Finding Hope

HOPE.

Seems like such a simple word, doesn't it?  Four little letters packed with so much meaning.  We hope for things.  We find hope in things.  We can be filled with hope or feel completely hopeless.

In 1999, I married my soul mate and hoped to travel the world before starting a family.

In 2000, I hoped to adopt 2 brothers from the local foster care system.  God, instead, began growing our family "the old-fashioned way."

In 2001, I gave birth after a very traumatic pregnancy.  I hoped to never get pregnant again.  I did.

In 2007, I hoped to adopt internationally from Rwanda.  God, instead, grew our family with children from Ghana (4 years later!).

In 2012, I returned to Ghana with the hope of adding 2 more incredible daughters to our lives.  God, instead, had another plan for our family.

Based on the 4 extraordinary children who call me Mom, I'm no longer putting my hope in my own ideas.  Had I gotten all I'd hoped for over the years, I would have NONE of these amazing blessings!!!!  I've not been a quick learner in this area.  In fact, I still struggle and have to give it up daily...but now I know to put ALL my hope in the One who already knows the steps before me.  The One who has already named the children in our future (should His will bring more children into our lives).  The Only One who could have brought our family together.

A quick search of my favorite online Bible yielded 180 results for the word HOPE in the NIV translation.  Considering there are only 66 books in the Bible, I'd say HOPE is a pretty prominent message in scripture.

Now, I am content to find my Hope in the Lord.  I pray He will see fit to bless us with more children someday, but until then, I'll continue to cherish the children I have...and our new puppy!  ❤

Where Do We Go From Here

It's been just over five months since we said good bye, forever, to our precious girls.  151 days, to be precise.  One of whom just had a birthday.  One we thought we'd be celebrating here.  Those days are so incredibly painful.  I am thankful that we were able to make the hard choice when faced with it and stick to our convictions, because it was right...even when it tore us to pieces, but it doesn't ease the fact that we were committed to these 2 girls for the better part of a year.  We met them, embraced them, and had to say good-bye, FOREVER, to them.  I don't know that there are many people in this world who can comprehend that level of pain.  There is no closure in ceremony & burial as though a child was lost to the Heavens.  No, we continue to live life every day never knowing if R & A have enough to eat, if they're attending school or if they were beaten so badly that day that they're raw and bloody (caning is common practice for disciplining children in Ghana).  This is our reality.  We just don't know.

We thought we would.

We had every hope & intention of sponsoring R's education and maintaining contact...but the social worker assigned to the case won't return my calls.  R's mom stopped calling and no longer answers my calls.  I'm sure she feels I abandoned her, but I didn't!  I was told I had to go through the case worker to provide support, which leaves me no where.  I have an NGO on the ground in Ghana willing to help me get care & support to R's family so she can be in school...but we don't know where she (or A) is or how to find her without this social worker.  It sucks.

So here we sit.  Still grieving, still mourning the loss of two children who will always hold huge pieces of our hearts.  In my own way, I took the first step to my own healing just last week by commemorating the girls with a special piece of art.  I worked closely with a friend to have a design created with 4 lilies (1 each for Ivy, Mya, Liam & Cora) and 2 butterflies for R & A (our girls who fluttered beautifully into our lives, and then had to flit away, unable to stay).  The imagery is forever embedded on my flesh, bold and beautiful, just like each of the beloved children they represent.

We know we aren't done growing our family through adoption.  We've been exploring our options, and when God opens the door for us to begin this journey again, we will share excitedly, I'm sure.  For now, we have agreed not to return to Ghana for the purposes of adoption.  We will undoubtedly return in both mission and tourism capacities as frequently as possible.  We love it there (though I'll admit, I'm not a fan of the majority of the local cuisine).  The people, especially the children, are so welcoming and sweet.  There are several children there with my heart in their hands - and none of them can ever become ours.  So we love them the best we can, through child sponsorships, care packages, and most importantly prayer.  But adoption in Ghana has changed.  It's not the program it once was, and the powers that be are trying to close it all together.  I won't be surprised if it happens.  I'll be deeply saddened for the estimated 1 MILLION orphans in Ghana, but not surprised.

So for now, we pray.  We continue to grieve.  We live one day at a time.  We seek God's face and His plan for our family, and hope He will bless us with another child (or children) sooner rather than later...but whenever we are blessed to add to our family again, and whomever it shall be, we shall praise now for what we know is to come, and we will give thanks to our Father in heaven for His mercies that are new each day.

"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."

~ Matthew 5:4 ~

 

Finding the Words

Sometimes words flow out poetically as I compose a blog post.  This is not one of those times, and for that I will apologize now.  I have sat at my computer at least four dozen times over the last three months trying to write this entry.  I committed to being open about our experience of a failed adoption and I haven't actually shared much of anything about our personal battles through it all.

Three months.  It's been exactly 3 months since Sam & I boarded a plane in Accra and headed back to the US with the knowledge that the daughters we love so much will never be ours.  I've cried.  A LOT.  Those first weeks were unimaginable.  We arrived home and couldn't bring ourselves to discuss all that unfolded in Ghana while we were there.  We had a family vacation scheduled for just 5 days after our arrival home from Ghana and we didn't want to spoil that for the kids, so we kept everything quiet.  We didn't lie to the children - we answered all their questions very honestly - but we didn't offer more information than was specifically asked.

Our family vacation was to Walt Disney World Resort in Orlando, FL - dubbed "the most magical place on earth."  It was torture.  Don't get me wrong - I loved seeing Cora's eyes light up when she met Princess Tiana and watching Mya curtsy to The Beast while adorning her Belle costume with full hair & makeup - but less than a week had passed since saying goodbye, FOREVER, to the precious little girls in Ghana that we longed to make our own.  I was (and am) in full-on mourning and the 60 degree temperature felt like 30 with the constant rain.  The weather sure seemed fitting to the personal hell I was enduring internally, all the while trying to put on a happy face so the kids would enjoy this once-in-a-lifetime experience.  The parks were beautiful - all decorated for Christmas (yes, even manger scenes...and a menorah or 2).  It was spectacular to see the lights shows and to watch Liam's face as he tried to decipher if it was the "real Tinkerbell" flying overhead during the fireworks show at Magic Kingdom.  It was special to see our sweet Ivy still want to see the princesses, even at eleven years old.  Memories were certainly made...but sadly, what I remember most about that trip was the fear.  The fear for R & A in Ghana.  The fear that I wouldn't smile at just the right time and my very intuitive Mya would figure out what was going on.  The fear that I would be the one to ruin their Disney vacation because of my grief - of which they knew nothing.

We returned home just a week before Christmas.  Talk about emotions running high!!  December 24th, Christmas Eve, marked ONE YEAR since Liam & Cora arrived home!  What an amazing anniversary to celebrate.  I love these children with all my heart.  Their first year home has NOT been easy (that's another post) but it has been miraculous.  I wanted to celebrate them, yet the whole time I struggled immensely with the reality that R & A will never come "home" to us.  See a recurring theme?  The grief has been consuming.  Completely, utterly, all-consuming.

We agreed not to ruin the kids' Christmas by telling them about R & A...so the presents the kids made for their sisters remained tucked under the tree, all wrapped pretty in anticipation of a homecoming sometime in the future.  Oh the heartache!

Christmas led to New Year's Eve.  I was a wreck.  Here were were, what many would deem a perfect mid-size family, sitting around the house sipping hot cocoa and watching fireworks displays on television as each timezone around the world entered 2013.  7:00pm rolled around.  It was midnight in Ghana.  Were R & A awake?  Was there any sort of celebration?  Do they even know the year is changing?  My mind raced and my heart ached.  I couldn't live through the lie anymore.  I couldn't start the new year off with this secret that was eating away at me minute-by-minute.  So Sam & I sat down with the kids and told them that their sisters would probably never be able to come to America as part of our family.

The tears were many...but the questions, OH the questions...I was not prepared for those.  Why, Mommy?  Don't you WANT them?  Weren't they nice girls?  Will they be safe?  Will they have food?  Who will take care of them?  Why were you told they needed a family if they didn't?  WILL THEY BE OK MOMMY??????

Those questions still haunt me several months later.  I can't go to sleep at night or wake in the morning without wondering ARE THEY SAFE?  ARE THEY FED?  ARE THEY OK???

I still cry for them.

A LOT.

I still ache to hold them in my arms again.

I suspect a piece of me always will.

We held our daughters and had to say good-bye...and we don't have the peace that might eventually come from a "typical" loss of a child, in that the child is resting peacefully in perfectly healed spirit at the hand of God in heaven.  No, we have to rely on HOPE that the evil in this world won't overtake them again, as it has in the past.  We have to HOPE that the people who deceived and dishonored these precious girls will not continue seeking to do so.  We have to HOPE that R & A have someone in their lives in Ghana who will feed the Gospel into their souls so that we can hold onto the HOPE that we will have eternity with them.  So while we have peace that we are in God's will...we, or at least I, do not have PEACE with the situation and the loss...but we're clinging to the promise of HOPE.

Mourning 2 Sisters

When we first told the children about our plans to add R & A to our family, they were ecstatic!  All of them! Ivy was excited to add a sister her age and the little 3 all adore Ivy so much that they were over the moon with the idea of more big sisters to love on them.  Of course, Liam would like a brother, but that's more because he wants someone to share his bedroom with than anything.

In the wake of our failed adoption of R & A, their grief has been immense.  Of course, kids are resilient and they're getting through (far better than I am most days to be honest), but the pain still surfaces regularly...especially for our Ghanaians.  Here's how the grief is playing out thus far with the youngest members of our family:

Ivy is sorrowful, and she has shed many tears.  She had crafted gifts for her new sisters and was super excited about having a new "big girls bedroom" for just her & R.  She has become even more reclusive and her sleep has been disturbed.  She's burying herself in books more than ever - not even returning texts from her friends.  However, when asked about it, she sees this as a new opportunity to help a different child - one who needs us more than R & A did.  She has a special heart for the children who will "age out" of adoptability and has asked us to consider adopting a 13 year old girl from China before she loses all chance of ever having a family (her 14th birthday).  We agreed to pray about it.

Mya has either handled this with the most peace or she's internalizing her pain.  We're not sure which.  She is our most compassionate child and she eagerly tends to hurting hearts within our home.  I'm afraid she sees my pain and the pain of her siblings and, much like her father, hides her own to be "strong" for the rest of us.  I pray she's just at peace with the whole situation...but she's so much like her daddy that I do wonder what's going on in her mind.

Liam is struggling.  He doesn't understand why R & A won't come to our family.  It is especially painful to guide him through this tenderly.  We try to explain that his "Ghana Mom" wanted him to come to America to have love and food and school and medicine and all the best things life can offer, but all he hears is R's mom wanted her and his mom didn't.  I won't even pretend to know that grief.  It hurts him to the very core.  His developmental level and language skills don't allow him to verbalize all he's experiencing, but he has reverted to many self-soothing behaviors (common to children from institutions who had no one to truly care for them & meet their individual needs) and he has also started pushing us harder.  I'm sure part of it is fear that we'll abandon him at some point.  He subconsciously needs to test our love and our faithfulness and commitment to him. We're trying to stand strong.  To be consistent.  To not allow this major family tragedy to affect our parenting...but to say we're succeeding in that would be a stretch.  We try.  We fail.  We apologize.  We're struggling too, and our patience while hurting is limited.  Thankfully Liam sees a wonderful, Godly counselor who is trained specifically in how to help children who've experienced a traumatic past, including adoption, foster care, etc.  She is a blessing to Liam and to our entire family and she will be working closely with him to help process this grief in a God-honoring way.

Cora is, well, Cora.  She will be five years old next week.  She is sad, but she forgets about it minutes later.  Whenever something reminds her of R & A, she comes running to me and cries.  She asks me to explain, again, why they won't be her sisters.  She asks me if they're safe in Ghana and if anyone gives them hugs & kisses.  She loves them and she's concerned...because she's lived it.  Don't for one moment think this little girl who came to America just 3 weeks before her 4th birthday has forgotten her life there!  She may not remember every detail, but she remembers hurting.  She remembers being hungry and having no food to eat.  She remembers watching her friends go to families before her while she stayed at the orphanage.  She remembers and she agonizes (for a few moments at a time) for the sisters she'll never have.  Sisters she's skyped with and sang with.  Sisters who will live out there days on the other side of the world.

I can barely make sense if it myself.  I don't know how this is going to affect any of the kids long term.  I know that we made wise decisions.  I know that God took us down this path for a reason.  I just wish living out our faith didn't come at such a high cost.

But then again, God sacrificed his son's life for us...for me...so maybe I shouldn't complain.  Maybe we're all just becoming privy to a small piece of the pain and a portion of the tears that Our Father has shed for us.

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son,

that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

~ John 3:16 ~