My Favorite Adoption Story: One in a Million

 I am so very excited to be partnering with Show Hope as a blogger for the Show Hope Blogging Network. I'll be writing to raise awareness and encourage discussion about the global orphan crisis. 

Jeremy was very confused when I told him about this particular assignment.

Share your favorite adoption story.  

"Well, why aren't you sharing ours?" he said. I could.  But most of you already know those. I want to share a story of incredible love, determination, hope, and grace.

I first met Amy when our names were shouted out in the same small group pairing of a summer women's bible study group. I knew of a few women in our group but didn't really know them. As we went around our precious circle, I learned a bit about Amy and her family.  When she shared her family was in the process of adopting from China, my heart skipped a beat.

A few weeks later Amy came to group clearly smitten.  She could barely contain herself as she flipped her iPad around and showed us a picture of this precious little girl. "Isn't she beautiful?!" Indeed she was.  She shared the story of a sweet baby girl Esther in China who went to heaven {due to a virus + her heart defeat} before her adoptive family was able to bring her home.  Esther's family designed T-shirts printed with "So Loved", with 100% of the profits of the proceeds funding a future heart surgery for an orphan in China.  A sweet angel named Kate had her future heart surgery fully funded!

Amy showed us the picture of "Kate".  And that was that.

No it wasn't.

Six months later "Kate" was referred to Amy's family.

A one in a million shot.  Literally.

Amy wrote, "Only God writes a story like this."

And so it was.

Kate became Grace.

That heart surgery?  That was prayed for and supposed to occur in China?  Never happened.

I watched from afar as their family dynamic changed in anticipation for Grace.  I watched Amy fight fear and worry as her sweet baby girl was thousands of miles away, being hospitalized over and over again. I had heard her speak about their adoption process months before and watched her growth and trust in Him. When it was real, she was real. I watched her develop a deep, deep passion for orphans. Hundreds of us stalked her Facebook page for updates while they traveled to China. We waited for that glimpse of the family all together and watched as her little personality emerged slowly but surely.

We watched Grace undergo the heart surgery she so desperately needed.  We witnessed a visceral love and tenderness that goes far beyond what we think we are capable of.  We watched as Grace went from blue to pink.  We saw Grace change by the healing grace of God. Its been a few years since she arrived home and hearing the word grace still causes me to think of Grace.

I'm truly not doing any justice to all things Grace.  I'm really not.

But what I do want to say is Grace's story holds a special place in my heart because it gave me hope. Hope for a mama who was beyond broken and had a very jaded view of adoption.  Hope for a mama who did not trust. Hope for a mama who thought her parenting journey was over. Healing to a mama who learned that its okay to not know everything. Healing to a mama who desperately needed to see God's working. Our stories matter.  We never know who's listening. I'm so thankful I met Amy, her family, and sweet Grace.

Grace changes everything.

You can find Amy's blog here.  

She also contributes monthly at No Hands But Ours

So Loved

Why do orphans need families?

I am so very excited to be partnering with Show Hope as a blogger for the Show Hope Blogging Network.  I'll be writing each month to raise awareness and encourage discussion about the global orphan crisis. 

Why do orphans need families?

The answer to this question is simple.

You know the answer.  Well all do.

Everyone needs a family.

But if we explore this question beyond the surface, the reasons orphans need families is so much deeper than a one sentence statement.

Seven years ago I found my "face".

What is "a face" you ask?

It is that which makes the orphan and the orphan crisis REAL for an individual.

Her name was Gabriela.

My mother and I had arrived in Guatemala to visit our son AJ.  This was my second trip as Jeremy and I had met him a few months before.  My baby boy's first birthday was approaching and if he wasn't going to be home, I desperately wanted to be in Guatemala.

We had arrived the day before with duffel bags of teddy bears and supplies for the orphanage.  Our translator picked us up and drove the 0.5 mile to the orphanage.  When the green, steel gate closed behind our SUV, I heard the children.  We walked into the back door and were greeted by a sea of smiling faces and a chorus of ¡hola! My broken Spanish allowed me to quickly conversate with the children and move quickly behind our interpreter.

Our agency had asked us to take photos of a few children while we were there.  This had become a an expected request and a desperate connection for waiting families.  We had been on the receiving end of these photos many times and were happy to return the favor.   I had my mental list of children and got my camera ready.

Gabriela.  She was seven years old.

She was the waiting child of a family whom we had grown very close to here in the US.  I knew her story and was so very anxious to meet this precious girl.

The large Spanish style wooden door creaked open to the courtyard where the older children were playing.  Our translator murmured words and Gabriela crept up between the sea of faces.

Her face was smooth and shy.  Her demeanor was sweet yet a bit timid.  She looked at us with such hope, worry, and despair.

When I asked if I could take a picture of her, everything about her changed.

I saw the world in her eyes.

Her deep, brown pools of reality were staring at me and I could not run and hide.

I could not shut off the tv, rip up the donation solicitation mailing, or just shake my head in general discomfort and change the subject.

She was right.in.front.of.me.

Her eyes reflect everything that was right in this world...and everything wrong in this world.

She slowly revealed a smile that is forever etched in my brain.

She never uttered a word, yet she told me EVERYTHING.

Are you going to be my family?  

No?  Ok.  But this is going to my family so...

Please love me.

I'm happy.  Well kind of happy, but know I could be happier with those who love me.

I'm here but not because I want to be.

Pick me.  Pick me.

I will smile for my Mommy and Daddy.

I won't cry, I promise I won't cry.  I will be good.

I'm just a child.  

I deserve love.

I deserve a family.

Yes you do sweet girl.  Yes.you.do.

Every single child in this world needs a family.  But for some reason, which I have yet to pinpoint one rational reason, the orphan crisis and need for families is out of reach.  Foreign.

Its not personal.

My own initial experience with our son did not change me like my experience with Gabriela did. I had been so wrapped up in him, just our son, I had merely scratched the surface into the world of orphans.  I had yet to plunge into the water, I had simply dipped my foot in the shallow end to test the temperature. His story was personal to me, but the others?  They were not. Gabriela opened my eyes and gave me a much wider lens of orphans and the orphan crisis. I saw more than just my son in that orphanage after that visit.  A few months ago we visited our daughter in Bulgaria in her orphanage.  I saw more than just her when the door opened and those children flooded the room.

I didn't GET IT until I saw it and couldn't look away.

As a culture we tend to avoid that which is hard.  We live in such a time of convenience, immediacy, and insatiability. Facing the question of why orphans need families is hard. They need families because all children should have families. This is where we end the story and find something else to talk about.  When we categorize these children as they, it becomes impersonal and far from reach. Intangible.

But indeed, these children are tangible.

We weren't made for lazy-boys, my dear friends.  We were made for purpose.

Orphans need LOVE.

Orphans need HOPE.

Orphans need SUPPORT.

Orphans need HOMES.

Orphans need FAMILIES.

Families who will hold them in the middle of the night when the trauma(s) of their past comes raging like a bull and they don't know how to process it.  Families who will be patient and encouraging along the attachment and bonding process. Families that will love, feed, clothe, bathe, shelter, teach, and provide stability.  Families who will laugh at the silly and cry in the sorrow. A family is a basic human right.

I think about Gabriela a lot. Her story does not have a happy ending.  Perhaps this is why she sticks with me.  Her reality is the reality I needed to ignite the fire in my heart for orphans. The rest of her story is protected for safety and privacy, but I desperately needed to share my "face" with all of you.

Why do you think orphans need families?  Do you have a "face" to share?

Psalm 68:6

God sets the lonely in families

Removing the "I"

Easy.  You know, it’s that word that everyone says in phrases. 

I wish ____ was easier.

I just wish it was easy.
Why can’t it be easy.
It was so easy for so-and-so. 

I think it is human nature for us not just desire, but take the easy route.  To want the easy route.  Humans-well, let’s face it.  We are sorta lazy.  Most of us do not need to hunt and kill our food.  We’ve got comfortable places to call home and lay our heads to sleep.  We’ve got the easy.  But yet, we always want it easier.

A friend and I were recently having a conversation when she shared that she would like things to be easier for me.  Bless.her.heart. If you would have asked me a few years ago, I would have jumped all over that.  Yep, I want it to be easier too. 

But that is not my answer today. 

The conversation was in regards to AJ being non-verbal.  I am not going to lie-it is difficult.  It was and has been tremendously difficult.

But it is my normal. 

Sidebar: What in blue blazes is normal anyways?!

In a broad definition, it is my easy.  Because it is what I know.  I don’t know any different.  I know my story, my family’s story, my son’s story.  Those are normal stories to me.  I am less judgmental of other’s easy. 

AJ has and is making tremendous strides with his communication.  As in, every day in the last week he’s made my jaw drop to the ground with something new and exciting.  I mean seriously kiddo.  Rockstar.  Did it sadden me AJ wasn’t talking?  Yes.  Deeply.  Does it sadden me AJ isn’t talking?  Yes.  Sometimes. 

But who am I to say that AJ speaking would make life 100% easier and better.  His life or my life? Life is pretty good with AJ making progress in his communication.  He has what I call a knuckle sandwich of language.  Lack of language exposure early in life, hearing loss, speech & language delay, apraxia.  Basically, it’s a big hoagie of obstacles.  But, AJ can totally overcome it.  In his way.  I think it is often difficult for those looking in to understand that AJ has many, many challenges before him.  When one area soars, another falters.  That’s just the name of the game.  And you plug along.

It took a really long time to remove the “I” from AJ.  Meaning, what I wanted for him. My plan.  My way.  My convenience.  My wants. We wanted to give him the very best life possible.  He didn’t argue. When we said, you’re going to do this, this, this and this because we want you to… He countered with, here’s how this going to go.  Jeremy wanted a child who played sports.  Lots of sports.  He wanted an ESPN buddy and Brew Crew cheering mate.  I thought I didn’t want much.  Just the mom experience with a healthy child so I could follow everyone else’s lead and do the normal mom things.  AJ challenged both of us.  Our dreams were not shattered, they were simply altered.

It was not, by any means easy to let go of our own selfish wants and desires.  But, its not about us.  It’s about AJ.  Looking back, spending summers in therapy appointments yielded no outside therapy for my almost 7 year old.  Spending hours and hours putting his implants back on and encouraging him to listen and enjoy the world around him yielded a very inquisitive little boy who plays with his ability to hear and takes his coils off when he wants to ignore me, just like any other implanted kiddo.  Caving in and moving forward with PECS has lead to AJ navigating the iPad on his own, making choices, increased vocalizations, and clear communication.  Waiting for him to naturally fall into loving sports is happening before our very eyes.

“I” really can’t ask for much more.  Right this second, I’m ok with AJ not talking.  Because he speaks in so many other ways.  And functional ways.  Would I love (beyond the moon love) to hear his sweet voice?  Absolutely.  But for now, he tells me things in his way.  Just because he isn’t talking now doesn’t mean I think he never will.  It doesn’t mean we stop working on speech. It doesn’t mean we stop working on anything. But, I hear his vocalizations changing.  He’s getting closer.  And we’ll keep adjusting to the new normal as needed. 

We’ll just keep the “I” at bay.

The F-Word

I decided to finally post this...because as with most things in our life that have to do with AJ-ignoring it won't make it go away.

Ellen, one of my favorite bloggers (and whom I frequently link to) wrote this post a few months ago. She kindly gave me permission to borrow her post.

The "f" word in my life is AJ's future; it's not something I talk about a lot. On purpose. Looking that far ahead unsettles me. The more I keep trying to envision what his future might be like, the more anxious and depressed I get. For the most part, I've set my sights on the present of AJ and what he is doing, rather than what he might do someday. It's been a good thing for both of us. A healthy thing.


I don't have my head buried in the sand. We have already determined guardians for AJ and continue to work on other logistics of his future. But the thought of AJ in a home for the disabled? It makes me cry. I am tearing up as I type this, and I've had to stop a couple of times. My mind goes to bad places when I think of it.


AJ in need of a special home?

AJ without me and Jeremy?


How could we do that to him?


Who would protect him and take care of him like we do?

No, he could never go to a home.

But what if it were the right thing for him? He'll need to be independent.


Would he be able to change his clothes himself or would there be someone to help him?


GULP. How will he communicate his wants and needs?

What kind of friends would he have?

What do those homes look like on the inside, anyway?


What kind of job would he get?


How could I not kiss him every day?


How often would we visit?


And so on and so on. My mind spirals off into all sorts of irrational thoughts. And I know they are mostly irrational, given the fact that AJ is four and a half years old and still has lots of growing to do and progress to achieve.


There is a home for adults with disabilities near a store I frequent while AJ is in school. A group of residents would come in sometimes; a mix of adults with mental disabilities. I'd spy on them the entire time as I'd walk the aisles, watching them talk, laugh and enjoy themselves, while shopping with the help of their aide. I felt glad for them.

A few days after I read Ellen's post, I was at the store. And so was the group of residents. As they were checking out, I literally hid in the back of the store. Bawling. Thinking about Ellen's post...about AJ's future. Picturing AJ as one of them.

The truth is, I'm not yet at the special-parent developmental stage where I can think of this. It's still too painful. And yet, what's helped me help AJ is researching things that could benefit him. While we celebrate each and every one of AJ's small successes and moments, the fear of the future is never far away.  My child cannot communicate-effectively-to anyone-what he needs or wants. THAT, is scary as hell. While we jokingly refer to one of AJ's PT goals as sitting on a bar stool with his friends in college, I wonder whether or not he'll be in college. 

The constant back and forth is what drives this fear of the future.  I have digested and accepted that my son is Deaf and has Cerebral Palsy.  It has been years since that was introduced to my brain.  But AJ's recipe for life? Its FULL of ingredients. That seemed to be optional (even non-existent) in the beginning.  He has this, oh now this, and well, this.  Adjust. Readjust. Adjust again. Repeat. All of it makes me want to get off the merry-go-round and puke every now and again.  It never seems to stop. All of these ingredients make constant changes to his future. 

And for someone to say, "Oh, he'll be fine."  You don't know that.   No one knows that.  Fine is not, and never will be a word in my vocabulary.  Because AJ deserves more than FINE.  I want him to have an extraordinary future, not just a "fine" one.

JDRF Walk 2010

This year, Jeremy formed a team for the 2010 JDRF Walk to Cure Diabetes.  The walk was held at the zoo with the theme "Follow The Yellow Brick Road".   Our team name was "Dr. Jain's Crew". We had quite a team, and despite it raining the first 10 minutes of the walk (literally, we crossed the start and it started to rain) it was a great day! Thank you to all of the walkers on our team, to everyone who donated, and to all of those who, like Jeremy, continue to thrive while living with diabetes!

Dr. Jain & Jeremy

 Dr. Jain's Crew
JDRF Walk To Cure Diabetes 2010

To check out some awesome stuff JDRF has going on (like the artifical pancreas project!), click HERE.
To see a really cool timeline of how far treatment of diabetes has come and more milestones, click HERE.