This is an article from Focus on the Family's Thriving Family magazine, from the October/November 2012 issue.
I am so tired of the stuff that keeps getting thrown in my face so this is one teeny, tiny response. When Chad came to live with us, nine years ago, I said that a small part of me didn't feel right about it; didn't feel comfortable. I can't possibly be comfortable taking a child out of his home and away from his mother. There's no way that should feel right and good. At a later time, I also said that I felt differently about and towards my adopted child compared to my biological child. Any adoptive or long-term-foster parents I've talked to about this understand and relate. Unfortunately, people who have not adopted or fostered have taken great issue with this.
I came across this article in fall and I knew that what I'm talking about is more common than people may want to admit. I'll let the article speak for itself and for me.
Focus on the Family has long been an advocate for vulnerable children in the United States and around the world. As a result, we've seen an increased emphasis on orphan care and adoption in Christian circles. Certainly, that is reason to celebrate.
What we've seen more recently is a trend among adoptive families toward more transparency. These families have begun to speak honestly about their struggles, their unmet expectations and the God who is big enough to see them through. This transparency encourages other adoptive families on similar journeys.
As you read the following stories, we hope you'll more deeply understand the redemptive process that begins when "God sets the lonely in families" (Psalm 68:6). [written by Katie Overstreet, program director of Adoption and Orphan care at Focus on the Family]
Our Weakness, His Power
by Kelly Rosati
Adapted from Wait No More: One family's amazing adoption journey
Copyright by Kelly and John Rosati
After adopting two children through foster care, my husband, John, and I thought our family was complete. But we soon felt that God had other plans, that He wanted us to continue growing our family through adoption.
We had many objections, of course: We already have two kids. Will we be able to give them enough attention and care? Life with Daniel and Anna is great. Why would we go through the difficult adoption process again?
Those were all reasonable concerns. But at the end of the day non seemed as important as our continued sense of God's leading.
We talked to Daniel and Anna, of course, who supported the idea from the get-go. "Well, we have a family," they said. "They can come live with us!"
Daniel's and Anna's compassionate attitudes at such young ages helped us cut through the clutter in our own minds. God so often speaks through children.
Eight months later, we finalized the adoption of our son Joshua. For Joshua, there would be no more moves. No more trauma. No more uncertain future. He was home. And John and I were feeling ... despondent.
Yes, you read that right. A mysterious despair had crept into our hearts and minds. And then we had guilt from our feelings of despondency. Why should we have such feelings?
The unfortunate truth is that the pain and difficulty associated with a child's past, and how a family must face it, are rarely discussed. There is shame involved, and that shame leads to isolation and silence -- the opposite of God's plan for our lives.
I think John and I felt pressure to act as though everything were fin. Somehow we felt these emotional struggles indicated that we'd lost faith. Looking back, we know that this kind of thinking wasn't true, but it sure felt true at the time.
It took many months before our feelings returned to normal. But God used that exceedingly painful and unwanted period to continue to teach us that we live by faith, not by feelings.
Having gone through that difficult experience, John and I think folks going through the same thing need to reach out and talk to theirs, seek professional help or join a support group. We know from Scripture that God's grace is sufficient for us and that His power is made perfect in our weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9). He can and will work through our weakness.
Reshaping Expectations
by Michael Monroe
Michael and his wife, Amy, lead Tapestry Adoption and Foster Care Ministry.
Who are you? I remember wondering as I looked into the face of my young son. It was the moment when I first began to face the reality of the adoption journey and how it was different from my expectations.
Long before I had a chance to get to know my son, I had created an unrealistic picture about who he would be. On top of that, I expected the adoption journey to be relatively easy once we brought our son home. Indeed, I'd convinced myself that adoption was little more than a historical fact of how a family came to be, not an ongoing journey.
True, all parents start out with some unrealistic expectations. But for adoptive families, these unfulfilled expectations can lead to disappointment and even disconnection between parents and children. When a child's history of pain and loss begins to depart from what parents expected their adoption journey to look like, parents can be tempted to protect their wishful assumptions rather than acknowledge their child's history and feelings. When a child's behaviors begin to collide with the "way we do things as a family," parents can find themselves quickly nearing the point of despair.
I know these experiences well. When faced with this reality, my instinct was to respond by looking at my child and pointing an accusing finger as if to ask, "What's wrong with you?" As I began to lay down my assumptions, I discovered that my calling as an adoptive parent was to meet my child where he was.
The adoption journey invites parents to move beyond what we want and embrace what our children need. And as we let go of our expectations, we find that God's desires for us and our family are so much greater than what we ever anticipated.
In both the good times and bad, in both the joy and the pain, God is writing a story of hope, redemption and love within our lives. I am still learning who my son is. And I have come to see that he doesn't have to become more like me or even who I thought he could be in order for our family to become the "we" that God intended.
More Than Love
by John Moore
John Moore is a regular speaker at Focus on the Family's Wait No More events.
When my wife and I felt called to adopt, I remember thinking, All kids need is a little love. Now, as I reflect on our experience of adopting six children from foster care, I realized that those are some of the most naive words we ever allowed ourselves to believe.
As so many well-meaning parents do, we approached adoption and foster care thinking that our love could somehow erase our children's past hurts. Reality hit our expectations head on -- and reality inevitably gets the last word.
We learned this lesson early when we adopted two boys, loved the and treated them as we would our biological children -- and then wondered why they behaved in such a disruptive manner.
My wife and I asked ourselves, What can we do differently? How can we help our children?
There were no easy answers. What we did learn is that when adopting a child who comes from a difficult situation, we must expect some form of hidden pain to emerge. You can't always predict when, where or how, but you can be certain that pain will surface.
Several years after joining our family, one of my sons was going through a dark time in his young life. As we talked, he confessed that he had always believed it was his fault that he and his brother had been placed in foster care. He couldn't shake this belief.
When my son confessed this to me, I desperately wanted to ease his pain, as I did when he cut his finger or scraped his knee. But I came to realize that it's almost arrogant to believe that my love alone will heal my child's wounds. Just as only Jesus can heal me, I now recognize that He alone can heal my child.
Over the years, I've learend a lot about my role as a dad. It's my job to protect my children and provide them with structure and guidance. It is my job to give them a safe and loving home and to support them with professional help when needed. But perhaps my most important role is to model for my children a humble recognition of human limitations and, in turn, our utter dependence on Jesus. When I entrust my children, and all of their pain, to His transformational love, I admit that alone I cannot heal them. Instead, I point them to the One who can.
