My Overthinking

Philly Area mom, Life forever changed by adoption

My ordinary became extraordinary

I had an epiphany yesterday.

We weren’t doing anything special. Maybe that is what made it significant.

It was a Monday. Monday mornings are hectic around here. Getting the two older kids to school can be hard on Monday mornings. Then, I have about a 10-minute gap during which I come back to the house with the two younger ones, get some dishes done or throw a load of laundry in and then take Drew to preschool. I usually go to the grocery store after dropping him off and shop for the week with Lydia in tow—something that often becomes stressful for both of us.

This particular Monday, I had some extra errands to run. So, we did the grocery shopping and still had three more stops before it would be time to pick up Drew. Since Lydia is crazy very active, I brought the hip carrier I use and carried her in that to try to contain her a bit.

This was the set-up for my epiphany—clearly, nothing extraordinary, just normal life.

It was at the second stop as I was toting her around, occasionally petting her flyaway wisps of brown hair and giving her kisses on her forehead when she would snuggle extra close and tuck her arms in tight to me and dialoguing with her constantly (as of this weekend, she has officially entered the “why?”-stage), that I had my epiphany.

I love this little girl. She is my daughter. Every little idiosyncrasy of my reaction to her was because I am her mother and she is my daughter. Every answer to her “why?”s, every glance down at her, every pat on her back and pet of her hair, every smile in response to someone we past by who smiled at her…all was because I felt completely normal with her on my side, literally attached to me. And, it was really a good feeling.

I realized that as well as I thought attachment had been going for the last year, as committed as I was to her, as much as I loved her and loved seeing my husband embrace her and the other children dote on her, there had been something missing, a very important thing missing.

When we first brought her home, we had the opportunity to meet with an attachment therapist as part of a research study. I remember at one of these meetings towards the end, she asked me a pointed question along these lines, “Many adoptive parents say that it takes them a little while to really feel like their adopted child is their child. Do you feel like she’s yours?” Yes, yes, I answered. She’s mine. I can’t imagine her anywhere else. And, yet, there was some small amount of disconnect. I attributed it to her bonding with Mark more than me. She clearly likes him more, I thought. She sees me more as a glorified caregiver, I thought. Maybe that’s why she bonded to Mark more than me.

But, yesterday, there I was walking around in one of the most mundane places. And, there, God did it again. He made the unholy, holy. He made the ordinary, extraordinary. There I was, shopping for jewelry displays, and I realized I was holding my daughter.

And, my heart grew big.

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Her birthday

Lydia is 2 today. And, I didn’t expect to feel the way I do.

For a Raudenbush child, a birthday means a bedroom door decorated with streamers and balloons when he or she wakes up in the morning. It means a meal of their choice, some fun activities, some sort of party, gifts, a celebration of them all day long. In fact, they think about it pretty much year round, looking forward to their day, making lists of game ideas, themes, gift ideas.

And, for me, their birthdays mean remembering. I remember being pregnant with them and my labor and delivery. I remember those first moments holding them, studying their faces, memorizing their cry.

So, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I feel like I do today.

We are celebrating Lydia with the streamers, balloons, gifts, a special meal, and all that. But, I am also grieving that I cannot remember those first moments with my child. I didn’t know them.

A sweet friend gave birth to her second baby last week, a beautiful baby girl. Another friend and I went to the hospital the next day to see her and meet the baby. The mommy was glowing as she shared her birth story. We doted on that little girl, admiring every wrinkle of her brow and how sweetly folded up she still was. We looked at her expressions closely—“Oh, I think she just looked like her big brother,” “Did you see that? She really looked like her daddy when she made that face.”

I’m thinking of that visit today, wondering what it was like for my daughter’s birth mother today 2 years ago. I know I can’t romanticize the event. I do not know what her situation was; I just know that she and the birth father could not keep her. But, I do wonder. I wonder if they loved her the moment they first saw her. I wonder if she nursed her and cradled her close. I wonder if they saw themselves in her and laughed about her strength even as a newborn. I wonder what they named her.

I cannot tell Lydia today how long I was in labor with her, what the doctors said when she was born, how Daddy cried when she finally was born and she screamed for her first breath.

But, I can tell her what we were doing that day.

We joined the special needs program. On March 10, 2 years ago, after waiting nearly 2 years in the healthy child program, Mark and I sent an email to our agency with our application to join their program to adopt a special needs child—a step of faith we quietly took. We told them: “We feel like we need to open to the child God has for us. We do not know if she is in the sn program or not. But, we are opening ourselves to that possibility.” In another email I sent that day to an adoptive mom, I said, “We want to be open to what God may have for us, but this sure is scary.” And, it was.

I cannot tell Lydia about her first moments. I long to know what they were but have accepted that I most likely never will. But, I can share with her our story on her birthday and how God laid it on our hearts that very day to join the program that would lead us eventually to be a family.

We prayed this morning together as a family as we always do. We thanked God for Lydia, for her life, and for her birth family. We thanked Him that they protected her, that they cared for her as they did and made sure she’d be cared for 15 days later when they knew they could not do that any more. We prayed for them today that if they knew what day it was and if they are thinking about their little girl and missing her, that the Lord our God would comfort them and somehow allow them to know in their hearts that she is loved and secure.

Happy birthday, our sweet Lydia. Thank you, God, for this child.

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Our Adoption Journey: Part 1

There it is.

My 11-year-old New Year’s Resolutions. Right between “get 8 and one half hours of sleep” and “become famous,” is “family adobt a baby.”

I don’t remember what originally started my interest in adoption. But, my mom says I was always interested in it. A year or two after I wrote these resolutions, I was just figuring out the internet on a very slow computer in our unfinished basement that I thought was the bomb. I would sit at this big old metal desk and look at the pictures of children available for adoption for hours. I asked my parents if they’d adopt one of these children. I think they thought I was a little crazy. Maybe I was. I didn’t have a clue about the process and the needs of these children. I just knew they needed a home and that we were a pretty good one. The Lord had warmed my heart to the needs of children even before I could easily see their faces. He was already preparing me.

I had forgotten all about this list until we were cleaning out my parents’ home during the summer of 2008 and found it in an old briefcase with a bunch of random papers of mine. And, as Type A as I am, I can tell you that out of the 20 goals on this list, only few were reached. I don’t even remember who Matt was (#2). I don’t think having a blog counts as becoming famous (goal #8). I think I did reach being the second most popular girl (#9) that year until Mary Beth (that would be contestant #1) ousted me for some reason. And, although I quickly reached having 40 pairs of earrings (#15), I never made it to Germany (#16) and I’m sure I quickly bailed on writing in my diary everyday (#13).

But, 22 years later, we “adobted” a baby.

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Hitting Delete

I hate hitting delete.

Rainbow Kids is a web listing of children available for adoption. When we joined the special needs program after waiting for years in the healthy child program, I visited Rainbow Kids regularly and registered to receive email updates from them when a child was added to the list who fit our parameters.
I never unsubscribed to these emails. So, I still regularly see these emails arrive into my inbox. And, I can’t just hit delete. I always click on the link provided and go to the site to see the child. I always read about him or her. My heart is always pulled.
But, I click on the red circle to close the window. And, I return to my inbox. And, I hit delete. I hate hitting delete.
We just received the wonderful news that the child, Owen, who we have sponsored at New Day Foster Home since before we knew our own daughter has just been adopted. The foster home emailed us the day after he left their care to go home to Holland. When we had been home with Lydia for only a few weeks, Drew looked at the picture of Owen in our kitchen and asked me, “When are you going to China to bring him home?” I reminded him that we were only giving money to help pay for his care and that we were praying that another family would be bringing him home. We rejoice that God has heard the prayers of many and Owen has joined his family. We will now choose another child to support. We will sit down with our children and show them the pictures and read through the stories of the other children at New Day who still need sponsorship. And, my heart will be pulled.
Someone recently shared something with me. A little girl in China was abandoned by her parents and living in foster care. She was one of the orphans fortunate enough to live with a family rather than in an institution. But, the foster family learned she had HIV. And, China, like many other places around the world, is not a place where people understand this disease. The foster family returned the girl to the orphanage, no longer willing to care for her. The orphanage, faced with fear or ignorance perhaps or maybe a simple lack of desire to do more than the “norm,” rejected her as well. So, this sweet girl is now in isolation at a local hospital unable to even receive a single visitor. She is alone. Alone. And, my heart is pulled.
How thankful I am that our God is Immanuel, God with us, that He is not a God who watches us from afar, uninvolved or simply observing us in our mess. He is a God who is with us, who came down. He is a God who cares intimately for His children. And, my heart is comforted by my God, knowing that He knows the names of each of those children who I see on my computer screen, that He holds them close when no one else does, that He knows their hearts and their dreams when no one may even know their real birthdate. My heart is comforted knowing that He does redeem us in our tragic fallenness, that He is sovereign over red tape and government systems and protocols and officials who do not know Him and He puts families together, putting the lonely in families and giving the lonely children to love. My heart is comforted knowing that even when that little girl who has been rejected not just once but three times—by her birthparents, by her foster family, by the orphanage—lives in isolation, God is not a God of isolation. And, I pray that in that room, He will meet her and be with her in a tangible way. Somehow.
Our home is full. Our lives are full. We are busy and have no trouble falling asleep at the end of the day. But, I still hate hitting delete.

UPDATE — I emailed the person who shared the story of the little girl, whose name is Grace, with me. Prayers have already been answered. A foreign family living in China is now fostering her–Praise God. I was told that Grace is doing really well and seems happy and that the family is “quite taken by her.” I also was sent a link to an amazing ministry that is small now but growing–Elim Kids. I just emailed them to find out more about Grace. And, I was told that they are currently looking for volunteers to go to China for a month or more to foster HIV+ orphans. If you know of anyone interested, contact me or them directly. 

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