When I explain to my two boys (ages 5 and 6) about adoption, I often use the wordage, "We want to expand our add to our family through adoption." Do they really know what that means? I could choose to speak down to them as the children that they are, yet I have decided to talk to them as little men.
For, oh, I'd say about 4-5 years, my husband and I have discussed and I've prayed to adopt. After our second child was born, we tried two more times to expand our family through birth and God did not allow--I miscarried both at about 10-12 weeks. Never thought it would happen to me. I know, right, how misinformed am I? How eutopian is my world? Needless to say, I walked into the OB/Gyn's office both times fully expecting a good report and both times, after initially finding and hearing the heartbeat on early visits, couldn't find the poor babes' life murmur. I was devastated to say the least. Both instances I did not voluntarily abort at home. My doc suggested a DNC and I agreed. Terrible experience.
Before all this, my prideful little self prayed to Almighty God saying, "Lord, if you want us to adopt don't allow me to have a baby." Of course, my thoughts were not to get pregnant at all. Never did it occur to me I would have to endure a miscarriage x 2.
After about 2 years, I have healed and moved on as much as possible. I am assured now of the course we sojourn, trusting the fact that God is not some cruel tyrannical ruler--no. But, I did test Him, by viritually saying, "Hey, I'm going to try this because I want to and if I'm in the wrong, stop me." Yet, He is gracious, not a bully and from my miscarriages came a blood disorder diagnosis I would not have known before. One that could lead to early death. He is good...
Since that time, my hubby and I have went back and forth using contraceptives (only condoms) to nothing. I have never gotten pregnant again. After reading the matriarchs stories (Sarah, Rachel, etc.) I realize just how much of a hand God has in conception. He can close our womb or open our womb dependent upon His plan--not his cruelty or misjudgment. I truly believe, to my initial chagrin, that God has closed my womb.
And that's okay. Not at first, mind you, but now, after mulling it over in my mind for a year or so, it is well with my soul and I am beginning to understand what God may be up to.
That all said, my husband was not so excited or prepared to adopt. I believe the unknowns scared him. I prayed and prayed, knowing full well I could not do so without his approval. And one day, literally, one day (at least to me--I'm certain he'd been thinking about it a while) he spoke the triumphant words, "I am ready to adopt." So here we are about 1.5 years later still praying, hoping, searching for the avenue, time and place to adopt a new member into our family. We have looked at domestic infant (it ended up that the agency accidently divulged information that they charge differing amounts per race of child, i.e. a AA child is 16,000, mixed race, 24,000 and all caucasion 30,000) yeah--no joke. Made me sick inside. I really should turn them in somewhere...
Anyway, that ended our working relationship with that agency. Jilted, we prayed and moved to look at international adoption via Ethiopia--the place to do so these days. After our first real meeting with the agency, my husband (I believe) freaked about the costs and talked me into looking at fosadopt first--before committing. I agreed. I'm all about checking out all the options before settling. We did, realized it's not exactly what we were looking for and went back to straight up adoption.
Today, I still wonder if Ethopia is where we will land, but I have information being sent my way from another infant domestic adoption agency. Super excited, super hopeful and super trying my best to wait upon the Lord.
Until next time...pray.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Tough Love
Adoption. The word evokes sad portrayals of malnuritioned children in the Sudan to Huckle being taken from the pound to a new home. Christians hopefully have a special nuance with the term adoption. Afterall, those who are in Christ are adopted into the family of God thanks to the shedding of his blood. No matter an individual's affiliation with adoption, it usually brings about a positive reaction.
I want to adopt. My motivation is in part due to the image of malaria-stricken children, but mainly motivated by God's love. We love because He first loved us. Possessed by the desire for many years--even before my children were born--I have been praying and waiting for the time to come when I/we will have the privilege of extending our arms and opening our doors to one who has no one else. Since childhood, I've had a soft spot for those who have no family, no one in the world--no blood relation--who'll take them in, feed their growing bodies and shelter them from the elements. Sure, it is not a peachy trail...and sometimes that scares the H-E-double hockey sticks out of me.
Take Moses' mother, Jochebed. She married a Levite, priestly man, and descended from the Levite clan herself. In the Israelite circle, that meant something. What--I'm not quite sure, but you were set aside to serve God if you were a Levite. That said, I venture to say Jochebed had a relationship with God; as much as one could have before Christ. A mother's intuition may be credit for the fact Jochebed saw Moses was a fine child so she risked her and her family's lives by hiding the boy until he was about three months. The little runt began to squack and squeal--no more nice quiet sleeping newborn, therefore Moses' mommy made a tough decision, one I fully believe required an enormous amount of trust in God. And notice, please, God seemed to approve of Jochebed's deceit. Similar to the two Hebrew midwives that refused to kill male newborns because of their fear of God, so they lied to Pharaoh and said the Hebrew women were vigorous and gave birth before the midwives arrived. Scripture says, "So God was kind to the midwives and the people increased and became even more numerous" (Exodus 1:20). Seems to me God is truly more interested in the state of our heart, the love, faith and hope we have in the Lord, and not whether we follow the letter of the law. Food for thought...
Back at the ranch...Jochebed took a papyrus basket, and coated it with pitch and tar. I'm guessing she made a cozy little nest with linen cloths, and placed baby Moses inside. She had to have been a strong woman. Not Friday Night Smackdown strong, but unshakable faith strong. This one Hebrew woman took the chance of going against Pharoah's edict that all baby boys of Hebrew origin be killed. This was one tough gal. Yet, it's hard for me to believe she did not worry a tiny bit or shed a tear drop when gently placing her precious boy in a basket and watching him float down the Nile river--a major river in Egypt--large and untamed.
But God had a plan and Jochebed was just a small piece.
Moses had an older sister. This sister had been instructed to keep an eye on the basket as if navigated through the reeds. Surely she pulled her baby brother back from danger when his little papyrus home started to wander into open waters. Wet and tired, Moses' sister continued her quest until God intervened. Pharaoh's daughter happened to be bathing in the Nile that day at the that moment (possibly a nugget of knowledge Jochebed possessed?). The royal princess heard the baby crying and instructed the basket be brought to her. Moses' sister stayed concealed in the reeds, a spy on the fate of her brother. "She opened it and saw the baby. he was crying, and she felt sorry for him. 'This is one of the Hebrew babies,' she said" (Ex. 2:6).
Moses' sister, seeing the perfect opportunity stepped forward and asked if the princess would like her to retrieve a wet nurse for her new child. Well played, if I do say so myself. The bathing beauty agreed and off ran the girl to tell her mother the good news: she could keep her child--well, at least for a while. Scripure informs us that Jochebed raised her son, Moses, until he was older. Then she had the agonizing (these are my own words, my own interpretation as a mother of what I believe Jochebed may have felt) duty of delivering her child to its new mother. Not because Jochebed was a substance abuser, murderer, neglectful, selfish. No. Not at all. On the contrary, Jochebed could have ran with the child. She could have disguised herself and the boy and taken off during the time she had. But she stayed. Despite knowing she would eventually be forced to give her child to another, she focused on the good times and savored the moments she had with her son.
Hands down, Jochebed has to be one of the most amazing examples of a mother--at least in my book. She risked her life, went against earthly authority (who ordered murder), followed God (who hates murder) and put herself at the end of the line. By doing so, God recorded her as the mother of the most humble man, Moses. The man God would use to set His people free from captivity and lead them to the promise land. And his mother more than likely died of old age before any of this occurred (Moses' age rang in at 80-years at the time God called him back to Egypt to free the Israelites). She would have only seen him grow up with an Egyptian scepter in hand, possibly visiting her from time-to-time, and then fleeing to the desert after killing an Egyptian. Did her heart ache, wondering why in God's great universe she saved the boy to watch him rise and fall? I don't believe so. God didn't choose no fool. Like I said, she was strong like She-Ra--freakin' awesome.
So, as I place my hope in becoming the mother of a child that did not emerge from my loins (yeah, nice thought, huh?) I remember Jochebed, who knew and believed God's plan were much larger than her own. May we all do the same.
I want to adopt. My motivation is in part due to the image of malaria-stricken children, but mainly motivated by God's love. We love because He first loved us. Possessed by the desire for many years--even before my children were born--I have been praying and waiting for the time to come when I/we will have the privilege of extending our arms and opening our doors to one who has no one else. Since childhood, I've had a soft spot for those who have no family, no one in the world--no blood relation--who'll take them in, feed their growing bodies and shelter them from the elements. Sure, it is not a peachy trail...and sometimes that scares the H-E-double hockey sticks out of me.
Take Moses' mother, Jochebed. She married a Levite, priestly man, and descended from the Levite clan herself. In the Israelite circle, that meant something. What--I'm not quite sure, but you were set aside to serve God if you were a Levite. That said, I venture to say Jochebed had a relationship with God; as much as one could have before Christ. A mother's intuition may be credit for the fact Jochebed saw Moses was a fine child so she risked her and her family's lives by hiding the boy until he was about three months. The little runt began to squack and squeal--no more nice quiet sleeping newborn, therefore Moses' mommy made a tough decision, one I fully believe required an enormous amount of trust in God. And notice, please, God seemed to approve of Jochebed's deceit. Similar to the two Hebrew midwives that refused to kill male newborns because of their fear of God, so they lied to Pharaoh and said the Hebrew women were vigorous and gave birth before the midwives arrived. Scripture says, "So God was kind to the midwives and the people increased and became even more numerous" (Exodus 1:20). Seems to me God is truly more interested in the state of our heart, the love, faith and hope we have in the Lord, and not whether we follow the letter of the law. Food for thought...
Back at the ranch...Jochebed took a papyrus basket, and coated it with pitch and tar. I'm guessing she made a cozy little nest with linen cloths, and placed baby Moses inside. She had to have been a strong woman. Not Friday Night Smackdown strong, but unshakable faith strong. This one Hebrew woman took the chance of going against Pharoah's edict that all baby boys of Hebrew origin be killed. This was one tough gal. Yet, it's hard for me to believe she did not worry a tiny bit or shed a tear drop when gently placing her precious boy in a basket and watching him float down the Nile river--a major river in Egypt--large and untamed.
But God had a plan and Jochebed was just a small piece.
Moses had an older sister. This sister had been instructed to keep an eye on the basket as if navigated through the reeds. Surely she pulled her baby brother back from danger when his little papyrus home started to wander into open waters. Wet and tired, Moses' sister continued her quest until God intervened. Pharaoh's daughter happened to be bathing in the Nile that day at the that moment (possibly a nugget of knowledge Jochebed possessed?). The royal princess heard the baby crying and instructed the basket be brought to her. Moses' sister stayed concealed in the reeds, a spy on the fate of her brother. "She opened it and saw the baby. he was crying, and she felt sorry for him. 'This is one of the Hebrew babies,' she said" (Ex. 2:6).
Moses' sister, seeing the perfect opportunity stepped forward and asked if the princess would like her to retrieve a wet nurse for her new child. Well played, if I do say so myself. The bathing beauty agreed and off ran the girl to tell her mother the good news: she could keep her child--well, at least for a while. Scripure informs us that Jochebed raised her son, Moses, until he was older. Then she had the agonizing (these are my own words, my own interpretation as a mother of what I believe Jochebed may have felt) duty of delivering her child to its new mother. Not because Jochebed was a substance abuser, murderer, neglectful, selfish. No. Not at all. On the contrary, Jochebed could have ran with the child. She could have disguised herself and the boy and taken off during the time she had. But she stayed. Despite knowing she would eventually be forced to give her child to another, she focused on the good times and savored the moments she had with her son.
Hands down, Jochebed has to be one of the most amazing examples of a mother--at least in my book. She risked her life, went against earthly authority (who ordered murder), followed God (who hates murder) and put herself at the end of the line. By doing so, God recorded her as the mother of the most humble man, Moses. The man God would use to set His people free from captivity and lead them to the promise land. And his mother more than likely died of old age before any of this occurred (Moses' age rang in at 80-years at the time God called him back to Egypt to free the Israelites). She would have only seen him grow up with an Egyptian scepter in hand, possibly visiting her from time-to-time, and then fleeing to the desert after killing an Egyptian. Did her heart ache, wondering why in God's great universe she saved the boy to watch him rise and fall? I don't believe so. God didn't choose no fool. Like I said, she was strong like She-Ra--freakin' awesome.
So, as I place my hope in becoming the mother of a child that did not emerge from my loins (yeah, nice thought, huh?) I remember Jochebed, who knew and believed God's plan were much larger than her own. May we all do the same.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
All in a Days Work: Part 2
A child shadowing both of my sides, we diligently moved through the section of men's clothing. The department store had few customers on that winter day. It more resembled a library apart from the Mariah Carey song on the speakers.
The sun shone through the glass front doors casting shadows into the darker corners of the larger building. The mother of Little Lost Elizabeth had stated she had left her daughter with Grandma near the section we now searched. My boys were careful, kneeling to check under clothing racks. They knew all too well the hiding places of small children. More often than I'd like to admit, they had hid from me only to be reprimanded with not too soft words such as, "Don't you ever hide from me again! You could have been taken by a stranger and never have seen me again! Stay by my side from now on or you'll lose your hotwheels for a month!" Something along those lines.
Slowly the three of us paced the area, me praying internally while questioning the boys externally. "Where would you hide if you were a little kid?--Well, then we should check there." "If this ever happens to you, who do you go to for help?--Good, good." "What do you absolutely not do?--Yes, that's right. Now let's pray Little Lost Elizabeth knows better than to do something like that."
The old cliche "time stood still" applied nicely to this particular moment. My senses were heightened, a basset hound on the hunt--though I'd like to think I looked nothing like the pure bred. We skipped the aisle and moved toward the ladies apparel observing every person in sight.
After about 10 minutes, I decided to ask the mother again to see if she had had any luck locating LLE (Little Lost Elizabeth). Beelining past racks of embroidered sweaters meant only for kindergarten teachers and great-grandmothers, I reached Sherry and posed the question I so hoped would end with a yes. Before even opening my mouth, I knew I would not receive what I desired. "No, not yet..." Her face was pale and her hands shook. Possibly from smoking, yes, but in this case, I think not. If panic were a color, LLE's mom would have been painted with it. It fell over her like an unwelcome hug from a perverted boss. No, that would be disgust not panic. well, never mind...
Anyway, my mind turned to God. I prayed. I offered the woman what I felt I could, a hug--and not a perverted boss hug. An "I understand your fear, but God is in control and loves you both" embrace. Promising her I'd keep searching, my posse and I turned and headed straight. Not having any clue where I was going, I mentally processed the situation, while praying and moving forward at the same time. In hindsight, I'm surprised my boys' hands didn't fall off. My grip had to have been kung fu-like fueled by a determination to not allow my kids to ever wander away from me...
The shoe department lay straight ahead. I glanced at new pair of athletic shoes--a good style for my youngest, and on sale. Out of my peripheral, I caught a mess of curly blond hair. My eyes tried to react, but the image fell away. Not letting go of my own children, I raced around shoe case after shoe case, searching up and down each aisle.
"Look mommy! It's..." My oldest son's finger was trained directly on a girl. A little blond curly haired girl who looked just like LLE.
I approached her gently and softly. "Are you Elizabeth?" The child stared at me and began to back away. I felt a bucket of panic paint starting to pour down my back. "Wait! Don't go..."
Suddenly an older, darker haired girl stepped out from behind a shoe rack. "Who are you?" She inquired.
"I am helping find this little girl--her mommy is looking for her. Is her name Elizabeth? Is her grandma around?" By that point I was on my knees appealing to the children.
The older girl took the younger one by the hand and began to pull her in the opposite direction--smart, really, from a stranger-danger perspective.
"Wait! You don't have to talk to me, but please wait here while I get her mom or store personnel." Running with my two boys I chattered praises to God excitedly while exclaiming to the boys, "He's helped us find Little Lost Elizabeth! God has found her!"
The mother saw us coming and met me halfway. "We have found her," I said moving back toward the shoe department. "She's with an older girl..."
The reunion was splendid. I cried, per my usual reaction. The mom thanked me and I told her it was God who found her child.
To this day, almost three years later, my children still remember the winter day we helped find Little Lost Elizabeth. An experience that has served me well training my children on the importance of following directions, staying close to mom in public places and knowing the proper people to talk to if in said circumstance.
What did I learn? Easy. Never leave my child to smoke a cig... :)
The sun shone through the glass front doors casting shadows into the darker corners of the larger building. The mother of Little Lost Elizabeth had stated she had left her daughter with Grandma near the section we now searched. My boys were careful, kneeling to check under clothing racks. They knew all too well the hiding places of small children. More often than I'd like to admit, they had hid from me only to be reprimanded with not too soft words such as, "Don't you ever hide from me again! You could have been taken by a stranger and never have seen me again! Stay by my side from now on or you'll lose your hotwheels for a month!" Something along those lines.
Slowly the three of us paced the area, me praying internally while questioning the boys externally. "Where would you hide if you were a little kid?--Well, then we should check there." "If this ever happens to you, who do you go to for help?--Good, good." "What do you absolutely not do?--Yes, that's right. Now let's pray Little Lost Elizabeth knows better than to do something like that."
The old cliche "time stood still" applied nicely to this particular moment. My senses were heightened, a basset hound on the hunt--though I'd like to think I looked nothing like the pure bred. We skipped the aisle and moved toward the ladies apparel observing every person in sight.
After about 10 minutes, I decided to ask the mother again to see if she had had any luck locating LLE (Little Lost Elizabeth). Beelining past racks of embroidered sweaters meant only for kindergarten teachers and great-grandmothers, I reached Sherry and posed the question I so hoped would end with a yes. Before even opening my mouth, I knew I would not receive what I desired. "No, not yet..." Her face was pale and her hands shook. Possibly from smoking, yes, but in this case, I think not. If panic were a color, LLE's mom would have been painted with it. It fell over her like an unwelcome hug from a perverted boss. No, that would be disgust not panic. well, never mind...
Anyway, my mind turned to God. I prayed. I offered the woman what I felt I could, a hug--and not a perverted boss hug. An "I understand your fear, but God is in control and loves you both" embrace. Promising her I'd keep searching, my posse and I turned and headed straight. Not having any clue where I was going, I mentally processed the situation, while praying and moving forward at the same time. In hindsight, I'm surprised my boys' hands didn't fall off. My grip had to have been kung fu-like fueled by a determination to not allow my kids to ever wander away from me...
The shoe department lay straight ahead. I glanced at new pair of athletic shoes--a good style for my youngest, and on sale. Out of my peripheral, I caught a mess of curly blond hair. My eyes tried to react, but the image fell away. Not letting go of my own children, I raced around shoe case after shoe case, searching up and down each aisle.
"Look mommy! It's..." My oldest son's finger was trained directly on a girl. A little blond curly haired girl who looked just like LLE.
I approached her gently and softly. "Are you Elizabeth?" The child stared at me and began to back away. I felt a bucket of panic paint starting to pour down my back. "Wait! Don't go..."
Suddenly an older, darker haired girl stepped out from behind a shoe rack. "Who are you?" She inquired.
"I am helping find this little girl--her mommy is looking for her. Is her name Elizabeth? Is her grandma around?" By that point I was on my knees appealing to the children.
The older girl took the younger one by the hand and began to pull her in the opposite direction--smart, really, from a stranger-danger perspective.
"Wait! You don't have to talk to me, but please wait here while I get her mom or store personnel." Running with my two boys I chattered praises to God excitedly while exclaiming to the boys, "He's helped us find Little Lost Elizabeth! God has found her!"
The mother saw us coming and met me halfway. "We have found her," I said moving back toward the shoe department. "She's with an older girl..."
The reunion was splendid. I cried, per my usual reaction. The mom thanked me and I told her it was God who found her child.
To this day, almost three years later, my children still remember the winter day we helped find Little Lost Elizabeth. An experience that has served me well training my children on the importance of following directions, staying close to mom in public places and knowing the proper people to talk to if in said circumstance.
What did I learn? Easy. Never leave my child to smoke a cig... :)
Sunday, January 9, 2011
All in a Days Work: Part 1
Months ago, my two sons and I were shopping at a local clothing store. Well, I was returning my husband's Christmas present, to be precise. The young cashier floundered and fussed with how the system lacked in performing it's standard job of ringing up purchases and refunds. Meanwhile, back at the ranch...err--the register on the other side, I began to notice a woman shaking her hands, touching her hair nervously, chattering in high pitched tones with eyes shifting like a druggy on meth.
Being the considerate, and kind individual I inspire to be, I eavesdropped.
"I don't know," said the frantic woman.
"What does she look like?" asked the cashier. By then another three or four store personnel had joined the circle I had titled, Chagrin Gang. A few more words were exchanged in hushed voices and the mission-minded group dispersed.
My transaction had long sinced finished, the awesomeness of being a multi-tasking mother, I approached the woman, with a boy in each hand, and asked if I could help with anything.
"I can't find my daughter." Her voice shook. "I had left her with my mom. Told her not to go anywhere but stay with grandma. I just stepped out to smoke and when I came back inside I can't find her."
"We'll help," my words were a feeble attempt to console. My mind wasted no time to pray. Father, you know where that girl is hiding. May she be safe. May we find her healthy and well in this store. May this woman see that Your hand is in control. All glory to You, Lord. Amen.
Details. I needed a description. "What does your daughter look like? What's her name?"
The woman shook as if standing knee deep in snow. Her eyes moved wildly about the store to my back. She spoke at me, not to me. "My daughter's name is Elizabeth. She is three years old and has long blond hair with curls. She may be with my mom or another older girl."
"Ok. What's your name?"
"Sherry."
"Sherry," I replied, "my boys and I are going to help you find your daughter. We'll come get you if we do." Turning, I kneeled and spoke softly to my little ones. I understood the horrible gut-wrenching knot in a mother's stomach when she thinks she may have lost her child. Tears pooled. "Boys, I need you to be detectives with me. Do you know what a detective does?"
My oldest knew the answer, "They find clues."
"Right! They find clues. We are going to find clues in this store. Clues that may lead us to a little girl, Elizabeth. She is about your age and has long curly hair. If you see her, please tell me--Ok?"
Blond little boy heads bobbed in agreement.
The search was on.
To be continued...
Being the considerate, and kind individual I inspire to be, I eavesdropped.
"I don't know," said the frantic woman.
"What does she look like?" asked the cashier. By then another three or four store personnel had joined the circle I had titled, Chagrin Gang. A few more words were exchanged in hushed voices and the mission-minded group dispersed.
My transaction had long sinced finished, the awesomeness of being a multi-tasking mother, I approached the woman, with a boy in each hand, and asked if I could help with anything.
"I can't find my daughter." Her voice shook. "I had left her with my mom. Told her not to go anywhere but stay with grandma. I just stepped out to smoke and when I came back inside I can't find her."
"We'll help," my words were a feeble attempt to console. My mind wasted no time to pray. Father, you know where that girl is hiding. May she be safe. May we find her healthy and well in this store. May this woman see that Your hand is in control. All glory to You, Lord. Amen.
Details. I needed a description. "What does your daughter look like? What's her name?"
The woman shook as if standing knee deep in snow. Her eyes moved wildly about the store to my back. She spoke at me, not to me. "My daughter's name is Elizabeth. She is three years old and has long blond hair with curls. She may be with my mom or another older girl."
"Ok. What's your name?"
"Sherry."
"Sherry," I replied, "my boys and I are going to help you find your daughter. We'll come get you if we do." Turning, I kneeled and spoke softly to my little ones. I understood the horrible gut-wrenching knot in a mother's stomach when she thinks she may have lost her child. Tears pooled. "Boys, I need you to be detectives with me. Do you know what a detective does?"
My oldest knew the answer, "They find clues."
"Right! They find clues. We are going to find clues in this store. Clues that may lead us to a little girl, Elizabeth. She is about your age and has long curly hair. If you see her, please tell me--Ok?"
Blond little boy heads bobbed in agreement.
The search was on.
To be continued...
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