I hope it is obvious that I love my crazy big family. I could write books about each member and not comprehensively convey the exquisite beauty and value I see. God made and ordained this family to be. All in His perfect timing—which often felt too slow to me—He fit each person together to create something that I pray radiates through time and space with His love.
However, the paradoxical truth is that, if everything were
perfect, three of my kids wouldn’t be mine.
I wouldn’t even know them. While
I am confident that God is pro-adoption and that something holy happens at
these unions—fusions—adoption is nearly always preceded by brokenness.
When trying to help our girls understand what was happening
to them—and we must always be mindful that their lives thus far have really
happened AT them—I used an analogy of boats.
Imagine every family being a boat. Sometimes these boats run into trouble. The trouble could range in range and magnitude
from a scrape on the hull to decimation.
When the boats leave people in the water, people from other boats can
pull them up.
This analogy models all the complexities of real life. Which boats can take on new passengers? Are all the people in the water rescued, or are
some left behind? What if people from
one boat end up in a whole bunch of other boats?
Sometimes the degree of separation the analogy gives brings
relief and clarity. Other times the
separation can’t be perceived, because reality is oppressively painful. Then I must
set aside any attempts to explain or assuage and just sit and grieve with the ache
and unanswered questions.
Adoption is wonderful.
It is often a saving grace, a second chance, and a glimmer of hope. But just as frequently, it is mixed with
grief; a capsized vessel; and shivering, wary new passengers who’ve survived
the unspeakable.
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