Adoption

Justin and I have always been a bit unorthodox in our decision-making.  Against many naysayers, we decided to get married halfway through college.  We knew we would be poor, and we were.  We knew we would be insanely busy keeping up with a full load of classes and working, and we were.  We also knew we were crazy blessed to find each other at such a young age, and be able to spend every day together since, and we’re still crazy blessed.  Our life has continued to follow such a pattern.  So, it stands to reason that our adoption decision is a bit unorthodox as well.  We are coming into adoption much differently than many.  We already have a houseful of children.  We’re not adopting a baby, or even a toddler.  We’re jumping in with a 5-year-old.

I’ve traded in my morning sickness for paperwork… mountains and mountains of paperwork.  I was able to by-pass the gestational diabetes test, but was required to take a psychological examination instead.  My physical stretch marks are being traded for the stretching that my heart is going through.  I feel as if a vital part of me is on another continent… because it is.  This confident mother of four has been transformed into an anxious first time mom all over again.  Just as when I was expecting our first son,I worried over every slight physical change and what it could possibly mean, I find myself calling my agency and worrying over ever little delay with our paperwork.  I miss the comfort of carrying this baby deep inside me, and being reassured with his every movement.  There is the absence of movement in this expectant time for me, and it is so very foreign to me, I am still unsure of how to handle it.

The emotions run high in this, although I have no hormones to blame it on.  Perhaps the very best and most precious thing about this time, is the intimacy of my walk with the Lord.  I cannot remember a time in my life when I have clung to Him in this manner.  I have no control over the little boy I have come to love right now.  I do not feed him, or take him to school, or make him a snack.  I do not get to take care of him when he is sick, or kiss away his bad dreams, or bandage the scrapped knee.  There are a thousand moments that I am missing, and although this boy is yet a stranger to me, my heart aches for him, for us, for all that we are missing.  And yet, I draw so much comfort from the fact that, God is watching over him.  I fill my days with prayers for this boy I will soon call son.  He has changed me, he has changed all of us residing in this house in beautiful ways.

Nothing matters but getting him home.  My boys are realizing with new eyes how self-centered they tend to be.  When we measure their complaints with how their brother is living now, it quickly rearranges their perspectives.  Listening to my little boys pray for Ceddi is an experience to behold.  They are more sacrificial with their money, their thoughts, and their things.

In short adoption has wrecked us, every single one of us.  The reality  of it is, we are crazy blessed.