On January 16, 2010, twin boys were born in Moscow. One of the boys, fully healthy, went home with his parents. The other twin, who was covered with wounds and bruises at birth, was left at a Moscow hospital. Given the confusion of the hospital staff over his condition, minimal attention (the hospital typically has one nurse for 20 infants), and minimal pain medication, it is a miracle he survived those early months.
But, he did. God sustained him.
Through the blessing of some relief organizations who learned about this little man and his diagnosis of Butterfly skin disease (Epidermolysis Bullosa, EB), he was able to spend a few months in a different hospital with a personal nurse where he was able to receive good medical care as well as toys and a connection with someone who cared for him. But, he is soon to be transferred to an orphanage where he will not receive the kind of care he has been getting simply due to lack of resources or skills in dealing with his medical needs.
And, so, we are advocating for him here. He needs a family.
Could you be his family? Could God use you to care for this child, His child in a miraculous way?
There is a webpage created to advocate for him. And, Anton is currently listed on Reece’s Rainbow, a website that spotlights available children for adoption with special needs and works to build adoption grants for the family God has chosen for these children.
Please visit his page on Reece’s Rainbow, consider donating (it’s tax deductible) towards the grant for his adoption.
“Um, Lauren’s mom?” she said with a little wrinkle on her nose and her head tilted to the right. “Yes?” I answered. “Did you know that she only has one finger on her hand?” I paused so that I wouldn’t giggle just a bit… “Why, yes, I noticed that!” I said back. She nodded and went on dancing.
“Hey, Lauren’s Mom?” She was back. With her golden little curls framing her face. This time she brought a friend with her. “Yes” I smiled. “AND did you see that on her other hand, she has two fingers but they are stuck together???” I looked into her eyes and smiled “Yep- I did know that! Pretty cool, huh?” She smiled at me “Can she COLOR?” I smiled back, “You bet she can.” She skipped off to dance in circles with Lauren.
I wondered before we brought Lauren home what looks or comments we might get. This reaction made my heart just leap. The innocent little one, with nothing other then interest asking me if I had actually noticed her hands. And then making sure her new friend could color made my heart smile. I love that innocence. I love that reaction to a child who may be slightly different then the rest of her friends. I love that she came and talked to me about it.
The thing that surprises me sometimes are just the stares. Maybe I am reading a whole bunch into the staring. The people who stare may just be amazed at how crazy my kids are. Or just how loud we tend to get in public. Or the oddity of having two white boys and two asian girls. Or maybe I have spinach in my teeth.
But, I can tell. Sometimes she is getting stared at. Her hands. The big momma part of me wants to scoop her up and give those people the what for. (Not sure what exactly that means, but I know it can’t be good) What good would that do? Will their minds be changed about people who have differences? Probably not.
I guess I just never understood that mind set. Never. I can see how as a child some differences may “look” a little scary- because they might never have seen anything like that before. But the adults? That stare? And walk the other direction? Really? I don’t get it.
I am thankful for this sweet little girl who happened to be born with hand and feet differences. I am blessed to watch her do anything and everything she sets her mind to. I am grateful for the sweet little ones who accept her without judgement, just honest questions. And worry about if she can color. I am in awe of a God who has given us the opportunity to love on this wonder.
I want to encourage you that adopting a special needs child is a special journey. Just as any other birth or adoption. You may have some extra challenges, some different issues….but it’s amazing. To encourage those who may be considering opening their home to a child with special needs: Not only will your heart be totally changed and softened, but your world will never be the same. It will be richer, more boldly colored, and mostly more full of love then you could ever imagine.
That is not to say you will not have challenging days. Or that there won’t be days you don’t hide in your shower to weep. What I am saying is that if you let this slip past you, you may miss out on one of the biggest blessings that the Lord can give you.
So, yes, I know she only has one finger. Yes, I know she only has two on the other hand. But, she is PERFECT. And we wouldn’t have her any other way.
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Jenny Markmiller
Jenny has been married to her husband Michael for 15 years. They have 4 children, two homegrown boys, Jack (12) and Sam (9), and two daughters from China, Katie Mei (6) and Lauren (5). Michael and Jenny live with their family in Oklahoma. Jenny is a stay-at-home mom to her kids. They adopted Katie Mei in March 2005 at 8 months old. They just returned from China in December, adding their little girl Lauren to their family. You can catch up with their family on their blog.
I was browsing blogs Sunday night and came across a post from a mom who is waiting to bring home her child. She talked about a recent training and how there had been so much “scare” info – things that they might well expect for their adopted child…..
struggles with attachment
struggles with school
struggles with siblings
struggles with self-image
struggles with health issues
and on and on.
I went right on down the list and was able to check off every single one.
Before we adopted – even while we were in process and I was reading everything I could find – I still had the notion that the only really “scary” issue that might come out of our adoption would be a RAD diagnosis. I read stories of families struggling with RAD and believed that it would be the rarity and that I didn’t need to educate myself too much because chances are we wouldn’t need it. It would only be those really traumatized kids who would be at risk – abused, witnessing war, living alone on the streets, etc. Our kids – coming from African orphanages (where I let myself believe that kids were cuddled and doted on and hugged and rocked and carried) would be at low risk.
Wrong. First, they aren’t low risk – trauma is trauma, and my kids have experienced plenty. Second, RAD isn’t all there is. There is definitely the rest of the list to consider. And, RAD isn’t just RAD – it’s on an attachment continuum. No adopted child comes home “attached” to his new parents, and there is no way to anticipate how far or how fast they might move forward on that continuum.
And this is what it looks like…
My daughter – who probably had one of the easiest “adjustments” of the children I know still melts down about once every six weeks – this weekend, dissolving into a rage that lasted an hour. This is the kind of rage that she really can’t even seem to see or hear through. She seems to lose all of her faculties and can only rage until she’s spent.
My son still can’t hug me without being reminded to “put your arms around me and squeeze” except on the rare occasion when he is copying a sibling or performing. I do get genuine hugs here and there – about one every six weeks. Last night, I did the “put your arms around me and squeeze” routine while he held himself stiff as a board and then he trotted over and gave dad a real hug.
My daughter will always struggle with learning. It will never come easy to her, and she’ll arrive at each stage three to four years later than a typical child. She is about to turn nine and is just starting to read four-letter-words. She has just started to count by 5’s (which we have been working on for about 18 months now).
My son has impulse control issues that spike with any change in environment, with any anticipaton of change in environment, with any extra environmental stimuli. He loses the ability to thoughtfully maintain control of his mouth and body. And, it is work to get that control back.
My daughter still sneaks food on occasion (but not any longer in the middle of the night, as far as we can tell).
My son considers himself on equal footing with me and resents being parented.
My daughter has had three years of speech therapy and still cannot form full sentences or articulate clearly.
My son couldn’t name one child that he’d spent over two years living in an orphanage with. No special friend. No sweet baby. Not one name. It still takes him a couple of months before he can name kids in his class.
And on and on.
And, it’s all completely explainable and understandable. And, it still gets under my skin all the time. And, I still have to self-talk every day. And, I still fail all of the time. And, I still fall into the trap of thinking that these are behaviors that they are “choosing.”
I sometimes forget in the moment (or long stretches of moments) that their neurological development was hindered and interrupted and that the ramifications of that are life-long. We can parent therapeutically; we can do our best with nutritional helps; we can read; we can educate others; we can anticipate bumps and prepare ourselves; and, we can see improvement. We can even forget for a few days here and there that there are any struggles. But, the underlying issues are there.
When we reached Avi’s one-year Happy Home Day, I cried. A month later, I had my first prescription for anti-depressants. I had thought we just needed to give ourselves a year for things to “settle.” While I was crying, Greg said “we need four years – he needs as long with us as he had before us.” And, it’s true. Each year has brought significant progress in his comfortability with family life. Our relationship and our days are far easier than they were at that one year mark. We have more strategies in place. We generally know when things are “off” and what we can do to help get back on track. But, it is still hard work – subtle work but constant. I still do it wrong so much of the time. And, I now know that four years isn’t the mark. Getting him into an adulthood where he can experience healthy relationships is the goal. And, I know it’s a long road to get there.
I love adoption. I love seeing waiting children join families. It’s really my passion. But, I know that it can be a hard, hard road. And, I know that it takes years of commitment and work. I know that it changes the shape of a family. It changes the shape of a mom (and I’m not just talking about my twelve Avi pounds which are finally gone!).
But, I also know that the work and committment aren’t wasted. Avi may always struggle with relationships. He may always be uneasy if he isn’t controlling every situation. He may never want to hug his mom. But, it is so clear to us that Avi would not have entered adulthood with anything even close to the ability to form relationships without being in a family.
And, everyday, I get to see the areas where we have moved forward, where we have grown, where we are successful.
It’s not wasted work. It’s slow progress. It’s uphill. It’s wearying. It’s life-changing. It’s soul-challenging. But not, not, not wasted.
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Jennifer Isaac
Jennifer Isaac lives in Colorado with her husband and four children, two of whom were adopted from African countries, both with medical needs. She is passionate about medical needs adoption and runs From HIV to Home, a nonprofit that aims to provide education and support to families adopting children with HIV. She blogs here.
One year ago today, I was checking my email like always. Some emails were immediately deleted, other’s were read and responded to, and other’s were read and simply ignored because there really wasn’t anything to say. And then, there was this email…
I forwarded this email to Kevin with this statement: “Kind of random, but I got this email today from an agency that I got information from about three years ago. Isn’t he cute?!”
To which he responded:
“Yeh. Keith. That’s funny.”
Later that evening, when he came home, I let him know that I was very serious about learning more about this little boy named “Keith.” He did not argue, only knew that I would not stop until I was certain that we were not supposed to bring him home. This was on a Wednesday; we had the weekend to decide if we wanted to pursue this. By the time Monday morning came around, I had heard the Lord tell me, “I’m about to do something big, are you going to be a part of it?” It was His way of telling me, “You are such an insignificant part of this whole thing, My work will be done whether you are here or not, but I am going to let you come along if you are willing.” That was it; that’s all I needed. This wasn’t about me; it wasn’t even about the cutest little Chinese boy I had ever seen. It was about God, and only God.
Here we are a year later, and we have filled out and signed TONS of paperwork, travelled to China for 2 weeks, and had and recovered from 2 surgeries. I’m not going to pretend that it has been easy, far from it. There have been a lot of tears, frustration, even anger. There has been lost sleep, lost freedoms, and occasionally lost tempers. But, in the middle of all the adjustments and sacrifices, we have gained a son and become a family of four! We’ve got a long way to go, we’re not perfect (never will be), and we still struggle more than we would like to admit. I often think back to the words the Lord gave to me that weekend one year ago. And, sometimes, that is the only thing that keeps me going. It not about me; it’s not about Xander; it’s not about the McNeelys in Texas. It is about God, for God, because of God!
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Allison McNeely
I’ve been married for 9 years to a laid back and loving guy. We have virtual twins, a bio daughter and an adopted son born in Fujian, China, who are just 6 1/2 weeks apart. Currently, our “twins” are 2 years old, so “share,” “listen,” and “please stop throwing a fit” are the most common things said in our house. We crave sleep, and coffee is a must. But, most of all, we love the Lord and desire to follow His plan for our lives.
While we were at the beach, Anthony and I took Hailee and Harper out of the water for a little break before they totally turned into raisins. We were lying in the shade giving them a snack. Haven was with us too. Anthony looked at the three kids and casually said, “So, these are the three who will more than likely stay with us forever.” I nodded yes. Perhaps they will be with us until God takes us home.
The “empty nest” question is one that tends to come up frequently. People ask us how we feel about knowing that we may never be empty nesters. I know that it is something that every family considering adopting a child who may be unable to live alone as an adult needs to think about before committing to bring them home.
For us, it is not something we think about or talk about very often these days. The topic obviously came up when we were considering bringing Haven home. We knew there would be a strong possibility that Haven would never be able to live alone, and we needed to seriously consider how we felt about that. And so we did.
These days things are different for us. The empty nest thing is not something we ever really think about. I don’t know, maybe it’s because our lives are so busy and crazy that we never have much time to sit and ponder what our future may or may not look like. Or, perhaps, it’s because God has given us such peace that an empty home is something we may possibly never have.
How do we truly feel about the possibility of never being alone without kids in the house? Well, we’re so perfectly fine with it. We believe that God calls us all differently. I will never become a lawyer or an orthodontist (heck, I really should though with the amount of money they charge to put a piece of wire in someone’s mouth!), and I would absolutely make the worst accountant ever because even my son’s fifth grade math confuses the dickens out of me. I don’t even know if God will ever call me back to working full time outside of my home. Our calling is different than others. He calls us all individually–and when He does He equips us with everything we need to accomplish the mission and gives us absolute peace on the journey. This is our mission. And, with this mission comes a future where Anthony and I may never be alone. For us, it is just part of the journey to be faithful to fulfill what God has told us to do.
Raising the children God has asked us to bring home is a calling for us. It is what the Father has told us to do in this life. We know our future is in His hands. He has taken away any desire that was once there to be empty nesters. We just don’t think about it anymore. We know that Hailee, Harper, and Haven may live with us forever, and that’s perfectly okay with us. When we’re enjoying our golden years in the RV across America, we’ll have three extra passengers, and that will make the journey even more fun.
Besides, we really believe in living each day the Lord has blessed us with to the fullest–whether we have seven kids at home or three. Will it always be easy? Heavens, no. There will probably be many times when Anthony and I will long for moments alone together. But I know my God–I know that when those times come, He will always provide a way to bless us with the desire of our hearts. He’s just so good like that.
We feel so blessed, not by earthly possessions and material wealth we have accumulated but because the Almighty Father has chosen us to be the parents of these three precious children who will more than likely need us to be with them (or near them) forever. What a joy it is going to be to share the rest of our lives with them. The thing that brings me the greatest joy in all of this is knowing that they are here with us, not in some orphanage all alone. That’s what really matters.
Who knows what our daughters’ futures are going to look like? Not us. We have no idea how their lives are going to unfold. And so, we continue to take one day at a time and allow the Lord to have His will and His way in their lives and ours.
May our nest always be full to overflowing. I’ll take it any day!
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Adeye Salem
Adeye is a mom to seven children, three biological sons and four
We were accepted into our agency’s Ethiopia adoption program in December 2008. Soon after we received our acceptance, we filled out a supplemental application to be accepted into their waiting child program for Ethiopia. There are two different types of adoption in respect to international adoption. Healthy children are children who are under 5 years old and free from any medical or developmental conditions. Waiting Children are children who are over the age of 5, have special medical or developmental needs, or are part of a sibling group where one or more of the children match the criteria for waiting children. Waiting children are considered harder to place and less adoptable. Sometimes the only special need they have is their age. Many children over 5 are on waiting child lists and have no other medical or developmental special needs other than the fact that they are over five. And, it is fair to state here, sometimes children who are adopted as healthy children in fact have medical conditions that have gone undiagnosed or undetected. It is important to remember that cultural and medical standards are very different in developing countries. Do your research, and trust God.
We had been approved through the healthy child Ethiopia adoption process, so the next step was to also gain approval to adopt a child from the waiting child list. Why did we want approval to adopt from the waiting child list, knowing that these children are harder to place and come with special needs (some lifelong)? When we began talking about adoption, we felt the Lord placing on our hearts to be open to any child that He has for us. It was through many conversations, prayer, and reading God’s word that we knew God was calling us to more in our adoption. The Lord was gentle in leading us to this revelation, and He was sure to take us to a place where we were at peace with possibly having an adult child to raise. We knew that the Lord was at work when we found ourselves not fearful about bringing a child with special needs into our home, even if that meant they would be with us at home forever.
I can remember how the Lord walked me through the realization that we would be giving some pretty big things up in order to fold children with special needs into our family, things like freedom through retirement, freedom from financially supporting children, freedom to rest in retirement, travel…all the things that are so important to our society. It seems that as Americans, the pinnacle of our life is to make sure that we have set ourselves up for retirement. And, once we have arrived there, we have made it. Then, we have total freedom to do as we choose until we leave this earth. We knew that we would be giving all that up, until we realized that the only freedom that truly exists is to be living in God’s will for the rest of our lives. And, the bottom line for us was that we chose to serve Him. And, He was clearly calling us to serve Him through loving His orphans, specifically disabled orphans.
Please don’t think that this decision was made lightly. We had many conversations. We counted the cost. And, in the end, the cost was insignificant. Serving God, loving His orphans, living in His will, finding peace and joy in His commands
It’s hard to even believe that this picture was taken on December 28, 2009. Maggie came to us as a quiet, floppy, shocked little girl. She had no idea what was happening and, really, neither did we. We had no idea what a complete joy and blessing Maggie is or how much we would love her immediately. We also didn’t know she was deaf. Looking back at our China pictures now, I see how Maggie was so confused and detached. She couldn’t hear what was happening around her, and she had to have been scared to death. She did not respond to her Chinese name or to our voices. She did not take a bottle for 3 days, got very constipated, continually looked at her hands, and laid her right ear down on tables or floors to hear the vibrations. (She preferred to lay down on the floor rather than sit up.) Her little body went through so much as she grieved and tried to understand what was happening. I think her way of dealing with all the changes was to just shut down. How could she have known that we were going to love and care for her, that she would have a forever family and all the hugs and kisses she could stand. She couldn’t. She didn’t. But, that is okay. We have taken it slow; and, day by day, we have watched her unfold like a beautiful flower.
Her special need was multiple. A heart condition (a small VSD, ventricular septal defect) and microtia/atresia which we later found out was also severe hearing loss (a.k.a. deaf). We were told she could say “ba, ba, ba,” smile, and stand on her own and that she was lively and liked musical toys. All the pictures of her showed her to be a healthy looking little girl. We had done all the research, read special needs blogs, attended a seminar on what to expect when you adopt internationally, and prayed a lot for our daughter.
I remember when I first saw her through the curtain at the adoption center in Guangzhou. Maggie looked a little like her pictures; but, really, she looked very different. I saw her head was crooked to one side, her facial expression was out of sorts, she had what looked like bug bites on her face, and her head was oddly misshapen. Chuck and I waited til it was our time to officially meet Maggie, and she was first handed to me. With a pink toy duck in one hand, I reached out to Maggie. Finally, I was holding my baby girl. This was the moment I had dreamed about for so long. There was a big smile on my face, and my heart was beating so fast. I took a good look at her. I loved her so much already, and it was evident Maggie had some things to overcome. She was more like an infant than a 14 month old. She would lean way back when I held her, and she stared at her hands constantly. At one moment, I stopped to pray and tearfully thank God for Maggie. I asked for wisdom to be her mother, and I prayed that Maggie’s pain would be washed away, that she would know she is accepted and not rejected. It was a crazy Gotcha day, and I was so overcome with emotions and questions. Was she ever held? Did she ever have toys to play with? Just how neglected was she? I thought she was lively and talking? What really went on in her orphanage? I had a feeling that Maggie was severely neglected. I was right. I also watched her intently and knew that she was very smart, and she was a fighter, chosen by God to be my daughter and destined to overcome her special needs. I saw it. I knew it. My heart felt it.
Although we did a lot of research on what to expect and knew the self-soothing and floppy, flat affect was “normal” for a child who was institutionalized in an orphanage in China, nothing could really prepare us for the reality of it. You see, Maggie was just another baby in the orphanage. She probably spent over 20 hours by herself in a lonely crib with no toys and no sounds. She learned not to cry and to soothe herself by rocking back and forth and looking at her hands.
When I first saw this image, it caught me off guard. It made me cry, and I couldn’t figure out why. Then, I remembered the days when Tess would have never had made eye contact like this. Maybe it’s just the depth of her eyes or that sweet little smile that is creeping up. Maybe it’s the fact that if I zoom in, I can clearly see Jude’s (one of Tess
