Month: September 2016

On Adoption

I never thought to adopt, prior to taking a foster parenting class with my wife. I think it was just a few of the classes in that we both felt moved to foster/adopt. That is, to foster parent a child(children) with the intention of eventually adopting them when their parental rights were “severed,” and they were open to be adopted. We found out during the class how many kids were “in the system” in AZ, and it was mind-blowing and heartbreaking all at the same time–it was upward of 4k then. I don’t know what it is now.

Since the completion of our class and the receipt of our licenses to foster, we came across the profile of a young man named Jimmy (I don’t know what the rules are about using real names, so I am changing it here). The profile did not explain anything of consequence regarding Jimmy’s earlier life, but it had a brief description and a small photo. I can’t speak for my wife, but there was something about that tiny photo and the brief description therein that moved me incredibly. I thought about how someone could condense my life into a small thumbnail on an Excel sheet, or what my life would look like if they did.

What does a life look like isolated into something like a sentence fragment? I don’t know. Jimmy has had his challenges, and like anyone else in his situation, did not deserve them. I can’t speak for everyone, but I think that in many cases–maybe close to all of them sometimes–nobody deserves the stuff that happens in their childhoods.

Today I was thinking about the adoption experiences of some of the people I know here, and how extraordinary those people ended up being, and the wonderful things they have brought to my life–there are several people like that, and I love them, friends and family alike. I want my wife and I to help someone have an extraordinary life. For my part (and probably my wife’s, too), I plan to do that by explaining to little J that he might not have chosen his life to be the way it was. He might not have chosen us. We chose him, though. We want him to know he’s wanted, and loved, and we will work through what comes as a family.

I don’t know–I can’t figure it all out today. I know it will be a challenge, and we will need to pray without ceasing and increase our patience and stamina a hundredfold. Three boys, man. That’s no joke. I need to talk to a couple of my friends for advice. All of that said, I am so glad that God has chosen to bless our family in that way.

Trail of Scars

Last night I had a dream of a memory, if such a thing is possible. I think I was about the age John is now, and my family was on some kind of camping trip or vacation. There were many tall trees, and a fast rushing river. Our truck/camper was parked near the river and I think my aunt and uncle’s camp was set up right next to ours. My brother, myself, and my cousin (I think) were off playing in the trees, and the older boys decided to have a “rock fight.” Of course I, being the youngest and worst thrower of rocks was the first to go down, with a scalp lacerated and bleeding profusely.

I ran into the camp, to my mother, and all I can really remember is that she held a cloth to my head, first washing my wound in river water. I remember all the blood. If my memory serves, I did not go to the hospital, or any doctor, and was left with a crusty scalp and blood in my hair for a few days. There may have been a scar, but I could not see it because of my hair, which at the time was sort of long and very dark brown.

This morning, I ran my hand over my bald head and I could feel the scars on my head from my trip to Alaska a couple years ago–8 stitches in my head in a Fairbanks ER, scars now a Y-shape about the size of a half-dollar coin. Fell like a drunk in front of a hockey arena completely sober. I could not feel anything from the camping trip more than 40 years ago.

This morning, I realized that scars fade. They really do. Time might not heal all wounds, but it helps you remember that long ago is not now. I am not 4 or 5 or whatever it was. Wounds received at that age no longer affect me the same way they did then.

I can’t see or feel my scars anymore–they’ve healed.

Even the deepest ones remain only as a thin line, a reminder of the person I was vs. the person I am today. I’ve changed a lot, and this morning I was reminded that the person I was is a big part of the person I am, as stupid as that sounds to say.

To you I want to say do not be afraid or ashamed of the person you were–no matter how rough around the edges, no matter how sloppy. It’s part of who you are now, and that person is good. God designed you to be a particular you, and you had to go through a lot of things to get here, both good and bad. They left their mark on you, inside and out.

But you’re here, and here is a good place to be. I hated my life for so long, in the sense that it was really hard, and really lonely in places.

Yet here I am today. I struggled, but I did not give up. God saw that struggle, and recognized it. He came to me in my despair, and I was forever changed. You can be, too.

The truth is, when we look behind us, there will always be a trail of scars. We aren’t those scars, and we are not defined by them.

We are defined by our response, and what we do with what God’s given us. Whether we think so or whether we don’t, it’s a great deal.