One year ago today, two small, hurting, wandering souls found their way into our living room.
To our neighbors, it may seem like this was the day our family grew, and that we had suddenly received that placement call that newly licensed foster parents wait to receive. But that is not the case.
More than 25 years ago, adoption grew in the heart of Dan and me. We talked about it as teenagers, we were close friends were a family that had shown us how beautiful this could be, and I knew I wanted to be a mom to boys. After having two girls biologically and deciding my body wouldn’t participate in future endeavors in that department, we knew it was time to pursue this.
When we adopted the first time, a 15 month-old sweet little blue-eyed boy was dropped into my arms and lacked the ability to nestle in to my chest like mothered babies do. He was still drinking a bottle and not eating solid food, and hadn’t had a real bath before. My girls smothered him with attention and attempts to parent, and he ate it up. After several months of saying, “Goodnight, Mommy loves you,” to him in the dark before I left his room, he tried to echo it back. Nothing compares to the joy you feel when you know he was feeling the words he was trying to say.
This little guy grew up and decided that since he was probably picked up at the baby store (in the boy aisle) that we should easily be able to pick up a brother for him. We all agreed there was someone missing from our table and that we would move forward. After two more relocations and about 200 home studies (actually probably only 7 or 8…but if you’ve done it, you know one seems like 100), we decided to do this again.
After one failed placement, (another hard topic, another day at the keyboard), we received a call that a 5 and 3 year-old needed to be kept together. Would we consider them? We had mentioned looking for a child in the 8-10 range, so the math of 5+3 was sold to me over the phone. This is not what I had planned. This is not what we were thinking. This would be like starting over. But this was what He was thinking.
One year ago today, in a frantic rush not to miss the first day of kindergarten, we ran all over the place lining up daycare, getting shots, calling in favors at our dentist, pediatrician and schools, and we got the biggest of the two ready to go. We bought new Nike’s, and cried as we watched him dance around the kitchen in joy over new “cool” tennis shoes. I bought superhero electric toothbrushes at Kroger’s – more excitement. Every mom of a kindergartner can appreciate the joy of the new superhero backpack in the little one’s eyes, especially when he saw me puffy paint his name on it. “Forever and ever? It’s mine?!” he would exclaim about everything.
One year ago today, we started eating on paper plates. We buy one bale every 4 weeks from Sam’s or Costco, where we shop every week.
That was one year ago today. The last year of parenting kids from tough places, trauma, abuse, and neglect has been the hardest one we have ever had. In twenty years of marriage we have never had to cling to God and each other like through this journey. But, wait for it…. we wouldn’t change it, and we would (and may sometime) do it again.
What we have seen is that in the midst of HARD, God’s voice is LOUDER. His love is STRONGER. His strength is SUPERNATURAL. His peace is PRICELESS. And His people are AWESOME. We have been loved and supported by friends, family, doctors, teachers, therapists, psychiatrists, bus drivers, babysitters, Sunday school teachers, and neighbors in ways we could never imagine. We have called out in desperation and tears together and seen God show up and rescue us like never before. I have cried out for more love than I personally have the ability to come up with, and He has settled it in my heart. In spite of once classifying myself as a “Type A” personality, I now feel way more like an “M” or even a “T”. I have gained so much compassion for blended families, adoptive and foster families, families of kids with special needs, and for all of the moms and dads trying their best to love and parent their children, in spite of it all.
While getting one child ready to move towards college, I have been changing diapers, going to GI appointments, and crying at the table while the kindest and most loving IEP teams have handed me Kleenexes. I have met strangers at Starbucks and offered solidarity to the mom who cried her way through sharing the loneliness of parenting an adopted child with RAD. I have made new friends of other adoptive moms who, like me, in spite of the depth of pain of choosing to walk this road, would choose it again because of the depth of joy and love that we also come to know. We have lost some friends. I am on a first name basis with all of the pharmacists at CVS. We go out almost never, because it is so hard and frankly, we are still a hot mess the majority of the time. My special things around the house have gotten broken, many times on purpose. My carpet is stained with things I cannot mention. I have gained weight. I have lost weight.
But today I stand on top of a mountain compared to where we have walked, and I CAN SEE THE MANY VICTORIES WE HAVE HAD. AND THE DISTANCE WE HAVE COVERED. AND THE CHANGE AND GROWTH THAT HAS COME. We’ve told a small boy who screamed out, “I want a new family!” that we were the one God gave him, so “you’ll be in it FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, so deal”. My 4 year-old tells me he will take care of me when I am old. He snuggles up next to me in bed on summer mornings and with horrid breath (more than likely from lack of tooth-brushing), and he tells me, “Mom? I wuv you.” And my 6-year old calls out to me after an evening full of struggle from his bed, “Mommy? Can you come in and pray for me? Can you give me a kiss and a hug?”
So one year ago today we changed again. Just like every season of our lives when God says it’s time to do the next thing. One year ago today I learned that since I’m in over my head anyway, I should just let myself go with the water instead of trying to stand on the bottom. That is where I have found peace, and joy, and hope.