A Community of Risk Takers

November is National Adoption Awareness month. Throughout the month I may share a variety of posts regarding adoption. Between fostering, domestic adoption, and international adoption there are so many opportunities to become involved. While I realize adoption is not for every family, have you ever considered it for your family?

One of my basic fundamental beliefs in life is that every child should have the love of a family. Period. No question. No exception. EVERY SINGLE CHILD.

Anyone who knows our family realizes our passion for adoption. There is a unique bond that exists between parents who have traveled the road of welcoming a child through adoption. We are a community of risk takers.

I recall being at Marco's first preschool Christmas program. He looked so tiny and scared up on stage. He hardly sang a word. I remember being so proud, and at the same time feeling something so unexpected. I remember thinking "what if?" What if Mark and I had come to the conclusion that our family was set? We had two children, and they were already in school. Why would we start over again? Why would we take the chance of having our hearts broken, or an adoption not working out, or becoming a multi-racial family? At that moment, while watching Marco up on stage, I was overcome with gratitude for having the guts to be a risk taker.

I would love to share a bit from a blog I read. I broke down into an ugly cry while reading it. The words so beautifully capture some of what a parent feels and the conviction and desire that all children have loving parents.

Do you know someone who is considering adoption? Share this with them and encourage them to dive into the community of risk takers.

From the blog:

I love her but don’t know her. I can’t tell if her teeth are hurting or if it’s her “tired cry” or “scared cry” or “I didn’t get my way cry.” There is so much to catch up on when you step into the life of a 1 year old child…one who has lived with and loved others for a long time. And we look very different than most everyone she’s known. We sound different. We probably smell different, too. But we love her, and I keep reminding myself that this for real.

This little girl, wearing the clothes we sent and holding our voice recorder…will be with us for a lifetime. I will stand by the sidelines at her soccer games. I will walk her to her first day of school. I will stand outside the dressing room of the Gap and say things like “yeah…that looks good.” (Who is shocked I mentioned shopping for clothes? Anyone? Raise your hand.) I will film her at the Christmas program at church. I will register her for high school one day and wonder how time went by. I will wait up late for her as she’s out with friends. I will one day drive her away to a college and surely wish I could turn back the clock. I will one day walk her down the aisle and then sit in the front row with her mother. And cry. This is my daughter.

But I will always remember how it started. Driving down a gravel road getting jostled around. Pulling up in front of the baby home I had seen in pictures. Hearing the guard opening the gate and hearing the older children excitedly running around the courtyard…talking in Amharic…hearing the occasional “Yanet” amongst the words I don’t understand. Walking up the stairs and seeing her from the hall. Touching her right arm the first time…trying to be gentle to let her know I was safe. Looking around and seeing all the caregivers staring through a window across the hall and smiling…surrounded by the other children who, while watching with great excitement for Yanet, are in desperate need of a family to fly from across the ocean in order to meet them.

Each of them deserves a family to drive up in a van. Each of them deserves to have parents, jet-lagged and nervous, walking through the gates with their names written on their hearts as well as on the gifts they bring. Each of them needs parents who are willing to take the risk, experience God’s goodness in an incredible way that stretches and teaches, strengthens and rewards. Each of them needs their own set of parents who hug, kiss, and hold. Each of them needs dozens of people praying for them and making plans to meet them at the airport when they return.

Each of them deserves and needs what Yanet is getting…and what Minte got…and what Meskarem got…and what a few others here are getting soon. But there are others who are still waiting. Waiting for that meeting when the orphanage director calls them into the office and tells them that someone far, far away has asked to be their parents.