Adoption

I Am Waiting

I am waiting for Advent to begin, that blessed season of repentance when we in the Church reflect upon our need for a Savior.

I am waiting with Mary for the Child that has been promised to me, the Perfect One who exchanged my sin for His blessed righteousness.

I am waiting for the arrival of my dear friend’s adopted little girl, the little elephant whom we have been praying for and anticipating for seven, long years.

I am waiting for my godchildren to grow up in Christ, praying that God would preserve and sustain them in the one, true Faith unto life everlasting.

I am waiting for deliverance from my affliction, thanking God that I am medication and injection-free at the moment.

I am waiting for a child of my own, knowing full well that I may never have one.

Come quickly, Lord Jesus, for I am waiting.

Stop Fretting

For those of you out there who are still trying to figure out what God’s will is for you as a barren woman/couple so that you can carry it out, here is yet another reminder of what that phrase really means:

“Now that is the will of God which Christ both did and taught. Humility in conversation; steadfastness in faith; modesty in words; justice in deeds; mercifulness in works; discipline in morals; to be unable to do a wrong, and to be able to bear a wrong when done; to keep peace with the brethren; to love God with all one’s heart; to love Him in that He is a Father; to fear Him in that He is God; to prefer nothing whatever to Christ, because He did not prefer anything to us; to adhere inseparably to His love; to stand by His cross bravely and faithfully; when there is any contest on behalf of His name and honor, to exhibit in discourse that constancy wherewith we make confession; in torture, that confidence wherewith we do battle; in death, that patience whereby we are crowned; — this is to desire to be fellow-heirs with Christ; this is to do the commandment of God; this is to fulfill the will of the father.”               Cyprian (ANF 5:451).

You see, it’s not about whether to adopt or try and fix the reproductive system. It’s not about whether to do foster care. It’s not about domestic versus international. This is all adiophora (things neither forbidden nor commanded). Do what makes sense to you, what you’re financially and physically capable of and what is ethical. God’s will has to do with what Jesus did, perfectly, in our place, because we are incapable of fulfilling it.

“Thy will be done…”

Rest assured that it was. It still is. And it will continue to be.

So stop fretting and just make that decision.

A Nice Chat

Good conversation is always refreshing. Last night I was at the farm for a get-together.  I was sitting outdoors at a table with my friend, enjoying a great meal, along with a healthy dose of flies. [Who doesn’t love a picnic?] Everybody else at our table had left, but my friend and I continued to visit. We talked about her new home and all that goes along with moving into it. We mused over the antics of the little children playing outside on the driveway. We talked about the school year for my daughter. We laughed about a video on the internet.

Not once did our conversation revolve around my barrenness or my family’s seemingly eternal wait to adopt a child. Rather, we talked about so many other things. I appreciated that. My friend knows that we have been waiting a long time to increase our family size, and I know that she cares deeply for me. We didn’t have to constantly reiterate those points to each other. We could simply chat. Now that’s a good friend.

Dr. Tactless

Some people say the wrong thing. Some people ask nosy questions. Some people say the wrong thing, ask nosy questions and make unhelpful predictions about the future. These are people you should avoid at all costs. This week I had no choice but to confront someone who has a reputation for not knowing the meaning of tact. Our regular medical practitioner was unavailable for our checkup, so we had the misfortune of seeing that guy. Here’s how the conversation played out. Keep in mind, the checkup was for the child, not me:

Dr. Tactless: Now, this one’s adopted?

Me: Yes.

Dr. Tactless: And you have another one who’s adopted, too, right?

Me: Yes, he’s eight now.

Dr. Tactless: So…is that something you planned to do, or was there something wrong?

Me: Well…I’ve only been pregnant once, and then I had a miscarriage.

Dr. Tactless: I see. So something is wrong with your system.

Me: We…uh…don’t know for sure. I’ve had some issues with endometriosis in the past but feel pretty healthy now.

Dr. Tactless: And your husband’s sperm count is normal?

Me: Ummm…he, uh,…he seems to be healthy, too.

Dr. Tactless: Hmmm…now how old are you again?

Me: Thirty-six.

Dr. Tactless: Oh, well, you know you could get a surprise later on.

Me: We would be open to surprises.

Dr. Tactless: You know, there’s nothing like the ink drying on adoption paperwork to make for a good fertility treatment (sly, know-it-all half-smile creeping up his face as he nods slowly). Well, the baby looks good. Come back in a month.

Sheesh. I couldn’t get out of that office fast enough.

Don’t you ever wish you could turn the tables, just for once, to show the other person what it feels like? If I could do this conversation all over again, this is how it would be:

Me: So, I don’t see a ring on your finger. Not married?

Dr. Tactless: No, I’m single.

Me: So…was that by choice, or is there something wrong with you?

Dr. Tactless: Uh…no, I was dating a women recently but she left the relationship. I would still like to get married someday.

Me: Hmmm…so something is wrong with you.

Dr. Tactless: I, uh, don’t know about that, exactly.

Me: Now, do you use deodorant and mouthwash regularly? That’s important, you know.

Dr. Tactless: Well, I think I smell OK.

Me: So now, how old are you again?

Dr. Tactless: I’m forty-nine.

Me: I see…You know, there’s this bar at the corner of ___ and____ where a lot of older, desperate women hang out on Friday nights. There’s nothing like a little desperation to get a relationship going (wink, wink). You should try that place. You just might get lucky.

Incomplete Joy

On May 23 I sat in a rocking chair at a friend’s house and held a precious little girl in my arms and sang to her of Jesus’ love, Jesus’ lambs, the Lamb’s High Feast, and Simeon’s song, which boldly asks the Lord for a peaceful departure from this life. The very next day, on her first birthday, she died. It wasn’t a surprise–everyone knew that this was the likely outcome of her disease–yet it was tragic nonetheless. What once was here is no longer and there is heartache.

On May 28 I sat in a rocking chair in my own house and held a precious little boy in my arms and sang to him as well. In great irony and yet in God’s perfect timing, He chose to send our family new life in the midst of mourning another’s death. Although the wait seemed so long, when we received the phone call two weeks ago that there was finally a baby for us, we were in shock. What once was just a prayer had become a reality and is finally here and there is much joy.

You can imagine the rejoicing, no doubt. I won’t deny that we’ve had our blissful days. Yet behind it all is the knowledge, the grave reality, that it is not complete. I don’t mean that our family isn’t complete. Only God knows when that will be. I mean the joy is incomplete. Why? Doesn’t a baby make everything perfect? Isn’t it everything that I’ve always wanted? No, it isn’t.

I say it isn’t because I live in the Body of Christ, and when one suffers, all suffer. My friend just buried her daughter.  I mourn with her and cry for her, even as I shed tears that come from watching my new son sleep. My arms, now sore from the new weight I’ve been carrying around, also ache for my family members and friends who continue to wait to hold their own gifts. As I pray prayers of thanksgiving for the blessed baptismal day that brought my son into God’s family, I simultaneously cry out for God’s mercy and intervention to stir the hearts of those I love who have rejected their own baptisms. Life and death, both physical and spiritual, continue to surround us all and permeate our daily experiences and relationships. The sun frequently peaks out from behind the clouds to give us a glimpe of the Light that will one day completely surround us, but the clouds never entirely float away.

Therefore, members of the Body of Christ do not move in and out of categories such as “the suffering,” “the blessed,” “the content,” “the afflicted.” We are one, and if we truly love one another we remain together, bearing one another’s burdens, joys, gifts and tragedies. The completeness comes at the end of the struggles, at the resurrection, and only then. This side of heaven there are times when we feel that our cup runneth over and there are times when our parched lips taste no relief. But the living waters flow freely between those mansions the Lord prepares for us, and I continue to long for the healing it will bring to the Body.

“You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” Psalm 16:11

I’ve been thinking of the hymn that starts, “Jesus has come and brings pleasure eternal, Alpha, Omega, Beginning and End,” (LSB 533). The wait for this family to be reunited with their child is just beginning. The wait for my family to be united with a second child has come to an end. I pray that the Alpha and Omega, our Lord Jesus, would grant our two families and all the Body of Christ the opportunity to walk this path of life together, focusing on His eternal pleasures, the full and complete joy that will most certainly be ours one day when the clouds all fade away and the Son shines in all His brilliance.

At Least

There are two words a barren woman loathes to hear:

“At least you don’t have children and can do whatever you want.”

“At least you don’t have to pay for babysitting.”

“At least you’re young and have lots of time to have children.”

“At least you have one child. That’s better than nothing.”

“At least you won’t have to wait long to adopt. I mean, who wouldn’t want you to parent their child?”

“At least now you know you can get pregnant.” (after losing a child through miscarriage)

These two, little words do the opposite of what you expect. They sting rather than soothe. They set up a natural comparison between God’s divinely distributed gifts which more often than naught leads the listener to covet rather than to be content. Even when these two words are offered with the best of intentions, they still man-handle the listener into seeing the world from the speaker’s perspective, and no one feels comforted after being face locked, gorilla pressed, and clover leafed.

All in favor of scrapping this phrase from interpersonal communications, raise your hand?

A Change of Heart – Part 3

A continuation of A Change of Heart -Part 2…

Keisha couldn’t give me a due date. At one point she said it was the end of March and another time she said it was the beginning of April. She asked me to attend a doctor’s appointment with her that no one at the doctor’s office seemed to know anything about.  Things were getting really strange. Then in January the contact with Keisha diminished considerably. She wouldn’t return calls from the agency. She had stopped contacting me. I left messages for her to explain what the agency needed in order to continue preparations for the adoption. She finally called back in February to explain that her phone had been stolen and things were not good with the boyfriend again. Her voice was strained and she sounded tired and overwhelmed. She said she would call me back when things settled down.

I never heard from her again.

Ben and I had, on several occasions, given Keisha suggestions on ways to get out of her chaotic lifestyle, to find help, find a job, move out of the stressful situation she was living in and make a better home for her children. The agency had resources in place for this, too, which is why we had encouraged her to utilize them. But she didn’t and we couldn’t make her, nor did we feel comfortable stepping in and taking over the decisions that were hers to make.

March came and went and so did April. There was no last-minute phone call from the hospital, announcing that she had had the baby and was now ready to finish the adoption process. We had to face it: she had certainly had the baby by then and we were not going to be the parents.

The Lord, in His mercy, had protected our hearts from too much anticipation during this whole ordeal. On many occasions Ben and I discussed how this experience was more than likely just an opportunity to pray for this mother and her children, regardless of the outcome. The agency had warned us that these unusual “matchings” rarely resulted in a placement. We appreciated their candidness and acted on their advice on how to deal with Keisha. This caution kept us from experiencing a real heartbreak when the relationship gradually ceased. We were sincerely concerned for Keisha and her welfare, for the future of this new child and the other children, but we knew that we had done what we could to help and it wasn’t in our hands anymore. To this day we have no idea if Keisha had a boy or girl or if she’s raising the child herself. We sometimes wonder if she was ever really pregnant and if not, why did she act like it? We will probably never know. We just trust that she and her family are in the hands of our loving Heavenly Father, in whom she confessed a strong faith.

I still see the very young single moms at the bus stops and parks and grocery stores, but I look at them differently now. I consider what their pasts may have been like and what options they see for themselves for the future. Now I see not just what they have that I don’t, but I see what’s missing–what I have that they might not. I wonder if it’s a Keisha I’m passing by.

Seeing these women now stirs up compassion instead of jealousy. I have a new perspective that I didn’t have before I met Keisha and was welcomed into her life for such a brief period of time. Even though we invested so much of ourselves into this potential adoption without the joy of bringing a baby home, I still have to thank God for using this experience to open my eyes. I thank God for giving me a change of heart.

The Marathon

This is a marathon not a sprint.

We learn the hard way not to push too fast at the start. We pace ourselves. We don’t want our hamstring to cramp at mile seven when the pregnancy test reads negative. We don’t want to stop short with a side stitch at mile fourteen when the birth mother changes her mind. We don’t want to hit the wall at mile twenty when the agency falls behind in our paperwork.

No, we want to finish this race, so we numb ourselves to the pain. We settle into our stride and ignore the mile markers as they pass.

Sure, we might stumble; we might chafe and bleed from all of the friction; we might even have to hitch a ride on the medic cart for a spell. Whatever happens on the course, though, we know to trust our miles ahead to Him who promises to bring us safely across the finish line.

So, chins up, ladies. You are in this race to win it. Keep your shoulders down. Suck your belly button to your spine. Keep hydrated with Word and Sacrament, and put one foot in front of the other.

Do you hear that? That’s all of your brothers and sisters in Christ cheering you on from the sidelines!

A Change of Heart – Part 2

A continuation of A Change of Heart – Part 1…

“I think we should call her,” Ben said as we stood in the kitchen that evening, going over the unbelievable events of the day. I had fumbled through the rest of the phone call with Keisha, eventually encouraging her to contact the agency we were already working with. I knew that they could provide her with some resources she might need, as well as be a facilitator between us if she was really serious about wanting to pursue adoption.

Ben continued, “If we are really open to this then we need to find out more about her and the birthfather and her situation so we can know all the facts. What if she decides not to contact the agency for some reason? We might never hear from her again.”

His sentiments both surprised and touched me. He was suggesting a much more aggressive approach than I would have considered and it reminded me that although he did not often express  his frustrations with this long wait for a second child, his desire to have a baby was just as strong as my own.

So I called Keisha. She was excited to hear from me again and heartily agreed to come over that very evening to meet Ben and continue our discussion. When she arrived she seemed a bit more timid in Ben’s presence, but still willingly answered the countless number of questions we threw at her.

During the conversation that evening and over the course of the next few months we obtained a picture of this woman and her life, both past and present, that brought to light the realities of what life is like for so many girls who grow up in a culture of poverty. Her father was never in the picture. Her mother was verbally abusive and their relationship now was strained and sporadic. The birthfather–her first and only boyfriend–was repeatedly unfaithful but yet the connection to his family provided her with a place to live, a family support system, and a father to the other three children they had had together. She felt trapped, without any real options in front of her for making a better life.

As she and I visited with each other during this time I couldn’t help but look at my own past and all the privileges I had had: married parents who loved me, moral guidance, boundaries, pastors, a Christian education, a selfless and faithful spouse…too many to count. And I looked at Keisha’s life and felt again a sense of injustice, but this time it wasn’t for me, it was for her.

We eventually had the opportunity to meet Keisha’s other children, whom she obviously loved dearly. Despite the fact that she had experienced very few healthy relationships in her own life, she was a gentle and attentive mother to these little ones who seemed to adore her. These children showered her with the love and affection that she had not received from anyone else in her life. Could it be that perhaps, despite her poor choices, these children were God’s gifts to her  to fill a need that no else had even tried to fill? She loved these children, but she felt that a fourth one would be more than she could handle  in her current living situation. Family members suggested abortion but this was not an option for her.

For four months we spoke with Keisha and the boyfriend, encouraging them to work with our adoption agency. While both of them seemed adamant that they could not raise this child and that we were the right family to do so, they were reluctant to follow through with visits to and from the agency social workers. “Why?” we kept wondering. “What was preventing them from making that next step?” This was not the only red flag that had emerged. There were others as well. Ben and I knew we needed to proceed with great caution. We prayed, we asked for advice, and we waited, all the while wondering if it was realistic to think that this baby would really be our own someday.

To be continued (and concluded)…

A Change of Heart – Part 1

Living in a large city has been an eye-opening experience for my family. We had previously been surrounded by primarily white, middle-class communities. Not anymore. We now live among people of various ethnicities and cultures, many of whom are living in poverty and do not have traditional family units. I see this almost every day that I leave my house. Single moms wait at bus stops with several children in tow.  I see high school girls walking home after school, several with bellies protruding, evidence of the life they carry within. At first it was hard to see these girls day after day and not feel a great deal of injustice. It appeared that lack of self-control and poor decision-making were being rewarded by God when my husband of 14 years and I continued to wait for a child. It felt unfair.

We are on the Caucasian waiting list with our adoption agency. The decision to have our names on the Caucasian list as opposed to the list that includes all races was not made flippantly, nor have we resolved to only have white children in our family. Because we have a choice as to what list we go on we picked the Caucasian list, but we’ve always agreed that if an opportunity to parent a child of a different race was dropped in our lap we would certainly be open to this. And then, one warm and bright October morning, the opportunity arrived–not in our laps, exactly, but on our doorstep.

“Keisha” rang our doorbell with the intent to ask some questions about the “for sale” sign in our front lawn. She and the large family she was living with were looking to move out of their small apartment and they wanted to remain in the same neighborhood. She loved our house and had been admiring it for several weeks. Although I would not normally have invited in a perfect stranger to take a tour, for some reason I felt very comfortable with her and asked if she’d like to take a look around. I was thrilled that someone was showing some interest in the place. We hadn’t had many lookers.

Keisha was sweet, with a wide smile that brightened the room and starkly contrasted her dark skin. She had a calm, confident presence about her, perhaps accentuated by her tall, brood figure. In our conversation during the tour it somehow came out that our son had been adopted and we were hoping to adopt more children. Keisha was intrigued  by this fact and commented on how well Caleb seemed to fit into the family and how content and cheerful he was. She soon left with the realtor’s number and mine in her hand and I prayed that the experience might move us a little closer to getting this house sold.

Not twenty minutes later I received a phone call from her. We exchanged the initial greetings and then, after a quiet moment of hesitation, she blurted out, “I’m pregnant. And I’ve been thinking about adoption. You were so kind to me when I was in your home and your son seems like he is so loved and so happy. I really feel like you’re the family I’ve been looking for.” I almost dropped the phone.

To be continued…