It's been a long time since I've blogged about fostering and adoption. Basically because we are finished with our fostering days in this house (our state has a 5 kid limit on foster homes - clearly we exceed that) and pending adoptions in our house are now final.
We are still waiting on a birth certificate and new social security card for Olivia but otherwise, she's legal in every sense of the word. In fact, it rarely ever occurs to me that Aaron and Olivia are adopted. At least until we are in public with all the kids and Olivia's adoption is obvious.
Like just today while I was loading all the kids into the van and a man who'd been sitting beside us in Chick-fil-A (where we'd just, chaotically, eaten) approached me and asked me where we adopted Olivia from. He was sincere in his questioning and it wasn't meant to be ugly or disrespectful, as sometimes people can be. When I shared with him that both Olivia and Aaron had been adopted as foster children, he said he figured as such (how, I'm not sure) and then shared with me that his own single, adult daughter was beginning the process to become a foster parent. In fact, he shared, his daughter was adopted at 4 days old.
Last night Luke and I finished watching Like Dandelion Dust. Certainly, that's the hardest we've both cried over a movie in a long, long time. I dreamed last night about our adoptions and remembered the turmoil I felt with each passing courtdate and each visit that went less than desirable.
I am watching a dear friend of mine walk through this season of fostering. Watching her heart break as birth parents are given chance after chance after chance, often when it feels as if they've been given too many chances already. How my heart aches for her and longs to tell her that it will all be okay. But people told me that stuff too and it was hard for me to hear it as well.
One thing that the movie made me realize, all over again, is that I'm very quick to vilify birth parents.
If they don't make enough of an effort? My conclusion is that they can't possibly love their child enough.
If they don't show up for visits? My conclusion is that they can't possibly make enough time for their child.
If they can't stop using the substances that made their child come into care in the first place? My conclusion is that they are so entangled in their sin that they could never show their child the glory of God.
Of course, I'd never say those things outloud (well, except for now) but the truth is I judged the birth parents of our adopted children then and in many ways, I still do. I judge them for who they aren't and the fact that they don't meet my expectations of what a parent should be for their kids. I judge them because, more than likely, they've not changed their ways.
I fully expected myself to hate Rip (the birth father) at the end of the movie. But my feelings were caught off guard and by the end, I had so much sympathy for him. Sure I was pissed that he had the audacity to take back a son that had never known him as a father, to tear a child away from the only home he'd ever known. But I kept thinking, he's not evil. He's not a villain. He just wants his boy, a boy he's never known.
And the truth is, I'm no better than the birth parents in the movie or the birth parents of Aaron or Olivia. Sure, they've made mistakes. But, hello, I live with myself every day and I know just how much I mess up. And while I'm busy heaping judgement on birth parents of my children (and of other children I know living in the foster care system or children who've been adopted) I need to step back and realize that I'm not perfect either. I don't always make enough effort. I am often so wrapped up in my own idols (substances) that I neglect my kids in some area. God convicts me of areas I need to change and, often, I refuse to make the changes.
I am so entangled in my own sin, that my children may struggle to see the glory of God because of ME.
That's a hard pill to swallow, that big 'ol pill of self-righteousness.
I'm not going to spoil the end of the movie, in case you've not seen it and want to watch, but I will tell you that I cried more in the last 10 minutes than I did throughout the rest of the movie. And, I cried a lot throughout the movie. In fact, Luke and I got started watching it late on Tuesday night and my mean 'ol husband (knowing what was best for me and that I needed sleep) made us pause it about 35 minutes in and watch the rest last night. I cried myself to sleep on Tuesday night, thinking about what I would do if social services showed up at our house and told me that there'd been an issue with Aaron or Olivia's adoption and the birth parents wanted them back.
I'll close by telling you this story. I know a woman who traveled the same journey of fostering and adoption as we did. In fact, their journey was nearly step-by-step the same as ours with Olivia. After the final court hearing where their son's birth parent's rights were completely terminated this woman, who I am blessed to call a close friend, stood outside the courthouse, wrapped her arms around her son's birth mother and cried with her. She told that mother of her desperate need for Jesus. She told her that Jesus could change her life.
A few months ago, that birth mother died, never knowing the transforming power of Christ. However, my friend cannot ever stand before the Lord and say that she didn't share the truth. Though she herself is flawed, and is the first to admit such, she knows that apart from Christ her life looks no different that that of an addiction controlled, effort lacking, glory of God hiding woman whose children have been taken from her.
She reminds me that when I look in the mirror, I too see a birth mother struggling with the tightening tentacles of sin and that judgement is just a reflection away.
