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At the feet of Jesus
This past weekend was particularly tough and it got me to thinking about some things. I have been told that I have on rose-colored glasses or that I portray a romanticized version of adoption. I don’t believe that is the case. What I do believe is that I have a realistic vision of what I think adoption is going to be like. It is a fight for the soul. It is coming back from a horrible place. If someone writes something beautiful that a rape victim or a cancer survivor or a veteran goes through, that doesn’t automatically diminish in someone’s mind what those people previously went through. I just assume everyone understands that adoption is hard. I just assume everyone understand where these children are coming from.
But then I remember where I was a few years ago. I never knew the pain these children felt. I never knew and I hate that I didn’t take the time to find out. I lived in my own little, comfortable world. So when you think about adoption, a hard life should automatically come to mind. These children live in an institution where oftentimes the ratio of care is 1 nanny to 20 children. How much one on one time to do you think these children get? There’s limited food and limited resources. Every time I have walked into an orphanage it has been deathly quiet. The building can be new or old, big or small, clean or dirty, and it is all the same – quiet. Picture any school across America. Would you expect complete quiet in the halls?
The loss of hope is palpable. My heart hurt just standing in the hallways. My heart hurt looking at the little faces that wished you were there for them. My heart hurt every time some little one uttered the words mama while holding my hand and looking up into my eyes. My heart hurt thinking of how many of those children will never know anything else but those walls.
Not every orphanage is bad. Not every orphanage has nannies that don’t care. But an institution will never be the same as having a family where there is unconditional love.
When I was younger, I believed my children were a reflection of me. I worried if they weren’t dressed right or if they acted up in public. If they memorized their Bible verses and did well in school, that meant I was doing a good job. The house being clean and my children doing exceedingly well in everything was the measuring stick for how well I was doing as a parent.
But the truth is if my child scores a 35 on the ACT and never feels in his heart the plight of the orphan, I have failed. If my child plays on a great sport’s team and walks by the hurting souls on the street, I have failed. If my child shows up to church every Sunday and never has a true relationship with Christ, then I have failed. If my child memorizes 400 Bible verses and never takes to heart the verses that tell him to care for the weak and the destitute, I have failed.
Our measuring stick should not be by worldly standards but by heavenly standards.
Now I have children that may rage in public. I have children who lash out at me with their words. I have children who are potty trained much later than most. I have a four year old who still takes a bottle. I have a deaf child who never learned how to sign potty and his sign for going to the bathroom was to drop his pants. That is not a fun public display. I have children who are older and can still act like toddlers. I just assume others know this.
So yesterday after two days of words that were said that pierced my heart, I handed my children off to my husband and went for a very long drive. I put in my Casting Crowns cd (song below) and I reminded myself that this is NOT about me. If they lash out at me, it’s not personal. It’s hard work this redeeming of souls. It’s hard work. I pretty much do something for my children from the time I wake up until the time I go to bed. (Please no lectures on taking care of myself. I work out and I get out of the house. I understand the need for that.) But the day to day living and taking care of this many children with health needs takes from morning to night. I wake everyone up and give meds to 7 of my children. Just the feeding, cleaning up, and doing laundry for this many children takes a lot of time, add in school work and my day is just full. Most days I don’t care. Most days I absolutely LOVE my job. It’s rare that it is just too much. But sometimes the pain my children have gone through, the sharing of their stories, and their acting out is more than I can take.
Katie Davis says it so well – “We bend. I bend to sweep crumbs and I bend to wipe vomit and I bend to pick up little ones and wipe away tears… And at the end of these days I bend next to the bed and I ask only that I could bend more, bend lower. Because I serve a Savior who came to be a servant. He lived bent low. And bent down here is where I see His face. He lived, only to die. Could I? Die to self and just break open for love. This Savior, His one purpose to spend Himself on behalf of messy us. Will I spend myself on behalf of those in front of me? And people say, “Don’t you get tired?” and yes, I do. But I’m face to face with Jesus in the dirt, and the more I bend the harder and better and fuller this life gets. And sure, we are tired, but oh we are happy. Because bent down low is where we find fullness of Joy.”
There is great joy and beauty amidst the pain. Watching these children grow and trust and love – is a beautiful thing, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard work. When celebrating with a marathon runner, no one assumes it was easy getting to the finish line. You automatically assume they worked hard to be able to run the race. I am working hard to run my race and it is the most important race any of us can do. It is a race for souls. This is Christ’s work. This is what He has called us to do. To care for the hurting and the broken. The “us” I am talking about is not just Dan and I. This “US” is the church. We are all called to care for these children.
This work is hard on the heart. I mean who wants to sign up for harsh words and no appreciation? So when I feel overwhelmed I remind myself again that it is NOT about me. It was never about me and I lay it all at the feet of Jesus.