Category: General

However Motherhood Comes

Infertility offers nothing, adoption gives everything.

Infertility dispenses despair, adoption dispels it.

Infertility breeds confusion, adoption grows clarity.

Infertility is lifeless, adoption is life-giving.

Infertility seems hopeless, adoption is full of hope.

Infertility gives the impression that one is not deserving of children, but adoption reminds us that we are very-much deserving of parenthood. The two are polar opposites, but when they collide, one’s world opens up to the enriching, beautiful, and life-affirming gift of children.

Friends, if you are meandering your way through the warfare of infertility and barrenness, do not give up. Choosing to pursue adoption is your decision, no one else’s. However, from this barren one’s experience, I encourage you to consider adoption. I’m so thankful that I did, and that the Lord delivered my heart’s fervent wish to experience this gift of parenthood (even on the hard days).

“However motherhood comes to you, it’s a miracle.” -Valerie Harper

Six Lessons Learned From Being an Adoptive Parent

I’ve darn near decided that maybe it is more of a privilege to be an adoptive parent than a biological parent.  Before I offend anyone who has given birth to their children, please hear me.  I am NOT saying that adopting children is better than giving birth, and I am NOT saying that adoptive parenting provides more passion than raising biological children.  What I am saying is that being an adoptive parent is a privilege.  (Please understand that I have zero frame of reference as all of my kiddos are adopted.)

Here are just a few things I have learned since becoming a mother through adoption:

  1. Never underestimate the power of the pursuit.  If I had not put all of my efforts into becoming a parent, I know that I would not be experiencing the gift of refinement that parenting brings.  Don’t give up.  Throw every hat you have in the ring.  If you want to be a parent, let it be your priority and the passion behind your pursuit.
  2. Genetics are incredibly important.  Are you surprised I said that?  Let me explain.  When it comes to loving a child with every pore of your being, genetics don’t mean squat…BUT….when it comes to understanding histories, personalities, and medical issues, genetics are huge. Learn what you can, and don’t sweat the rest.  Sometimes, the only answer you can give to a doctor is, “I don’t know.”  While this is unsettling and, let’s be honest, a frustrating place to be, it is the truth.  
  3. Maternal instincts are not born from giving birth (no pun attended).  Do yourself a favor.  Stop worrying about your maternal instincts, or if you will love a child you adopt the same as you would if you gave birth.  While I do not have anything to compare, based on what I have heard from friends who have experienced parenting through birth and adoption, there is no difference. If anything, the instinct to protect might be a little stronger with an adopted child than a child by birth.  The adopted child may have a complicated history that only you will fully understand.  A part of you seeks to protect in secret that history; the other part of you never wants that history to be a source of embarrassment or ridicule.  So, yes, just perhaps, the maternal “momma bear” instincts to protect might just kick in a littler harder.
  4. Waiting to become a mother took so long, and because of it, I never forget to appreciate the brief and simple moments of life with my children.  I have known since age eleven that I would motherhood would come to me through adoption.  The wait to understand and capture that moment when it all made sense lasted nearly my entire lifetime so far.  I’ll be honest.  I get caught in a rut with my children.  I get frustrated, wish for an early bedtime, and look forward to time away from them.  I lose my cool.  I make mountains out of mole hills, and trust me, I totally mess up time and again.  Maybe, I might get this parenting thing down when they are adults.  With all of this being said, there are those moments with them that still takes my breath away.  While out riding bikes with my kiddos one night, I saw them both peddling their stubby little legs to me, I thought, “This moment.  This moment matters.”  
  5. Being an adoptive parent has unique set of challenges.  Do I think that there will never be any challenge to parents who give birth?  Of course not. The majority of my close friends have all given birth to their children, and they have challenges that they face.  However, with adoptive parenting, a parent must consume the history of the child only to be able to release it at a later date when the child is ready.  By history, I mean the knowledge of birth parents, and reasons why your son or daughter entered your home.  It is a heavy burden.  It is not to be taken lightly.  It can be one of the most difficult parts to raising children through adoption.  How does one fully comprehend what it feels like to be an adoptee?  I wonder how often my children think about their birth families.  It breaks my heart, but, it is a reality.  The worse thing one can do is run from it.
  6. I feel a big sense of responsibility in raising well-rounded and kind children.  Perhaps, I feel this pressure due to the fact that my children were intended to be mine.  I don’t want to mess this up.  At times, I fail miserably.  At others, I am totally enamored by the generosity and thoughtfulness shown by them.  I guess there is a part of me that believes I have more of a responsibility to raise my children right; as if (at times) the whole world will judge if I do not.  Being an adoptive parent is truly the most incredible privilege in the world, but it also comes with the pressure to be perfect – and we all know that perfection is completely unobtainable.

Adoptive parenting is a journey.  From the moment you decide to adopt, waiting to have a child placed (or if a foster placement, the wait for permanency through adoption), to finalization, and then raising the children, it is all just one big story with ups and downs.  I suspect all parenting is like this, but with adoption, there is a deeper sense of fortitude mixed with caution.

In these things, and many more, I find privilege.  That we were granted these children through the workings of the Lord is often beyond my ability to measure.  The years spent raising my children will continue to bring me lots and lots of frustrating moments, but also many wonderful and glorious lessons.

The lessons I’ve learned so far with raising my children is that this chapter of my life is definitely a privilege.

Every good and perfect gift is from above…(James 1:17)

8 Things to Consider When Approaching Difficult Adoption Subjects with Your Child {Adoption.com Article}

Hi Friends!

I recently wrote an article for Adoption.Com regarding some things to consider when facing difficult conversations about adoption with your child.  The journey of adoption does not end with the Judge’s gavel falls.  In many respects, it is truly just beginning.

It isn’t easy to always have the right answers to your children’s questions, but there are a few things that you can do to help.  I hope these tips help you!

Click this link for the article:  http://adoption.com/8-things-consider-when-approaching-difficult-adoption-subjects-with-your-child

Blessings,

Caroline

Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child {letter #6}

Dear Foster Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

You drove away the other day, didn’t you? You packed up your car with a year or two worth of memories of the child you have loved on, held on for one last time, kissed goodbye, and drove away.

You just wanted to turn the car around. You wanted to grab that little one, and hold on. You needed to feel that sweet embrace one last time, but you could not. As the miles began to separate you from the child you have called your own, the tears began to flow.  You held them in.  Brave warrior.  You held them in.

Now as the silence is thickening the air around you, the tears just seem so desperate to escape. Each tear carries a memory, doesn’t it?  The first time you saw the stranger’s child, that moment when you had a “breakthrough”, the silly laughs in the morning, the transformation you started to see in the birth mother, and the sound of a Judge’s voice determining that the child needed to return to the stranger whose child you have loved – are all just a glimpse of the lifespan of fostering that little soul.

To say it isn’t fair is an understatement, right? After all, you have been there to pick up the pieces of this broken child. You have worried night after night wondering if the child could get a few hours of sleep without calling out or having bad dreams. You mended that little wounded soul when there was a setback. It was you who watered, fed, and enriched this precious child’s roots with love, stability, and maybe just a bit of hope for the future.

Dear Foster Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

You had to drive away, didn’t you? I cannot imagine. I don’t want to. You did all of this while listening to the opinions of others who just don’t get it. It’s okay to be heartbroken. It’s okay to be angry.  It really is.

However, dear Foster Momma, those pieces of your soul that you gave away to the child you said goodbye to will carry on. They will carry on in the prayers you taught him or her to say.  They will carry on in the ability you taught to cope with surroundings, and the roots that you have toiled to establish. They will live through each success the child has, and in every heart-moment to come.

It will take a while for you to heal.  After all, no one has ever said that foster parenting is easy.  It is so hard.  You have delved right into the despair of generational abuse and neglect, drug abuse, chronic poverty, and misguided souls.

In every way, you are a missionary.

Dear Foster Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

I find myself thinking of you, a lot.  I want you to know that there is nothing greater than pouring yourself into a child….even if only for a little while.  You may have had to drive away, but at least, you were there. You were present in every moment. You dried each tear.  You voiced your concerns, and praised progress. And, after all was said and done, you had to let go.  Through your faith, you have stood tall, and because of your faith, you will carry on.

Nothing will ever take away what an incredible blessing…a miracle, really…that you have been in this child’s life.

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. -2 Timothy 4:7

We’ve Been Asked to Adopt a Child. Now what? {Adoption.com Article}

Being asked to adopt a child is an incredible gift, but also comes with some very serious decisions and things to consider.  Below is a link to an article I wrote for Adoption.com.  It gives suggestions on what to consider when one has been asked to adopt a child.

“Permanency through adoption for all children, regardless of the type of adoption, is something that offers children the love, stability, and protection of a family. If you have been asked to adopt a child, consider yourself blessed to be in the remarkable position of making an incredible difference in the life of a child.”

If you have been asked to adopt a child, I hope you find this helpful.

We’ve been asked to adopt a child. Now what?

Blessings,

Caroline

On the Night You were Born {Happy 9th Birthday, Son}

20150912_170003On the night you were born, I left my office with a bit of despair in my heart.  You don’t know this, but Daddy and I had said “yes” to another baby that day.  We waited, and waited, but the phone did not ring.  Later in the day, the call I received was one that told me that the little baby boy we were excited to welcome into our hearts and home would not be coming.

I was devastated.  I knew that this was a part of foster parenting, but I so wanted to wrap that little one in my arms that night.  I packed up the baby stuff I had collected, put it aside, and then went to sleep with what felt like the weight of the world on me.  I cried tears that seemed to have been held in for so many years, and I pleaded to the Lord.  I prayed.  I begged.

With sorrow and a tint of faith-stained prayer, I said,  “Father, just give me a chance to be a Mommy to a baby, even if only for a little while.  I just want to hold a baby in my arms, and feel that incredible emotion of Motherhood.  I want this, Lord.  I need this.”

On the night you were born, I cried myself to sleep.

On the night you were born, your birth mother held you in her arms while I truly wondered what my future would look like.  As she was delivering your precious little soul into this world, I was starting to question if the heartbreak of loving and potentially losing a child through fostering was worth it.

As she was giving you your name, I was feeling this nameless, faceless emptiness. As she whispered her love to you, I whispered my grief to our Father in Heaven.

On the night you were born, two mothers:  one with child, one without, felt very intense, yet different emotions.  One felt the incredible measure of love, while the other felt a deeper degree of faith.

Two days after the night you were born, you entered my life.  An unexpected phone call, quick decision, and sudden rush to the hospital resulted in my eyes viewing a beautiful, innocent, and so deeply cherished little boy.  When I first saw you, my breath was taken away.  You were, and still are, so incredible in my eyes.

Throughout fostering you, I held onto the truth that the Lord had delivered my pleadings on the night you were born.  Daddy and I did not know how long we would call you “ours”.  We wanted so much for your birth mother to work it all out, but we also feared the thought of a life without you.

We grew to care for your birth mother, deeply.  Through much prayer, we came to realize that the journey we were on was not about us, but about you.  What a gift this was.

Here we are, nine years later, and I still marvel at the makings of our story that began on the night you were born.  Words will never be able to fully explain just how much you mean to us.  Only the Lord Himself knows the language my heart cannot deliver.

On the night you were born, while I was laboring with grief, and your birth mother was laboring in hope, two mothers, and a whole host of angels were rejoicing in the scripting of the magnificent creation of you.

Nine years ago, on the night you were born, while I was meddling in the deepest pit of sorrow, and your birth mother was visiting the joys of love and concern, the Lord knew the narrative of life that was unfolding.  This knowledge, Son, is the very reason why my soul is captivated by the wonder of you, and the richness of a faithful God.

Happy 9th Birthday, Son.  Love you, forever.

Six Things NOT to Say to Someone Experiencing Infertility

From my life experience, I learned that words (whether meaning to, or not) can definitely impact the way a person feels about his or her own situation.  I think we tend to feel the need to “say something” when faced with the sadness of another one’s life.

From the very moment I had my hysterectomy so young, I caught on quickly that a gentle acknowledgement of the loss was often replaced by words of so-called wisdom from others.  Because of this, I have come up with a list of things NOT to say to someone who is experiencing infertility and barrenness.  Some of these have been spoken to me time and time again, while others are ones that I have heard said to other people.

  1. “You can always adopt.”  Yes, there is an element of truth in this, but please consider the fact that the person is still caught up in the midst of wondering why he or she cannot have biological children.  It is time that we separate infertility from adoption.  They are two completely different experiences.
  2. “If it is God’s will, then it will happen.”  Again, um…yes.  As a Christian, I believe in the will of God, but please don’t say this to people going through infertility.  Some of the most faithful, devout people I have encountered are barren.  Their very essence is screaming out to the Lord for an answer to what is going on, so please refrain from using this blanket statement.  Infertility is more complex than that.  And, for those of us who have adopted, we are fully aware of the incredible, God-driven gift our children are to us.
  3. “At least you don’t have to endure labor.”  Oh, really.  I mean, really?!?!  I would probably trade a leg for being able to birth my children.  Seriously.  I am not joking.  The physical pain experienced pales in comparison to the emotional pain experienced by infertility and barrenness.
  4. “I would love to skip the pregnancy, and just have an instant baby!”  Okay, fine.  I cannot imagine growing another human being in my body, and I am sure that it is really awkward and all, but think about what you are saying.  Those of us who have adopted may be dealing with the choices others made during their pregnancies of our children.  We think about what we would have done during our pregnancies.  We consider what choices might have been made by the birth mothers of our children, and our hearts break because of it.  Also, confession time:  I used to stick a ball under my shirt and look at myself in the mirror.  I hoped to catch a glimpse of what my “pregnant belly” would look like; kinda like when a little girl does this.  However, I was in my upper twenties-early thirties.  And, there is nothing “instant” about adoption.  Plus, see number three.
  5. “There are so many children who need families, and you can be that family.”   As an advocate for adoption, I completely agree with this.  This world has left far too many children without the presence and safety of parents.  However, when one is going through the ups and downs of infertility, they are still seeking answers to their situation.  In many respects, they are not at a place to consider bringing in a child.  An adopted child is NOT a substitute for not being able to have birth children.  The children in need of adoption are unique, precious, and far more deserving of being considered a replacement.
  6. “Just try harder.  Just relax.”  I don’t even know what to say to this, except I can tell you that people who are experiencing infertility and undergoing treatment put their lives on hold in order to have a successful pregnancy.  They put forth a tremendous amount of effort and money for this to happen.  It is not a matter of trying hard enough.  Oh, and in way, it is kinda none of your business about how hard “they are trying,”

While there are other comments I have endured listening to, these tend to pop out in my mind.  I truly hope this list doesn’t offend you.  If you have said this to someone going through infertility, don’t beat yourself up over it.  It seems that most people I know who are going through it have developed a thick shell.

I do ask that instead of saying any of these things, perhaps you would consider saying, “I don’t understand what this is like, but know that I am here for you, I am praying for you, and I will support you.”  These words tend to resonate loudly in the hearts and minds of others.

Words are an interesting thing.  We are taught as children that “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” I don’t believe that.  I think that words can be very hurtful.  I also believe that words can be empowering, insightful, and comforting.

If you are someone experiencing infertility, let me just say this:  Your journey is your own.  It is not for others to dictate.  Do what you believe is best for your life, and situation.  Know that there are so many others out there in this big world who are sharing in your struggle.  Find them.  Connect with them.  And, don’t give up.

Is my Daddy here, yet? {innocent words caught up in corrupt world}

I was heading back into the office after lunch and ran into a foster mom dropping a little girl off for a visit with her biological father.  The girl, with big eyes, curly hair, and absolutely adorable, caught my attention.

“Is my Daddy here, yet?”

This little girl, not more than five-years-old, asked repeatedly if her daddy had arrived.  She then said,

“Is my Daddy here, yet?  I need to find him.”

After hearing that, my heart and thoughts immediately began to ring out: “This is not the way it is supposed to be.”

I have thought about this precious little baby all day.  Still thinking about her.  I’m not even sure if her daddy showed up for his visit, and honestly, I don’t want to know.  I don’t want to find out if he, for whatever reason, could not come.  I’d rather think that he did show, and that he played and loved on her with the time he was allowed to.

I’ve heard that child welfare workers like myself build a “wall” to what we witness.  I don’t know if it is a wall, or not.  I do know that whatever it is that we build…resilience, wall…whatever you want to call it…does not keep us from feeling the heart-break of the work at hand.

This isn’t how it is supposed to be.  Babies should not be asking where their fathers are.  It is upsetting to be a first-hand witness to it.  It is far easier to think in terms of case numbers, but when I am face-to-face with the actual face of a child going through it, I feel anger.  It makes me sad.  Quite frankly, it pisses me off.

No wall, or defense, or resilience, could ever prepare or secure our hearts from being a little punctured when we witness what we witness, and when we are faced with what our eyes and ears experience.

After thinking about this little girl looking for her daddy, I started to think about my relationship with my Earthly Dad, and my Heavenly Father.  My Earthly Dad has supported me, and as I have grown through the years, I have become mightily aware of just how important this is.

When it comes to my Heavenly Father, I have often wondered, “Where are You?  I need to find You.”  And now that I’m fully immersed in child welfare, I still find myself thinking this when I consider all of the horribly wrong situations that so many children and families find themselves in.

The truth that I feel in my heart is that the Lord is present in each of these moments, but I still wonder why He doesn’t intervene when we wish He would.  I question why He would allow for children to go through what they go through, why there are orphans in this world, and why adults find their only refuge in drugs and despair.

As a Christian, as a mother, and as a child welfare professional, I am always in a place of growing, stretching, and yearning for what the Lord is trying to teach me through the burdens of the day.  I seem to be always “waiting on Him”, but then I am brought back to the Cross.  I am fully reminded that He is already all I need.

The fact that my job demand is based on the abuse and neglect of children weighs heavy on my heart.  I suspect other child welfare workers feel this way, as well.

“Is my Daddy here yet?  I need to find him.”

These innocent, yet heartbreaking words from a precious little one caught up in the turmoil of this spinning world, stuck to me.  How could they not?

“Where are You, Daddy?  We need to find You.”

Perhaps, this is what we should all be speaking.  

How Adoption Fulfilled the Restless Spirit in Me

Hello, friends!  I was recently asked to write an article for Adoption.Com regarding what adoption has fulfilled in me.  I thought long and hard about it, and came up with several things that has fulfilled my heart, and has satisfied my soul since becoming a parent.

Considering it all, I decided to write about how adoption settled and fulfilled the sense of restlessness in my spirit.  The article is linked below.

“With the final pounding of the Judge’s gavel, my restless spirit seemed to take its final breath. It poured out in the tears that streamed down my face while the Judge announced that this child was mine.”

http://adoption.com/how-adoption-fulfilled-the-restless-spirit-in-me

What has adoption fulfilled in you?

Dear Infertility (Part 6)

Dear Infertility,

Remember me?  Maybe, maybe not.  I remember you, though.  I still think of you, often.  You forced me to walk in a wasteland.  My footsteps were not padded with softness.  I was not welcomed.  There was zero comfort in my journey.  My experience through your vast wilderness left me bewildered, frustrated, and deeply heart-broken.

I do not know why I keep thinking of you.  Honestly, you are not worthy of my thoughts.  You are not a friend I want to keep, but gosh, in random moments, I still think of you.

Perhaps, it is not just you I think about.  Perhaps, it is the whole life experience I have walked that involves you, my medical struggles, and my children.  Perhaps, just perhaps, without you, I would not be able to understand what it is to be at a low place, at a place of complete joy, or somewhere in between.

I do not like you at all, you know.  I wish you had no substance at all.  I wish more than anything that others had no idea of who you are, what you mean, and what you might possibly be able to take away.

Do you know what you do to people?  Do you even care?  You cause the faithful to question their faith, the hopeful to lose hope, and the joyful to watch their joy dissipate.

Dear Infertility,

Despite all of these things, I wonder if I would be who I am without you.  Would I wonder about others who are exploring your place in their lives?  Would I carry an ounce of empathy towards the plight of others who are experiencing medical problems?  Would I have a heart for foster children and orphans in the world? Could I call myself “Mamma” to three amazing children that were adopted into my life?

It is ironic, you know.  With you, I carry a bit of sadness, but without you, I cannot imagine the incredible gift of parenting.

You invaded me from the inside out.  Sure, I was physically impacted by my illness, but I was also spiritually and emotionally impacted as well.  It is crazy that you came into my life many years ago, and here I am still thinking about you.

Here’s the difference, though.  I no longer allow you to consume me like you used to.  I no longer feel you are a heartbreak.  I do not carry the same burden about you like I used to.  Instead, I think of you and my Heavenly Father, and I know that through His mighty grace, I have conquered you.  You are overcome.  You stand no chance when being met head-on by the faithfulness of our Father.

Dear Infertility,

It is true.  I do still think of you.  How can I not?  You have tried desperately to declare yourself as the author of my life.  Well, you are most definitely not.  You may be a character in my story line, but the author of my life is the Author of life itself.

You might be a part of who I was created to be, but you are not the whole of who I am.

More importantly, you will never define who I am in Him.