(Orphan Sunday, 11/8, makes me think of our adoption story, which begins here.)
I skipped ahead yesterday, so you could honor my mother with me on her birthday.
When we were asked to consider adopting a particular little girl, we talked and prayed first--a lot--just the two of us.
After a couple of days, we walked across the street to visit with our friends who had adopted transracially. We bombarded them with questions. We tried to make it as hard as possible, because we didn't want to make a decision that was bad for the child. Nor did we want to go into this wearing rose-colored glasses.
After a couple of hours, the husband said, smiling, "Listen, if you're looking for someone to tell you adoption is a bad idea for you, you came to the wrong place."
Then we talked with our 4 sons. IF we decided to adopt, the baby would be their sister forever. The 2 still at home--ages 12 and 15--had no hesitations: "Yes! Let's do it!" The 2 who were out of state were slightly more hesitant, but within moments said something like, "Yes. You should go ahead, however God leads you."
My interpretation of their hesitation was this: When a young person leaves home, he assumes everything will remain the same, which it never does really. But we were thinking about making a huge and sudden change, nothing gradual about it.
An added part of the hesitation came from the son who was living in Georgia. He had a hard time imagining a white family with a black daughter there, as it would be when we'd be down visiting Mother and my extended family. And we didn't know yet what the reaction would be from my very large Southern family.
We searched out studies of transracial adoption and stories of adoptees.
We confided in a handful of close friends, so they could be praying as we considered and moved toward a decision.
And we ourselves prayed, prayed, prayed.
(to be continued)