Stepping Out in Faith

Every parent has heard these whiny words: But I don’t want to.

The phrase usually flies out of my kids’ mouths when I’m asking them to do things like eat their vegetables, take a bath, or brush their teeth. I don’t ask them to do these things because I take great pleasure is seeing them uncomfortable, but rather because I love them and want them to be healthy.

The last time my four year old whined how much he didn’t want to eat his green beans, he added that mommies never have to do anything they don’t want to do. I tried not to laugh and reminded him about all the loads of laundry I wash, the dishes I scrub, and the toilets I clean. But I also couldn’t help but wonder how many times I’ve told God I didn’t want to do something because it took me too far out of my comfort zone.

I’ll be the first to admit it: I like to be comfortable. I don’t really like unexpected changes or challenges. When we traveled to China to adopt our daughter in August of 2009, I knew I was taking the biggest leap of faith in my life. While I was prepared for our princess to have cleft lip and palate and a repaired congenital heart disease, I was not ready for my new two year old daughter to be so delayed that she was more like a three month old baby.

While I loved the Princess from the minute I saw her picture, and the love grew even more when I held her for the first time, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t completely devastated to learn that she didn’t know how to walk, how to play with toys, or even how to turn the page of a book. As I watched other parents receive their children, I couldn’t help but notice that their kids could all walk, would smile, and laugh. I found myself asking God why me? Why was my beautiful daughter completely shutdown? Why didn’t she look at us? Why couldn’t she walk? Why did she only weigh 15 pounds?

As I wallowed in my own self-pity, my husband told me something that I already knew: God doesn’t give you more than you can handle. Let him work. Give him control. Then he gently reminded me that we prayed for God to lead us to our daughter. It was no mistake that we were her parents. So we took our daughter home and settled into our new, sometimes uncomfortable, normal as a family of five.

Five years later, and many, many developmental therapy and speech seasons later, Princess is catching up to her peers. She is smart, spunky, and full of energy. It hasn’t always been easy, but stepping out of my comfort zone has allowed me to experience a new joy. I’m no longer going through the motions of my faith, but I get to experience and see God in a deep and profound way.

I don’t want to think about what I would have missed if I had simply said, “ I don’t want to do this. Adoption is too hard.”

Are you listening to God? Is he asking you to do something? What would happen if you simply trusted him and stepped out in faith?

{I wrote this post for  www.thinkchristian.net. And it appeared there first.}

Why We Are Not Adopting Again

Three years ago, my husband and I stood in front of the orphanage in Beijing, China, and promised we'd be back. We knew it was full of children who were dying, who went to bed hungry every night, and cried for someone, anyone to love them.

We'd always wanted four. It seemed logical: two boys and two girls. Everyone would have a best-friend for life. And the Princess would know the bond of a sister from her birth country.

It sounded beautiful. And we honestly thought that was where God was leading us. He had given us Evie. He had shown us over and over that Evie was our daughter. We had prayed for months, "Bring her home. Bring her home. Bring her home."

And then we landed in Chicago. And discovered the Princess' undisclosed special need-- developmental delays. Not only did she have tetrology of fallot and cleft lip and palate, but she could hardly sit, stand, walk, talk, chew, turn the pages of a book. She was completely and utterly shutdown.

We saw hints of this in China. But we assumed she would wake up and start acting like a two year old. But she never did.

So my new life--the one with only 3 three kids--consisted of juggling them so we could go to PT, OT, developmental therapy, and speech multiple times a week. Plus, all her other doctor visits.

I was exhausted. And that fourth child seemed further and further away. And the guilt of ignoring my two homegrown kids weighed heavily on me.

As time passed, I got into the rhythm of my new normal. And now three years later, things seem almost under control.

But, still, we won't be adopting again.

The Princess needs too much. She is too traumatized, too emotionally fragile, too needy. The honest, bitter truth is another special needs adoption would take too much of my time away from her. There is only so much of me to go around.

We've prayed about this. We've agonized about this. Because we know there are kids who need parents who love them. We know there are kids going to bed tonight with empty bellies, who are cold, alone, and afraid. We know, because that was Evie three short years ago. She was starving--not only for nourishment, but for human touch.

We aren't done with adoption. We just aren't adopting.

So now we are praying, "Use us. Use us. Use us."

And I wonder, how God will use us to care for the orphaned.

They Laughed At Her

My claws are out. And I am ready to pounce.

Yesterday, I took my girl to have her eyes examined. When she is in a new environment, especially a doctor's office, she gets nervous. And acts silly. And sings. And laughs. A lot. And, well, she becomes a handful. But if you talk quietly to her, she usually calms down.

When we were finally called, the doctor took one look and her and exclaimed, "Oh brother. I have to exam HER?"

Instead of telling her things, he barked orders at me to tell her. He acted like she wasn't even in the room. And it was obvious that he wanted nothing to do with my girl.

But it gets worse.

When we were done, an employee at the front desk asked me how it went. I told her that the doctor shouldn't work with kids. And I grabbed Princess' hand to leave.

As I turned, she rolled her eyes at my girl, whispered something to some customers, and they all laughed.

At my daughter.

At my girl who obviously has special needs. Who needs a little extra grace. And if only they knew how much trauma she has been through. How many doctors have hurt her. How she had open heart surgery all by herself in China. But, you can't really explain that to people.

I was upset at the doctor. But the laughing? At a little girl?

As I drove home, my heart crumbled for my poor girl. Who, sadly, will meet so many more people in her life who laugh at and make fun of her.

But she is so much more. Yes, she can been a handful. But this feisty little girl is a miracle. She is no accident. And that is her true worth.

More Spring Break Fun

I know I'm the Princess' mom, but can I just say this child is absolutely amazing. Six short months ago she could barely walk. She was 15 pounds (yes, 15 pounds at the age of 2 and a half). She was shutdown, she didn't talk, couldn't hear, could barely eat anything besides yogurt. She has never seen a pool (she was scared of the bathtub just 6 months ago), she's never seen sand, never seen the ocean. And just look at her now! Amazing!