with being fully dressed. First thing in the morning he would go into his closet, pick out his clothes, and get dressed all the way down to his socks and shoes. It was adorable.

It was also an institutional behavior.

I don

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Why We Are Not Adopting Again

Three years ago, my husband and I stood in front of the orphanage in Beijing, China, and promised we”d be back. We knew it was full of children who were dying, who went to bed hungry every night, and cried for someone, anyone to love them.

We”d always wanted four. It seemed logical: two boys and two girls. Everyone would have a best-friend for life. And Evie would know the bond of a sister from her birth country.

It sounded beautiful. And we honestly thought that was where God was leading us. He had given us Evie. He had shown us over and over that Evie was our daughter. We had prayed for months, “Bring her home. Bring her home. Bring her home.”

And then we landed in Chicago. And discovered Evie”s undisclosed special need– developmental delays. Not only did she have tetrology of fallot and cleft lip and palate, but she could hardly sit, stand, walk, talk, chew, turn the pages of a book. She was completely and utterly shutdown.

We saw hints of this in China. But we assumed she would wake up and start acting like a two year old. But she never did.

So my new life–the one with only 3 three kids–consisted of juggling them so we could go to PT, OT, developmental therapy, and speech multiple times a week. Plus, all her other doctor visits.

I was exhausted. And that fourth child seemed further and further away. And the guilt of ignoring my two homegrown kids weighed heavily on me.

As time passed, I got into the rhythm of my new normal. And now three years later, things seem almost under control.

But, still, we won”t be adopting again.

Evie needs too much. She is too traumatized, too emotionally fragile, too needy. The honest, bitter truth is another special needs adoption would take too much of my time away from her. There is only so much of me to go around.

We”ve prayed about this. We”ve agonized about this. Because we know there are kids who need parents who love them. We know there are kids going to bed tonight with empty bellies, who are cold, alone, and afraid. We know, because that was Evie three short years ago. She was starving–not only for nourishment, but for human touch.

We aren”t done with adoption. We just aren”t adopting.

So now we are praying, “Use us. Use us. Use us.”

And I wonder, how God will use us to care for the orphaned.

 ___________________________________

Amy Adair-Bode

I am a Christ-follower, wife, mother, and writer. I have two wonderful boys and a princess from China. We became a family of five on August 28, 2009. My new book, One Thousand and One Tears, is now available on Amazon.

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Gladness in my Sadness

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 Akers

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.

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Eighty Three Days

i knew her for three months.

as long as i can remember, back to the days of black paten leather shoes, i thought of her. all the important people in my life know her name, and more, the way she is weaved into my story.

on June 7, 2012, my birth mother, Mary, passed from this life.

i am writing today to tell you pieces of a beautiful story. a story written by God, one with much grace, love.

on my thirty fourth birthday, Mary had received a letter from me. it was sent in a small kraft paper envelope. in it, our first communication, i said all the things i had felt prompted to say. things like thank you, if you have ever felt regret…don’t, i’ve had a good life, i am grateful. these are the things i needed her to know, and yet knew i would never say in person, me who runs from awkward.

a few short days later, i received a letter in return. it was the kindest letter written with great detail and honest love. she had things to say. things like, i’m sorry, i loved you, i never forgot. those things she would never say in person, because maybe she like me runs from awkward. at the end of the letter she wrote a phone number with a request for me to call.

for a few months we exchanged brief phone calls, sometimes texts. our conversations were light and random. the only constant was Mary’s request to meet me and my people.

it was only three months ago when we finally drove in, van full of children, to meet her. some circumstances had her moving out of state within days. she was adamant that we meet before her move. we cleared our calendar and drove the two hours to her city. as we made our way down her street, she stood in the yard wrapped in a pink shirt, hair in a bun. within seconds of parking, awkward hugs were exchanged, and just like that i was standing with the woman who carried and birthed me. we, Mary and i, worked hard not to stare at the other.

at the end of the day we stood in a parking lot saying good bye. i will never forget the way she hugged me. her hug was tight and long, like she had waited all my life to give it. or like a momma holding her baby for the very first time. i couldn’t fully understand it, but felt the need to honor it.

eighty three days after that hug, i stood at her hospital bed, saying good bye once again. she had suffered a severe stroke that only left her alive by machines. a lot of us drove through the night to be with her before she passed.

with Ernest on one side of her bed, and me on the other, i was overcome with thankfulness of knowing Mary. i finally, and awkwardly, said words out loud. i will try to live each day thankful for your gift of my life. i will try to do it in honor of you. thank you, Mary, thank you for loving me.

in case you have ever wondered, God is about love stories. i still can’t get over the sweetness of this grace.

(all of Mary's daughters together)

for years i had thought about Mary, but this particular year, i felt a need to pursue her. it came from a deep place in my bones. a knowing it was time. i would see a vision of releasing her from any hurt giving me away left with her. i felt joy for my story and desperately wanted her to feel the same. still, i always knew these feelings were not from me. they were promptings from a God who loves and redeems.

in fact, when she wrote to me, she said those shame feelings, she never forgot. as a mom, i understood.

in the last months of her life, this chapter of shame was redeemed.

i see it as evidence of God’s wild love for the heart of his beloved, Mary.

and also evidence of his wild love for me.

it is complete grace that i followed through with the stirring in my bones. God loved me through sleepless nights of talking myself out of writing, and then meeting Mary.

it was joy to have known her, and to have been known.

________________________________________

Debra Parker

Debra Parker was born near the beach in Texas to a birthmom and a couple waiting to adopt her. From the moment of birth, God was teaching her a story of unconditional love. This is a journey that He would continue to pursue throughout her life. As a girl, she could be found wearing black patent leather shoes with frills from head to toe. Today, you will find her wearing faded jeans and a cotton tee as she does life with her four wild but fun kids. She is happy to brave this life alongside her super sanguine husband whom she calls E. You can read her original post here.

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Mommy, Please Don’t Die

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

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The Waiting Room

I can vividly remember the last week of my mother’s life. She was diagnosed with cancer and one week later, she was gone. As quickly as it was, I will never forget that last week of her life. And one thing specifically I remember was the waiting room and the waiting by her side…watching…wrestling…and finding God.

The normal question after we get back from each family trip is, “When will Kelly be home?” I love and hate that question. I love that question b/c people are not afraid to ask us…they don’t stop asking us even though it has been a year and a half now. I love that people continue to stick along side of us and don’t forget that one of our son’s is in Haiti and not with us. I love that. But I hate not having a real answer to give. How do you really explain all this wait besides blame it on Haiti or government or paperwork or this and that? So I fumble through my words in hopes to explain the realities but inside there is a wrestling that is often unexplainable.

This waiting room, as I think of it, is a place between joy and pain. The joy of the moments we get to visit Kelly and see him grow, the pain that we are not with him daily to help him thrive. The joy that we see him and hold him, the pain that it is only for a few weeks a year. The joy of running to grab him when we arrive in Haiti, the pain of saying “we will return, son” as we get in our cab and head away from him. The joy of meeting his Haitian mother and hearing of Kelly’s life as an infant, the pain as she and I both cry tears of all the brokenness of this story. The joy of our children talking of their brother and loving him far off, the pain as I place Kelly’s clothes in his drawer without him to wear them. The joy of saying hello as we see him over Skype, the pain as he stares at us and we wonder what he must be thinking. The joy of tucking him in bed at night when we are with him, the pain of him crying in our arms as he struggles to trust our love will never go away.

In our waiting room we ask many questions. Many questions of the process to our agency, the orphanage director, the lawyer, other adoptive parents. But most of our questions come screaming from our heart. I can remember the last 24 hours of my mother’s life. I was pregnant with my daughter Sally and had to leave my mom’s side to go lay down in the waiting room. I lay in my husband’s arms silent. And then the tears came flooding. And my heart screamed out, “WHY??!!!!” “Tell me why she must suffer!!!” My heart knew my God and believed Him, but there is something about suffering and pain that will cause you to ask and want to know more of God. “Who are you really?!” “I know you are doing something, but I can’t see?? What about my mother??!!” “Are you there??” “Do you care?” “Do you exist!?”

In a waiting room when suffering or pain is involved, you panic to know “Is there more than what I see?” I begged my husband to explain to me, what the Bible means when it talks about the gain in suffering. He was wise and let me wrestle in silence after my question and then he answered with grace and truth. If anyone knows about suffering, it is my Lord, Jesus. “Jesus understands better than we do that many times the most effective way for the glory of God to be advanced is through the suffering of His people.” – As author Kelley who wrote, “Wednesdays were pretty normal,” reminded me and my husband in that waiting room with my mom. On May 18, 2008 I got up out of the waiting room and went to my mother and helped her fight with faith until her last breath. I reminded her who her God was. I told her not to be afraid. I assured her that He was who He says He is and will do what He says He will do. And 10 hours later, she met that truth face to face and all of her tears were wiped away. All of her sickness was gone. And I had tasted faith and a greater understanding of my Lord.

So, I find myself again, in a waiting room as we wait for Kelly to come home. It is a place between countries, a place between joy and pain, a place between questions and faith. I have to go to the end of all my fears and questions, because it is there that I find who God really is. He has been faithful to give us grace and faith in Him and what He will do.

Our waiting room is a place were we are becoming. We are being changed. Though I can’t see all things, we are all changing.

Though we are in a waiting room, we still must live. We must go on with school, neighbors, friends and family in this journey of life. But this waiting room makes us see all these things we are living in differently. And I am thankful for that. One day Kelly will come home, and we will enter a new journey. But in the meantime, we are finding who God is. We are experiencing love and generosity from so many people who help us fight in this waiting. In the meantime, we are finding new life.

Today is Kelly Josiah’s 5th birthday. When we met him when he was 3 1/2 years old, I never imagined we would be apart on his 5th birthday. But it is what God had for us. Not because He is not or He can’t. But because He made us and knows what is best. Because He sees all things. He has all power. He is who He says He is. He will do all things right and bring our son home, when it is good for us and for kelly. For now, we will celebrate in the waiting room and live until God sees fit to end that time. And then, the waiting will be over. We will take a deep breath and breathe new life, not because it is over, but because we persevered and God’s grace helped us endure the Waiting Room and bring us to a place were we came face to face with God.

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PADS: One Mama’s Journey

I talked about exercising a while ago in a post (you can read here) where I made fun of myself for trying to be a runner.  I am happy to say that I am still attempting to conquer that treadmill as often as I can.

I discussed a few reasons for exercising but omitted one of the most important ones so I could talk about it now.   So here it is…

I run to help conquer depression.

I am wondering if you know me if you are shocked right now (or maybe not??).  Here is some dirt on me…

A little over one year ago (it was June 2011) I finally admitted to myself and a few others that I was depressed.  I have always been a bit of a melancholy personality by nature, but I instinctively knew that I was dealing with a monster of a different kind.  I was suffering from what I now know is referred to as PADS (Post Adoption Depression Syndrome).  Statistics show that PADS affects over half of mothers who adopt (adoptionissues.org).  It is similar to post-partum depression, even though there were no hormonal changes within my physical body.  The symptoms are similar.

Please understand that even through my suffering…

*I did not regret my decision to adopt*


But also understand this…

I was not prepared for the physical, emotional,and spiritual toll that it was going to have on me.

Adoption rocked my world.

Adoption threatened my parenting.

Adoption threatened my marriage.

Adoption threatened my finances.

Adoption threatened my self-esteem and the person who I thought I was…

and the list could go on.

I knew that I was on a downhill spiral and that I needed help.  I still felt close to God, but I also knew that there were some tangible things that needed to change and I couldn”t do it alone.  I didn”t want to tell anyone because I didn”t want them to think that I couldn”t handle my life.  But the truth is, I was at a point where I felt like I couldn”t handle my life.  I never got to a place where I didn”t want to keep trying, but I did get to a place where I felt like I had ruined any chances of ever feeling like my head would be above water again.

I was angry.

I cried.

I prayed.

I pleaded.

I decided to get help.

I cried out to God and begged him to remind me how I had gotten to this place.  I prayed that He would get me through what felt like the hardest trial I had ever found myself in the middle of.  Then I began taking steps to slowly walk out of my depression.

First, I talked with my husband  (as if he didn”t already know that I was close to my breaking point!).

Second, I made an appointment to talk with someone.

Third, I took both of their advice.

Fourth, I decided that I was going to do everything I could to beat this thing and not let it define me.

The options to manage PADS are different for everyone.  In my case, I decided to not pursue a prescription medication.  Instead I opted for a source of amino acid (in tablet form) that naturally increases the body”s level of seratonin (the chemical messenger that affects emotions).  I also agreed to write/journal more often, have daily quiet study/prayer time, eat healthily, and exercise regularly.

In the past 14 months, I have worked harder at taking time for myself without feeling too guilty.  I have kept my commitments to all of these things and I am feeling pretty good.  I am learning to let myself off the hook, and I am even working on learning to relax when my surroundings are chaotic.

In our adoption classes we discussed skimmed PADS, but there was no one to offer any personal experience.  I was completely blind-sided when it happened to me.  I felt like a failure as I began to listen to the enemy”s lies telling me that I should have never adopted in the first place.  I was even starting to believe that I must have been a very selfish person and now did I not only ruin my life, but I had ruined the lives of my entire family.  Looking back with a clear mind now I can see that these were lies, and that because we had rescued two children from the grip of helplessness and victimization the devil was going to work overtime to make me believe I had failed.  It worked, temporarily.

I write this to be an honest voice in the world of adoption.  My goal is not to disuade anyone from the miracle of adoption.  Sometimes media can make adoption look like a warm fuzzy thing and when you bring a hurting child into your home they will run into your arms and thank you for doing so.  If God is leading you into the world of adoption, then He will see you through.  Very often, God”s paths can be the hardest to walk.  Yet at the same time, God”s plan is the only plan for your life that will be accompanied by true peace and His blessing.

I am not cured from PADS, nor am I far enough beyond it that I don”t feel it creeping up on me every once in awhile.  The important thing is now I know the signs and I have the resources to reach out for when I find myself slipping down that familiar slope.  If you want to learn more about our adoption story, please go to this link where you can read about it.  To learn more about our family and our adopted children, click here.

________________________________________

Christina Lang

Christina is a proud wife to an amazing man named Brandon and mama to six beautiful children ages 9, 7, 4, 3, 2, & 1. After getting her degree and teaching junior high for a couple of years, she had four sons. When her youngest boy was 13 months old, they completed their family by adopting a brother and sister from foster care. She blogs as a way to document her family’s growth, as well as an outlet which she hopes will encourage others. She feels truly called to her lifestyle and knows that she is incredibly blessed to fulfill that calling. Their family life is entwined by selfless faith and together learning daily how to live missionally. They recently moved from California to their new forever home in Arizona. She absolutely loves her life as a stay-at-home/frequently found warehouse shopping/carpooling/football mom.

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