I found this entry the other
day while randomly flipping through an old journal:
“January 2, 2013
Today, sort of in passing and sort of without even
realizing it, I prayed a prayer.
‘Do something great through me… No matter what it
takes.’
I meant it when I prayed it, but my next thought was:
‘Uh-oh.’”
Dear Ashley from almost two
years ago: that next thought was very appropriate.
You
see we used to have the “ideal” family. I'll never forget when I was pregnant
the second time and we found out we were having a girl and how perfect that was
for us. We had our boy and now our girl to complete the balance. Two little picture-perfect
blonde haired, blue-eyed beauties.
We
always talked about bringing another child into the family down the road. Maybe
adopt from Africa or Asia, a newborn who needed a home. We could do that in a
few years, no problem.
I did not anticipate that
later that same year we would move to a little town called Benjamin Constant
and that shortly thereafter, when Raegan was just 4 months old, we would meet a
little brown-eyed girl that would rewrite everything we knew about parenthood
and ourselves. I
will never forget the night I laid there in bed and told Richard I felt like we
should pray about adopting her.
I
had no idea--not the slightest clue--what I was praying for.
I
remember discussing the challenges we knew we would face. The language barrier,
the physical and mental delays, the criticism from the locals; we knew it would
be difficult.
Those
things now seem like child's play.
When
you hear people talk about adoption, you hear about how beautiful it is, this
Gospel picture. I say it myself. The idea of redeeming a child from pain and
suffering and hopelessness is undeniably inviting. To be a part of bringing
hope and life to a child is one of our callings as followers of Christ.
Beautiful indeed.
What
we do not hear a whole lot about, however, is the ugly side.
Without
tragedy, there is no need for adoption. If something were not broken, there
would be no need to fix it.
If it were not for the fact
that something went terribly wrong, adoption would not be necessary. Be it
death or abuse or abandonment, intentional or otherwise, there is a tragic
reason this child is in need of a different family from the one that shares the
same bloodline and facial features. There is a broken past with every single
adopted child out there and it leaves a mark. Sometimes that mark is a faded
scar that is barely noticeable to the untrained eye.
Other times, it is a gaping
flesh wound that needs constant attention and care.
God chose to give us the
latter.
And it has been ugly.
Because
nothing prepares you for having to hold down that sought after child as she
kicks and screams, “I want to go back to the street!!” And all because you are
doing what no one else in her life ever has: you are loving her.
I
will never forget googling “What if I don’t like my adopted daughter” and the
relief I felt when articles actually popped up, announcing that these feeling
of mine are actually common.
In
August, she completed one year in our home—and the single hardest year of our
life. I look back at the child who stepped into our home that Friday night. Her
scalp was so full of infection that the doctors prescribed four different
medications to heal it. Her teeth were little pieces of black and brown bone
jutting from her infected gums. Her hair was brittle and orange in color from
lack of nutrition. Her eyes were wild, pupils enlarged as she tried to
understand what was happening, her body conditioned to remain in a constant
state of fight or flight. She carried her small backpack full of dirty,
hole-ridden clothing that a person would not even consider donating to
Goodwill.
This
isn’t what it should look like, a family bringing in another. It should be that
her biological mother tucks her in at night, along with her 7 biological
siblings, assuring them of love and care. They should laugh together and go on
outings together and she should know the love of a family with siblings and
parents that look like her, speak like her. She should know the value of
discipline and should be taught consequence.
But
we live in a fallen world where parents leave their own to roam the streets
because they never knew any different themselves.
So
our life as we knew it was destroyed that day. It was destroyed for the sake of
redeeming this one. But we never knew what that would entail.
It has been painful.
No adoption is pain free. I
am not referring to the hours spent at the courthouse or the paperwork that
seems insurmountable. I do not mean the waiting game of home visits and
Psychologist appointments.
Those are the easy parts, my
friends.
The hard part is loving. And
that is the part I never anticipated.
Shortly after our daughter
moved in, the giddiness of having a new child wore off. It was like having a
newborn to care for except that this newborn had been in survival mode for six
and half years and thought she had a better idea than you of what she needed.
The lies began and the manipulation commenced and suddenly, after just three
months of having what now felt like a stranger in our home, we began to recoil.
“What have we done?” I would
ask myself, remembering our “perfect” family of four.
I would scroll through my
Facebook newsfeed and the pictures of perfect families would dance across my
screen, almost taunting me. I would close the app feeling guilt, regret,
confusion. Pain.
I
often say if we had known what we were getting into before we got into it, we
wouldn’t have gotten into it. And I know that is exactly why God does not often
reveal His plans for us, because we would run away in fear of the trials that
lie before us, not valuing the refining process that makes us a just a little
more like Him.
Yesterday
I looked at her as she sat across the table from me, unaware of my thoughts.
Her hair is dark brown now and shines in the light. Her teeth, bright white and
clean. We have had to buy her new shoes three times this year as her body
catches up to the size it should be for her age. She is able to read now,
something we had all but given up hope on as she didn’t know the difference
between a letter and a number this time last year.
She
is beautiful on the outside—a whitewashed wall.
Because
you don’t raise yourself on the street for six and a half years with no
consequence. So the lies and manipulation and disobedience flow so naturally to
her that at times she doesn’t even perceive it. She resists our love. She has
yet to grasp the fact that she no longer has to protect herself; she is safe
here. So she hides behind the walls she built so long ago of self-preservation
and self-focus and replaces each brick as we attempt to take them down.
There is a common perception
out there that implies that adoption, because it is a concept based on the
Gospel and because it is redeeming a child from their orphan status, is simple.
Of course, we may be quick to admit that the process is complicated. The attorney and the judge and the
biological parents or the orphanage and the paperwork and the waiting and the
waiting and the waiting… that part is hard, but then—THEN—it’s smooth sailing.
“All we need is love.” Right?
Adoption is far from simple.
I see heart-warming adoption
quotes on social media all the time, especially in this month of November that
is National Adoption Awareness Month. In fact, not long ago I stumbled across
my own “Adoption” board on my Pinterest that coincidentally I created about the
same time that journal entry was written and couldn’t help but laugh out loud
and what my picture of adoption looked like back then. Back before the long
nights and tears and confusion and calling out to God.
Because once the Facebook
pictures are posted and the excitement dies down over this new addition, you
find yourself face to face alone with a reality that you did not stop to
consider before:
Yes, the Gospel is a picture of adoption into the
family of Christ. And the Gospel includes immense amounts of suffering. Without death, there is no redemption. Without pain,
there is no joy in victory.
Over a year has passed now
and mostly we are thankful that we have survived. In the beginning, all day,
every day was consumed with teaching truth and consequence, faith and
repentance, and trying to discern the truth from the lies. And now most days
are still that way but they have become graciously spaced out to where
sometimes we actually feel like a functioning family of five on some level or
another.
Grace from Heaven.
Why do I say all this? Not
for a pity party, I assure you. We are taught to rejoice in our sufferings
because it is through them that we are formed more into the image of our
Savior.
I say it, believe it or not,
as an encouragement. I have read several blog posts and books this past year
and the ones that encouraged me most were the ones that said something to this
effect, ‘This adoption thing? It’s hard. You are going to fail at times. You
are going to cry and ask ‘why?’, possibly often. You are going to feel
overwhelmed. And guess what: sometimes you are going to struggle to love. But
it is ok because you, on your own, can’t love anyway. It is impossible. But the
good news is that through Christ, you can love unconditionally and without
reciprocation. Hang in there. His mercy is new every day. And His grace is
sufficient.’
So to my fellow adoptive
parents, who find themselves overwhelmed and overcome and cringe when they see
the idealized photos of adoption: do not give up. God has a purpose for this
child and part of it is to refine you and teach you what unconditional love
really looks like—messy. Another part—maybe the biggest—is to give you the
slightest glimpse of the pain that Christ went through and the miracle it is
that He can love us as He does. Oh, the miracle.
To those in the adoption
process, do not let this discourage you, but also don’t write me off. There is
a certain naivety in every new adoption. I know, I have been there and I
believe that is also God’s grace measured out to us. Often God keeps us blinded
to the realities of the trials we will face in order to grow our faith. It is
necessary. “Oh, but you adopted an older child/out of birth order/foreign
speaker. I’m adopting a newborn/young child/English speaker,” you may say.
Irrelevant my friends. I know personal stories of children adopted from birth
that have immense struggles. So listen to those who have gone before and
prepare your hearts. Pray for God to
prepare you in ways that you do not even realize that you need to be prepared.
Pray for faith and endurance. Pray for peace and hope. You will need all of
these as you embark on this journey.
For those who are reading
this and have had a “smooth” attachment to your adopted child, hold your
judgment. Instead of casting stones, throw up some prayers for those who
adopted the more severely injured, those struggling to love, and those who
dread another day. Be careful not to become self-righteous because your
experience looks different. Rejoice that God chose to give you a child with
less baggage in tow.
This adoption thing is ugly.
It takes time for broken things to mend. It takes time for wounds to heal.
But you know what’s amazing
about it all?
He gives beauty for ashes.
And that, my friends, is beautiful indeed.
{UPDATE: You can read my follow up blog The Ugly Side of Me}
