Learning While Waiting

To combat the challenge of waiting to adopt, I've been working on flexing my mental muscle to focus on the positive.  I do still, definitely, allow myself little pity parties too.

I'm learning to care for myself by prioritizing exercise.  Primarily through RUNNING!  Seriously, it has never felt so great.  Getting treated for asthma recently helped just a tad.  I ran five miles last night: woohoo!

I breathe deeply.  

I enjoy eating healthy foods that fuel my body.  (This is a HUGE change!)  For the first time in my 37 years I'm losing weight by caring for myself.  Not shaming, blaming, despising, hating.  Geneen Roth's work has resonated and taught me that caring for myself comes BEFORE losing weight, NOT after. 

I'm learning to exist in now.  Enjoy the moment I'm in.  Not dwelling on past moments or wishing myself into an unknown future.

I'm giving up control, over and over and over.  Anne Lamott claims the two best prayers she knows are: "Help me, help me, help me" and "Thank you, thank you, thank you." She has a friend whose morning prayer each day is "Whatever," and whose evening prayer is "Oh, well." Anne describes God as "one crafty mother."  I like this...a lot.

I'm contemplating this adoption journey.  Anticipating.  Praying for birth parents everywhere.  Learning about relinquishment.  Thinking about phrases and words that describe adoption.  Contemplating the adopted child's grief and loss.  Thinking about inefficiencies of the whole adoption system.  Hoping that we'll have open adoption(s).  Learning a lot about transracial adoption.  Praying for wisdom for all adoptive parents, including us...someday. 

I'm learning to live vibrantly, even while embracing grief.  Multiple years of infertility and three miscarriages have not only taken.  They have molded, impacted.  Added depth. 

Although not a new concept to me, I am beyond-words-thankful for loving, listening, joyful and authentic husband, friends, family and community.  The joy of embracing new friends into our lives is pretty darn amazing as well!

I'm learning who I am, and gently feeling my way to who I want to be.

I'm leaning into life.

Open heart.  Open mind.  Thankful.  Loving.  Learning.

Sometimes This Journey is Too Much for Us

I'm so thankful for the people in our church: a place where we humans share our sorrow and joy.  Pastor David has a gift for preaching, for sharing stories, for bringing us along, for providing words and deeds that are salve for our wounds.  God's comfort is shared in community.  Healing and hope result.

Today the sermon was about this earthly journey being too much for us.  From 1 Kings 19, David spoke about Elijah: "while he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness. He came to a broom bush, sat down under it and prayed that he might die. “I have had enough, LORD,” he said. “Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors.”  Sometimes this journey is too much for us. 

The son of a couple in our church was stillborn on July 10.  An amazing woman of faith, who has lived a full, rich, servant life recently died unexpectedly.  Sometimes this journey is too much for us. 

People hurt.  People suffer.  We stumble along this journey, experiencing its stellar joys and deep sorrows.   Sometimes this journey is too much for us.

So many children are in foster care.  Birthparents lose parental rights.  Children age out of foster care with no family of their own.  Children spent birthdays and Christmases alone.  Some children do not even have their own pair of cozy pajamas.  Sometimes this journey is too much for us. 

So many parents do not have support, money, resources to support a child, so they make an adoption plan for their flesh and blood.  They live with that relinquishment.  Sometimes this journey is too much for us. 

We have miscarriages.  We have still births.  We are matched with a child/family; the match falls through.  We wait gracefully.  We wait without any patience at all.  We wait.  And wait.  And wait.

This is an achingly beautiful, broken, blessed life.  Sometimes this journey is too much for us. 

But the story doesn't end there.  "All at once an angel touched him [Elijah] and said, “Get up and eat.” ⁶ He looked around, and there by his head was some bread baked over hot coals, and a jar of water. He ate and drank and then lay down again.  ⁷ The angel of the LORD came back a second time and touched him and said, “Get up and eat, for the journey is too much for you.” ⁸ So he got up and ate and drank. Strengthened by that food, he traveled forty days and forty nights until he reached Horeb, the mountain of God."

Thank God we live in a community that cares for and supports others.  I'm thankful for sustenance.  For bread and water on this journey.  I'm thankful for shared strength.  I'm thankful for other families waiting to adopt and for families that have already adopted.  I'm thankful for friends and family that listen, ask and care.  Together we provide comfort, hope and sustenance.  Bread and water for this journey. 

It's true.  Sometimes this journey is too much for us.  I remember that I just have to face today.  And we are not alone.

Songs for Sorrow

Recently I have been holding my own little memorials by listening to these songs from the Twilight Saga: Eclipse soundtrack.  It came out last year at this time and I saw Eclipse at least four times in the theater.  By myself.

Heavy in Your Arms by Florence and the Machine
Chop and Change by The Black Keys
and With you in My Head by UNKLE

It's true; they may not sound like memorial songs.  The movie and music helped me escape or experience my searing pain, anger and sorrow, depending on what I needed at the time.

And lately I sing this song to myself frequently: Precious Lord Take My Hand.

This may sound incongruous, but that's the story of the human experience.  Well, it's the story of mine, anyway.

Last year at this time Kevin and I were:
Worried
Excited
PREGNANT.

One year ago yesterday our baby died.  I floated in the deepest ocean of sorrow.  Her name is Lily.  She lived a short time, but our hopes and dreams for her were beyond measure.  She would have been five months old right now.

And her other sister that went to heaven far too early would now be 1 1/2; her name is Eva (eh-vah).

Some people call them angel babies.  All I know is that they were our children.  And I know it is the purest love.

I'm thankful.
I remember.
I'm pensive about what could have been.

Let's Talk (AND LEARN) About It: Transracial Adoption

I met a woman at the mall kids' play area recently.  We started chatting about her grandson and little M, watching fondly as they played.  I told her that we are waiting to adopt; that we're learning a lot.  She said, in a positive voice, "I was adopted!" 

I inquired, "and how was that experience for you?"  She was shocked at that question.  I dare bet she'd never been asked.  She stared at me, speechless.  I quickly said "you don't have to share, if it's too personal."

She paused.  And started.  And stopped.  Then the floodgates opened.  "I was adopted into a white family; they thought I was white," she said.  "Look at this picture of my daughter; does she look like me?"  (I didn't say anything because I didn't want to assume anything.  But after a George Costanza moment, I later wished I'd said something about families being made in a lot of different ways and looking different.  Not that her question required a "Comback," but I often find myself wishing my brain and mouth had a closer connection.)

She went on:  "I was raised in the Netherlands Reformed Church.  The pastor told me when I was very young that I am a bastard and I am going to hell.  So I tried to be good.  But I ran away at fifteen.  My family disowned me because I married a black man."

"I didn't have any idea what my background was.  I joined the army at 18.  A woman I didn't know identified me on a form as white.  Later, a drill seargent told me that people may look on that as trying to pass for white.  So from then on I identified myself as multiracial."

"And now I have my own rainbow family.  I don't need my adoptive family."  I felt a stab of her pain via the look in her eyes.

We chatted a bit more, shook hands, exchanged names, wished eachother well and parted ways, each of us with our sweaty and exhausted kiddo.

It gives me a lot to think about.  I appreciate learning.

I'm livid with that pastor.  I'm angry at her parents for not accepting her, supporting her, preparing her.  It may demonstrate the vast change in transracial adoption in the United States in the last fifty years. 

It's a shame that her family wasn't able to help her.  That the adoption agency didn't help the family.  That she didn't even know her own race.  That she didn't have loving people, of many races/ethnicities to hold her hand, encourage her, teach her to be a multiracial person in a racist society and to love her for who she is.  Through Rhonda Roorda's work, I have learned much from adult transracial adopees.  They say that they welcome their parents boundless love, but transracial adoptees need role models at church, at school, and in their neighborhoods that look like them, take them under their wings, teach them, support them.  Love them too.

I hope to have many more such opportunities to connect, learn, open my mind. 

I'm reminded of this quote that I appreciate; I first encountered it hanging in my friend Brandy's office:

"The world in which you were born is just one model of reality.
Other cultures are not failed attempts at being you; they are unique manifestations of the human spirit." --Wade Davis

We were picked today, but...

A mother made a birth plan for her child today with our family. We almost went home with her little bebe. Even though we did not meet the mom or baby, Kevin and I had a good feeling, and still feel connected to her, even given what little we know of her story. Due to much information I do not (and should not) know, and much less information that I cannot share, I presume the babe went home with another family. Laws. Interpretation.

(Also, thank goodness there wasn't anything wrong with us. Well, nothing very seriously wrong with us, anyway. :))

I'm stunned. Stunned at the capacity for hope in this strong, thudding, human heart of mine.

I really had no idea what a roller coaster ride this would be. The ups and downs are dizzying. Terrifying. So incomprehensibly exciting.

It's kinda about us; how sad and disappointed we are. But it's mostly about them: I pray for this mother and her baby, and the new mother and father. Pray for smooth transition and abundant love. Pray that the baby will know the story of his/her powerful, protective, loving mother.

While watching little M play with dolls today saying emphatically "do not take my baby away!" I couldn't help but think of the other little one's birthmother. Did she feel like screaming that?

Suprisingly, my tears have not yet come. But I feel them in my throat. And in my heart.

Tonight, I stumbed upon hope in this Blog called "Living the Lectionary." And I love this image:

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11

Hope.

Future.

Thank you.

Amen.

Cognitive Dissonance

Cognitive Dissonance: an uncomfortable feeling caused by holding two contradictory ideas simultaneously

We will wait as long as it takes to grow our family through adoption. Yet, sometimes, I wonder how I can wait another minute.

I appreciate that other couples are waiting too; we are not alone. Then a new friend who is also waiting gets "the call." Alone again.

I love my life. We are so blessed. Yet have such a desire for our family to grow. Such love to give. Longing beyond words.

I experience deep joy when I find out other waiting friends have been chosen by a birth mother. I wonder why it wasn't us?

I trust; I feel it in my bones that we will have more children. Then I fear that no birth mother/father will ever choose us.

I trust. I fear.

I don't obsessively check my phone every thirty seconds for "the call." Then I realize I'm disappointed because the call was just from someone wanting to rent one of our apartments.

I embrace this waiting. I live in the moment. I enjoy the sound of the birds, my work schedule, pushing Malia on a swing, watching Kevin plant new seedlings in the garden. Then I feel chest crushing, soul numbing pain, worry and fear.

I smell the lilacs, experience pure joy in blossoming spring. I remember that last year at this time a young life was growing inside me. One that we lost much, much too early.

I longingly anticipate going to the cottage on lake Huron in June. Then I remember last year, while there, we were overjoyed to discover that we were pregnant.

What do we have yet to do but wait?

So, we wait...

What are you waiting for?

We're So "Out There"

Big milestones today:

1. I dropped off 26 copies of our printed profiles, complete with ONLY 982 words and SIX pictures each, to be delivered to the four Adoption Associates offices across Michigan. And we're praying a mother chooses to place her child in our family with ONLY THAT information. Woah.

2. I posted my blog to Twitter via my account @deannarolffs. As my dear friend Amy said: Now it's out there, in "the cloud." And I tweeted: "if only 2500 people give $10" we'll make our goal. Optimistic? Yes, indeed.

I feel excited. At peace. Tired. And kinda exposed. Other adoptive parents tell me that's normal. Phew.