It took me by surprise the first time it happened.
I got the call that the birth mother had relinquished her parental rights.
I cried.
Then, I got the paperwork and cried some more.
Our child was a “ward of the state.”
Orphan.
With no one.
As hard as foster parenting is, somehow knowing that birth parents were still in the picture was better than no man’s land.
That day, I was overwhelmed with sadness for what this mother had done.
What she had given up.
For her child. For my child. For our child. Hers and Mine.
Everyone told me I would be “happy” because the child was now free for adoption.
On the outside, I was, of course.
Moving forward is good. Being a foster child is not good.
But there is no gain without some loss.
I remember introducing her (still quite young) and people telling her how lucky she was to be adopted into our family.
You wouldn’t have seen it, but I did.
The shadow of confusion that went across her face, a split second.
Yes, of course, she was happy. But, she was filled with sorrow, too.
Because gaining a new life means loosing the old one, even if it isn’t so good.
That’s how I am feeling about Joshua today.
I am sad that he has to give up EVERYTHING to be part of our family.
The onus is on him to change.
He has to learn our language. (We have Chinese word charts on the wall.)
He has to eat our food. (We like Chinese food but it’s not the same.)
He has to adapt. (We only have to make another place at the table.)
He will have a family. (Not an institution.)
He will have the best medical care available. (Not limited by status.)
He will know the Savior. (And have eternal life if he chooses to embrace the Hope.)
There is no gain without some loss.
Thank you, Jesus, for giving your life so that we might have ours.
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Jennifer Peterson
Jennifer Peterson is wife to one faithful man and mom of 9. After the first three came along, they became foster parents and adopted 5 kids including 2 sets of siblings. Jennifer and her husband Bob are currently in China to adopt an 8-year-old boy with a heart condition who has been waiting a long time for his forever family. Join the journey here as they ponder how and where God will stretch them next.
A few months after bringing Matthew home from Korea, I began my search. After a while, I thought that things were supposed to be perfect between us, and they weren
I woke up last night–okay, let me rephrase–Trevor woke me up last night at 2:00 with a bad dream. I quickly got him back to bed, tucked in tight, listening to Christmas music (his choice–good boy!), and went back to bed.
I was still awake at 3:30 when Jay Henry came in after having a nightmare.
I simply could not turn my brain off.
I truly feel like I’m failing Emebet. In every way possible. We make it through each day. But we are not moving forward. Every word, behavior, action, gesture and complaint from her cause me to react poorly. Even if it’s nothing extreme or purposeful, my immediate response and feeling is dislike. I do not like her. I do not like her being here. And I make her know it. This is not always the case, but often.
This has created a huge conflict in me. Why in the world do I act this way? How can my love for my biological kids be real and genuine, if I can treat another child so differently and with contempt? Why, when I am constantly praying and asking God to change our circumstances, do I go right back to these wordly, selfish actions? I know that my actions towards her cause her behaviors. I have no doubt about it. But it seems impossible to change my feelings. And we all know that it is so hard to act one way when you feel the exact opposite. I have always worn my emotions on my sleeve, and Kent can clearly verify that I cannot hide anything.
But last night, as I lay awake, praying for God to change this in me, my thought process changed a little. I turned the tables, and played my own devil’s advocate for our situation. If I were the one in a new home with new people and a family that was already established, and I was treated the way that I treat her, how could I possibly feel loved, cherished, important, or equal?
I absolutely wouldn’t. I would feel sorrow. Pain. Loss. And I, like her, would respond with defiance and anger. She is acting exactly like I am.
We are both experiencing pain. We have both experienced loss. We are both living in the midst of sorrow. And neither one of us is handling it well.
Immediately upon returning home, we were convinced that she needed rules and structure, which we quickly put in place. In doing so, I think we skipped over the part where we needed to love, love, love. Unconditionally and without reserve. No rules. No expectations of her. We seem to still be in that place. Expecting so much (partly because she is so capable). Giving so little.
My thoughts then went beyond that.
Most of you know what a scary beginning we had with Masyn. Almost losing your child creates gratitude that is huge. Deep down, she holds a special place that no one else can, because I know how close we came to not having her. She is my precious, precious girl who causes tears often because I am overwhelmed with love for her. Completely overwhelmed. It is really hard, then, to add in a child who creates the exact opposite feelings.
So after putting myself in Eme’s place last night, I put Masyn in Eme’s place and tried to imagine her losing us, her family. I then imagined the pain, terror, and uncertainty that she would face being relocated to another country where she didn’t speak the language, and never seeing her sweet brothers again.
And then I tried to invision her being placed in a home where she had a new mom who disliked her, and couldn’t see her for the amazing little girl that she is. And where she was yelled at all the time just because she was different than their existing daughter. And where she was not loved on in the midst of her grief and adjustment, but was told to stop crying because it was annoying.
This completely broke my heart. I would be devastated to know that my daughter were in such a place. I would be heartbroken that this little girl, who was so amazingly special to us, was being treated indifferently in what was supposed to be her new “family.”
I spent much of the rest of my “awake” time asking God to forgive me–yet-again–and to help me, every moment, shower Eme with love. I want to create an environment of security for her. I want her to know that she is loved, just like the others. That she is special. That we want her here. I want my behaviors towards her to be so different than what they have been. Mostly, I want my heart to want her here. I don’t want it to be fake. I want it to be genuine.
Today has been good. Her behaviors are still present, but my reaction to them is different. I am calm and loving in my responses. I am hugging and kissing on her any time I get the chance. I am trying to look at her through different eyes.
I know our struggles aren’t magically over by any means. But getting back to that place of surrender is key. God can’t change me when I’m being stubborn and closed-minded, and I have been living in that place. Bitterness has crept in and taken up residence. Last night, lying in my bed while the rest of the house slept, I wrestled with God, and He returned me to the place where He needs and wants me to be. Completely dependent. Completely reliant.
Hopeful.
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Lindy Gregg
Kent and Lindy have been married for 10 years and have three biological children (two sons ages 8 and 6 and a daughter who is four) and our newest addition, Eme, who is 2
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.
