After awhile you stop expecting the call. An unknown phone number pops up and you assume the mundane- a telemarketer, a dental appointment or someone reminding you that your dog needs a haircut. You stop expecting the unexpected. You stop holding your breath when you pick up the phone in that moment after you say hello. You expect the ordinary.
And then one day, you pick up the phone. You might be in the middle of something else, possibly you don't even glance at the caller I.D. You're cooking dinner or talking to your child or telling the dog to stop barking. So you pick it up and forget to hold your breath.
You should've held your breath.
Because what comes next is anything but ordinary. The opposite of mundane. You have been matched with a child. Your child. This someone for whom you've prayed about, cried over, filled out mountains of paperwork, hoped, dreamed, imagined. Suddenly, he exists. Suddenly he is a person. A boy. With dark hair and eyes, 9 pounds, 6 ounces, 21 inches. And with a name that his birth mother has chosen for him. And you have been invited into the amazing journey of being his mother. It's the call. That call you stopped waiting for at some point along the way.
When you burst into tears, your social worker laughs. She's never heard you cry before but she knows the wait has been long and emotional. You can tell she loves getting to make this kind of phone call. This, this is why she does this. It's still not final, you hear her say, though it's very likely. Things could happen, be cautious, and you know she's right. You know you must guard your heart against more disappointment but you can't help it. The tears keep falling and you find yourself laughing and stumbling over words. What questions do you have, she asks? Oh, just a thousand, you know. None of which you can put into words yet.
So you take a moment. You call your husband, share the news and burst into tears all over again. You tell him about your son. You take in his dumbfounded silence. Your lives have changed in less time than it takes to shower and get ready in the morning. You got the call.
Who do we call, who do we tell? How do we break the news to our son? Do we set up the crib or do we wait until the court date is done? What risks do we take and where do we move forward with abandon? Do we leave facebook for the next 30 days while we wait so we aren't tempted to tell anyone? Or do we tell the world and risk having to tell them all over again if something happens?
The whirlwind of what's and how's will not slow down for awhile. So you go about making dinner. You play with your son and repair his broken light saber. You listen to him talk with his guinea pigs and anticipate the look on his face when you tell him that night at dinner. You think about the fun of telling all the grandparents.
And you pause. You thank God deeply. It hasn't been easy. You haven't always trusted Him on this journey. In fact, you've been downright angry sometimes. But you know He's stuck by you. You know He loves this little boy and has been waiting for him longer than you have. And you know he'll be in the next part of this wait. These 30 days of paperwork and court appearances and tracking down of a birth father. You know the reality that this could fall through, but you praise God anyway and hope for the reality that this boy, this sweet little boy, will be a part of your forever family.
You got the call. And it changed everything.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Saturday, January 11, 2014
Telling the Story
It's been about 36 hours since we became a family of four. (Or a family of 7 according to Josh. You cannot leave out the guinea pigs and the dog. That's just wrong.) As you can well imagine, we are reeling, not to mention sleep-deprived. How do you go from a family of 3 for over 7 years to suddenly having this new little person in the house? A new little person who had adjusted to a different home for his first six weeks of life? Who doesn't really know us? Who has just the clearest bit of uncertainty when he gazes at us? Who has already suffered two losses in his little life?
Of course, there's a back story here. A period of time during which we learned about him, got to visit him, spent lots of time talking about the "ifs" with this specific little boy. A period during which we stayed silent publicly but privately processed and prepared. As much as you can, anyway.
Now that there are no more "what-ifs" in this story, now that he's home, we are excited to tell the story. We won't share every detail due to privacy issues in the adoption process and out of respect to his birthparents. But we are delighted to share the important parts, the journey home of our Nathaniel Jaceyon and how we felt along the way.
And before telling the bigger story, why the name?
Nathaniel means "gift of God" and Jaceyon is the name given to him by his birth mother. Putting the names together, we knew we would always be reminded of God's goodness in this gift to us and his birth mother's brave decision and love for him. That was really important to us. No matter how much she is physically a part of our stories from this point on, she is inextricably linked in a powerful way to our family. We wanted him to know that truth when he is old enough to process his story.
So, over the next few weeks, I will post that story of this little man becoming a part of our family. It has been quite an emotional ride for all of us and the coming home is just the start of our family's next chapter. We are so grateful for the ways our friends and family have rejoiced with us so far and look forward to when they will actually meet this precious little man in person.
Of course, there's a back story here. A period of time during which we learned about him, got to visit him, spent lots of time talking about the "ifs" with this specific little boy. A period during which we stayed silent publicly but privately processed and prepared. As much as you can, anyway.
Now that there are no more "what-ifs" in this story, now that he's home, we are excited to tell the story. We won't share every detail due to privacy issues in the adoption process and out of respect to his birthparents. But we are delighted to share the important parts, the journey home of our Nathaniel Jaceyon and how we felt along the way.
And before telling the bigger story, why the name?
Nathaniel means "gift of God" and Jaceyon is the name given to him by his birth mother. Putting the names together, we knew we would always be reminded of God's goodness in this gift to us and his birth mother's brave decision and love for him. That was really important to us. No matter how much she is physically a part of our stories from this point on, she is inextricably linked in a powerful way to our family. We wanted him to know that truth when he is old enough to process his story.
So, over the next few weeks, I will post that story of this little man becoming a part of our family. It has been quite an emotional ride for all of us and the coming home is just the start of our family's next chapter. We are so grateful for the ways our friends and family have rejoiced with us so far and look forward to when they will actually meet this precious little man in person.
Friday, January 3, 2014
Going Lighter This Year
I'm not a big New Year's Resolution kinda person. I think I've recognized over the years that I'm a pretty goal-oriented person to begin with. I'm always working on something so to add a new list at the New Year creates fodder for my issues with responsibility and guilt. Let's be honest, I have plenty of fodder for those already.
The thing that does happen without fail in the new year is a renewed hatred of clutter. I don't know if it's just because the Christmas decorations have been up for just a touch too long or that the influx of new "stuff" into the home pushes me over the edge, but I always feel the need to move into spring cleaning the second the opening of presents is through. I bide my time until Epiphany, which in my husband's world is the official date at which you can begin to tear down decorations. Of course, if I begin spring cleaning on Epiphany this year, it could mean that said cleaning is taking place in -45 degree weather. Thank you, Wisconsin, for one of the most terrifying weather forecasts I have ever seen. I shall plan to stay inside forever.
Every year, though, it's that question of how far to go? What to really get rid of? We purged a lot in 2013 with our move across the country but there's plenty more "things" that are just, well, things. Not necessities, nothing that necessarily enriches our lives. Piles and boxes of stuff that we hold on to for whatever reason. I have a whole box of cd's in our storage room but I don't even own a cd player anymore. A whole box of VHS tapes and our VCR doesn't even work. I need help.
A friend posted yesterday about a challenge she was going to take to get rid of 2,014 things in 2014. On my first read through I thought, no, that's impossible. How can I possibly get rid of that much stuff? On my second read through I saw that it came with an excel spreadsheet. I was sold.
So, I'm going to dive in. And for the good of my soul, I'm going to dive in with a less legalistic attitude than I usually do with things involving lists. This is going to be a significant goal but not one that has to be perfectly reached and attained. A chance to intentionally evaluate the "why" of what we hold onto and to part with the things we sometimes let define us. Those things that have no business playing a role in who we really are.
If you want to take the challenge alongside me, let me know in the comments section. We can check in with each other and encourage each other along the way!
Now, I'm going to grab a box and get started!
The thing that does happen without fail in the new year is a renewed hatred of clutter. I don't know if it's just because the Christmas decorations have been up for just a touch too long or that the influx of new "stuff" into the home pushes me over the edge, but I always feel the need to move into spring cleaning the second the opening of presents is through. I bide my time until Epiphany, which in my husband's world is the official date at which you can begin to tear down decorations. Of course, if I begin spring cleaning on Epiphany this year, it could mean that said cleaning is taking place in -45 degree weather. Thank you, Wisconsin, for one of the most terrifying weather forecasts I have ever seen. I shall plan to stay inside forever.
Every year, though, it's that question of how far to go? What to really get rid of? We purged a lot in 2013 with our move across the country but there's plenty more "things" that are just, well, things. Not necessities, nothing that necessarily enriches our lives. Piles and boxes of stuff that we hold on to for whatever reason. I have a whole box of cd's in our storage room but I don't even own a cd player anymore. A whole box of VHS tapes and our VCR doesn't even work. I need help.
A friend posted yesterday about a challenge she was going to take to get rid of 2,014 things in 2014. On my first read through I thought, no, that's impossible. How can I possibly get rid of that much stuff? On my second read through I saw that it came with an excel spreadsheet. I was sold.
So, I'm going to dive in. And for the good of my soul, I'm going to dive in with a less legalistic attitude than I usually do with things involving lists. This is going to be a significant goal but not one that has to be perfectly reached and attained. A chance to intentionally evaluate the "why" of what we hold onto and to part with the things we sometimes let define us. Those things that have no business playing a role in who we really are.
If you want to take the challenge alongside me, let me know in the comments section. We can check in with each other and encourage each other along the way!
Now, I'm going to grab a box and get started!
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Steps in Optimism
As far as I know there is no 12 step program for leaning into hope. There are just the simple things. You pray. You wait. You talk to those who understand and listen. You laugh with your family and play games. You walk the dog and soak in the beauty of a cold, snowy day. You just live. And occasionally, you take little, intentional steps in optimism.
When we moved here, we were leaving behind a house that had been big enough for more children. A room that had been set aside, decorated and readied for a little one and, thankfully, used more times than we could count for dear friends' little ones even while our own never got to call it home. Leaving behind a room like that and what it meant led us to hold off on a nursery here. Heal a little. Live with a room filled with a futon and original nintendo with a closet stuffed to the gills with infant accessories, but mercifully shut most of the time.
We did change a few things right off the bat.
For instance, this was the room when we moved in:
Pink Ribbon wallpaper with cream and pink walls. A few people asked me if I might just keep it that way until we found out if we were having a girl but pink ribbons just aren't my thing.
I lasted about three months with the pink before deciding that, no matter how long the final transformation of the room would take, it had to go now. I wanted it replaced by something that could eventually be a nursery color but that would work in the meantime for a place for us to sit, read, play nintendo and host the occasional overnight guest.
So, I stripped the wallpaper and tried out various colors.
And we lived with the room in its lovely grayness wondering when it might be transformed into its ultimate purpose, knowing we didn't want to rush into an act of optimism that might only cause us pain if it remained empty.
Wisconsin, though, has provided lots of fodder for hope. Lots of possible babies, birth parents looking at our book and even strong possibilities of a match. And with the healing that time, God and the gray nintendo room have brought, we decided it was time to get ready.
So, I dusted off my creative art skills, we cleaned off the changing table, dragged the crib upstairs, unpacked the boxes and washed the clothes. We even ordered a car seat. Talk about optimism. I will confess, however, that I'm leaving it in the box for a little while. Sometimes a step is just a little too big.
After about a week of fun activity and inspiration from Dr. Seuss himself, here is what we have.
Ready for a little one. One blank wall left for a name over the crib. But essentially, our current pillar of optimism that in the near future, we deeply hope, will be filled with laughter and cries.
When we moved here, we were leaving behind a house that had been big enough for more children. A room that had been set aside, decorated and readied for a little one and, thankfully, used more times than we could count for dear friends' little ones even while our own never got to call it home. Leaving behind a room like that and what it meant led us to hold off on a nursery here. Heal a little. Live with a room filled with a futon and original nintendo with a closet stuffed to the gills with infant accessories, but mercifully shut most of the time.
We did change a few things right off the bat.
For instance, this was the room when we moved in:
Pink Ribbon wallpaper with cream and pink walls. A few people asked me if I might just keep it that way until we found out if we were having a girl but pink ribbons just aren't my thing.
I lasted about three months with the pink before deciding that, no matter how long the final transformation of the room would take, it had to go now. I wanted it replaced by something that could eventually be a nursery color but that would work in the meantime for a place for us to sit, read, play nintendo and host the occasional overnight guest.
So, I stripped the wallpaper and tried out various colors.
I finally decided to paint one wall with stripes in a medium gray and the other walls in the same gray. That was quite the production but after a lot of help from a laser level and my husband, we had stripes to fill in!
And we lived with the room in its lovely grayness wondering when it might be transformed into its ultimate purpose, knowing we didn't want to rush into an act of optimism that might only cause us pain if it remained empty.
Wisconsin, though, has provided lots of fodder for hope. Lots of possible babies, birth parents looking at our book and even strong possibilities of a match. And with the healing that time, God and the gray nintendo room have brought, we decided it was time to get ready.
So, I dusted off my creative art skills, we cleaned off the changing table, dragged the crib upstairs, unpacked the boxes and washed the clothes. We even ordered a car seat. Talk about optimism. I will confess, however, that I'm leaving it in the box for a little while. Sometimes a step is just a little too big.
After about a week of fun activity and inspiration from Dr. Seuss himself, here is what we have.
Ready for a little one. One blank wall left for a name over the crib. But essentially, our current pillar of optimism that in the near future, we deeply hope, will be filled with laughter and cries.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
You Might Be Adopting If...
1. You find yourself using the phrase "No, we can't put that name on our baby name list, it's too white!" or "Do you think Jamal Ogrosky sounds wrong somehow?"
2. Registering for gifts is a pain in the booty because you don't have a due date. Really, people? It's 2014. Can we please have an adoption category? It is not helping us to have to redo our registries every nine months when we still don't have a kid. Kinda like salt in a wound.
3. Your kid asks you if it's time to go get a baby yet, as if you are heading to a store somewhere to do it.
4. You accidentally call yourself a birth parent in regards to your biological child in a conversation.
5. You meet anyone else who has gone or is going through this and you just know. And you bond instantly.
6. The word "homecoming" no longer means a ritualistic football and dance celebration at your alma mater.
7. More people than should know are privy to the intimate details of your marriage, including your sex life. Thank you, agencies, for ensuring maximum discomfort in home study interviews.
8. You have a fire escape plan on your fridge and a smoke detector for every 2 square feet of ceiling in your home.
9. People ask you the question "So have you heard anything?" every day of your life. I might start replying with random facts I learn in my biology class.
10. You have actually experienced nausea, fatigue, memory lapses and hormone swings in direct relation to the amount of paperwork you have had to fill out.
11. The term "waiting" has become a four letter word in your house.
12. You hear the phrase "it will all be worth it" all the time and cling to the hope that that is indeed true.
13. There is at least one entire shelf in your office devoted to adoption-related literature.
14. Your heart flies into your throat anytime your agency phone number pops up on your caller id.
You might be adopting if you are scared and clueless sometimes about what this whole experience might actually be like, but you are holding steady anyway and knowing that God has been and will be there every step of the way.
Sunday, December 22, 2013
Prayers in the Darkness
Christmas is only 3 days away. It's only 7:30 but I've been awake for hours. The sky is slowly lightening as snow falls heavily. Many inches down and many to come. The silent house was all my own for awhile but now my son and husband stir on the floors above. The dog has finally left his bed and come to join me on the couch, curled up against my legs. I sip coffee and soak in an uncharacteristic slowness to the morning.
Christmas is only 3 days away. People talk about the hustle and bustle and the stress of the stores. I finished my shopping months ago and vowed not to go near the malls in December. Christmas cards were done by Thanksgiving and wrapped presents have been ready for weeks. Each night since December 1st our family has gathered around our Jesse Tree. We have read stories of faith and hope and waiting as we inch towards that important morning that is almost here. We don't talk of Santa or elves, except as they show up in an occasional Christmas movie. We talk of light and love and Jesus around here. I'm not a scrooge- I love this time of year. But he asked when he was three and we told him the truth. Our Christmas is still full of lights and sparkle and cookies and joy. But it's mostly chock full of the life-filling message of grace and incarnation and invitation. And it's magical.
Christmas is only 3 days away and I am joyful. This was a season I dreaded. I wondered again how it would feel to have empty arms, to continue to wait on a dream we've been dreaming for five years. But somehow the admitting of the difficulty, of the dread, brought a new depth to this season for me. I have felt guilty in the past for struggling at Christmas. Not this year. This year I was honest with myself and God. And, oh has he met me. I have dug into Advent like never before and felt surrounded by God's joy and hope.
Yesterday morning I took a long walk. There had been an ice storm on Friday and the trees were particularly beautiful encased in ice, drooping, shimmering. I meandered through the park on a trail I couldn't really see anymore for the snow cover. And I was reminded again that even in the most desolate landscape, there is life. Squirrels chased each other under a pine tree. Red berries hung from bushes and I couldn't help but wonder which animal would seek them out for sustenance as they stood out against the glare of white in the landscape. Soccer goals stand half-buried in snow, just two short months ago supporting raucous games of soccer at recess and after school. You can almost feel them waiting for spring and mud and screams of delight. I know that underneath the snow and leaf litter, a microscopic world scurries on with life, enriching the soil, working tirelessly even in the darkness to sustain the beauty of the plant life that will burst forth in a few months.
God is like that. Sometimes the work is going on in the darkness- and it's not that it's so small we can't see it, it's that it's so big we can't understand it. And sometimes, sometimes he wakes us up before the sun rises and puts this great urge to sit, to pray, to ponder in the darkness. To be reminded that the darkness is not a punishment or a forsaking. It's a part of the cycle of life, necessary and purposeful.
Christmas is only 3 days away. And with it comes the reminder that into any darkness, light penetrates. Joy infuses. Hope overcomes. God is with us, that great message of Christmas, is true and overwhelming.
Christmas is only 3 days away and I am ready and waiting.
Christmas is only 3 days away. People talk about the hustle and bustle and the stress of the stores. I finished my shopping months ago and vowed not to go near the malls in December. Christmas cards were done by Thanksgiving and wrapped presents have been ready for weeks. Each night since December 1st our family has gathered around our Jesse Tree. We have read stories of faith and hope and waiting as we inch towards that important morning that is almost here. We don't talk of Santa or elves, except as they show up in an occasional Christmas movie. We talk of light and love and Jesus around here. I'm not a scrooge- I love this time of year. But he asked when he was three and we told him the truth. Our Christmas is still full of lights and sparkle and cookies and joy. But it's mostly chock full of the life-filling message of grace and incarnation and invitation. And it's magical.
Christmas is only 3 days away and I am joyful. This was a season I dreaded. I wondered again how it would feel to have empty arms, to continue to wait on a dream we've been dreaming for five years. But somehow the admitting of the difficulty, of the dread, brought a new depth to this season for me. I have felt guilty in the past for struggling at Christmas. Not this year. This year I was honest with myself and God. And, oh has he met me. I have dug into Advent like never before and felt surrounded by God's joy and hope.
Yesterday morning I took a long walk. There had been an ice storm on Friday and the trees were particularly beautiful encased in ice, drooping, shimmering. I meandered through the park on a trail I couldn't really see anymore for the snow cover. And I was reminded again that even in the most desolate landscape, there is life. Squirrels chased each other under a pine tree. Red berries hung from bushes and I couldn't help but wonder which animal would seek them out for sustenance as they stood out against the glare of white in the landscape. Soccer goals stand half-buried in snow, just two short months ago supporting raucous games of soccer at recess and after school. You can almost feel them waiting for spring and mud and screams of delight. I know that underneath the snow and leaf litter, a microscopic world scurries on with life, enriching the soil, working tirelessly even in the darkness to sustain the beauty of the plant life that will burst forth in a few months.God is like that. Sometimes the work is going on in the darkness- and it's not that it's so small we can't see it, it's that it's so big we can't understand it. And sometimes, sometimes he wakes us up before the sun rises and puts this great urge to sit, to pray, to ponder in the darkness. To be reminded that the darkness is not a punishment or a forsaking. It's a part of the cycle of life, necessary and purposeful.
Christmas is only 3 days away. And with it comes the reminder that into any darkness, light penetrates. Joy infuses. Hope overcomes. God is with us, that great message of Christmas, is true and overwhelming.
Christmas is only 3 days away and I am ready and waiting.
Monday, December 9, 2013
How to Love Your Waiting Friends
When I was a child, I remember certain winter mornings. I woke up with a hope, a wondering. Did it snow? Maybe there was a glow from behind the blinds or a certain smell in the air and I leapt out of bed, yanking the cord and praying, yearning to behold a sea of white glare. Some days it came true, other days the sun tricked me with its brightness. Winter was one long wait- for the next snowstorm, the next snowball fight, the next Nintendo marathon with the neighbors in place of school. And it was a fun wait. Eventually it turned into a mushy wait for spring but with that came new joys- soccer would soon start up again, the wearing of shorts, the leafing of the trees, that first afternoon when the sun feels warm again. Waiting is easier when you know the certainty of the outcome. Every year, winter happened. Every year, spring arrived.
For those of us waiting on an adoption or a pregnancy, though, the waiting is uncertain. Nothing is guaranteed. We might never match with a birth family, people undergoing fertility treatments may never conceive. It's a time of hope and waiting- but it's oh so different. People who haven't experienced this type of wait have a hard time understanding. And so many of them want to offer words of encouragement or specific opinions on the "how." Humbly, though, I submit that there are only a few simple things you can do to love us well through this process. I also humbly submit that not all those waiting will agree with these points. We are all different.
WAIT WITH US. QUIETLY. What does this look like? Well, there's no particular process. Think to yourself, "What posture might I have if I were waiting on something that I wanted more than anything else in the world and had no control over getting?" How would you feel? What would you want said to you and what questions would drive you mad? Say the former, avoid the latter and just hang out with us. And don't abandon us when the wait turns us grumpy or mean. We don't mean to be a jerk- gently tell us, let us apologize and stick with us.
DON'T USE THE PHRASE "HAVE YOU THOUGHT ABOUT...?" I know you are well meaning. When our wait goes on, you hurt for us, you want to solve it, you want to see our children come home to us. But we HAVE thought about it. Almost all of it. Most of the fertility options. Most of the adoption options. We've prayed, we've researched, we've been through invasive procedures, we've filled out mountains of paperwork and been asked probing questions. We've thought about it. And when you ask if we've considered a different type of adoption two years into our wait, you just demoralize us. You tempt us to regret a choice we most likely painstakingly made. You make us wonder what we have done wrong to continue to wait.
STOP ASKING IF WE HAVE ANY NEWS. I recognize that this may not be true for everyone but after you've been waiting for something for five years you can rest assured that when it happens, you will shout it from the rooftops. Asking me every time I see you if I've had any news just drives home the point that no, I haven't. No news. Nothing happening. And when I've had a good week of not thinking about it too much, it may derail that because my thoughts immediately will go back to the "why" of all this waiting. So, please, I know you love us and you want to know what's going on. But don't ask me if we've had news. Just ask me how I'm doing- if I have news, believe me, that will be a part of how I'm doing. And on another point, if we do have news there could be situations (involving birth parents or keeping a pregnancy quiet at first) in which we can't yet share it which just puts us in the awkward position of whether or not to lie to you, our friends. We don't want to have to do that.
AVOID CLICHES. Seriously. Telling me to "never give up" or that you "know it will happen for us soon" or "God is in control" doesn't do anything but remind me that humans feel a need to have a solution to everything. If we decide to give up, that's our business. And, to be honest, it might not even be giving up, just a quiet recognition that one dream is not viable and moving on to a new one. Making me feel badly for considering a new dream doesn't help. And you know what else? You don't know whether or not it will happen for us and certainly not soon. We don't "deserve" this, we haven't earned the right to have this particular happiness. And telling me constantly that God is in control just makes me want to ask him the "why not us" question again. And that brings me nothing but hurt and bitterness and self-pity. So, again, just hang out, just talk to us like there are other things going on than our waiting. And if we do need to vent about it? Just listen. No cliche will make the waiting easier.
PRAY FOR US. A lot of you wonderful people tell me how often you pray and hope for us. Thank you. That really is something you can do. You can talk to God for us because sometimes we are too exhausted to keep asking for ourselves. Knowing there is a faithful group of people who love us, who want good for us and who dream of this coming true really does bring us joy and reminds us how very much we are loved by God. That, after all, is what we need most.
For those of us waiting on an adoption or a pregnancy, though, the waiting is uncertain. Nothing is guaranteed. We might never match with a birth family, people undergoing fertility treatments may never conceive. It's a time of hope and waiting- but it's oh so different. People who haven't experienced this type of wait have a hard time understanding. And so many of them want to offer words of encouragement or specific opinions on the "how." Humbly, though, I submit that there are only a few simple things you can do to love us well through this process. I also humbly submit that not all those waiting will agree with these points. We are all different.
WAIT WITH US. QUIETLY. What does this look like? Well, there's no particular process. Think to yourself, "What posture might I have if I were waiting on something that I wanted more than anything else in the world and had no control over getting?" How would you feel? What would you want said to you and what questions would drive you mad? Say the former, avoid the latter and just hang out with us. And don't abandon us when the wait turns us grumpy or mean. We don't mean to be a jerk- gently tell us, let us apologize and stick with us.
DON'T USE THE PHRASE "HAVE YOU THOUGHT ABOUT...?" I know you are well meaning. When our wait goes on, you hurt for us, you want to solve it, you want to see our children come home to us. But we HAVE thought about it. Almost all of it. Most of the fertility options. Most of the adoption options. We've prayed, we've researched, we've been through invasive procedures, we've filled out mountains of paperwork and been asked probing questions. We've thought about it. And when you ask if we've considered a different type of adoption two years into our wait, you just demoralize us. You tempt us to regret a choice we most likely painstakingly made. You make us wonder what we have done wrong to continue to wait.
STOP ASKING IF WE HAVE ANY NEWS. I recognize that this may not be true for everyone but after you've been waiting for something for five years you can rest assured that when it happens, you will shout it from the rooftops. Asking me every time I see you if I've had any news just drives home the point that no, I haven't. No news. Nothing happening. And when I've had a good week of not thinking about it too much, it may derail that because my thoughts immediately will go back to the "why" of all this waiting. So, please, I know you love us and you want to know what's going on. But don't ask me if we've had news. Just ask me how I'm doing- if I have news, believe me, that will be a part of how I'm doing. And on another point, if we do have news there could be situations (involving birth parents or keeping a pregnancy quiet at first) in which we can't yet share it which just puts us in the awkward position of whether or not to lie to you, our friends. We don't want to have to do that.
AVOID CLICHES. Seriously. Telling me to "never give up" or that you "know it will happen for us soon" or "God is in control" doesn't do anything but remind me that humans feel a need to have a solution to everything. If we decide to give up, that's our business. And, to be honest, it might not even be giving up, just a quiet recognition that one dream is not viable and moving on to a new one. Making me feel badly for considering a new dream doesn't help. And you know what else? You don't know whether or not it will happen for us and certainly not soon. We don't "deserve" this, we haven't earned the right to have this particular happiness. And telling me constantly that God is in control just makes me want to ask him the "why not us" question again. And that brings me nothing but hurt and bitterness and self-pity. So, again, just hang out, just talk to us like there are other things going on than our waiting. And if we do need to vent about it? Just listen. No cliche will make the waiting easier.
PRAY FOR US. A lot of you wonderful people tell me how often you pray and hope for us. Thank you. That really is something you can do. You can talk to God for us because sometimes we are too exhausted to keep asking for ourselves. Knowing there is a faithful group of people who love us, who want good for us and who dream of this coming true really does bring us joy and reminds us how very much we are loved by God. That, after all, is what we need most.
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