Adoption

Tate woke up from his nap today in a fit.  It seems he's crying in his sleep until he slowly wakes up still crying.  It doesn't happen that often anymore, but it still happens.  It sounded like he was saying "Oma" - his foster mother.  I showed him a picture of her, and he just looked at her. And pointed.  And said "Oma".  And my heart breaks.  While he's meshed into our family beautifully, it's only been 4 short months since he's changed food, languages, smells, homes, continents.  My favorite blogger has adopted 3 - 2 of them from Korea.  She did a series of posts a couple months ago about the challenge of going where God has called you to go.  One of the posts was about her kids.  I'm going to quote it directly below because it's too good to not read.  Because my kids are little heros and so brave when they had no choice.

I'm starting mid-post below.  For context, she's talking about her youngest who is 4 and was brought home when he was a year and a half. 

"A few weeks ago he curled up on my lap like a monkey baby and lapsed into that really safe baby world, his wide eyes wider, the weight of his body a gift in my hands. I'll play baby with him anytime.

This time, the baby started talking.

S: I was born in my Kria (Korea).
Me: Yes, you were.
S: You get me there wis Daddy. We go up in the airplane.
Me: Yep. Did you like the airplane?
S: No. I cried.
Me: Why did you cry?
S: Because I was sad.
Me: Why were you sad? (super curious at this point)
S: Because I didn't want that mommy.
Me: You didn't want what mommy?
S: (points to me) That one.
Me: What mommy did you want?
S: Foster mommy.

He wasn't sad when he said it. He was just telling the truth. I kissed his neck and sniffed his head and the baby was gone. He smiled and raced off to the toyroom, Charles wedged under one arm.

We have talked to him about Korea. We've talked about foster mommy. We've talked about the airplane and that he cried on it. We have never, ever, talked about why he cried on the plane. We've never come close to talking about how desperate he was for the life he knew, or how his world ended for a while when we showed up.

We knew his heart was broken. We know it's mapped with scars. We did not know his little-kid brain was capable of remembering a feeling that showed up 3 years back.

This might be one more way that healing comes down, to him and to us. God never wastes pain.

But I talk about Going and all the ways it can weigh us down, make us jittery or sad, and none of it will ever come close to the kind of Going that buttons your coat, ties your shoes, and sends you across an ocean, or a river.

The amount of collective faith required in adoption sends me staggering, and most of it isn't even mine.

They would never have chosen this. But there was so much more to the story than what they could see. So they came and let us love them and sooner or later, they loved us back. They chose us back.

Maybe it's in the brown eyes looking up at me every day that I find this urge to reach up and grab onto something Brave. Because despite all the ways they have lost, my babies will understand how God redeems. Their worldview and the scope of their belief will leave mine in the dust. They'll never think for a second that the neighbors they should love share their language, their skin-tone, the same hunk of dirt.

For them, it will be rooted in their soul: a good thing isn't always an easy thing. Sometimes, just what we need, that one thing that will define us, hold us, carry us into the all the rest, is born from a heart wide-split and questions that won't be answered.

If they and all the others like them can Go, so can we."

I know... so good.  God has blessed us with amazing kids.  If you'd like to read more check out Shannan at www.flowerpatchfarmgirl.blogspot.com.  Also, she has a side tab with her adoption posts.  She did a wonderful series where she chronicled all 3 of her adoptions.