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From Mommy to Daughter {Letters}

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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.

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sund-314-44Caitlin 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

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From Foster Mom to Birth Mom {Letters}

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Dear Sara,

My head won’t let go of the last time I saw you.

You stood there, by my dirty Odyssey, clinging to your little girl’s hand. You kissed it over and over again. You spoke these words, “I love you; I’ll see you. If I’m not at the doctor, I’ll be here next Monday.” You reached to the back of the van for your little boy with an “I love you very much.” Still, you held on to your baby girl.

I admit that I rolled my eyes at your, “If I’m not at the doctor…” comment as I sat in the warmth of the driver’s seat watching you through the rear-view mirror. How many times had you already detoxed? Your commitment to the whole thing seemed suspect.

I held my hand over the “Close Door” button, as I waited for you to let go. My face depicted a patience that my head was not claiming. I had to get these kids home. We needed to commence with the terrible transition from you, Mommy, to me, Mama Kim, from candy and toys to dinner with vegetables and rules. We needed to start the conversation about where Mommy goes when she leaves us at the Child Protection Agency. I wanted to get going with all of this, but you wouldn’t let go.

That was Monday.

Today is Thursday, and I’ve just hung up the phone.

D&#n it, Sara!

The caseworker said it was last night. But, they found you this morning. You’re gone. You took your last breath in the dark with a needle in your hand.

I would have waited, Sara. I would have waited to strap the kids into their car seats. I would have waited to push play on the video player that distracted them from your “I love you.” Had I known it would be the last time they saw you and you saw them, I would have waited!

I slap my hand away from that “Close Door” button over and over again in my mind, now. I repent of my impatience. I watch, a million times over, your hand relentlessly squeezing, caressing, and grasping your baby girl’s. It was like, somewhere in your heart, you knew.

You were sick with your addiction, Sara, but you were their home base. You were what their little 3 yr. old and 4 yr. old brains understood to be reality. What words do I use to explain that what was real is gone?

They ask where you are every week. And, every week, they learn all over again that you won’t be back. They say, “ok.” But, I fear what that “ok” will turn into at age 9, 13, 17. Will it be anger, betrayal, fear, recklessness, or a will for something different? I pray that it’s something different, Sara. I pray that what they will know of you is that you loved, and you loved hard. That you didn’t want to let go. That the tide that overwhelmed you, does not have to come for them.

That will be my prayer now. And your hand, holding and reaching, will be the picture I keep and the story I tell, as long as I get to be a part of their new reality.

Rest, Sara. Rest well.

Love, Mama Kim

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kim millerKim Miller and her husband Bryant live in Ohio, where she serves in full-time ministry in the United Methodist Church. They are the bio parents of two, foster parents of an ever-changing number, and pet parents of a nervous Border Collie and a cat who doesn’t care. Kim is a graduate of Asbury Theological Seminary and Ohio University. She shares bits and pieces of her life over at kimberlyrmiller.com.

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From Adoptive Mom to Adoptive Mom Who May be Losing Hope {Letters}

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Dear hopeful adoptive mom who may be losing hope,

You have been waiting a long time. A very long time. Longer than you ever anticipated. You had an abundance of hope (and were admittedly a little naive) when you first began your adoption journey. You were confident that you wouldn’t be “that couple” waiting longer than everyone else who walked this path before you. It was going to happen fast, right? God would grant you the desires of your heart lickety-split, right? And you would certainly never become an adoption horror story. You know the ones, from a friend of a friend of a friend? They share your story, about how long you’ve been waiting, and all respond with deep sighs and versions of “gosh, I could NEVER do that!” That was never going to be you, right?

Now, here you sit. Still waiting on the Lord, praying that He would bless you with children. Your hope is dwindling, and you wonder if He brought you into this process solely for the sanctification aspect, and possibly not to fulfill your desire for a family. You’ve out-waited all of your friends, and every other adoptive couple you know. Friends who began the process after you have been placed with children before you. Lots of them. Your heart hurts constantly. It’s sick with the hope that has been deferred, and you long desperately for that tree of life (Proverbs 13:12). Yet, your desire is left unfulfilled, and your home remains quiet and empty.

Maybe you came very close to being placed with children and it ended up falling through. Or maybe an expectant mom chose you to parent her baby, and after the birth she decided to parent the baby herself. I understand that pain because it happened to us recently. For almost six weeks we were moving forward with a sibling group we had been matched with. The details don’t matter. It was a complicated situation as every adoption situation is. What matters is that it hurts, and it’s an incredibly isolating experience because there are really no good comparisons for it. I’ve heard others very cautiously compare it to a miscarriage. You’re filled with excitement, and healthy levels of fear and nervousness. You plan and prepare. You shop and you dream. Your life is about to get turned upside down. You’ve started to let the word out to friends and family, and everyone is excited. Your love for these precious children grow more and more each day. Then suddenly it all ends. As quickly as you heard the words “you guys were chosen” from your case worker, you’re back in the state-wide computer system, waiting to be chosen again. The comparison to a miscarriage fails on many levels, I know. These are two very different experiences with uniquely devastating pain. For now though, it has given me some type of category to process this experience through. If you have been there, I hope it helps you process too.

I want you to know that if you have experienced this, it’s good to grieve. Going through this is incredibly heart-wrenching, sad, and will test your faith in a deeply profound way. You ought to grieve it. The best, and most loving advice I was given was “take time to grieve.” This advice came from a friend who experienced something similar in her adoption journey. She’s absolutely right.

Grieving an experience like this will look different for everyone. Adam and I have grieved in very different ways. This is ok, and good. As I’ve processed through this experience, my faith has been tested in ways that it never has before. My heart is in a constant tug of war, frequently doubting that God cares (He does care – 1 Peter 5:7), and wondering if He even sees me in my pain (He does, and weeps with me – John 11:35).

Maybe you feel deep regret for letting this news spread as far as it did, building excitement among those who have been waiting alongside you for years. Having to backtrack and tell your friends and family that it’s not happening anymore only amplified the pain. Well-meaning people, who love you very much, unintentionally say things that cut to the quick. I know you’re weary of hearing optimistic versions of “It just wasn’t God’s timing!” and “They just weren’t meant to be yours!” and “Everything happens for a reason!” Although these sentiments may be true, the deep pain you’re experiencing is often unknowingly disregarded during those conversations.

Or maybe those closest to you just kept silent. That often hurts the most, doesn’t it? They probably didn’t know what to say, and they didn’t want to make your pain worse by saying the wrong thing, so they retreated. That’s certainly understandable. You know they can’t read your mind, but you would have loved to hear them say something like “I don’t understand what you’re going through but I can imagine this is deeply painful. I’m so sorry. I’m praying for you.” Not many people do understand what you’re going through, and it just plain hurts sometimes.

All this to say, I see you, hopeful adoptive mom who may be losing hope. I understand the pain you’re going through, and the wrestling your heart has been engaged in. You may feel like you’re hanging on by a thread because your hope has dwindled so much. You wish you could go back in time to your naive, optimistic, idealistic self just starting out the adoption process, and give her a swift reality check punch to the gut. But, you can’t. You know it will be worth it if it actually happens one day, so, you move on with the tiny glimmer of hope that you still have. It’s only a glimmer, and it’s dim, but it’s enough to move you forward by faith, trusting in God’s sovereignty, goodness, kindness, and love towards you.

Psalm 77, a lament, has been deeply comforting to my soul during this time. It’s beautiful to see how the Psalmist (Asaph) is so honest with the Lord about his feelings. Sweet, hurting sister, allow these verses to give you the freedom to be honest with the Lord. You may feel like “your soul refuses to be comforted” (Psalm 77:2) and your spirit may be faint (Psalm 77:3). Your heart may be so full of trouble that you find it nearly impossible to put your feelings into words (Psalm 77:4). You may be like me, where verses 7-9 are the cry of your heart right now and you’re tempted to believe that God will never again show you favor.

Allow your spirit to “diligently search” (Psalm 77:6), and then, as it says in verse 11, “remember the deeds of the Lord.” Recall His faithfulness in your life. Even if it feels nearly impossible to do so. Allow this lament to shape your prayers as you fight for hope in Christ.

I cry aloud to God,

aloud to God, and he will hear me.

2 In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord;

in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying;

my soul refuses to be comforted.

3 When I remember God, I moan;

when I meditate, my spirit faints. Selah

4 You hold my eyelids open;

I am so troubled that I cannot speak.

5 I consider the days of old,

the years long ago.

6 I said, “Let me remember my song in the night;

let me meditate in my heart.”

Then my spirit made a diligent search:

7 “Will the Lord spurn forever,

and never again be favorable?

8 Has his steadfast love forever ceased?

Are his promises at an end for all time?

9 Has God forgotten to be gracious?

Has he in anger shut up his compassion?” Selah

10 Then I said (emphasis mine), “I will appeal to this,

to the years of the right hand of the Most High.”

11 I will remember the deeds of the Lord;

yes, I will remember your wonders of old.

12 I will ponder all your work,

and meditate on your mighty deeds.

13 Your way, O God, is holy.

What god is great like our God?

14 You are the God who works wonders; (emphasis mine)

you have made known your might among the peoples. (Psalm 77:1-14, ESV)

He is the God who works wonders. This is true. It doesn’t necessarily mean He will grant you the desires of your heart, but it does mean that He can. He can redeem this ridiculously long, emotionally bumpy, seemingly unproductive, roller coaster ride of an adoption process for His glory. That has always been my prayer, and I’m guessing yours too. If you know Jesus, He has redeemed your soul, granting you salvation through his life, death and resurrection. If anything would be difficult for God (and we know that nothing is), turning our hardened hearts from a life of sin to one that desires to glorify Him would have been it. But that wasn’t hard for Him at all! He can certainly do this too, for the sake of His name. There is hope in the name of Jesus (Matthew 12:21), and He’s the only hope we need.

Fight for hope, sweet sister. Keep your eyes fixed on the One who knows every hair on your head (Matthew 10:30), and sovereignly rules over the smallest details of your life. He can work wonders with your situation, and sprout up a tree of life (Proverbs 13:12) after an exceptionally challenging and long wait. Even if He chooses not to, He is still all of these things, the same trustworthy God today, yesterday and forever (Hebrews 13:8).

Love,

A hopeful adoptive mom fighting for hope by your side

P.S. This old school resource from Pastor John Piper brought hope to my soul recently, and reminded me that “blessed are those who wait for Him.” It’s called Battling the Unbelief of Impatience.

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RedemptiveHomemaking.com_April is a follower of King Jesus, wife, mother, writer, and adoption advocate. She lives in New England where her husband serves as a worship-pastor. Her introverted nature loves to read, sip coffee, and cook nourishing food for those she loves.  Read more on her blog Redemptive Homemaking.

 

 

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There is Wonderful Joy Ahead {TC 2015}

“You need connection; you need each other. You need rest so you can press on in what you have been together called to do.

Together Called isn’t another conference. It is an opportunity to come together, a place for husbands and wives to be step out of the chaos called everyday life and be encouraged, a place for us to learn and fellowship together as a couple and as a community.”

So reads a quote from our Upcoming Events page describing Together Called 2015.  In just two short days over 100 couples will be gathering at Bear Creek Mountain Resort to do just that, connect, rest, learn, be encouraged, and enjoy fellowship with our spouses and with each other.

When asked to share why they are coming, couples shared many of these same reasons:

     to connect

“Just thankful for the moments together without kids and for connecting with our most beloved family and friends!”

“Taking time for us to build and strengthen our relationship.”

“Looking forward to “getting off the hamster wheel” and having time to talk in complete sentences.”

{We would love} “a connection with even one other couple that we could carry forward and continue after the conference.”

“Looking very forward to connecting as a couple as well as forming connections with other couples!”

     to rest

“We are looking to rest and regroup.”

“Sanity! We are burned out and exhausted.”

     to learn

“We need some strategies that we can keep each other accountable with.”

“We’re looking forward to meeting those who have been down these same paths as we look for guidance and wisdom moving forward.”

“We know we are making mistakes and doing things that are clearly NOT working. However, we can’t seem to fully right the ship. We need this weekend to sleep, recharge, reconnect, and brain storm!”

     to be encouraged

“Prayer from and with those that “get it”.”

“We’re coming in at a very heavy hard time in our marriage. I so appreciate the prayer.”

     to fellowship

“Friendship.”

“Time to see old friends and make new ones.”

 

We couldn’t be more excited to see what God is going to do in and through this weekend!  And we covet your continued prayers over this weekend that in all and above all His Name would be honored and glorified.

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Telephone

So, Lucy and I have a little game we have been playing where we pretend to call someone on the telephone.  Usually I am supposed to place the call… ring, ring, ring… and say hello to the recipient on the other end of the line.  Then I pass the phone to her and she says hello and passes it back and then proceeds to tell me what else I should tell them.  I think I am learning all kinds of interesting things by being part of these phone calls that I may not otherwise be privy to!  Recently, we started out calling Hanna, Spencer, Becca, Baba… then we moved on to calling people in China.  We called Baoji Mama and Baba (her foster parents in Baoji) and some other familiar names of her friends.  Then things started to get interesting and she started asking me to call other friends from China with names I was not yet familiar with… some of them were younger children, some older, some had been adopted.  It is amazing to me how well we can communicate in our combination of Chinese and English after only 3 months and how quickly more and more of the balance of our communication continues to lean toward English.  Sometimes we talk around ideas or use a translator app on my phone like Google Translate or Pleco to help us get over a hurdle.  On this particular day, as we continued to make calls, I used the English word “adopted” and she stopped and asked what I meant.  ”Remember that Baba Mama came to China to find Lucy?  Remember that we signed papers together?  Remember the blue thumbprints and your hand print that we put on the papers?”

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Nods and agreement from Lucy to all of this.  ”Lucy, do you understand?  Now I am your mama.  No more new mamas.”  Yes, she nodded and asked to tell me something in Chinese using the translator app.  I found it on my phone and we both patiently waited for the little ding that indicates she should start talking.  Then I held the phone and waited for the English word to appear…

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Back in China, in the world that Lucy knew, all the female caregivers were called “mama” and all the male caregivers “baba.”  These caregivers have come and gone in Lucy’s life and have not been “forever and always.”  When I caught my breath, I couldn’t help but be amazed and be so blessed.  As I type tonight, I am thinking of how easy it is for things to be lost in translation even among speakers of a common language and
of the other game called “telephone” that demonstrates this so well!
I am so grateful that this truth is taking hold in Lucy.
May she truly feel it in the depth of her heart.
She has a family forever and always.

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KirstinRothfussKirstin Rothfuss is Mama to 5 wonderful children and wife to Jason. Two of their children came to their family through the blessing of adoption. Their family mission statement is …“to glorify God by working together to help people of all ages all around us reach their full potential through adventure, hospitality, education, and service.”
You can read the story of the Rothfuss family’s most recent adoption at http://www.rothfuss.us/.

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In Honor of Avery Madison

Avery Foot Obituary

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.

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You can donate with a credit card through PayPal below.
Donations can be made even if you do not have a PayPal account.
Please select gift when donating, PayPal will waive the transaction fees.




To donate by check, please make payable to The Sparrow Fund and mail it to:

The Sparrow Fund
124 3rd Ave
Phoenixville, PA 19460

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Adoption Isn’t Always Easy {And It Isn’t Supposed to Be}

Last year I wrote this post about how marriage isn’t always easy. And how it isn’t necessarily supposed to be.After that post, I received feedback from women all over the world. Women who were relieved to hear that it’s perfectly normal to have to work to keep a marriage strong. Women who survived struggles, setbacks and heartbreak to go on to many, many more years of successful marriage. Women whose marriages didn’t last but who offered up heartfelt, insightful advice.

Today I want to share something else. Something that many adoptive parents might not say and something that may come as a surprise to those who don’t have a best friend who is an adoptive parent or to those who have never had a late night conversation over coffee (or a glass of wine) with an adoptive parent.

Adoption isn’t always easy. Nor is it supposed to be.

Do you see a theme here? Perhaps I should also write posts on marathon running and how that’s pretty tough and on grad school and how that isn’t always easy either (nor is it supposed to be).

In all seriousness, there exists a big misconception that after all of the adoption paperwork is completed and after a child is “home” that life is a cakewalk. That the child is overwhelmingly grateful to have a family and that the other siblings are thrilled and that they parents are overjoyed and enamored with every word and movement that their new arrival makes. For most adoptive families, it doesn’t work that way. Not only is adoption hard, sometimes it is gut-wrenching, brutally, frustratingly challenging.

Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE ADOPTION and it is a big part of how we have built our family. As a little elderly lady, herself an adoptive mother, told me in Home Depot the other day, “It sure is a lot of work but there’s just nothing like it. The time and energy that you invest in your children will be your greatest asset some day.” And she’s exactly right.

Adoption is much more complicated than finding a child who needs a forever family, completing a daunting stack of paperwork, plunking that child into a home and living happily ever after. It is a delicate waltz of forward and back, a complicated patchwork quilt where, at times, only a single thread holds it all together, a lifelong immersion of listening and learning and trusting and embracing.

Like marriage, adoption takes people who may be very different from one another and forever seals them together. It is entirely possible that you might not like the new person sharing your space, the child who you’d previously only seen in photographs and who you envisioned to look and behave and respond in a certain way (and it is entirely possible that they might not like you!). Sometimes you peel back one layer of trust to reveal something that you don’t know how to handle or that was completely unexpected. Sometimes you may even wonder if you’ve made a mistake.

Adopted children may not look like you. They do not necessarily share your cultural background or common interests. Heck, they may even be your polar opposite. And, for many adoptive parents, it may feel like there is a long-term guest in the house for many, many years before normalcy returns.

Children who join your family through adoption may have been loved or maybe they came from a background of trauma. They may have behaviors that you never imagined having to deal with. Urinating on oneself for attention? Lying about the color of the sky because there is no foundation of trust? Drawing on/cutting/intentionally ruining clothing? Stealing/hoarding/gorging on/refusing food and anything else you can think of that could potentially make mealtime dreadful? Oh, we’ve been there.

When the newness wears off and things start getting real, it gets interesting in a hurry. And, while it may not be the instant love affair with your new child that you expected, don’t lose heart. As the days turn into weeks, the weeks into months and the months into years, your love for that child will grow and flourish. I promise. There will come a day when it’s hard to recall your life before that child joined your family. That realization is a monumental milestone. Some day those early struggles will seem so trivial and, as the layers slowly get peeled back, you will constantly be delighted, amazed and awed by the little person who you are raising.

You will come to realize that, just like marriage, there is no foolproof “How To” guide for raising any child, not to mention an adopted child. You will learn what works and what doesn’t. You’ll make mistakes, some of them pretty big. You’ll learn from them and your child will forgive you so, in turn, you need to forgive your child when they make mistakes. You’ll see a side of yourself that you did not know existed and it may be an ugly, hateful side that you are ashamed of. You will feel emotions that you did not know that you had.

Just remember, you are getting shaped and molded as a parent just as your new child is getting shaped and molded as a loved, valued member of a family. Parenting is a constant learning experience regardless of how many children you have or how long you have been a parent. The good news is that the more you practice, the longer that you are a parent and the more experience that you gain, the more tools you will have to handle the challenges that your children face and the more prepared you are for the next adventure. It will get easier to laugh at the things that won’t really matter in the long run and to make an action plan for handling those that really are a big deal.

Adoption isn’t always easy. But few things worth doing ever are.

                                _________________________________________

 

Ashlee Andrews
Ashlee Andrews

Ashlee Andrews is veterinarian and a mother of five (soon to be six!) children, two of whom joined the family through international adoption. She is the Albuquerque, NM director and producer of the Listen To Your Mother Show and she blogs at The Kitchen Is Not My Office (www.thekitchenisnotmyoffice.com).

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Created for Care

In two weeks, part of The Sparrow Fund team will be making their way to Buford, Georgia for Created for Care!  It’s a retreat for adoptive and foster mamas to get away to be encouraged and refreshed and we couldn’t be more excited!

The Sparrow Fund will have a table at the retreat with information about our grants and the training that we offer to adoptive families.  We will also be selling a variety of items from our etsy shop such as jewelry of handmade beads as well as animals stitched by hand by refugee women currently living in Kenya, women broken from war and HIV, caring for orphans in their community, but made whole together.

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Will you be there?  We would love to see you!  

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Broken

There were lots of things, about China in general, that I wanted to post. And maybe I will sometime. I was going to now. But something happened. Lucy happened. She is everything now. Lucy is the world.

The days, and mostly the last few hours before we met her for the first time, I always felt like I should be preparing somehow. But there was not much I could do.

And nothing could have prepared me for that moment. I thought I had cleared it in my head that she was real. That she was a person, not a picture; something I could touch, and love on and hug. But I guess I hadn’t.

I was expecting to have more time to get ready (like time would help!) but we just walked into the room and there she was. It was shocking; life-changing.

I expected Lucy to be wonderful. I expected her to be beyond my imagination—but I didn’t expect her to shatter my world like this. I didn’t expect to come to pieces over her.

It’s been three years so I don’t remember everything, and I wonder if Michael shattered me like this. And I wonder how many times I can shatter before I just break. I hope it’s a lot. Or maybe I hope it’s not very many. Because maybe we’re supposed to break. Because there’s pain in this world, and brokenness. And I think it shatters God’s heart too. I’ve been praying lately that HE would give me his heart. Well, maybe he has.

We’ve had reality-checks, sure; but I’m in love. And that’s a dangerous thing. Because when you really love someone you are willing to sacrifice everything for them. I’ve worried before that after Lucy comes home I won’t be able to play by myself—swing by myself—what about reading? And writing? And in the car on the back from the Civil Affairs building, I realized: it didn’t matter. If I could be with Lucy, I would give up anything.

I’m in love. And it’s dangerous. But I don’t even care. I thought I knew what it meant to love her. I was wrong. I can’t tell you how exciting it is to be her sister. It’s not what I expected. But very few things are! And I like her the way she is. I’m glad I was wrong.

I was kind-of caught up in the fact that I WAS GOING TO CHINA at first, and I’m still excited about that, but Lucy is what’s most important.

I remember when I was on the plane, shortly after I’d spent hours trying to sleep next to my comfortably snoring parents, as I was sitting there in a total haze, only sort-of coherent; I thought, “what if this whole trip just goes over my head in a wave of jet-lag and I can’t even enjoy or really remember it?”

And then I realized: it did not matter. The trip isn’t important—it’s what we’re bringing home. ‘Cause Lucy is forever. Forever and ever and ever. That’s what family is all about: foreverness. Always being there for each other.

Lucy is a sister.   She belongs; as much as I do. And someday I’ll probably forget sometimes that we had to do without her for eight years. Someday she’ll just there. The seven of us. And it will be the most natural thing in the world.

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Hanna Rothfuss
Hanna Rothfuss

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.

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What Was It Like?

“What was it like growing up with foster siblings in your home?”

This is the question that I am most frequently asked, whether it is by peers who have heard media-influenced foster care stories, or by families who are seeking to become foster parents while still raising biological children. When people ask me this question, it always catches me off guard, mainly because it is incredibly hard to describe such a major part of a childhood that seemed perfectly normal to me. It is equally hard to think of what my life would have looked like had I not grown up with foster siblings. For me, babies and toddlers came and went on a regular basis. It was hard at times and it was fun at times, but regardless, it was normal to me. We received our first foster placement two weeks before my 8th birthday, and adopted my last two siblings a month after my 18th birthday. Needless to say, foster care has impacted me in profound ways. Foster care made me a big sister to four forever siblings and was my catalyst for becoming a social worker.

As I have sought to answer this question – what it was like-my mind always wanders back to that early October night when I was 7-years-old, watching a caseworker hand our first foster placement over to my parents. I remember looking into the big, brown eyes of a severely abused infant and seeking to understand for the first time the reality of the hurt that is in our world.

Those first few moments with that baby are locked into my memory as tightly and securely as a 7-year-old can remember. As I innocently questioned “why” a parent would hurt his child, I was opened up to a whole new world that involved evil my mind had never known.

Through the next several years, as babies and toddlers passed through our home, there were many censored discussions on drugs, sex, alcohol, and neglect. I appreciate that my parents protected my innocence, while still valuing that I loved my foster siblings with a sincere love and desired to know each one of their stories. As I watched my foster siblings flourish in our home and saw the hurt they endured, there was a deeper level of compassion and understanding that slowly began to resonate inside of me.

I played with the kids and accepted each one as my sibling. I took pride in showing off each baby to my friends. I made silly faces while feeding the infants mushy rice cereal. I learned the art of washing a baby bottle, changing a diaper, and bathing a baby. I browsed the baby aisle with my mom, begging her to buy “just one more cute outfit”. I accompanied my mom in transporting to parent visits and then I sat in my room and sobbed after saying goodbye to foster siblings I had come to love dearly.

So maybe my childhood was different from yours. In fact, it probably was. My family grew and then shrunk again on a regular basis and the family calendar was filled with court dates, parent visits, and caseworker meetings.

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However, the uniqueness of my family dynamics did not destroy my innocence or ruin me as a person, as is the common myth. Yes, I saw and understood injustice from a young age and I absolutely struggled to process some of what I saw and experienced. There were hard months, and times when my parents had to protect my sisters and me instead of bring another child into the home. They were wise in their pursuit. I struggled with the grief and grappled with the reality of sin, but viewing evil within the safety of my own home allowed me to develop empathy and compassion that I believe I would not have today, had my parents chosen to keep the doors of our home closed.

My parent’s willingness to open our home changed my life, and gave me skills and passions and a more sensitive heart. For that I am deeply thankful.

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KyleeKylee 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.

 

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