National Adoption Month
November is National Adoption Month. It’s also the month that Wonder Woman was born, and marks the day we heard those life changing words over the phone, “She is yours.” My cell reception was awful that night and the audio cut in and out as I paced across blue kitchen tile and said her name over and over to our social worker, hoping she would accurately hear it. This name was treasured by us and had been held in my heart for years as I waited for a baby girl. The most important thing—the only thing—I could do for our little girl right then was give her her name. Despite half a country that separated us and all of the legal things needing to be accomplished, that very moment she was named, wanted, chosen, and loved. She was ours before our arms ever held her.
If you’ve followed my story, you’ll know that what followed these first precious moments wasn’t what I expected. Adoption is hard. Love and bonding are two separate things, and while we loved our daughter dearly, it was incredibly hard for us to bond. She seemed to have an instant connection with her brothers, but the connection between her and me was tenuous at first. There was grief and fear and stress on my side, confusion and pain and grief on hers. I sank into depression and fought each day to love my daughter well while meeting her needs. Feelings of inadequacy continually bombarded me. Maybe we weren’t the best family for her. Maybe there was a mom who would do a better job. Maybe there was someone who could love her better– the way she deserved. Maybe we made a mistake. Stubborn me chose to fight and hang on no matter what it cost, and that first year had an immense cost.
Thankfully, slowly, things changed. My expectations adjusted to become more realistic. Wonder Woman and I got to know each other, to learn our unique idiosyncrasies, to love each other despite our complicated emotions. We bonded, and it happened gradually over cute clothes and painted nails, over music and snuggles, over hospital stays and beach trips. Our relationship looks far different now than it did at the beginning. All glory goes to God for walking us through that tough first year.
One thing I learned about myself in the process was that sometimes the desire to do good comes with unrealistic expectations. I have seen and experienced the sting of that painful truth when it comes to adoption. Expectations like easy bonding, appropriate behavior, and gratitude to name a small few, can plague parents like me. “It’s not supposed to be this hard,” can become an unwanted motto. Adopted children carry so many different things with them, like trauma, baggage, coping mechanisms, and grief they shouldn’t have to know. Walking the adoption journey with them, we learn to let our unmet expectations go and love the children we have the privilege of parenting, just the way they are.
What humbles me— what wrecks me— is realizing that God adopted me into his family without any misconceptions. Unlike me as a human, as a well meaning but flawed adoptive parent, he did not walk into our relationship wearing rose colored glasses. He has never naively assumed that I would be someone I’m not. He knew the baggage I carry; my failures, insecurities, proclivities, mistakes, sin, and pride, and he still chose me. He has poured out his love and grace, along with the discipline necessary to change me from the inside out. In each stage of my life, intimately aware of every success and failure, he has loved me just as I am. “But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8)
You have received a spirit of adoption as sons by which we cry out, “Abba! Father!” (Romans 8:15b)
What a privilege it is to be a daughter who is wanted, chosen, loved, adopted.
