Category: Family Stories

Personal family stories

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All I Know Is I’m Not Home Yet

Below is the lyrics to “Where I Belong” by Building 429…my new mantra…

Sometimes it feels like I”m watching from the outside
Sometimes it feels like I”m breathing but am I alive
I won”t keep searching for answers that aren”t here to find
All I know is I”m not home yet
This is not where I belong
Take this world and give me Jesus
This is not where I belong
So when the walls come falling down on me
And when I”m lost in the current of a raging sea
I have this blessed assurance holding me.
All I know is I”m not home yet
This is not where I belong
Take this world and give me Jesus
This is not where I belong
When the earth shakes I wanna be found in You
When the lights fade I wanna be found in You
All I know is I”m not home yet
This is not where I belong
Take this world and give me Jesus
This is not where I belong
[x2]
Where I belong, where I belong
Where I belong, where I belong

Friends . . . I keep saying international adoption (or just adoption in general) is not for the weak. However, I am beginning to understand that it is actually indeed for the weak . . . those who are so emotionally spent that they almost have nothing left give, those that are so sleep deprived that they can’t remember what their pillow looks like, those that are physically strained and with compromised immune systems, those that wonder why they did this to their family and to the one they adopted, those that are poured out and completely used up. This is what an adoptive parent looks like in the beginning stages. And the only way I can be a parent is to lean on my Father in heaven who adopted me and knows exactly what I  am going through. The only way I can parent well is to be emptied out of myself and filled up with the Spirit that groans on my behalf to the Father. When I reach my end and finally let go of my books, my workshops, my blogs, my yahoo support groups, my professionals, my doctors, my well intentioned family and friends and I just fall on my face before my Savior and Lord . . . then I can truly be the parent God created me to be (even when I doubt that is possible.) Now please understand, I’m not giving up on my books, blogs, yahoo support groups, professionals, doctors, friends and family they are all vital to the success of my family, HOWEVER, I need to be interacting with all these things while looking straight in the face of Jesus. When I take my eyes off him, all these wonderful resources are ineffective at best.

My friends, I have been poured out and spilled all over the floor. Hard days are these indeed. I have one child who has no concepts of parents and family, who is just trying to figure out if she will be given away again and lives in fear and sorrow. I have another who very clearly understands the concepts of parents and family and feels that hers have been hijacked and violently reacts to mundane things in her grief. I have yet another who is so compassionate that he wrongly puts all the needs of everyone above his own as if he were the parent and loses his childhood and so much joy in the process. Hard times. Hard to watch, hard to parent, hard not to condemn myself as being responsible for their pain. I was trying to take credit for their pain recently saying, “I did this to them all. I hurt Eden and Noah by bringing in this new child. I hurt Yaya by taking her away from all she knew. I have wrecked our peaceful wonderful family and injured and innocent bystander in the process. A bystander that didn’t ask to be adopted and ripped from all she knew. . .” You get the idea, and can see how this line of thinking goes now where but bad, really bad. And one night as my sweet Eden raged on and begged me to leave her room and leave her alone, I dragged myself out of her room and into the guest room. I fell on the bed in a choking, sobbing, heap, moaning; “Lord I CAN NOT do this anymore! I can’t do this.” And just like Jesus, he responded, “I know. But I can. And I have been trying to “do this” but you won’t let me. And for the record, I DID THIS, my sweet child. I did all of this, not you. I know what I am doing with precious Eden, courageous Noah and sweet Yaya. And I know what I’m doing with Eric and I know what I’m doing with you. Lay it all down dear one, give it back to me and let me parent through you. It will get better I promise, and my promises are true. Do you not remember them? Yaya’s life verse is one of my better promises…plans to prosper you and not to harm you, give you a future and a hope…”

Deep inhale . . . yes, Jesus. I remember. Deep inhale. Take this world and give me Jesus. And it is better, not perfect but better. And I am not so foolish as to think it won’t get worse or that I am spared from suffering. But I am no longer parenting out of my own power and God has been so faithful to send several people to help us on this journey…friends, family, doctors, therapists, even total strangers. In my weakness I am strong. Adoption is only for the weak who are made strong in Jesus. Praise you my dear El Shaddai!

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Angie Williamson

 

I am the daughter of a King, “the” King, and on most days I don’t come close to being worthy of that title, but each day I try to live into it. God has blessed my life with an amazing husband who is my best friend and makes me laugh like no one else. He is an incredible father of three wonderful children. Two, he and I came up with together, and the third God recently “made in China” and we got to go pick her up this past May 2012. My 8-year-old son has a heart of pure gold; I have never seen so much innocence and compassion reside in one person in my life. He is a man after God’s own heart. My 3-year-old daughter is my joy. She is hilarious and spirited; a smile is always on my face when I think of her. My 2.5 year old daughter is kind hearted and brilliant, her capacity for learning and joy that we have seen in just 6 months of knowing her is unbelievable. I am also an advocate for Compassion International and we sponsor 4 children that I consider as dear as my own. So I suppose I’m a Mother to 7 children…no wonder I’m exhausted! God is so good to me I can hardly stand it.  You can follow Angie”s blog at Just the 5 of Us Now.

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His Story

I can remember just like it was yesterday walking into the decorated, empty room we had gotten ready for our soon to be adopted son. I remember curling up on the bed, hugging the stuffed monkey we’d bought him and wishing that it was my son. I remember wondering what he was doing at that very moment . . . wondering if he felt loved and safe. I thought about all the moments he had lived already that I would never fully know. As a mama, to not know all the answers to the questions that I’m sure I will be asked some day, is heart wrenching. I remember the ache of just longing for my precious little boy to be with me . . . wrapped up in my arms.

I remember that time seemed to stand still as we waited for phone calls, paperwork, travel dates. It felt like all the years of the adoption process and the waiting would never end.

Flash forward to a few weeks ago. I am sitting next to my son in his first grade class listening to him talk about how he used to live in Africa. He says it’s so sad that so many people have to drink dirty water just like he did. He tells about how his baby brother died from drinking dirty water. I fix my eyes on the floor as they well up with tears. All I can think is that it could have been him. It would have been him. My throat is thick as I say how blessed we are to live in a country where we likely don’t have to walk more than 20 feet in our houses to find clean, good drinking water. I sit and watch my son speak about his past . . . about HIS story. We take turns going back and forth talking and trying to help the kids understand what children just like them have to drink every day and what they must do to get it. I can see him remembering the very things he is speaking of as the words tumble out of his mouth. I think about how Tariku literally means “his story” and I smile   Aren”t all our lives stories?  Isn”t all the pain, the good, the struggle, the hope just begging to be told?

I remember crying many tears in his empty room just over two years ago, longing for my son to be home with me. And now the tears flow freely as I sit next to him and see how his story has shaped his heart so beautifully. It really is true – our pain, our mistakes . . . they don’t define us. They shape us. Tariku’s difficult past isn”t who he is. It’s a part of his story. Just like him being loved and treasured and valued is a part of his story. He inspires me. He shows me that we choose how we respond to the good, the bad and the ugly. He is choosing to take a terrible life circumstance and use it to help others. He is showing me what healthy vulnerability looks like even at age 7. No hiding. No fear. No shame. He is who he is. And that, my friends, is simply beautiful.

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Amy Savage

Amy is a business owner and adoptive mommy whose heart has been broken and expanded by loving orphans in Ethiopia.  She blogs at Love the Least of These because there is power and transformation in sharing our stories with each other.  She and her husband, Ben, and their three children make their home in Colorado Springs where Ben works in orphan advocacy for Children”s HopeChest.

 

 

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The Failed Adoption

Dear Baby S,

We got the call on a Friday. Three weeks and three days ago, we first heard about you. You had been born the Sunday before, and you needed a home. I spoke at length to the social worker, and it seemed so perfect. Everything you needed, we were. Everything your birth mom wanted, we were. Even down to your name, which your birth mom wanted you to keep. It was perfect. We were so happy. We so wanted to be your parents, and we thought we would be. We would leave the next day to come and get you. To bring you home.

We went to dinner that night at our friends’ home. Everyone who was there either has adopted or is adopting, and they were so excited. While we were there, I texted with your birth mom a few times. Then she sent me your picture. I was so happy to see you for the first time. You’re beautiful, S. I showed your picture to our friends, and they agreed. The dinner was a joyful, wonderful, happy time. They would have loved to meet you, to hold you.

Late that night we got a call from those same friends. They showed up at our door with diapers, gift cards, sweet baby girl clothes, a blanket, a soft toy. They are such sweet friends to share in our joy that way.

Saturday, we drove the next day to Florida. As we drove, we talked about your name: would we make your birth mom’s choice you first or middle name? What would we call you? We thought about how we’d have to get a luggage rack in order to fit your carseat in the van. We talked about your birth mom, and I she and I texted back and forth all day. We were so happy as we made phone calls, talked to the social worker, told our families what was going on.

Sunday morning, my mom, Laina and I went shopping for a dress for you, to match the shoes in the puzzle picture. We found a sweet one.

Sunday night, we met you…what can I even say about that? Your birth mom is amazing, and you are precious, valuable, priceless.

Tuesday we learned that you weren’t ours.

Wednesday, we returned the dress. 

Thursday we came home without you.

I pray for you still, sweet S. I pray that your mommy and daddy know Jesus and teach you about Him. That you are happy and loved. I’m sure you are. 

You weren’t our daughter, but we wish you were. I grieve not being your mama; I wanted to be. And I also grieve the loss of relationship with your birth mom. She loves you so much, and she”s so special. I wanted to be in her life.

Someday, we will bring our baby home, and we will understand what I hope you are already experiencing: that this was how it was meant to be. But we won’t forget you or your birth mom. We know already at least one good thing that came out of this: so many people were praying for your birth mom and you, during a time that was probably the hardest in your lives. Our church was praying. Our families were praying. If we had to go through this in order for you and your birth mom to have so many people lifting you up to the Father during this time, it was worth it. She is worth it. You are worth it.

Adoption is such a mix of joy and grief. Right now, ours is the grief. Yours is the joy–and I hope for you that it is always true, that you grow up strong, joy-filled, loving, and loved. 

Prayers and blessings, sweet baby.

________________________________________

Allie Brannon

Allie and her husband Jeremy live near Atlanta with their three kids–two terrific bio boys and a sweet daughter adopted a year and a half ago from Rwanda. They are currently in the process of adopting a baby boy domestically due not long from now! They love their family, their church, and their life. Allie writes about adoption, home schooling, family adventures, and funny things her kids say on her blog Notes in the Margins.

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Just like it but different

I sat on the footstool in the middle of the dark garage bawling my eyes out.  Exhausted, obviously emotional and the proud new mother of a four year old.  I had dreamed of this season of life for years, and after months of paperwork, I should have been over the moon.

I was….but so much more.

I had a good silent cry and was considering the half gallon of cookie dough ice cream in our freezer.   On the way to the freezer my dear hubby said a few words that jolted me.

“You felt just like this when the other two were infants.  It is just like having a newborn.”

Those two simple sentences helped me so much.  I just needed to label it.  I was exhausted from being up in the night with a child who was trying to adjust to a new home and a new family.  It was like fighting a world war to get the sweet girl to sleep and then we threatened everyone within miles who might make noise.  We were trying to figure out how much she ate, what she wanted to eat and when.   I never knew when she would cry and I was learning how to soothe her.  Just like having an infant.

Like my dad used to joke….just like it but different.

(Besides no diapers!) The major difference was the lack of grace extended.

When you have a newborn everyone bends over backwards to help.  They peek at your screaming bundle, smile, and call him cute.  You are expected to get up in the middle of church.  You are called a good mom when you stand at the nursery door to “check one more time that he is okay.”  Even the dark circles under my eyes and the few extra pounds from late night ice cream snacks were accepted.

Somehow when the same things were happening with my new daughter….the grace wasn’t extended.  No smiles when our new daughter was having a meltdown at the library and I had no idea what to do.   And I certainly wasn’t showing myself grace as I wept in the garage.  ”What was wrong with me?  How could I be so tired and so emotional?” I moaned as I went for my comfort snack.

Heading into our second adoption I joked that it was like a paper pregnancy.   Here is the other side of the story. It takes your body some time to bounce back after that paper-pregnancy.  Okay, okay this might be extending the metaphor a bit too far, but hang in there with me!    I am in the midst of an emotional adjustment.

Kinda cool actually.

I love that I am going through this adjustment right alongside of them.  They are not alone.  I am in this messy transition too.

What helps when my two year old is pitching the tantrum of the century in the grocery store parking lot because he doesn’t like the car seat?   As I am getting the stink eye from the whole town who seem to be at the store at that blessed moment – I remember that he is only 6 weeks old.   He has the family age of 6 weeks….he is learning that I will meet his needs just like I am learning that shopping right after nap times doesn’t seem to work well.    We are learning together.

Give us a few more weeks.  The bags under my eyes should be gone and we will shop with more confidence.  Until then – I need to go sleep when the toddler sleeps.

 

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Tammy Williams

Tammy has an amazing husband and four fantastic kiddos who keep her hopping. She counts it a blessing to have such a family and is burdened by those in the world who don”t. After living in China for several years and volunteering as an art teacher in a local orphanage, she is changed. She learned that orphans in China are normal, sweet, loving children who are hoping, wishing and praying for a family to call their own. She couldn”t adopt all of her students so she is on a mission to tell others about the joys of adoption. Check out her blog Casting A Stone.

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Irresponsible

“After the third kid people stop congratulating you. Then they just look at you like you are Amish.”
-Jim Gaffigan

We can relate. When people find out we have four kids their response is usually something along the lines of, “Really? Four?” or “Wow, that’s a lot.”

But more often than not I hear the following question: “So are you guys done?” Sometimes I can’t tell if they are asking a question or pleading for us to stop.

We have to be done, right? With our income and in today’s world it was borderline irresponsible to have four, much less five children. We couldn’t possibly afford more kids could we? Besides, where would we put them? We are still trying to figure out where to put Jude’s bed for goodness sake. Don’t even get me started on how we are going to pay for college in the years to come.

We should really do the responsible thing and focus on the kids we already have. But then again, whose definition of responsible am I using? The world tells me that it’s responsible to have a beautifully decorated home, nice cars, college savings for everyone, expensive hobbies, well invested retirement accounts and kids who excel in academics and sports. If I can’t give each kid their own room, own television, own smart phone, own computer, their own this & own that then it’s pretty clear what am I: irresponsible.
It’s not that any of those things are bad. In fact, many are good. But does checking everything off of that list make me responsible? Or wise? I am starting to think the answer to that question is a resounding “no”.

No doubt, we all have a responsibly to provide for our families. But an even greater responsibility exists to spread the Good News to the ends of the world and to reach those in need: the poor, the abandoned, the foreigner, the widow, the orphan.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I know that my family isn’t done. I don’t know if that means we will adopt more sons and daughters into our home. It may. But even if we don’t we will never be done fighting for the millions of Rylies & Judes who are waiting, literally waiting to come home & waiting to hear the Gospel.

The more the world looks at my family and cries, “How irresponsible!” the more I’m convinced we are finally being responsible to the call that a Jewish carpenter made some 2,000 years ago.

Jennifer Middleton

Jennifer and Rush Middleton have been married for 11 years and have 4 kids, Jonah (8), Reagan (5), Rylie (3) and Jude (2). Rylie came home from China in 2010 and Jude just arrived earlier this year. The Middletons have been through the easy and the hard of bringing a child into their family, yet the awesome gift of adoption has rocked their worlds in more ways than they can count. You can check out their blog about family, life, adoption, cleft lip/palate and other randomness at Apple Pie and Egg Rolls.

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Attachment and Bare Feet: 6 Months Home

I love little bare feet.

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

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

It was also an institutional behavior.

I don

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Why We Are Not Adopting Again

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Amy Adair-Bode

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

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Eighty Three Days

i knew her for three months.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(all of Mary's daughters together)

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

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

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

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

and also evidence of his wild love for me.

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

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

________________________________________

Debra Parker

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

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The Waiting Room

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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My Seedlings

Some of my favorite mom moments happen without me even being a part of the moment. You know, listening to the kids playing together nicely in another room (which always seems to happen when I need to be ushering them to bed), overhearing one of their conversations, watching as my husband makes them all laugh.

Yesterday was one of those moments for me.

Soaking in the last days of freedom this week, we spent the afternoon at a local park. Evan found some sort of seed that he got all excited about planting in the dirt where we were sitting under a big ole tree. All three of the big kids got right on into it with him, using sticks and little rocks to carve out a very shallow little hole in the dry dirt where they were convinced this little seed would thrive. They buried it under dusty dirt and used shovels to bring water up to get it off to a good start.

They hunted and found one or two more of the same seeds. More digging, more burying, more watering.

“They can be a family.” – Ashlyn

“Yeah, the big tree is the mama and all the little trees are the babies.” – Evan

I”m sitting there, just smiling to myself, looking all deep in thought in my reading.

Then, their hunt turned up some different kinds of seeds. Who know what they were from really. They may have been rocks. Whatever they were, they looked different.

Then, I heard:

“I know, let”s plant all different kinds of seeds. Then, they can be adopted!” – Evan

“Yeah!” – Ashlyn

Digging, burying, watering. Repeat. Until a handful were seemingly safe and sound in the dirt, and it was over.

Nothing extraordinary. Just my children playing. But, my smile to myself got a little bigger and my heart swelled a bit as I was reminded how comfortable they are with how our family has grown.

Our adopting our fourth child hasn”t been an issue for our biological children one bit. In their eyes, it”s just how their sister came home.

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Kelly Raudenbush

Forever changed by our experience of being adopted and adopting, Kelly is a stay-at-home mom/manager to 4 children and a professional juggler, juggling her calling as wife and mother with her secondary callings (professional editing, WAGI, and serving adoptive families through The Sparrow Fund). You can learn more about their adoption story, how they”ve been changed, and what life for them looks like on their personal blog. If you are expecting (waiting to bring your little one home via adoption, that is), click HERE and enter to win a little giveaway just for fun.

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