Realities Archives - Page 8 of 25

May 7, 2014May 10, 2014

The Other Side

I’ve had this post swirling around in my head for almost two months now, but simply haven’t been able to find the time or energy to figure out exactly how to write it. You see, as an adoptive mom, it’s very important to me to protect my children’s stories in the best way I can. I try to be very intentional about what I do or don’t share with the world. Along the way, I’ve made many mistakes with this, sharing too much I think, so I’ve gone back and forth about whether or not I should write this post at all. BUT, when it comes down to it, I’ve always seen this blog as a way to connect with others going through a similar journey. I’ve been fortunate to “meet” people who say our story has been a big part of what led them to adopt. I’ve also been on the other end of that where I’ve “stumbled” upon someone’s blog and God spoke directly to my heart through their words. That being said, if what I have to say can help ease some other adoptive mama’s mind and heart or make them feel less alone then it will be worth it.

There was such an intense longing with Gideon’s adoption. We had been through years of infertility, lost our precious baby, and had to fight so very hard to become his mama and baba. The moment they walked him into the room, my whole world became instantly brighter. I fell head over heels in love with him long before that moment, but it was instantly intensified to a place I didn’t even know existed. And that love has just continued to grow from each day going forward. He IS my heart.

This time has been, well….different. We entered into this adoption process in quite a different way. We felt God nudging our hearts when we’d only been home with Gideon for about 6 months. I thought, “NO WAY!” It is too soon! But when it came down to it, we knew that in our life, when God says GO, we would say YES! I wrestled with that choice constantly thinking that maybe Gideon didn’t have enough time with just us. Maybe I didn’t have enough time with just him, but we knew it was what we were supposed to do.

When we were presented with Bishop’s file, VERY QUICKLY, I felt panic, but Ryan fell instantly in love. We had 72 hours to make our decision and we took it down to the last hour. Fear was paralyzing me, but I didn’t want fear to be my deciding factor. Through lots of intense prayer and talking it through with one another, we knew God was saying he was ours. Even after making that decision though it took me several months to feel a connection to him. I realize some people may read to this point and start thinking how awful of a person I must be. If you’re already thinking that, I warn you to just stop reading now because it gets worse.

I’d read stories about adoptive parents not feeling connected to their child for quite some time even after having them in their arms and to be really honest I judged them harshly. Not out loud, but in my mind I thought how terrible. How could you possibly feel that way!?

Well, let me tell you something. I was about to learn my lesson. After a VERY long wait to get all of the necessary paperwork to bring Bishop home, there was a mama bear fight that grew in me. I cried many times at the injustice of stupid paperwork being what kept me from holding my boy in my arms and getting him out of his current circumstances. I really feel that God used that time to grow my connection to him. Looking back, I am so grateful for that time. So when the big day came I was anxious to finally see his face and hold him in my arms. I couldn’t wait to get there. I was nervous about what changes it would bring for all involved. I was scared of how Gideon would react. But I was excited to see his face. I was excited he would finally be ours forever.

We walked into that room and saw him and when they placed him in my arms I felt….

nothing.

Hold on, this couldn’t be right. This was a child I had fought for for almost a year. He was my son. He was Gideon’s little brother. We had prayed for him and waited for this very moment for what felt like forever. How could I feel this way!?

As he cried and thrashed to try to get away from me, the stranger he was looking at with his fearful eyes, all I could think was no no no no no! This isn’t right. What have we done? I didn’t feel compassion or the feeling that I wanted to calm and comfort him. I wanted to hand him back to his nanny whom he obviously loved and run far far away. In the long 45 minutes it took to get him to calm down, I was frozen. I literally didn’t know what to do. So I just did what I did with Gideon, hoping it would snap me back into reality so I could be what he needed in that moment. I sang Jesus Loves Me to him and held him close, but it didn’t work. So, I walked him to a different room and sat down with him in my arms. I kept looking at his face, those eyes that were searching for something in mine to tell him he was going to be okay, but it wasn’t there. My sweet Gideon came over and brought him his bear and rubbed his head saying the words he should’ve heard from his Mama, “It’s okay Bishop. It’s okay.” I just held Gideon close and cried with Bishop. The tears were for the sweetness in my compassionate child who knew what to do when his Mama didn’t, but they were also for all the times I harshly judged others for feeling exactly as I did in that very moment.

I went through the motions from that minute forward…holding him, rocking him, feeding him, bathing him, changing him, until it was bedtime that night. It was then, with my parents and husband, that I was finally able to let it all out. I just sobbed and said what a horrible person I felt like for feeling this way. I prayed that it was just the shock of everything changing so quickly. I got on my adoption boards that I belong to and bravely put it all out there, hoping I wasn’t the only one. Some of the ladies instantly added me to a Safe Haven group where I learned that about 90% of adoptive parents feel exactly like I did. A dear friend said something I will always remember…”Adoption is beautiful and it is redemption, but it is not natural so why would you expect it to feel natural. Give yourself grace.”

Even after knowing I wasn’t the only one to ever not love their child right away, I still felt like something was wrong with me. I mean, I didn’t feel at all like this with Gideon. Well, through my social workers and other adoptive families, I learned that my experience with Gideon is actually the exception. I am so grateful for what we instantly shared. I guess I naively assumed it would be the same with Bishop.

I asked a dear friend of mine if I should write about this because, like I said, I never want to share something that could potentially be detrimental for my children to read. So, I figured I would wait. Surely in a few days, I will get to the other side of this and feel differently. I just knew that would be the case. Well, the days turned into weeks and weeks and weeks. I was still “faking it til I made it”. I knew enough to know that Love is an intentional choice. Once you go through the motions long enough, surely the feelings will follow. Well, what I’ve learned is sometimes that takes a very long time. But that’s okay. I was, immaturely, indulging in my dislike, instead of CHOOSING love regardless of his behavior. I see how this could definitely put a distaste for me in your mouth, but I’m trying to keep it real in the interest of hoping to help other mamas. Do yourself a favor and try your best to pull out of that funk as soon as you possibly can. Your kids deserve it, but so do you. And if you can’t do it yourself, seek help. Contact me if you have no one else to help you.

We have been VERY fortunate to have a few friends who have very intentionally been walking on this journey with us, literally day by day. They know there are many things they CAN’T help us with, but there are things they can do like coming over to spend a morning just carrying the burden with me, grabbing some groceries for us when they are shopping for themselves, bringing us dinner on a rough day, among other things. Having this help has been instrumental in helping me number one…remain sane and number two…pulling myself out of the yuck! So if you are not being offered this help, please ask someone for it!

Let me be clear, even through all of the trauma Bishop is experiencing (that which I will not discuss on the blog in detail) there really is nothing unlovable about him. He is funny and sweet and kind(when he wants to be). He is as deserving of my love as Gideon was from the beginning.

We have been a family for almost two months. Things are slowly changing. I have more patience for his challenging behavior. I find myself smiling at something he has done or just his pure cuteness. I talk more lovingly about him and the sweet and funny things he does. I want to be the last face he sees on his surgery day and the first face he sees when he wakes up. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I spend lots of time kissing him on his cute little cleft lips and hugging him and walking around with him strapped to me in the Ergo. We dance together and laugh together and act silly together.

We LOVE together.

And the best part is…

I’m not faking it anymore.

_______________________

Melissa has been married to her amazing husband, Ryan, for almost five years. In a story that only our faithful and incredible God could write, they were led to bringing home their two sons, Gideon (home since December 2012) and Bishop (home since February 2014), via China’s Special Needs Program. Melissa spends her days at home loving up her two boys. It is the most challenging thing she has ever done, but, without a doubt, the most rewarding. Melissa has a deep desire to share the TRUTH about adoption, good, bad and ugly with other adoptive mamas. She uses her blog, You Were Born In Our Hearts, to do just that. Go check it out!

April 25, 2014

Redefined

Redefined….. I ran across this word the other day. It made me think a lot about adoption.

Adoption has redefined many things in my life :
Redefined family
Redefined sacrifice
Redefined needs
Redefined importance
Redefined God
Redefined me

I am going to try to put into words how adoption has redefined my life in a series of posts.
I am not trying to be profound or prophetic…just real. “My redefinition” has been truly mind blowing in many ways. I pray as you read you will experience the gravity of what God has done through adoption.

REDEFINED —- FAMILY

2.4
That’s the average amount of children in a family. Humph.
I was almost there with my two girls for 12 years. Twelve years of what society told me was “the norm”. I loved being an at-home mom and, then, graduating to a teacher at the school where my girls attended. It was my dream job and made it possible to allow my girls to attend a Christian school. Who wouldn’t want to be a PE teacher where you could “act like a kid” everyday and get paid for it?
(Ok….no comments from the peanut gallery)

Then came, THE sermon. A sermon that revolved around the idea that you can do more and you NEED to do more. Adoption was the “more” that our friend, Greg, spoke about. He was not promoting adoption; but, merely giving the example of how God called his family to do more.
They adopted two beautiful children from Guatemala. Precious children who were very much in need of love and safety. The family was obedient to God’s calling. “Two less” as we say in the adoption world.

This was the spark our girls needed to beg us to adopt. God used them to open our minds to “more than 2.4”. We were quickly sucked in to the calling and the appeal of a baby girl was what consumed my dreams at night. Our friends and family thought we were crazy. We even heard the words, “You are ruining your life”. Goodness, the comments were harsh but The Lord led us away from the comments and into His pure and holy will.

Fast forward eleven months.

Stepping off the plane in Beijing was surreal. We were in China after months of paperwork and prayers. The sites and sounds were so different. We were walking through the portal to a very different culture. Streets were crowded with pedestrians busy on their way to work, the market, the park, to who knows where. Busy busy busy. Walk walk walk. On their way with an air of urgency.

We saw sights that were forever ingrained in our hearts. Children begging. Disabled men bearing their scars with a tin cup nearby. Poverty beyond our comprehension. A culture completely upside down from that of what we knew and lived. Children discarded because of their gender or special need.
It was a realization that I would be back…..one less would never be enough.

Our family continued to grow in the years that followed. Adoptions in 2006, 2007, 2009, 2010, and 2012 Our children all from China and needing to be loved and to feel secure.

8 less? Yes. Our family has been redefined and all our children’s lives changed for better in every way. Every day is all consuming with the constant nag of a child “needing me”. It is exhausting and tiring beyond words. It is God’s calling in our lives fulfilled. Our family is not even close to the “normal” family….the ideal family of our society. Our family has redefined normal in a radical way, It is our “new normal” and I would not change it in any way.

Being smack in the middle of God’s will may not be easy but it is right where I want to be!

Family redefined. It is a beautiful thing.

_________________________________

Kelly is a fun-loving Christian girl who loves the Lord. Called to be an adoptive parent, she has ten children, 8 of which are adopted from China. Kelly is also a breast cancer survivor and feels called to give God glory through her testimonies speaking at events nationwide. Her website is www.kellyrumbaugh.com and her blog is www.mommymomentsandgodwinks.blogspot.com.

April 18, 2014April 18, 2014

How to Support the Family who is Adopting & What Adoptive Families Wish You Knew

I get emails and messages all of the time from families who are in the beginning stages of adopting – either they have just started the process and are working through the grueling bazillion of hours of paperwork, or they are in the excruciating wait for their referral, or they are home and dazed with their new child. There is a reoccurring theme that flows through these messages:

We’ve lost our friends, or (and sometimes AND) we’ve lost our relationship with our family; we don’t know how to ask for what we need from the people in our lives, and we now feel so very, very alone.

My heart breaks every. time. I read this stuff, and I immediately go back to our own journey and our own losses. I feel solidarity with their words – a solidarity that none of asked for. Most people who enter the adoption journey do it understanding there is a cost – they count the cost ahead of time – but none of us walk into it expecting to lose the relationships most dear to us simply because of the process. But I have witnessed it far too often. I have read your words, I have witnessed the tears, and I have heard the cries of countless other families who have experienced the agony of a lost village.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. There is another way – a beautiful way, and that is what I am proposing today. For some of us, it is too late, and know that my heart feels that pain, but for others, it is not. Perhaps this post can save a few relationships, and can bring the needs of adopting parents to light. Because in the trenches of the dark, tough, tunnel vision of the process, it is so hard to say what we need, or to even know what we need; so let me be your voice today. Don’t be afraid to share this with your friends and family, from my experience there are so many times when they just don’t know what you need, and a little nudge in the right direction could be the difference between a broken relationship and whole, healthy relationship. And truly that is what we all need.

If you landed here, and you are friends with a family who is adopting, or you just found out your daughter and her husband are adopting, this is written just for you. That family needs you. I mean desperately needs you. They may not know it, they may not have the words to tell you, but I can tell you with certainty that they have never, ever needed you more than right this moment. And while every family and adoption is unique, this list is pretty universal, and will give you a really good starting point. It’s not exhaustive, and I am not the expert, but I hope it gives you some ideas. Here are 6 things adopting families wish you knew about them, and what you can do to show your support and love to them.

1. We have tunnel vision – especially at the beginning. Perhaps our eyes are just being opened to the orphan crisis, to foster care in our country, to what God says about caring for those in need – which then dominoes into social justice and sometimes missions, and we are very passionate about the subject. We are so passionate that conversations with us will be single subject, one sided rants about the above. It’s new, it’s exciting, and we are on the front-end – it’s much like a brand new dating relationship. We see all of the positives, and we are starry eyed, hopeful, expectant and just plain excited. We want to share this excitement with the world. I mean the. whole. world. We see brown skinned babies at the mall with white parents, and we go weak in the knees and nearly squeal at them. We see Asian children at preschool and immediately start dreaming and yapping about our future children and the beautiful gift that is adoption. You might feel a little weird around us (okay a lot weird). Something has happened to your once-normal friend who used to chat about shoes and clothes and TV shows, but is now shouting about how your clothes are not fair-trade (and neither is that coffee your drinking or your candy bar your eating!), and don’t you care about the child soldiers in Africa?! You might feel a little uncomfortable, like perhaps now your friend expects you to jump on the bandwagon and get weird too – perhaps even start an adoption process yourself, and that’s not your calling so you squirm and begin to feel uncomfortable every time you see her number on the caller id or read another passionate blog post or facebook update. We are single-minded and self-absorbed, much like the expectant first-time mama who is growing her precious baby inside of her. But we need you – no, not to adopt – we need you to listen, give us grace, and invest in the process – much like you did when your sister was expecting her first baby. Be excited with us – even if you don’t quite get it yet. Do your own research on these subjects that have begun to matter to us. We need you to give us time and space and allow us to go through this process. The tunnel vision will not {exactly} last forever.
2. We are making connections all over the world with other adoptive families, but we still need you. Social media is an amazing tool to connect people. Within days of signing up with our adoption agency, and being accepted into the program, we were given access to oodles of families going through the exact same process, or families that had already gone through the process and had their children at home with them. I started seeing beautiful, trans-ethnic families pop up on my newsfeed on facebook, and my excitement grew by leaps and bounds. It is wonderful to be connected with other families who are just as excited as we are, who get the language of adoption, who are filling out the same paperwork, who are also dreaming of children who will soon enter their home, or who are in the trenches of raising their new children. It is an amazing gift, and so beneficial to have other families to walk through the process with. I always look forward to getting together with the families I have met during this process, and I cherish those relationships so much. However, they do not have the history that I had with my other friends and family. They don’t know those quirks about us, they don’t know our favorite dessert, or our favorite movie, or what makes us tick, or how we parent our children. They have not experienced the years of conversations around the table that make us as familiar as that old sweater. And they are not right here to hug us when we have had a really, really low day, to have a shared pot of coffee with, or to offer us a real live shoulder to cry on when the wait becomes unbearable. We need your physical, in-our-life presence, more than you know – it is irreplaceable. You are a valuable part of this journey. You bring clarity, wisdom, and understanding, because you know us so well.
3. The paper work is enough to make us feel like we are going crazy. The amount of paper work for an adoption – especially an international adoption – is stark-raving ridiculous. I am sure that forests have been obliterated because of that paperwork. It is enough to make us want to gauge our eyes out when we feel as if we are filling out the same thing over and over and over, and the red tape makes us want to strangle somebody. (Of course we get the reasons behind it all, and we want an ethical adoption process.) But the process is enough to make a sane, quiet person turn into an absolute lunatic. It’s like filling out a job application and writing a resume times a gazillion, only the end result isn’t employment but rather our son or daughter being allowed to come into our family. It is maddening and overwhelming. We just need you to understand the stress and the pressure we feel from the overwhelming amount of paperwork (not to mention the social worker visits, the perfecting of our home to prove we are fit to parent in order to pass a homestudy). It makes us crazy and stressed out. Ask us about it, though. Be interested. Learn about the process – offer to help by watching our children while we fill out paperwork, or run around the city for clearances. Drop by a meal ( I promise you that meal planning has slidden to the back burner, and in its place are piles of unending paper work and boxes of Kraft macaroni and cheese.), or just drop by with a gigantic bar of chocolate and a hug.
4. The wait feels like it will kills us, and it puts our whole life on pause, because we are so in love with our child whom we have never met, and feel like there is a gaping hole in our family. This may be one of the hardest things for people, who have never walked through the adoption process to understand. To love a child we have never met, and to miss that child in a way that knocks the air from our lungs sounds preposterous. Surely it cannot be the same feeling that a parent would feel if their birth child was missing from their home. But let me assure you, it is the same feeling. Remember the way you felt when you heard your child’s heartbeat for the very first time, or witnessed the kicks and wiggles on an ultrasound machine? That overwhelming desire to protect, and nurture your child with every fiber of your being before you had even physically met her? It’s the exact same thing. But we don’t have the privilege of watching our bellies expand and feeling the reassuring wriggling inside of us. We just have this stretched out heart, and the realization that in this moment we are powerless to keep our child safe. We don’t have the privilege of knowing that our wait will be just nine months – a definite ending point when we will see our child’s face. Instead our timetable is very much indefinite, we get no guarantee of when he will arrive, and that is hard. It is so hard. We walk around and it hurts to breathe, to function, our world feels like it has stopped because our child is missing. I remember one instance when I was having an especially difficult time with the wait. We had received our referral for Jamesy, and we were waiting for a court date and permission to travel to Ethiopia to meet him. The day of his first birthday arrived – a day I had begged God to bring him home by, but that wasn’t in His plans – I was in agony that day. My heart literally hurt at the thought of him not being with family for his first birthday. That day, a dear, beautiful friend, showed up at my door with a gigantic hug, and a gorgeous hand crocheted blanket for Jamesy, as a tribute for his first birthday. The gift and hug meant the world to me – that she cared and noticed the pain. I don’t remember if she said anything, but the words were not what was important. My advice to you? SHOW UP. Just show up, and extend grace, love, and mercy – let them know that you see this pain, you acknowledge it, and you care.
5. After we bring our child home, we may disappear for awhile. Many families choose to cocoon with their children when they first arrive home in order to begin the initial bonding and attachment process. Most families are pretty straightforward with their plans. We need you to respect us, even if you do not agree with the plan or understand it. It is so important for this new child to learn that her parents are the ones who will now be meeting her needs. I can promise that so much thought and preparation went into these plans. It will seem as if you have lost your friends completely, but you have to understand that the things going on in that home right now are intense. There is trauma like they have never experienced before. A child that has to be placed for adoption is always bringing pain, and the new parents will soon realize that the child’s pain has now become their pain. Things are heavy, things are messy, everyone is floundering trying to acclimate to the new normal. There is sleep-deprivation, diapers filled with parasite infested stools, a language barrier, cultural clashes, a baby that will not take a bottle or fall asleep at night, a teenager who is so frightened from her past that she wakes with night terrors and asks to sleep on our bedroom floor, and in it all are our other children who need so much of us as well. (Invite them out for play dates!) Everything is kept so private in order to protect our children. We haven’t yet learned the balance of what to share and what not to share, so we typically share nothing and quietly push through the ugly mess that is the beginning. Please be understanding. Don’t stop pursuing us, but understand that we may be so far inside the dark trench that we cannot figure a way out yet. Mail us cards with encouraging words and scripture, bring us coffee, or meals, offer to do our laundry or shovel our driveway. Ask your friend if you can sneak away with her when she goes to the grocery store. Just don’t cut ties. Give the family, time and space, and the grace to figure things out. Understand that right now she is in a scary position, throwing her love all over a child who may never return that love. It is frightening and vulnerable and overwhelming. She feels like she cannot complain to you, because she chose this road and she is afraid that you just might throw that at her, and she cannot take one more hurt. So she doesn’t say anything, she just closes herself off more. There are things that she just cannot tell you in order to protect her child – just understand that. Read all of the books that you can get your hands on about adoption and children from hard places, and let her know that you care. That will mean more than you can ever, ever imagine.
6. If you stick around for the whole journey and the cocooning phase and the years to follow, and you still answer your phone when she calls, then you are a friend for life. The adoption process in not an easy one – for any parties involved – including the friends and families of the adoptive parents. If you invest yourself in the process in the above ways, if you stick the whole ride out, and don’t give up on your friends when they go completely crazy in the process, then you deserve so much respect and appreciation. You are rare, and a treasure to these adopting families. Don’t underestimate your value. When the family finally comes up for air (and it literally may be years later), and you are still there extending coffee and grace and of course a chocolate bar, know that you have given a beautiful, priceless gift. The world needs more people like you. The Church needs more people like you. Your calling may have not been to extend your arms to an orphan, but instead to extend your arms to a former orphan and his family. And that is precious beyond words. Don’t give up on us. We need you. We so need you. We just might not know how to tell you.

__________________________________

Tiffany has been married to Jim for almost 12 years. They are blessed to be mommy and daddy to 4 children. In 2010 God opened their eyes to orphan care, adoption, and Africa. Their third child came into their family via Ethiopia and adoption, and at the same time they fell in love with a teenage street boy from Ethiopia. Today, they call that teenage boy, “son”, and now have two children from Ethiopia. God had bigger plans, though, and He opened their hearts to the needs of street children in a way that could not be ignored. The Darling family is preparing to move to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, early this summer to serve by reunifying and preserving families, advocating for domestic adoption inside of Ethiopia, and discipling street children into godly adults. To learn more about their ministry visit www.mercybranch.com. You can read about their adoption stories, raising a special needs child, and how they are preparing their family for a life overseas at Tiffany’s personal blog A Moment Cherished.

April 11, 2014April 11, 2014

Moments – Two Weeks

It turns out, I was right in feeling {unprepared} for all that the last two weeks have held for this gang. Until you’ve lived through something like this, there’s really no way you can fully prepare for the experience. EVEN if you have the most awesome support network of “been there done that” mommas sharing their experiences and advice. EVEN if you have an amazing crowd of friends and family praying you through and supporting you practically and emotionally. Which, I am so grateful to say, I do. But still. {unprepared} I was.

I’m not gonna lie. These last two weeks since Mei Mei’s surgery have been hard. The day of the surgery, frankly, was likely the easiest of the days that we had while IN the hospital. ( We waited. She slept. And oddly, I only felt momentary flashes of nervous anxiety over her care or well-being. SO. SO. grateful for that.)

And just this past Saturday we finally experienced the easiest day-into-overnight since we returned home from our four day stay. In between those good days, we’ve crammed all kinds of hard moments. Sleepless nights. Night terrors. Temper tantrums. Pain management gone awry. Lost patience. Ugly behavior. And not all of it was Mei Mei.

But in between those good days, we’ve also crammed a lot of really great moments. Those are the moments on which I am (sometimes hourly) choosing to focus. Those are the moments that the Lord uses to swing my eyes back to HIM and HIS perfect plan for Mei Mei. For our family. It’s an act of discipline, this choosing to focus. Especially at this time of year.

Mei Mei got the honor of placing the first ornament
on her first-ever Christmas tree. Yes, I cried.

I could (and am sorely tempted to) stress over the anger and aggression that comes bubbling up out of her in those difficult moments. I could keep looking at that “holiday To Do list” that isn’t getting smaller any time soon and despair of ever finishing it in time. I could sink into the flashing moments of Mommy-guilt and inadequacy, wallowing in the fear that I’m not meeting the needs of the other gang members, in the every day and in the fervor of the holiday. I could, I could, I could. And really, I’ve struggled NOT to.

But then there are these other moments. These moments when HE comes to me and whispers to my heart. S nippets of Scripture memorized as a child. Refrains of songs and hymns buried deep in my heart. I’ve said it before but it bears repeating. In these moments, I am so incredibly grateful for parents who trained me in The Word. Who taught me to seek His face in good and in bad moments. Who encouraged me and lived out the example that joy comes NOT in the circumstances but in the confidence and security of being HIS CHOSEN CHILD. It has carried me well in these last two weeks.

First cookie decorating party ever! Not sure how much icing went on the cookies.
Last year, only 3 of our kids were home for this tradition.
This year, The Gang was ALL here. Yes, I cried.

I am convinced, in all of these moments, both hard and healing, that the prayers of the Body of Christ carried us. I am convinced that His Word is powerful and full of Truth that rises above the difficult moments. I am convinced, now more than ever, that HE HAS CHOSEN ME for this time. For this child. For even in those moments where I feel like I’m failing miserably at all of it, He speaks to me. In those moments when I wonder if my inadequate and all-too human response to my daughter’s broken-ness is doing more damage than good, He offers me HIS response.
It’s those moments when I get the second wind to go just a little deeper into her heart. It’s those moments when I get a fresh fire to escort her to the healing He has for her. Those moments, even the hardest of moments, I remember that they are just that: moments. By definition, moments (both hard and exultant) are fleeting. He is not. He holds those moments. Each and every one of them.

________________________________________

Tracy, aka The Gang’s Momma, has been married to Todd, aka The Boss, for almost 24 years. Together they parent 6 kids (ages 19, 18, 14, 12, 6 & 2 ½). She loves to read, write, cry over weekly episodes of Parenthood, and share a good cup of coffee with a friend. A confirmed extrovert, Tracy has met her match in their newest daughter for both strength of will and love of socializing. While parenting her two youngest who came home through China’s special needs program is definitely the most challenging thing she’s ever done (between attachment issues & some complicated medical needs), the Lord is also using it to make her a stronger, better mommy. (At least that’s what she tells herself over her 2^nd or 3^rd giant Tigger mug full of coffee almost every day!) You can find the occasional musings of the momma at www.whitneygang.blogspot.com.

April 7, 2014April 6, 2014

Changed by broken walls

It was never an easy journey to get there.

When I said we wanted to visit her orphanage in 2010 when we were there to adopt her, we met resistance. It was too far. The train was too fast for a child. We would be too tired. We would bring germs from America. We wouldn’t want to go. But, that’s where they were wrong. I was determined to go, determined to physically enter into her history even if only for a moment. And so, we went. We drove about 3 hours there to stand at the gate, walk across the grounds, allow the ayis who knew our child infinitely more than we did to dote on our baby, and take lots of pictures.

I had never been more aware of my foreignity as I was at that moment. We were out of place, standing among ayis speed talking in a language only unrecognizable to the two of us. They pointed at us and spoke freely, knowing we would stand still in front of them and smile regardless of what they said. We watched as our new baby responded in a way we could not. She wasn’t a stranger there; they knew her and she knew them. We were the strangers surrounded by grey cement walls and dusty ground. The only thing I felt connected to there were the very walls themselves. I tried desperately to grab hold of something to take home with us, not even knowing really what, while the walls seemed to desperately present themselves as cheerful with some colorful cardboard cut outs stuck to them for now until the next rainfall would turn them into more dust on the ground. I cried. It sorta felt like the grey, tiled walls were crying too.

When I said I wanted to visit the location of the old orphanage a few weeks ago, I met resistance. It was too far. We would be too tired. It wasn’t safe. We wouldn’t want to go. And, while I had been determined to get there, I was willing to let it go. I had already been given so much, and it wasn’t the reason why I came.

When the driver pulled our van over and pointed to the right, my heart stopped for a moment.

There I was again, standing at a new gate that looked 50 years old already, looking at what used to be.

Most of the walls that had cried along with me four years ago were no more. I stood looking at what was in front of me and cried alone.

It’s China. Buildings are built and torn down and built again to be torn down again. It’s a seemingly never-ending cycle of building and destruction. Standing witness to it before me, I didn’t feel like the foreigner I had four years ago. Everything was different now. At the very moment I stood crying on Bao Ping Road, my daughter who had been there, who had lived behind those gates and inside those broken walls, was sleeping soundly beside her sister in a warm bed in the place she knows and I know as home.

I saw a picture of adoption that day in the form of broken walls and a quiet construction site.

They gave us a bag of dirt the day we received our daughter in March 2010. The director handed us a little bag of stones and dust from the grounds of the orphanage. I thought it was nice, thoughtful, a memento for her to have as she got older. We put it in a special box for her along with the clothes she came to us in and other special things. Now that gift means something entirely different. It is not a memento; it’s a monument. It gently says:

Those walls that were the only home you knew need to come down now. Let God turn them to dust, as hard as that may be, so that He can build new walls, strong walls, walls that will not crumble, walls where you will never be alone. It’s never an easy journey to get there; but, stone by stone, brick by brick, while it may be a painstaking journey, you can get there. Accept this gift so that you always remember your story and so that you can trace the work of the Repairer of Broken Walls, the Restorer of Crumbling Dwellings, the One who makes beautiful things out of stones, dirt, and dust.

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Kelly has a passion for supporting adoptive families, specifically to encourage parents to be intentional and understand their own hearts more clearly as they seek to care for their hearts of their children. Kelly has a Master’s degree in counseling and has been working with adoptive families since she and her husband Mark founded the nonprofit The Sparrow Fund (www.sparrow-fund.org). Married to Mark since 1998, they have 3 biological children and 1 daughter who was adopted as a toddler from China in 2010. You can learn more about their adoption story, how they’ve been changed by the experience of adoption, and what life for them looks like on Kelly’s personal blog, My Overthinking.

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Wanna learn more about going to China with The Sparrow Fund in October to serve at this orphanage? Click on Upcoming Events to read more, and email us for more information.

March 21, 2014

An Unwelcome House Guest

It’s been pretty quiet here in my little corner of the blogosphere. I know. We’ve been in a hard season with things. This season has been exhausting. Frustrating. Desperate. Isolating. Painful. Exhausting. Draining. The pace of our household has hardly relented in deference to the hard season. It couldn’t.

I can tell you exactly when it started.

Let me tell you the story.

In early December, Trauma came to visit. He snuck into the house, bringing Control, Anxiety, and Fear with him. They are the kind of house guest that rolls into your pretty little guest room unannounced. The kind of house guest that brings his unpleasant friends stowed away in his suitcase before you can even process that his suitcase has been tossed on your guest bed. On the good linens no less. They are the kind of house guest the adage speaks of: “Company and fish start to stink after three days.”

Let me tell you, it stunk way sooner than three days.

It seems as if Mei Mei’s first surgery brought Trauma out of hiding. It’s totally understandable and we knew to expect it from lots of previous experiences – Trauma lurks in those hospitals for lots of kids. Kids from great, loving, nurturing beginnings. Kids from hard places. Kids with serious sicknesses. Kids with simple playground accidents. But it really feels like he was waiting for her in that room. Hiding under that oh-so-institutional crib cage. Hovering under the ugly, rough blankets.

Worse, he felt it necessary to follow her home from the hospital. He toyed with her, making a game of randomly waking her. He got his buddy to help. Fear clutched at her throat. Trauma whipped Control into a frenzy of raging tantrums over peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that weren’t cut “just so.” He’d whisper in Anxiety’s ear a teensy little musing, thus starting the “Telephone Game” of insecurities repeated and grossly warped beyond recognition by the time they got to my girl’s ear. It took us a few weeks of muscling through our own sleep deprivation and the dirty laundry of these unwelcome guests to figure out that they thought they were here to stay.

When the awareness took root that these weren’t visitors, but squatters, The Boss and I dug into our bag of spiritual warfare tactics and started making things very uncomfortable for these intruders. It’s been hard work, this remediation of the damage they sought to inflict. It’s taken all of our energies. Certain Fruits of the Spirit have gotten extra work-outs, through the muddle of sleep deprivation.

{Really, moms, isn’t the irregular sort of sleep deprivation the worst kind of all? I think I could probably get used to 4-5 hours of sleep if that was the new norm. But 8 hours, then 4, then 6 then 4 again? Oh.MY.WORD.}

Scripture is being spoken, sung, hummed, and prayed. The new rocking chair is logging many, many miles. Old hymns of Truth and Promise are being called to mind, used as lullabies, even if the verses are mixed up and tunes are badly mangled. The security and anchor of The Word that my folks encouraged me to memorize and sink deeply into my heart as a young believer are pouring out when I’m too tired to coherently put together my own prayer.

Practical things had to be tended to, to aid the eviction of the unwanted tenants. So January was spent re-establishing household routines and my beloved systems.(Gasp! Yes, even I was shocked at how long it took me to get back on that bandwagon I so love!) I grocery shopped multiple times between snow storms. I baked and cooked whenever the snow dumped on us, and we were snowed in. Menu planning, preparation of the daily dinner, and laundry days all were re-instituted. Many days those tasks were literally ALL that I could handle. But handle them I did. Anxiety had no choice but to pipe down in the wake of the loud, proud boasting of permanence and structure that our return to routines gave. I much prefer when Security and Confidence hang out with my gang, don’t you?

February was focused on establishing some kind of social schedule for the little extroverted Mei Mei and her extrovert momma. Too many unstructured days staying home all day gave Trauma and Control way too much freedom to wreak their havoc. Play dates here at home and busy mornings out to do our errands made way for Joy, Cooperation, and Peace to hang out with us. It continues to amaze to me just HOW much of an extrovert this little girl is!

And while we aren’t certain that Trauma has left the building just yet, we do feel as if he’s recognized that his days are numbered. When he slinks off into the darkness and muck from whence he came, he will have no choice but to pack up his traveling mates with him. The foundation upon which we have built our home has made Trauma’s stay an uncomfortable one and he’s learning that we cannot, WILL NOT co-habitate with him.

Since our name is on the mortgage, he’s the one that’s got to go.

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March 19, 2014March 19, 2014

What Adoption Won’t Do

Adoption is a topic close to my heart. My husband, Matt, and I adopted our twoyoungest children. After having our oldest son, we were not able to have morebiological kids due to a rare medical issue I didn’t even know I had. We adopted ouryounger son as an infant and are still waiting to go to court to finalize the adoptionof our daughter, who came home in November at age four. Their stories are here

and here.

In our seven years as part of the adoption community, we’ve noticed some common

misconceptions. I want to help clear some things up for you, especially if you’re

considering adoption for your family.

What Adoption Won’t Do:

Erase the pain of infertility. We tried for longer than I would have liked to have

our son, and I distinctly remember the grief that came every month. I didn’t expect

the same kind of pain with secondary infertility (after all, at least I already had one

baby, right?), but there it was. It turns out that having a child (or more than one)

doesn’t make infertility any easier. Our biological son is now nine, and I still grieve

the loss of the ability to conceive, carry, and deliver another child. Our two adopted

children bring such joy to our lives, but they do not erase the pain of infertility and

cannot be expected to. If you are considering adoption after infertility, please give

yourself time to really experience and grieve your loss before adopting.

Make you a savior. If you are going into adoption with the idea that you’ll ride in

on a white horse to rescue a child who will in turn be appreciative and loving, you’re

setting yourself up for disappointment. No matter the age of the child being adopted,

you are not their rescuer. God is. When you reverse those roles, you will set the

stage for resentment and an unhealthy dynamic. God is the only one who rescues. If

He calls you to adopt, let Him do the rescuing. The best thing you can do is to obey

and thank Him for letting you play a part in that child’s life.

Allow you to parent the same way you parent your biological kids. Adoption

is born out of loss. The birth family and child have all experienced deep loss, and

the adoptive family has often had their own losses as well. Adoptive parenting has

to be different from parenting our biological kids because of the child’s history.

Whether infant or older child adoption, the loss of their birth family plays a role in

their development, attachment, self-concept, and relationships. We can love our

children the same regardless of how they joined our family, but we need to parent

them differently.

Make your marriage better. Whether you’ve endured years of infertility or are

adopting because it’s what God has put on your heart, adoption will not make

your marriage better. It’s easy to think “if only we had a baby, things would be

better.” No more hormones, no more monthly disappointments, no more doctor’s

appointments. Or maybe for you, it seems like your marriage was so much better

when you were both focused on your babies; and now that they’re older, things are

more difficult again. Whatever the case, adoption is difficult and adds stress to a

marriage and family. It doesn’t “fix” anything.

Make your life easier. This one is probably obvious. Adoption, when done with

intentionality, is hard. And that doesn’t end when the baby or child is in your arms.

That’s only the beginning. Adoption is heart-wrenching and overwhelming at

times. I’ve sat with our six-year-old son while he wept over not knowing his birth

family and not being able to fully understand why he was placed for adoption. Our

daughter has wounds only God can heal. She has emotional triggers that we may

never know the root of. And we grieve too because we didn’t see her first steps or

hear her first words. We didn’t get to rock her to sleep or soothe her when she cried.

Whatever the circumstances, adoption is hard for everyone involved.

But what adoption does is more powerful than anything it doesn’t do.

Adoption has brought our family together in a way only God could orchestrate.

His hand has been evident in every step. He literally provided a father for our two

fatherless children, and is the Heavenly Father for us all. We will forever be grateful

for the gift of all three of our children and on our knees with humility that we have

the honor of parenting them.

Adoption has given us a glimpse into God’s grace like nothing else could.

The grace I show my children when they act out is only a tiny shadow of the Grace I’ve received(and continue to need daily). The financial and emotional cost of adopting ourchildren is nothing compared to the cost of my own adoption by God. In order forme to become His daughter, God sacrificed His only Son.Adoption has revealed God’s love for us like we hadn’t seen before. When we look at

our adopted children with the same love we have for the one who shares our genes,

we grasp a little bit more the love God has for us. When He looks at me, He doesn’t

see second-best. He sees His daughter.

Adoption is hard. But it’s worth it.

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Becca Whitson writes with her husband Matt at WhitsonLife.com. They write about marriage, parenting, and life through the lens of a married couple, parenting team, and pastor and professional counselor. Their desire is to provide hope and restoration by giving you a glimpse into their lives- the failures, the successes, and the brokenness and beauty of everyday.

February 14, 2014May 16, 2022

Taking Her From the Streets

[Continuing from Wednesday’s post …]

Moments of insecurity reveal my street-raised daughter to have a bark louder than her bite. As we learn Him, He teaches us about her and it’s here that we’re finding her gentleness.

Months ago, we started praying into her the opposite of what we were perceiving from her behavior. We weren’t looking to directly oppose what we saw, but as we asked Him for understanding into her heart, we realized that much of the whirlwind around her was borne from inertia. She had a dormant beauty that never had reason to surface.

And I’ve had too many years taking gulps of worst-case scenario expectations, lived-out. This time, I would try His perspective, first. We prayed it, said it, spoke it over her, and to her. And to ourselves. He was bringing forth beauty, refinement, gentleness. All the things one might say she wasn’t is what we believed He was saying she is.

And His Word speaks a better way.

One particular morning, Eden crawled into my lap and confessed yet another grievance. Hope was “hurting her heart.” It was not a surprise; I’d witnessed some of what she was referencing.

We talked it out. God was clearly using this to develop compassion in Eden’s heart for the broken. As we wrapped up our conversation I said, “Let’s pray and ask God how He sees Hope. Let’s ask Him to give us His eyes for her.”

We prayed, waited, listened.

Eden broke the silence: “Elegant. The word ‘elegant’ came to me, Mommy.” Though tucked away in a book we’d read months ago, it’s not a part of our everyday vocabulary. He spoke through the mouth of a six year-old babe to confirm the course we’d charted in prayer. He was making Hope new and even telling her siblings about it. Beauty initiated by Him, before our naked eyes could see it.

And He is doing it, friends. Under our roof is a greenhouse. It’s messy at times, this workroom of ours, but I can’t ignore the growth. Dirt giving birth to life. New shoots are everywhere and before long it’ll be spring.

I’ve heard from many of you whose stories take on a different shape, but the plight is the same. We share the scars of motherhood, both for children who have been adopted, and those home-grown. You’ve cultivated the dirt and are waiting for spring. You have a Hope in your home and your heart sits, tentative about how to respond. As you wait on her — that “her” for you — might I humbly share some of His counsel to me:

Talk about her beauty, even behind closed-doors. Make it a part of your vernacular. “I can’t say that,” Nate replied to my bleak assessment of the situation, one day. He saw the end, where I was taking stock of the beginning. Nate has been the gatekeeper of our language. I need this.

What we declare — out of fear — in private becomes much easier to believe in her presence. To be her advocate, even closed-door conversations need to come back to the beauty He is bringing forth. To be her advocate, our understanding of her future must be rooted in the promises of His Word. There is no true advocacy apart from Him.

And the power of life and death lies in the tongue. (Proverbs 18:21)

Pray up and in. Adoration was the tool He gave me, early, for this task. To tear down the walls of lies around her heart and life (maybe even spoken over her before her birth) you must first erect Truth in your own life. Battling this blind, is not knowing who He is over your life and your family.

The only perspective that will stand, is His perspective.

Pray His Word back to Him, say His Word back to Him, paste it over your life. And as it takes root in your heart, which it will — because it’s alive — you’ll find it easier to pray it into her.

His Word will be her reality if you just open the door. Morning, noon, and night. It’s waiting. He’s ready-available to re-write your understanding.

Ask Him how He sees her. All day long you will be tempted to be the thermometer on her life. Her behavior has calcified how she sees herself and the enemy is hot on your trail to make you believe the same. In your pain, do not indulge your fear. Much of what you “feel” may actually be in direct opposition to what His Word says is true.

There is no better time than now to sit cross-legged in front of your fireplace, with moleskin journal in hand and a perspective ready to be molded, and ask Him the question that will unlock her heart: Father, how do you see her? Be prepared to take note … with your life.

Tell her who she is and set up memorials around when she walks it out. Behind ten of Hope’s missteps is one heart-move towards beauty. We celebrate the one. When it comes, we acknowledge it, that night we recall it, the next morning we lift it up as the first step in a pattern that will come. “Hope, remember how you cleared Caleb’s plate for him yesterday? That was awesome! Are you ready to do that again today? Let’s ask Jesus to show you more opportunities to love your siblings well today.”

It’s likely she lives covered under a blanket of shame — she’s been telling herself or hearing others remind her what a problem she is. You get to be Jesus’ eyes and search below the dirt for early signs of growth.

Don’t be afraid to respond to and discipline for the ten. ”He disciplines those He loves.” (Hebrews 12:6). Teaching this kind of love — His kind of love — is not pretending there isn’t a chasm of sin to cross or fantasizing a person into reality. Love stares deep into dark and through dark to find beauty. She needs to know you know her dark, and that it will not stand, in order to trust you when you tell her you see beauty. Isn’t that so with us and the Lord?

She needs to know and expect your loving-but-firm response to her sin, as she’s desperate for another’s guardrails on her life. Kids long for guardrails — unchanging guardrails, the same ones yesterday as there will be tomorrow. Children were never intended by Him to control their surroundings.

Be consistently consistent, it’s her safety.

Treat her like the daughter she is, not the orphan she was is the motto in our home.

When her behavior makes you want to retreat, take that as your cue to engage. Restoration love isn’t threatened by sin, it’s activated. When you take a step towards pouring out what you don’t have, He pours in. Give her the love your flesh can’t conjure. Give her the love that requires His overshadowing. He will surprise you, I promise.

Press in. These days are not her days to grow if they aren’t, first, your days to grow. It isn’t “when you get through this” that you’ll find Him. Now is your greatest opportunity to thrive.

These incidents are not accidents and the heart-pain they reveal in you is bigger than your circumstances. As He heals her orphan heart, He is healing yours too. Both are on His radar.

Slow down. Pour out to Him; He can handle your chest-heaving cries. And receive. He has gold for you in this season. And that gold is a greater depth of communion with Him.

And, finally, tell the story. His story. His final word is never doubt, despair or destruction. The testimony of Jesus is being written on your watch. Speak it out as such. When you get the look of pity from a friend who doesn’t quite understand your pain, tell her you are blessed, because you are.

Mamas, these are not your worst days, these days are fodder for a work that will leave you forever changed.

Perspective is everything.

And we get to turn in our frail human constructs of God for His. This is the best of times.

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Sara is a wife to Nate and a mother of four (and one on the way) whose birth canal bridged the expanse between the United States and Africa. After almost a decade of Christian life she was introduced to pain and perplexity and, ultimately, intimacy with Jesus. God met her and moved her when life stopped working. And out of the overflow of this perplexity, came her writing.You can read more of her writing at Every Bitter Thing Is Sweet.

February 3, 2014February 3, 2014

Adoption…a clearer picture

Yesterday morning I checked Facebook and saw another adoption t-shirt
design and I can’t ignore it anymore.

I love the hearts of those making the shirts, for fundraisers, for orphan care, for awareness and I know they are worn like a badge of honor…

BUT…

I just can’t get past it, because most of them paint only the “butterfly and rainbows” picture of adoption that simply isn’t the full picture.

I am an adoption advocate, but firstly I am a family preservation advocate and a child advocate. It’s not about adoption, it’s about the children.

Adoption is more than just having love. It’s more than joy, blessing, family, happiness etc.

Adoption is a beautiful thing…in it’s own messy way.

My assumption is the shirts are being purchased and worn by PAP’s and AP’s but I feel like as representatives of adoption (because we’ve been there or are going to be there), can we please paint a clear picture?

Not one of doom and gloom but not one of only roses either.

Having a family knit together through both biology and adoption is one of the best things ever and I want to burst with joy when I see our unique little family…

but…

adoption is also one of the hardest things I’ve done. Some days I want to burst in tears with the loss and hurt we’ve encountered through this process. I know that I’m not alone in either of these thoughts.

So my challenge, to all of us as PAP’s an AP’s. Can we stop pretending and painting a picture that isn’t a view of the full masterpiece? Can we paint a clear picture of the joy and sorrow of adoption while still protecting our kiddos hearts?

Let’s celebrate the beauty of adoption but not gloss over the loss that comes with it, both in our wardrobe and in our speech.

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Lindsie has been married to her husband and best friend, David, almost 9 years. She is the homeschooling mother of four-ages 7, 5, 5, and 3. Their youngest two children are Ethiopian born and Korean born. While always Midwesterners at heart, they are loving living in Colorado. She loves Jesus, her family, hiking, good coffee, and cooking, as well as learning to embrace Life with a capital “L”, as she shares on her blog.

January 31, 2014February 2, 2014

Stories

I have told both of my boys thier adoption stories since they were newborns in my arms. It’s not easy to put into words the miraculous and complicated way God brought them into our lives, but I’ve always felt like it was good practice for me even if they have no clue what I’m saying. The way they became part of our family is precious and I don’t ever want to forget those stories that made me a mama.

Right now, it’s pretty much a one-sided conversation. My oldest is starting to make some straight-forward connections like…

“L is my birthmommy.”

“I grew in her tummy”

“She picked you and daddy to be my parents.”

Then there are moments when I can see it in his eyes. His little brain is just spinning trying to figure out his story.

That’s when a little bit of fear sets in. I realize that there will probably come a day when there will be hard questions to answer and upset or confused emotions that come out of my boys. In my humanness, I want to protect them. I don’t ever want them to doubt our love for them or their birthfamilies love for them.

Then my loving, heavenly Father whispers to me and says, “Abby, don’t you remember how I used some really difficult situations in your life to draw you closer to me? I want to do that for your boys too.”

So, yes. It will be hard. There will be emotions that may be difficult to deal with. I won’t have all the answers for my boys, but I have the priviledge of pointing them to The One who is control of all things and has EVERYTHING they need.

“And my God will meet all you needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:19

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Abby and her college sweetheart husband Wes began the journey of domestic adoption in 2009. Blessed with a (more than they had planned but oh so thankful for it) open adoption experience, they were able to witness the birth of their first child Max in the summer of 2010. Little brother Sam joined their team in September of 2012. Wes and Abby are trusting God as he leads them in their relationship with their sons’ birth families. You can follow their story at Akers of Love.

Blog

Category: Realities

The Other Side

Redefined

How to Support the Family who is Adopting & What Adoptive Families Wish You Knew

Moments – Two Weeks

Changed by broken walls

An Unwelcome House Guest

What Adoption Won’t Do

Taking Her From the Streets

Adoption…a clearer picture

Stories