Weight of the Truth

This last Saturday was "National Adoption Day".  I saw several posts remembering birth moms who made the incredibly sacrificial decision to give their children up for adoption.  I can not fathom the strength, courage and love it takes for a birth mom to make that choice.  I have the upmost respect and admiration for these women.  No matter the reasoning behind it, the decision to give your child in adoption can not be easy...in fact, I can't imagine.

But as I was reading about all the 'thank you to my child's birth mom' posts, I found myself with a small twang of jealousy.  (This is where my selfishness kicks in).  I was reading through them and realizing that I don't have that truth to share with Ava.  Most foster children aren't taken away from a sacrificial mother/family who just wants the best for her/their child, and Ava was no exception.  In fact, I sat across the table from her bio mom and listened to her say she did nothing wrong and deserved her baby back.  She did not see excessive drug use and other illegal behavior during pregnancy as something that warranted her baby being taken away and she felt she was wronged.  There were moments when I wanted SO badly to record Ava's tremors, whimpers, and painful screams in those first months and make them play over and over and over again in her jail cell.  But alas, that wasn't allowed.

Moving forward.  There are times when I think about the conversations I will have to have with Ava about her bio mom, and it rips my heart in two.  Who wants to look their beautiful child in the eyes and tell them that their birth mom didn't even try to get them back?  That she didn't even show up to the termination of parental rights hearing to fight for her.  I have to tell my daughter that her birth mom chose drugs over her.  I have to tell my daughter that her birth mom was unable to provide a name of her birth father, so we have no idea who he is.  There are times when I wish I could tell her that her mom made a sacrificial decision to give her up because she loved her so much; but I can't.   She loved herself and her drugs more.  I try to put myself in Ava's shoes and wonder how she will react, but I can't imagine.

I pray every day that God prepares Ava for these conversations.  As I spend time in prayer, and lose some of my selfishness, I can begin to see some of the benefits about this story in Ava's life.  I pray that instead of Ava hearing this and feeling despair or anger, than she can see, even clearer, the beauty of redemption.  Even if Ava's bio mom never leaves this lifestyle and goes to her grave unrepentant, I pray that Ava can see the goodness of God's story in her own life.  I know that we, as adoptive parents, aren't supposed to view our adopted children as 'being rescued', but I am breaking that rule.  We however, did not rescue her;  GOD is the one who rescued Ava.  GOD is the one who, for some reason I don't understand, chose to pull Ava from the dysfunction of her bio family and put her into our family (which has it's own set of dysfunction, mind you-just not illegal and destructive dysfunction)  I pray that the weight of the truth spurs Ava to do everything in her life for God's glory.  I pray that she can rise above the truth and not let it weigh her down.

All that being said, I am not thankful for Ava's bio mom. I am not thankful for the drugs she took while pregnant or the other illegal activity she chose to participate in.  But,  I *am* thankful for God using seemingly horrible circumstances to build our family.  I am thankful for God bringing Ava into our lives and I am thankful for the grace He promises to give when these truths have to be shared with her.

The weight of the truth in our lives can sometimes be overwhelming; it can be suffocating.  If we let it, it can be our undoing.  I know that Ava will mourn over this truth.  But God promises to give her the grace to get through it.  I also cling to that promise on behalf of my daughter.

For today, I am thankful that we don't have to worry about it.  I am thankful that our only concern this morning is what we will play.  Will she want to play with her trains, or her dolls?  Her kitchen, or her marble set?  For this moment, the weight of the truth is only on my (and Todd's) shoulders and she doesn't have to carry it.  That is the truth of today, and for that; I am thankful.

   

Just a small caveat, I don't mean to imply that private adoptions mean the kids won't also have a hard time hearing the truth. I was just speaking specifically to Ava's adoption. I have no basis for emotions associated with private adoptions and didn't want to make it sound like I did. :)

So much more

If you look into the eyes of my son, you will see that he has Down syndrome.  

Nothing I do will ever change the fact that the very first thing people notice about him is that truth.  

Some people will stop at that observation and never get to know him better.  It may be a stranger in the mall who smiles and waves at him, the boy with Down syndrome, and moves on with their day, never thinking another thought about him.  It might be a stranger who notices him, but then does their best to avoid eye contact with him, or any of the rest of us.  My son makes them uncomfortable and they don't know how to react.  It might be the stranger who sees my son, the boy with Down syndrome, and secretly thinks that he should have never been born.  They may glare at him or me and continue walking while shaking their head.  It might be the stranger who notices him and is a bit more daring and scoffs under their breath, yet loud enough to catch my attention "I can't believe they let 'those kind' out and about".  Yes, I have heard and seen it all.  I have come face to face with some of the most kind and caring people, and in turn, some of the most spiteful people who make a judgement about him and our family, based solely on the one observation they made of him.

Sometimes I wish I could have my son carry around a big giant sign with all the things I want people to see when they look at him.  He is so much more than the boy with Down syndrome.

~He is kind

~He is smart

~He is stubborn

~He is joyful

~He is a hard worker

~He is a good friend

~He is compassionate

~He is a good brother

~He is a blessing

~He is loving

~He is loved

~HE IS LOGAN~

A Letter to my Daughter

My Dear Sweet Ava,

I wasn’t there the moment your future arrival was announced.  I wasn’t there to feel those first little flutters, then first kicks.  I wasn’t there during labor, when you first entered the world, for your first breath, the first time you opened your eyes or first cry.  I wasn’t there those first few days when you cried out in pain as the drugs began leaving your system.  No, I didn’t know about you then.  Two days after you were born, I was called upon to come into your life and be your ‘temporary’ Mommy.  I was asked to care for you, love you like my own, dry your tears, hold you close, make you feel safe and help you learn to bond.  That’s what we do, we are foster parents.  When I first learned of you, I was so very scared.  I had never been asked to come to the hospital and love a brand new baby, all the while knowing I’d probably have to give you back.  I was scared of falling in love and then watching a piece of my heart walk away, knowing I’d never see it again.  I didn’t know if I was strong enough.  When I first saw you, my sweet Ava, something in my heart changed.  I was no longer scared; a calming peace flooded my soul.  I realized at that moment that this wasn’t about me and what I might have to face.  This moment was about making you feel safe, loved and happy.  To hold you through your withdrawals, the tremors and tears, and whisper that it would eventually stop hurting and assure you that you were safe in my arms.  To teach you that you could trust.  To teach you to love.  I needed to be your “Mommy”, while knowing that you might never be my daughter.  I also knew in that moment that I wasn’t strong enough.  I’d never be strong enough, but it’s what God had called me to do, and I trusted that when/if the time came, He would help me give you back.  My only care at that point was making you feel safe and loved.

While I might not have been there for those first kicks and your first breath, my love, I was there for many ‘firsts’.  I got to see your first real bath, your first smile, the first time you held your sweet little head up, your first tooth, your first laugh, your first word, your first crawl, your first bite of baby food, your first steps.  I remember the very first time when you were crying, but saw me and calmed down once in my arms.  OH!  You were learning to trust! You were learning to love.  I was doing what I had been called to do.  I was your “Mommy” and I was falling in love.  I then remember the phone ringing and hearing that they had found you a home with a friend of your biological family.  I remember thinking “Okay, this is it.  This is the moment I knew was coming.  Help me, Lord, I’m not strong enough, but you are”.  I remember packing up the things I had bought, thinking you’d look so adorable in them, but now knowing I’d never get to see you in them.  I remember planning out in my head just how I would hand you over to this stranger.  I remember knowing that I would need to hold it together, at least until I got to the car.  I wondered how I would drive home though the tears.  I knew you would never remember me, but I had hoped that at least you would remember feeling safe and loved.  

I then remember the phone call when I was told that you actually weren’t moving, you were going to stay a while longer.  I was SO happy, but knew in my heart that this would make ‘goodbye’ even harder.  But again, this wasn’t about me.  It was about loving you and keeping you safe for as long as I was called to do so.  We continued to love you, my sweet Ava, and fell more and more in love with you every day.  There were so many people who loved you.  You were teaching us all.  You were teaching us how to love so very completely, but not hold on too tightly.  You were teaching us to fulfill God’s calling, even when it would possibly be the hardest thing we had ever done.  You were our teacher.  Our little girl.  Your brothers loved you to bits too, but I know even they feared having to say ‘goodbye’.  You were their teacher, too.

Ava Jane, I will never forget the meeting with your case worker when she asked us to consider becoming an adoptive resource for you.  We were told that biological family could still step forward, but she wanted us to consider adoption if no one did.  I have never felt such complete joy and terror, all at once.  To say out loud that we loved you and wanted you to be our forever daughter, but still to know that even then, you might leave.  Yet, there was no hesitation.  We absolutely said “Yes” and trusted your future into God’s hands.  There were still big hurdles to cross, and wrapped in God’s grace, we were ready to face them.  Every day, Ava, I was anxious every time the phone rang, in case it was your case worker saying someone had stepped forward to adopt you.  But that phone call never came.  With each court date, we crossed hurdles and getting to keep you for ever and ever started to seem more and more likely.  I tried to guard my heart a little, but you managed to break through every shield and held it completely.  You were my little girl and I loved you so much.  

Then the big day came, the foster agency was going to make the decision about who was going to be able to adopt you.  We waited what seemed like an eternity after their meeting to hear the news.  It was a phone call that I will never forget.  We were chosen; you were staying!  I was so beyond happy that day and I cried for joy when I heard that you were going to officially and legally become my daughter.  But I knew a secret, deep down inside I knew we didn’t need a judge or a piece of paper to tell us about our love for each other.  A Mommy knows these things.  However, I was beyond excited to see it written down in black and white.  To see it permanent, to see you take our last name and make it legal.  

Oh my sweet Ava, your adoption day was a day I will never forget.  I was SO excited that I didn’t sleep one bit the night before.  There were so many people who came that day to celebrate you officially joining our family.  You see, we weren’t the only ones who loved you like crazy, you had grandmas and grandpas, aunts and uncles, cousins, people from our church and family friends.  So many people loved you and wanted to share in our joy.  The courtroom had to be the happiest place on earth that day.  The best part of that day was when we heard the words spoken by the lawyer; that when the adoption was final, it would be no different than if you had been our birth child.  But Ava, that moment had already come for me.  There was no difference in the love I had for you than the love I had for your brothers.  The line from ‘foster daughter’ to ‘daughter’ had blurred and already disappeared. 

You are still like a dream to me, my precious daughter.  I never even thought to ask for you, and yet, here you are.  I know that someday you will have questions about your adoption.  I know you will have hurts. I know you will have to hear hard things.  But Ava, I hope you never question how much you have always been loved.  As you turn two this year, I know you don’t doubt our love for you. Your giant smile each morning as we walk in to get you out of your crib, or when you see us come get you from the church nursery tells me that we are still doing what God called us to do.  Making you feel safe and loved.  We will continue to do our best to raise you as God has called us to.  I can not wait to see what you will do over the next year.  No matter what, I will meet each morning with pure thankfulness that you came into our lives.

I love you forever,
Mommy

A Year of Remembering....

A year ago this last Friday (the 21st) Ava's unknown biological father's right were terminated.  Her birth mom gave a list of several names as 'possible fathers'.  Only two were full names and only one of those men was located and he denied being her father, so no paternity test was ordered.  The rights to those two men, as well as the rights to a "John Doe" were terminated, making it impossible for a man to come forward in the future and try to take her from us.  As we look back to the year we spent waiting to see if we could adopt her, we are reminded along the way at the 'anniversary' of some of these bigger dates how amazingly faithful God was (and is) to our sweet Ava Jane, as well as to our family.  I wanted to share again the words I wrote to my amazing husband this last Father's Day.  

As I was thinking about Father's Day this year, I couldn't help but think about Ava entering into our family.  Watching Todd take in an 'orphaned' child and care for her like his own flesh and blood is like nothing else.  It took Todd a little bit of time to fully bond with her and to truly love her as his own, and most of that, for both of us, was guarding our hearts in case she left.  But from that very first moment I placed Ava in his arms, even though Todd was overwhelmed, scared and even a little like "What have we just done?!", Ava never knew that.  He loved on her, talked to her, kissed her tiny little face and made her feel safe, just like a Daddy would do. It didn't matter that she wasn't biologically his.  Watching him fall in love with her has been an amazing blessing for me to watch.   Most likely, Ava will never know who her biological father is, but she will never know a time when she wasn't loved by her Daddy.  Her Daddy will take her hand through life and teach her all she needs to know.  She can grip his finger and know he will always protect her.  And most importantly, her Daddy will teach her that she has a Heavenly Father who loves her even more and is the ultimate protecter.  God had a plan that we have so been blessed to see unfold.  God always intended Todd to be Ava's Daddy.  I'm sure there will always be a bit of curiosity on her part as to who her biological father is, but she will never doubt for a moment who her real Daddy is.  

Number Twenty

We have a little girl with us this week and she marks the 20th foster child who has walked through our door.  Now, Ava has been our only 'official' placement, the other 19 have been respites ranging in length from one day to two weeks.  I share this with you not to brag or gloat in ANY way, we are far from extraordinary people, no, instead I share this with you because the need is always there, for whatever you can do!  I have had several people tell me that they could never do foster care because they could never say 'Goodbye' to a child who has been in the home for a long time.  I am beyond thankful that we have never had to do that, so I can't honestly even answer that question.  (Not to say we haven't had some sad 'Goodbyes', there have been tears shed at the end of some of our longer respites.)  But, I do know that we have had these 19 kids, who have come and gone, touch and enrich our lives in ways I could never have imagined.  There is always a need for respite homes, police protective custody homes and 4 hour hold homes.  Even if you don't think you could take a long term kiddo, but feel a tug on your heart to help, consider becoming one of these!  The process is still the same (you would have to become a licensed foster home), but once you are licensed, you are never committed at that point to take a 'long term placement'.  I have said "No" to FAR more respite calls than we have accepted (far more), so there is always room for more foster homes.  Of course, the need is also great for homes who can take longer term placements, especially older kids and sibling sets.  As always, if you ever have ANY questions about fostering, ask away or call and ask your local foster agency.  

These 20 kids (one of whom is now our 'forever daughter') have touched our family in beautiful ways.  I am happy to have met each of them.

"Spread the Word to End the Word"

March 6th is national "Spread the Word to End the Word" day.  What word are we wanting to end you might ask?  Let me tell you a little bit about my story with this word- the word we are talking about is the word 'retarded'.  I will be totally honest with you here; that word used to roll off my tongue very easily 8 years ago.  I would say something like "Oh my word, stop being so retarded" or "That movie was so retarded".  Now, at the time, I *never* imagined that I was hurting anyone or even comparing that word to someone who had mental disabilities  In fact, I had a passion for people with Down syndrome.  It really never crossed my mind that my words were hurting others.  "I'm not comparing that to someone who has (fill in the blank)", I would think.   I often wonder how many moms, who were struggling after their child was diagnosed with some sort of cognitive delay, heard that word slip so easily of my tongue.  I know they had to hear at times.  Did I ever make someone cry?  It hurts my heart to think back and wonder, so instead, I move forward and will share why this word hurts.

I have had people say "You are just being overly sensitive, you KNOW people aren't referring to Logan when they say it." or "No one says it to be truly hurtful".  While I do know that most people who say it don't intend to personally offend me or Logan, I just want to share a few thoughts with you, and I am going to be blunt. This is something I have had to work through in my own mind as well, and it was a painful process.  When you say "Oh my gosh, I am so retarded" or "That (item) is so retarded" you are, because of certain stereotypes, comparing whatever or whoever it is to someone who has mental or physical disabilities.  Logan does certain things, makes certain noises, and makes certain faces that fit with common stereotypes because he has Down syndrome.  These stereotypes are what people think of when they say "You are so retarded" and therefore, you are comparing whatever it is, to my son.  Now, before you say "No, I'm not!"  Please just take some time to really sit and think about it.  When I really sat down and thought about it, I realized that there is really no way around it.  I was comparing something or someone who was or did something stupid or slow or goofy or something that didn't measure up to my expectations or whatever it was....the list goes on, to the stereotypes of someone who was 'retarded'.  And there *are* people who use it to hurt on purpose.  I have had some really awful encounters where the word "retarded" was certainly used as a hurtful insult.  A lot of times I let the word slide, especially when I know the person thinks like I used to think, when I  *know* they aren't intending to hurt someone.  But, I will admit, every time I hear it or read it on FB or hear a friend say it when talking about something, it stings.  It stings because I know that my sweet Logan faces challenges every day and will his whole life due to his Down syndrome.  It stings because I see what he has already overcome and to see someone compare something they feel is stupid to him, hurts.

Logan is many things, but he is not stupid.  He is brave, kind, compassionate, caring, loving, a good friend, a hard worker, a good brother, funny, smart, a fighter, forgiving....the list goes on.  Here is one of my all time favorite blogs about the word "retarded".  She says it more eloquently than I ever could.

Being Retarded

Anyway, all I am asking is that if you use the word 'retarded' in every day language, to please stop and think.  Think and then please choose a different word.  "Oh my goodness, that is SO ridiculous!"  <---- A better alternative.  Do it for my son.