I have read an abundance of foster care and adoption books.
The stories are absolutely heart wrenching and breath taking. I wanted to be a
part of one of those stories for so many years. The rescue, the relationship,
the new life offered, the beautiful and unique bond. Unlike a child born to me,
I wanted to be able to tell my child that I chose them. Before we got the girls I spent a few Pinterest sessions
looking at adoption boards. And only a few, because I wept so much each time I
looked through them that I was useless for the remainder of the day when I did
so. For me the concept of adoption is so unique, so beautiful, so spiritual, so
unnatural yet so natural because of how Christ chose to adopt us…..I just love
it.
Yet here I stand, 6 months into the journey of my dreams, and
being super honest: It does not feel beautiful.
It is hard for me to swallow the fact that healing takes
time. That love takes time. That the lives my daughters lived before me were so
wildly different than the lives they now live with me, and it will take t-i-m-e
for habits to be broken and new brain synapses to be formed. It is hard for me
to remember through the mom stuff….laundry, grocery shopping, meal planning,
snack making, driving, more snack making, homework, one thousand I’m sorry’s and
do-over’s throughout each day, that these daughters sitting at my kitchen table
were not always mine. Will they be victims of their past forever? No. But do I
need to parent them and have patience for them and grace for the same behavior
the eighteen thousandth time because of their past? Yes. Learning to do life
with ones who have never learned a healthy way before is really messy. I can’t
count the number of times we cancelled a play date, or a trip to the park, or
sent the frantic text, “Sorry, won’t make it, melt down over here”.
Through all of the craziness I sometimes forget to see the
amazing beauty of it all. I was reminded today when talking with Paige about
the pending adoption. I shared that most nights when we tuck her in, our oldest
says, for the billionth time, “I can’t wait for the adoption.” We always ask,
“How come?” and she always replies….”So I can sleep in your bed”. I was
surprised when Paige’s eyes welled with tears in an instant and the reality of
what my girls have missed out on in life hit her, again.
I couldn’t believe when they told me this summer that they’d
never had a homemade cookie, let alone made cookies with anyone. They have
never had a birthday party or even celebration. They’ve never carved a pumpkin
or picked out a Christmas tree. All of these small things that are, in and of
themselves meaningless, compiled together paint a picture, for me at least, of
a childhood. Of loving family experiences. Of nurture and time taken and
attention given. My daughter has never had a parent to snuggle up with in the
winter, to cuddle in a fluffy, safe bed, where she could sleep soundly without
the fear of what may happen in the night. She was rarely held
as an infant, let alone a toddler or young child. To hear her put words to the
neglect she experienced, and hear the longing for comfort, nurture, and safe
love, is astounding. I was so thankful today that Paige heard the depth of need
in the simple child-like request and reminded me that there is so much beauty
in the mess of everyday.
It is not neat and there are no tidy bows, but I cannot
believe that I get the chance to help these little ones experience life, feel
love, and find the unconditional acceptance, grace, teaching, and love of Jesus
for the first time. I so wish I could share with the world the glimmer in their
eyes now that they know Jesus. I wish I could record their little voices
reading His words, singing to Him, and praying for each other.
I need to remember this beauty more often. I need to step
back from wanting them to behave and learn right from wrong, and instead
celebrate the fact that they are in my home and my life and my family. I need
to take a moment to breathe and look deep into their beautiful faces and thank
God that He chose to rescue them in more ways than one. So if you see me,
remind me that this journey is so much more beautiful than I ever imagined it
would be. And hug my sweet daughters extra tight because while I feel messy and
worn, I know they are processing it all too and still learning what I already know to
be true: God never wastes pain, and there is hope for each of them.
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