Not As Deep As You Might Think

The #1 conversation starter in the past two weeks has been, "how's it feel to be thrown in the deep end?"  And I can understand why people would assume that's the way it would feel.  When we first got the call and were told that "there is a thirteen year-old girl who needs a home tonight," I was undoubtedly daunted.  But then she arrived and now people either don't believe me or don't know how to respond when I say, "not that bad," and by "not that bad," I mean "this feels like the shallow end, not the deep end."

London sleeps through the night.  We don't even have to make her go to bed.  She heads to bed as soon as she can't keep her eyes open -- or when we bore her with a third Daily Show in a row.  Even better, if we ignore her, she'll sleep right in.  If and when she wakes up before us, she pulls out a book or quietly opens Netflix.

Which is in stark contrast to what our friends went through when their little ones came home from the hospital -- which is really what makes it feel like got the easy end of the deal.  She dresses herself.  She's potty-trained.  She has a full vocabulary and knows how to express her ideas and her needs.  Any problem we have can be addressed with a rational conversation.  We can have legitimately deep and meaningful conversations.  We're going to dance class.  We can share and enjoy the same TV shows, movies, music, and books.  And, maybe most importantly of all, she makes a mean pitcher of sweet tea.

There is a trade-off, of course.  We still don't know what it's like to hear our little one's first word.  We haven't been able to film her first steps.  We weren't able to ease into or mentally prepare for interest in the opposite sex (or, more accurately, the opposite sex's interest).  Every day, I can't help but worry -- even just a little bit -- about all the boys peacocking around at her school.  She's come home three times already talking about fights.

And there's still the not-knowing.  Parental rights for London have not been terminated.  We don't actually know if they will be.  We'll find out in a couple of months.  I have faith they will be, as London's mother has a history of . . . well, being a customer of Walter White.  But there's no security yet.  No matter what we do or what plans we make, there's still a certain sense that our foundation is fairly thin ice.

But, and this is the part where people stop believing me again, it honestly doesn't feel like the deep end.  We're in the pool, to be sure.  But it only feels like we're waist-deep in the water that could potentially drown us.  It's not that there's not danger or things to worry about -- people have drowned in less and if we have to remind her one more time to put sunscreen on . . . -- but it's fine.  More than fine, it's fun.

-S

In Defense of Dark Days (or "Where's God When I'm Furious?")

In the wake of our infuriating and heart-breaking false alarm, a common condolence we heard was, "God has a plan for the two of you.  Don't be discouraged.  You'll find out soon enough."  No-one said that verbatim, but if you were to take everything everyone said, it would come out sounding something like that (possibly with some foul language, due to a couple of our more foul-mouthed -- but nonetheless heart-warming -- friends).

I learned a long time ago that I can't worry about God's plan for me.  I've begged, pleaded, and prayed for a peek and God, in His infinite mystery (and probably wisdom), has refused to show me.  In those moments of desperation, I am reminded of Deuteronomy 31:8.  "The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.  Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged."  This is quickly followed by Jeremiah 29:11, "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the LORD, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'"  I'm reminded of these verses, yet, as pain leads to frustration and frustration to fury, their promises can seem so hollow.

The promises seem especially hollow when, from your vantage point, you can't see what you're doing wrong.  I'm not saying I (or we) have done everything right, but I can't look back and see what I (or we) have done wrong.  Kelly and I both try to live life as genuinely, as unguarded, and as fully as possible.  We have measured our talents and we have set about to use them for good.  We want to leave this world a better place than when we've found it and when people ask "why" we're more than happy to reply honestly and say, "because that's what God did for us."

It's a mistake to blame God for bad things happening to you.  Blaming God for your pain is like blaming the sun for your sunburn -- not to say all pain is avoidable or your own fault.  It's just a consequence of living in this world.  There is evil in this world, bent on your destruction.  There are people who act selfishly.  There are people who act foolishly.  There are well-meaning people who simply make mistakes.  There are lies.  There is miscommunication.  There are things, quite simply, that will lead to us getting hurt.  I do not believe any of them are part of God's plan.

God having a plan for me doesn't mean I will be immune to this world and the effects of sin.  God knowing what's best for me and me trying to allow for that to happen doesn't mean I'm going to get it right.  God's plan also, very honestly, may be something I am not at all comfortable with or interested in.  There are plenty of men and women in the Bible who wanted to follow God but did not want -- in any way -- to do what He asked them to do (see also:  Noah, Abraham, Joseph, Moses, Job, Esther, Jonah, Gideon, and at least eleven of the twelve apostles).  Perhaps that is what I take the most comfort in.

Feeling pain doesn't mean you're doing anything wrong.  Feeling pain means you're alive.  Feeling pain doesn't mean God has turned his back on you.  Feeling pain doesn't mean you're broken or that you need fixing.  Feeling pain does, for me, remind me why I need God in my life.  Without Him I would not have made it through the last couple of years.  Without Him I would not be where I am right now, looking forward to the future with a bit of hope and optimism.

So don't despair during your dark days.  You're not alone.  You're not the first to feel this.  The sun will come out and eventually this will all make sense.  That's what I've learned and that's what I'm still reminding myself of.

-S

The cynical Bible reader (which I can be) should read the books of Job and Ecclesiastes.  They are wonderfully dark books that demand questions of God while pointing out all the general screwed-up-edness of the world.  They have guided me through (and of out of) many-a dark day.

Strychnine in the Well

We have been so amazed by people's support and love through this entire process.  Every time we announce another small victory, it seems like all of Facebook just erupts in joy.  It honestly has taken us very by surprise and has greatly humbled us.  We honestly expected more people like Rachel Lynde:

"Well, Marilla, I'll just tell you plain that I think you're doing a mighty foolish thing--a risky thing, that's what. You don't know what you're getting. You're bringing a strange child into your house and home and you don't know a single thing about him nor what his disposition is like nor what sort of parents he had nor how he's likely to turn out. Why, it was only last week I read in the paper how a man and his wife up west of the Island took a boy out of an orphan asylum and he set fire to the house at night--set it ON PURPOSE, Marilla--and nearly burnt them to a crisp in their beds. And I know another case where an adopted boy used to suck the eggs--they couldn't break him of it. If you had asked my advice in the matter--which you didn't do, Marilla--I'd have said for mercy's sake not to think of such a thing, that's what ... I hope it will turn out all right only don't say I didn't warn you if he burns Green Gables down or puts strychnine in the well--I heard of a case over in New Brunswick where an orphan asylum child did that and the whole family died in fearful agonies. Only, it was a girl in that instance."

And to be honest, we do have a couple Mrs. Lyndes in our life, but we don't blame them for being cautious.  We know they're only looking out for us and are trying to protect us from being hurt or harmed -- be it emotionally or physically.  And to be fair to them, there are a lot of horror stories out there.  It's important, however, to remember the context of these "horror stories."

Every child in the foster care system has gone, or is going through, trauma.  They've been taken from their homes.  Some of them have been abused and neglected their entire life up to this point.  Some haven't been neglected or abused; their parents may have done a good job of shielding them from their destructive behavior.  Regardless of the child's previous situation, they find themselves suddenly living with strangers.  How would you react if you were taken from the only home you've ever known and you were forced to live with people who may have absolutely nothing in common with you?

They may not be carrying any physical scars, but each and every one of them is carrying some emotional ones.  They're a little bit broken and it's our job to help them put those pieces back together.

We're supposed to meet them today.  They're supposed to come home with us today and sleep in the beds we've prepared for them.  Thank-you, everyone, for your words of comfort, encouragement, and caution.  We've appreciated it so much.

We can't wait for this next chapter to begin.

-S

Just Say No?

It has been almost a month since we were approved to be foster parents.

There are 408,000 children are in foster care in the US and 107,000 of those are eligible for adoption, per the FosterCare Statistics 2010 Fact Sheet.

We have gotten three calls with placement offers and one call for respite care. We said no to all three placement calls. The first was a toddler who only needed a temporary placement. The other two were teenage girls.  The first was a 17 y/o girl who “just needed someone to help get her through senior year.” She turns 18 in February. The second was a 16 year old girl who had just come into custody and desperately wanted to stay at the high school near our home. I was the one to have the conversations and ultimately say no.

We watched two brothers, ages 10 and 11, Saturday night as respite care for another foster family.  They were with us for four hours and we had a lot of fun. They walked right in and made themselves at home, asking a TON of questions. They were excited to meet our dogs and give them treats.

We introduced the boys to root beer floats and Legos. They were enamored with the chalk board on the wall in Scott’s office. “You can draw ON the wall?!?” They asked all about our family, how we met, and why we didn’t have any other kids. They were shocked that they were our first foster kids. They said that they had never been anyone’s first foster kids. They were extremely polite. They said yes ma’am and yes sir. They even put their dishes in the sink. For being 10 and 11 they knew a lot about the foster system. They insisted that we do a lot of thing other adults just don’t do – I guess we do play with Legos. . . By the end of the evening they both asked to stay with us.  We told them that not every day at our house was as much fun as that night. We also do laundry, clean the litter box, and do homework. They swore that they LOVE to fold laundry.

They did really well until it was time to be picked up by their foster family. They started arguing and fighting with each other as soon as their foster-mom called and said that she was on her way. It was interesting to see how reluctant they were to make the transition. Of course it was way past a reasonable bed time for 10 and 11 year olds, but we could read them like an open book. They were tired and had a lot of hurt behind their eyes. We don’t even know what that may be.

I am struggling with the emotional impact of saying no to children I don’t know and then also to these boys that we had in our home. It’s kind of heart wrenching to say no when the child asks you directly. We have said that we want to adopt rather than pursue fertility treatments so we can put our resources toward helping kids who are already here. We prayerfully and thoughtfully created a profile that says ages 0-5 years.  But it breaks my heart to say no to children who need a home. It will be much harder for the agency to find homes for these boys than a child under 5 years old. My rational side says remember the profile; stick to the profile you created when you were not emotional. But I feel like that may just be the excuse of a scared person. What if we say no to someone just because they don’t fit the picture of what we think our family looks like? What if it is just my fear or selfishness or doubts that keeps us from being parents to someone who needs us? Sometimes I don’t think I am mature enough for this.

Lots of thoughts…I’ll just keep waiting.

--K

How About It?

Some friends recently expressed that they were excited to see us as parents as they felt that we deserve to have a baby and would be great parents. I don’t say that to brag, but to say, I hope we are as good of people as these friends think we are. Their faith in us is inspiring.

We’ve not posted in a couple months because we have been thinking. Thinking and talking don’t usually go together, at least for me. Those friends got us thinking about surrogacy.

Would we consider it?

Well, we would. We did.

We had decided even before we got married that IVF was not for us. We would prefer to spend that money, time, and emotional energy on adoption. But surrogacy with the option of being a significantly cheaper and with none of those crazy-lady inducing fertility drugs, now that could be an option. Did you know the internet sells convenient DIY kits for intra-vaginal insemination? Yup. Who would have thought?

That would mean asking a woman to donate her egg and carry her and Scott’s baby. That is a lot to ask of someone. That would be partially her child. That would be her son or daughter’s half sibling. That would be Scott’s baby with another woman. Could I and that hypothetical biological mother handle it? Sara and Hagar did not handle it with grace. Would I care once that baby was in my arms? Not sure, maybe.

It might not be so hard to find someone to carry our embryo. Even that would be a huge thing for someone to do. But we won’t do IVF, remember? The cost, the gamble, the crazy hormones. If we were considering IVF we would try it ourselves first; because remember, there is nothing wrong with either of us. We should be able to conceive and carry a pregnancy. So we are left with asking a surrogate to donate her egg and body. That is more than a 9 month commitment. That is a life-time commitment. That is more than we can ask of anyone.

So that’s us considering it.

-K

That I Would be Good

that I would be good even if I did nothing
that I would be good even if I got the thumbs down
that I would be good if I got and stayed sick
that I would be good even if I gained ten pounds

that I would be fine even if I went bankrupt
that I would be good if I lost my hair and my youth
that I would be great if I was no longer queen
that I would be grand if I was not all knowing

that I would be loved even when I numb myself
that I would be good even when I am overwhelmed
that I would be loved even when I was fuming
that I would be good even if I was clingy

that I would be good even if I lost sanity
that I would be good

-Alanis Morissette

I had a realization the other day (read: a couple months ago) when I was driving home. I am tired of feeling the way I have. I am tired of being in this place where there is something I want and desire, but where I have no way to affect my ability to get it. Tired of being sad about being out of control of the situation. I am just done with it.

If I can’t change the situation, I am at least ready to start accepting it.

That I would be good even if we don’t have a baby.

That I would be good even if I can’t have a baby.

That I would be confident even if I am not the person I thought I was or want to be.

2012 is already a brighter year.

-K

Reproductively Challenged

I want to first of all say that God sends blessings to us in ways we never think are possible. As a bit of background, I have been the Women’s Ministry director at our church for the past two years. I have struggled with finding something unique that I could add to the many things our church already does for the members and the community. There are many groups under the Women’s Ministry umbrella that were there before I started and function completely independent of me and my meager budget. Some groups even had their own budgets. I spent many hours trying to figure out what group or event I could plan that someone like me would attend. I’m busy with a husband, friends, family and full-time work. What kind of event would I be willing to drive the 20 minutes out to the church to attend?

It took me a good 18 months to admit that the word infertility applied to us. It took another 3 months of God’s nagging (there has to be a better word) to get me to start the support group that our community needs. I figured that Scott and I were not the only ones who are going through this, but Satan uses isolation, fear, and shame to beat us down and keep us from living the lives God has called us to lead. Our small group, called Third Thursdays, is now 4 months old. I am so blessed to have a group of women who know exactly how I feel. They know the answers to some of my questions. They feel the same longing that I feel and they can articulate it way better than I can. It is good to know that I am not alone. It is also very cool to think that God used me to help these other ladies, even if I add nothing to the mix and they help each other. God is so good.

I continue to be impressed with these women’s resiliency and hope. We share a lot of hard things, but we also share a lot of laughter. I want to share with you a list of things we, the reproductively challenged, want to ban from the general discussion all together. We compiled this list while laughing, but there are some things people say, with all good intentions, which are not helpful and can even be hurtful. Some of these have been said to me and some are things others have heard.

10 Things that the Adopting or Reproductively Challenged Couple Probably Doesn’t Want to Hear

1. “Just get drunk, you’ll get pregnant.”
2. “Try going on vacation.”
3. “You’re young, you have plenty of time.”
4. So many people are getting pregnant. “It must be in the water!”
5. “Just take my kids for the night, and then you’ll never want kids again.”
6. “Just relax, when you stop thinking about it, it will happen.” Fact: Stress is not a significant cause of infertility.
7. Any complaints about how miserable you are with your pregnancy. You may be uncomfortable, but please count those symptoms or annoyances as opportunities to be thankful for your pregnancy.
8. For those who are adopting – “Are you just giving up on having your own baby?” Or “Don’t you want your OWN baby?”
9. “As soon as you adopt you will have one of your own. Chuckle, chuckle.” We know that you may be uncomfortable and not know what to say. But, please don’t say this. The fact is the number of infertile people who get pregnant after pursuing adoption is the same number of infertile people who get pregnant after ending fertility treatments. 5-12% maybe, if the internet can be trusted. The factor of deciding to adopt or adopting a child is not relevant. And who knows, maybe those who conceived after adopting did not have fertility problems to begin with.
10. “Maybe God is punishing you for something. Have you confessed your sins?”

It was cathartic for us to make this list. I share this with you to help us all make the world a better, more sensitive place. This blog has had 2475 page views, 261 of those in June alone. Now, that may just be my mom and one of our good friends in Scotland, but I am guessing not. Our readers include someone (or people) in Canada, Russia, Ireland, Thailand, Taiwan, Germany, Malaysia, India and Iran. Scott and I hope that our openness can help someone else who may be experiencing something similar.

If you know someone who is reproductively challenged, the best thing to say may be, "I'm sorry you're going through this. I know it's difficult, and I hope things work out for you. Let me know if there's anything I can do." If you are reproductively challenged yourself, we offer that to you.

--K

Conversations

Last month’s 1-hour talk with the doctor has sparked hours of conversation, hours of thought and maybe a few tears. The doctor told us there was no reason we should not have already had a baby or at least a pregnancy. All the 2000 parts are in working order. Whew. Good news there. I guess. I had kind of hoped that there was some one small thing wrong that we could correct. Maybe hair color? The doc said redheads have a higher propensity of endometriosis. But I am not a natural redhead. If it helps through, I could be a blonde again. Or even a brunette (gasp). Nope. Nothing so simple, because there is nothing wrong.

He gave us two options. IVF and IUI. These options were no surprise. After all Scott used to work there. We know the services they sell. We’ve considered both. IVF is cost prohibitive for us. More importantly we feel called to spend that kind of money adopting a child who is already here. A child who needs our home. IVF may be for some people. Not us. Not right now.

IUI. That is a different story entirely. With insurance and our medical savings account the cost is not so intimidating. The treatment is not so invasive. We’ve decided to do it in the future. But we are not going to tell you when. We don’t want to get your hopes up; because the success rate is low. We don’t want to get our hopes up either. We don’t really want to be disappointed again.

More than 2 years ago we had a positive pregnancy test. We had an OB appointment. But we didn’t have the little flutter on the ultrasound that is a heartbeat. We had gotten excited and told our parents and friends too early. We learned that good news spreads fast, but the bad news does not disseminate so easily or quickly. It is no fun to meet acquaintances who expect you to be 6 months pregnant when you aren’t. The conversation is awkward.

We lay in bed and talked about sharing this with you, the entire world. Scott reminded me of our commitment to being honest about this journey. To crafting a blog that documents the real emotions, the good, the bad, and the vulnerable, of infertility, adoption and building a family. I reminded him about the raw hurt of having to answer follow-up questions from our well-meaning community of friends and family. So here I am writing it, because he is right. The Next Chapter is incomplete if we don’t put it all out there.

Please trust that we will let you know if it is successful. But it will be in our own time. If you don’t hear from us about it in 6 months, you can guess that it probably didn’t work. But maybe, for our sake, please don’t ask.

IUI doesn’t mean that we don’t want to adopt or that we are putting that process on hold. It just means that we are exploring our options for having a biological child. If it works, great. If it works AND we get the call for a baby to adopt, fantastic. Then there will be two (“If we have two, it will be fantastic,” Scott just said over my shoulder, “because then we’ll be four. The Fantastic Four.”).

So in conclusion, we believe in family, in community, in honesty. We believe that we can’t be the only ones going through this. So as hard as it is, as tough as it is to be vulnerable, we are committed to allowing you to be part of this journey. All we ask is that you give us your prayers and well-wishes rather than ask the follow-up question that we may not be ready to answer. Don’t worry we will let you know…

--K

Outweighing Fear

Went to Barnes & Noble last night.

I really shouldn't ever go into a Barnes & Noble, Borders, Books-A-Million, or whatever other book merchant there is. I can't enter one without picking up two or three books, bonding with them, and then paying full price for them before I leave. I work at McKay Used Books. I can buy anything in the store at cost. Which means, for a best seller, I'll pay maybe three dollars. So I really shouldn't ever go into a Barnes & Noble, Borders, Books-A-Million, or whatever other book merchant there is. But Kelly really wanted to go and it really doesn't take much arm-twisting to convince me.

Despite the cost, I do love an unused book shop. I love books that creak when you open them. I love pages that stick together at the corners because no-one's ever pried them apart before. I love the smell of new books. I love the colorful art of children's books. I love accidentally discovering your favorite author has a new book out. I love seeing old classics being rebound and presented in new ways. I love picking up pristine graphic novels, free of greasy fingerprints. I love the smell of coffee from the Starbucks in the back. I love the low, library-level chatter of excited customers as they compare the books or magazines they've found. But most of all, I love the aisles and aisles of potential. Who knows what new author waits for me just around the corner? That's the one downside to working at a used media store: Everything there has already been discovered -- discovered and discarded.

I found Serenity: The Shepherd's Tale, a prequel graphic novel that goes into the previously untold origin story of Shepherd Book, that mysterious preacher fellow from Firefly and Serenity. Kelly found You Can Adopt: An Adoptive Families Guide, by Susan Caughman and Isolde Motley. Kelly started reading it last night and there was a particular sentence that she read aloud that really summed up my feelings on the subject of parenthood and adoption.

"There is only one good reason to adopt, just as there is only one good reason to bear a child: Your desire to be a parent is greater than your fear."

That is exactly where I'm at, which is sometimes hard to explain to people. Maybe it's hard to explain because it's hard to understand.

I am a fully functional human being. I don't need anybody to be whole. Yet, when I met my wife, I realized I was missing something. When we were married, we became one, my life became full, and I realized I was, for the first time, whole. We've been married five years now and I'm realizing that as wonderful as our life is, we're . . . not quite whole. It's as if something is missing. There's a void only a child can fill.

I don't want it to be misunderstood that something is missing from our relationship. I am very happy with our relationship and am still excited to be married to Kelly. There's nothing about it that I would change. But there is something missing. It's not from our relationship, it's missing from our life, our family.

And as scary as the prospect of being a father is, my desire to be one outweighs it.

-S