Miracles Happen

            Much has happened since I last wrote.  The children have grown.  They seem much louder now, somehow.  Ha!  They are all both best friends and worst enemies, depending on the moment, as is certainly true with all siblings.  Little Man is enjoying school and learning SO much this year.  He is confident and amazing us all with what he is retaining, even surpassing what professional testing told us he may be able to achieve in some things.  He has sweet little friends that light up when they see him.  I often have to brush away tears as their mothers send me video messages they send to him.  Who could have imagined that the frail, forgotten toddler would one day be surrounded by such true, deep love?!

            Despite all of the wonderful things happening in his life, he still has many struggles.  Life without a family for his first three years has shaped who he is and will forever alter the way he sees and copes with the world.  I naively thought that a young child would have less permanent trauma than an older child, but the truth is, it doesn't seem to matter.  Adoption always comes from loss;  there is no way around it.  And depending on what your situation is as you wait for a new family, trauma can be piled on top of trauma.  Unfortunately, for Little Man, his every-growing list of physical special needs adds to the differences in his life.  It is not often that he finds a moment where either his trauma or physical needs do not impact him in some way.

           Sometime in the next few weeks, we are expecting to be admitted to a nearby children's hospital for some testing and procedures.  We have seen firsthand the hand of God move at the prayers of His people.  Would you join us in praying over these things?  You can pray for everything from Little Man's emotions to his physical ailments, but specifically we need God to move with Little Man's eating.  He is losing weight again, and he does not have any to spare.  The spiral for Little Man can be significant and fast.  I have, on multiple occasions, had people tell me, hours after the fact, that they felt moved to pray over a specific meal for him, never knowing that he ate the entire meal and asked for more.  I should not be surprised to see God so faithful in these small things anymore, but it certainly still takes my breath away.

           It has been so exciting to me to watch as God opens paths for us to walk down that lead us to people that Little Man needs.  He has dropped multiple specialists into our laps who have experience with institutionalized children and extensive training in his specific needs.  If I remember correctly, the last time I counted we see between 10-12 specialists a year, some of those, multiple times.  God is helping us to weed out the ones that are not making a difference and add to the list those who Little Man desperately needs.

           In addition to doctors we need, God has shown His individual care for us as He has allowed us to deepen old friendships, moved us to a new church, provided everything we need, surrounded us with people our souls have desperately needed, and continued to place people in our lives that we can, hopefully, bless in return.  Last year, He gave us a year of rest and refreshing that our hearts were craving.  This year, I hope we find opportunities to pour ourselves out in love of others.

          Speaking of God's hand in bringing people into our lives, about two-ish years ago, I was sitting in the lobby at Big Sister's ballet class and this lady walked in.  I was immediately intrigued by the prominent outline of my favorite Eastern European country on her shirt.  Those of you who know me personally, know it is not in my nature to just strike up a conversation with someone I don't know, but there was no way I was not going to ask about this!  As it turned out, it was for one of her friend's adoption fundraiser from Little Man's home country!  And wouldn't you know, she and her husband were in the beginning stages of planning their own adoption.  Bam!  New friend!

         That had been a very dark year for our family, but God let this new friend walk straight into my life and she has taken up home in my heart forever.  There have been times that I sat across from her, with tears in my eyes, as she has spoken the words of Jesus straight into my soul.  We hold our cups of hot chocolate and marvel that as we are gathered, He is certainly in our midst.

         This may seem an odd thing to discuss on this blog, but at this EXACT MOMENT, she and her husband are in Asia, meeting their new son for the first time.  And I can't help but weep.  In the day to day of motherhood, I so often forget that Little Man is a miracle.  The weaving of him into our family is a literal miracle.  How could I forget that the very deliberate, grace of God is sleeping in the room next to me?  I think of my friend and the miracle of an orphan becoming a son, RIGHT NOW.  He will never be without a father, a mother, siblings, a family.  He is not forgotten, he is a son.  

        And I'm just amazed at the glory of God shining all around us.  The daily struggles and the small victories.  The forgotten miracles of yesterday as we go about a new day.  But today, I can sit still and see the miracle.  I can see all of the tiny ways God wove friendships together and made new families. What a mighty, loving God He is!  May He be praised forever, for His goodness knows no bounds!

         The enemy would choose to keep children in orphanages, but in His name alone, the enemy is always defeated.  I can hear bells of freedom ring out as another child finds refuge in a family.  Nothing could ever stop His love.  Will you pray, this moment for our friends, their children, and their newest son?  My hope is he is welcomed into their loving arms with an army storming heaven's gates on his behalf.

         Miracles happen, people.  Miracles.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z4KE1nPifwQ 

How Would You Describe Adoption?

If you had to describe adoption in one word, what would it be?  There are probably many words that come to mind.

Love.

Redemption.

Sacrifice.

Joy.

Family.

Those are all words that come to my mind as well.  But I think if I had to sum it all up in just one word it would easily be the word choice.

I once read where an author said that adoption is the most intentional thing you can do in the entire world.  You can get pregnant unintentionally.  You can buy a car, quit a job, or move away, all without waking up that morning planning to do so.  For that matter, there are plenty of movies out there depicting how you could wake up to discover that you had accidentally married someone else.

But not with adoption. There are weeks, months, and often years of intentional effort required to pursue adoption.  And with each piece of paperwork, each notarized and apostilled stamp, each social worker visit, medical form and background check, you are intentionally making conscious and legal choices to adopt a child.  Rightly so, for a human life should not be something haphazardly passed around as if it had no value.  Each piece of paper that slides across someone's desk represents a real, living child worthy of this intentional pursuit.

Yes, the adoption process is all about choice- the choice to pursue a child.

I naïvely thought that choice would end when he arrived home.

Children who have spent time in an institution have brains bathed in trauma.  Even the best caregivers rotate through their shifts, caring for multitudes of children starving for love and attention, unable to fill the family-shaped holes in their hearts.  In the best of orphanages, there is rarely enough food to fill each belly or diapers to ensure clean bottoms.   The children in the worst orphanages experience horrors beyond imagination.  Drugged to stay silent and still day and night, food withheld to keep them small enough to fit in cribs, and abuse that churns the hardest of stomachs is the daily reality for thousands of children.  And it lasts for years and years.

Families sacrifice to bring them home and after a month home, society questions why these families just can't get it together.   They've had a whole month, year, or more to get in a groove, why do these parents talk about how they are still struggling?

Because that damage doesn't just go away.  Sometimes ever.

Kids who have survived life without a family have to work extremely hard to assimilate into a family.  They have no concept of what a family is, much less how to give and accept genuine love, and adoptive families have to make the intentional choice to love them through it all.

That might sound shocking.  How horrible of a person do you have to be to have to choose to love a child?!  Especially one that you fought so hard for?

But what society doesn't see, is the mother cleaning feces off the wall of her teenage son's bedroom for the third time that week, because after all these years, his mind still believes he is unlovable and he must therefore prove that to this family wanting to call him son.   The other moms from soccer practice don't see the school-aged girl rocking violently for hours trying to fall asleep each night because she was starved of motion and human touch for years.  The Sunday School class doesn't see the sister hiding in her room because her brother, who has known true hunger, is wailing and raging at being served dinner.  The t-ball coach doesn't believe those parents who warned him about their daughter's potential outbursts and violence, because all he's ever seen is her as a little angel at practice.  The colleagues at work don't know that the exhausted man in the cubicle next to them held his sobbing wife late into the night after they received yet another life-altering diagnosis caused from their child's unknown past.

Life inside the walls of an adoptive home may be drastically different than what you see from the outside.  But inside those walls, each family is making a choice.

When I married the Hubs, I made a vow, a choice, to love and honor him for the rest of my life.  Surrounded by friends, family, daisies and beautiful music, we twirled and danced and laughed.  I knew I had made the right choice in loving him.

And I learned quickly that that was a choice I'd have to make anew each day. 

Loving and honoring him does not always come naturally to me.  I would not have needed to vow before God to do something if it would always be easy.  I am not biologically programmed to love him in the same way I am for our daughters.  My love for him is a choice.  And one I gladly make.

I have found the same is true in adoption.  Three years of experience have taught me that adoption both was and is a choice.  I will always choose to be my husband's wife.  And I will always choose to be Little Man's mom.

This doesn't always mean that we are twirling around in flowers with a piano playing in the background.  No.  Some days, weeks, and months are very hard.  And they can be very lonely, when few see the whole picture, including the struggles.

In all this, I still, with all my heart, believe adoption is beautiful.  I believe it does encompass all of those wonderful words-  Love.  Redemption.  Sacrifice.  Joy.  Family.

We must all decide what we will do with this.  Even families that have already adopted.  The Hubs and I have to be intentional about asking what God would have for us next.  How can we rally around other adoptive families?  How can we help others bring their kids home?  Does God have more children for us?  Does God desire for us to make a difference for the kids left behind?  How can we support mothers so they can keep their children?

I certainly, don't have all of the answers.  All I know is that our lives are filled with choices.  And we will all have to make a choice about adoption, whether we choose to brush it out of our thoughts, or ponder our role.

I do know that I always have one choice before me.  And I will always choose the same end. 

Little Man, in the good and the bad, I will always choose you.

                          
 In Him we were also chosen, having been predestined according to the plan of Him who works out everything in conformity with the purpose of HIs will, in order that we, who were the first to put our hope in Christ, might be for the praise of His glory.  Ephesians 1: 11&12

Even Me?

The faint shimmer of a tear formed in his eye.  His face was downcast with the strain of the last years, but the faint lines around his eyes revealed the wrinkled reminders of happier times, when he smiled hard enough that his eyes squinted and teared for laughing so hard.   He studied his hands and I could hear him trying to keep his voice from quivering.

"Even me?"

I sat across the room on the couch, with my legs tucked under me and a growing belly resting on my lap.  I ran my hand over the round bump, acknowledging the little kicks and wiggles reassuring me of the life still inside me.

"Even you."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I was about seven months pregnant when my PawPaw and Uncle came into town for an unexpected visit.  I had been on bedrest and would remain that way for the duration of my pregnancy.  Friends and family took turns spending the day with me, Little Man and Big Sister, while the Hubs was at work, helping me care for them and the house since I was not supposed to be up and moving around.  My dad had taken the kids outside to enjoy some fresh air when my Uncle began to open up.

It was one of my favorite things about him.  He had such a wonderful sense of humor and could tell stories and joke with the best of them, but his heart was much like mine, searching for deeper conversation and connection when it could be found.   PawPaw sat in the matching chair beside him as we discussed life, hardships, and God.

He asked questions about the kids.  He had moved away around the time Big Sister was born, and so there was always much to catch up on.  Little Man was having a rough season.  Little Man has to work hard to maintain his behavior and emotions hour by hour.  His past trauma keeps him in a heightened state of anxiety and his diagnoses make it difficult for him to process situations.  The constant flurry of people in and out of the house was taking its toll on him and he struggled to regulate his emotions and eat regularly.  Parenting him is a tremendous blessing and joy, but there is much more intentional effort and sacrifice that comes with parenting kids from hard places than typically-developing biological children.

"Gosh.  That stress is going to kill you," he worried aloud.

"I know.  But it's ok.  He's worth it," I smiled.

I have tried for months to remember each part of our conversation that day.  I can remember bits and pieces, but one part stands out specifically.  As we swirled through varying topics covering Little Man, life struggles, and God, I can remember one moment clearly.  My uncle was walking through a rough time.  He told me how much he wanted things to be different.  He wondered how God could ever love him.  He had been baptized several years before, but life had been crushing and in this season, he felt he was drowning in the waves, grasping for His hand.  Much like I find myself frequently.  In my 28 years of life, I have learned that there really isn't anything new under the sun.  And all of us breathing have more in common than we sometimes think.

"God's love is beyond what we see here," I started, but as I looked out the window, I could see Little Man and Big Sister playing outside.  God had taught me some heavy truths during our adoption and I am always overwhelmed when I see them play out tangibly in front of me.

"You know well that God sent His Son, Jesus, to die in our place.  We cannot be united with God without Him giving up Jesus to pay the cost to redeem us."

Uncle shifted in his chair.  Flowery language was not going to drip a single drop of water on the fire burning inside of him.

"You were here when Big Sister was born."  He nodded.  "You know that that little girl has been my entire heart since even before she was born.  My entire life has revolved around her up until this moment.  I gave up a career I would have loved before I even got to start it to be able to spend my days with her."

I smiled at the image of Big Sister twirling around beside her swing set in the back yard.  "I have loved her more than anything."  She waved at me through the window.

"And then I saw the picture of Little Man."  I saw my uncle's eyes squint as he wondered what this had to do with anything we had been talking about.  "Little Man was so far away.  He did not know what love was.  And he was going to die without someone intervening."  Uncle saw Little Man's picture on the table.

"It was going to cost a lot to go get him.  Way more money than we had.  But just imagine, what if the cost had been Big Sister?  What if I would have had to let her go, in order to pursue Little Man?"

He puffed up his cheeks and let out a hard breath.

"Did I see Little Man's life worth sacrificing my own daughter's?  What would I have done?"

He said something along the lines of, "Good grief, Niece," in more colorful language ;) , and straightened in the chair, uncomfortable in the awkward conversation.

"That's what God did for us.  What He did when He looked out over mankind and knew He would make a way for us to be with Him.  He decided He would not even spare His own Son for our salvation."

"Even me?"

"Even you.  He didn't hesitate when He saw you.  He saw you in all of your pain and struggles.  And He said, 'Uncle is worth it.'  Not because of anything you have done, but because He loves you."

His tears fell freely now.

"And even more than that, Jesus is a lot more awesome that Big Sister.  He sacrificed a King.  He sacrificed Himself.  For you.  Your life.  Your eternity.  You were worth the Creator of the Universe sacrificing everything. "

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Adoption has taught me more lessons than I ever could have imagined.  More than I ever knew I needed to learn.  I am just a simple girl, spinning around the sun on this giant globe.  I have no outstanding talents.  I make accidental mistakes and I intentionally sin.  My influence on the world is mostly limited to the four walls of my home.  In the grand scheme of mankind's existence on earth, I will barely be a dot on the timeline.  But even so, I was worth His sacrifice.

Don't misunderstand.  This is not to puff us up.  Yes, we all have worth, but it is because HE says so.  Our worth doesn't come from our social status, our family, our bank account, our personality, our appearance, our knowledge, or anything else we can influence.  Our worth only comes from Him.  God's love and forgiveness should never be spoken of without the full picture.  He is the Prince of Peace, loving, gentle, and kind.  But the other side of that coin is a Righteous Judge who will condemn sin.   He came to make the way for salvation, but He also will come again.  I recently read a quote that said something along the lines of, "He may have come as a meek Babe in the manger, but next time, He's coming as the King on a white horse.  And He's going to war."

But I think that is probably the most wonderful thing about Him!  This magnificent, holy, powerful King, Who demands the respect of all of heaven's creatures and He came to free us.  He willingly stepped out of the glory of heaven's throne room and laid down His life in the most horrific way imaginable. 

His love is just as severe as His wrath.

This New Year, I hope we find the beauty of His adoption.  That we are the helpless, fragile beings chained to cribs of sin and death, and that this Fearsome Warrior Creator King laid down, not only his sword, but His very life, to make the way for our adoption as His sons and daughters.

I think of my Uncle's tears.  I feel my own streak my face as I type this.  I pray we all feel this same weight of His Love.  This Love that came for even us.  Even for you.

Even me.

Joy Inexpressible

This may be my longest absence yet.  It is certainly not for lack of things to write, but rather desire to protect privacy and hearts, and find my own feelings about the year.

Little Man has experienced a lot of new firsts in 2017.  Now home three years, we finally are beginning to feel the earth solidify under our feet.  His multiplying medical diagnoses and unresolved trauma have made it difficult to find our footing as parents.  He has been home now longer than he was an orphan and we are beginning to see significant progress in his ability to understand family.  Do not misunderstand, we still have multiple, daily struggles as the permanent trauma and the attachment disorders rear their heads and threaten to shake the ground beneath us, but we are beginning to find ways to release our own trauma triggers instead of letting each uprising cripple us in our parenting.

Little Man also started kindergarten at a local school this year!  We worked hard at homeschooling for two years but have found this to be a much better fit for him in this particular season of life.  His school, and especially his teacher, have been absolutely fantastic about taking the time to listen to explanations about trauma, his many diagnoses, and how they have affected him at home.  We were afraid that school would be too much for him, and honestly we (and many of his medical team) thought that we would have to pull him out after about a month, but to our pleasant surprise, he has adjusted beautifully.  There have been some very hard days and he still comes home and sleeps for several hours out of pure mental and physical exhaustion, but he truly loves his time at school.  It has been a wonderful experience for our family.  We still maintain that we will evaluate each of our children's needs each year to determine whether each individual child should do homeschool or the school system.  So he may return to homeschool in the future, but this year, we are really pleased with his experience.  His teacher is absolutely precious and an answer to the specific prayers of many who have asked God to continue to provide individuals to help bring him to healing.

We were finally able to have our first MRI done for Little Man this fall.  It has taken us three neurosurgeons, but we finally found one who was willing to put in significant effort to identify the specific type of shunt he has and determine that the metal in it is MRI compatible.  So for the first time in his 6 years of life, we finally have a clear view of what is actually going on in his brain and spine.  We found some new things from this scan that will be monitored throughout his life, but we are thrilled to learn that we do not need to pursue brain or spinal surgery right now like we expected.  We are pretty certain some surgeries will be needed in the future (to correct his severe scoliosis at the very least), but we were relieved to learn we would not have to replace his shunt just to have a MRI to determine if spinal surgery was also needed.

Little Man has matured a lot this year.  His time at school has played a large part in this.  He is learning how to write his name, play with peers, and many other things that have been so great for him.  He says recess is his favorite because he gets to blow bubbles.  Ha!  Some days when he mentions this, I have a hard time not flashing back to when we met him in the orphanage and showed him bubbles for the first time.  My, how his life has changed!  My brave boy wheels off to class each day and tackles this huge world and new experiences like a champ!  I am so incredibly proud of him and all of the things that he has accomplished.  When we were in the adoption process, I remember reading a blog where a mom talked about how some days parenting her trauma-affected children, she would have to find things to celebrate each day- like them buckling their own seatbelts.  On days now when he can fasten the clip himself, I think of just how very far he has come.  That same malnourished child who was facing a transfer to an adult mental institution at the age of 5- a certain death sentence in his situation- is now rolling around kindergarten, buckling his own seatbelt, ordering his own food at restaurants, holding his baby sister, and writing his name.  What a blessing he is!

We also just recently returned from a trip to Disney World with my family.  Watching Little Man try to understand how the princesses were suddenly alive and talking to him was absolutely hilarious.  For the first few days, he mostly stared at the characters, mouth open, but by the end of the trip, he was giving everyone he saw his best Flynn Rider smolder.  It was a much needed week of fun and time away from the stress of real life for all of us.  I think, in time, we will find that some of our favorite family memories of our kids' childhood will be the ones we took away from that trip.

For the sake of transparency, I will admit that this year has given me days that have been difficult to see the blessings all around me.   I glanced over my last blog post from January and recalled yet again that my focus for this year was to be joy.  Now that we are almost to the end of it, I think that the word that better describes the bulk of 2017 is weariness.  There have been many obstacles this year within the realms of family, medical diagnoses, and perseverance in trauma that have threatened to steal that very joy I was desperate to cling to.  In this year, most of the lessons the Father has taught me have not focused specifically on Little Man.  And so for that, I will be quite open in this post about things in our personal lives that do not specifically involve Little Man.

We buried my beloved uncle the week after Easter.  He is my third uncle I have lost to suicide.  After  I got the unexpected call Easter morning, the Hubs found me crumpled on the closet floor, unable to even find the words to tell him what had happened.  In losing this man that I loved so dearly and grew very close to in recent years, I struggled to find God's goodness.  I could not wrap my head around a God that did not provide the healing that my uncle so desperately cried out for.  The same questions about God's healing for Little Man's physical, mental, and psychological health are continuously raging in my own heart and overwhelm me if I am not careful to deal with them when the grief arises.  And now I was faced with a different situation, but the same questions.  In my lack of understanding, I have found Him to be faithful.  I have found that He can handle my balled fists of rage and sobs.  I have found that He has not left me in my grief, for He too stood at the tomb of his loved one and wept.  I have found that, fortunately, His faithfulness and goodness do not depend on me in any way.

Six months later, I was standing in an airport, about to board a plane back to Little Man's home country in an effort to follow this same God across the ocean in obedience of sharing His hope with those who have not heard, when my phone rang again.  My grandma was calling to give me a few precious moments to talk to my rapidly declining grandfather.  I did not know at that time, but those were my final goodbyes to him.  I stood in a crowded airport with tears streaming down my face and stepped onto the plane, despite every piece of me wanting to run onto a plane flying in the opposite direction.  I heard the gentle whisper in my soul, "And He said to another, 'Follow Me.'  But he said, 'Lord, permit me first to go and bury my father.'  But He said to him, 'Allow the dead to bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim everywhere the kingdom of God.'"

When we landed, the text came through that he had passed away about an hour into our flight.  And I was on the other side of the world.  Too far away to be able to sit with my relatives in our overwhelming grief as they buried my precious PawPaw next to his sons.

About a week after we came home from that trip, we received some test results for Little Man that rocked us a bit.  Knowing your child's future and hearing it from the mouth of a doctor are two different things.  I have had to accept in this past month that what I wanted for Little Man will likely be just out of grasp.  And instead of letting it rot inside my heart, I have had to painfully ask God what He is doing with this.  I assure you, I'd much rather tuck it away to easily stew and decay inside my soul instead of search for God's goodness while in the midst of the grief in losing two men I love with my whole heart and also facing fear of the future.  Taking it to Him means I have to actually acknowledge the reality of it all.

This has not been the year of the joyous triumph I had hoped for.  This has been a year of trying to find the courage to keep crawling forward.  But I have found that I have a much better perspective of the Creator God in this position.  This massive Maker of galaxies and dandelions was not on this mountaintop of joy that I had anticipated this year.  Instead I have found Him sitting next to me in the ashes.  And I have found joy in His nearness as He binds up my wounds.

This past year has been one of my hardest years yet.  I still randomly find myself wiping sudden tears from my face as the reality of losing of two of my favorite people in the whole world catches me by surprise during the day.  Big Sister still frequently cries herself to sleep at night, clutching her PawPaw's shirt.  This week, as we nestle in the house for a holiday break and I feel the weather finally cool outside while wrapping my hands around a warm cup of tea, I have found that God has met me in this season.  He has held me in my grief and anger and lack of understanding.  He has gently whispered Truth to my heart that has sustained me.  When I was fearful of turning to Him and finding the harsh rebuke of a righteous King because of my own unfaithfulness, I instead found the embrace of a loving and forgiving Father. 

As our travels have ended for the year, and we settle down for, hopefully, a peaceful winter, I find myself enjoying the familiar annual longing for Christmas.  There is something magical about the advent season.  The anticipation.  The crisp wind knocking the last leaves to the ground.  A dying creation longing for its coming King.

After so much loss this year, I catch myself aching for this birth of the Messiah.  I have seen the brokenness in myself and in this world.  I have seen the horrible pain of death, neglect, fear, trauma, addiction, sickness, hopelessness, anger, cancer, and forgotten children.  How can we survive this kind of anguish without this Savior?  This Baby coming to die.  This warrior King coming to our rescue.  This loving Father coming to heal our brokenness.  This Jesus.  Precious, magnificent, holy Jesus.  How can it be that He would step down from His glorious throne to take on our flesh and our pain?  That He would willingly come into this world's pain and take it on His own shoulders to offer us true peace?

The weeks leading up to Christmas are holy anticipation.  The longing to meet this Baby at the manger and follow Him to the cross.  We are all broken.  We are all sinful.  Jesus left His place in heaven to take on lowly human flesh, live a sinless life, and endure God the Father's wrath against our sin by allowing Himself to die on a cross.  But three days later, he conquered death and rose from the grave.  He offers salvation from our sin.  We cannot be reunited with God without Jesus.  There is no salvation without Jesus.  There is no joy without Jesus.

How can we not look forward to His coming when so much is at stake?!

When we see the nativity sets this year, may we look at that manger and see it for what it really is.  That manger is the coming cross.  It is our freedom.  It is our peace.  It is our reconciliation with God.  It is our joy.

So this year, while it has been marked by much tragedy, is still oozing with unending joy.  Because the pain of this year is nothing in comparison of being separated from Him.  And because He has come to us, there is joy.  Even in the midst of suffering. 

Can you feel the weight of it all?  He didn't leave us here in this anguish. 

He didn't leave us here. 

We wait anxiously for Christmas because it represents that He came. 

He came. 

Our eternal freedom slept in that manger.  And so we hold our breath with all of creation, awaiting the angels' song.

Our Joy is coming!




"and though you have not seen Him, you love Him, and though you do not see Him now, but believe in Him, you greatly rejoice with joy inexpressible and full of glory, obtaining as the outcome of your faith the salvation of your souls."  1 Peter 1:8 & 9

Taking Back

The start of a new year is always cause for reflection of the past and hopeful anticipation of the future.  2016 was by far the hardest year our little family has ever faced and we are eagerly stepping into the new year and fresh beginnings!

We kicked off the new year with a much-needed checkup for Little Man.  In November, we ran some tests and all 3 came back either positive for infection or concerning in some way.  One we discovered was a tummy problem that he contracted in the orphanage that causes a lot of pain and difficulty eating.  A few days into treatment, he had a pretty significant allergic reaction to one of the medications, so we had to continue treating without that one specific medicine.  We just retested this week and are hopeful that the problem has been fixed, even without finishing that medicine.  We also ran labs this week to retest "odd" lab result #2, and test result #3 requires a trip to a new specialist a few hours away.  So whew!  We are starting out with a bang!  In addition to that, we are working closely with our pediatrician and other specialists that will hopefully be able to give us some answers about behaviors and struggles that we should have seen more progress on by this amount of time home. 

It seems that since Little Man has been home, we cycle through seasons of many, many appointments, new diagnoses, and therapies, and then a short time of adjusting to those changes before discovering new things that must be tackled.  A few days ago, I ran a mental list of new diagnoses that we have discovered in the two years Little Man has been home, and frankly, I lost count (or quite possibly fell asleep- that's life with a baby for ya!).  The thing about adding a child to your family, whether biological or adopted, is that you never really know what you are going to get!  I've heard people say that adoption is a "safer" bet, because you sign papers when you already have diagnoses confirmed, but that's crazy talk to me.  I know very few adoptive parents who have not added to the list of needs after their kiddos came home.  A hard, traumatic life before a permanent family is considered a significant special need in and of itself. 

I often think of a book that several of my friends worked through a few months ago.  I am blessed to have friends who also call themselves "moms of kids with special needs," and while all of our kids struggle with vastly different things, we all understand each other on this path that "typical" parents never have to set foot on.  The book is called Get Your Joy Back by Laurie Wallin.  The title is not meant to imply that special needs parents have no joy, (in fact, the opposite is often the case!), but rather that we are constantly somewhere in the stages of grief.  For special needs parents, just when you begin to make peace with something, a new diagnoses or disability may pop up.  It isn't just the days that we get a new, scary diagnosis, I've found that I can be blindsided by the sting of grief when I see a "typical" child do routine things during the day that my son cannot.  The world, while uniquely beautiful to special needs parents, can be an unending reminder of how different your child's life is.   I highly recommend this book for any mom or dad who has a child with extra needs- whether adopted or biological- as it deals with topics such as finding time for yourself, your spouse, dealing with professionals, and a host of other practical things.

One thing that she says in the very beginning is,
     "Aging happens as our DNA, the delicate molecular template for life in all our cells, begins to unravel.  We all have special structures called telomeres that cap the ends of our DNA strands, stunting the aging (unraveling) process.  Unfortunately, stress causes these protective caps to shrink and wear out.  In other words, we are actually aging faster than we would have without the chronic, unrelenting pressures of caregiving.  Great news, right?  In a recent documentary, USCF researcher Dr. Elizabeth Blackburn reported that the length (and thus protective nature) of telomeres is much shorter for parents in our situation.  Stanford University neurobiologist Robert Sapolsky added that for every year of chronological age, special needs moms experienced roughly six years of cellular aging."

*Insert shocked emoji*  Except not really.  Frequent doses of chocolate chips literally kept me awake and functioning today.  The amount of wrinkle cream I could go through in a month also speaks to this truth. 

So this year, this month even, we begin taking more steps in piecing back together the little boy sitting in our living room right now.  He's cuddled up with a pillow as I type, but when my gaze crosses over him, I can see flashbacks of all the pain he has endured.  I hear his screams and see his sheer terror as he left the orphanage, the rages, the medical procedures, the sobbing as he recounts his perspective of his story,  my own frustration when his behavior is erratic and uncontrollable and so much more.  On better days, I can see what was once the shell of a boy, slowly filling with love and peace and life. 

Another adoptive mom posted this song a few weeks ago as her family prepares to rescue yet another child hurt by trauma and I haven't been able to get the lyrics out of my head since then.  You can listen to it here: Take Back. 

The lyrics touch almost every aspect of adoption- the experience we have lived and the journeys we see others embark upon. 

We're gonna take back
All the enemy has stolenI think of the things Little Man has endured.  Many things were unable to be controlled.  In the womb, physical disabilities formed.  Because we live in a fallen world, sickness and disabilities are possibilities. But there are things that have happened in his short life that he has been robbed of since his birth.  Because we live in a fallen world, sometimes first families aren't permanent.  Sometimes kids endure horrific surgeries and recover all alone.  Sometimes kids don't have enough food.  Sometimes grownups are cruel.  Sometimes the horror of our fallen world is too difficult for a young mind to overcome.  Sometimes orphanages are overflowing with precious, innocent children whose joints harden in contorted positions, and bodies and minds waste away from lack of nourishment and love.

It's in the blood
Of the One Who's worthy
I know God has not forgotten
All that's lost and broken
So, come and see the turning of the times
When I look at Little Man, I see him and our struggles, but I also see the millions that he represents.  The millions still waiting.  Waiting and dying.  But I know God has not forgotten / All that's lost and Broken / So, come and see the turning of the times.Daily I am filled with hope as I read of families- everyday, ordinary families, just like mine and just like yours- who are stepping, with weak, shaky steps, then with solid paces, then breaking into sprints, racing to these kids.  I see the pictures and videos of the broken bodies and traumatized minds as they are carried out of these places.  Parents whose arms are strong and sure, and whose faces are set like stone as they walk down orphanage steps to bring their children to a future and a hope.  And I see these same parents come home, and do the unimaginably hard work of gluing pieces back together, before doing the unthinkable.  Going back for more.

We're gonna plunder the pits of hell
We're gonna plunder the pits of hellI listened to this song a few days ago while I did the dishes, tears rolling down my cheeks.  It struck such a chord with me- the rally cry of adoptive moms and dads who have struggles far greater than my own, laying down their own lives to ransom those of the forgotten.  And the little boy who was under the same roof as me, napping in his room that day.  Safe and full, albeit probably getting into some mischief during that "nap," but loved and known nonetheless.  Little Man was fortunate that his orphanage was not as bone-chilling as some of the others I have learned about, but I will never be able to call an orphanage good.  To that point, Baby Sister who is currently 9 months old, weighs the exact same that Little Man did when he left the orphanage at 3 years old.  I am humbled at the resolve of these parents who are in the process of literally pulling their children out of the pit, and pray for endurance for those of us whose children's minds try to take them back and ensnare them in that pit they left long ago.  They are truly plundering the pits of hell, wrestling from the enemy all that has been stolen.

And so we put behind us a difficult year, while straining toward a year that will bring both joy and challenges of its own.  There will be more uncharted waters.  More diagnoses and treatments, specialists and difficulties.  But this year, we also resolve to take back more of what the enemy has stolen.  There will be unmeasurable giggles, ice cream cones, Sunday night dinners, academic progress, playful games of tossing socks at each other on the living room rug, uncountable hugs and kisses, renewed strength, and medical marvels.  We look forward to many happy moments while also realizing that there is much work to be done.  Work that is a bit scary for us.  You see, taking back a childhood from the enemy is tedious, exhausting work.  It drains everything out of a parent, and is never far from our minds, even in the easy moments.  In taking back, there will be tears, exhaustion, temptation to throw in the towel.

But most importantly, in taking back what has been lost,

There will be joy.

Every Child Has A Dream

It is almost time to celebrate some of our favorite holidays, so I figured it was time to post an update!  The longer we are home, the less details I feel comfortable sharing, so the blog has obviously suffered, but I do still desire to keep posting.  :)

Things have been rolling along here.  We are several months into our school year, the baby is eager to start crawling (we are even more eager for her to sleep through the night!  Ha!), and we are looking forward to some of our favorite foods at holiday dinners!  Yum!

Little Man has been doing fairly well over the last few months.  He has adjusted well to having a baby in the house and is working hard on his schooling.  His favorite foods are still pizza, salsa, and macaroni.  In fact, if he could eat those three things for every meal for the rest of his life, I don't think I'd ever hear a peep out of him!  He also loves his toy cars and watching movies.  Little Sister is probably more amused by him than anyone else in the house.  He can get her laughing in no time and he loves to tell me he is babysitting her for me.  If you've ever spent time with the two of them together, you know he isn't satisfied unless he is stroking her arm or hugging her.  He loves his baby!

Now that we have been home almost two and a half years (can you believe that?!), I feel like we have finally settled into a good routine.  If you had told me three years ago that it would take this long for us to figure each other out, I would have balked at you.  "Surely we have loved him and fought for him this long, we will go through a transition period and then all will be well!"  Oh how I laugh at my pre-adoption self.  I could never have imagined how deep the veins of trauma run or how fear courses through his body, triggered by the smallest incidents.  One of the things that is so interesting for me is to see how others perceive his behavior and emotional state.  The hubs and I can look at him and almost see a checklist of how he is processing things, knowing he is swimming in fear or anxiety, while someone else can say, "Oh look how happy he is right now!"  I'm sure all parents can do this with their children, as we can also do the same for Big and Little Sister (ever look at your kid and just KNOW a meltdown/joy/sadness/etc. is coming?), but it is far more noticeable in our minds with him because his outward expression is often the exact opposite of his internal state.  While our friends know how to best relate to him, strangers and acquaintances often unknowingly send him into a spiral, asking for hugs and saying he's so cute they'd like to "take him home", and a host of other interactions with typical families that now cause me to inwardly cringe. 

We have learned how to navigate his triggers (when we can predict them) and handle the fallout afterward.  Another thing that has been different from my pre-adoption mindset is how long trauma lasts in the heart of a young child.  All the experts warned us that early childhood trauma has long lasting, and many times permanent, effects on a child, but seeing it played out is far different then reading it in a book.  For example, we know holidays (and any family gathering, no matter how short) are a HUGE trigger for him.  Because the winter holidays fall so close together each year, he doesn't have time to recover between each one before the next begins. It typically takes us into February before we can get him regulated back into a consistent emotional state. 

Physically, he is doing well.  He has not grown much, but he has not lost any weight either- we are happy about that!  Actually, in recent weeks, he tested positive for an infection that he has had since his time in the orphanage, so we are currently treating that.  We are hopeful that once that is taken care of, he will be able to eat and grow more easily.  He primarily uses his wheelchair, although he does ask to walk occasionally.  When we first came home we pushed and pushed for him to walk, and now we realize that a wheelchair gives him more freedom and mobility than walking ever will.  Human nature drives our desire for him to walk, I think, but we have seen and accepted that his wheelchair is a much better option for him 99% of the time.  He is faster, it doesn't cause him pain, and it is MUCH easier for him.  Now, we celebrate that he is MOBILE, because three years ago that was not going to be his future, and now he can get around almost anywhere he wants.  His legs are becoming tighter, although without the ability to do a MRI, we are unable to know if that is a result of a tethered cord.  That tightness causes him pain when he wears his braces to walk and also when wearing his sleeping braces, so it is somewhat of a cycle- it hurts, so he doesn't want to use them, which causes the tightness to continue, which makes it hurt to use his equipment. 

One thing that has been very sobering for me this fall, is thinking that he would have been transferred by now.  He wouldn't be in an orphanage, but rather an adult mental institution where he would have lived out his days strapped to a crib.  Most kids don't survive their first year after a transfer.  His life is so different now, not only compared to what his life was in the orphanage, but especially compared to what was coming with a transfer to an institution.  When we brought him home, he could only speak about 5-10 simple words in his native language.  Now, he is able to speak full sentences and carry on simple conversations.  School would have not been an option for him there, but now, he can identify some letters and sounds, count, write, color, sing songs, listen to stories, and all kinds of other things that we really take for granted daily.  Instead of spending the rest of his days forgotten in a room somewhere, he gets to play outside on the trampoline with his sister, go to birthday parties, open Christmas presents, make friends, and tell us knock-knock jokes.  When we left the orphanage, we had to provide an outfit for them to change him into, because he didn't even own the clothes on his back.  Now, there are more of his clothes and toys strewn all over his house than we can keep up with!  Sometimes when I'm stressed out at the condition of the playroom, I chuckle at what an enormous blessing this mess actually is.  Perspective, people, perspective.  We are always swamped with doctors appointments and surprise medical changes, but goodness!  He has PARENTS to drive him to loving doctors and therapists who dote on him, instead of being dropped off at a hospital all alone for necessary procedures.  This year, he actually sat down with me and helped write a Christmas wish list.  This is the same boy who for months would not even tell us if he was hungry or thirsty, because in the orphanage, those needs are not met, unless it is designated meal time.  I teared up the first time he ever asked for a drink!  The contrast of his life now to what was before often takes my breath away.  I hope I never lose that wonder. 

This holiday season, I implore you to make a difference in the life of a child.  I'm not saying that everyone is called to adopt, but there are hundreds of ways that YOU can make a real difference.  When you drop off coats and gloves at the homeless shelter, remember that there may be kids in that difficult situation- pack a toy too.  Set your Amazon account to donate to Reece's Rainbow.  Sponsor your local crisis pregnancy center.  Donate to a random family's account at a reputable adoption agency.  Offer to babysit for a foster family so mom and dad can take a short break.  Bring some crayons and coloring books to a children's hospital.  Take a soon-to-be adoptive mom out for coffee and listen as she describes her anguish in waiting for her child.  Slip some cash under the door of a single mom, or better yet, hand her the cash and offer to babysit while she takes care of some Christmas shopping.  And of course, I can't close without asking that you pray.  Pray for the children around the world who need families.  Pray that moms and dads would rise up and welcome them home.  Pray specifically about what God would have you do in regards to the orphan crisis- donate, support, pray, adopt.  Is it possible that YOUR child is lying in a crib somewhere and you don't yet know he or she exists?  How will we know if we do not ask the One who sees them?  May we all find a way this Christmas to show a child the love of a Father.  After all, every child has a dream to belong and be loved.

I Wish

Whew!  I think I start off every blog post now saying it has been much longer than I intended since the last post.  Ha!  Since my last post, we have added Baby #3 to the family and we are head over heels in love with her.  As it is with any new addition, our family is in transition as we adjust to another little sweetie.  She is absolutely precious, but struggles with severe acid reflux like her older sister.  Her reflux has caused several very scary episodes and because her doctors found some unusual things on an x-ray we are also currently undergoing tests to determine if there are other problems in her belly.  While it is always difficult to transition from 2 to 3 kids, this little lady has been consistent in her life and kept us on our toes, just as she did with her pregnancy.  We have experienced great fear and stress in the (almost) 3 short months that she has been home, but also far more joy than we could have ever imagined!  I tell her every day how incredibly happy I am that she is here.

Also, for the sake of saving all of us some confusion, I'm going to change the kiddos' code names on here.  I don't refer to the kids by name on the blog for safety and privacy reasons, but the nickname "Baby Girl" will become confusing for obvious reasons.  So in order of birth, the kids' new blog names will be:  Little Man, Big Sister, and Little Sister.

I try to keep the focus of this blog on adoption, as that is its intended purpose.  We have almost 2 years of being adoptive parents under our belts and WOW!  It has been quite the journey!  We did hours and hours worth of training before his adoption, but nothing quite matches real life experience.  :)  I'm sure all of my adoptive parent friends are chuckling to themselves at this point!  I think that all of the training in the world can't truly prepare you for parenting a child who has endured so much trauma in the early years.  Even though Little Man turned 3 on our pick up trip, those short, formative years have permanent effects on the developing brain.  Since I don't have any real updates to give on Little Man or spiritual lessons the Lord has taught me specifically regarding adoption, I thought for this post, I would focus on things I wish I had known before adoption, in the hopes that it will help any other families adopting. 

**For clarity, I should explain that I use the word trauma as a blanket term that can include many different things.  The most common things meant when someone uses the words "childhood trauma" are things like: exposure to significant stress and/or damaging substances in utero, experiencing abuse (verbal, physical, sexual, etc.), neglect, abandonment, witnessing abuse, etc.  These things cause permanent physical brain changes, many of which can be seen on various scans, as well as emotional and behavioral problems.**

Here we go:

~  I wish I had known that love doesn't cure everything.  Now I knew this before we adopted, but I didn't really KNOW it.  There is a part of parents that truly believes that food, attention, safety and a lot of love will bring these kiddos from hard places to complete healing.  Now, those things do make a TREMENDOUS difference, but we are learning that complete correction of all the problems that arise from trauma is not likely a reality.   With time, responses to this trauma can lessen, but most of the families I've followed (who are many more years into this journey than we are) seem to agree that these kids will always filter every part of their lives through this trauma.  They can sometimes learn to change their reactions, but it never completely goes away.  For example, Little Man has experienced hunger and starvation.  Because of those effects on his brain, food is a huge issue.  He bounces from using it as a control mechanism and refusing to eat or drink for days, to narrowing in on it so much that he talks about what the next meal is for hours.  We read of an extremely wealthy man who experienced true hunger as a very poor child.  When he grew into a man and became unimaginably wealthy, he still carried a candy bar in his pocket every single day.  The fear of being hungry again was so engrained in his mind, that he carried that candy bar with him so he would always know he had at least one more meal to eat.

~  I wish I had known that attachment is fluid and not set in stone.  Every part of our training focused so much on attachment, we assumed that once he attached to us and we attached to him, everything would be smooth sailing.  Instead, we have found that his attachment to us is not constant.  It waxes and wanes as situations in life change, and also for no reason at all.  It is a constant push-pull in his mind- push my parents away, pull them close.  The focus in training is always on creating an environment that encourages the child to attach to the parent.  I don't remember anything talking about how the parent must attach to the child and that attachment for them is fluid as well.  When your child hits you, screams at you, intentionally vomits on you, or various other things, it can be difficult to remind yourself that it is all coming from trauma and not pure hatred of you, especially when you have done everything in your power for him or her.   (We aren't talking typical childhood tantrums here.)  God gave parents a beautiful biological bond when they have babies.  All of those hormones and biological responses are His blessing so you don't lose your mind when waking up for the 100th time at night with a newborn, picking up a screaming toddler off the floor of a public place, or grounding your teenager for rebellious behavior.  But with adoption, those hormones and biological responses are not there.  You are effectively parenting a complete stranger at first.  Over time your mind begins to change and your feelings follow (for most parents, but this is not always the case).  Even so, for most parents with trauma-affected kids, it remains a very intentional process to maintain that attachment to their child.

~  I wish I had known that people would brush things off as "typical childhood" tantrums and such when you confided in them.  It is extremely hurtful and frustrating.  I liken it to a parent saying their child is deathly allergic to peanuts and someone responds saying, "Oh, I have a picky eater too."  Maddening.  Ha!  I do often ask friends their opinions on developmental things, especially if they have boys, and I greatly appreciate their honest feedback.  If you are about to walk this path of adoption, be prepared to at some point vent to someone who will blow off your concerns.  BUT also give them grace, because it is likely they just don't know what to say.

~  I wish I had known that kids from hard places often don't believe they deserve love or peace, so they create chaos in their new homes in order to maintain that belief.  They often believe they only deserve bad things because that is all the world has handed them, so they intentionally do wrong in order to receive what they think they deserve (ie- punishment).

~  I wish I had known that a traumatized toddler's manipulation skills could easily outwit a top-ranking politician.

~  I wish I had known how I would grieve every time we got a new, unexpected medical diagnosis.  And how I would cycle repeatedly through the stages of grief when we see obvious signs that various emotional and mental delays are likely permanent.

~  I wish I had known how incredibly difficult this is on a biological child who is not quite old enough to completely understand .  And how very sad and proud I would be when he does something inappropriate, and Big Sister responds sadly with, "It's ok.  Brother just doesn't understand."

~  I wish I had known that sensory issues and anxiety are far more crippling than being in a wheelchair.

~  I wish I had known that Little Man's complex worldview would drastically change our lives and how we are able to plan and navigate events as well as daily life.

There are a lot of things I wish I had known that would have better prepared me to be Little Man's mom.  But then again, if I had known just how difficult the last two years would be, I might have been too scared to take the leap into adoption.  All of that being said, there are a lot of really AMAZING things that I wish I had known as well.  I typed out all of the difficult things to offer a real, but very small, picture of what one journey has looked like.  Each family's journey is so different, there is no way to predict how each story will unfold.  But with all my heart, I believe that we cannot truly appreciate the beautiful view at the top of the mountain if we have not experienced the pain of crawling through the valleys first.  Here are some other things that I wish I had known both before the adoption and still have to remind myself of on our really dark days:

~  I wish I had known how desperately I would need Jesus every minute of every day.  It is impossible to parent a child well without Him, but it is absolutely impossible to even survive parenting a trauma baby without Him.  The days and weeks that I attempt to do this on my own are miserable- for everyone.  Not only do I need Him to help me through each day with Little Man and the girls, but this adoption has taught me so much of my own rescue story.  I see very clearly the parallel between Little Man's adoption and daily walk with him and my own salvation and the journey with Jesus in the years since.  It is quite the humbling experience, which I often need more of.

~  I wish I had known how I would sit wide-eyed in wonder when I compare pictures of Little Man in the early days to now.  He has grown and changed so much.  I watched a video just the other day of him in the orphanage and it was amazing to see him not even really be able to sit up.  When we brought him home at 3 years old, he had never taken a single bite of solid food.  When we picked him up, he could say maybe 10 words in his native language, but within a few months, he was speaking an entirely new language at a 3 year old level.  His progress has been absolutely incredible.

~  I wish I had known how much joy would overwhelm me when we could give Little Man new experiences that he never had and would never have if he remained in an orphanage.  The look on his face when he saw bubbles for the first time on our first trip is something I will treasure forever.  When he came home, he not only had a mom and dad for the first time, but he arrived at the airport to an entire extended family and friends who had been praying for him for years.  I'm tearing up now just thinking about how we can even call love and family a new experience.  How tragic that this is a reality for so many!  He came home to a whole room of toys just for him.  Even to this day, he still is overly excited when he sees me pull a new shirt out of his closet and take the tag off.  He can't wrap his mind around it being only for him and not communal property.  He has seen the beach for the first time.  He has petted a dog for the first time, and even has two of his own!  He has experienced complete independence in a wheelchair for the first time.  He has colored and painted.  He has experienced new foods, and the childhood thrill of being covered in a spaghetti dinner.  He has learned new things in homeschool, while in his first country he probably would have been denied any education due to his disabilities.  He has gone from being terrified of cold ice cream to begging for its sweetness at least weekly.  He has changed from screaming in fear of being in a bath tub for the first time, to asking to splash in the bubbles daily.  I could think of a million other things, but we'd be here all day...

~  I wish I had known how my heart would fill when we get rare glimpses of the real boy underneath all of the trauma and defense mechanisms.  To most, he is a very smiley and happy kid, but in reality, most of his smiles and laughs are forced- I'd estimate at least 90% of the time.  The Hubs actually showed me a picture he took of Little Man a few weeks ago and it took my breath away.  I didn't recognize him at first with his simple, genuine expression on his face.  He looked so innocent and unharmed by the world.  I cried.  The picture he took one second later was of Little Man laughing- a cute picture, but a very fake expression and forced laugh.  It was the first time I realized that because of sensory overload, anxiety or whatever the case may be, even his facial expressions rarely relax.  He so wants to protect himself that being happy has become a defense mechanism.  A few weeks ago, we were at parents' night at VBS.  As we observed him from the corner of the room, the Hubs and I both whispered to each other at almost the exact same time, "He's smiling, but he looks like he is about to burst into tears."  It's painful for us to watch him as he struggles to balance his internal feelings and life, and to know that he's so good at hiding his feelings, others can't read him.  However, a few days ago we roasted marshmallows to make smores and as we all sat in a circle and enjoyed the treat, we again whispered to each other, "He looks so content and peaceful."  We cling to those rare minutes that we see him truly peaceful.

~  I wish I had known that Big Sister would change with adoption as well.  She has the ability to be far more compassionate and protective than many adults (even though she is still a child and obviously experiences typical sibling strife).

~  I wish I had known that adoption would give me and the Hubby just one more thing in common.  There is something about struggling together that truly bonds you in ways that good times can't.

~  I wish I had known that when Little Man reaches a milestone, it feels like we have conquered the world!  It took us months and months for him to recognize the letter A consistently, but what a celebration that was when he succeeded!

~  I wish I had known that adoption would make me a completely different person.  I don't recognize the person I was before, and I wouldn't want to be her again. 



I could think of dozens of more things I wish I had known- both good and bad, but in reality, it has taken me two days just to type these out while juggling three small kids!  :)  There have been some very hard days and months since Little Man came home, but there have been some absolutely wonderful ones too.  There is always such a fine line to walk when posting things like this.  I would never ever want to discourage a family from adopting.  There are far too many children in DESPERATE need of families, not to mention the Holy God's command to care for orphans- and I certainly can't argue with that.  But I do want to give a small glimpse into reality, while also protecting Little Man's privacy and dignity.  We are often asked if we would do this again.  And the answer is always YES.  Even on the very worst day, YES.  Little Man is completely our son and God had been preparing us to be his family from the moment it was determined he needed one.  Now, for many months we have said we didn't think we would have the strength to ever do it a second time.  But now that we have had some peaceful days to balance out so many of the difficult, I think we would say that we could do it again in the future.  (Now before my phone starts ringing- No, we do not have any current plans to adopt again.  I am simply saying that if God calls us to it again in the future, we'd at least be obedient enough to hear Him out.)  ;)  We have seen Little Man blossom into a completely different child, and if we had the ability to provide that for another, it seems beyond selfish to not do so.  On the bad days, I hear the gentle whisper, "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."  And while this is taking the verse out of context, the Father is indeed teaching me how to lay down my life daily so that another might live.