Today is Family Day, the anniversary of the day Canaan and Malachi joined our family. We will celebrate them and the way God brought us all together. We’ll have pizza at the restaurant where their First Mom asked us to care for them, and we’ll play at the park where we met them for the first time.
We’ll eat and laugh and tell stories of those days three years ago. I’ll probably post a cute picture later of a bunch of smiling, different-colored-but-same-size kids and dozens of people will “Like” it and say nice things about our family, our persistence, our patience…
and this BUT, it is so BIG and so DEEP and so completely INSEPARABLE from the laughter and the playing and the cuteness… Our boys went through unimaginable loss before and since those days three years ago. We will honor those days, yes, because they are part of their story, but they can never erase the days that made them necessary.
Kids from hard places join families because of tragedy. It is a tragedy that they need a “new” family. And I never ever for a single millisecond want our kids to think that their deep deep deep loss is our gain.
I want them to know my heart breaks for them, that if I could have written the ending to their story, it would not have ended with us. That might make you squirm, but I can tell you that’s not how they would have written the ending either.
God has ingrained in each of us an innate longing to be loved and wanted and cared for by the one whose heart kept our tempo for nine months. That’s the mortal drum we were intended to beat for.
Oh friends, adoption is beautiful. But it is beauty from ashes. It’s spring flowers blooming after a long, dark and gloomy winter. It’s not the perfect relationship God had in mind in the Garden. It is good, but it is not best.
My boys know this, instinctively they know it. And I want them to know that I know it too.