Weary of the Moon

The making of a family

Families come together in different ways and at different times.  We have a number of friends who have new babies at home or new ones on the way.  Other friends just met their daughter yesterday in China.  I'm always amazed at the diversity of life and because of that, the diversity of family.  Even more amazing is God's providential hand over it all.

Yesterday was Mother's Day -- a unique day in the life of a family because each person who has taken on the mantle of motherhood is unique.  Our pastor preached on the story of Moses' birth in Exodus.  He focused on the role of Moses' birth mother.  Her bravery in defying the edict of the Pharaoh and hiding her baby son rather than giving him up to be slaughtered.  But that story has a unique feature that wasn't mentioned.  The role of Pharaoh's daughter, defying her father's command and adopting as her own a despised Hebrew boy.  She intervened on behalf of a child who needed her help.  Perhaps she is the reason that later in life Moses, seeing a Hebrew slave being beaten by an Egyptian, stepped in to intervene.  The roles that mother's play in the lives of their children can't be overstated.

In our day, Terri and I each called our moms to wish them a Happy Mother's Day and visit for a short time.  The kids and I wished Terri a Happy Mother's Day as well.  Yet hers was a shared day in our family because yesterday was also Jacob's Adoption Day, marking four years since a judge in Ryazan, Russia declared us a family.  You can read about that day here.  So we honored Terri on the anniversary of the day she became a mom in the eyes of the world.  We all spent the day together and last night looked through Jacob's adoption book, watched videos and looked at pictures of the first day we met in March 2003, and showed him two birth certificates -- the first with blanks where the name of the father and mother should have been and the second with our names in those places.   But we know there are names for those blanks on the first birth certificate.  And they are not forgotten.  And so we took time to honor those women too, writing them a note, as we do every year, knowing that in all likelihood they'll never be read, but also knowing they carried our children into the world and should be honored. 

No one is without  some role in a family.  And all those roles are significant.

Reflections: One Year

One year.  That's what it's been.  365 days ago I was standing in a courtroom in Russia.  It was our second trip to the city of Cheboksary in the Russian Republic, Chuvashia.  It was April and the days were turning warmer though still not warm. 

I would say the day started when we awoke but that would imply some ability to sleep.  Parents know that the night before your child comes, when you know the child will arrive the next day, sleep can be fleeting.  We dressed quickly -- a benefit of travel, only one set of clothes suitable for court.  We ate in a small cafe in the hotel.  Yogurt, fruit, eggs.  The details remain fresh.  The room was full.  It was warm.

Leaving the hotel we traveled a short distance to a non-descript building.  Two flags flew in front, one of Russia, the other of Chuvashia.  Through the metal detector, up a flight of stairs, through a hallway -- all the while following our facilitator and translator -- speaking in hushed tones as if to avoid being seen or noticed.

We were led to a room and instructed to wait.  Soon a door opened into another room.  This would be the courtroom though in fact it was more of an office or conference room.  There was a desk, a long table and chairs lining a wall.  We sat in the chairs.  The familiar faces of the doctor from the baby house and the representative from the minister of education sat at the table with a new face we soon learned was the prosecutor.  We all waited, quietly, for the judge who soon entered and took her seat behind the desk.

We had been told she was tough and rarely smiled.  She was different than I expected.  Short, petite, thick curly hair.  The proceedings began.  So many details are fresh in my mind, but the details of the proceedings are not.  Perhaps because so much was in Russian.  Trying to follow through a translator can be a challenge.  Everyone had their turn to speak.  I spoke of our home, our family, our son, my job.  The judge was interested in Jacob and our adoption of him.  She seemed pleased with the pictures we brought.  She was curious about my job as a lawyer in the United States and asked a number of questions unrelated to the issue before the court.  Terri spoke of our meeting Yulia.  The love we felt for her.  Our desire to be her parents.  The judge smiled.  Even laughed once.  And then it was done. 

The judge left and a sigh of relief was evident from everyone else in the room.  Now we waited.

We left the building and went to a second hotel to eat at a cafe we had been to a number of times.  Yulia was with us.  We held her tight.  She was pleased to have us back and we walked, her hand holding my finger, up and down a long hallway. 

Everyone chattered about the judge . . . she smiled . . . she laughed . . . she liked us.  The other players (translator, baby house doctor, etc.) talked about how strange it all was.  The judge had acted out of character.  Though we remained somewhat anxious, we felt good.  We believed she would not only approve the adoption but also waive the ten day waiting period so that we could return home with our daughter.

Before we knew it the time had come to return to the courthouse.  More relaxed, we were shuffled into another room that contained a judge's bench in front.  The sun blasted through the tall windows and full of food, relieved that the morning was behind us, I closed my eyes and began to nod off. 

Soon the judge appeared and we stood.  She began to read her ruling.  Our translator spoke quickly and quietly to us as the judge read the ruling.  Certain words stood out.  Words about Yulia.  Words about the family she had never known.  Words about those who took care of her in Alatyr.  And then the words that the adoption was granted.  It was those words we had waited and hoped for and smiles spread across our faces.

But the hearing was not over.  Soon other words were spoken.  Words about the law, the waiting period.  "This requirement cannot be waived."  What!  Every person in the proceeding, including the prosecutor, had advised it be waived due to our young son at home and certain medical issues of Yulia.  The judge said she could not consider these things.  The air had been knocked out of us.

I don't really know how to explain it.  One year later it seems like a glitch.  In fact, we returned to Texas, returned to work, and then returned ten days later to Russia, this time with Jacob tagging along.  I wouldn't trade that time in Moscow with our new family of four for anything.  But that wasn't the feeling in the courtroom that day.  At that moment we felt empty.  Ten more days before we could be a family.  Ten more days in an orphanage.  Ten more nights  alone.  Another separation.  And the chance, albeit slight, that a biological family member would appear and appeal the ruling.

That didn't happen.  One year on, our family is together and happy.  Yulia goes by Stella.  She gives hugs and kisses freely, plays with her toys, fights and then makes up with her brother.  Life is good.  But one year ago today, we waited with hope and disappointment.  At the end of the ten days, just before we went back to Russia, I wrote this post and included this statement, jotted down soon after the court hearing:

Had we known there was no hope of the period being waived, it would have been hard but not so hard.  Hope is strong and when it is dashed, the fall is much harder.  I can't help but think this in some way is how Jesus' friends must have felt on that Friday - such hope at his triumphal entry into Jerusalem - dashed on a Roman cross at the Place of the Skull.  But for the darkness of Friday, we know Sunday comes.

And so it seems somehow appropriate on Easter weekend to feel it again.  To feel the darkness of this Friday while knowing that Sunday comes.

Happy Jacob Day!

**Posted by Terri**

Four years ago today, we woke up in Russia and we weren't parents.

We drove through the ice to the Baby House in Ryazan City, Russia; walked through the door with a child's face painted on it; smelled the porridge cooking in the kitchen; walked up the stairs, into a small room, and fell in love. One of the caretakers was holding Jacob. We walked over and he started smiling at us. He mused at our strange language and grabbed my finger. I asked if I could hold him and he came right to me, laughing the whole time. All I remember thinking is "He's beautiful."

And just like that, we were parents.

Here are two of our favorite pictures from that day:

And here is a video of our second meeting (we didn't want to video the first day -- that's just for us).  The music is David Wilcox.  David, if you or your lawyer end up here, we're not trying to steal your music -- we'll pay for it!

[Note:  You'll need Quicktime.  If you don't have it, you can download it for free here.]

Our Story of Adoption: Detailing our lives in triplicate

With the decision made and announced to family and friends, we set out in earnest on the road to Russia.  We decided on an agency (The Gladney Center for Adoption) based on their reputation and the fact that they were in our own backyard.  We did investigate a couple of others but after meeting with the good folks at Gladney, we were comfortable moving forward with them.  That said, for anyone who may be reading this and contemplating adoption, we do encourage you to consider your agency carefully.  The agency and its staff and contract workers in the foreign country are vital to your sanity.  Trusting them and knowing they will be in your corner when you need them makes the process work in my opinion.  Gladney provided that for us.

We had our initial interview with Gladney in May 2002.  One year later we would be celebrating our fifth anniversary with fish, potatoes and Russian beer in the apartment of a new friend in a suburb of Moscow with our new son, Jacob sleeping in the next room.  From May 2002 to May 2003, we "experienced" the process of international adoption.  That process includes A LOT of paperwork.  To help you understand what I mean by this if you haven't experienced this yourself, I went back to some records of that time.  Here's some of what we had to do:

• Application with Gladney
• Medical Reports (two each)
• Fingerprints (local police department and INS)
• 6 copies of a Russian dossier which includes about 15 forms
• Reference Letters from family and friends
• Copies of tax returns
• Copies of deed records
• Pictures of home
• Birth Certificates
• Marriage Certificates
• Financial statements
• A home study (with all the questions that entails)

We ended up with large books of information about our lives.  That's step one.  After that, all of that information has to be notarized and then sent to the State Secretary of State for apostilles.  It is quite the process, requiring organization, detail, people skills (there are numerous people that play a role in the creation of these documents), patience, and above all, flexibility.

Flexibility.  That word may best describe what is necessary to successfully navigate the process to adopt internationally.  I know I've said that before , but it really can't be stressed  enough.  Things never go as planned when there are so many moving parts and people.  But  it does eventually get done.  And it did for us too.  And we ended up in Russia at the end of it all.

As a final note, I want to make a recommendation to anyone looking at international adoption who might not be excited about the prospect of handling this type of paperwork project -- find someone to help.  Our friend, Kate Sproat, helped us tremendously during our second adoption when she was still with Gladney.  Now she has her own business providing that type of service.  So, if you're needing some organizational help from someone who knows what she's doing, give Kate a call.

Do not pervert justice . . .

As part of a post a couple of weeks ago on how we made our decision to adopt, I cited a number of passages from the Bible showing God's heart for the orphan, and really beyond just the orphan, for the marginalized and oppressed.  One of those passages is Deuteronomy 24:17 which says "You shall not pervert the justice due an alien or an orphan . . . ."  Yesterday I read a news account that both sickened me and broke my heart.

It seems that at a hospital in the Russian city Yekaterinburg, it was discovered (by a woman with a camera phone) that nurses were taping shut the mouths of newborns with "sticking plaster" to keep them quiet.  All of the babies were orphans.  You can read the BBC account here and an account from the English-language daily Mosnews here.  As reported in Mosnews,  an "unidentified woman doctor said her staff was overworked and underpaid and the practice of taping the babies’ mouths shut saved a great deal of time by preventing pacifiers from being spit onto the floor."  According to Russian prosecutors, this was a systematic practice.  The woman with the camera phone was told to "mind her own business."  Thankfully, she considered this to be her business. 

Of course having two children adopted from Russia, this story touches a personal nerve.   When an orphan is born at a hospital (and it is not uncommon for a woman to show up, give birth, and relinquish parental rights or just leave), the baby stays at the hospital for a couple of months before being transferred to a baby house.  I am certain that the hospital staff is underpaid and overworked.  I am certain that it is tiring to deal with the constant crying of the babies, and I suspect this practice, while perhaps not isolated, is not widespread.  Nevertheless, it is beyond disturbing.  These are children that have come into the world with NO mother, NO father, NO family at all, NO baby blanket or new pacifier or arms to hold them.  Of course they are crying.  All babies cry, but it seems to me that these babies, in particular, are experiencing a profound separation.  And what they received from those charged with caring for them was plaster over their mouths to keep them quiet lest they become an inconvenience.

Beyond writing this post, I don't really know how to deal with stories like that.  I'm not a Russian prosecutor so I don't have an immediate ability to take some tangible action at that place.  What I believe is that God cares for the orphan -- so I can entreat him to intervene.  What I don't know is what that would look like.  Maybe it looks like a woman with a camera phone who refuses to "mind her own business" and reports the abuse to the authorities.

It strikes me that this story, as disturbing as it is, offers a picture of what happens on a daily basis around the globe.  The most vulnerable, the HIV children of Africa, the Dalit of India, the migrant workers on the Texas border, the jobless in Michigan, the homeless in Dallas, are, rather than being protected and cared for, systematically silenced so as not to create an inconvenience.   Maybe we need to be the woman in the Yekaterinburg hospital with the camera phone, refusing to "mind our own business" and speaking up for those who lack the voice to speak for themselves.

• Oh Lord, you have heard the desire of the humble; you will strengthen their heart, you will incline your ear to vindicate the orphan and the oppressed that the man who is of earth may cause terror no more. (Ps 10:17-18)
• Learn to do good; Seek justice, Reprove the ruthless, Defend the orphan, Plead for the widow. (Isa 1:17)

Our Story of Adoption: A Decision is Made

Like Terri said in the previous post in this series, we were, I guess I would say, shell-shocked after the seminar, hearing stories of difficulties and obstacles to adopting internationally.  Romanticizing a decision is easy.  I can't tell you how many times I've dreamed of not just a different job, but a different career or the times I've looked for a new house or Terri and me have considered moving to Europe for her doctoral work.  We get a thought, romanticize it, daydream about it, and then start to research and realize it was just that, daydreaming.  We let the daydream go and move on with our daily routine.

So you should know that this time in our lives, the winter of 2001 was like that.  Like Terri said, it's easy to know us now, to know us as a family, and imagine that this is how we always were, that this life is the life we've always had or planned.  But that wasn't the case in those days and weeks.  In fact, it seemed like the longer time dragged on, the longer we avoided talking about it, the more resigned we were becoming to making the decision that adopting wasn't the right decision for us.  We distracted ourselves with school and work.  The busyness of life has a way of drowning out dreams.  We still thought about it, we still brought it up -- it just went from a "when we do this" to an "if we do this."  We hadn't shared our plans with anyone, so backing off turned out to be easy. 

I really can't explain what happened next.  I can tell you.  I just can't explain it. 

One night we were out walking the dogs around the neighborhood, having a long talk as was routine for us.  We landed on "the subject" and light started to seep slowly into that dark place where we both had kept our thoughts captive.  So we made a decision right there on our walk.  What was our decision?  To make a decision.  I know, that's a weird way of going about things, but here's what I mean.  We had both still been pondering adoption.  We had each been looking up at all the obstacles: we had no money, we were both busy with school and work, we had no family closer than three hours away, we had no real support structure, we had no idea how to be a parent.  But the thought hadn't fully left either of us.  And we had been praying about it.  Now I should confess, we both prayed more back then, a subject I'll save for another time, but suffice it to say, we were earnestly seeking some direction.  So we decided to make a decision -- to fish or cut bait as we say in Texas (which not being a fisherman, I have to assume means make a decision).

That night when we got home we decided to seek God's heart as best we knew how.  We opened a computer program Terri used for school that has a concordance (fancy word for the book that lists all the words in the Bible and where you can find them) and looked up orphan and fatherless and adoption.  We didn't do this as a magic Ouiji Board type of experience (you know, think up a question and ask "God" and then open the Bible and whatever is there is your answer), we set out to intentionally look at what the Bible had to say about caring for orphans.  What we found was our answer.  We printed out the list of passages.  Here are just a few:

• You shall not afflict any widow or orphan (Exodus 22:22)
• He executes justice for the orphan and the widow, and shows His love for the alien by giving him food and clothing.  (Deut. 10:18)
• You shall not pervert the justice due an alien or an orphan, nor take a widow's garment in pledge. (Deut. 24:17)
• Oh Lord, you have heard the desire of the humble; you will strengthen their heart, you will incline your ear to vindicate the orphan and the oppressed that the man who is of earth may cause terror no more. (Ps 10:17-18)
• A father of the fatherless and a judge for the widows, is God in His holy habitation. (Ps 68:5)
• Do not move the ancient boundary or go into the fields of the fatherless. (Pr 23:10)
• Learn to do good; Seek justice, Reprove the ruthless, Defend the orphan, Plead for the widow. (Isa 1:17)
• . . . and do not oppress the widow or the orphan, the stranger or the poor . . . (Zech 7:10)
• I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. (Jn 14:18)
• He predestined us to adoption as sons through Jesus Christ to Himself, according to the kind intention of His will, to the praise of the glory of His grace, which He freely bestowed on us in the beloved. (Eph 1:5-6)
• Pure and undefiled religion in the sight of our God and Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world. (James 1:27)

That was the night our decision was made.  The obstacles that had seemed so huge began to melt away in the face of the strong sense of calling we both felt.  Terri would later write in Jacob's Life Book, "Through this process we discovered that the Bible clearly shows that God himself is concerned with the care and protection of the orphaned and fatherless, and we felt he had spoken clearly and directly to our hearts concerning our decision to adopt you.  Without God's mercy and grace revealed on the cross of Christ, we were all helpless orphans, and because of his love we were adopted into his family.  and ultimately there was no risk, cost, or obstacle that could keep us from you!"

David, the preacher at our church, talked last Sunday about prayer and hearing God.  Honestly, I don't pray well.  I don't pray much.  I wonder all the time whether it is real and whether it makes any difference  in the cosmos.  I believe on faith that God is good and that God is sovereign, but I so often doubt whether that translates to specific guidance or actual answered prayer.  And then I remember that night.  I can't prove to you it was God, but I can tell you I believe it was.

So that's how we made our decision.  That's when we pushed our chips to the center of the table (few as they were at the time) and  declared ourselves to be "all in." 

So that you know, I'm not saying those verses mean everyone should go adopt a child.  Obviously as a parent with two adopted children, I am a strong advocate for adoption.  But I believe God has different paths for different people.  Hear this though:  I do think those verses say something about God's heart for the fatherless.  There is a clear thread running throughout the Bible that speaks to caring for the voiceless, and particularly, the fatherless.  We ALL have a responsibility in that.  For us, it was adoption. 

Terri wrote a sermon for one of her classes that is over in the "Scholar's Corner" in a slightly modified version called "Redemption's Heart."  In it she wrote about verses like the ones above that "acting in obedience to these commands, we reveal God's redemption to a lost world in desperate need of it."  As those of us with power or a voice or however you want to describe it give ourselves to those without, we reveal through imitation the work of redemption and reconciliation of God.  And more than reveal, we proclaim the kingdom of God so often spoken of by Jesus.

In his book, Fields of the Fatherless (an excellent book), Tom Davis writes about the poor and the fatherless and God's command that we not deprive them of justice.  He writes, "the sure way to deprive the poor of the justice due them is to do nothing!"  And so that night we made a decision to do something.

Happy Stella Day!

A year ago today, we met Yulia Sergeyevna Pavlova. She was 18 months old and scared to death. If you know us and/or read this blog often, you've heard the story of how she sat without moving or making a sound for HOURS as tears fell from her eyes. The head doctor of the baby house told us that evening that Yulia was very passive and afraid of strangers and might not even smile the whole time we were with her.  She warmed up to me some, but would scream if I even went to the bathroom and left her alone in the room with Darren.

Fast forward to today.  Stella-Ruth Yulia Moore is 2 and 1/2. She wakes up some mornings after Darren has gone to work and wails: "Daddy! WHERE'S DADDY?" I can't remember the last time she sat still for more than 5 minutes because she's too busy making a mess. And those of you who know her, know that she is NEVER quiet; she even sings in her sleep. She is anything but passive and befriends everyone in her path with her infectious smile. If you only ask, she will most likely give you a hug, a kiss, and a high five. A lot has changed for her in a year . . . and a lot has changed for us.

I can, however, think of one thing about Stella that has stayed the same since I met her a year ago. On the second day we spent with her in that warm hotel room in Cheboksary, I was sitting on the floor with her and she suddenly started talking and laughing. She was looking at pictures we brought her of our family. She was pointing at Jacob. Separated by an ocean, she met her big brother through a picture and he was already showing her the way, assuring her that everything was OK, that we could be trusted, and that she could relax and be herself. When I picked her up from school today Stella ran up to me, smiled, and said "Go get Jacob?"   

Our Story of Adoption: Catching Our Breath

Have you ever started something with such a high level of enthusiasm and excitement, that when the inevitable moment comes when you’re feet get kicked out from under you or you lose the winds in your sail, that you literally can’t catch your breath?

After our conversation at the mall, we started researching international adoption on the internet, bought a book (How to Adopt Internationally), and confided in a few friends about our new idea. Darren has a tendency to get hooked on a topic and research it endlessly.  We quickly learned that the first decisions you need to make regard choosing a country and choosing an agency—and these two issues are interrelated. We soon narrowed our choices down to two countries: Russia and Azerbaijan. Russia won out fairly quickly when we discovered that there were no agencies in Texas who worked with Azerbaijan (many adoptive parents choose to work with agencies out-of-state, so while it’s not impossible, we just preferred an agency in Texas.

One of the most common questions asked of us is “Why Russia? How did you pick a country?” and we honestly don’t have a clear, logical answer. We hadn’t even seen Dr. Zhivago at that point!  I had a good friend at the time from Russia and we liked how established international adoption was in that country, but to tell the truth there was just a mysterious pull to the Motherland. So with that decision made, we started looking at three agencies. We initially ruled out Buckner Adoption and Maternity Services since they were not accredited with the Russian government and there was a certain amount of inconvenience in meeting with them. They are accredited now and we understand a good agency – the choice of agency is just a very personal one that requires a certain fit. You know, when it comes to someone helping you find your family, the decision should involve more than finding the lowest bidder or fanciest website. That left The Gladney Center for Adoption in Ft. Worth and Los Ninos International Adoption Center in the Woodlands. We were leaning towards choosing Gladney (a choice we'll explain more fully in a future post) if only for the proximity when we registered to attend one of their International Adoption Seminars.

International adoption seminars are like freshman Chemistry or the first year of law school: they want to weed out everyone who’s either not serious or not cut out for what lies ahead. Gladney is very good about preparing potential adoptive parents and arming them with all the facts from the very beginning—they are not going to sugarcoat the adoption process to try and gain “clients” and you should beware of any agency or individual who does so. Of course in saying all that, it should be clear that a couple with any level of romanticized notions of international adoption can get quite an eye-opening.

In a nutshell here is what we heard at this seminar: international adoption is expensive and risky. Russian adoptions usually come to around $30,000 and other countries are only slightly less expensive. Children who have been institutionalized can have any host of emotional, psychological, and physical problems that may not be evident until you bring a child home and at the seminar they give you a list of worst case scenario issues: fetal alcohol syndrome, severe attachment disorder, ADD, ADHD, hyperactivity, developmental delay, malnutrition, low birth-weight, and the list goes on and on. A child may have experienced abuse and abandonment that leave emotional scars that affect him or her for life and of course, you would have little to no information about family medical history. Gladney would never give adoptive parents a referral for a child without informing them of all known medical issues, but many issues are undetectable.

Needless to say, we left the meeting a bit overwhelmed and stopped down the street to have a burger and talk about it. One of the biggest issues (or just the easiest to talk about?) was the money: we certainly didn’t have $30,000 and had no idea where or how we could get it. Did it make sense to spend so much money when we could just have a child the “old-fashioned” way and let United Healthcare pick up the bill? What if we brought home a child with FAS or attachment disorder? Could we handle the worst case scenario?

It was the disappointment that was so overwhelming. Our feet were kicked out from under us and our sails had no wind. Maybe this wasn’t what we were supposed to do? Were we being unrealistic, too idealistic? For several weeks neither one of us mentioned it, and if it came up we changed the subject. International adoption was the proverbial 2000 pound elephant sitting in the middle of our living room.

You know the happy ending of the story, but imagine for a second what this time was like for us. We were asking ourselves if it was worth the cost and worth the risk. What would you tell us? Would your answer be different if one or both of our children did have attachment disorder or fetal alcohol syndrome? Would they be any less worth the cost?

Our Story of Adoption: The Beginning

All stories begin somewhere and truthfully no story really begins where we think it does.  This story begins in the Parks Mall on Cooper Street in Arlington, Texas — though it arguably begins years before, in the formative years of our young lives . . . or perhaps even centuries before when a Man walked along the shores of Galilee providing a way to reconciliation with others and with God.  But we’re not here to tell the whole world’s story.  We’re here to tell our own and any story has to begin somewhere, so we’ll begin at the mall, a most illustrious place to start such a tale.

It was late 2001, sometime after 9-11. We had moved to Arlington in 2000 for my job and Terri’s graduate work and often found ourselves discussing what it might look like for us to be parents.  Now you have to understand, we appropriately (if not completely) understood parenthood to be a big step in life.  But we talked about it casually. 

When I was younger, a friend once told me she thought I would make a great dad.  It was a word of encouragement that pierced my heart and stayed embedded there.  I tell you this to say parenthood, fatherhood, had always appealed to me in such a way that I sometimes wonder if it appeals to others.  I just wasn’t sure of the right timing (as if I could develop the proper time line for such a thing).  We had discussed the related details before: finances, travel, jobs and school (Terri was still pursuing her Master’s degree), but we never felt as if we had an answer to that elusive question of timing.

Among those conversations and many others about family, Terri had told me that she had always considered adoption to be something she wanted to pursue.   She grew up in a home where compassion was important and with two foster sisters who gave her a real life view of the difficulties of growing up without a stable family and living in and out of institutions. Since she was a little girl, she had talked about, dreamed about, adopting her children. But with age and the pressure to conform, that dream had faded a bit as she began to listen to those subtle voices telling her to do the “normal” thing and at least start with biological children. But just a few weeks before our story begins, she was bombarded with images of adoption: friends and professors who had adopted internationally were telling their stories, others were talking about working in baby homes and orphanages and showing pictures of babies and children all alone in the world. The dream refused to disappear quietly.

Back to the mall.  There we were, minding our own business, eating Quiznos (a mesquite chicken with bacon hold the onions and tomatoes – I know this because it is all we have ever eaten at Quiznos) when the topic of family decided to pull up a chair at our table.  I don’t know when he came in, but suddenly there he was at our table, wanting us to talk about him.  So we did.  And I found myself saying, “Maybe we should start with adoption.  Maybe that’s how we’re supposed to start our family.  Maybe the issue hasn’t been timing after all.” 

I don’t remember every word from that conversation.  It’s one of those where you wish you had a video to go back and replay.  You never do in those times.  I do, however, remember what I did.  I went home, got on the internet, and began to learn about international adoption. 

An inauspicious beginning – certainly not one that would hint to where we are today, but that’s the beautiful thing about life, you don’t have to have a map with markers plotted out to enjoy the journey!

Coming soon to a blog near you

Terri and I have always wanted to write about our adoption journeys.  I think a lot of people are like that based on the number of books and blogs I see about adoption and specifically international adoption.  It's an adventure and encompassing the geographic adventure of travelling to another country and another culture to the emotional adventure of working, waiting, hoping, yelling, praying, and then doing it all again. 

There are a number of posts on this blog related to Stella-Ruth's adoption.  We've decided to go back to the beginning, before we adopted Jacob and tell our story.  It will be told by both of us with the role of narrator passed back and forth between us.  We know it will be fun for us and we hope it will be fun for you too.  And maybe someone out there will read our story and realize this may be the journey they are called to travel too.   

So check back here on Friday as we've decided to make the story a regular Friday feature with the first step set to be unveiled in a couple of days.  I know you can hardly wait.