A Three-Nickel Bet
“It’s important to realize that we adopt not because we are rescuers. No. We adopt because we are the rescued.” David Platt
I was walking through Burlington Coat Factory's baby section on Saturday, perusing their puzzles, clothes, do-dads for my nieces and nephews’ birthday and Christmas and just because presents and almost had to leave the store because the hope and weight of this new season hit me so strongly. There I was, staring at the discounted diaper bags and what came to my mind was, “I could actually be looking for the cute, but neutral and practical, diaper bag for our child soon.” That's the first time I've had a thought like that in years. You see, Alec and I (and you wonderful people who wrote us letters of support) turned in our application to officially begin the adoption process last week. There are still lots of hoops to jump through and many, many uncertain days ahead, but this very intentional, purposeful pathway to parenthood is becoming more and more real. Several years went by where I wasn’t sure if I could go to a friend or relative’s baby shower because the grief was too raw and now I’m daring to hope in a crazy future of 2am feedings and constant exhaustion.
One of the ways in which I believe God has been working in my life, preparing us for this journey, is that in digging through articles and books and blogs about adoption, I’ve come across a theme of acknowledging that adoption is a traumatic event for those in the adoption triad—the birthmother, the adoptee and the adoptive family. Not every day and not all the time But sometimes. So one of the ways that I pray will bring us and our children closer together is that, although we do not have shared DNA or blood, we all have experienced a deep loss. I’m not a betting gal, but I’d wager a nickel that there will be days 5, 10, 20 years from now where the wave of grief will hit me that my body didn’t grow children like most other women could/did. I won’t love my child any less or wish things went differently, but it will be sad and I may need a moment alone. And I’d also wager a nickel that there will be days 5, 10, 20 years from now where the wave of grief will hit our child that they are not growing up in the house of their birthparent. They may not feel less loved or wish things went differently, but it will be sad and they may need a moment alone. And one last nickel that there will be days 5, 10, 20 years from now where the wave of grief will hit our child’s birthmother that she had to make the sacrificial choice to place her child in our home instead of her home. She may not love our kiddo any less or wish things went differently, but it will be sad and she may need a moment alone. The beautiful part of our stories intertwining in such an intentional, dedicated, enduring way is that we can be alone, together. Open adoption encourages relationships with all families and while I don’t know how things will play out exactly, I hope and trust in a God who loved us so much that he placed his son with a foster family so that we all can be adopted children in the family of God.
I think my feelings and thoughts at this point can be summed up by this quote, “A child born to another woman [will] call me mommy. The magnitude of that tragedy and the depth of that privilege are not lost on me.” Jody Landers
May my soul remember the God whose steadfast love never ceases, even in our tragedy and grief; the God whose mercies renew every morning, even in our inability to trust; and the God who is faithful, even in our messiness. “ 'The Lord is my portion,' says my soul, 'therefore I will hope in him.' ” Lamentations 3:24
I was walking through Burlington Coat Factory's baby section on Saturday, perusing their puzzles, clothes, do-dads for my nieces and nephews’ birthday and Christmas and just because presents and almost had to leave the store because the hope and weight of this new season hit me so strongly. There I was, staring at the discounted diaper bags and what came to my mind was, “I could actually be looking for the cute, but neutral and practical, diaper bag for our child soon.” That's the first time I've had a thought like that in years. You see, Alec and I (and you wonderful people who wrote us letters of support) turned in our application to officially begin the adoption process last week. There are still lots of hoops to jump through and many, many uncertain days ahead, but this very intentional, purposeful pathway to parenthood is becoming more and more real. Several years went by where I wasn’t sure if I could go to a friend or relative’s baby shower because the grief was too raw and now I’m daring to hope in a crazy future of 2am feedings and constant exhaustion.
One of the ways in which I believe God has been working in my life, preparing us for this journey, is that in digging through articles and books and blogs about adoption, I’ve come across a theme of acknowledging that adoption is a traumatic event for those in the adoption triad—the birthmother, the adoptee and the adoptive family. Not every day and not all the time But sometimes. So one of the ways that I pray will bring us and our children closer together is that, although we do not have shared DNA or blood, we all have experienced a deep loss. I’m not a betting gal, but I’d wager a nickel that there will be days 5, 10, 20 years from now where the wave of grief will hit me that my body didn’t grow children like most other women could/did. I won’t love my child any less or wish things went differently, but it will be sad and I may need a moment alone. And I’d also wager a nickel that there will be days 5, 10, 20 years from now where the wave of grief will hit our child that they are not growing up in the house of their birthparent. They may not feel less loved or wish things went differently, but it will be sad and they may need a moment alone. And one last nickel that there will be days 5, 10, 20 years from now where the wave of grief will hit our child’s birthmother that she had to make the sacrificial choice to place her child in our home instead of her home. She may not love our kiddo any less or wish things went differently, but it will be sad and she may need a moment alone. The beautiful part of our stories intertwining in such an intentional, dedicated, enduring way is that we can be alone, together. Open adoption encourages relationships with all families and while I don’t know how things will play out exactly, I hope and trust in a God who loved us so much that he placed his son with a foster family so that we all can be adopted children in the family of God.
I think my feelings and thoughts at this point can be summed up by this quote, “A child born to another woman [will] call me mommy. The magnitude of that tragedy and the depth of that privilege are not lost on me.” Jody Landers
May my soul remember the God whose steadfast love never ceases, even in our tragedy and grief; the God whose mercies renew every morning, even in our inability to trust; and the God who is faithful, even in our messiness. “ 'The Lord is my portion,' says my soul, 'therefore I will hope in him.' ” Lamentations 3:24
❤️❤️❤️
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