Pt. 4

The morning the panel was meeting to make their decision, my heart would NOT stop racing.  I wasn't nervous at all - it was the anticipation of the future being shaped as I took each breath.  Somewhere, people were talking about her, about us, and carefully considering. 

Thinking about it was going to put me beside myself so I started playing music.  The same song, over and over again - gentle, calm, soothing... focusing.

 

It worked.  My heartbeat slowed... I calmed down... I prayed, and waited.

And then the call.

"We've chosen you to be S's family."

And I burst into tears.

Pt. 3

So at our agency when there is more than one family interested in a waiting child, they send you some pretty extensive questionnaires to turn in, do a phone interview with you, and then a panel of social workers and relevant country workers convene to make a decision.

Because we had just started our homestudy, we knew that this was the first glimpse they would have of our family.  We wanted desperately to answer in truthful, meaningful ways so that they could make the right decision, but these questions were deep, man... really, really deep.  Yes, we had thought through a lot of these things, but discussing things informally between each other, or our fellow parenting class participants was one thing.  Telling a faceless panel of strangers our deepest heart's longing and desire, in a succinct and articulate way was something else entirely.

It was a labour of love, those questionnaires.  We thought about them constantly, stayed up late writing and contemplating, and the day before they were due, in the haze of my fatigue, I saved over one of them.

An entire document, hours of work, lots of heart plumbing, vanished.

There was a back up copy, several edits ago that I had emailed to myself, but not the eloquent version that we had created.  There was that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach... what if we could never get that eloquence back?  What if these were the questions that made their decisions?

It was agonizing putting those answers back where were hoped they should go... plunging again into the far reaches to try and scavenge some articulation.  But we did it.  Then we sent them all in.  And we waited.

The phone interview was arranged.  We waited nervously on the other end of the phone, and I prayed fervently that my brain wouldn't do what it does when I know I have an answer to a question, but can't for the life of me think what it is.  Of course it did.

But it was ok.  The person we were talking to was patient and gracious and tried to set us at ease, although, isn't it always hard to be at ease when your future feels heavily dependent on you?  We answered well and honestly, and probably optimistically, but purposefully.  We talked for about an hour, answering questions, asking questions and finally we were done. 

It was all up to the panel then.

a wee bit of encouragement

Do not be afraid, for I am with you;
I will bring your children from the east and gather you from the west;
I will say to the north, Give them up!
and to the south, 'Do not hold them back.
Bring my sons from afar and my daughters from the ends of the earth--
everyone who is called by my name,
whom I created for my glory,
whom I formed and made.

Isaiah 43:5-7

Pt. 2

So how did our perspective start to change?

We thought, given much of the media coverage of the plight of girls in many countries, that there was an overabundance of girls available for adoption.  Also, having 3 girls of our own, we felt like we might be a blessing to another little girl, giving her sisters to grow up with, so we had initially thought we might end up with another daughter.

But did you know that the current climate of adoption around the world is that families are needed for boys?  When we discovered this was the case in India, we opened our hearts up to the idea of a son.  Perhaps that was what God's plan was?  If so, we were excited about that possibility too!

Another group that came to our attention was children with special needs, or "waiting children".  I had always associated the phrase "special needs" with something terminal, or severe.  But there were so many other categories that come under this umbrella in the adoption community, including minor correctable medical issues, older children, and sibling groups.

But then, amongst the haze of wondering, and the same week we signed up with our adoption agency, a little girl showed up on their Waiting Child listing.  R & I each found her separately and said, "Hey, did you see that little girl...?"  "Yes!  I saw her too!"

She had some special needs that we felt we were open to.  Without seeing her photo, we felt our hearts tugged on in a unique way.  So we made some inquiries and received more information about her.

We consulted with our pediatrician about her case.

We talked.

Researched.

Prayed.

Waited.

Discussed.

Researched.

Prayed.

And as I waited and contemplated the implications of it all on our family, our lives, our story, I realized I was only looking at it from our perspective.

So I sat with this idea for a day or so.  I read a couple of articles that further moved my heart and I finally went to R and said, "I think maybe I'm looking at this all wrong.  Yes we need to think about the implications for our family.  But it can't stop there.  We also need to think about it from her point of view.  Are we the right family for her?"

(At this point I really thought it must take a certain kind of arrogance to go into a process like this and assume you're going to be the best option for a child.  Could we be arrogant like that?)

So my prayers started to change.  No longer "God, please choose a child for us..."

But,

"God, would you please choose our family for one of your children?"

And the more we prayed and waited, the more we realized how much we wanted to find out if He might choose us to be hers.

But as it turned out, we weren't the only ones.

Serenity now...

Pt. 1

It was an ordinary Saturday.  And by ordinary, I mean I may have still been in my pajamas even though it was the middle of the afternoon.  No one had brushed their hair.  I think we'd been looking at music or books - something insignificant - and the kids were playing.  The conversation came up like it always had over the past two years, abruptly, awkwardly and accidentally.  What were we going to do next?  And when?
But for whatever reason that Saturday, the shadows of every other conversation unresolved were chased away by the comfort of decision, and the extraordinary pleasure of complete unity.  As much as we could plan it, no more babies for us.  But yes to more children.  Adoption.  International adoption.  And our country was India. 

Although we had for a long time and for various reasons felt a cultural affinity for India and supported social justice causes there, we didn't know what the adoption landscape looked like.  But we knew adoption was possible, and that it took a long time, so logically we should get cracking...  So from music and books to searching about adoption from India and within 15 minutes we had more information than we could absorb.  But we could tell even at first glance this was going to get interesting real quick.  India, notoriously bureaucratic at the best of times, had halted all new dossiers in an attempt to clear a backlog of cases and introduce a new, more stream-lined process of adoption throughout the country.  What timing we had!

I was mildly bummed, but we both felt compelled to keep pursuing however and wherever it may lead.  If this was a worthy pursuit, the way would be made clear.  In just a few days our search for an adoption agency narrowed, and our perspective started to change...

lemons. lots of lemons.

We were recently handed some lemons, both literally and figuratively.

Because I was dealing with life lemons, these actual lemons (two boxes of them) sat with perky optimism in the garage while I lived in a place of happy denial inside, eating a jar of nutella.

The thing is, I actually like lemons; lemonade, lemon curd, lemon bars, lemon cheesecake, lotions, balms and whatnot.  Oh the places we'd go little languishing lemons, if only life didn't get in the way!

In a rare moment of clarity, I decided the only thing for it was to squeeze them.  No, I'm not going to make the proverbial "lemonade".  Forced optimism is a bitter pill to swallow right now.  So I just milked them for what they are worth, and am moving on.

I keep trying to write about our story - what's going on, what we're up to in the process.  People around us are very kind and ask regularly if there is any news, and I'm grateful for every single one of them.

The adoption process is kind of like learning to drive stick - there is a lot of bunny hopping.  You wait, talking, wondering, trying to figure things out and then you lurch forward in dramatic fashion with enough force to give you emotional and mental whiplash.  That's not a criticism - it's just the nature of the beast.

So I hesitate to write about the ever-changing landscape of our adoption... Perhaps because the story isn't done yet?

Sigur Rós - Ekki múkk from Sigur Rós on Vimeo.

vision

You stand there on the top of your hill, all the questions and journey of your decision-making behind you, and you declare with fists in the air and all your might, the wind in your hair and a vision of your next life's accomplishment looming with Matterhorn-like grandeur before you...

We.  Are.  Adopting!

Your words echo back to you with exhilarating confidence and then fade away into the distance...

adopting... adopting... adopting...

And you're confident that after reading all the stories, and after witnessing all the little miracles that got you to this place, all the challenges ahead of you in this journey are going to play out like this:

And some of them do.

Some however play out like this:

 ...aaaaand hello Fire Swamp.


Does your grand vision still exist, is it there?  Yes.  It's obscured by trees, the dark of the valley, the ducking and dodging of spitting fire, over-sized rodents and quick sand, and the tending of your own wounds... but it's still there.

If you have a propensity towards self-reflection, it is tempting to become ungracious with yourself.  "Why can't I be standing back on my little hill?  Why can't I see my vision of mountains and glory?  What have I done wrong on this journey to be so disconnected from my destination?"  And fear sets in...

But you learn.  There is more beyond the limit of your tree-filled vision.  It is dark here, but light beyond.

And as Wesley says, "No, no. We have already succeeded. I mean, what are the three terrors of the Fire Swamp? One, the flame spurt - no problem. There's a popping sound preceding each; we can avoid that. Two, the lightning sand, which you were clever enough to discover what that looks like, so in the future we can avoid that too. "

As for the ROUSes... I'll address them in another post.

Someone who has read the story before (or watched the movie) can tell you that either way, a glorious leap of faith or a tumble into the valley, doesn't determine the end of the story.  But it can make you stronger, and more faithful and make the ending that. much. sweeter.

love & obedience

We are doing something crazy:

There is this child.

We are strangers to them. 

This child has no family.

This child has issues - some of them you can see, some of them you can't.  Some of them don't even exist yet.

And we are going to say to this stranger-child, "Hey!  There is a lot - an awful lot - that stands between us and you, but we are willing to cross all those bridges.  We'll span the oceans.  We are willing to let your issues be our issues.  Your mess, our mess.  Your story, our story.  We are willing to be your family and love you always."

Wait, you say.  That's not crazy.  That is exciting, noble, wonderful!

Perhaps.

There is a cost you see... the hidden, secret cost. 

Because to take a complete stranger with all their mysterious messiness, and call them family... to open your arms to a child whose unknowns will shake you to your core, whose potential for disaster may outweigh your potential to love, and be willing to chose to love even still...

That means you have to stop looking at what you want.

Stop looking at what you need.

Take all those things that you are so desperate to call you own - your dreams, your fears, your hopes, every deceitful, pacifying half truth you tell yourself, your reputation and your friendships - every good and bad that defines you...

...and give them up.

Then you must choose to be obedient to a vision of love that is outlandish.

wild

misunderstood

presumptive

bold

undeserved

stubborn

hopeful

And you must choose it in your darkest hours, in the blindness of your selfishness, in the midnight of your despair.  Again and again, over and over and with every breath...

You must choose love, and obedience.