Always Too Tight...

When I read the letter below it brought tears to my eyes. Because I can relate. Because I worry. Maybe every adoptive mom worries. Maybe every classic mom worries. Probably. When it's dark outside and I'm alone in the quiet I fear rejection. If you could know how I  love my children. You do know, surely! How I want to rock them til their 30, how I want them all playing in the living room cozy, forever, how I want to slow the hours so I don't have to let go. How I hold on too tight, always too tight. Most likely you do, too, if your a mom. But maybe adoptive parents are faced with a clearer realization that my children are not mine. Because no matter what kind of mom you are your children are not yours either. Yours are God's and mine are God's. I'm not trying to drum up differences here, but let's face it, there are differences. There is a different dimension of challenges, of hard places. Of dealing with rejection issues, or biological blood. And with those challenges and these little souls around me, it weighs heavy. The fear of being discarded, when you love so deep, pierces a little closer. Am I doing enough? Am I being the mom they need to follow on the narrow road? Because other roads may beckon. And then I sink my head in my hands and hold on tighter, always too tight.
   Yet as I sink my head in my hands, a failure, a small sentence remembered restores my soul! In it's small way it says "Look up!". The same God who parted the Red Sea for Moses is Alive! He is able! I loosen my knuckles. I slowly let go of my grip. I unwrap my arms from around my children. I give them to Him, give them to Him, give them to Him. I let go......again. Because I must let go. Because only He is able to save. Mom can't. And He wraps His arms around us all.

Happy Mother's Day mom's!

Dear Mom of an Adopted Child by  Kathy Lyn Harris

I met you in adoption education class. I met you at the agency. I met you at my son’s school. I met you online. I met you on purpose. I met you by accident.

It doesn’t matter. The thing is, I knew you right away. I recognize the fierce determination. The grit. The fight. Because everything about what you have was a decision, and nothing about what you have was easy. You are the kind of woman who Makes.Things.Happen. After all, you made this happen, this family you have.

Maybe you prayed for it. Maybe you had to convince a partner it was the right thing. Maybe you did it alone. Maybe people told you to just be happy with what you had before. Maybe someone told you it simply wasn’t in God’s plans for you to have a child, this child whose hair you now brush lightly from his face. Maybe someone warned you about what happened to their cousin’s neighbor’s friend. Maybe you ignored them.

Maybe you planned for it for years. Maybe an opportunity dropped into your lap. Maybe you depleted your life-savings for it. Maybe it was not your first choice. But maybe it was.

Regardless, I know you. And I see how you hold on so tight. Sometimes too tight. Because that’s what we do, isn’t it?

I know about all those books you read back then. The ones everyone reads about sleep patterns and cloth versus disposable, yes, but the extra ones, too. About dealing with attachment disorders, breast milk banks, babies born addicted to alcohol, cocaine, meth. About cognitive delays, language deficiencies. About counseling support services, tax and insurance issues, open adoption pros and cons, legal rights.

I know about the fingerprinting, the background checks, the credit reports, the interviews, the references. I know about the classes, so many classes. I know the frustration of the never-ending paperwork. The hours of going over finances, of having garage sales and bake sales and whatever-it-takes sales to raise money to afford it all.

I know how you never lost sight of what you wanted.

I know about the match call, the soaring of everything inside you to cloud-height, even higher. And then the tucking of that away because, well, these things fall through, you know.

Maybe you told your mother, a few close friends. Maybe you shouted it to the world. Maybe you allowed yourself to decorate a baby’s room, buy a car seat. Maybe you bought a soft blanket, just that one blanket, and held it to your cheek every night.

I know about your home visits. I know about your knuckles, cracked and bleeding, from cleaning every square inch of your home the night before. I know about you burning the coffee cake and trying to fix your mascara before the social worker rang the doorbell.

And I know about the followup visits, when you hadn’t slept in three weeks because the baby had colic. I know how you wanted so badly to show that you had it all together, even though you were back to working more-than-full-time, maybe without maternity leave, without the family and casseroles and welcome-home balloons and plants.

And I’ve seen you in foreign countries, strange lands, staying in dirty hotels, taking weeks away from work, struggling to understand what’s being promised and what’s not. Struggling to offer your love to a little one who is unsettled and afraid. Waiting, wishing, greeting, loving, flying, nesting, coming home.

I’ve seen you down the street at the hospital when a baby was born, trying to figure out where you belong in the scene that’s emerging. I’ve seen your face as you hear a nurse whisper to the birthmother that she doesn’t have to go through with this. I’ve seen you trying so hard to give this birthmother all of your respect and patience and compassion in those moments—while you bite your lip and close your eyes, not knowing if she will change her mind, if this has all been a dream coming to an abrupt end in a sterile environment. Not knowing if this is your time. Not knowing so much.

I’ve seen you look down into a newborn infant’s eyes, wondering if he’s really yours, wondering if you can quiet your mind and good sense long enough to give yourself over completely.

And then, to have the child in your arms, at home, that first night. His little fingers curled around yours. His warm heart beating against yours.

I know that bliss. The perfect, guarded, hopeful bliss.

I also know about you on adoption day. The nerves that morning, the judge, the formality, the relief, the joy. The letting out of a breath maybe you didn’t even know you were holding for months. Months.

I’ve seen you meet your child’s birthparents and grandparents weeks or years down the road. I’ve seen you share your child with strangers who have his nose, his smile … people who love him because he’s one of them. I’ve seen you hold him in the evenings after those visits, when he’s shaken and confused and really just wants a stuffed animal and to rest his head on your shoulder.

I’ve seen you worry when your child brings home a family tree project from school. Or a request to bring in photos of him and his dad, so that the class can compare traits that are passed down, like blue eyes or square chins. I know you worry, because you can protect your child from a lot of things — but you can’t protect him from being different in a world so intent on celebrating sameness.

I’ve seen you at the doctor’s office, filling out medical histories, leaving blanks, question marks, hoping the little blanks don’t turn into big problems later on.

I’ve seen you answer all of the tough questions, the questions that have to do with why, and love, and how much, and where, and who, and how come, mama? How come?

I’ve seen you wonder how you’ll react the first time you hear the dreaded, “You’re not my real mom.” And I’ve seen you smile softly in the face of that question, remaining calm and loving, until you lock yourself in the bathroom and muffle your soft cries with the sound of the shower.

I’ve seen you cringe just a little when someone says your child is lucky to have you. Because you know with all your being it is the other way around.

But most of all, I want you to know that I’ve seen you look into your child’s eyes. And while you will never see a reflection of your own eyes there, you see something that’s just as powerful: A reflection of your complete and unstoppable love for this person who grew in the midst of your tears and laughter, and who, if torn from you, would be like losing yourself.

Kathy Lynn Harris is the author of Blue Straggler, A Good Kind of Knowing, and Higgenbloom and the Dancing Grandmas. She is an adoptive mother and blogger. You can read her blog, including the original post of this blog, here. 
 

Finalization!

Hello from your severely delinquent blogger! Yes, we finalized! As planned on April 10, 2014, at 4:30 it was so ordered that Adele Hope and Violet Mae are FOREVER ours! Thank you for your prayers dear dear friends. We would not have made it without them.
   Dear Birthmom of Addie and Violet had a baby this week. Boyfriend wants to give it up for adoption, birthmom says "she can't do it". What a sad world. She really has no stability in her life yet and I do not know how she is going to take care of him/her. Our social worker asked us if we were open to a baby. Our hearts said, "No". But at this time birthmom is going to keep him/her (haven't heard the gender yet) and so we do not need to make a decision. Makes my heart heavy, tho. All the little children around the world.... Yet, Jesus loves them, this I know.
   And then....I've been thinking....of my dear friends.
On an emotional rollercoaster.
The lonely battle.
You can't just talk about it because... well just because.
The tears.
The empty arms.
The elephant in the room.
The funeral that nobody comes to.
The longing.
The hoping.
Hope crushed.
Again.
And again.
The barren desert called infertility.
Harder to say than cancer, yet just as painful.
Probably more painful for some than others, but always painful.
If someone you know is in this desert... Reach out. Care. Love. And. give. a. lot. of. room.

Acceptance is a choice, yet a journey.

A song that has been near and dear to my heart lately as I feel for my friends in this desert is this:
Give Them All to Jesus -by Phil Johnson and Bob Benson
Are you tired of chasing pretty rainbows?
Are you tired of spinning 'round and 'round?
Wrap up all the shattered dreams of your life,
And at the feet of Jesus lay them down.

Cho: Give them all, give them all, give them all to Jesus; shattered dreams, wounded hearts, and broken toys. Give them all, give them all, give them all to Jesus; And He will turn your sorrow into joy!

He never said you'd only see sunshine;
He never said there'd be no rain.
He only promised a heart full of singing
About the very things that once brought pain.

Life is a long lesson in submission.
In lying limp in my Father's hand.
In letting go.
In absolutely and unwaveringly believing in God.
Because He is God.
And there we find that...
Joy is not the absence of sorrow, but Joy is the presence of God.  -Margaret Penner Toews

ADOPTION DATE!

 Yes, we have a date!!! A real live date! On April 10, 2014 at 4:30pm the judge will pronounce Adele Hope and Violet Mae OURS FOREVER!!! I could cry for joy. The judge assigning a date means that he/she has went over ALL the paperwork and found everything perfect and ready for adoption. We are thrilled. The end is in sight!

Home Study Hill

Home Study Hill

It's a steady long climb,

...this home study time...

Our pond must be fenced so we call in a crew.

It's not like as if we have nothing to do!

Fire extinguishers on every floor?

Carbon monoxide alarms, smoke detectors galore.

And don't forget locks on all cupboard door.

Are your guns in a safe? Where is ammo stored?

Dear social worker, come on, are you bored?

All your cleaners and chemicals, are they up high?

Way out of reach, nearly touching the sky?

Children will climb (unless leashed) always on the go.

Our dear social worker have you heard  the word "No"?

Is your income enough? We need proof. Can you show?

So we ask our accountant to exhibit our dough.

Next we need docs that health and auto's insured.

On their way, social worker, please don't doubt our word.

Birth certificates, marriage certificates, adoption decrees.

Now I truly must fall down on my knees.

Is your well water safe? We are on the decline.

The test, it is back and it isn't so fine.

Seven years we've been slurping bacteria slime.

Just a week without water, during revivals, it's no big deal.

The bac must be bleached or we just might turn teal.

Vaccination reports for our five furry friends.

Please, social worker, just WHEN does this end?

An autobiography of just five to ten pages.

Don't forget to include ALL your life stages.

I might get this done as I am a she,

but dear social worker, my man, he's a he!

So we keep climbing this home study hill.

You see now, my friends, it can be quite a drill.

The discipline statement hangs over our head.

What do we say? What leave unsaid?

We live the Good Book and thankful are we.

But dare let them look? Is this country still free?

Oh yes, I forgot, Doctor visits as well.

The health of our family must be pretty swell.

Twenty four hours of training required.

Is it done and recorded? This is making me tired.

Off to the police station, fingerprints to take.

We must lend them proof that we're not a fake.

Your record must be very close to pure gold.

How you live your life each day is a story to be told.

What about guardianship and Last Will?

Are your ducks in row lest your heart doth stand still?

Now let me ask questions, just a jillion or two.

I promise dear parents, we are almost through.

This little home study is good for one year.

Then updates must do 'cause we might have turned queer.

This is just the start.

Yes, we might fall apart.

This endurance test is for the sturdy of heart.

Dossiers for la ninos overseas is quite long.

And believe me, profiles for here are no song.

But because of this story, this home study story,

(We're the first ones to tell you it isn't all glory.)

Please don't be discouraged in your contemplation.

Don't be afraid to rock your little nation.

Our homes are well known to be the best mission.

Children are crying. Let's all go a fishin'!

They'll do more for you than you ever will for them.

As you hand over your heart to one of God's little gems.

No, we'd never turn back. We're glad that we're here!

The adventure of finding our family so dear.

Did I tell you, dear child, you are worth every minute?

A million home studies we gladly would do.

If it meant filling our arms for one hour with YOU.
                                 -Rachelle Yost, May 2013

Basking in the Sunshine

Yes, that's us. Basking in the Sunshine. Sleeping deep at night. No tossing and turning. No tears dripping into my dishwater. I feel so light and free it feels I'm floating.
   Last month we exchanged our beautiful spacious NEW house for a smaller, so old and so cold, so cold and tired house. I haven't shed a tear. People stand with mouth agape at my cold-heartedness. The fear of the loss of our dear children has a way of putting everything into perspective. I could care less where I live if only we can keep our dear girls. Give me a cave, that'll do!
    So.... January 31, the most dreaded day, the day we thought there was to be a trial became a wonderful day for us. The judge told our attorney that we did not need to be there, so I sat at my moms having coffee. Seemed quite frivolous as I thought and prayed about what was happening 200 miles away. Birthdad's rights were terminated. Birthmom relinquished her rights. And paternal family officially dropped the case.
   Now we are having to update our home study because of the address change. Our SW is working on that. Soon she will be ready to file. After she files the court will give us a date. It could be 2 wks or it could be 8 wks. At that court date we will officially ADOPT the girls.   P r a i s e    t h e   L o r d.
   Some wonder what changed paternal family's mind. Really it was the Mediation. They were very impressed that we came. They were very impressed with us. (don't worry, it wasn't "us", it was God who did the impressing) When they saw we were decent people and later when we shared many pictures of the girls and they saw them playing and laughing and happy they said it brought peace to their hearts. Paternal Aunt is a very nice person and she has a good relationship with birthmom. Paternal Grandma is nice, too, but looks like a woman who has lived a hard life. A very bitter and broken person. Birthmom has no relationship with her. Aunt and I have been emailing and building a relationship. She is 22, has been married for 3 years, and has an 18 mo little boy (same age as Violet). I like her, she is sweet. They were worried that after the adoption was finalized we'd disappear. We assured them that will not happen. We have made no promises as far as contact and are absolutely committed to the best interest of our girls, but we told them clearly that they are part of our girls' identity. We won't try to hide from that. That seemed to make them feel better as they really do love the girls. I think they knew that realistically they couldn't care for the girls. Grandma and Aunt's husband have low paying jobs and they all live together in an apartment. Not an ideal situation.
    I'll tell you a little about birthmom. She had a drug addict mother. She was put into foster care at 5 yrs old. Bounced between biological family and foster parents for 5 yrs. At 10 yrs old she was adopted. Her birthmother has always been in and out of her life and she feels like it was very detrimental to her growth and attachment to her adoptive family. Talking about attachment experts??? Birthmom "knows" attachment. Many social workers can be ever so educated on attachment, but this girl, she walked the walk, she talks the talk. She is the "attachment expert". She had a huge fear of her children, also, ending up with Social Services. You wonder why. The circle that's hard to break. The chain. Mother's are generally somewhat like their mothers. Father's are generally somewhat like their fathers. Especially without God, it is very difficult to break the chain. I repeat, she was terrified of being like her birthmom and of her girls ending up in the system. It is so sad to me. When she decided to make an adoption plan for her girls, she did so with planning and precision. She went to a private adoption agency. Private adoption laws are very different than DCF (Department of Children and Family) DCF is the U.S. wide foster system. All and any biological family get preeminence when children are placed through social services. It is probably fair, but many children get bounced around a lot before they have the permanency of adoption. In private adoption law bio family can intervene as they did in our case, but you are on a level playing field. Birthmom knew these things. She wanted immediate permanency for her girls. She got it. Her girls have had no disruptions. It is known that every disruption (of primary care-giver) delays development 6 mo to 1 yr..  Adele is much more immature than Isabel. She processes things much more like a 2 1/2 or 3 yr old than an almost 4 yr old. It's interesting to me. She will catch up as her roots go down. The only thing birthmom didn't anticipate was that she was not legally divorced when she gave up her girls, so she was not the sole legal parent, even tho birthdad was in prison. That complicated things. I have more, but I must get myself to bed.
   Just to confirm, right now we have no obstacles between us and the adoption of our girls. We just simply have the adoption process to go through. I fall on my knees and thank the Lord.
   (Oh and thank you for the comments dear family and dear friends!)

!!!!!!!!!JOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

GUESS WHAT?????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Grandma and Aunt are DROPPING THE CASE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Our little girls get to stay with us!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!I could just SSSSSCCCCRRRRREEEEAAAAAMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, GOD!!!!!!!!!

Ok, ok, it is not a "done deal" yet. It is what they SAID they are going to do, but it has not been DONE yet. Birthdad may still object, tho it's highly unlikely. We still have a few hurdles to jump, but I have not felt this YOUNG and LIGHTHEARTED in months!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The sky is BLUE!!!!!!!!!
The mountains PURPLE!!!!!!!!
The snow is WHITE!!!!!!!!
The air is CALM!!!!!!!!!
My brain is CLEAR!!!!!!!!
My shoulders SQUARE!!!!!!!!
My feet do SKIP!!!!!!!!!!!
My eyes are BRIGHT!!!!!!!!!
My heart is LIGHT!!!!!!!

Truly God delights in.....
lighting up the dark and cleaning up the mess. Truly God delights in turning Mountains into Rainbows!

Thank you, thank you, thank you Father.........

(I have so many more exclamation points on my heart, but I simply do not have any more time. Maybe some other month :)