The Children I Don't Know but Can't Forget

I have been putting off writing this for a while. It is hard and like most people, I'm not a fan of doing hard things. However, there is a saying at our house, which I find myself repeating so often to my kids, "If something's hard, that's not a reason not to do it, it's a reason to do it." They will usually sullenly say the last part back to me, like I'm sure I did to my mom and dad with their sayings. But this is something I need to remind myself of just as often.

I figured by this point in the year we would already know what child or children we would be adopting! I wouldn't have thought we would still be waiting on a referral! This isn't where I wanted to be and from my human perspective, it doesn't seem fair or make any sense. This adoption has not gone at all like we planned or thought it should.

This post is about all the kids we tried to pursue but couldn't, for one reason or another. I never imagined this list would be so long. But you see, I'm writing this because I don't want these kids to be forgotten. My insightful sister had an especially helpful and wise perspective. She said that perhaps Luke and I became aware of these kids so we would be able to specifically pray for them. I think she's right and if you continue reading you will now know them and I hope you will pray for them as well. Read on to learn about Betty, Chloe, Zoe and Madeline, Maggie, Dotty and Hugh. These are real kids with real stories and lives, even if what I can tell you is very little. Adoption matters. These kids matter.

When we saw Betty's profile, she was three years old and had spina bifida. There was a short video of her. She wasn't talking yet. That's really all we knew. We were strongly considering pursuing her, even though we knew hardly anything about her medical condition. But then, we stumbled upon another profile, which caused us to move in a different direction.

Chloe was six and living in Asia. She was totally blind, due to literally not having eyes. We felt strongly about her and were scared for her in Asia as a blind girl. There was much doubt if her country would even work with us, due to my blindness. While we waited to find out, we found a video of her, posted on the website of the christian residential home where she was staying. I still remember the sound of her voice! I had so desperately needed that reassurance, as we had been given old information, and there was doubt as to if she could speak. I was afraid, wondering if I could safely raise a nonverbal child without sight. But God let me hear her speak! And then, the day after we heard that her country's government would work with us, we were told that her profile was no longer available and that it had most likely been given to another family, from another agency, who was further along in the process. Even though we were told of this risk up front, it still hurt. I think about her often.

So then, we decided to go back through the country where Lexy and Jon are from. We contacted the agency through which we adopted Lexy. We were familiar with the requirements and the staff and felt fairly comfortable. We started working toward adopting twin girls, Zoe and Madeline. Things seemed pretty set. We talked to the kids and Lexy began making plans as to who would have what bed. Then, the week after we had organized a garage sale to help bring them home, we were told that we had not been approved for them by the country's government. I have written much about that experience and the grief it brought and still brings. They were three when we started the process. Zoe is sighted and healthy, all things considered for living in overseas orphanages. Madeline is blind and was not speaking, last we knew. I miss them terribly.

Maggie was six when we saw her profile and were considering applying to try and adopt her. She had had a brain tumor, was not speaking and had frequent seizures. After a lot of internal struggling, I determined that I would not feel safe, as a blind person being the main caretaker, dealing with seizures. I pray someone has or will soon adopt this little girl. I resented my blindness, which I haven't done in quite a while, because I felt it prevented me from caring for her and being the mom she needs.

Dotty is three and has hydrocephalus, but to what severity we don't know. There is a high link between hydrocephalus, hearing loss and seizures. Again, as a blind person, I didn't think i could safely care for her if she had either of these, let alone both. It hurt and I grieved to say no to pursuing her further. I don't think I acted wrongly in my decision, but it still hurts and I still think of and worry over her.

Hugh is a one year old boy with a heart condition. We applied to adopt him but still have heard nothing back. It has been a long while since our application and I strongly believe that he will be another name on my list of kids whom I haven't forgotten but will never know. I never thought I'd even have such a list to begin with.

Please join me in remembering these kids and their names and what little details we o of their lives. They matter. Their stories matter. Pray for them. Pray that they are safe where they are, that they are being fed enough, that they are not being neglected medically and that they will be adopted by loving families. Adoption matters.

One Statement that Shouldn't be Said to a Grieving Mother

This is not an easy thing to write about, but I feel it needs to be done, despite my discomfort.  I hope that this can be seen as a polite, yet vitally necessary, public service announcement.  I’d like to tell you the one thing that you shouldn’t ever say to a parent who has lost a child, through either miscarriage, stillbirth, or failed adoption.

Now, I know that seeing a person grieving, whatever the cause, is hard.  You want to be of some comfort.  So I understand the good intentions that are there, I really do.  I also understand that, often, there aren’t concrete actions we can do for a person in such circumstances, so all that is left to us are words.  We want these words to be comforting, healing and encouraging.  That said, there is one phrase that is none of those things.  I have heard it myself a time or two.  It is the phrase “you didn’t know the child well or very long” and variations on such wording.

I know that being hurtful is not your impulse and when so many say this phrase, there is no malice intended.  However, that doesn’t detract from the negative emotions this statement, and the sentiment behind it, bring.  I feel I can best explain why this is the case from my own life.

You see, last year, our family thought we were going to adopt twin girls.  We were sent videos and pictures of them.  We were committed to them.  We loved them.  They were already our daughters and the sisters of our two children.  It didn’t matter that we had never seen them in person.  It didn’t matter that we had never held them before.  It didn’t matter that we had only known of their existence for a few months.  They were our girls.

So when we were told, abruptly and unexpectedly, that the government in their country had decided another family was better suited and that furthermore, we could not appeal this decision, we were devastated.  Our children had been taken from us and there was absolutely nothing we could do about it!  When someone says, in effect, the sadness can’t really be that bad because you didn’t really know them or you didn’t physically hold them, etc., it frankly hurts and feels rather demeaning.  I essentially now am put in a position where I have to justify my grief to you.  It doesn’t matter how long or short our time was with them or by what methods we interacted or how much or little we knew about them.  None of those factors influenced our love for them or how much we grieved, and honestly are still grieving, for them.

Let’s put this in a different perspective for a moment here.  You wouldn’t say such a statement to a parent who, let’s say, tragically lost their two-year-old to cancer.  You wouldn’t, not even for a second, think that just because the child was only two, instead of 12, therefore, they shouldn’t be that sad.  You wouldn’t let the length of time they had known and loved their child be a factor in assessing their grief, so why does this happen in the above mentioned situations?

As true as this is for myself, as an adoptive mother, I feel it is compounded many times over for those who have lost a child to miscarriage or stillbirth.  I beg you, do not express such words around them, no matter how kindly you mean them.  For these women, there is no possible way they could have known their child more!  They carried them; their bodies nurtured and sustained that child!  They literally felt that child growing inside them!  There is no connection that is as personal and nothing more painful and poignant when it is severed!  If you are reading this and you have experienced this loss, please don’t let anyone minimize or trivialize your grief!

The loss of a child, no matter how it happens, is probably one of the most horrible events we can endure.  Let’s be mindful of the impact of our words.  Let’s be there for each other and help each other grieve fully and well.

Reflections on Grief and its Place in the Christian Life

When I am dealing with or trying to process hard emotions or thoughts, I have found that writing really is an aid to me in this endeavor So when I learned of the death of a dear, believing family friend, and as I have also been thinking of many christian friends who are dealing with their own losses ,my first impulse was to sit down and write. It has been a week; I have found that this has been much harder to write on than I expected. I think that we could all agree that our society in general doesn’t like to talk about or really deal with grieving. But sadly, I think this could be said of many Christians as well. This caused me to think about a lot of questions regarding the place true grief has in a Christian’s life.

How should I, as a Christian, feel about death? How should I see it? What feelings am I allowed to have about it? Is it okay to grieve, even if the person gone was a believer? Does our hope in the resurrection negate or keep us from truly grieving? Are we downplaying the amazing hope of the gospel if we are literally mourning?

I think these are questions we shouldn’t be afraid to think about and discuss with each other. There seems to be this idea that goes something like this. Since we know, as believers in Christ, that He at the end of all things overcomes death and sin, that this understanding should cause us to grieve less. Or at the very least, it should make our grieving less painful. Some might even venture to say that we shouldn’t really be all that sad, since, if the person we lost was a believer, then they are with the Lord and we will see them again in eternity. And besides, they are much happier anyway. Yes, those are absolutely beautiful and wonderful truths and we should cling to them. They should give us hope and an anchor for our souls but I don’t believe, and don’t see from a biblical standpoint, that this disqualifies us from feeling and experiencing our grief. I also don’t see that the comfort we have in Christ puts a time limit on our grief either. In other words, it’s been 6 months, your trust in Christ and the resurrection means you should be moving on by now. I think sometimes, as Christians, if others see us truly mourning, we are afraid that this will somehow dampen our witness for Christ.

As I read through 1 Corinthians 15, I am always struck by the beautiful words of comfort. As believers in the finished work of Christ, we know our weak, decaying bodies will be replaced by glorified ones:

1 Corinthians 15: 42-45, NASB

42 So also is the resurrection of the dead. It is sown a perishable body, it is raised an imperishable body; 43 it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; 44 it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body.

This is definitely something we should find joy and comfort in, but when will this happen? Paul tells us a few verses later:

1 Corinthians 15: 51-57 NASB

51 Behold, I tell you a mystery; we will not all sleep, but we will all be changed, 52 in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet; for the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. 53 For this perishable must put on the imperishable, and this mortal must put on immortality. 54 But when this perishable will have put on the imperishable, and this mortal will have put on immortality, then will come about the saying that is written, “Death is swallowed up in victory. 55 O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” 56 The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law; 57 but thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

When will this happen? Later, in the future, whether soon or much later, we don’t know. But death is not yet defeated, at least, in our current experience. Death has taken someone from us and it shouldn’t be this way. Death, for the believer, will ultimately be crushed and we know that for certain. But right now, when we are dealing with the loss of someone we dearly loved, we are not seeing that victory firsthand. We are not yet in eternity with that person and our Lord. We are still missing that person, the sound of their voice, their affection or the ways they could make us laugh. We don’t have those things right now. We are still waiting for that ultimate victory to come and praise God that it will!

But in the meantime, while we wait, we can and should grieve. In fact, Paul in the letter to the church at Rome, acknowledges that mourning will happen. This is after he has spent the first 11 chapters outlining the wonderful and amazing truth of the gospel. Chapter 12 is a sort of “now what?” moment, now that I know all this, what do I do with it? How do I live out this faith with one another? Romans 12:15 (NASB) Paul says “Rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn.”

Notice Paul doesn’t say try and convince your fellow Christians not to mourn or limit your mourning etc. No, he simply says to grieve with those who are hurting. Mourning is not wrong and it does not undermine God and His work. It is a part of this world, that is still in sin. We can grieve while we eagerly await with joy the fulfillment of Christ’s promises. But this joy and eagerness do not need to compete with our grief.

One last example, again from Paul’s letters:

1 Thessalonians 4: 13-18 NASB

13 But we do not want you to be uninformed, brethren, about those who are asleep, so that you will not grieve as do the rest who have no hope. 14 For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who have fallen asleep in Jesus. 15 For this we say to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive and remain until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep. 16 For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. 17 Then we who are alive and remain will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we shall always be with the Lord. 18 Therefore comfort one another with these words.

Notice Paul doesn’t say so that you will not grieve. He doesn’t end the sentence there. He qualifies it, saying so that you will not grieve like the rest who have no hope. Yes, we will still grieve, but with hope, but still with grief. One doesn’t negate or exclude the other.

I don’t think, myself included, we know how to mourn and lament anymore. We don’t know how to express and face our sadness. We want to do things to make it go away faster like eating or going on expensive trips etc. We want to rush through our grief as fast as we can. As believers, we shouldn’t be afraid or ashamed to bring our grief to God and to each other. Read the Psalms or Job. Let’s reclaim the rite of grieving, while we also rejoice in the hope of Christ and His resurrection!

Two Sorrow Filled Letters

***Author’s note:

I struggled with whether or not I would even right this. The topic of abortion is always on my mind, but after what was being celebrated in New York recently, I knew I couldn’t keep silent anymore. So many have written much about all this and with words more eloquent and meaningful than mine. I decided to write these letters for two reasons. First, as is often the case for me, writing is a way for me to process my thoughts and emotions. The second reason is simply that this bothers me so much, I would be going against my own conscience not to write.

I have two questions, for all those who support abortion (and let’s all be adults here and not use soft, vague euphemistic terms), shall we? Let’s call it what it actually is, murder. First, using accurate words and descriptions, could you tell your own child, niece or nephew or student, about what you support? Could you tell them, in vivid accurate detail, what is done to the child? Could you tell them why it is done, not omitting the more selfish reasons like simply not wanting a child right now or not wanting one’s body shape to change? What would you answer if they looked at you and asked “Would you have done that to me?” Do you really think that they will feel any safer about the world simply because you or their parent chose, in this particular case, to let them live? Aren’t they lucky! Their brother or sister or friend’s sibling, might not be so lucky.

Second, why is at birth the cut off point? Why not after birth? What’s the difference? Why is that child’s life suddenly and mysteriously now valued, once they’ve come through the birth canal? If there ever comes a point where it’s decided that life can be ended up to some arbitrary time after birth, what’s to keep that time from growing? One day, one week, one month, one year, 5 years? Longer? Why stop at children?

End Author’s Note***

To The Unborn:

As a mother, it grieves and pains me that I even have to write this letter. I am so very sorry. Those words sound so shallow and useless and in the face of what is and has been happening for such a long time, I suppose that really is what they are. It truly sickens me that I have to say these things and stumble over my words, trying to find a way to apologize for how many of your lives, have been and are being, brutally cut short. And how can one, in any meaningful way, ever apologize for such an insane act of violence?

I am sorry! I am sorry that you are not valued. I am sorry that you are not seen as the blessing you truly are. I am sorry that you are not wanted, desired or deemed worthy of overcoming what difficulties might arise from your birth. I’m sorry that we, as a society, put our convenience, comfort and needs above yours.

I am sorry that your lives are ended due to the circumstances of your coming into being, your gender, race or medical diagnosis. I am sorry that your lives are ended, even when there are families who would love nothing more than to adopt you and make you a part of theirs. I am sorry that your lives are seen as expendable and not worth protecting. I am sorry that we, as a society, value puppies and kittens much more than we value you. I am so sorry that there are many who celebrate the end of your lives, as a freedom and choice of others to make. I am sorry that your mothers are not valued enough to be told the truth, that being your mother is the most beautiful and incredible and empowering gift they could be given! I am sorry that, while your mother’s womb should be the safest place you could be, it has become, for many of you, a place where your life was ended in methods more brutal than we would tolerate for animals.

I am trying. I want you to know that I will never stop fighting for you. Through my written words and what I say, I will do my best to make people acknowledge you and what is being done to so many of you. I will adopt as many as I and my family are able. I will not forget you. I will mourn for you, while many celebrate your deaths. I will mourn for the person you should have gotten the chance to be. I pray that God will break our hearts for what we are doing. He alone can forgive and restore us.

With grate sadness,

A grieving Mother

To Jon and Lexy:

My two wonderful children, I wish I didn’t have to write this letter to you. I pray that perhaps a day will come when what I say here will no longer be true in America, the place which we brought you, so that you could be a part of our family. I wish you would never have to learn what the word abortion means. Lexy, when you first heard of a miscarriage and came to understand what that meant, you were rightly, so sad. I hate that one day, probably all to soon, you will learn that many babies are killed on purpose.

I hate so much that you will learn that mothers and fathers, who should be doing everything in their power to keep their babies safe, are more often than not the ones who decide to end the life of their child. You will soon learn that there are doctors, who instead of helping people feel better, inflict severe pain on babies before ending their lives and cause much fear and discomfort to their mothers. You will soon see that so many people rejoice over these things. I’m so sorry that you have to grow up in a place where this is seen as liberating, open-minded and empowering for women. I am so sorry that you have to grow up in a place where life is not treasured and given the dignity it deserves. I wish you didn’t live in a country where we so regularly discard the most vulnerable members.

I want you both to know that this is not okay! This is not how God designed things to be! I want you to know that your father and I, and so many others, are not accepting this as normal. Just as your lives matter, so do the lives of all children and their parents. Both children and their parents, deserve so much more than these lies!

Jon and Lexy, we are doing all that we can. Now you may understand another reason why we are always talking about adoption. It is a way that we can do something to combat all this. I am so overjoyed that, in spite of their difficulties, your birth mothers didn’t listen to the lie. I’m so glad they chose to let you live; we would have been robbed of something so precious if they hadn’t.

I love you both so much! I pray that when you grow up, you will be champions of life. I pray that you will find ways to support and strengthen mothers, fathers and their children. I pray that you will value all life, as we are all created in God’s image. I will be there, right alongside you in this endeavor.

With Much Love,

Your Mother

A Letter to My Lost Twin Girls

***Author’s note***

First, I just need to say I honestly feel pretentious using the term author, but I felt like “writer’s note” was an odd phrase.  Be that as it may, I wanted to explain what this letter has come to mean.  When I started writing it, I didn’t realize the impact this seemingly simple thing was going to have on me.  I wanted to try and communicate to people (family members and friends of those adopting and those in the trenches of the adoption process) about the loss in adoption when things don’t go as planned.  I think this is an area of grief that so many are unaware of or ill-prepared for.  We certainly were.  I also had hoped that it could be a comfort to anyone who has lost a child, regardless of the circumstances.

In my social work career (before I became a full-time mom), I had at times suggested this approach of writing a letter to someone, even if it could never be sent.  I never had a reason to do it myself.  Well, as it turns out, it is quite effective and reveals a lot of things.

It didn’t take me long, as I started writing and the words tumbled out, for me to realize this was more than an exercise or an educational tool. I was and still am drastically grieving the abrupt and unexpected separation from my twin girls.  I have to admit, this surprised me.  I, of course, knew I was still sad over what had happened, but I didn’t realize how deeply embedded it still was. I had continued to think that there would be healing once we were matched again.  Our family could finally just move forward with our adoption journey.

As the weeks have gone on, though, the wait has become more and more frustrating.  Writing this piece has shown me, as I need constant reminder, of God’s wisdom and sovereignty once again.  I’ve come to see that perhaps the purpose of this continued waiting is, at least in part, to give me time to rightly and properly grieve.  I have been granted the time to not hurriedly disregard their memories, while also not projecting emotions onto the new child or children.  Both of these realities are so important.  I do hope, if you decide to read the actual letter, that it will be of benefit to you or someone you know.  However, if you don’t feel that it would do either of those things, please feel no obligation to read it.  There is no reason to read something that could make you sad, just for sadness sake.  There’s already enough sadness in this world.

***End Author’s note***

Dear Zoe and Madeline,

There is so much I want to say to both of you, yet somehow it is still so hard to find the right words. I guess I’ll start at the very beginning, when we were told we could adopt you.  When I learned that you two were identical twins, I smiled. You see, I am blind, just like you Madeline.  I had always had this idea in the back of my mind that I would one day have identical twins and that they would mess with me as they grew up, making me guess who was who and just generally making my life crazy but silly.  It was so funny to me that this was actually going to happen.

We were excited and anxious to get you both home as fast as we could.  We were happy to start another adoption journey, and we couldn’t wait to meet you.  You see, it takes a long time to adopt, and there is so much to do, but none of that mattered.  All we knew, what kept us moving forward, was that we didn’t want you to be in that orphanage anymore.

Madeline, we wanted to help you learn to walk and speak and to show you that blindness doesn’t have to hold you back.  Zoe, you were going to be our first sighted child, and we were excited about that and maybe a little nervous too.  We couldn’t wait to see you discover the world, getting to literally see the amazing things around you, not to mention all the mischief you would get in to because of your sight.

You two deserved so much better than the orphanage life.  We couldn’t stand by and do nothing.  We wanted to be your family, regardless of any difficulties.  We wanted our son and daughter to know you as their sisters.  We wanted you to have the chance to experience so many things that we take for granted about childhood, like having a favorite toy, going to the playground, Thanksgiving, decorating the Christmas tree or experiencing grandma’s cooking for the first time.  We had so many plans and hopes for you.  We told so many friends and family about you.  Your sister was excited about sharing her room with you both and had already planned who would sleep where.  We had no idea what to expect but we knew we’d love you and we’d all figure out a new normal together.

But now, the government in your country has suddenly taken all that from us.  They say we’re not to be your family after all.  It feels like something has been ripped out of us.  We never met you in person but that doesn’t matter!  We saw pictures and videos and read about you and that was enough.  You were already our daughters; we were committed to you.  It’s so strange and feels so wrong that someone literally around the world, who has never met us, can just say no, that they don’t think we’re right for you and just uproot you from our lives.  It hurts.  We miss you and think about you so much.

Your daddy and I find ourselves thinking about things like how you would have gotten along with your sister and what adventures you would have had together.  I wonder how you would have tormented your brother.  Would you have learned an instrument or been an artist or played sports?  What foods would you have relished?  Who would you have grown up to be?  We’ll never get to know, and I just never saw that coming.

I think the hardest part is wondering who your new family is.  Who did the people in charge choose and why them over us?  Will you have siblings?  Where will you live?  What will your days look like?  Will you be safe?  I can’t know any of this. Even so, I am so happy that you will get out of the orphanage.  I’m so happy that you will have a family. I just wish it could have been us.

We are still planning to adopt, but we want you to know that we will never forget you.  We will always think of you, miss you and pray for you in your new lives.  You will always be our girls.  If our adoption journeys have taught us anything, it’s that you shouldn’t be afraid to give. Don’t be afraid to sacrifice for others, to truly give your best for them.  Please work hard, learn as much as you can and grow into beautiful, intelligent, kind and strong women.  Your mommy, daddy, brother, and sister love you both so much and are always praying for you and your new family. May they treasure you and teach you well.

An Unexpected Turn: Grief and the Adoption Process

It is amazing how quickly and unexpectedly one's life can change so drastically.  This is a post I frankly never imagined I'd be writing to all of you.  We were so certain (well as certain as one can be with an international adoption) of our family growing from these two little girls and I have been so happy to share that excitement with all of you.  However, we were told on Wednesday morning that we would not be able to adopt our twin girls after all.  Apparently, the governing authorities in their country decided another family was better suited.  Now, from everything I had thought I understood about this country's process, I didn't think this would happen.  I am so sad to learn I was mistaken.  For what consolation there is, our caseworker seemed as shocked and surprised as we were.

I am grieving the loss of my girls, yet I am happy to know that they will have a home.  I pray that it will be a loving family who will teach them the gospel, but it still doesn't lessen the sadness.  Their home was supposed to be with us; they were supposed to be Lexy's younger sisters and those three girls were going to drive me crazy by sharing a room.

I think what makes this even more difficult is twofold.  First, this isn't the only time Luke and I have had to wade through these emotions.  A while back, we had tried to adopt a little girl from India (Chloe, I will always remember her name and now apparently Zoe and Madeline's as well), and we met with this same result.  I knew Chloe would always be the child that we lost, but I just never imagined it would turn into the children we lost.

The second reason as to why this is just so hard is that when we started down the India path, we were very well informed of the risks.  Our caseworker was very open that we could be well into the process and another family could be given her file.  We chose to take the risk and it hurt when it happened.  This time around, we really thought we knew the country’s program.  We were sure we understood how their system worked and we also had our previous two adoptions, from the same country, as precedent.  We really thought that we had been “pre-matched” with the twins and that no other families would then be given her file unless we withdrew.  We didn't think we were taking a very big risk. That is part of what makes this so much harder; it utterly blindsided us.

This has caused me to be even more exceedingly thankful to God for his providence in our adoptions of Lexy and Jon.  I am so grateful that both of those went through and that we have both our kids; it could have so easily not been the case.  When we were applying to adopt Lexy, it was taking a long time for our FBI background check to come through.  We were contacted by our caseworker who informed us that the country officials were growing impatient and that if we didn't have it done soon, our application for Lexy could be withdrawn.  Now, there was literally nothing we could do to speed up the FBI's process; we were threatened with the loss of our daughter. I am now, after this event, so beyond thankful to God that He didn't allow that threat to become a reality when it so quickly and easily could have been.

I would expect anyone who has ever had to go through a miscarriage, stillbirth, lost a foster child, or dealt with a failed adoption, can understand and relate to what Luke and I are going through.  I am not merely writing for myself as a sort of therapy (though I am doing that), or as a way to simply garner sympathy, but I am writing for all who have grieved or are grieving the loss of children in these ways.  It is a real, painful and long process and, like all grief, not one that ever fully goes away.  Even well after we had started the process for Zoe and Madeline and I was full on in the excitement of it, some random thing would remind me of Chloe.  This will now be the case with two more little girls.

I'd like to say something to friends, co-workers, and family of those who are going through similar grief to our situation.  Please don't say things such as “Well, at least you never knew the child” or “well, it's got to be a bit easier, since you never met them.” or “Well, at least they weren't around you for very long.”  Now, I hold no malice toward anyone for saying such things; I know you all mean well and are trying to comfort and reassure.  But those type of statements just aren't true and I'm quite sure anyone going through a similar situation to ours would wholeheartedly agree with me.  In a very real way, we did know them.  We were a part of the child's life. We saw pictures or videos or interacted with them to an extent.  Even if there was no real-life, in-person interaction (as in our case, for example) Luke and I were still fully committed to Zoe and Madeline, and before them, to Chloe. We loved them unconditionally. They were already our daughters and Lexy and Jon's siblings and now that has been taken away from all of us.  For women who have lost a child due to miscarriage or stillbirth it is even worse. They could not possibly have known the child more!  They literally gave it life and saw and felt it growing inside them; there is nothing more personal and poignant when taken away.

So what is next for us?  We are still going to adopt.  There are still so many children in desperate circumstances who need loving homes.  We cannot and will not ignore the plight of the orphan.  This does not mean, however, that this is an easy decision for u, to move forward with again.  It means taking another risk, putting ourselves out there in a vulnerable, emotional state, perhaps to be hurt again.  But as I have said in previous posts, adoption requires sacrifice on the part of the adoptive parents, but these children are worth our discomfort.  We have already spent time and substantial funds toward this country's program and our dossier is nearly finished. We can still use all of that.  We will still adopt from the same country; our family will still be growing.  We just now do not know by how many, or what gender or age.

Grief is such an odd experience in general and this type of situation, I feel, only makes it more strange.  It is an odd place to be, feeling hope and excitement as to who the new child will be, yet such deep sadness and regret over those whom we have lost all at once.  I find myself feeling guilty over my hopefulness regarding the next child, as if that is somehow doing Zoe and Madeline wrong.  I know that sentiment is not true, but it is still there.  Again, we have been through this before, but I thought we were done with this roller coaster.  When I first got the call, it felt like a sick joke, as we had so recently experienced this with Chloe.  It's not amusing though, not in the least.

I have found myself thinking about two things a lot over these last few days.  The first is the sovereignty of God.  There is nothing that is outside his control and even this sad situation was not an accident.  It didn't slip by God or get past Him or leave Him in a situation where He wanted to intervene, but He just wasn't able to.  There is a purpose in all this, even if I cannot see it now or will never see it this side of eternity.  There is such comfort in this.  One of the biblical passages that continues to come to mind is Romans 8:28-39:

"28 And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. 29 For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters. 30 And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified.

31 What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? 32 He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? 33 Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. 34 Who then is the one who condemns? No one. Christ Jesus who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. 35 Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? 36 As it is written:

'For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.'

37 No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. 38 For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, 39 neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

This experience of grief is not just random or accidental.  God is using it for the good of conforming me to the image of His son, Jesus Christ.  I can think of no higher purpose for any difficulty.  God is not only using this grief to bring me closer to Him, but, if I trust what His word says, He is using it to make me more like Christ.  That is an incredible and comforting thought.  This is what I hold on to as we figure out what next is for us exactly.

I have also been thinking a lot about a song I heard often growing up, as my mother played it frequently.  As a child, I didn't really understand it.  I knew it had deep meaning but I could not tell you what that was precisely.  As I have grown older, gotten married, and had children, I have come to understand it more.  This experience of grief over now three lost children has, I believe, finally helped me fully understand the song.  Anyone who knows me and my family well can probably guess the artist; it is a Rich Mullins song.  I've included it in this post in case perhaps it will be a comfort to someone else, as it is for me.  It is a reminder of whom I cling to and why.

I hope that my sharing of this post, with its grief and honest emotions, will not detour anyone who may have been considering adopting or fostering.  There are so many hurting kids who need families.  As hard as it is, we need to put them above our wanting to be comfortable, wanting to be happy and just not hurt.  That is what we are striving to do, and this can only fully be done by God's grace and strength.  If you are considering opening yourself up to these kids (and to all the heartache that can come with it), I encourage you to not go into it blindly or unprepared.  You can be aware of the difficulties ahead and yet still choose to make the sacrifice and risk discomfort for the sake of someone else.  I'd encourage you to take that route, hard as it is.