Coming Home

Oh, boy, blog readers, do I have something fun for you today!!

To start, a crazy story:

Once upon a time there was a girl who fell in love with a boy.  They were boyfriend and girlfriend for more than three years, until the girl went off to college and decided it was time to “see other people.”  It was a mutual break-up, and they stayed good friends.  Being a year younger, the boy stayed home that year, and then came on to the same college when it was his turn.  By this time the girl had met and fallen in love with another guy, whom she would eventually marry.   But since she and the boy were still friends, she set up the boy with her roommate/sorority little sister.  And THEY fell in love and got married. 

Isn’t that a sweet story?  And it’s TRUE!  And now, my sweet Brian and Amy have adopted two Ethiopian children to add to their brood of four.  They recently returned from a month in Africa with all their children, and Brian put together a great picture blog about their journey.  So get out a kleenex, and then go check it out.   And when you’re done with that, scroll through the other blogs that he has written since they’ve returned.  Lots of fun stories with the kids’ perspective on their journey.

Enjoy the weekend!!

PS.  Clearly God knew what he was doing.  I could never be the mother of six children, but my darling Amy is just the girl for the job!

Ten Years Ago…

Dear Sweet Pea,

Ten years ago today you came into the world.  Ten whole years!  It doesn’t even seem possible.

You spent your first nine months in the womb of a girl who will always love you dearly.  I’m sorry you couldn’t stay with her; I know that leaving her was hard, even at two days old.  She was all you knew…her smell, her sound, her very self surrounding you.  You were so small and innocent, and you didn’t deserve that kind of separation.  No baby does.

We held you in our arms and introduced you to our smell, our sound.  We surrounded you with love and family and friends, but you didn’t know us.  We were strangers to you.  You must have been so scared.

And now ten years have gone by.  You are ours, and you are hers.  You know I’m your mom, but you want to know her too. 

I understand. 

I hope she writes you back.  I hope she sends more pictures.  I hope you can meet her someday, so that empty place in your precious heart can be filled with the only person on earth who can fill it.

I wish I was your birthmother.  I would’ve loved to know you that extra nine months.  I would’ve been honored to keep you in a place so close only the two of us would know it.  I would gladly have been sick and tired for you every day of that journey.

But that’s not our reality.  Ours is the reality of a family made by love, not blood.  But that doesn’t make us any less a family.  Will you remember that, sweet child?   No matter what comes in your life, we are your family. 

We won’t leave you.  We won’t ever decide that you’re too much for us, or that we don’t want you anymore.  There’s nothing you can do to break this family apart. 

We are unbreakable.

We love you.

Mommy

Belonging

Sweet Pea is adopted. 

We saw her at the hospital the day she was born.  We brought her home two days later.  She has always been ours.

She knows about her birthmother.  She has always known.  We’ve talked about her adoption from the beginning.  We’ve shown her pictures, and told her the story over and over again.

And yet we knew that she would have to grieve at some point.   And she is.  On the eve of her tenth birthday, she’s grieving.  And it hurts.

A week ago she said “I don’t know where I belong.  Do I belong in your hands, or in my birthmother’s hands?”   Gulp.  Sweetness, you’re always in your birthmother’s heart.  And you’re here in our hands.  God has a plan for you, and you belong here.

Then a couple of nights ago she said “Tell me about when I was born”. 

Me:  Sure, sweetie, where should I start?

Sweet Pea:  Start before you met Daddy. 

So I went waaaay back to the olden days and told her about when Daddy and I were kids and we met, and fell in love, and got married, and wanted a baby, and decided to adopt, and you were born, and we went to the hospital to visit you…

Sweet Pea:  When I was in the hospital I looked at you and I thought “These are NOT my parents.”

Me:  That’s probably true.  We had to get to know each other.

And then two days later we went to the adoption agency to sign all the papers and your birthmother was there, and we gave her flowers and a necklace…

Sweet Pea:  So she had already broken up with me?  (Starts to cry.)

Me:  Yes, she had already told you goodbye.  She spent lots of time with you during those two days, and then she had to say goodbye. 

Sweet Pea:  Why did she have to do that?  She didn’t love me.  She couldn’t have loved me.

Me:  Oh, sweetheart, she loved you so much that she knew she couldn’t take care of you like she wanted to.  Every mommy wants to keep her baby with her.  But she knew things would be too hard for you at her house.  She asked us to take care of you, and we promised that we would. 

Sweet Pea:  It would have been okay there.  I could’ve lived there.  It would’ve been fine.

Me:  I know it hurts, honey.  I know you miss her.  And she misses you.  She loves you very much.

Sweet Pea:  She does? 

Me:  Yes, baby.  She absolutely loves you.  And so do we. 

Why does it have to be so hard?  Isn’t it enough to be hearing impaired?  Isn’t it enough to have attention deficit and a mood disorder?  Does she have to feel unloved, too?  I ache for her.  I pour my love on her and it feels like she rejects it most of the time.  I know she’s in pain.  I want to make it better.  And yet it feels like I’ll never succeed.

And then?  Hope.

She came home from school yesterday with the typical “I’m thankful for…” sheet.  And here’s what she wrote:

I am thankful for:  God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit.  My puppy Maggie.  My aunts and uncles, and my mom and dad.  My birthparents who want what’s best for me.  And my friends who play with me and like me.  And I’m also thankful for all my toys and all my games. 

Somehow it’s sinking in.  She must know we love her, even if she rejects our attempts at showing it.  And she must be listening when I tell her how much her birthmother loves her too.

And for that, I’m thankful.

You Can Run, But You Can’t Hide

I hide alot of stuff.  Not like bags full of new clothes from Anthropologie that I don’t want Hubs to find.  Stuff.  Painful stuff.

Hubs would probably disagree.  He would say I’m out there telling everyone our business, and to some extent that’s true.  I blog, obviously, but that’s certainly a carefully constructed picture of our lives.  And yes, I usually tell people about Sweet Pea after only a couple of meetings, because I don’t want them to think that we’re just awful parents who have a spoiled only child.

Still…I hide alot.  I hide it so deep I don’t even know I’m doing it, but I think it’s the reason I’m so irritable these days. 

So Sunday I’m sitting in church and our pastor says the most stunning thing:  “That which you want to hide, God wants to take”.  Now I’ve been going to church since 9 months before I was born, and I’ve spent plenty of time listening to great preachers and I’ve even taught plenty of lessons myself.  So it’s rare that I hear a thought that is completely new.  But I’m telling you, you could’ve knocked me over with a feather. 

Since I do believe that God loves me, and takes care of me, and has a plan for me, why am I still hiding all of this pain??  Is it because I don’t believe deep down that he’ll take it?  A lack of faith?  Or is it because I believe he’ll take it and I’ll still be in pain?  More lack of faith.  Is it because I really wish he would’ve already taken this pain away without me even having to give it to him?  He knows I’m hurting.  He sees our tears and our frustration EVERY DAY.  Does He really need me to actually give it to him? 

What this boils down to is a confession:  I’m angry with God.  I’ve been angry.  Totally and completely pissed off.  (Excuse me.)  For about 6 years now.  He didn’t have to burden Sweet Pea with a hearing impairment and a brain full of chemicals that are so out of whack she doesn’t know when it’s morning and when it’s night.  It’s not fair.  And we had already been through the pain of my heart disease and the loss of even the option of pregnancy.  Did our adopted child have to come with all of these issues?  Wasn’t the adoption alone enough for us to deal with??  And of course she has to deal with it too;  “You’re not my real mommy and daddy”…”You can just sell me if you don’t like me”…and on and on and on.   And since we’ve been attacking this for the past six years, why can’t we seem to make any headway?  It’s not like we’re sitting around acting stupid about it; we’ve sought medical help and psychiatric help and psychological help and relationship help and it still STINKS!!  I firmly believe that at any point God could take this all away from us, but He’s choosing not to.  Why??  Because it’s making me stronger?  Well, I beg to differ.  At this point it has only made us all weaker.  I’m mad.

I know that God can handle my anger.  But more than that, I know He wants me to quit hiding it and just give it to Him already. 

So here you go, God.  Here’s a plateful of anger and frustration and tears and foot-stomping and fists flailing.  Here’s my lack of faith.  Here’s my brother’s death and my heart disease.  Here’s the pregnancy I never had and the adoption that is still so difficult.  Here’s the void between Hubs and I that we just can’t seem to break.  Here’s Sweet Pea’s hearing loss, and her messed up brain, and her tantrums and inattention and inflexibility and irritability and impulsivity.  Here’s the whole mess.

Please take it.  I don’t want it anymore.

And God? 

Thank you.