Beauty and Ashes

Last month was National Adoption Month. I have been read countless articles and post on adoption. Some really resonate with me, grab the moments where I have had some of the very same feelings but wondered if it was appropriate to mention them. Others I think to my self, “did you think a little bit before you wrote”.

I find myself lately, under some sort of attack if you would call it that. I have been finding that comments about adoption are coming at me like wildfire as we have been out in public and also in private.

After being home 8 months, and trying to process through the adoption as honestly as possible. Not just for myself, but also my girl, I have seen and experienced first hand that there are most certainly two sides to adoption. Not talking, parents and child, but beauty and ashes.

Adoption is beautiful. It is often compared as concrete example of our adoption with Jesus. It is taking a child out of a situation and in most cases, putting them in a situation that is far better.  Just as Jesus hung on the cross for us, to redeem us. In our case, it made us a family. It is taking a little heart, from a situation that is not ideal, and hopefully bringing them into a situation that is better.  This is what is most portrayed in our churches. What is not, Is the reason why God needed to adopt us in the first place. The sin, that brought the need for Jesus. God did not originally create this earth to be fallen. He did not design for families to be broken. Family units get broken through adoption. No matter the reason, somewhere in the line, the family unit gets broken. It is heart breaking to think that parents given a child may not be able to take care of that child. Or a family unit is regulated on how many kids God decides to give it.

Adoption made Hosanna a daughter, cousin, granddaughter, great granddaughter, great niece, niece. She also brought some of the same people, some of these titles they did not have before.

 She is learning and growing leaps and bounds. She continues to amaze us in ways that we could have never imagined and we marvel at just how much joy she brings into our lives.

Watching her try to figure things out, explore, live without fear of much is fascinating.

For the most part, you all get to hear the lovely side to this thing called adoption. You see the fun pictures that we post, and hear the crazy stories of all the firsts that we are experiencing. And yet, there is a side that burns and brings the ash. Or as some would call the UGLY.

The ashy side of adoption is not talked about very much. Or, at least in my experience, when thoughts are expressed, I get a very quick “welcome to parenthood”, or “Oh, that is normal”. Without even so much as a thought to what might actually be going on behind our four walls. So much so, I have begun to really scale back on who I speak with.  What I have come to realize, is that unless you have actually experienced this yourself, and furthermore, this is your first baby (no bio babies before) those come across as very dismissive. People think we have it easy, we sleep through the night, more nights than not. Our girl can feed herself, we are attempting to potty train (Which means no more diapers), she had graduated to a toddler bed, she is becoming more self sufficient as I write.

I even hesitate to write, mainly because I have felt under such attack lately from the world around us. And with each comment that is given, a little notch gets carved in my belt of patience. My reaction however, is one that I have to be very very careful of. In some cases, I am screaming inside, in others I really want to slap someone upside the head. But there is a 3 year old watching me, and how I react to her adoption will shape and mold just how she reacts as she gets older.

But indeed it gets very UGLY.

The ugly comes in from the world:

“Is that really your kid”

“How much did you buy her for”

“You must be rich”

“Why would you not get one from your own country”

“Thank God you got her from over there. They grow them smarter than other places”

“Why would you bring a kid home with a disability”

“What is wrong with you that you cannot have your own kid”

“You are so lucky you missed infanthood”

“What you did is a great thing”

“You really need to experience infanthood”

And then the UGLY that appears at home:

·      The crying in the middle of the night for her mama, but not the mama that is holding her. The other mama that she knows of, and has known for the first 28 months of her life.

·      Praying that maybe this would be the day she would want to rock with you in the rocking chair. Or possibly this would be the day that the “it is ok to snuggle” light goes on in her head

·      Having her reject, turn her nose up or whatever you want to call it, if you do not provide the reassurance of return, comeback or however it is worded.

·      Working through the rejection, abandonment, fear of being left over and over again with each new experience until trust can be built in one subject matter only to move on to the next and start all over.

·      Sitting across the dinner table, knowing that for the first 28 months of her life the coping mechanisms that she created to survive, are being picked apart one by one as we walk through life, hoping to create new, healthy ones. Her life is continually being turned upside down.

·      Watching as the love factor is turned up at dinnertime. Mainly out of a fear that she will not be fed. Or out of fear of not being feed, she is under foot to the point of exhaustion.

·      Listening and watching her struggle to sleep at night from being restless. Not knowing where the restlessness is coming from, and also knowing she cannot communicate it. But she screams out, intensely.

·      Constantly having to justify our boundaries/actions for our child.

·      Sitting across at the dinner table on occasion wondering why I was chosen to raise someone else’s child. Why I will never have the label of first born in my house.

·      Anticipating the questions that we have in the future and the wisdom to explain our girl her story. As we tell her what we know and watching her cope with what we do not.

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Don’t get me wrong, I love my girl. I would not change this for the world, in fact the potential of adopting again is becoming more of a thought in my mind. I am ever so thankful each and everyday, I was chosen to be her mama. But I am all to aware that this is an incredibly long road. Her adoption will be a subject matter we will address over and over. Not just because we are a transracial family but because we will take with our daughter about her story.

Please I beg you, the next time you are with a family that adopted, please watch your tongue, while you may not think that your words are harmful, and sometimes are just flippant, remember they could be in an ashes moment. And those are rather intense.

Jennifer

Someone got to play in her first leaf pile ever!!!