My son and daughter-in-law have fostered over 30 children in 6 1/2 years. They are believers of families being reunited and rejoice when it occurs.
They fostered and loved Isaac since birth. He was a week away from turning 4 when he left. His sister, Mariah, joined them at 5 1/2 and was with them for shy of 2 years.
The process of adoption had begun. Yet, it was not to be.
A judge ruled they were to be adopted by family the children did not know, 3 states away. He gave the foster parents less than 18 hours to prepare, pack and say goodbye to their children.
Foster care has many successes and it is a joy to stand in the gap on behalf of the children. However, this event was gut wrenching. Hearts were broken and man’s system and process failed the children. Because they left? No. Because they were not considered.
But Father God considered them and He was in the midst of their fears and tears. He promised them a peace that cannot be understood, a love that will never fail, and plans that are good. We trust Him and believe Him.
This letter came from His heart beating in my heart 12 hours before it broke.
Oct 17, 2014
From one grandmother’s heart to another…
I want to first say I am not angry. But, I am very, very sad. The thought of saying goodbye to Mariah (not her real name), who I have come to love as my own is very difficult. And then, Isaac (not his real name), who we have loved since birth is equally as difficult.
But, this is the decision that has been made, and so I pray blessings upon you, your daughter who will care for them as her own, and for your son, as their father. I am sure there is joy for his children to be with their aunt and grandmother.
I don’t know how many grandchildren you have, but I have 7. I know their skin color and mine are obviously different. The very sweet part of it all is that their heart and my heart both beat red….with love for each other.
I will always love Mariah and Isaac.
I pray they will bless you and your family with the joy, laughter and fun that our family was blessed with.
I promise I will pray God’s provision, protection and presence as the days of transition occur. I pray, while they will not be easy, they will be filled with peace. For your sake and theirs.
Speaking heart to heart, if you would ever feel comfortable letting them write us a note, or even call, I would be forever grateful.
I know the past several months may appear our families are at odds…but we aren’t. We both love the same children with all our hearts, that’s all
Please whisper to them now and again that “Tiki (that’s what they call me) loves them.” And will you give them a kiss for me?
Peace be with you – Tiki
_____________________________
Teresa married her best friend, David, and blended their families together almost 29 years ago. Technically, they have 3 grandchildren but claim an additional 16, as one of their sons and his wife are foster parents. Teresa lives in Kennesaw, Georgia and just celebrated her 62nd birthday. She is a retired bookkeeper, avid tennis player, and now a missionary with Operation Mobilization USA.
Olivia, one year ago we walked into a crowded Civil Affairs building. We were full of nerves and anticipation.
How would you react? What would you look like in person? What would your personality be like? Were you small or big for your age? Could you walk? Were you loud like your brother and sister or a calm addition to our family? Would you bond? Would we bond? What was your favorite food, favorite toy? How did you like to be soothed? Did you like to sleep? In what position? Would you know how much you were loved?
We never could have imagined the love we felt the instant we saw you. It reminded me so much of the day your brother and sister were born. I locked eyes with you, touched your hands and consoled you by gently rocking while stroking your head. The terror you felt is nothing we could have prepared ourselves for. I am so so sorry you had to go through the pain you went through. No person should ever have to experience what you experienced. You are brave my daughter.
It has now been a year. I can now answer all of the questions we had that January afternoon. I love watching you each day and seeing more and more of your personality unfold. I am certain that God created you for our family. I am just sorry that you had to go through what you did so God could get us to you. Your first mommy, your tummy mommy made a very brave decision so that I could be your forever mommy. I am so grateful for her. In my eyes she is a hero.
Your forever family day will always be a favorite day of the year for me. I don’t ever want to forget what you went though a year ago but, I don’t want to dwell on it. Because, that baby is not you. It has been a miracle this year watching YOU unfold. You are mighty, you are spicy, you are loud, you are loving, you are silly, you are stubborn and you are a miracle.
So to celebrate you we decided to indulge in your favorite “cocholate” (Chocolate) with a trip to the local French Bakery. We let you pick out any item you want and eat until your heart was content. I loved our day together just as I do all of our days together. You lighten our world baby girl. You are so very loved.
_____________________________________
Caitlin has been married to her high school love for 10 years. God placed adoption on her heart at a young age. Caitlin and Brad have two biological children and they brought their youngest home from the Guangdong Province of Chine in 2013. Caitlin works part time as a pediatric occupational therapist. She views this career path as God’s design toward orphan care in her life. She is excited to serve with The Sparrow Fund on their mission trip later this year. Caitlin blogs, but not nearly as often as she would like at Fortunate Blessings
It was just over a year ago that I answered the phone call that changed the trajectory of our lives. It was the call from our adoption agency family coordinator letting me know that she had two referrals for us to consider. As she began to describe the children my heart raced. This was it! This was the moment I had dreamed about and anticipated for so long. Could it be, that I was about to be introduced to my children for the first time?
It had only been the day before that call, that, I had received a text from a close friend, letting me know she had a dream that Kirk and I were walking out of the airport holding hands with Lily and Liam. Both children had excitement and a bit of worry in their eyes—but more excitement. She elaborated and said, “But the look on your hubs face, it was priceless!” She encouraged me that our referral was coming, “But not when you think.”
I woke the morning of January 16, 2014 at 5:30am feeling impressed to get out of bed. I was tired, but felt urged to read my Bible and pray. I’m not even sure how I came to this next verse, but when I did, I felt sure there was a hidden message in it for me. Habakkuk 2:3 says, “For the revelation awaits an appointed time; it speaks of the end and will not prove false. Though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and not delay.” I wrote it down unsure what it meant. I had no idea that the calling we had been given, to adopt a boy and a girl, was about to be revealed but in the way I expected.
At 10:33 am my cell phone rang.
I saw the (703) area code but it did not register. Ashley (our family coordinator) was calling to let me know she had two referrals for us to consider. I was beside myself when I realized who it was and why she was calling! After she explained the purpose for her call she gave me some preliminary information about the children to allow me the option of reviewing their files or waiting for another match.
She started by saying, “Okay, I have a little girl that is considered special needs. She is almost 8 years old. She has a vision problem, (crossed eyes). Would you like to review her file?
I swallowed hard. “Yes!”
“Okay.” She went on, “There is boy almost 10. He is only three months younger than your youngest child, would that be a problem if your children are in the same grade?”
“No.”
She proceeded, “Would you like to review his file?”
“Yes!” I squealed.
“Okay, I’ll send you their files. Examine them with your husband and let me know if you’d like to proceed with a full review.”
After the longest ten minutes of my life, I had their information in my inbox.
I was floored with emotion as I opened those files for the first time. This was the moment I had waited so many months for. I can still recall the intense emotions that sunk deep into my chest, as I looked blurry-eyed at their photographs for the first time.
Time stood still.
He was a handsome boy, an older child whose only special need was that he was older and harder to place and she an adorable little girl with what appeared to be a minor vision problem. I called my husband and forwarded the files to him. We were both at work, so we agreed to look them over together later that evening.
During the waiting, I had envisioned what it would be like to receive my children’s referrals. I wondered, how would I know if they were mine? Would I feel a connection immediately, or would that sense of knowing they were mine come gradually over time? The moment of discovery had finally come.
Months earlier we had discussed the list of possible special needs we felt comfortable with. I had done research on the various conditions and reviewed the information with Kirk. Somehow checking the boxes of special needs that we both were comfortable with felt awkward, but this was a required step. Part of the home study is designed to evaluate and approve a family to care for a child with special needs. The family is assessed by the social worker to determine if they are equipped to care for a child with needs noted on the list. Kirk and I had agreed that only special needs that we both were comfortable with would make it on our list. If one was okay with a special need but the other one not, then it was a no. It seemed simple enough.
At first glance the needs of these two children appeared to fit within our list of approved special needs. Yet, as we read through the little girl’s file more closely, we discovered she had significant developmental delays. This was an immediate red flag. We were adopting two children at once and we already have one child whose needs will require life-long support. Neither of us felt comfortable taking a second child whose needs will likely necessitate the same.
Despite the red flag, we both felt paralyzed to make any decision.
We questioned ourselves. Was God calling us to take on more than we had planned or anticipated? Or was our discomfort a signal meant to offer us direction? Either way, we were not ready to decide as we both felt unsure.
We immediately bathed our decision in prayer and then sought additional information to help guide our steps. We started with requesting an update from the orphanage. We sent a list of ten questions, and waited for their reply. Next, we obtained an expert opinion from a physician who specializes in reviewing adoption referral files. Next we reached out to the adoption community, requesting feedback regarding ‘how to know when to say yes’ to a referral.
The orphanage updates were a mix of good and bad news. The boy’s update stated he was on grade level in school and appeared to be healthy in all respects. The little girl’s update indicated that her delays had prevented her from attending school and she was unable to speak full sentences. This news heightened our hesitancy about accepting her referral.
Next, we sought the opinion from a physician who reviewed adoption referrals. She stated very matter-of-factly that in her opinion, the boy was a healthy older child with the exception that he appeared to be very small for his age. She pointed that the little girl had significant delays that would likely prevent her from ever living independently. She held nothing back and gave me the worst-case scenario to think about. At first, I was a bit taken aback by her negativity, but later I realized she had done me a favor by making me see what I did not want to see.
While all of this information weighed heavily on us, we were eased by the encouragement we had received from the adoption community. So many families responded positively regarding how they had come to make hard decisions. Some told us of ‘knowing’ it was their child the moment they saw a picture. Others said they did not know right away but came to their yes more slowly. Others told of stories where they did not accept the first or sometimes even the second and third referral they were given. I was comforted by the fact that there was more than one way to ‘know’ and that not everyone accepted the first referral. It became clear that there was no perfect formula we needed to use, we just had to keep asking, praying and waiting until a clear answer was revealed.
Why was this so hard? The answer I discovered was painful.
In that period of waiting I came to understand that part of my hesitancy to not saying ‘yes’ to adopting this little girl, was the implication that our lack of a ‘yes’ was really a ‘no’.
That was it. I knew that I was struggling with saying, ‘no’ to a child who really needed a family. Despite my gut feeling that this was not our little girl, I was not comfortable sending her file back and saying—no.
I wrestled with this one for several weeks until I found some encouragement from a book I was reading, Kisses from Katie, by Katie Davis, a(single) adoptive mother of fourteen former-orphans in Uganda. As I read her story, I found answers to mine.
After adopting her eleventh child, Katie had decided not to adopt any more children. She felt her family was complete, until the Lord made it ever so clear she was to take another and not just any child. The child presented to her had significant delays. Katie described how she was hesitant to take a child with limited mobility since she already had a large level of responsibility to her other eleven girls as well as to the people she ministered to in the villages. Having a child who could not walk would mean she would have to carry her everywhere. But then one day the Lord made his plan so clear Katie could not deny it, and once more she embraced a new daughter.
I connected with this story, and wondered if this was my answer. Did God want us to take on more than we had planned but not more than He had planned? Though I felt willing to move forward with her, my husband did not. I wondered at this discrepancy. We would have to move on this decision soon. Although the adoption agency had given us a lenient two weeks to decide, the clock was ticking and we would have to give an answer soon.
January 27, 2014 “Not every child that came to Katie was Katie’s child.”
Those were the words I heard the Lord speak that morning as my husband prayed for God to show us his plan for these two little ones. One would become ours and the other one not.
After hearing from he Lord, I recalled the rest of Katie’s story. I realized that many, many, many children came to Katie for help. Sometimes people would bring children to her or ask her to adopt them, but she did not adopt every girl that she ministered to or every girl that needed adoption. Katie adopted only the girls that were her children—the ones that God had chosen for her.
God made his plan for us clear that morning. Our first referral for a girl was a no. She was not ours. My wrestling was over as quickly as it had come. In that moment of prayer, I knew this little one was not my daughter. I realized that even though I was not called to be her mother, she was His child. It wasn’t up to me to save her or any; I only need be obedient to the calling he set before me.
If you are waiting on a referral, here are some tips on how to get ready for your yes:
Pray for your child while you are waiting. (I am in awe at how our Lily’s personality matches the prayers I had prayed over her exactly).
Seek the Lord throughout the process and follow His lead. (Getting behind God instead of running ahead was a hard lesson for me at times).
Seek godly men and women in the adoption community to offer their wisdom when you need help, support, encouragement or direction. (This is vital!)
Seek to understand your spouse’s concerns about the adoption. Move forward only when you both agree.If one spouse is in on board and the other not, take it as either a no and move-on, or a wait-not-yet, but do not push. (There was a lot of waiting I had to do. God will move in a spouse’s heart, you just need to get out of the way and then wait.)
Be prepared that if you do not accept the first referral that comes your way, there may be some people that will not agree with your decision. You may feel rejected and judged, but do not be discouraged. It is only God you need to please.
Do not adopt to try and save anyone. That is God’s job and only He can do it. Adopt out of obedience to your calling then rely on Him to carry you through. (It is hard work but oh so rewarding!)
Realize there is no perfect formula for deciding to accept a referral or what special needs (if any) you’re equipped to handle. “Pray like it depends on God and then work like it depends on you,” (Mark Batterson).
One last note–one of my concerns in writing this is that it would discourage a family from adopting a child with significant delays or offend someone who already has. So before I leave anyone with any negative impression of how we feel about children with severe developmental delays, let me clearly state that we highly value all children, but especially those precious ones with significant needs. They need families too! We are parents to a child with special needs and he is our pride and joy! Our hesitancy to say yes to another child with significant developmental delays was based on what we felt we could manage in the mix of our other responsibilities. We prayerfully considered it and do not want our decision to discourage anyone who has been called to embrace a child with significant developmental delays. Go and do what you are called to do and if you already have, then Amen!
_____________________________
Tiffany is a wife to Kirk and mother of eight including six biological and two newly adopted from China. With a looming financial crisis at the outset of their recent adoption, God took their family on a journey of faith. Having been home just over ten weeks, they are currently working through the transition phase of their new adoption. Tiffany writes an honest account of challenges of adoption and the redemptive work of her savior Jesus Christ at Extravagant Love. Though her faith and limits have been tested, she points that adoption is paving the way for her to grow and experience God’s presence as never before.
“Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.” – Dietrich Bonhoeffer
I remember the way she stared. Bound tightly in a double leg cast, her eyes begged for freedom. She had only been in this world for three months. She didn’t understand. I held her and winced as her broken ribs popped with each breath. I was only 8-years-old. I didn’t understand.
I remember the way he cried. Born addicted to drugs, his crying never stopped. His body was tense. He went through withdrawals from a substance never designed to be in the body of an infant. The effect this would have on his life was astronomical. I failed to understand.
I remember the way she gorged herself with food. She was left at the scene of a crime. Neglected. It was her first birthday, but her guardian left her. She had the most beautiful smile. She knew that food was comfort. I was 9-years-old. I could never identify with that level of abandonment.
I remember the way he struggled to suck on a bottle. Fresh from the hospital, the drugs had significantly manipulated his reflexes. I watched my mom meticulously and persistently care for him. Each day he swallowed a little bit more. He became strong, and for 11 months he was my brother. I felt pride in his achievements.
I remember the way her skin turned red. Trapped in a spicca cast, it repeatedly rubbed against her once-soft baby skin. The hardest bone to break in a human had been broken in an 8-week-old. Her dad had been mad that day. I was angry.
I remember the way she talked about getting to ride in a police car. Her mom was going to jail, but she learned that day that police are there to help. She loved her mom deeply. Her loyalty was both admirable and heartbreaking. Her loss was too deep for me to understand.
I feel lucky that I called these babies my foster siblings. They were, without a doubt, the most courageous little human beings I ever had the privilege of loving. These kids, plus many more, are a vivid part of my childhood. Their stories are real and their faces appear in my mind often. I wonder about them and sometimes even worry about them. They were astonishingly resilient, but I wish they had never been forced to know the depth of that human resilience.
National Child Abuse Prevention Month. It’s a month where we, as a nation, stand up and say ‘no more’. It’s too easy to remain quiet, to pretend like it doesn’t exist, and to push away the faces and names behind the statistics. But in doing so, we inadvertently are minimizing the hurt of 686,000 children who experienced abuse and neglect in 2012 (source). We’re saying that hurt and that pain and those experiences aren’t big enough to bother us.
On the other hand, I see my generation treating philanthropic work as a fad. Come to my college campus, and you’ll see that short term non-profit volunteering and instagramming photos with at-risk kids is all the rage. These kids deserve to be advocated for, cherished, loved, heard, protected, and wanted. That’s not a fad. That’s life-long pursuit and deeply-rooted intentionality, friends. I want my generation to hear that. There’s a longevity associated with this cause. We need to be in it for the long-haul.
For the past seven months I have been completing an internship at an emergency shelter for foster children. I often times sit in the office reading through endless case files filled with some of the most horrific stories I’ve ever heard. Tears frequently fill my eyes as I further grapple with the reality that children in my own community face. I complete intakes and hear things from 6-year-olds I pray I never will grow accustomed to hearing. God, it’s awful.
Then, I go inside the shelter right as the van pulls up from school, and I am met by kids who choose to be so much more then their horrific pasts. They sit at the table and work on multiplication tables, talk to me about art class, eat chicken fingers, watch movies, and sing along to the latest Katy Perry song.
It’s not that they live care-free lives. Their needs are deep, please hear me say that. The reality of their abuse has devastating repercussions. The calendar is full of psychological appointments and counseling appointments because healing is hard. Their situation, living in an emergency shelter, is not the normative, and it is far from ideal. Even still, many of them choose to be more than what life has given to them. That’s admirable.
I want to be like that.
The image for National Child Abuse Prevention Month is a pinwheel. It is childlike and playful, but represents the many different people and disciplines actively involved in ending a nationwide tragedy. It takes teachers, social workers, nurses, first responders, investigators, health-care professionals, social and family service workers, and educated citizens to get the wheel turning. It truly takes a village, friends.
{I recently attended a community child-care conference where I received a pinwheel. This 6-year-old sister was elated.}
The statistics are deafening, but necessary to understand. (These were taken from the Child Maltreatment 2012 Children’s Bureau Report produced by the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services)
In 2012, There were 678,810 unique reported accounts of child abuse and neglect (meaning that each child was only counted once, regardless of the number of times he or she was a victim during the reporting year). The total number of reports of roughly 686,000, broke down into 78.3% neglect, 18.3% physical abuse, and 9.3% sexual abuse.
In 2012, there were 1,593 recorded fatalities due to child maltreatment.What that means is that every day we have upwards of 4 children dying in this country due to abuse or neglect.
Tears fill my eyes just typing that.
I think of my foster siblings and the kids I see every day at my internship. Their lives matter so deeply. They have personalities and passion and value. They matter. We cannot have four kids dying every day. It is unacceptable.
Prevention is hard, we know that. But I have to choose to believe that this number can decrease. Our kids are worth it. It has to decrease. We tell our kids they are important all the time, but I want to show it to them. I have so much to say about this topic, but for now, know this:
Awareness is important. It is so, so vital that we are not only aware of the magnitude of child abuse, but that we are also aware of our surroundings. As citizens, we have a responsibility. All of us come into contact with kids in some form in our daily lives, and that means that if we see something, we are held responsible to report it. If you don’t have your state’s abuse hotline number saved to your phone, do it. A phone call could save a child. Calling a hotline does not mean automatic removal of a child. Please know that. If you report what you see, and leave it to investigators to do the rest, you will never, ever, ever be responsible for “ripping apart” a family. Let that one go. The result of not calling for a sighted abuse case could be devastating.
I plead with you today to educate yourself on the signs of abuse and neglect, and to not grow idyll in protecting the kids that walk through our school halls and play in the neighborhood park, alongside your child.
There is no separation. The hand of abuse is everywhere. This has become your cause, too.
In honor of the foster siblings I so fiercely loved as a child. Because, friends, I whispered in their ears that I loved them, that I wanted to take away their pain. As a child, I held them close to me and cried many, many tears over them. They deserve this. They were lovely. In honor of their courage and fight, and my promise to them, I ask that you understand the importance of this topic.
Stand with me this month, friends. May our words and gained awareness be moved into diligent, life-changing action. May fierce, protective love be our heartbeat this month, and every month.
“They deserve a voice. Not a quiet, meek, timid, and reserved voice, but a resounding and reverberating cry for justice, for unconditional love and the right to live in safety and peace. Granted, that voice may not be their own, but they deserve to have someone embrace their cause and make sure it is heard. They deserve to be valued, to know that value and have it instilled in them. They deserve to internalize the truth that they are worth fighting for.” -Christine Erwin, The Middle Mom
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Kylee is a college student who is passionately pursuing a degree in Social Work while simultaneously learning what it means to be a big sister to kids from “hard places”. Her parents jumped into the crazy world of foster care just days before her 8th birthday for numerous infants and toddlers over a ten year time span; four of those children became permanent family members through adoption. Kylee loves sharing about foster care and adoption and is passionate about advocating on behalf of vulnerable children on her blog Learning to Abandon.
“God is knitting our hearts together – but it turns out stitches hurt, and
what goes on inside a ‘cocoon’ is messy.” My mother e-mailed that to a
friend when she asked how things were going.
We’ve glimpsed a sweetness in my sister that is wonderful, but we’re
grieving hard – and this grief is coming out like anger. I was recently
asked to share my post “Broken”, and I feel guilty about it because I
don’t feel that way now.
But I’m realizing that I still love her – a brutal kind of love that holds
on when everything turns ugly. A love that sometimes almost feels like
hate. And Mama told me the fact that I get this worked up about her
behavior is good – because IT IS WRONG so it shows I know what’s right.
But that doesn’t mean I can act on my feelings. And what makes things worse
is that no one else does either. I just sit there and watch this grief
come out and wish someone would do something! But my part is going to
be hard, because I’m *inside* the cocoon. And all these people are asking,
“How’s it going?” while they’re waiting for it to pop open…. And I want
to say “awful” but I smile and say “good” because, considering, it is – and
people don’t understand what Lucy’s been through so it isn’t fair to tell
them.
So you smile, and say “good” and tell them about the “ups.”
Someday we’re gonna’ pull outa’ this and look back and exhale. And the
brutal ugly love will give way to something beautiful and graceful without
the brokenness and ugliness.
Someday this cocoon will pop open. We’ll break out. We’ll be ready.
And someday this little butterfly and I will dance together. In the
sunshine. And we’ll forget about the time we were cooped up together with
that ugly love.
But the words of “Broken” don’t bother me that much anymore. Because I’ve
found my heart is still capable of shattering. It isn’t strong enough yet,
and I hope it never is! Our girl can still tear me apart like cobwebs when
I let her. And I probably stick to her fingers and she doesn’t know what to
do. She probably looks at the girl who says “I love you” when you yell
at her and smiles when she’s yelling on the inside, and doesn’t know what
to do – and I don’t know what to do either, and here.we.are. And we’re both
torn apart and messy, and we’re both broken, confused, and scared.
I thought I knew how to love unconditionally, and then the full force of it
hit me and I couldn’t take it. And I wonder *what in the world’s wrong with
me!* And other people reach their max and flare up, and it doesn’t shake
me; and I find myself mad at my little butterfly when she didn’t do
anything! And I don’t get it – any of it.
Things are calming down now. I’m able to look back and see progress. I’m
able to understand things a bit.
Little brother and I are grounded; little sis and I are still taking root.
We’re taking root fast, but we’re not deep yet – and Satan is trying to
pull us out and throw us away. He wants to pull us off the vine. He doesn’t
want me to love my sister, period. But he can’t stop me.
I wish I could say I’d-like-to-see-him-try, but I have and it’s ugly. He
will always try. He has been trying – and he almost succeeded in getting us
off. But our girl doesn’t have the Branch to stay grounded in, so if I snap
we both crumble.
I have to stay strong, but I don’t feel that way. Because the world is
broken, and our girl is broken, and she’s breaking me.
Our friend wrote my Mom back:
“Stitches hurt – but they *heal*.”
Our butterfly’s wings are growing, and I’m struck breathless by their
beauty.
____________________________________
My name is Hanna Rothfuss. I am 14 and in eighth grade. I have lived in the suburbs of Omaha, Nebraska for my whole life. My interests are reading and writing, mainly about fantasy and orphan care–often adoption. I have four siblings, two of which are adopted. I’m a homeschooler and a child of God. I pray that all my writing is encouraging, empowering, and brings glory to Him.
You can read more of Hanna’s writing on her blog: Taking My Time.
On Saturday, February 28, 2015, 11 month old Avery Madison Foot of Fulton, Maryland passed away unexpectedly of SIDS. Avery is the beloved daughter of Shaena and Jeff, sister of Caitlyn Foot, and granddaughter of Roxy and Dave Kreuger. She is also survived by many aunts, uncles and cousins.
Pray for this family, that they would tangibly feel the presence of God and that they would cling to Him as He starts to put their broken hearts back together in a new way.
At the request of Avery’s parents, donations can be made by clicking on the donate button below in lieu of flowers. The Sparrow Fund will be working closely with the family so that whatever funds come in are used to support adoption and honor their precious daughter who joined their family via adoption.
You can donate with a credit card through PayPal below. Donations can be made even if you do not have a PayPal account.
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To donate by check, please make payable to The Sparrow Fund and mail it to:
The Sparrow Fund
124 3rd Ave
Phoenixville, PA 19460
People often ask if it was hard growing up with foster siblings- if it changed me or stripped my innocence out from under me in ways that left me psychologically scarred.
Of course it was hard; there’s a vulnerable edge to loving again and again, knowing the small person you’ve come to accept as a sibling will be taken away in a matter of days, weeks, or months. There’s a deep uncertainty and anxiety in anticipating a loss with no time frame to draw from, not knowing if a foster sibling will end up adopted in your home, or will never be heard from again. Even before I was able to verbalize the feelings of uncertainty, they were there; when I sat at the top of the stairs and listened as my mom spoke with a caseworker regarding a case, I was acknowledging that I cared deeply and would be torn apart when someone came and took my sibling away.
This is loss. It is something that every single human on earth deals with in both varying degrees and varying circumstances.
The idea of humanity’s reaction to loss is something even the most educated psychologists and counselors are still researching and probably will be until the end of time. It is such an encapsulating topic, but what I find especially fascinating is how we know what pain feels like and take great measures to actively avoid it. Whether it’s simply an embarrassing moment or the mind-numbing grief following the loss of a loved one, the common defense it to search for ways to avoid falling into the same situation a second (or third or fourth) time. Perhaps life experiences leave us seared just enough to look for healing outside the line of fire, or maybe it’s the minds way of protecting the heart. We like safety. I’m finding that it often happens at a subconscious level, but still, when I look for it, I spot walls going up all over my life, barricading me (although often unsuccessfully) from the discomfort of pain.
As a child growing up in a stable family, I didn’t have the life experience of pain to drive me toward that same defense mechanism. When caseworkers surrendered children into my parents’ care, I loved deeply, even knowing it was just for a season. There was no other option. I think that even if I had truly wanted to withhold a piece of love from my foster siblings (knowing, of course, a loss was looming), I wouldn’t have been able to do so. The love for my foster siblings was so real – it crossed a depth of love I have rarely experienced since then. I couldn’t help loving; it was the natural reaction to living with little people who were already fighting situations I never even knew existed.
Of course having a revolving door snatched away a little bit of that naivety and innocence that my parents had so carefully guarded. There were nights of uncontrollable tears and a deep grappling with heavy topics. I questioned physical abuse before I even knew the term abuse.
“Why would a father get so mad he would break his infant’s bones? What are drugs? Why would a mom use them while pregnant, if she knows it’s bad? What is prostitution? How does she not know who the father is?”
There was pain and that pain has had drastic implications on the way I live my life. I don’t know that it’s possible to take your children on this journey without letting them hurt. But maybe if the goal is to protect our kids from pain, we’re cheapening Calvary’s love. The reality of the gospel is the very thing that drives us to the marginalized and oppressed, even to the extent that we devastatingly fall down at the cross with a new load of pain, surrendering it all to Him once again. That utter surrender is the kind of love we’re called to know.
If we seek to teach our kids how to love one another, then is there really any more practical way to do this than in the safety of your home, where you, as a parent, can be the one guiding and facilitating the hard conversations?
It makes sense to me. It doesn’t mean it’s easy or that there will be times placements will have to be turned down, for the safety of those in your home. I know it wasn’t easy for my family and I can guarantee there were days when my parents watched us struggle and questioned their decision. There were repeated times throughout the ten years that my parents temporarily closed our home, giving our family time to rest and recuperate.
Even still, taking their children along on this journey made sense to them, and fourteen years later, I am so thankful they made that decision.
On a bookshelf in my parents’ living room there’s a photo album with pictures of all of the kids who spent time in our home. On the front page, surrounded by each child’s face, Matthew 25:40 is written: “to the extent you did it to one of the least of these, my brothers, you did it unto me.”
To one of the least of these. I believe so firmly that caring for the least of these and understanding the power of the cross go hand in hand. Not that our hearts are able to fully understand the magnitude of the gospel, but that through loving hurting souls who belong to Him, we then know His redemptive power more intimately.
My heart is to share that it’s okay to take your bios along on this journey. That it gets hard and messy, but that this kind of messy love-in-action can be life-forming for all the little souls within the bounds of your home.
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Kylee recently graduated with a bachelor’s degree in social work and is currently working at a child-placing agency while going back to school to pursue a masters in social work. Her parents jumped into the crazy world of foster care just days before her 8th birthday and cared for numerous infants and toddlers over a ten-year time span; four of those kids later became permanent family members through adoption. Kylee is passionate about learning how to better love her siblings from “hard places” and loves sharing about this journey and passion on her personal blog Learning to Abandon and on her Instagram @kyleemarissa.
It’s the story of a young woman with a heart as big as a mountain and a brain as small as a pea.
Someone who went out to change the world by adopting a helpless baby girl, envisioning all the ideals without acknowledging any of the challenges.
How many of us are in that position? When life gets tough and our idealistic notions lie in fragments at our feet, how many of us look back at our early selves and beat our present selves over the head with a rubber hammer, mumbling, “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”?
Maybe it’s just me.
Let me be clear, I don’t think I’m stupid for adopting my daughter, who is now thirteen. No way. She’s ours and we love her. I am thankful to God for working every out so we could officially adopt her.
If I feel stupid for anything, if I beat myself up for anything, it’s for trying to be her mother when I was so ill-prepared for the challenges.
My first novel recently came out, and a reporter from a local paper wanted to interview me. The phone rang after the time we expected her arrival, and, in trying to disconnect it from the charger, my daughter inadvertently answered it.
What followed was a disaster. I was across the room and saw my daughter’s dismay. She held the phone at arm’s length, all her phone-answering skills abandoning her.
“Just say hello,” I whispered.
She exploded. “I don’t know what to say, Mom! She wants to talk to you, not me! Duh!”
I managed to get the phone away from her, but it was too late. She was embarrassed and volatile, slamming a cupboard closed, stomping, yelling her way down the hallway. And the reporter got to hear it all.
That’s what life is like for us right now. Some very good days, but then there’s a trigger (that I can’t always pinpoint) and everything falls apart. It’s painful, it’s raw, it’s emotional, and our whole family takes a nail-biting ride on the roller coaster.
For me there’s a lot of guilt associated with that roller coaster ride.
We didn’t do things the “right way” when we adopted our daughter.
We were too young by Chinese law to adopt, but we were living in China at the time, so when I spotted a newborn with a cleft lip and palate at the orphanage where I was volunteering, I asked the director if I could bring her home.
My plan was to foster care for her. She was failure to thrive and I’d found her lying flat on her back one day, a bottle propped in her mouth. The orphanage ayis were too busy to give her the attention she needed. I wanted to save this baby’s life. I wanted to make a difference.
My husband and I had been married for two years. He was away at fall camp with his students when the orphanage director gave her approval for us to foster. There was no ceremony. The ayi put her in a disposable diaper, a clean, threadbare sleeper, wrapped her in a blanket, and handed her to me. Every month after that, for seven and a half years, I brought our daughter back to the orphanage to “check her out,” rather like a library book.
For the first ten months of her life we were fostering her for a family in the United States. That family’s adoption fell through, but by then we were attached to this ten-month-old with the huge smile and couldn’t imagine taking her back to the orphanage. That’s when we made the commitment to be her real parents, even though we had to wait almost seven more years for everything to be finalized.
So whenever my daughter has one of those fall-apart moments, when one of those triggers gets flipped and she freaks out, the enemy pours accusations into my head:
You would have treated her differently from the beginning if you’d known you were going to adopt her. You were holding back a piece of your heart all those years to protect yourself from getting hurt. You were too young, too naïve. You didn’t even ask your husband if he supported you bringing home a baby that day. You listened to everyone’s advice and got a lot of things wrong. If she has anger issues it’s YOUR FAULT.
But what does God say?
Trust me.
The past is behind you.
I’m teaching you, I’m molding you. I will never leave you or forsake you.
Haven’t I provided for you before? I’ll provide for you now.
The hard days pass and spring comes for awhile. It’s late and my daughter, who is quite the night owl, peeks through my cracked-open bedroom door. “Can I snuggle with you, Mommy, just for a little while?”
These are the moments I treasure—the calm in the eye of the storm, the promise of better things to come, the assurance that there is grace even in our brokenness and failure. And forgiveness. I’m learning to forgive myself for not being perfect.
Our adoption story isn’t completely written yet. I will cling to hope and leave guilt behind.
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A.L. Sonnichsen is the author of a newly published middle-grade novel. In it a young orphaned girl in modern-day China discovers the meaning of family in this inspiring story told in verse, in the tradition of Inside Out and Back Again and Sold.
Kara never met her birth mother. Abandoned as an infant, she was taken in by an American woman living in China. Now eleven, Kara spends most of her time in their apartment, wondering why she and Mama cannot leave the city of Tianjin and go live with Daddy in Montana. Mama tells Kara to be content with what she has…but what if Kara secretly wants more?
Told in lyrical, moving verse, Red Butterfly is the story of a girl learning to trust her own voice, discovering that love and family are limitless, and finding the wings she needs to reach new heights.
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Raised in Hong Kong, A.L. Sonnichsen grew up attending British school and riding double-decker buses. As an adult, she spent eight years in Mainland China where she learned that not all baozi are created equal. She also learned some Mandarin, which doesn’t do her much good in the small Eastern Washington town where she now lives with her rather large family. Find out more at http://alsonnichsen.blogspot.com.
She stood in the middle of Build-a-Bear, clutching her new stuffed bunny, with tears streaming down her face.
We were there to continue the tradition of letting each child choose an animal, stuff it, bathe it, and name it. And each time a child goes through the process, my husband and I sneak off to record our voices onto a little device, which is placed in the animal’s paw. At bedtime, or anytime they just need to hear us say we love them, they can press the stuffed animal’s hand. We loved watching our daughter take great care in making the bunny her own.
Finally, she took “Stuffy” in her arms and pressed the hand. Our recorded voices started, telling her how much we loved her. She looked up at our excited faces and started sobbing.
As much as we wanted to believe her tears were due to her overwhelming happiness, I knew it wasn’t true. We were spending the evening celebrating her one-year anniversary in our family with dinner and a trip to Build-a-Bear. Because Matt and I were going to be out of town on her homecoming anniversary, we went the week before. We wanted some family time before we left anyway, and we loved the idea of leaving our voices at her fingertips while we were gone.
We presented the evening as a celebration of one year as a family of five, not specifically about her. But she’s a smart girl. She knows we are only a family of five because she’s in it. And so the tears came.
For adopted children, sometimes celebrating a new family is a stark reminder of the family they lost. Often, the times we think will be most joyful- birthdays, holidays, “Gotcha Day”- actually bring up the deepest pain.
So we tread lightly. And when unexpected tears come, we hug harder and don’t try to force words. We love them, we cry with them, and we try to imagine what that pain might feel like. Some have called the loss of one’s biological family a “primal wound,” and from parenting two adopted children, I would have to agree. There’s no way for me to explain the pain that comes from that loss having never lived it. But I witness it often.
For some adoptees, there’s the added pressure of feeling like they need to seem happy about their adoptions 100% of the time because the alternative would be a betrayal to their adoptive family. One of our goals in adoptive parenting is for our kids to know they can be sad or confused or angry about their adoptions, and we will be there with them in it. They can talk to us without worrying if we’ll take their pain personally and make it about us. As we have said repeatedly to them, they can (and do) miss their first families and love us at the same time.
Their grief is not about us.
I was talking with our son the other day about how we can respond when others say things that feel uncomfortable to us. That’s a pretty common experience for any adoptive family, and even more so for a transracial, adoptive family. One example we talked about was what he thinks or can say when someone says he and his sister are lucky to have been adopted into our family. He looked at me with genuine disbelief and said the perfect thing.
“Lucky? But I lost my other family.”
That’s why we don’t celebrate Gotcha Day.
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Every family and every adoptee is different. I can speak only to what works for our family right now (it might be different in a few years even). Every family has to do what’s best for them at the time.
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Matt and Becca write about marriage, parenting, and life through the lens of a married couple, parenting team, and pastor and professional counselor. They share hope and restoration by giving a glimpse into their lives- the failures, the successes, and the brokenness and beauty of everyday. You can read more of their writing at WhitsonLife.
As we blissfully stood posing for pictures following our wedding ceremony, we had no idea how God would write our family’s story, the twists and turns our story would take, the struggles we would face.
We were completely clueless.
Had you asked me I would have told you that we would soon work on having a couple biological children and would later adopt. Although I wouldn’t have known to reveal it, if you had seen my plans, my version of our story, the story would unfold very “normally” on a very “normal” schedule with me being the primary person in control of its unfolding. God would be there, for sure, but if I were to be honest, He would fill the role of blessing my plans.
We didn’t have a clue that getting pregnant would not come easily. No clue that fertility specialists would soon be part of our future, specialists who would tell us that we were delusional to think we could get pregnant. No clue that the God I imagined cheering my plans for a family on would become the God who held me together in heartache as He nudged me from the driver’s seat.
We didn’t have a clue about the family God had in mind for us as we posed for this picture celebrating that we were DTC back in October 2006, seated at a local Chinese restaurant with a newly purchased panda bear in the background.
No clue that the 11 month wait to adopt from China would stretch into 14 months and eventually 3.5 years. No clue that God would be pressing into my plans with His whisper of, “Not yet. Wait.”
No clue that less than a year after that picture was taken we would find ourselves miraculously pregnant — with no medical intervention — after many fertility treatments and a failed IVF. No clue that God would show Himself to be the God of surprises and miracles.
No clue that 9 months later we would not be holding our Chinese daughter, but our biological daughter, Miss E.
No clue that 1.5 years after her birth we would change course in our adoption and commit to a special needs adoption and, six months later, come home with our precious Miss A. No clue that God would so obviously be our source of strength during that adoption trip, proving himself to be the never-leaving, always-guiding God who comforts the weary and whispers, “This is the child.”
No clue that less than a year after coming home with Miss A, God would show us another daughter in a country we had very little — if any — knowledge of. No clue that God would so clearly answer our prayers of, “Who?” No clue that He would call us to an independent foreign adoption in which He would become our source of bravery and courage nudging pushing us into unknown territory whispering, “Trust me.”
No clue that only six months later we would be bringing that daughter, Miss L, home. No clue that we would see God’s work and miracles so clearly in her adoption story as He moved bureaucratic mountains with ease saying, “Nothing is too difficult for me.”
No clue that we would become the parents to not one, but three beautiful daughters with three different nationalities within five years of that wedding picture. No clue that as we were singing, “Jesus, Be the Center” during our wedding ceremony God was most likely whispering, “Hang on! I’m about to show you what having me at the center looks like.”
Yep, we were pretty clueless back then. And it’s a good thing. Had God filled me in on the plans He had for building our family I would have said, “No way! That’s crazy! I can’t do that. It’ll never happen.”
I would have thrown out every excuse in the book. It sounds too hard. Too complicated. Too expensive. Too abnormal. Too risky. (Don’t we all just want normal? Easy? Typical? I know I did — and honestly I still crave it!)
But God is God. And He can work through anybody to do anything to reveal Himself more fully.
Even an over-emotional, non-risk-taking, clueless worry-wart like me.
Glory be!
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18 years in the classroom as a teacher was easy compared to parenting three little ones at home full-time. Through their three daughters, God has revealed Himself most clearly to Stephanie and her husband Matthew. He not only worked a miracle in giving them their biological daughter, He continued to show Himself in mighty ways throughout adoption journeys in China and Bhutan that were anything but normal. Nowadays she enjoys encouraging and connecting with other adoptive families through speaking and her work on the leadership team of “We Are Grafted In” and on the Board of The Sparrow Fund. You can read more about their family on their personal blog We Are Family.