Category: Parenting

Adoption at the Movies {Adoption.Com Article}

Foster and Adoptive Parents,

Do you ever watch a movie with your children and become uncomfortable when the topic of adoption comes up?  How about when the theme of foster care and/or adoption is negative?  

There have been moments in movies when I have wondered what my kids were thinking when these themes come up.

Well, there is a way that you can now get a review of movies from the adoption perspective!  My friend, Addison, has a website solely devoted to reviewing movies in order to help foster and adoptive families.

I wrote about this in my article on the Adoption.Com website. I hope you find his reviews beneficial.  I know I have!

Click on this link to be taken to the article:  Adoption at the Movies

Blessings,

Caroline

Our Lot in Life: A Parenting Poem

Parenting is such a wonderful, yet complex adventure. I’ve felt a bit overwhelmed this week, but despite the circumstances, I know that this gift of parenting is exactly that… a gift.

While sitting back as my van was pushed through the car wash, I jotted down this poem. I’m not the best at poetry, but I hope you get the picture:

This is our lot in life, the one that we declare, To raise children in such a way that love fills up their air.

Although answers may not come, even when we seek, These times remind us children need us, especially when they are weak.

Children have a way of teaching us each and every day, To protect, guide, and open doors for their footsteps along the way.

Parenting is a task that humbles and refines, Yet, it also leads us to search for hope in between the blurred lines.

When feeling weary, worried, and worn from this world to which we roam, We simply need to remind ourselves that this is not our home.

Raising children from dusk to dawn with grace, wisdom, and love, ‘Tis the example given to us from our Father up above.

This is our lot in life, the one that we declare, To raise children in such a way that love fills up their air.

 

Blessings on your parenting journey!

Caroline

Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child {letter #5}

Dear Foster Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

It is winter where you live.  With the snow comes playful days of building snowmen, frolicking in the wonder of it, and warming up with a warm cup of hot cocoa.

IMG_0645These moments…these times…are ones that will forever be written on your heart.

These moments are passing by too quickly.

As the winter turns to spring, and the spring turns towards summer, you know the clock is ticking.  You know that next winter the child you are tucking into bed tonight may not be with you.  Still yet, you embrace each moment as if they could last forever.

In many ways, Momma of a Stranger’s Child, these moments last forever.  Memories are not seasonal.  They do not melt away with the warming of the sun. They do not stop growing.  Even though the seasons change, memories remain.

Dear Foster Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

Although you are carrying the weight of the child’s life in your hands, the child you are caring for is experiencing a life of magical moments.  With each snowflake that falls, the child’s eyes are opened to laughter, joy, and the things that matter so deeply to children.

Freedom from abuse, the warmth of embraces, and the wonderment of what life can be are all experiences that you, Foster Momma, have given.

The seasons tend to relay a message to us.  They remind us that change is always around, and that as much as we try to predict the future, we often wake up to a changing of our circumstances.

Dear Foster Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

As you watch through the window while the stranger’s child is playing in the snow, you think about how simple life should be for children.  Childhood should be made up of days that humor, shape, and build up children.

Yet, you know there are too many children who never seem to escape the seasons of neglect, invisibility, and strife.

As the little one comes running to the door, shakes off the snow, and awaits your welcome, you do what you always do.  You smile, ask about how fun it was, and then wrap a layer of warmth around him or her, just like you have done since the moment this stranger’s child entered your home.

Dear Foster Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

As winter melts away, and time goes by, the day is drawing near to when the child you cherish may not be with you.  You want so desperately to freeze these moments in time, to slow down the clock, and for this season of your lives to stay.

Still yet, you also know that the seeds of hope you have planted will sprout despite the changing of seasons.  Because of this, you embrace these days.  You work even harder at providing memories of goodness in the child’s life.

As the winter turns to spring, and the spring turns towards summer, you know the clock is ticking.

Yet, you know that memories remain, and this season of your lives will be remembered not by a ticking clock, but by love.

how I wonder…

School started this past week for my children.  My oldest son entered his second grade year with excitement.  He may not admit it all of the time, but he loves school. He grins from ear to ear when walking through the halls, and enjoys being around kids his own age.

My two-year-old seems to be exploding in his development.  Smiles, giggles, energy, and “Watch me, Mommy” all seem to captivate his world right now.  He is a happy, and healthy little boy.

My daughter started Kindergarten – she started Kindergarten!  Watching a little one grow into his or her own unique being, and enter into a new world of discovery, is both exciting and a little nerve-wracking.

The night before school started, I sat by my daughter’s bedside as she said, “I can’t go to sleep, Mommy.  My brain doesn’t want to.”  I know she was feeling anxious about the her first day at school, and tried to encourage her to get some sleep.

“Sing to me, Mommy.” she said. “Sing Twinkle,Twinkle Little Star….”

As I sat beside her singing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”, I looked around her slightly darkened pink and green room, and my eyes landed on her name spelled out in bright pink letters, a Cross hanging by her bed, and more than enough blankets to keep her feeling secure through the night.

As I softly sang to her, and gently rubbed her back, I thought about the mother’s around the world who are doing their best to sing their children to sleep. Under devastatingly tragic conditions, there are so many who are trying their best to soothe their children into a restful night’s sleep.

With the sound of gunfire, threat of violence, and hazards that make up the darkness of night, they might just be whispering….

“Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,

How I wonder what you are.

Up above the world so high,

Like a diamond in the sky.

Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,

How I wonder what you are.”

As I sang this song to my daughter, I peered through her curtains into the night sky. I thought about the mother’s looking up into the Heavens and wondering when God will deliver them from despair.

My mind escaped to the mountaintops in Iraq where children, mothers, and fathers are clinging to a sliver of hope…to that glimmer of light in a darkened place.

And then, I turned to my daughter, half-asleep, snuggled into her warm bed, and I felt thankful and sorrowful at the same time.

In my home state, a terrible thing has happened.  A young African-American male was shot and killed by a police officer.  Honestly, I do not know all of the details of what happened.  It is still a tragic and heart-breaking situation, though.

The aftermath has been a week filled with incredible anger and riots. Confusion, chaos, and images of seemingly palpable rage have splattered social media, television, and any form of news outlets.

Behind it all is a mother and a father grieving for their son.  A mother and father who, under tremendously sad conditions, are crying woeful, and deeply afflicting sobs for their son to whom they will no longer feel his embrace, no longer visualize his future, and no longer hear his voice.

“Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,

How I wonder what you are.

Up above the world so high,

Like a diamond in the sky.

Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,

How I wonder what you are.”

And then, I turn to my children, half-asleep, snuggled in their warm beds, and I feel thankful and sorrowful at the same time.

I’m thankful that some of my daily challenges as a mother include getting the kids out the door in time, deciding what they need to wear, assuring they are at least trying to use their manners, scheduling their extracurricular activities, and getting home in time to prepare dinner.

And, although it might sound odd, in some way, my heart is so incredibly sorrowful for too many who do not have the luxury of worrying about these things.

I feel guilty…I feel sadness…

My heart is heavy for the mothers whose daily challenges are keeping their babies alive, clothing them in whatever rags they can find, teaching them survival skills, visualizing (if only for a moment) a future for their children that does not include the threat of terror, having a home, a bed, and food, and burying their babies before they even have a chance at a life.  My heart is especially stricken with the thoughts of so many who are being persecuted for their faith or color of skin.

During this past week, I have celebrated my own children’s successes, fresh starts, and fun hobbies.  Not too far from these experiences have been my thoughts of the world to which we live in.

Although my daughter loves it when I sing, “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” to her as she drifts off to sleep, my heart is singing…

“Jesus, Jesus Savior Lord, 

How I wonder when You’ll come.

Up above this world so wrong, 

It is Your peace to which I long.

Jesus, Jesus Savior Lord,

How I wonder when You’ll come.”

 

“Jesus, Jesus Savior Lord.  

How I wonder when You’ll come.

Up above this world so torn,

We cry out; our hearts are worn.

Jesus, Jesus Savior Lord,

How I wonder when You’ll come.”

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.” – John 14:1-3

if His eye is on the sparrow

I’m going to be very transparent right now, so please, be patient with me.  During a training this week, I was asked to write down my adaption to stress.  I took that to mean where do I “go” when feeling under stress.  I sat there for a minute, picked up my pen, and jotted down these three words:

Cynicism, Anger, Anxiety

To my own shock, I stared at those words for a while, but quickly picked up my attention to the speaker.  From time to time, these three words kept coming back to me, but I continued to do my best to stay engaged in the training.

Later on that night, my oldest son was outside playing when my husband called him in to get ready for bed.  “Never”, my son said to my husband while in front of the other dads in the neighborhood.  My son continued to disobey and play while my husband calmly (which is true to his nature) coaxed him indoors to get ready for bed.

After my husband talked to him about being disobedient, I decided it was my turn.  I scolded my son for disobeying his father.  To be honest, I lectured him.  I spoke about how being disobedient to one’s father is a sign of disrespect, and we are to not disrespect our fathers.  My son apologized and stated he would try harder and not do it again.  We tucked him in to bed, kissed him goodnight, and went on with the evening.

As I lay in bed thinking about my day and the issue we had with our son, I began to think about those three words that came to mind earlier in the day.

 Cynicism, Anger, Anxiety

I prayed for cleansing of these things.  I asked the Lord to clean my heart of the resentment I have felt towards others in the past few months.  I asked Him to clear my spirit of the anger I sometimes pour out about others, and I prayed fervently for the purging of my anxiety about my future, my children, my spouse, our finances, and our careers.  And then, I drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up with my prayers still on my mind.  However, my thoughts turned to this:

In the same breath that I told my son how disrespectful he was to his father by being disobedient, I too have been disrespectful to my Heavenly Father by being cynical, angry, and full of anxiety.  In that moment, I was humbled.

Furthermore, I meditated on the fact that anger leads to cynicism, and anxiety comes from both.  I felt the Lord convicting me that if I continue holding on to these three things as a defense mechanism or adaption to stress, then I am convincing myself that the power of these emotions, and the decisions of others are more powerful than my faith in God.

As I progressed with the morning, I began to think about a song that stirred my heart many years ago.

Why should I feel discouraged, why should the shadows come, Why should my heart be lonely, and long for heaven and home,

When Jesus is my portion? My constant friend is He:
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

I sing because I’m happy,
I sing because I’m free,
For His eye is on the sparrow,
And I know He watches me.

“Let not your heart be troubled,” His tender word I hear,
And resting on His goodness, I lose my doubts and fears;
Though by the path He leadeth, but one step I may see;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

Whenever I am tempted, whenever clouds arise,
When songs give place to sighing, when hope within me dies, I draw the closer to Him, from care He sets me free;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

After these words left my lips, I felt…I felt cleansed.  I felt the Lord moving in my spirit…

….and just like that, I let it all go.  

I let go of the cynicism I have carried for so many months now.  I exhaled the anger about decisions that I have struggled with, and I released the anxiety about my family’s and my own future.  There are hardly any words to describe the feeling of knowing that a prayer has been answered.  The only way to describe it is that I have felt “lighter” since then, and I have sensed an incredible envelope of love guarding my heart.

I was lead to this Scripture:

“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.”

-Matthew 6:25-34

I’ve written this post to encourage you – my fellow believers and non-believers.  I’ve shared this personal experience in hopes that you too may rest for a while.

If His eye is on the sparrow – a small, seemingly insignificant bird, then you can be assured that His eye is on the incredible, lovable, forgivable, unique, and very significant you.

when bloodline, biology, and borders are dismissed

My seven-year-old has been struggling with stomach pain for a few months now.  It had gotten to the point where the pain was waking him up in the middle of the night. I took him to the doctor and we determined that it is probably acid reflux.  The doctor started him on a temporary medication to see if it helps.

While out running errands with my dad, we sat in his car and discussed my son’s stomach issues.  My dad said, “You know….I wonder if he….oh my gosh….(grabs my arm)….I just started to say I wonder if he inherited any of our intestinal problems…I’m so stupid.  Can you believe that I almost said that?  That was so stupid.  I can’t believe I almost said that.” 

My response, “That just shows how natural adoption feels.  It was not stupid at all.”

I’ve thought about this conversation for a while now, and have decided that it demonstrates just a small part of the miracle of adoption and love.

Adoption is a miracle.  It shakes one up.  It stirs one’s heart.  It causes one to rethink the idea of what it feels to be family, to be related, to be eternally connected, and to be predestined in a life shared together.

When bloodline, borders, and biology are dismissed, all that remains is love in its most magnificent and miraculous form.  

 

My Teachable Moment

It was one of those moments that I wanted to get just right.  My son, age seven, popped into the car after school and said, “Mommy, I’m popular!”  I said, “Oh?”  “Yes, I’m popular!”, he said with excitement.

I paused for a moment and asked, “What makes you popular?”  He said, “You know…when you are good at things and people know you.”  I paused again, searching for words, and then said, “Well, you know being popular is not the most important thing in life.  Do you know what matters more than anything?”

In my mind, I was already rehearsing how loving others, being kind, sharing your gifts, not judging others, being a good friend, and being popular for being someone who causes others to feel accepted and loved, matters the most.  Until this time, being popular, getting picked on, and other social issues had not entered into his first grade existence at his smallish elementary school.  I had already decided that I was going to push person-hood before popularity.  This was a teachable moment opportunity, and I was not going to let it slip by!

I asked again, “Do you know what matters more than anything?”

In his sweet little voice, he said, “God.  God matters more than anything.”

Stunned, I sat there.  Smiled a bit, and gathered my thoughts.

I said, “You are right.  God matters more than anything, and you know, God wants us to be kind, generous, to be a good friend, to not judge, and to love others.”  He said, “I know, Mommy, I know.”

And there it was….

my teachable moment....

my gentle reminder….

my continual realization that while I have so much to teach my children,

in return,

they have more to teach me.375917_341839525907009_1617492878_n

 

 

I’m here again, birth mother.

I’m here again, birth mother.  I’m here on the eve of celebrating the anniversary of our son’s adoption day, and I’m thinking of you.  It happens every year, you know. We mark the seventh of May with joy and celebration at the gift that he is to us.  It is the day that the courts declared him to be forever ours.  Still yet, my mind travels to thoughts of you.

Six years ago, on the eighth of May (the day after our big court date), I sat in his room, watched him play with toys a bit, and then pulled a blue t-shirt over his head to wear.  As his blonde curls popped up out of the neck of the shirt, his big brown eyes caught mine, and then it hit me.

I sat there for a moment, captivated by his precious face, and suddenly, felt the tears as they began to well up in my eyes.  Something about that moment….getting him dressed as my “official” son…on a new day…with a new start…being able to exhale for the first time in almost two years…with a new legal description of who I was to him…moved me greatly.

photodayafterI snapped a quick picture of him.  I wanted to capture that moment in time.  I did not want to forget it. I was a blubbering mess in the middle of his bedroom.  We had shared nearly two years of a life without permanency, and in that moment of our eyes meeting, I knew full well that he was not going anywhere.

It was not just the beginning of our new life together that caused me to pause, it was also the ending of the journey that you and I shared.

I’m here again, birth mother.  I’m thinking about the first time I met you, the meetings, court hearings, visits, laughter, tears, and restless nights.  Your words remain on my mind.  Your laugh, your concern for my family, and the friendship we formed in love because of our son are held in a place in my heart that will never belong to anyone else, but will be shared with our son as he grows.

Your kindness was an incredible and unique experience that is sometimes not expected in the world of foster care.  People may wonder why I feel the way I feel for you.  They may even question how I could form a friendship with someone who found herself in the position that you did.  Instead of understanding your “lot in life”, they judge.

My judgment fell away the moment we met.  I looked at you, heard what you had to say, and realized that you were not my enemy.  You were never meant to be.  We just found ourselves wrapped up in the legal drama that is foster care.  Instead, we formed a friendship based on very difficult circumstances. It grew out of the love for our little boy – yours, and mine.  Your love for him was never questioned in my heart – not then, not now, and not ever.

How can I love him and not love that part of him that belongs to you?  How can I not think of you when he learns new things, calls me Momma, succeeds at his talents, gets sick, and moves along in his journey to adulthood?

I want you to know that on our joyous day six years ago there were many loving people in the court room.  Each one played a small part in forming our family. Some prayed for us.  Some cheered us on.  Some loved on him with genuine and unmistakable adoration.  Some pushed paperwork, and some allowed me to cry on their shoulders.

Even still, no one in the cramped court room mattered more in the whole scheme of things than you.  Although you were absent from the court room, I carried you in my heart that day.

You chose life.  You carried him.  You labored bringing into the world.  You called him by his name before anyone else.  You left the hospital alone. You were gracious to the strangers (us) who took him in.  You hung in there, and visited him.

You said your good-byes, and you let go.

I’m here again, birth mother.  I’m returning to that incredible day six years ago when God proved His faithfulness, removed the mountain-sized weight off of my shoulders, and blessed me with adoption of the son we share.

Do you want to know something, birth mother?  On the day after, I thought the hard part was over.  I thought that being his foster-mother, not knowing how permanency for him would unfold, and wondering if I would be his forever momma, was the hardest part.

However, I’m learning that raising him is the hardest part.  It is not because of him. He is a challenging, at times, but he is remarkable, beautiful, smart, witty, creative, ornery, and loving.  He is an incredible son, and I’m one of the most lucky momma’s on Earth.  Being his momma is an important responsibility and privilege in my life.

kiteIt is just that the world sometimes does not look upon children like it should.  Raising him to love, respect others, enjoy the simple things, remain loyal to his family, and not be swayed by the winds of ego-driven goals, is a struggle for most parents these days.  I’m no different.

I do not ever want to dishonor you by not giving my all to him.  I want him to experience a life of opportunities, one full of friendships, and dreams that soar.

I want him to live life to the fullest, while also, learning how to be a responsible soul that passes on goodness to this world.  I know you want that, too.

I’m here again, birth mother.

I’m thinking back at what seems like a lifetime ago.

I’m sifting through memories.  I’m looking through pictures, and I’m experiencing the emotions felt when the gavel fell, and the Judge declared our adoption as final.

I’m thanking the Lord.  I’m praising His mighty Hand.  I’m marveling in His penmanship in our lives, and I’m relishing in His powerful ways.

I’m here again, birth mother, and, I’m thinking of you.  I’m thanking you.

 

Related Post:  I thought of you today, birth mother.

Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child {letter #3}

Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

You see the looks. You hear the whispers. You watch as others watch you with a bit of a snarling glare. You wonder what they are thinking. The child you are caring for is struggling to maintain any sense of control over his body, actions, and emotions…all while you are frantically trying to get the much-needed groceries bought.

You are on a rush to beat the clock – one kid to be picked up, the other dropped off, one has an appointment, and the baby desperately needs a nap. Yet, here in the middle of the bread aisle is a little soul melting down before your eyes, and in front of a multitude of strangers who do not understand.

You hear someone whisper, “If that were my child, I would….”  Another person kindly suggests, “Spare the rod, spoil the child.”  You keep your calm. You maintain control, and yet, you desperately want to scream out loud, “If you only knew!  I’m picking up the pieces of this broken vessel in front of you!  I’m a foster parent!!”

Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

You know it is more than about sparing the rod. You are the carrier of the dark history of the child to whom has made his way to your home. The child in front of you does not need another set of adults disregarding him. The last parents he had rarely used gentle hands when reaching out, a curious and loving ear when listening, or a soft place for the child to land when disappoints came.

The child you are loving on has swallowed a lifetime of grief through the years, and sometimes, it has to come out. It comes out like the ferocious roar of a lion at times. Other times, it comes out in the longing wails of agony that should never come from a child’s soul.

And then, it does not come out at all.

Before you, sits the silence of years long gone. This is probably the part that concerns you. You can handle rage. You can comfort agony, but it is the silence that unsettles you the most. You desperately want to unlock that cage, and let the pain out. You know what could happen if the pain continues to fester deep down.

Still, there you are,

Calm,

Steady,

Cleaning up the mess,

Being that soft place,

Listening with a loving ear, and waiting…

Waiting….waiting for a breakthrough….waiting for a sign that suggests the wounds are being exposed, unplugged, cleansed, and maybe…just maybe, closed.

Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

You pray over the children in your care, and for God to be in the midst of important decisions. You petition for Divine intervention. You cry out to the Lord for healing….healing of the children in your care, restoration of their birth families, and mending of your own heart that has been afflicted through the years by this war you are fighting.

Deep down, you know that healing is a spiritual battle. It starts from within. You trust that mending comes from the Giver of Life, the Keeper of Promises, and the One who conquered your own battles. You work to be His hands and feet, but you know your limitations are bound to this Earth. So…you lay it all in His hands, and wait.

Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

Stand tall. Put on His armor when faced with the assuming looks of people who choose to judge instead of help. Take deep breaths. Pray with each pore of your being.

Be the constant tower of strength you set out to be.

Take care of yourself. Seek out other warriors who understand the battles you face. Lay your burdens down, and…

Stay calm.

Be steady.

Continue cleaning up the mess.

Remain that soft place.

Lovingly listen.

And, wait….

Wait with expectation, enthusiasm, and hope that comes from the Lord.

Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

The next time you overhear someone question your parenting, comment about the children in your care, or glare, remember, it is not in the opinions of others that your worth is found.

The value of the work you do in helping to restore children is not found in the judgmental looks of others. It is not dependent on the meltdowns in the bread aisle, the raging roars of anger, the woeful sobs of sadness, or the still silence.

Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

The clock is ticking. You know you have very little time to make a difference. Still yet, you get up each day, ready yourself, put on His armor, and forge onward.

You are His hands and feet when others have chosen to walk away.

You are the calm in the midst of what seems like a storm.

You are steady when no one else has been.

You are the mess-cleaner.

You are the soft place to land.

You are the loving ear who listens.

You are the patient prayer warrior who waits.

Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child,

Your work is not in vain. Yes, there are many…too many…wounded souls who need help, but to the children in your home, your work does not go unnoticed.

It is seen in those miraculous, healing small steps towards wholeness that you witness on a daily basis.

It is felt in the long hugs, or better yet, clinging of the children who once stiffened at your touch.

It is heard in the soft giggles that are starting to visit your home each day.

It is declared in the messages of hope and restoration that are spoken from children who once could not visualize a future.

It is witnessed by watching birth parents, who once battled the fog of addiction, seek clarity about life.

And, 

It is felt in the revival of your own heart that just won’t stop trying to fix hurting children, and working to make a difference in this fractured world.

“Anyone who welcomes a little child like this on my behalf welcomes me, and anyone who welcomes me welcomes not only me but also my Father who sent me.” – Mark 9:37

Related Posts:

Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child 

Dear (Foster) Momma of a Stranger’s Child {letter #2}

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

however motherhood comes

While watching my oldest son compete in his last gymnastics competition of the year, my dad struck up a conversation with the lady sitting next to him. As usual, he bragged about his grandchildren.

As I was off taking pictures, the conversation between my dad and the lady turned into one about adoption. He learned that two out of her four children were adopted. When I returned to sit down, he shared about their conversation. As she and I sat and visited for a bit, I learned a brief history about her adoptions, and I shared a bit about mine.

Similar to new mothers sharing birthing stories, I found myself enjoying this kindred conversation. Both of us marveled at our sons. We both shared with joy in thinking about what our kids have accomplished given their difficult entries to our world. We also both expressed great gladness in being adoptive parents.

This experience reminded me of this quote by Valerie Harper,

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

This day, I give praise for the miraculous, wonderful gift of motherhood.