We could not believe that we had been so deceived.
After months of preparation for adoption, first through foster care, and then from a birth mother who had approached us at church, we were within days of our twins being born. Only there were no twins. There were no babies at all. The birth mother was not even pregnant. We had been robbed, deceived, heartbroken.
Grief. The dark hole of the soul that seems to have no limits to its depth. My plans, my dreams, my joys, were ripped out from under me and my heart tumbled in a free fall into the murky pit of grief.
I mourned the children that never were. Though they had names, they had never existed. How do you grieve someone who never existed?
I grieved motherhood. For years, I had prayed that God would make me a mother, and I had believed that I was at last realizing that dream, only to have that dream snatched away.
I mourned my plans. My plans were to spend the first half of the summer devoted to being home. Though I knew the crazy schedules and sleeplessness would be exhausting, those disruptions were desired and loved. Now, I would have to take on a tremendous load of work
It’s been a very difficult week. I had written a blog post several days ago which I decided not to post. Too raw. Too honest. Too much in the emotion of the moment. And, I was not in the mood to be misunderstood, criticized, or told I hadn’t read the right adoption books. It was the right decision. Several days later, I am feeling better, more hopeful, less exhausted. Always good to “feel better.” Then again, feelings can be rather unreliable.
For a couple of days this week, my house was filled with the screams and cries of a small, angry, 14-month-old Chinese boy. I don’t know if he was sick, tired, grieving, or all three. But, I know I could not make him happy, try as I might. I am not unfamiliar with this frustration, this inability to satisfy my offspring. There was a time in recent years when my older daughter and I struggled and fought daily. She cried and whined. I yelled and punished. We got nowhere. There were days I honestly did not like her, and I was sure the feeling was mutual. Now, more than a year later, our relationship is marked by sweet tenderness and great affection. All that to say, I did not become a parent so I could make my kids happy all the time, though it’s nice when it happens. And to quote my husband, “I did not adopt this boy so I could win any popularity contests.” Presently, our younger daughter is, to say the least, a challenge. She was majorly ticked off that we left her for 2 weeks and then came home with a new baby. She is getting into all sorts of mischief, one episode of which necessitated a call to poison control. I fear she is turning my hair grey. (Sigh.) There are moments I do not like her much. But, we have 2 years of history, not counting the 9 months she grew inside me. We are attached. We are bonded. I am crazy about her, mischief and tantrums and all.
So it’s hard not to feel horrible that a few days of inexplicable screaming from Jiushu sent me to the dark place it did. I want to delight in him. I want to feel love for him. I do not want to feel like I’m babysitting or watching a child in the church nursery.
Last night, our friends came over with their four (biological) children. I shared a bit with the mom about how things are going and later felt the need to apologize for maybe sounding too negative. She responded wisely and beautifully:
No need for sorrys. This is a huge life-changing thing you have done, and it is okay for it to be this way. This relatively short season of getting to know each other, adapt, and grow your love for each other is your womb time. With a biological kid, for moms it is very passive and generally automatic. Yet deep connections are formed. They make the stress of a newborn doable despite it being very hard to assimilate a little life to a whole new world. You just get to do womb time with Jiushu on the outside with two-way opinions and outsiders looking on. But, I have every confidence that a new life will be birthed out of this time. So nourish physically, provide a protective, comforting, and safe environment, and allow time for unseen connections to bind your hearts together. It’s gonna happen…
I read (and reread) a few blog posts this morning which strengthened my resolve to be transparent and honest. Here’s one post in which a mom shares openly about her panic just after being matched with the boy they would eventually adopt…a fantastic testimony. And the comments on her original post encouraged me as much as the actual post! Statements like these:
When you get home you may regret your decision to adopt…you might even feel like you made the biggest mistake! But that this is normal and to be expected.
Don’t try to analyze/evaluate how you are feeling at every given moment. Just go with it and know that bonding takes time – like months and years, not days or weeks.
I think that adoption is a terrifying thing. It is part of the emotion that makes us lean in to God. Begging Him for His strength and clarity. Thanks for being vulnerable in posting this. People need to talk about these feelings more…I think these feelings come to almost everyone at some point in their adoption journey.
Whoa.
So, if I don’t expect Jiushu to fully attach to us in a matter of days or weeks, might it also take a bit longer for us to attach to him in a way that feels warm and genuine?
I want to bring my fear and weakness to the feet of Jesus, letting Him refine me and clothe me in His strength. I am selfish. He gives generously. I get agitated. He is slow to anger. I am confused and clueless. He is perfect wisdom. I make mistakes. His grace covers me. My love is weak. His love is oh-so-strong. And because I am His, I have access to all that He is.
Which means this little family of mine–every one of us–is going to be just fine.
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Jerusha Staggs
Jerusha has been married to Vince for 9 years. A former high school math teacher, she now stays home with and home schools her four children–ages 6, 4, 2, and 1. Their youngest son was adopted from China (Jiangsu province) in May 2011. Jerusha and Vince are worship leaders and are passionate about experiencing the presence of God as an everyday reality–even in the midst of diaper blowouts and chaos management. Read more about how it’s going on Jerusha’s blog.
I know I have been absent. I have thought of writing this post 100 times, and yet I haven’t. Until today. Today is the day that I am claiming it.
Over the past year and half, I have felt like a snowball rolling down hill. Picking up crud along the way. I’ve been rolling FAST, too fast. I haven’t been able to enjoy the ride very much for worrying about getting THERE.
You see, since we have adopted Lilly, I have been playing catch up. Catch up on attachment, catch up on socialization, catch up on education, catch up in language development, catch up on speech, catch up on cleft surgeries, catch up on immunizations, catch up on bonding. CATCH UP, quick, we have to CATCH UP. Are you overwhelmed yet? Because I am.
I haven’t posted much about Lilly’s last surgery. The bone graft. Third surgery in a year. Just about everything that could have went wrong did. Even requiring a second surgery (which is the 4th surgery) in a year to fix a freak occurrence from the 3rd surgery. It’s A LOT.
Then, there is school. She does okay, but we aren’t caught up. We are working on that. Attachment. Its always been difficult. Just when I think I have it all figured out, some new things come rearing their ugly heads. And speech. She has made so much progress but still lacks in areas.
On top of all the catch up I have been dealing with, the death of my precious grandmother (who died unexpectedly on the day Lilly had the 3rd surgery), my oldest going to college, my middle going to high school, another adoption, etc. I could go on but I think you get the point. Not fun stuff.
Through all this, it finally occurred to me. LET IT GO. I don’t HAVE to play catch up anymore. EVERYTHING is not important right now. Right now, I need to love this girl where she is and stop trying to change her to fit the mold that I think she should fit. There is no way that I can catch up for 5 years of lost time over night. Why did I not realize that before? I only have to do what I HAVE to do. The rest will come in time.
Time opens every door.
I’m staking my claim. I will not worry anymore about getting this child ahead. I will love her where she is planted, and watch her bloom. I will love her the same if she NEVER gets caught up. I want to enjoy more and worry less. It feels good actually, like I just shed a very heavy coat. I will prioritiz,e and we will have small nibbles at life, in manageable pieces, not trying to eat the whole pie at one time.
I just have to love her where she is. That’s all. Its that simple.
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. . . And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:4-13
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Leslee Dockery
Leslee lives in North Carolina with her husband and three children, 19, 15, and 7. Her youngest daughter was adopted from China 2 years ago. They are currently getting ready to travel to adopt their fourth child, a 5-year-old boy from China. You are welcome to follow along on their blog. Leslee is passionate about older child adoption and glad to help anyone who has questions. “Walking in faith through our adoptions has been the hardest
Isn’t that the way it always works? Once you think you’re really making progress, there’s a flare-up that lets you know you’re not out of the woods yet.
Just yesterday, I bragged on how well Caden is adjusting. I’ve been seeing it time after time again. And, last night, he blew me away with his increasing vocabulary…not only by identifying Yoda as “Tar War” but by repeating the majority of the alphabet after Chloe.
Then, today it happened. For the first time in months, Caden took his fighting stance. Along with tantrums, eating nonstop and his separation anxiety issues…all of which are GREATLY improving…it’s the only negative result of his orphanage upbringing that we’ve seen. It’s hard to know exactly what will set him off, but it almost always happens if you take a toy away from him. Therefore, I’ve trained the kids not to do that. But, this afternoon, I promised them the treat of an “On Demand” movie if they cleaned up the tornado aftermath mess upstairs. They’ve had a very “creative” morning, and I wanted it taken care of prior to dinner.
I had assigned Eva the task of collecting the Barbies (and their accessories) and putting them back in their plastic tote. So, in the clean-up process, she tried to take the plastic Barbie horse away from Caden…and then it happened. I was in their room helping Chloe pick up, and I saw it. But, I wasn’t fast enough. Caden rocked back on his legs, raised his hand, and swung the horse right across Eva’s face. He reminded me of a spider about to attack its predator…as he always does when he takes his fighting stance. I grabbed his arm immediately after he made contact and said in a firm loud voice, “No. You cannot hit your sister!” I continued holding onto his arm while I took away the horse and put it where it belonged. As soon as I let go, Caden ran off crying. I took a quick look at Eva’s face and gave her a kiss on her “boo boo,” then I took off after him.
I found Caden in my closet, sobbing a heartbreaking sob that always takes me back to Gotcha Day. I grabbed him up and snuggled him close. Through his sobs, I gave him gentle kisses that created another scenario very reminiscent of Gotcha Day. Finally, I got him calmed down, and I switched him from “snuggling position” to “cradling position”. Then, I looked down into those brown eyes I fell in love with in a referral picture over a year ago and said, “Mommy loves you.” He shook his head no. So I told him over and over and over again…kissing and snuggling more as I progressed.
I know this is perfectly normal for adoptive families. And I’ve had that point reiterated through the 12 hours of online Hague training I finished this morning…in addition to the 10 hours that I took for Caden’s adoption. I know. It’s been drilled into my brain.
My baby boy fell asleep in my arms sitting on the floor of my dark walk-in closet. And, the tears began to flow. I was crying because he doubted my love…even for a second. I cried because a 2-year-old should not even know how to defend themselves like a wild animal under attack. I cried because I can’t make the damage done during his 21 months in the orphanage go away. I cried because there was a time when he wouldn’t fall asleep in my arms. And, I cried because soon I’ll have another wounded soul calling me Mama.
We stayed true to our original plan…GOD’s original plan, rather…and are pursuing a little girl with a congenital heart defect. Her heart will be broken in ways that the cardiologists won’t be able to fix…or even stabilize with medication. Her heart will be broken in ways that Mama can’t make go away no matter how hard she tries. And that scares me as much as the complications that can arise from complex CHD.
When you adopt a child, their pain becomes your pain. It’s no different than your biological children…but the relationship is. The bonds are harder to form…and easier to damage. It’s a battle establishing a good, solid relationship with them. And it’s a battle helping them overcome the baggage from their past. You can’t be a bystander…you have to be proactive. It takes hard work to get through the issues adoptive families face. It’s not easy meeting the needs of a child who has been hurt emotionally.
As an adoptive parent, you have to develop your own fighting stance.
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Tara Anderson
Tara Anderson began a journey of grace over 20 years ago when she walked the aisle of a little country church and gave her heart to Jesus. She is a stay-at-home mother of four, the youngest of whom was adopted through the China Waiting Child Program in November 2010. Not too long ago, Tara knew exactly who she was and exactly what she wanted out of life…but now she’s just trying to figure out who God intends her to be, and what He wants from her. You can get better acquainted with Tara on her personal blog, Following Our Leader.
Today, Rose is working on a scrapbook, carefully placing her pictures from China. Her tears are turning to smiles.
We’ve been seeing more grief from Rose the past few days. It’s hard. And the hardest part is knowing there is no way I can fix it–and as a parent I want nothing more than to protect my child from her pain and sadness.
And yet, perhaps, one of the bigger mistakes we make as adoptive parents is trying to “fix” our adopted child’s grief–to deny it, to cover it up, to take our child’s mind off it, to minimize it, to distance them from it.
Instead, we need to allow our child to experience it, and to find a way to live with it. That is easier said than done.
Last year, an adoptive parent sent me an e-mail asking when her son would quit feeling grief. She felt sad and personally responsible. She said that she was giving him a life full of love, laughter, happiness, good food, an amazing education, and even Disney vacations. And yet, there were times he still cried for the orphanage he had left behind. She couldn’t understand how he would miss an orphanage that was dirty, overcrowded, lacking food and toys.
To answer her question, I think we need to imagine ourselves in a similar situation. Pretend we suddenly became movie stars and were whisked off to a beautiful castle in another world, complete with a personal trainer and chef! We had maids, butlers, a race car, entertainment, horses, doting fans, and even big screen TVs in the bathroom (with continual reruns of Oprah and Grey’s Anatomy)! We were even given a new, perfect family.
How would we feel? Would we become homesick? Would we miss our loved ones?
Some parents might argue that their child didn’t leave loved ones behind, didn’t have a family, didn’t have anyone who loved them–and in addition, their child experienced abuse and neglect. I would gently suggest that even in families (and orphanages) where children have experienced abuse, they still have love for their parents (or caretakers). Children who are taken into protective custody in the US still cry for their abusive parents at night, because along with the bad memories there are good ones.
And even in a “bad” orphanage, there was almost certainly someone that our child felt connected to. It may have not even been an adult, it may have been another child.
Our kids miss their previous caregivers, friends, familiar surroundings, language, foods, and culture. And they always will.
It isn’t our job to help them forget, but to allow them to remember and to support them through those memories. To help them heal from the bad ones and hold on to the good. To validate their feelings, yet keep them moving forward into their new lives, filled with an abundance of life and love.
Not to replace what they left behind but to build on it.
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Ann Henderson
Ann Henderson currently finds herself wife to one and mom of nine, including a son now playing non-stop baseball in heaven. Several of her children are adopted
But it is an interesting flower nonetheless.
Stick with me here….I’m going somewhere with this…
I promise.
This is not a horticulture lesson by any stretch.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
We have lived in this house for nearly two years.
I haven’t ever planted
nor watered
a thing.
And what amazes me is that each spring this one flower,
among the death and ruin of the remaining flowers of yesteryear
continues to bloom.
It blooms despite it’s circumstances.
Never watered.
Never fertilized.
Never paid any attention to sans a stray nerf bullet that sometimes sails it direction.
Nuthin.
That flower,
I love.
That flower that I walk by everyday when I enter our home
r
e
m
i
n
d
s
me
so much of
them.
Nobody loved.
Nobody cared.
Some were just downright mean and awful.
Yet.
They.
Bloom.
Today I was playing with Jacob and tickling him and that contagious laugh of his was bursting out of him.
I did what I have done a hundred times before with our other kids.
I started gently tapping his mouth as he was laughing which
as all mothers know
makes their voice sound really funny and typically makes them laugh even more.
But today
in that moment
his past
once again
caught up with him.
And he
shut.
down.
That scared traumatized look came right back into his eyes.
The hollowness.
The emptiness.
I had apparently found yet another trigger.
That look that, in the beginning days and weeks of being home, would last for hours
came back.
But this time
it left rather quickly.
“Please don’t do that mama. XXXX in China hit mouth hard. He really mean.”
Oh sweet boy.
I hugged him, he smiled, and we went right back to playing legos.
And he heals a little bit more.
And he blooms a little bit more.
And I get really angry inside and want to get on a plane and have a little what’s what with that man.
And I pray.
And not only is he blooming,
but he is choosing.
Choosing to love.
Captive no more.
Orphan no more.
But free.
The Spirit of the LORD is upon me, for he has anointed me to bring Good News to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim that captives will be released, that the blind will see, that the oppressed will be set free.
Luke 4:18
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Sonia M.
Sonia and her husband John are an Air Force family with 6 boys ages 14, 13, 8, 8, 7, & 7. Soon, that will be 7 boys–they just received preapproval to bring home another little man who they are naming Joshua John–JJ. She stays at home part time and spends the other part of her time shopping at Stuff-Mart buying large quantities of food to feed said boys. Sonia’s hobbies include cooking, cooking, cooking more, cleaning, cooking, and cleaning bathrooms. They are navigating their way through life attempting to glorify God in all that they do — follow the journey here.
On Friday, we took a little trip to the mall (the most glorious mall in NC, by the way). There was a really cool toy shop there that my kids were dying to destroy check out. As soon as we walked in the door, I spotted the most adorable little Asian girl standing at one of the play areas. She was playing with who I assumed was her father and older brother. All of a sudden, the father quickly escorted the boy out of the store, leaving the little girl behind playing. I kind of stood there frozen, wondering why he left her. It took her about 2 seconds to realize they had left. She started hysterically crying – bless her heart. You could tell she was terrified. As soon as I snapped out of it, I started toward her. About the same time, I see her mom come flying over from the other side of the store. She scooped her up and was loving on her. She looked at me, and just gave me this, “It’s okay, I am her mom” kind of look. I couldn’t stop staring. I know she probably thought I was some crazy stalker or something, but I my heart was breaking for that baby. I wanted to snatch her out of her mommy’s arms and comfort her myself! LOL. Anyway, it took her a minute to calm down and even minutes later, she still had these big tears just hanging on her bottom eye lashes. Heart. Breaking.
I know this is silly, but I thought about that little girl all weekend. It just made me think. Obviously, I have no idea why the father left so abruptly, but he came back. Her mom was just a few feet from her. She was okay the whole time, but she didn’t know that. In her little heart, everything she knew ran out of that store in an instant. Her little heart was breaking. It just made me think about Willa. Not only will she experience this – she will have to experience it twice.
Her mom or dad left her somewhere. She could have been that 2 year old. The 2 year old whose world, in an instant, came to an end. Abandoned. Her mom didn’t rush to her to comfort her and tell her that it’s going to be okay. She was just left. Then she was taken to an orphanage. She once again had to learn to trust and find comfort in her surroundings. Then one day, in the not so distant future, she will be left again. She will be put in the arms of strangers and her world as she knows it will come to an end.
Now, in her little mind, she doesn’t know that it will be the very last time. She doesn’t know that she will finally be coming home, never to be abandoned again. All she will know is everything and everyone familiar will be gone.
It is a wonder that these children ever overcome their abandonments. How resilient there little hearts must be. Even though I know that we will be giving Willa a good life, it still breaks my heart at what she will be leaving behind. Her family. Her country. Her culture. She will experience such a loss in such a little amount of time. No one should ever have to endure what these children endure.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it…then something else happened…it was like the Lord was showing me a story in stages this weekend. I was sitting at the kids’ flag football game on Saturday. I was just people watching when I saw my friends’ little girl (4 years old, adopted from China) running in my direction with a huge smile on her face. Then, I saw her daddy going toward her. He scooped her up in his arms, and she beamed. She laid her head on his shoulders and just smiled, absorbing his love and comfort.
So, yeah, these kids do lose everything they know; their worlds are turned upside down. But, we serve a redeeming God! He gives us beauty from ashes!
Isaiah 61:3
…to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the LORD
for the display of his splendor.
He redeems them! He gives them hope for a future! You know, honestly, how many times does he do the same for us? Praise Jesus for his mercies!
________________________________________
Michele Cordray
My name is Michele. I am mommy to three kids – Jackson, 8; Julianna, 6; and Jameson, 4. I spend my days homeschooling my children, worshiping my Savior, and fretting over our never-ending adoption journey. I have been married to my best friend for almost 11 years. Our family lives in the mountains of North Carolina, but we are native to the coast! One day, we hope to be back there. We are hopeful that 2011 is the year we finally get to bring our daughter home from China. You can follow or journey to Willa on our blog.
I am rocking Amelia in the dark, trying to listen to the crickets outside rather than my own sharp and raspy lullaby. Amelia touches my lips and “sings” along, and I can tell that she thinks my off-key song is beautiful. I think she’s beautiful. We trace each other’s faces and fingers as we hum.
My mind wanders back several days, to when I showed Amelia a picture of Mama Sarah. Sarah was Amelia’s favorite caretaker in the orphanage. I cannot overstate how much they loved each other. For weeks after Amelia came home to us, we would get Amelia to smile for photos by yelling “Sarah” in a Ugandan accent.
I always want Amelia to know Sarah’s face, the first face that she knew as love…
And so last week, I showed Amelia a picture of herself with Mama Sarah.
Amelia laughed, grabbing for the laptop and yelling her baby-talk version of “Sarah.” She stared for a long time. Then Amelia turned to me, cried, and slapped me in the face.
My baby slapped me in the face. She hasn’t done that since Africa.
I know, baby. You miss Sarah, and you’re mad that I’m not her.
I think about this as I sing to sleepy Amelia in the dark…about my baby slapping my face, and how she both loves me and resists me…how she has bonded to us more quickly than we ever imagined, and how there is still so much bonding to be done.
Before long, Amelia is deep asleep in my arms, body limp and breath deep. I linger in her room for a long time, relishing this rare moment when I as an adoptive mother am recognized by my baby as her safety; her comfort; her rest. This isn’t the daily norm for Amelia. It is different for her than it was for our biological daughter Caroline. Even at the age of three, Caroline’s instinct is still to yell “mama” when she is hurt or scared. But Amelia is having to learn what comes naturally to other children: She is having to learn what it means to have a mom.
I just want to be a place of rest for Amelia.
Rest.
The thought hits me like a wave, and I laugh out loud. The word “rest” has been jumping out of Scripture during my quiet times lately. I have stared at the word curiously. I have turned it over and over in my mind, and I have prayed for God to show me what it means to “enter His rest.”
And once again, this tiny brown toddler sleeping in my arms has unknowingly opened my mind to some of the mysteries of God. She has cracked the window of heaven just a bit more for me. I feel the warmth of eternal beams shining around our rocking chair and I know:
REST means knowing who our Father is.
Just as I want Amelia to rest with me as her mother, God wants us to rest with Him as our Father. Rest means trusting that He loves us. Enjoying that He is in control. Ceasing to resist Him.
Rest means learning that His arms are a safe place… And sometimes, as Amelia is teaching me, a place to curl up and sing to Him as He sings over us.
________________________________________
Rachel Goode
Rachel has been married to her husband Brad for 5 years. They have a 3 year old named Caroline and a 1 year old named Amelia, whom they recently brought home from Uganda. God has used Amelia and adoption to show His love and glory to the Goode family. You can follow their story on their blog.
