What if I had turned in our paperwork 3 weeks later?
What if she had changed her mind at the hospital and decided
to parent her child?
What if I had gotten pregnant?
What if she hadn’t died from something so stupid as a
preventable disease?
What if a document had gotten lost in the mail?
What if she had chosen someone else?
What if we had stayed and waited at that agency?
What if someone had supported her instead of taken advantage
of her situation?
What if a family had embraced the idea of an illegitimate
grandchild instead of shunned her?
What if we had decided three was enough?
What if that country decided to close its doors to
adoptions?
What if we had pulled out when things were looking tricky?
A lot of things lined up for this family to be this
family. Had any one of those questions
been answered differently than reality defined, my family photo could look
completely different. The four framed
faces sitting on my desk could be four different faces. I think
about that sort of thing, the “what ifs”of a family made through adoption, of
all the factors that go into a child eventually being matched with a
family. What role does God play? Is it a tangible working in the minds and
hands of people involved? Or is it more
abstract and permissive of situations taking place? Does he sit up in heaven pointing and
nodding, “Yes. That little man is going
to go in that family of three. And I’ll
use that couple to shape the future of this sweet potato.”? I don’t know.
The more I think about it, the more complicated it feels. But I believe strongly that prayers are heard
and answered in concrete ways. I have
stories to prove it. God is a part of all of this.
But if I’m going to be honest, more than all of those I
think about this:
What if my children
were growing up in their first families?
What would that be like for them? Because
in a world without sin and pain and poverty and brokenness, that is exactly
where they should be. And as a mom
who loves them so deeply, I’d rather just not even think about that. I’d rather nuzzle them and squeeze them and
pretend they should have been mine all along like somehow God ordained their
broken starts so that my motherly longings could be filled. That would be nice,
wouldn’t it? (No. Not really.) I’d like
to imagine that the days I looked down at their real or photographed faces,
they came free of a history. I like to
pretend that they were gift-wrapped with a large bow just for me. But I know it is more realistically and
theologically complicated than that. And
when I think about their first families, my heart hurts. I think God’s heart hurts, too.
And then there is this:
What if I could have
done something differently? What if I
had redirected my adoption expenses in a way that would have allowed a family
to stay together?
If you want to keep an adoptive mom up at night, just have
her start mulling on that question. I’ve
learned that in most cases, the answer is not as simple as more money. There are so many factors going into
decisions about parenting or not parenting.
There are social stigmas, family pressures, personal goals and futures,
and ultimately unselfishness and love.
But what if?
I like the idea of keeping kids in their families and being
used to make that happen. I like the
idea that a little bit out of my pocket could make a significant change for a
little person. I like the idea that it
could be much simpler. I like the idea
that I could provide a meal, some extra clothes, school expenses, medical care
all from the comfort of my living room. I like the idea of being a parent helping another struggling parent.
I like that I could be the difference for one. Or three.
Or…
So, let me introduce you to some other members of our
family.
Mihiret is 9 years old and my Hannah chose her because she
is the same age and she liked her hair.
Eden (no joke.guess why we picked her?) is about to turn 7
and is currently in kindergarten.
Bereket has a face I could eat. Something about him reminds me of my boy and
when I saw him, I knew he was ours, too.
He is a strapping young lad at the age of four.
And all of these kids grew up in the same neighborhood as my
youngest son. And all of them still live
there with their families. And all of them have the same child status:
VULNERABLE.
What if God has somehow ordained, once again, the crossing
of my path with the path of these three little ones? What if our encounter with one another could
change their status from vulnerable to hopeful or better or just plain more
comfortable?
I try to walk the balance beam of advocating for kids. It’s tricky.
Don’t be too outspoken that people get tired of the message or tired of
you. Choose your conversations. Be challenging but not overbearing. Be well-rounded and approachable. Don’t overdo it. Be passionate without being a lunatic.
But here I go again because I just really believe this is
good. It’s worth my words and worth your
time.
Children’s Hope Chest is a child sponsorship program. (Do. Not. Stop. Reading.) It meets the basic needs of kids. It’s a program that has been researched and
visited by people I know and trust. And
they’re working in Woliso, Ethiopia, a place that is dear to my heart. A place where I’ve seen what kids living in
poverty looks like. It’s a place you go
to and don’t forget the faces and the dirty clothes and the barefoot feet. And the smiles.
I want to bring it up because many people want to help but
don’t know how.
I want to bring it up because many people have the heart for
kids, but can’t take the leap into adoption.
I want to bring it up because these little ones can’t be
spoken about too often.
I want to bring it up because it’s important.
I want to bring it up because part of my heart is in
Ethiopia.
I want to bring it up because these kids are just as
valuable as our own.
I want to bring it up because I think it’s the right thing
to do.
So, will you just do a quick tap on one of these links and
look at these faces and ask yourself if you could make a difference for one? Or three. Or….
Get on it. (I mean that in a gentle, loving way.) But seriously, get on it.
