transracial adoption and jesus in the chick fil A...

If you've been following our journey on this blog (where I share much more of my heart than on social media), it's no surprise that our family has endured one of our toughest semesters yet on so many fronts.  (Read back a few posts ago and perhaps you'll get a sense for the amount of stress we've endured.)

Some things are improving, and some things remain very raw, sore, and difficult.  We are trying to find our way.

Life looks so different now than it used to.  Through these trials, I've found myself reflecting often upon transracial adoption (adopting outside of your race/across racial lines).  It's changed our life so radically over the past five years. 

When we adopted Jameson, (and that was a whirlwind of a story- whew!) we took the adoption experts' advice very seriously when it came to incorporating our son's culture into our family.

I know lots of white families that have adopted black and biracial children.  Some of them choose to ignore the topics of race and our racial history with their children (as is custom in white culture).  Someone I know even touted, "My friend's children don't even know they're black!" 

Sigh.

To be fair, every adoptive couple, just like every parent, has the right to decide how they'll parent their children on various topics throughout a child's life.  I'd even guess it's probably more common for white couples adopting transracially to simply include their child into their own life and culture with very little changes to expose their child to his/her own culture and identity.  (That's tough work.)

But here's the problem. 

All those cute little black babies raised by sweet white families in the past few decades are now ADULTS.  And they're talking.  They're sharing their experiences of being raised in white families, in white churches, in white neighborhoods.  Research shows they're struggling through their own identity issues as they're now living as black men and women in life, and they're often finding themselves ill-prepared to handle life as a person of color in society once they're out from underneath their parents' white umbrella.

It's Marc and I's mission to raise our children in such a way to honor their birthfamilies and to honor their heritage.  Since Jameson's adoption is across ethnic lines, it's an added challenge but we want to do everything we possibly can to learn about, celebrate, and incorporate the richness of his culture into our own family.

Even when it puts us in a strange wilderness like now.

Because we're not black.  We're not white.  We're a black AND white family.  Collectively.

And so that makes us constant pilgrims longing for a place and a people to which we belong.
We're in process from "old life" to "new life," where there is alot more color and diversity.  That may sound nice and exciting, but in reality, painful isn't a strong enough word to describe that transition for us. 

Don't get me wrong, I love wherever I'm headed, for I know it's God that is doing the leading, and He will surely guide us. 

But I'll be walking with a limp to get there.

Last week, I was standing in the airport Chick Fil A line with Caroline and Jameson before our flight home departed.  (Marc was on baggage duty back at the gate while we got food.)  Jameson was in my arms, and he was being a total sweetie.  Our faces were close to one another, and we were just engaging in a typical 5-year-old mom and son conversation.  When Jameson laid his head down on my shoulder because he'd been up since the crack of dawn traveling, my eyes met those of another man.

I'd seen this man back at the gate.  He was kindof an odd duck, almost like a black Indiana Jones.  The adventure hat, the vest, the chiseled facial features and muscular build.  Intimidating at first glance, but at the back of the Chick Fil A line, he was staring straight into my eyes in a way that was incredibly profound, full of compassion.

Was he trying to tell me something?  Or is this just my imagination? I'm trying to figure out.  I really wish I was more intuitive...

But he continued looking at Jameson and me, and he nodded his head slowly. 

I see you, Mom, his expression and nod told me. 

And then, he nodded at me AGAIN!  Slowly, intentionally, deliberately.  TWO NODS!  He was telling me something.   He was non-verbally affirming my motherhood to my chocolate-skinned son in such a tender way that I was incredibly humbled. 

I fought back tears and smiled knowingly back at him.  Thank you for seeing me, I wanted my face to say.  Thank you for affirming me in such a difficult season in life.

I turned around and we continued through the line.  As we ordered, the girls at the cash register were striking up conversation with Caroline, even to the point of name introductions.  And just as it was time to insert my credit card into the machine......almost out of nowhere the man walked up with his credit card in hand and told the cashier, "It's on me."

Y'all.  I just about burst out crying!  (It's a moment I've been WAITING to type about because it won't leave my thoughts and memory.)

I don't know who that man was, and I've even questioned if he was an angel?! 

Because to me, that moment was as if it was the Lord himself affirming me....

Amy, I see you.  You're doing this.  Though it's painful, and people will reject you and think you're crazy, you're on the right track.  You're giving everything you have to love your children and I'm proud of you.

It was like God was saying:

Not only am I going to affirm where you're headed, do not fear.  I'm even going to PROVIDE for you along the journey.  You won't go hungry.  Trust in me.  I'll feed you along the way, and I'll send the most unlikely people to do it.  

I know it's a little weird to compare this guy in the Chick Fil A line to Christ himself, but out of love, this guy rushed to the front of the busy line to pay my debt.

And in that moment, my faith was increased.

white mama at the black barbershop: more than hair...

Okay, I'm super embarrassed to show y'all this first picture of my son's hair.

Life has obviously been a little crazy between selling our house and working on the River House, (more on that in a future post!) so as you can see, Jameson's hair has not been our first priority.

I was almost too mortified to take him in ANYwhere, and I really shouldn't have taken him in without washing his hair at home first to help loosen his incredibly tight curls for picking out.

So the barber,

loving his first shampoo at the barber shop

whom we love and have seen before, started working through Jameson's hair with the pick, and I could see Jameson doing everything in his power to hold back the tears.  (As I internally beat myself up...)

At that point, the barber took him for his first shampoo.  (I guess he realized it was a lost cause to get that pick through the boy's head.  Smart man.)

After the shampoo came the buzzers.  (or are they called the clippers? I don't even know...)  And at the back of Jameson's head are the tightest little curls that whatever-it's-called yanks and pulls when the hair gets long.

Jameson couldn't hold it in anymore.  He bowed his head and let the tears flow.  My poor guy.

The barber ran to the back room and rushed back with a chocolate bar for both of my kids.  #barberforthewin

Tear-stained Jameson devoured the bar, and the barber and I continued chit-chatting.  Occasionally he would direct a boisterous question to Jameson, and Jameson (being a shy version of himself) would usually just answer with a soft, enunciated "yes."

Then the barber turned to me each time and imitated Jameson's little voice saying "yes" and laughed to himself.  He said he couldn't believe how "polite" Jameson spoke.

I laughed.  Jameson didn't exactly know how to get his barbershop talk on.

And then that big ol' wave of white-mama-of-a-black-son insecurity hit me, for more than just hair.

My son is going to be teased for how he speaks.  He'll likely be teased for a myriad of things just because he lives with a white family.  He'll have to suffer the consequences for his deficiencies in black culture because of me.

I left that barbershop painfully aware of my whiteness, and of my son's lack of blackness, if that makes any sense.  

I can give my son so much-- food, clothing, a loving home, a family that's crazy about him, lightsabers galore, and even a good haircut-- but there's a big piece missing in every adoptee's life.  

(Especially in a transracial adoptee.)

I can't give Jameson the connection to his birth family.  And I can't give him his racial and ethnic heritage.  

That may not sound like a big deal to some, but Jameson comes from a very strong and beautiful cultural heritage.  Marc and I are always seeking for ways to bring more of it into our life, both for our sake and for his.

Since we have serious cultural limitations, we are praying that some of our dark-skinned brothers might take him under their wing.  I am praying for more racial representation for him in the church.   I want him to have real-life role models that can talk to him about what it means to be black in America.  That may not be something that he feels he needs now, but it's something he'll know he missed out on later. 

You guys, transracial adoption is about SO much more than learning to do hair.  

It's committing to a journey that will literally lead you places you never knew you'd go.  

It's coming to grips with your own insecurities and incapabilities and mourning losses your child doesn't even yet know he's facing.  

It's being willing to give up your comfort and even your people for the benefit of your child.  

It's a path that isn't for everyone.  

It's the most challenging (and simultaneously the most rewarding) thing I've ever done.  And I'm only 4 years in. 

May God give this little white mama the grace to know how to do it well.

i want to see my birthmommy...

As they grow, I'm watching my kids process their adoptions.

Like everything else in life, Marc and I don't shy away from having real, honest conversation about various topics with our kids.  (Of course, keeping it age-appropriate.)   Sometimes we initiate the conversations, but most of the time they just sort of happen at the most unplanned times.

Like yesterday.

The kids and I were riding in the car across town, and Caroline says, "I wonder if my birthmommy Megan will send me a Christmas gift?"  

To which Jameson, in typical little brother, copy-cat fashion says, "I wonder if my birthmommy L will send me a Christmas gift?"

Then Caroline, in her typical big sister, type A personality quickly jumps in to factually correct Jameson's statement... "NO, Jameson, birthmommy L will not send you a Christmas present.  But maybe your godparents will!"

I felt a twinge of pain for Jameson as Caroline's words left her mouth.  It was not the thing to say, but it was true.  His birthmommy won't be sending him a present.  

Caroline's birthmommy and Mommy

While Caroline enjoys the luxury of having an open adoption with her birthfamily (we call, text, email, visit like extended family), Jameson's birthparents have chosen a mediated adoption, where all correspondence like pictures and updates go through the adoption agency.  We don't have their address, they don't have ours.

"Who are my godparents?" Jameson asked.

"Aunt Tiffany and Uncle Ebed, silly!" Caroline retorted.   (Tiffany is my school-age friend that agreed to be a "godparent" to Jameson in the absence of him having ongoing contact with a birthfamily.)

Aunt Tiffany and Uncle Ebed

Deciding to enter into this escalating conversation with a gentler tone, I explained, "Do you remember, Jameson?  We called Aunt Tiffany when that little girl made fun of your dark skin.  Remember that?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Aunt Tiffany and Uncle Ebed know ALOT about having dark skin, so anytime you have a question or need to talk about something, we can call them!  Mommy and Daddy know a little bit about it, too."

"No you don't," he said teasingly with a smile from the backseat.  

We all giggled.

"Well, I have a question," Jameson said, and I held my breath in anticipation at what he might say next.

"Why do cars have wheels?"      (HA HA HA HA HA HA!)

So we took a small rabbit trail for a minute to discuss wheels, of all things.  And then Jameson said, "I want to see my birthmommy L.  Can we just text her?  What's her address?"

My heart began sinking. "We don't have her phone number and we don't have her address.  If we want to send her some pictures or write her a letter, we can send it to the adoption agency and they'll send it to her!"  I felt a little like a used car salesman in the moment, like I was trying to make something which is not okay somehow feel okay.

To a four year old, though, it seemed to work.  He wasn't upset, just innocently curious.

"Everyone's adoption is different," I told the kids.  "There are actually 3 kinds of adoptions.  The first is OPEN adoption.  That's what Caroline has with her birthmommy Megan.  And when your adoption is open, you can text or call, you know each other's address, and you can visit them like we visit birthmommy Megan when we go to Texas.

The second kind of adoption is called a semi-open, or a MEDIATED adoption, and that's what you have, Jameson.  That's where you don't know your birthmommy's phone number or her address, and she doesn't know ours, but you can still get in touch with each other through the adoption agency.  We were so lucky to get to meet your birthmommy once when you were 1 month old.

Meeting birthmommy L

The third kind of adoption is called a CLOSED adoption.  That's where you don't know who your birthmommy is at all.  It's like a secret."

"That's sad," Caroline said.  

"Well, I want to see my birthmommy again," Jameson repeated.

"I know, I want to see her, too, son."   

My heart yearns for this for Jameson.  "Maybe we will soon!  Would you like to write to her?  What do you want to say to her?"

He started dictating his letter.  "I'd say, 'Dear Mommy L, We have a brick house and a black car... and a white car.  I love you.  Jameson.'"

(Sigh.  Isn't that precious?)

"That's very nice," I told him. "She would love to know that."

Caroline's card to birthmommy L

I could feel a quiet, longing in my son's silence in that moment.  My eyes filled up with tears and I reflected upon my own life.

"You know, Jameson, sometimes when there's someone in our life we really want to see and can't, God actually gives us other people who can fill in those gaps.  He's given you Mommy, Daddy, and Caroline.  He's given you Aunt Tiffany and Uncle Ebed and so many other people who love you."

My heart could finish the next statement, though... But I want to see my own mommy.

(Okay, I know, I know.  I'm Jameson's mommy, and he knows it, too.  Who's Jameson's and Caroline's real mom?  ME.  I got that.  He's got that.  She's got that.  We're good.  While the mommy/birthmommy thing may feel confusing to others, around here it is just called "normal"!  ha!)

Adoption isn't a "once and done" event like we'd like to think. 

It's not like once a child is placed into a family, birthparents go away and are never thought of again, whether your adoption is open or closed.  

Caroline's birthfamily

Birthparents play a valuable role in their children.  Their DNA is in my family.  For my children to know a birthparent is to know and understand themselves better.  For Marc and I to know our children's birthfamily is to know our children better.  It is such a gift.  

I just want the same for my son someday.

"Mommy, I want Birthmommy L to have a open adoption," Jameson stated matter-of-factly.

At this point, I was fighting back the tears, for I was feeling my son's loss that he has yet to fully understand.

"Me, too.  We can pray for that."

"Now?  Can we pray for that now?" his little voice asked.

"Sure we can." 

8 years ago...

8 years ago tomorrow I became a mom.  

Not in the traditional way, but through the loving, gut-wrenching sacrifice of another.

The story of Caroline isn't complete without her.

And neither is mine.

As Caroline turns 8 tomorrow, my mind is flooded with so many wonderful memories.

Meeting Megan for the first time.

Eating mexican food together the day before she gave birth. (pictured above)

Going to the hospital to have a baby, but not because I was in labor.

Rushing back into the room just before it was time to push, and watching Marc cut the cord.

I'll never be able to fully express my thankfulness for the opportunity Megan gave us to be present for Caroline's birth.

8 years ago we were all huddled up in a hospital room, taking turns diapering and feeding her through the night.  (truly a bonding experience...)

Our families became forever linked through adoption that day, and I wouldn't change a thing.

Adoption doesn't end the heart-breaking day a birthmother places her baby in your arms. 

Though it was the hardest day of her life, and simultaneously the happiest one of ours,

it thankfully wasn't a goodbye.

8 years later, our story still continues together.

 I can hardly wish Caroline "happy birthday" without reflecting upon all that God was up to in that time surrounding her birth.

Through adoption, we're ALL crazy for Caroline!  Here's to many more years to come!

We love you, mommy Megan and Brayden! (and all the family!)

really, really yours?...

When you've got a child who's not the same skin color as you, you've gotta be prepared.

For the stares, sure.  But most especially for the questions.  From total strangers.

Are you fostering?
Are you babysitting?
Where's his real mom?
How old was he when you got him?

I was shielded from alot of these interactions with Caroline, but not so much with a transracial adoption.

But just because I'm prepared for the questions doesn't mean they're any less awkward to deal with when they come.  It's even more complex now that my daughter is old enough to hear and comprehend the questions herself.

This morning, immediately after meeting my children, a woman turned to me and said (in front of them), "Is she (meaning Caroline) really yours?  Like, really, really yours?"

(implying Jameson was not "really, really mine"...)

"Oh, are you asking if she is adopted, too?  Yes she is and both of my kids are really, really mine," I quickly responded, trying to gently correct her obvious misperceptions about adoption (and not to mention, lack of tact.)

"You've had them since birth?" she pried even further.

"Yes," I answered her shortly.  My mind was already spinning about what conversations I'd be having with Caroline upon this woman's departure.

At least the woman had the sense to wait until Caroline left the room before she began asking me about her baldness, assuming she was in remission from chemo.

Wow.  Right?

I'm careful to give people the benefit of the doubt in these conversations.  I don't expect people to know what alopecia is.  I don't expect people to know if Jameson is my son or not.  Naturally, our family raises questions in people's minds.

I know that in giving me this family, and these children, God has forever made me a spokeswoman and representative for things like transracial adoption and for alopecia.  Right there in my job description next to "kiss boo-boo's" and "teach manners" is "answer people's ridiculous questions about why my daughter doesn't have hair and why my son's skin doesn't look the same as mine."

It's my job as a mom to shield my children from people's insensitive and curious questions, and my goal is always to demonstrate graciousness while providing correction and awareness where needed.   I know my kids are watching and listening, and I want to empower them with the words to handle themselves in these situations as they grow.

But I'd also like for people to use a small measure of thoughtfulness, too.  Is that too much to ask?  Can I just request one thing-- DO NOT ASK IF MY CHILDREN ARE REALLY MINE IN FRONT OF THEM.

My children are really mine.  Like, really really really mine.

Does it matter in an introduction how my daughter came into this world and into my family?  We don't seem to say, "This is my 10 year old son who was born cesarean after 15 hours of difficult labor."  Does it matter if my children came out of my tummy or someone else's when you introduce them?

When I say I'm the "real mom," I am not implying that my children's birthmothers aren't.  I am ALL for birth families, (especially my children's- we love you!) and they are just as real and apart of my children's stories as I am.

But whether a child came out of her tummy or mine doesn't make a mom real or fake.  (that's called "adoptism" by the way)

Birthparents/biological parents are real.  Adoptive parents are real.

To imply otherwise IN FRONT OF MY DAUGHTER, who is beginning to have those natural developmental questions in her adoption journey, is not helpful or appropriate.

And it makes Mama Bear pretty darn angry, too.

But you know, God even uses the inappropriate words of others for His glory and our good.  Over lunch today, I talked with the kids about what had happened this morning.  "Mom, she was weird," was Caroline's first reaction to the situation.

"But yeah, Mom, there was this girl today who was asking me if Jameson was my brother, and I was like 'yeah he is' and she said, 'But what color is your mom and Dad?' and I told her our colors and she didn't believe me."

"Oh, because she probably thinks families have to match," I said.  "But do families have to match in color?"

"NO!" both of my kids answered in unison.  (Ahhh, I have trained them well.)

We began listing out all of the families we know who "don't match," including our sweet neighbors across the street.

We rehearsed what to say when someone says, "That's not your mom!" or "Your family is different."  (the answer to the latter being, "Yep, we are different and we love being different.")

We talked about how beautiful all skin tones are.  I asked Jameson if he likes his brown skin.

"Yes!" he shouted.

"You should be very proud of it!  We all love your chocolate skin."

Those are important conversations that need to be had in our house.

And I'm prayerfully hopeful that those same conversations are happening in your home, too.

real mom, fake mom...

It was bound to happen at some point.  It's practically a milestone for every adoptee, I think.

I didn't think it'd happen this young.

But the other night in a fit of anger, out came the words, "YOU'RE NOT MY REAL MOM, YOU'RE A FAKE MOM!!!!!"

Whew.  That'll getcha.

It was like a dagger to my gut.

All of the painful years I spent being poked and prodded in invasive infertility treatments just for the opportunity to be called a mom flashed in front of my eyes.

The years I have spent every day kissing every boo boo, teaching every life skill, and tucking in bedevery night suddenly didn't seem to qualify as I stared into the angry eyes of the baby I took home from the hospital at 2 days old and have loved fiercely ever since.

And suddenly I'm not a real mom.  I'm a fake mom.

I burst into tears.

There's probably nothing more painful she could have said to me.  Nothing in the world.

When we were in adoption training, I remember being told this day would come.  It's normal identity stuff that every adoptee must face and deal through, and it's typical for it to begin in the school-age years.

Through my own tears, I sat down on the couch to try to understand her wounded little heart in that moment.

"Why would you say that, baby?  What makes you feel that way?"

"Well, I feel that if you were my real mom, you wouldn't be so mean to me, so you must be my fake mom."

Okay, that actually made me feel a little better, because I knew my "being mean" was that I had just said it was too late to watch Star Wars tonight and we would try again tomorrow.  The poor girl was physically exhausted... enter temper tantrum.

But even though those words were blurted out in a rage, I know Caroline's wheels have been turning ever since our super fun visit with her birthmommy Megan at Thanksgiving.  In the car on the way home from our visit, I could tell she was processing everything more than she had before.

"Don't you love it that we can visit your birthmommy?  What a gift that is because alot of kids who are adopted don't ever get to know their birthfamily," I started off the conversation.

"Yeah," she responded.  Pause.  "Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you like my fake mommy and birthmommy Megan is my real mommy?"

"No, I can see how it might feel that way, but you have two very real mommies.  A birthmommy AND a mommy.  We're both your real mommies.  Mommy Megan gave birth to you, and I am the mommy who is raising you."

I could tell she was still thinking.

"Caroline, do you feel like you have to pick a mommy?  Like, do you feel like you have to pick which Mommy you like best?"

"Yeah."  I heard relief in her voice at the opportunity to be honest about her feelings.

"Oh, sweetheart, you don't have to pick.  Daddy and I hope you will love both of your mommies very much.  I want you to love your birthmommy Megan, and I want you to love your Mommy, too.  One isn't better than the other, they're both very important in your life.  So you don't need to pick one or the other, okay?"

"Okay.  That's good."

That's as far as the conversation went that time.  But I knew the other night when she screamed that real mom/fake mom comment, it revealed the deeper crevices of her own processing.

It's weird and a little painful at times to begin this new phase in the adoption journey.  I can't imagine what it will look like with my son, especially if he still has no contact with his birth family at all.

I know I'm not a fake mom.  Even the United States government recognizes me on her birth certificate.  

But at the other end of this developmental stage, my hope is that Caroline herself will see me as a real mom.

tears...

Adoption is beautiful.  

But the road to adoption is often not.  

The journey is filled with tears and grief on all sides.

An unplanned pregnancy brings a new mother tears of confusion.  Tears of shame and rejection.  She cries herself to sleep as she feels a baby kicking within.  A baby she knows she cannot keep.

She cries tears of pain as the baby is born, and tears of love when she holds her baby for the first time.  Tears fall upon the paper documents as she signs the termination of her rights as a parent.  Tears of separation as she says goodbye to a child she'll never raise, even though her post-partum body would beg to differ.   

The tears of a birthmother grieving for her child.

An unexpected infertility brings a couple tears of despair.  Tears of disappointment and confusion.  Tears of jealousy and bitterness as everyone around them announces yet another pregnancy.  They mourn the loss of having their own biological child.  Tears of injustice fall down their faces at every hurdle in adoption-- homestudy, fingerprints, background checks, paperwork, fundraising-- just to be able to be called "Mom and Dad."  

They face tears of disbelief and impatience as they wait.  And wait.  

They meet a birthmother and believe THIS is the one, only to be rejected.  Broken hearted.  The tears never stop flowing.  They grieve and wait some more.  Every day passes by hoping for THE phone call or email that never seems to come.  

And then one day, like a bright ray of light cutting through the darkest of storms, IT COMES.   

These lives intersect.   And suddenly the tears transform.

The birthmother's tears now include tears of relief.  She trusts that her baby will be loved and nurtured in the couple's arms. 

And for the couple, the tears of despair suddenly turn into tears of joy and deep, profound humility for the gift they will be entrusted. 

 There are no words to describe seeing your child for the first time.

Only tears.

 The journey to this moment has been flooded with so many tears,

and as you humbly hold the child of another woman's womb as your own,

you know deep down it's just not fair.

Why must she cry tears of grief while I cry tears of joy?

 It was three years ago this day that we met our sweet Jameson and welcomed him into our family.

 It brings tears to my eyes even today.

I'm reminded of God's faithfulness.

God hears the cries of birthmothers.

He hears the cries of longing couples.

And he hears the cries of an infant who has been taken from one family and placed into another.

 God works through all these tears.
They are not in vain.
And they are not unseen.
And one day, one GLORIOUS day, they will be no more.

"He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away."

Revelation 21:4

redefining family...

this pic was the "features" page of the article

It's kinda fun to be little local celebrities for the day.  

This month's issue of our local magazine, Lynchburg Living, ran an article about adoption called "Redefining Family" and we were given the opportunity alongside two other families to be featured in the magazine!

Here's the link to see the article with the pictures.  (We're on page 11, and pages 48-55.)

I was NOT so pleased with what goofballs Marc and I look like in this picture!
Oh well, at least Jameson looks great!  You can't win 'em all...

 Even though the writer apologized to me for not having more space to write more of our story, Marc and I were pleased with how much she WAS able to capture in such a small space.

The writer herself has fostered and adopted many children, and it was an honor to connect with her! 

This awesome pic was the cover page to the article- LOVE!

Now, I don't know if anybody actually READS the magazine, but it's all over town, so it at least feels like our little 5 minutes of fame, ha!  

 I hope that some who do read the article or see our family's pictures might be inspired themselves to consider adoption for their family.

If my kids' smiles could somehow convince someone to take that move forward towards adoption, I'd be overjoyed.  

(As the article mentions, 1 in 3 families discusses adopting, but only 2% of families actually adopt.)

Caroline's diagnosis of alopecia is explained in the article as well, and I feel like it'd be a HUGE victory even if a hand-full of people walked away from that article with a new awareness of alopecia.

Oh, if only more people knew about alopecia, what an easier life we would lead...

I hope that somehow, in some small way, seeing the love within our family might help build bridges between races on both sides.  Families don't have to match to be family.  I love that the writer included me saying we're not a white family with a black son, but that we're collectively a black and white family now.

My greatest hope as people look at our family and read our story is that they'll see a God who is always at work in our lives, through our suffering and not just in spite of it.  He's governing His creatures and writing all of our stories.

I hope they'll see a Father who adopts ALL of his children, who Himself has a multi-racial family with children from every land and every tribe.

It's my hope that the story He has written in my little family, even as unplanned as it orginally seemed, will somehow lead others to trust in His tender goodness, grace, and timing.

To Him be all the glory.

the gift of adoption...

Dear Caroline and Jameson,


Though we didn't give you the gift of life...

...life gave us the gift of YOU.

We love you both.

heart of a birthmother...

Last week, out of the blue, we received a beautiful email from Jameson's birthparents.  It was the first time they have reached out to us and we couldn't have been more thrilled!  What an answer to many prayers.  Our deepest hope is that over time, our relationship will continue to grow, and one day, they'll be reading these very words on this blog. 

Birthparents mean so much to our family.  It's because of their loving sacrifice we're able to be a family.  Whether our children understand it now or not, birthparents mean (and will mean) so much to them.  It's so unfortunate that birthparents are often misunderstood and stereotyped for the decisions they have lovingly made for their children.  

Jameson's birthmother sent us the following poem that I think perfectly captures the heart of a birthmother:

Because I Love You

by Shelly I.

I searched my heart and soul and mind

Because I love you.

I cried myself to sleep many nights
Because I love you.

I looked long and hard and half way across the country for your parents
Because I love you.

You now have a mommy and a daddy
Because I love you.

You have cousins who can’t wait to hold you and play with you
Because I love you.

You have loving aunts and uncles
Because I love you.

You have grandparents who are so proud to call you grandson
Because I love you.

There will never be a worry about how to feed you
Because I love you.

You will never be told, I’m sorry, honey, there is no milk
Because I love you.

You won't have to keep wearing the clothes you outgrew
Because I love you.

You won't to move and attend many different schools
Because I love you.

You have a stable home environment
Because I love you.

You won't  have to wait for me to get out of bed
Because I love you.

You will have a backyard to run and jump and play in
Because I love you.

Your life won't be a struggle
Because I love you.

You are surrounded by people who love you
Because I love you.

I let you go
Because I love you.

I can live with this
Because I love you.

today they are mommy and daddy...

I cried a thousand tears when we said "no" to the social worker last month.  

We wanted to make it work.  Somehow.  We were intent upon giving these boys a family.

But it wasn't the right thing for them.   We weren't right for them.

I prayed earnestly that God would lead them to the right family.  And I prayed He might even allow me to be a small part of that.

Praise be to Him.  He has heard my cries.

This morning at church, in walked a brand new family of four.  

Little chocolate hands were holding on to big, strong vanilla ones.  My eyes filled with tears.  What a picture of God's love that He lavishes upon us, taking us(!?!) into His family and calling us His sons and daughters.  What a beautiful picture of love.  And commitment.   And all for the sake of those who will never understand or appreciate their sacrifice.

I couldn't stop looking back at them during church.  

For years, this couple has yearned for children and God hasn't allowed it.  I know that heart ache myself.

And yet, today a little child is snuggled up in each of their laps.  Today they are Mommy and Daddy for the first time.  Today I see a picture of beauty and triumph in the midst of brokenness and despair.  Today I get to watch as this precious family unites. 

Thank you, God.

Though I needed to say "no," God has provided us ALL a million "yes"es.   

Whether it be for just a time, or perhaps a lifetime, God has given these boys the loving family they need.  

And He has graciously filled my friends' home with laughter, all things superhero, and post-bath wrestling matches on the floor.  

And He has given me the opportunity to watch all of it and still be present in all of their lives.  

To Him be the glory.  Great things He has done.

i did the right thing...

Dear friends, last week we were presented with an opportunity to take two children into our home.  For a time, but maybe much more.

As I waited to gather more information from those involved, it was crazy to wrestle with a gamut of emotions.  How could we take in two little children at this stage in our lives? quickly changed over to How could we NOT take in two little children at this stage in our lives?  

I haven't done so much praying in long time.

Marc and I weren't looking into fostering, though we have batted the idea around in our heads many times.  But here, an opportunity to sacrificially bless another family with the blessings He's poured out upon us, was suddenly falling in our lap.  I honestly didn't know how in the WORLD we would do it, (If you're from a big family, you won't understand this.  If you know me well, you understand this right away.) but I almost didn't care.  We were going to do it.

Jesus didn't just tell us to do what's easy or comfortable.  So we would find a way to make it work.

Our hearts, though overwhelmed, were excited.  Several years ago, we watched Marc's brother take in five children.  Now they have permanent custody and our family has grown so much richer because of those five!  We've seen the challenges and the heartbreak, and we've seen what a stable, loving home and unconditional love can do for children who did not initially have that luxury.

What a picture of the Gospel-- beauty out of brokenness.  Redemption from tragedy.

It's also our call as Christians to look after the fatherless. (James 1:27)  As this traveled from being a nice idea to now a very tangible possibility for very real, tangible children who needed me, I began reading and thinking incessantly about foster care as it relates to MY FAMILY.  It moved from theoretical to the practical.  Where would they sleep?  How would I fit them all in our car?  

I began talking to current foster families and former RUF students of ours who are beginning training to become foster parents themselves.  Our hearts were suddenly now open to this beautiful mess of fostering children.   Though there's alot of talk about "pro life," unfortunately there are never enough families to open their hearts and homes to fostering and adopting.

I finally received the call.  I gathered the information, expecting to take on whatever insurmountable challenges there would be.  I was going to love these kids, after all!  How could I say no?  Sure, I knew it would be a strain on myself and my own children, but we were going to tackle this head-on and grow through the whole process.

And then.

Something was said over the phone about what type of home might be best for the kids.

And that something didn't line up with my home.

Suddenly I realized how in this process, I was so eager and so zealous to serve that I had lost sight of what might be best for these children instead of what would be great for me.

And that's when the Lord brought another family with a heart towards fostering to mind.

It was through tears that Marc and I decided what was best for these children actually wasn't us.

I'm still trying to cope with that statement.  I didn't expect to feel this way.  I expected to feel relief-- after all, now I don't have to think about parenting four small children for a time!!  But what I didn't expect was to feel a sense of loss and grief, sadness, and guilt in this decision.

In the smallest way possible, these feelings actually help me to understand my own children's adoptions a little more fully.

Their birthparents wanted them, too.  They wanted to find a way to make it work.

But at some point through tears, they, too, realized they weren't the best ones to raise these children.  It wasn't the best fit for that particular parent with that particular child at that particular time.

My kids' birthparents made a gut-wrenching decision to place their children in another's care, not because it was convenient for them (as people often mistakenly believe), but because they acknowledged they couldn't be what they believed was best for their baby.

It's humbling.  In all honesty, I think we're a pretty good little family.  But right now, we're not what's best for THOSE kids, and it hurts in my gut to even admit that.

Days later, I still feel the sadness over my decision.  For birthparents, that probably never fully goes away.  The only way I know to comfort myself is reminding myself I put the kids' needs above my own wants.  I know I could've loved them well.  But I know another family can love them even more.  I pray they will find their way to that family.

It's one thing to blog about a birthparent's pain.  It's another thing to feel just a taste of it.

I did the right thing.
I did the right thing.
I did the right thing...

crazy for caroline...

A trip to Dallas is never complete without getting to see Caroline's birth family!

I can't say it enough, Marc and I are SO grateful our daughter knows and loves her birthfamily.
Even though the concept of "open adoption" might seem risky and scary to couples who are considering adoption, to us, it couldn't feel more normal.

Having an open adoption takes away much of the mystery adoptees in olden-days used to experience.  Caroline doesn't have to wonder things like where she came from, or who she looks like.  If she has questions-- why, we can just text birthmommy Megan!

Open adoption also allows Megan and her family to keep up with Caroline.  While Megan had the hard work of placing her precious baby in our arms and letting go of the parenting aspect of their relationship, she didn't lose her child altogether.  She knows her, and though it's from afar, she's able to watch her grow up in our care.

 It's funny how Caroline still doesn't quite realize the uniqueness of this relationship.  When we're buying a gift for Brayden, she proudly tells the cashier, "We're buying this for my birth brother!  And we're going to see birthmommy Megan, too!"  (as if everyone knows what that is!) 

I love watching the confused reactions that ensue.

Caroline and Brayden

Awww, look at these two!  Full siblings, and 

they are growing up so fast.  Brayden is two years older than Caroline.  He's also the cutest guy with glasses ever. 

I love how through adoption, our families are united!  Caroline has the unique privilege of knowing her aunts, uncles, grandparents and even great-grandparents on her birthmommy's side. 

Introducing the newest member of the family,  sweet little Millie!

 God is so, so good.  I'm reminded of it every time we get together.

Not only did He bond us together in the days surrounding Caroline's birth, but He is so gracious to continue our relationship year after year. 

 It was this amazing love-- a birthmommy, a baby girl, and an adoptive mommy (and daddy)-- that started this blog in the first place.

We're ALL Crazy for Caroline!

a family to call his...

 

We met Jameson's birthmother once when he was one month old.

I still send pictures and updates through our adoption agency every other month, but unfortunately, we don't hear anything back.

It's a missing piece of my son's identity that I hold out hope will change one day.

Caroline is so fortunate to have an ongoing relationship with her birthfamily.  Not many adoptees have that rare opportunity.  (see our next post...)

Last year, I asked my childhood friend, Tiffany, if she and her husband would serve as "godparents" to Jameson.  I wanted Jameson to have a special family that he could call "his," just as Caroline does.  I want him to have a family that, as he grows, can help him process through his african american identity in ways that I never could. 

I couldn't think of a more godly couple and family for Jameson to look up to.  Thankfully they, too, were thrilled at the opportunity.

Jameson, age 1, with godparents Tiffany & Ebed

So last December, Jameson met his godparents, Tiffany and Ebed, for the first time while we visited Dallas.   

Then, in a surprising twist, Tiffany's job relocated their family to a town just outside of Seattle, Washington!  

Jameson, age 2, with godparents Tiffany & Ebed.  (I love this picture!)

But amazingly, we were still able to come from the West Coast and the East Coast and meet again in the middle (Dallas) this year!  Yay!  

Our families last year

Our families this year! (minus their daughter, Chloe)

We love this family.  And I'm so grateful for their presence in our life!