Family Stories Archives - Page 5 of 23

September 15, 2014September 15, 2014

The Fruits of Attachment Labor

While we were waiting to bring Sunshine home back in 2010 and 2011, I learned as much as I could about fostering attachment. I tried to memorize all of the attachment advice. Build trust by meeting needs quickly, check. Be the only ones to meet all of her needs, check. Love unconditionally, check. Don’t let other people hold her, check. Wear her for as long as she’ll let me, check. Cocoon for a few months after coming home, check. The list goes on, but those were the ones that stuck in my head. The ones I repeated over and over.

Sounds easy enough, I suppose. Except, it wasn’t.

I prayed a lot and became very close to God during that time. Sometimes I got the attachment thing right, but I failed miserably many other times. Occasionally, I felt isolated because most of our friends didn’t understand. Many of our extended family members didn’t understand either. Sunshine appeared “fine,” so I’m pretty sure a few of them thought I was being a controlling crazy person. It’s hard to put into words how much I desperately wanted to protect the bond with her! I should have done a better job explaining the attachment theories back then though. Maybe it would have made more sense to everyone else. I had only a few friends to lean on for support in those first months home. I relied on them and my husband heavily, and we pushed forward.

Fortunately, attachment came easily for Sunshine. I think her strength and bravery, coupled with the year with her foster mother really helped her thrive. I didn’t fully realize it then, but it was such a blessing! Over time, attachment became less of a concern as our precious girl blossomed into the child God created her to be. We became less intentional about attachment based on her cues, but I always remained protective. Hence, the reason it took a year and a half before I was ready to leave her in the church nursery.

Fast forward to this past week. Over three years home with us. It was a big week of firsts. First Mandarin lesson with a new teacher. First day of homeschool co-op with a new tutor. First day of Community Bible Study (CBS) with another new teacher. First day on the IEP with a new speech-language pathologist. That’s a lot of firsts, even for an adult!

And you know what? She rocked it. Every single new adventure I threw at her. Rocked all of it. When I picked her each time, she was beaming with a smile that clearly showed how happy she was. She has been asking for “dat Chinese wady” since her lesson. She has been singing the new songs she learned in co-op. And she said the only thing she didn’t like at CBS was “da bwocks” … I’ll call all of that a big win. I couldn’t have been anymore proud of her, she tackled it all so beautifully.

As I reflected on Sunshine’s successes this week, I thought back to those first few months home. The intentional attachment parenting was worth it. Every bit of it. To see her effortlessly thriving in so many new environments is absolutely priceless. I have a smile on my face just thinking about how well she did. It can be hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel on some days, but the fruits of all that attachment labor are paying off in such big ways.

_____________________________

Nicole is a daughter to the King and a wife to an amazing man. She is a classical homeschooling mama to {almost} four, by birth and adoption. She is a part-time newborn photographer, a founder and adoption photographer at Red Thread Sessions, a contributing blogger at No Hands But Ours, and an advocate of orphan care and adoption. When she’s not with her family or behind her camera, she loves to blog, create, give life to old furniture, spend time at the beach, and read. She strives to live her life to glorify our Heavenly Father. With His love, all things are possible.

September 12, 2014September 10, 2014

Not My Dream

Is this really my life?

I fought hard against this calling.

This is not what I really wanted.

I wanted a simple life.

Holding a child in my arms who is thrashing against all my efforts to love is not what I dreamed for motherhood.

Continual disruptions of birth family visits, social workers, and court dates.

I signed up for this?

A child slipping into an infantile state and wailing for anyone else to come hold her besides me.

Anyone but me.

Muffled sobs against my shoulder that she wants her brothers who live with another foster family on the other side of town.

And I rock and struggle to draw her flailing form into my arms. She shrieks foreign gutteral sounds.

After returning from a visit with birth family. This is what happens. Last time it was projectile vomiting.

And I rock and whisper…

I know you are confused. I know you are angry. Mommy loves you. Will you be my baby and let me rock you?

Over and over we do this. My chest heaving with hers, our tears mixing a salty stream between us.

I hear it all the time: I could never be a foster parent. I just couldn’t let them go.

Really? Maybe God is calling you to foster care.

Seriously.

You want to know a secret?

I said the exact.same.thing.

Do you think we do this because our hearts are stone hard and we have a special gift in letting go? Or that we’re not fearful?

We’ve wrestled with every fear and reason why we shouldn’t do this. For years.

Even when we signed up for ten weeks of intensive training, we still questioned: Is this what we’re supposed to be doing?

We walked the tough road of watching my daughter’s best friend and her foster family. After three years, she went home to her mama.

Difficult circumstances. Gut-wrenching pain.

He pricked our hearts a long time ago. And in His perfect timing and plan, we jumped in. He used a friendship in my Kindergarten daughter’s life, along with our broken past to draw us in.

We decided we would start slowly by trying respite care- ministering to foster families when they needed a break.

We got a call before we were licensed. To take a seven-year-old boy for a week. That week rocked my world.

He was the same age as our middle son.

He endlessly spoke of his losses, his words permeating every quiet space. My ears burned with stories of his past– his mama’s choices, his grief.

My kids were carefree, laughing and talking about superheroes. An empty gap in the conversation erupted as this dear boy attempted to connect by sharing his stories of drugs, police, and guns.

Talk about a real-life superheroes. These kids that endure the worst of life and still keep going. Continuing to hope. They are the superheroes.

My boys fought like tigers all that week. The extra testosterone in the mix pressing against their comforts– their stuff (specifically Legos).

My chest was a cavity of shards every night I knelt down with him. He was a bundle of blankets and tears asking why. Every.single.night. Anguish and prayers for his mama.

I thought I would die. I didn’t know how to handle this.

Was this really where He was calling us?

His mama’s addiction was the same that caught my husband and our family in a net and almost destroyed our lives four years beforehand.

No mistake this sweet boy was our first placement. A ripping away of our comforts. A reminder of our rescue- what our lives could have been.

A bursting of our children’s comforts is not a bad thing. They are called to more, just as we are.

I am repeatedly caught off-guard by how children love with pure hearts. No agenda or to-do list.

My kids are big sinners, like us, but they are unencumbered by life or worries. A freedom to love without bounds that I don’t have.

Babies seemed to rain from the sky last summer. My kids spent the months of June and July bouncing fussy babies, feeding hungry ones, and bringing joy to little faces.

While this mama breathed into a paper bag, trying to regulate my oxygen level. Because it was hard.

Deeply loving other people’s kids. Adjusting to different schedules and stages of babies.

As my kids begged for more babies, my heart was doubtful. Unsure if I could handle and manage this calling.

So, we detoured–pursued adoption for six months, while we continued to serve as a respite foster family.

We thought adoption seemed safer, you know? Ha! Insane thinking- my adoption friends can tes.ti.fy to that…adoption bears it’s own heavy grief and uncertainties.

The Lord shut the door on adoption for us. We ran after every country and adoption agency known to man. He slammed that door tight.

I grieved all last summer. The realization set in– He was cementing our feet in foster care.

We couldn’t run from our calling, our passion. We couldn’t unloosen what He had sealed in our hearts.

And the phone call came in October.

Would we take the little bitty girl we loved with all our hearts?

The one that had us all wrapped around her tiny brown fingers.

She had occupied our crib more than any other child, spending countless hours in our home as respite.

Full-time foster care frightened us and kept me up at night, but we knew without a doubt.

We said yes to Little Bitty, jumping in with both feet and all our doubts and fears. Holding out empty hands to the Father. Knowing this was our calling.

We are not extraordinary.

We are normal, fearful, questioning, struggling, people.

Doing what He has called us to do.

Often with anger at injustice and shaking fists.

Much of the time with fear and trembling.

We are still standing.

Because He strengthens the weak-kneed.

Gives hope to the weary.

This is not the dream I had. His plans are bigger and better.

Because we serve an extraordinary God.

________________________________

Melanie and her husband, Kevin, have been foster parents for two years. During this time, they have had twelve children in their home. Foster care has challenged their family to look inward at their own brokenness as they seek their Savior to serve the *least of these*. Only by His strength. You can follow their journey on her blog Running to the Father.

September 5, 2014September 10, 2014

Chatting with my 25 Year Old Self {Summer Rewind}

When I was 25, my husband and I had been married for almost two years. It seemed like the perfect time to add children to our family. Little did I know the journey we were going to experience…

If my 25 year old self was sitting in front of me I would hand her a sweet and salty snack and cut right to the chase.

Your journey to becoming a mom is not going to be easy. You have a plan, but God has a different one for your family. You are going to cry a lot (even more than you already do) and have many ups and downs.

You will take more pregnancy tests than any one person should ever take. You will be consumed with wondering whether or not this month will be the month you finally see a positive result.

You will avoid certain people because every time they see you they will ask, “So when are you two going to start having kids?” Every. Time.

You will go to a fertility specialist to get answers and discover that there really are no answers…something they like to call unexplained infertility.

After two failed IUI cycles you will realize that God is calling you to wait. This will be one of the hardest parts of your journey. As you wait, women all around you will be getting pregnant. You will want so desperately to be happy for them, but on the inside, you will be a mess.

God will start putting a desire for adoption in your heart, but once again, there will be more waiting. Your husband will not be ready.

But hold on, 25 year old Abby. There is hope. Lots of hope coming your way.

You will look back on all of those tears that you shed and be so thankful. Those tears will bring you to your knees and draw you closer to your heavenly Father than ever before. Your faith will be tested and you will learn that He is good. Always.

Although the desire to become pregnant may never go away, God will miraculously take away the deep sadness of not getting pregnant and allow you to truly celebrate when others announce, “I’m pregnant!”

People are going to ask your husband, “When are you going to start a family?” and you’re going to get to hear him say, “I already have family.” It will melt your heart and make you love him even more.

And that sweet husband of yours? He will come around and say out of the blue one day, “Let’s adopt.”

You will begin the adoption journey with lots of excitement, lots of questions and a bit of fear, but you will have complete peace knowing that this is exactly the path God wants you to take.

Expectant moms will choose you and unchoose you, try to scam you and rightfully change their minds, but once again, you will have peace. It will be hard and you will wish you could be at the finish line, but you will have peace.

And then I would cut right to the chase again because I wouldn’t be able to handle it anymore and a would whip out this picture.

You would say, “This isn’t what I pictured.” and I would say, “Isn’t it so much better?!?!?!” You would agree…I’m sure of it.

I would tell you the stories of how God used two brave women to bring these two precious boys into our family. You would be amazed at God’s faithfulness and His creativity in writing these stories.

We would probably sit in silence for a bit with you trying to wrap your head around all that I just said.

With tears in your eyes, you would ask for the picture, hold it against your heart and say, “I’m coming for you boys. It’s going to be a long wait, but by the looks of things, you’re worth it.”

_________________________________

Abby and her college sweetheart husband Wes began the journey of domestic adoption in 2009. Blessed with a {more than they had planned but oh so thankful for it} open adoption experience, they were able to witness the birth of their first child Max in the summer of 2010. Little brother Sam joined their team in September of 2012. You can read their story at Akers of Love.

August 21, 2014August 21, 2014

There May Never Be a Good Time, but Now is the Time {Summer Rewind}

This has been a busy and exhausting week. We are hosting 2 sisters for 3 weeks at our home through Safe Families for Children. Some days I’ve laughed and felt my heart burst at my girl’s ability to share, love them, and be welcoming. And some days I’ve cried and felt defeated at our inability to get anywhere on time, the selfishness that emerges so quickly from the girls (and myself..ahem), and the death of our “normal routine.” It is hard but the best kind of hard. The kind of hard that Jesus asks of us so that we know for sure with every ounce of our being that we are not self sufficient. It has been almost one week and there have been days I was ready to say “this is just too much” but in those moments God has sustained. I have visited a friend who is on the journey with us and has 2 of the siblings from this family as well. I have remembered that when we come to the end of ourselves then God shows up and we cannot take credit. And He does things better and more beautiful then we ever could.

The timing may seem crazy but as I sat in the Safe Families conference last week I felt so convicted that I always can think of a reason why right now is just not the right time. And my reasons are pretty good ones: I’m still feeling sick, I am almost 8th months preggers, we have two kids, we don’t have tons of extra space. But as I examine my heart I know that those are excuses. The truth is there is never a “great time” to serve and love and welcome in a stranger into your home because it is messy. But yet that is exactly what Jesus calls us to do. It is so important to Him because it costs us something, it transforms relationships, and it requires us to live in faith and not just talk about it. It changes others but mostly it changes my selfish heart. I read that the Bible instructs us to love, welcome, and care for the stranger over 100 times. But yet I can always think of a reason why now is just not the best time. I cannot recall a time in recent history when I have sat happily on my couch while perfectly behaved children played in a completely clean home while dinner cooks in the oven. There will never be a “good time” to do this. Our life is messy and real hospitality means inviting people into that mess and chaos and saying we love you. We don’t love perfectly but because we are desperately loved and have received outrageous grace from our heavenly Father we gladly can extend what we can to others. The grace we have been shown is not just nice or great it is ridiculous and life changing. And it spills from us.

We want to support their mother in a difficult time and really show that we take seriously the command to love our neighbor as ourselves. You see it is easy for me to think I am pretty good at that until my personal space and time is threatened. It has been hard for us all to share our lives, our space, our stuff, and our time. And the opportunity to do so has allowed us to loosen the grip on those things. Anni and Evy are counting the cost with us and I am so proud of them. Not because they perfectly share but because they are struggling through and living what it means to love others. It has afforded us so many great chances to talk as a family and work through this all. I am bursting with stories and it has only been a week but this morning as I was puking in the sink and thinking to myself “I just cannot do this one more day” I saw this….

The girls getting their hair did and then Annikah brought me this….

A note the oldest girl wrote about her time here so far (we eat a lot of fruit…be still my heart).

And I remembered that God knows best and His grace is enough. And friends and family are supporting us in this and one will be here with pizza in an hour (crowns in heaven I tell you). It is these things that convince me more and more we are meant to live exhausted and spent for His glory but full of abundant love and peace because of His scandalous grace.

Boasting in my weakness because that is where He is shown to be strong.

______________________________

Roxanne Engstrom is a mama of 3; Annikah, Evangeline, and the newest little boy Abishai. Roxanne and her husband Jason now live in Chicago after returning from 4 years learning, loving, and living on a small island in Africa. They have a heart for adoption and supporting vulnerable families and are now back stateside after a failed adoption overseas. They are currently a Safe Family through Safe Families for Children and becoming Foster parents in the hopes of adopting. She blogs about their family’s adventures and what God is doing in their lives at www.roxengstrom.blogspot.com. She is grateful that even though the journey can be difficult God gives joy and promises abundance along the way.

July 24, 2014June 28, 2014

A Letter to My Daughter’s Birth Parents {Summer Rewind}

Dear Amanda and Conner,

I have no idea if you’ll ever read these words, but I have to write them.
I have to hope that, even if you never stumble across this blog or
open the card that we sent on your court day, you somehow know the way that
we feel about you.

I remember getting the call that you were at the hospital, Amanda. It
was June 28th- the day that we would meet our girl. I had
simultaneously anticipated and dreaded this day since May 16th, when I
first heard your voice on the phone. Although I was grateful to be
allowed in the delivery room when Piper was born, I was also unsure of
myself. Would I say something stupid? Would I pass out since
I’d never seen a live birth before? Would I be able to convey my
excitement about bringing home Baby Girl without rubbing salt in your
wounds? At least our case worker would be there to help us know
how to navigate this situation that most people never face…

Except that when Andrew and I arrived at the hospital, you only wanted the
two of us back there with you. Panic. I was honored that
you and Conner trusted and loved us enough to let us experience something
so special, but up to this point, we had depended on Bonni to help us know
what to say to you and how to act. Andrew put his arm around my
shoulders, and I quickly prayed for the kind of strength and wisdom that
could never come from me. Please don’t act like an idiot, please
don’t act like an idiot.

When we walked in the room, my fears were gone, and I immediately felt at
home. “Hey guys!” you grinned. Even in labor, you looked
beautiful and seemed calm.

In a few minutes, the nurse came in to see how far you were dilated.
She looked at Andrew and me, hinting with her eyes that we should
step out. We took the clue and started to leave the room when you,
Conner, looked at her and said, “No, it’s okay. They’re
family.” I wonder if you know how much those words meant.

Time seemed to stand still as we spent the next hour or so talking with
both of you and trying to wrap our minds around this huge thing that was
about to take place. Though we had met you before, those moments in
the delivery room were especially precious to me as we actually got to know
the parents of our little girl. In the moments away from the agency,
the paperwork, and the caseworkers, you became my friends and not just the
couple who had chosen our profile book. Conner, I learned that you,
like my husband, hate making decisions about restaurants. Amanda, I
learned that you and I are both somewhat obsessive about using the Weather
Channel app on our phones. It was the little things in that
hour-long conversation that made you both seem more real and made me love
you more.

When the nurse came back later, it was “go time.” Andrew and I stood
awkwardly at your head and stroked your hair as we tried to think of
something to offer other than, “You’re doing great!” Conner, you were
a natural. You knew exactly what to say and do to help your girl.
And Amanda, wow. You made labor and delivery look like a walk
in the park. I honestly expected so much anger and frustration, but
all I saw in that situation was love. I wish there was
a way for you to have stood back and watched the scene like we did.
Your relationship with each other is inspiring, and your affection
for a baby who you bore for someone else is, frankly, earth-shattering.
Those words that Conner whispered as you pushed, “Come on, Amanda,
this is the last thing we can do for her,” melted my heart in more ways
than you’ll ever realize.

Just 30 minutes after you started pushing, Piper was here. I cried
the happiest tears of my life as I took in her thick hair, her chubby
cheeks, and her perfect little body. Then I watched as the two of you
held her, and my heart broke. This was the reason why I had
been so afraid of our time together in the hospital. You clearly
loved her as much as I did, yet you knew that she wasn’t yours to keep.
You said that we deserved her, and I knew that wasn’t true.

The nurses came in and out to check on Piper as the four of us bounced back
and forth in our conversation between the trivial and the significant.
Andrew and I left for about an hour to pick up some food and to give
you two time alone with Piper. We got back to the room and ate dinner
together, and I found myself wishing (though I knew the impossibility of my
idea) that there was a way for the five of us to be the little family who
lived happily ever after.

The hospital prepared a room around the corner for Andrew, Piper, and me,
and we slowly collected our belongings to spend our first night as a family
of three. Before I went to bed, I walked down the hall to refill my
water bottle. Your door was open, and I stopped. Conner, you
were headed out briefly to get some fresh air, so I sat down in a chair
next to the bed for some “girl time.” Amanda, as I listened to you
share your hopes and dreams, as you talked about your friends, and as you
revealed your plans for college in the fall, I felt connected to you in a
way that few people will probably ever be able to grasp. Though we
didn’t always talk over the past nine months, we were in each other’s
hearts as we shared this journey. We have a unique bond: I wanted so
badly to be in your place (to be pregnant), and you wanted to be in mine
(“established” enough to raise a baby). There is no way to explain
those feelings to anyone else, but I think you know.

The night passed uneventfully, and I began to think about how the two of
you would be going home to a new “normal” in just a few hours. I
started dreading those last moments in the hospital. Finally, around
2:30, both of you came down the hall. This was it. Andrew and I
stepped out of the room to give you the space that you needed with Piper.
We held each other tightly and prayed for the words to say as we waited for
you to come out. About five minutes later, the two of you entered the
hall with Piper, and all the tears that I had been holding back came
flooding out as I looked at your faces. I never guessed
that goodbye would be so hard. Amanda, I’ve thought that you
are unbelievably strong throughout this entire journey, so seeing you
dissolved by emotion was almost unbearable. It would have been wildly
inappropriate to take pictures in the moments that followed, but the scene
will forever be captured in my mind as you handed Piper to me for the last
time and as you, Conner, hugged my husband like there was no tomorrow.
In those moments, every word I had rehearsed was gone. Each of
us knew that there was nothing to be said which could possibly convey the
feelings we had. In shaky voices and through blinding tears, we all
said how much we love each other. Amanda, you asked me to “take good
care of her,” and I promised that I would. Then the two of you walked
around the corner and back to your lives. I still cannot fathom
how a day can be so joyful and so gut-wrenching at the same time.

Andrew and I walked downstairs to the hospital’s chapel, where I buried my
head in his lap, and we both sobbed. I have never seen my husband cry
like that before. I had thought that I would be filled with guilt
when you two went home without a baby, but really I was just overcome with
sadness like I haven’t ever known. I was sad for you because of the
difficulty of your decision, and I was sad for us because I felt like we
had just lost two people who, in a matter of days, had come to mean
everything to our family. “Be still and know that I am God,”
the walls of the chapel read, and this is ironically the verse tattooed on
the wall of our bedroom at home. Both of us found it difficult to “be
still,” because our hearts were so heavy for you. We prayed over and
over for God to give you peace, and I still pray every day that you’ve
found it.

As I got ready the next morning, I burst into tears all over again, and I
wondered how many days would pass before I woke up without crying for you.
In the weeks since we have been home with Piper, time has slowly
eased the hurt, but I don’t think of you any less. I have never once
doubted that you would change your minds about the decision you made, but I
have felt an unexplainable stillness in knowing that if you did, I would be
okay because as much as I care about Piper, I care about the two of you
equally.

Every night before bed, we tell Piper how many people love her, and the two
of you are always at the top of the list because you will always be her
parents, too. I can’t wait until she is old enough to ask
questions about the picture of the four of us on the wall in her room,
until she wonders how she got her beautiful black hair, and until she makes
the connection that her middle name is the same as her birth mother’s.
I can’t wait for that day because then I get to tell her, once again,
the story of two people named Amanda and Conner who loved her so much that
they made the greatest sacrifice two people could ever make.

People say that you can’t understand true love until you have a baby.
Although I don’t fully agree with that statement, I do believe that
I’ve experienced a fuller and deeper kind of love because I met you.
In your words, Conner, this situation was just “meant to
be.” Through our whole adoption journey, I have been the
most worried about our relationship with our child’s birth parents, and
that has actually come to be the most beautiful part of it all.

You named our sweet girl Grace when she was with you for nine months, and
grace has absolutely been the theme of our song. “Thank you” seems so
inadequate for expressing the gratitude we daily feel for your selfless
gift- Piper. Somehow I hope you know just how much you mean to us,
not just for giving us a daughter who we could never have on our own, but
because of the truly strong and special people that you are. I love
you and respect you both, and because of you, my heart is full for the
first time in years.

Love,

Mary Rachel

_______________________________________________________

Mary Rachel Fenrick

Mary Rachel Fenrick recently became a mom when she and her husband adopted their daughter from an agency in Oklahoma City. God used infertility to not only teach them more about himself, but to bring them a perfect baby and two wonderful birth parents. You can read more about her journey on her blog, the Fenricks.

July 21, 2014July 21, 2014

Abigail ~ “The Father’s JOY”

Doug said we were “done”. He said it so many times I almost believed it myself! Done adopting that is… He had, in fact, said that before we adopted Rachel too, but he was so adamant this time that he almost banned me from ever looking at another orphan advocacy site again! I tried to reason with him… Banning me from even looking at the faces of the hopeless would mean that I could no longer be a voice for them either. I have found God’s sweet plans for my life through the gift of adoption. If there were to be no more for my own home, I felt compelled to at least draw others to the children in desperate need of forever Mommy’s and Daddy’s. Doug finally relented and agreed that I could continue to look and advocate for those that wait. This I would do with great joy!

But what was I to do when my eyes landed on the face of this precious little girl who I was convinced was to be my own? What she needed more than anything else was a Daddy. And she and her foster Mama had been praying for just that! Sure- Abby needed a Mommy too… but her Foster Mama loved her well and the hole in her heart needed a Daddy to fill it! I happened to know of a most wonderful Daddy… and I prayed he would be the one this little girl longed for!

Of course, you know the rest of that story by now. God would make it clear to Doug that Abigail was to be his daughter and his heart was so tender toward her that he could hardly speak her name without tears. Suddenly the man that was convinced we were “done” was driven to pray and to work tirelessly to do whatever it took to get his daughter home!

On the other side of the world, news would arrive to the little girl that had waited so long… Abigail had a Daddy! As photos arrived of him on the computer, she would wrap her arms around it to hug her dream come true and the screen was smudged with kiss after kiss planted on her new daddy’s face. Finally the two would meet via Skype. There are no words… just one picture to tell the story.

Sadly, Abigail’s Daddy couldn’t travel to China to bring her home, so our “Gotcha Day” included another introduction via computer screen.

She would have to wait almost 2 more weeks before finally meeting Daddy in person and being in his arms for good! This made their meeting on November 22 at the Jacksonville airport, that much more special! I’m certain words can not capture the moment, but a video camera caught the beautiful moment when Abby’s dreams finally came true…

We made it home just in time to celebrate Thanksgiving! It would not be difficult to figure out what this Daddy is thankful for this year! Pretty obvious, huh?

It would be an understatement to say that Daddy is smitten with his newest little girl! S.M.I.T.T.I.N.! Is it any accident that a fatherless girl was given the name Abigail~ “The father’s joy”? No accident at all! God knew who her earthly Daddy would be and his JOY does indeed overflow!

Our days are FILLED with JOY!!!!

Abigail, you are and always will be… your father’s JOY!

___________________________

Lori McCary and her husband, Doug, live in Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida with their four adopted daughters from China. Their three biological kids are grown and have left the nest to start families of their own. A first grandson was born in March 2014, yet the Lord is still adding another daughter from China later this year! Lori is passionate about loving the fatherless and encouraging others to do the same. She and her husband are both involved in full-time ministry and speak around the country about the hope and joy found in Christ alone. You can follow her at http://www.lorimccary.com/.

July 17, 2014June 28, 2014

The Other Mama {Summer Rewind}

My 6 year old daughter has just begun to ask some very thought provoking questions surrounding her birth mother lately. She’s my thinking child, so although this doesn’t surprise me, I must admit some of the questions…oh.my…let’s just say I’m thankful they have come mostly at night in her bed, with the lights off…so she can’t see the tears that roll down my cheeks. We’re entering a whole new chapter in this adoptive parenting journey and begging for wisdom and revelation from the Lord to help us wade and part these waters.

And at the same time, I’m often in awe of how the Lord has been preparing us for these moments, long before Ashley came home. I’ve mentioned before that I worked in the domestic side of adoption for a few years before transitioning over to the international. Over those years, I worked with birth mothers. And you better believe I took mental notes and had dozens of “light bulb, heart pounding, Holy Spirit” moments with these women. Some of them I knew for months and others I met literally in the delivery room or the day after.

But one thing I knew about each one of them….as hard as they tried to hide it, or as openly as they grieved, was that this was a gut.wrenching.process, and one that they would never, ever forget.

One day the Lord gave me this verse:

Isaiah 49:15
“Can a mother forget her nursing child? Can she feel no love for the child she has borne? But even if that were possible, I would not forget you!”

The very God of the universe in His Word, gave an answer to our children…”Did she forget me?”

Can you see it? “…even if that were possible…” which means….it’s NOT. And even if it were…HE WOULD NOT!!!

Meet little miss “A.” She’s just a week new y’all and has the most perfect baby skin I’ve ever seen!!!

Her mama, “M” called me from our church’s Crisis Pregnancy Center a few years back. She was pregnant was interested in adoption. We began meeting and a few months later, a baby girl was born. I watched her do the most courageous thing a woman can do….hand her child over to another mama and daddy to love and raise as their child. And as I watched her grieve, I prayed deep for the woman that had left my baby girl at the orphanage gate for someone else to raise. It’s as if the Lord just allowed me a glimpse of her grief through these women in my care.

A year later, she called back. Pregnant again. And, choosing life for her child, a few months later I stood in the L&D hallway yelling for them to run FAST because their son was about to be born. And she did it again, this time knowing full well the grief to come. Don’t miss that this girl had made some very poor choices, but she had made the most important one for her children….LIFE.

This time around, she’s ready to be a mama. She and her family will raise baby A and get to experience all she hasn’t gotten to with her other children. And rest assured, she has not forgotten them….their pictures hang on her walls. As I left her house, I wondered if Ashley’s birth parents had photos of her….she wasn’t abandoned as a newborn. I’d never wondered that before.

When questions come that I don’t have answers to, I go to the Word. It tells me that it is impossible for a mother to forget her child. And it drives me to pray deep for the two women that will never know this side of heaven how the Lord had His eyes on these babies, and how He placed them where they are loved and treasured.

Oh, how I wish I could send you pictures. For your walls. Just so you would know.

Thanks for the reminder, M…..you are one of the bravest women I’ve ever met, sister.
_____________________________

Emily and Jay have been married for 11 years and have 5 childen–Avery 8, Ally 6, Annalyse 4, Ashley 3, and (finally) our BOY, Asher 2. Ashley and Asher were adopted from China and were both special needs adoptions. Emily spends her days chasing toddlers and waiting in line at carpool. Her favorite place in the world is in her van, all alone with the worship music blaring! She would count it an honor to have you be encouraged at www.ourhimpossiblejourney.blogspot.com.

July 10, 2014June 28, 2014

H. AR. D. {Summer Rewind}

This special season of adjustment for our family, a birthday was kind of a big deal to get through. For Keturah, it probably held some special challenges, but nothing that she didn’t make it through with grace. She’s adjusted to the big sister role beautifully.

It’s the mama in this equation that’s struggling.

Patrick’s presence at Urbana undoubtedly added to how difficult the day was for me in degree, but I somehow think that what I found hard would have been hard had he been here too.

“Hard?” you ask, “how was celebrating Keturah’s birthday hard, exactly?”

Now before I go on to tell you exactly what I mean by hard, let me first state that I share this side of my story not only to acknowledge the less-than-picture-perfect moments of our lives, but more specifically to share some of those moments of our lives post-adoption. I’ve been honest about adoption issues here before. It’s not easy.

I also desire to make perfectly clear that most of the ‘issues’ I speak of lie with me and not Marilla. She’s got her own issues, to be sure, but what I’m writing about today concerns my personal response to the reality of parenting an adopted toddler at this stage in the game.

Please do not mistake my self-disclosure as anti-adoption sentiment. It’s not. I’m being honest too, when I say that I love Marilla, and would absolutely adopt her all over again.

Okay, now to spell it out. Celebrating Keturah’s birthday was:

H. AR. D.

H — Harried, but Holding it together.

I started off the day just feeling pulled in too many directions.

My desire was to celebrate Keturah’s birthday by making her the center of attention. To date in our family life, it has proven to be a reasonable expectation that the birthday girl or boy gets mom and dad’s attention, and is generally given preferential treatment. Because that is our custom, the non-birthday child has enjoyed taking part in this celebration, knowing that his or her day is coming.

Marilla, being new to our family, and over the last four months being the primary recipient of most preferential treatment, has no concept of what it means to celebrate a sibling. Why didn’t she get to blow out the candles? She doesn’t know that she’s got a day of her own marked on a different month of the calendar, and doesn’t realize that there is no injustice, and no threat to her position in preferring jiejie for a day.

Marilla needed explanation and guidance through every element of Keturah’s party. This kind of teaching opportunity I would have been glad to seize during another friend’s birthday celebration—staying close by, whispering instructions and affirmations into her ear as we navigated new territory together—but on Keturah’s birthday, Marilla’s needs just served to make me feel pulled in the wrong direction . . . away from my birthday girl.

I ended up with Marilla on my hip or at my side for the majority of the morning (while administrating party games, and barking all kinds of orders at my poor sister), when I would have preferred to draw Keturah in under my arm. The presence of other moms and my sister’s help (she cleaned up at least one accident while I got a wet little girl to the potty), allowed things to go as smoothly as they could given my own internal tug-of-war, and I managed to keep these growing emotions under control for the morning.

By Marilla’s naptime, though, as my sister manned the older two over lunch, I continued to struggle.

AR — Angry & Resentful.

With the party behind us, I thought that I’d be able to have some quiet moments with Keturah—maybe talking about her party, maybe playing with a few of her presents. An over-tired Marilla required a nap time bottle from me, while my sister manned lunch and party-clean-up for the older two.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but I did not do well with Marilla’s nap time needs. I felt she’d robbed me of special time with Keturah, and I took it out on her. I was impatient as she took her bottle. When she had trouble settling (and remember, she’d spent the morning being overstimulated) I just felt angry. I demanded that she “relax” and “stop moving around,” and “go to sleep”. I resented her presence and her needs because they seemed maliciously in direct opposition to my own desires.

I did eventually get to leave a sleeping Marilla’s side, but I must have carried that anger and resentment along with me. It only escalated when a premature wake up dictated that I excuse myself from listening to Keturah’s pretend play with her stuffed animals in her kitty-cat box to tend to Marilla.

D — Desperate.

I don’t like to admit to anger or resentment. Or desperation. But I’m glad that the range of intense emotions that I felt on that afternoon lead me to that place of admitting that it was so hard that it hurt, and that I just couldn’t hold it together on my own.

As I rocked an unhappy and over-tired two-year-old in my arms and desperately prayed aloud over her, she finally settled again. At the end of all of my own resources, I crawled to the opposite side of our bed, and just cried my heart out to heaven. No words. Just tears.

It’s uncomfortable to be desperate. And I loathe the process of getting there. I hate that I don’t learn enough from these cycles: holding-it-together –> anger & resentment. I want to be living there in that final place of desperation that’s so inevitable at this particularly challenging stage of life.

It’s in the desperate moments that I realize how high and unreasonable my own expectations are, and how it’s not my job to meet every need of each my children all of the time—however much I’d like to.

So, yes, Keturah’s birthday was really, really hard. That’s the rest of the story. The honest truth.

Funny how that stuff doesn’t end up in the birthday pictures, somehow, but I would hate to forget it.

___________________________

Kim Smith & Marilla - Asia Ramblin — Kim Smith

Kim met and married her husband Patrick while living and working in Asia in 2004. Their first two children, a son and a daughter, both born in Beijing, came along shortly after. Their adopted daughter, Marilla, was born in Henan province in 2010, then joined their family through the China adoption program as a two-year-old. After fourteen years of serving in China, Kim and the Smith family repatriated to Texas just this last fall. She formerly blogged about their lives overseas at Asiaramblin.

July 3, 2014June 28, 2014

Abandonment {Summer Rewind}

Abandonment.

Conscious or unconscious, it is a fear that plagues the adopted child.

Jesus is teaching me, gently and quietly, about this fear and how it takes shape in my own son. I don’t like to think about it, because I want to believe that my son knows he is safe, secure and loved. I don’t like the thought of him feeling afraid or insecure. But the reality is, his beautiful life’s story has a fear woven into it that I may never be able to truly comprehend. And I pray that someday the love of Jesus reaches deep within and heals its scars.

Sometimes I think people believe that when a child is adopted young, that they don’t remember. We think that they happily move from the arms of a grieving birth mother into the arms of a loving adoptive family and never know the difference. And we think that surely after they have been with their adoptive family for a while and seem happy and adjusted, everything must be just roses and butterflies.

My son’s tears tell me otherwise.

We have been incredibly blessed with a beautiful and smooth transition as our son entered our family from his foster family. He didn’t even cry when we took him from the adoption agency’s office back to our hotel. As a matter of fact, he fell asleep in my arms as we rode in the taxi, captivated by our dark-haired angel. At first, the nights were hardest. He would wake up multiple times, screaming and crying. But as time went on, the nights got easier and the days were full of laughter and joy.

He transitioned well into preschool, crying when I left him but stopping quickly after and enjoying the day with his classmates. Leaving him in the church nursery has gotten easier. He has stayed away from us overnight with grandparents. In most ways, he is a completely normal toddler- fully adjusted and secure.

But sometimes.

Sometimes I see the look of panic rise in his eyes when I begin to walk away, even just up the stairs in our home, that can only come from a deep place of hurt and fear. In those moments, he isn’t just a typical toddler wanting his mommy. He is a child who has been abandoned by all things familiar and safe and is overcome by fear of it happening again.

I’ll be honest. Sometimes it is exhausting.

There are days when it seems especially close to the surface and it doesn’t take much to set him off. Being a mom of three, I can’t always just drop everything and hold him. But I am learning that convenience is secondary to fulfilling the need my son has to know he is safe. Loved. Secure.

I know that as he grows, we will continue to deal with the scars left by his past. There may be emotions and situations that are hard to understand. But I am thankful for the grace of God that gives us wisdom and discernment in those situations. And I fully believe in the power of Jesus Christ that can transform a heart that has been abandoned into a heart that finds its complete security in Him. Because, after all, Jesus knows. He was abandoned too.

“About three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, ‘Eli, Eli, lema sabacthani?’ (which means ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?'” Matthew 27:46

Oh, beautiful Savior, that He would endure abandonment from God the Father, just so he could feel and understand the pain my son feels. Jesus knows.

If you are another adoptive parent dealing with the grief of your child, take heart! You are not alone. Jesus Himself understands the pain of your child and is able to give you the strength you need to love them through their pain.

Maybe you yourself have buried the fear of abandonment deep down inside of you from a past experience that sometimes takes shape in fear. Be encouraged today that Jesus understands. And He can heal that pain, remove the fear and replace it with the security of knowing you are His. Nothing can change that.

Today I am so very thankful for a Savior who loves my son so much more deeply than I could ever dream of.

And I wait in hopeful expectation of the day when my son realizes that he was never truly abandoned, but that His Heavenly Father was with him all along.

_____________________________

Heather and her husband Derick stay busy raising their two biological daughters and their son who came to their family from South Korea in 2012. They are youth pastors at their local church and Heather is a director of a private Christian preschool. When she is not working or spending time loving on her family, you can find her sharing coffee with friends, writing, making music, or getting creative [messy] in the kitchen. You can follow their family’s journey at www.ourheart-n-seoul.com.

June 30, 2014July 1, 2014

Getting Through the Labor Pains of Adoption

He’s in my arms, just fallen asleep. It’s his birthday eve, and I’m thinking of his birth, wishing I had a just one baby picture, so instead I imagine with that thick stack of birth records, his entrance a full nine weeks before his body and brain were fully prepared for the harsh world he would face.

But now I’m imagining, and he’s my infant and he’s been born and I’m gazing at him in wonder. I think of the two children I gave birth to, that surreal experience of staring at them for the first time. Those nine months of pregnancy, those hours and hours of labor, a true 80 hours of agonized labor with my first, but then, the baby.

Women experience conception, pregnancy, labor, delivery, all with hope, a desired outcome, but never a guarantee. The baby created can turn to a demise at any point in the process. But there’s hope. And women cling to that hope while they endure the difficulties in the process. There will be a baby to hold, to call mine, to feed, to hold. Perhaps…

No! women do not think perhaps I will have a child. In most cases the hope is so strong that it overrides the reality that there is no guarantee.

And I’m looking at my son again and see the similarities. When a child is handed to you for adoption the pregnancy begins, the labor begins. But this time the agonizing labor pains are staring you right in the face from the beginning. And sometimes hope is hard to find.

In our culture women easily talk about all the miseries of pregnancy. We share labor stories as if we were swapping tall tales. But what about adoption? Especially in the evangelical community, fairy tale stories of adoption are shared, trying to rally the church to move forward in masses to adopt. And don’t get me wrong, I am glad the church is rising up.

But what about the labor, the agonizing labor pains of adoption with no guarantee this child will attach to you and you to them? I propose that we need to ask potential adoptive parents – are you willing to imagine yourself in gestation, in labor with this child for as long as it takes?

Secondly, adoptive parents need to a place to voice the hard questions during the labor process and labor coaches to get them through it. And we need to normalize the questions, take away the stigma –

Will this child ever accept my love?
Will my care for them ever feel more than mechanical?
Why do I respond differently to this child than my other?

These questions are no different than wondering when this 24 hour-a-day “morning sickness” will end.

Without ending the stigma of these questions and offering support, we increase the risk for fetal demise, the D-word in adoption that no one likes to talk about. The disruption rate for children adopted between 3 & 10 is 10 percent. Teens are a staggering 25 percent. I read a website that described these statistics as low. I disagree. I think the statistics are way too high because adoptive parents do not have what they need. They do not get help with their labor and delivery until it is too late.

Back to my son now. It has not been an easy week. But he’s in my arms, body soft and I smile. I have been “pregnant and in labor” with him for two years. I have asked all the hard questions and we have worked to get the support we need. But I have realized enough hope to carry me through a hard week. He is mine and I am his. Fruit of my labor.

______________________________

Jenny was just 15 when she felt God’s call to spend her life with foster care and adoption. Shortly thereafter, she started working for Royal Family Kids’ Camp and did so for the next 10 years, even asking her then boyfriend to join her at camp. Her vision became a shared vision and she married her best friend Joe in 2002. By 2012 they had two children ages 4 and 6 and were planning on fostering babies and toddlers. But instead God brought a sibling group, ages 1, 3 and 5 into their lives and made it clear that they were to adopt them. Her professional background in Child Development and Early Intervention has made her passionate about forming healthy attachment relationships with her children and helping them heal from trauma. Her personal blog has been her way to seek God’s heart along the journey and you can read at lifewiththebrackmans.blogspot.com

Blog

Category: Family Stories

The Fruits of Attachment Labor

Not My Dream

Chatting with my 25 Year Old Self {Summer Rewind}

There May Never Be a Good Time, but Now is the Time {Summer Rewind}

A Letter to My Daughter’s Birth Parents {Summer Rewind}

Abigail ~ “The Father’s JOY”

The Other Mama {Summer Rewind}

H. AR. D. {Summer Rewind}

Abandonment {Summer Rewind}

Getting Through the Labor Pains of Adoption