Philly Area mom, Life forever changed by adoption
I am pretty sure his teacher intended him to write about an exciting moment of 2014. But, I don’t care because this is the cutest little essay he wrote.
This sweet little man is going to make some woman very happy one day. I hope that one day is a very long time from now though because I wanna keep him close for a long long time.
Coats were on and heads were being counted when she shared it with me.
Mommy, I have to tell you something. A girl in my class said, ‘Is your mom Chinese?’ I said, ‘No.” Then, she said, ‘Well, you have Chinese eyes so your mom has to be Chinese.’ But, I told her, ‘No, she doesn’t.’
Pause.
And a few seconds of quiet and eye contact.
Oh, honey, did that make you feel bad?
With a cock-eyed look and the tone of a teenager who thinks her mom was never a girl her age…
No.
The crew got out the door and went on with our plans. Lydia bounced around as usual, filling whatever space she is in with joy and a healthy dose of noise and chaos. Despite the normalcy of it all, I knew I had to get back to that conversation despite the sassy No she gave me. I knew I couldn’t just let that be as it was left.
It was a day later when we sat alone at the kitchen table, casually parallel. A blank page laid before her while her fists held too many crayons about to be put to work.
Hey Honey, remember that thing you told me about your friend asking if you had a Chinese mom?
She set to work, her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth as it does every time she’s hard at work just like her mother’s does.
Yeah.
Well, some kids might feel a little sad about that, maybe about the fact that they are Chinese but don’t have a Chinese mom, or maybe just because they feel like someone was making fun of them. Some kids might not at all. But, some kids would, and that’s okay. I wonder if you maybe felt that way.
Nope. I told you already I didn’t.
Yup, you did. That’s right. But, I just wanted to make sure because it would be okay if you did. Okay?
Okay.
She continued to create as I watched beside her, filling the page that was empty with bright color much like she does every time she enters a room. Just when it looked complete and she put down her tools and leaned back to admire it, she abruptly leaned in close as if she was a master painter who noticed her masterpiece needed just one more touch of paint.
She picked up a crayon again and added:
Lydia
Mommy
I love you
Here you go!
She popped up and put it in my hands, promptly bouncing off to see what her sister was doing and leaving me alone with her creation, a tangible reminder that she and me are we even though we don’t have the same eyes. This time someone noticed we’re different didn’t bother her. I’m glad it didn’t as any mother would be glad that her little one’s heart is not injured by another little one. But, I’m ready if it ever does. I’ll sit beside her when it does and tell her I’m sorry. I’ll color my own picture for her in words.
Mommy
Lydia
I love you
This thing God did by putting us together, a little Chinese girl who has a Chinese mommy on the other side of the world who couldn’t parent her and a white mommy who wanted another little one, is good. It’s hard, and it’s founded in brokenness. But, it’s good. It’s good.
My alarm woke me at 12:50am, not a time one would typically want to be awake. But, today was different.
There were families being made today.
I prayed. I thought. I wondered how he was doing as a new son. I wondered how she was doing as a new daughter. I thought about that moment for these mamas as they saw their babies for the first time and introduced themselves to their children. Then, I went back to sleep, content that I was somehow consciously present at the exact moment supernatural work was being done.
When I woke again, there in my bed before my children awoke in my pjs with my hair all messy I met my dear friend‘s new son and watched as he played with his new brother and sisters and saw that smile we weren’t sure he had.
Joy overwhelming.
And, then I went here and saw my dear friend in her father’s arms finally and saw that smile we had seen and knew we’d see a lot more of when that family of hers came for her.
Joy overwhelming.
And, then I got in a car and drove my dear friend to her first obstetric visit where we heard her baby’s heartbeat racing inside her, announcing the presence of life loud and clear, a life that is safe and fully loved before he or she even takes a breath of air.
Joy overwhelming.
If the world were not broken, they all would be safely cared for like the little one growing in my dear friend’s womb who knows nothing but comfort. But, the world is broken and life is hard and people have to make very hard choices that break hearts, and children are not always safely cared for by the ones who God miraculously used to create their lives. But, God redeems all brokenness and makes beauty out of dust.
Today, an orphan becomes a son to my friend. Today, an orphan friend becomes a daughter.
Joy overwhelming.
The name she knew already. Now it’s in red ink. Official.
Joy overwhelming.
We had a lot of late night conversations the months after Drew was born. I wanted to adopt. Mark didn’t feel the same. He wasn’t opposed to adoption; he’s sort of…well…more like opposed to noise and chaos. A man who enjoys peace and quiet who has a needy 4 year old, an independent 2 year old, a still-unfolding-from-the-womb infant, and a wife talking about adopting a fourth child = noise and chaos in every way.
Many of those conversations ended with me saying this:
I’m afraid that if we don’t do it, we’ll regret it the rest of our lives. I know that when we put her on the bus for kindergarten, we’ll look at her and say, ‘I’m so glad we did it.’
I don’t really know why that particular image equaled the image of parental contentment and joy for me. At the time I was speaking those words and imagining the day, I had not yet put even one child on a school bus. I think I identified that moment as a new chapter, when my baby would leave the season of babyhood and become a little girl, when my role as mother would not be over by any means or even get any easier but it would change dramatically. No longer would I be essentially the only influence in her little life; now, I would have to coach her to use discernment with other influences.
I clung to that image of a blurred dark haired little girl climbing bus stairs too big for her and wearing a backpack that extended beyond her shoulders through our process of saying yes to adoption and eventually yes to her specifically. Over the last four years, that image remained a blur until this week.
And, then we gathered around her to pray for her. And, she got a little more serious. And, so did I.
Until flashing lights were in sight.
And loud brakes were heard.
And big doors opened to what seemed like even bigger steps.
And it was time to go.
My baby.
My little girl.
No longer an image in my imagination but my daughter.
And then, my heart rode away on a big yellow school bus.
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