The Three Year Plan

Us, on our two year adoption anniversary.

July 26th, 2016.  This date is exactly 3 years after Ethiopia received our completed dossier and put us on a waiting list for our daughter.

I've been painting the nursery.  Not for her, mind you, but for the foster children we'll soon be licensed to welcome.  My feelings about this are HUGE and not entirely happy.  You see, 3 years was the adoption agency's projected waiting period for meeting our girl.  And readying the room for another child at this point -3 years in- has proved to be nothing short of bittersweet.  

Don't get me wrong, we're completely excited about fostering.  Thrilled even.  But we came to this amazing decision (fostering), after our adoption timeline went down the crapper.  Which makes things emotionally complex.

I guess it's because I feel like my daughter's best advocate.  Her only spokesperson.  And now I'm giving her room away.  (I know, I know-that last statement isn't *exactly* true.)  But in a sense, we're letting go of our plans (yet again), which is never easy.  Some days this loss pierces me, sharp as a spear, and I struggle to catch my breath.  Waiting's ticking clock persists (most loudly in OUR ears), but without any accompanying progress to show for it.  It's just a blank stretch, endless TIME.  The sheer span of it has given AMPLE opportunity for introspection over intentions, motivations, desires.  And too much thinking can make Laura an unhappy girl. 

Example: Within the international adoption community especially, there's much talk focused around how NO adoption process can be completely faultless.  Between adoption agencies, multiple governments, impoverished and under-educated families, things are (allegedly) bound to break down somewhere.  This is where finger pointing comes in.  The moral high horses say IF more resources were directed towards developing countries, IF birth families were better empowered, IF adopting Americans saw the bigger picture, THEN international adoption would be a non-issue.  Perhaps when increased health, safety, and provision are met by a motivating awareness, the result *could be* once vulnerable kiddos now remaining in their birth families, peace and love reigning, and unicorns serving us all breakfast.  Or possibly just the first part.

I struggle with this dialogue.  I mean, what respectable adoptive parent wouldn't?  The goal is to create families, not tear them apart.  Obviously, we chose our agency because of their amazing reputation.  Also the myriad investments they make into the different in-country communities and individuals with whom they work.  But there's always that nagging voice in the back of my head, questioning everything.  And, unicorn comment notwithstanding, I don't take any of this lightly.  To be honest, these unanswerables haunt me.  

So, I laid it all out for David.  My what-ifs about using money to help support areas in fixing their crummy circumstances, rather than using it to adopt a needy child out of those same circumstances.  Could we -with the right allocation of funds and resources- really cure the need for adoption...or even fostering for that matter?

This is why God had me marry an extremely smart, patient (and handsome!) man.  And (drum roll please..) the word from David was: Yes, adoption and fostering could become unnecessary.  But NOT because of an increased, targeted distribution of aid, education, and resources.  The solution to the orphan and foster child problem is this: We need a perfect world.  In a perfect world, there would be no unwanted pregnancies.  Every child would be valued, cared for, cherished.  Family building wouldn't be complicated, as there would be no sickness or infertility.  Jobs, education, and basic necessities would be readily available for all without discrimination.  Sounds pretty good, right?  In fact, unicorns *really might* serve us meals in this magical world.

However, that's not reality.  Does that mean we throw our hands up and forget kindness or justice in these current conditions? Not at all!  But the world's brokenness must be taken into account.  We cannot create perfection here.  God gave us that opportunity already and we (Read: Adam & Eve) screwed it up.  So our only option is to muddle through this mess we made.  Plans change.  People fail.  Life happens.  The road we end up on is often one we would have never chosen.  But that doesn't mean the path is absent of victory or joy.  Heartache brings our blessings into sharper relief, made even more vibrant because of loss.

Infertility. A 3+ year complicated international adoption.  Foster care.  These things weren't part of MY plan, as I know they weren't necessarily part of God's original hopes for the world.  But here we are.  Every day on this unplanned route offers a choice.  Bitterness or joy, anger or love, worry or peace.  I choose poorly most days, but periodically a decent decision slips in there too.  These steps, whether taken in frustration or faith, are all a part of the journey.  A part of my daughter's story.  Perhaps it's an imperfect story, a mirror of this broken place surrounding us, but it's OUR story.  And I have to believe that God can redeem it for good.

 P.S. If you are interested in learning more about organizations that help vulnerable children and communities, I'd encourage you to check out Help One Now.  They do important work in keeping families together AND my girl Jen Hatmaker endorses them, so that's pretty much all you need to know.