A Letter to the Adoptive Me
Guest what, you can do this. I almost cried writing this for you, because what you've been through - what I'm about to go through - is a lot.
Remember what that adoptive mom said in the orientation class? That in the beginning everyone sees you as the hero. The savior to the parentless child. The remarkable-Jesus lover. Rescuer of orphans. And then, when your children appear capricious to the untrained eye you become...the unbalanced parent, the poor disciplinarian, the example of 'thank goodness we didn't do that', the prone-to-pity enemy-of-target-owner-of-mini-van-mom. The once 'adorable gifts of grace' become receivers of scowls, unruly, untamed, wild mannered, and my favorite 'poor kids.' It might appear that you just can't do it.
You were warned, and honestly you already knew, that this God ordained choice would be a challenge. You stood there at the beginning of this enormous mountain and you knew it would, indeed, be a steep incline with a peak you could not even see. But who needs to see the sky when their sights are set to the lamp at their feet? You knew, and know, that this was true way before then: the moment you said 'I do', each pregnancy, the moment you brought Adam home. Remember the way the Spirit speaks to you: You can do this. He will do this through you.
That's what this letter is: a call to remembrance.
Remember your enthusiasm! Remember your instincts. Remember your heart. God's heart. Remember how it felt to be loved when you felt unlovable. Think back to those impossible moments where all you and Josh could do was trust and remember the deliverance of God's goodness at every step! The outcomes! The successes that far outweighed the struggles!
Remember what you're doing. Firstly, you are following God's rhythms. Secondly, you are raising disciples. Each of them is your child despite what people might say or ask. Nothing sets them apart from your love. Cut from the same cloth, wearing the same banner: Love. Return to Love constantly so you can serve them well.
Bursts of hope surround you. Find them.
Let heels dig deep in your firm foundation. Gird yourself in mercy, love and grace and don't stop pouring yourself out empty everyday. Bone dry and tired. For in dryness we receive quenching, in hollowness we are filled to overflowing. The rain that falls turns to hope immeasurable - We continue to shout our praise even when we’re hemmed in with troubles, because we know how troubles can develop passionate patience in us, and how that patience in turn forges the tempered steel of virtue, keeping us alert for whatever God will do next. In alert expectancy such as this, we’re never left feeling shortchanged. Quite the contrary—we can’t round up enough containers to hold everything God generously pours into our lives through the Holy Spirit!
You're a good, good mother. Don't baulk. Just know.
You can do this. I know you can.