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If I’m being honest… Adjusting to life as a transracial adoptive family of 5

On April 6, my family officially became a Family of 5!  Although we have been functioning that way for several months, it was meaningful and symbolic to move forward together.  Since the beginning of our journey with our girls, we have received an abundance of support and encouragement from friends and family near and far.  This has been a true gift to us.  In addition to that, I have also been asked one question more than any other, so I thought I would answer it here.

“How are you adjusting to life as a family of 5?”

There is a quick and sincere answer to that question- I am doing well.  We all are.  Life is chaotic, exhausting, confusing, and amazing.  But what else is new.  The simple answer is, “We are good. Life is good.”

Nothing negates the simple answer, but if you have a little more time and you genuinely want to know, I can dig a little deeper.  Because honestly, life is good, and it is also more than that.  Life is hard.  I have three kids now, so… there’s that.  I became a mother of three in an unconventional way, and I am still figuring it out. They are so opinionated.  And hungry.  And human.  And just when I think I have one figured out, that kid goes and does something completely unprecedented, and all bets are off.  Life is hard, yet rich with insight and perspective.

Another thing I may tell you if I am being honest is that I am seeing very clearly that hurt begets anger, fear begets hostility and grief begets emotional unrest.  When I remember this, I am filled with compassion for my children (and even myself), but when I forget this, the initial hurts, fears and grief beget anger, hostility and emotional unrest in me, too.  I realize all too often that there are actually 5 wounded children in our house, not just three.  My wounds are not like my children’s wounds for many reasons.  I don’t pretend to compare my life to theirs.  But I am a broken, wounded child, too.  I am looking for someone to take care of me and defend me and take on my burdens because, even though I am a grown-up, I feel very small sometimes.  In these moments, I may call my mom or my sister and lament, or I may communicate through my facial expression to my husband to just hug me and tell me everything will be okay.  Sometimes, although not often enough, I remember that I have a Creator who loves me and cares for me in ways I cannot even understand, and I want my children to feel comforted by that, too.  Because I will let them down.  I already have thousands of times.  And I feel like crap when I do it because these are kids that have already dealt with so much disappointment.  I want to come through for them, but I can’t do it all the time.  I can’t even do it half the time. So life is good, and most days, life is overwhelming.

If I am being really honest, I may also say that, even though I knew my life would look very different after adopting two black girls, I had no idea how different it would be.  My husband put it best when he said that he has lived his whole life trying to blend in, and now he is in a family that will always stand out.  It is a drastically different experience when I take my white adopted son to Target versus taking one of my black daughters.  Sometimes, it feels like curiosity.  Other times, it feels like confusion.  Occasionally, it feels like judgment.  I wish I could say it didn’t bother me.  Often times, it doesn’t.  After all, I don’t hate attention as much as my husband does. :)  But sometimes, I am over it.  Sometimes I just want to blend in.  Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to wear my Adoptive Mother badge all the time.  Sometimes I wish it was more like it was before- a badge I wore when I wanted to, needed to, remembered to…

After adopting our son almost 4 years ago, I knew that adoption would always be woven intricately into our story, and I honored that.  It felt good and right for our family to embrace the adoption narrative.  But this feels different.  I can’t tell my daughters that it is their story to tell like I have told my son for years.  Although it is still their story to tell, the world feels entitled to know it.  They ask questions in front of my children or to my children about their stories.  Personal questions.  Complicated questions.  And they expect answers.  It’s like they are asking me where I got my purse, and if I refuse to provide the information, I am seen as stand-offish or rude.  But it’s not a handbag.  It’s my daughter’s past.  It is pain and hurt that cannot be summed up in a quick response, but somehow, it needs to be.  I don’t know what is worse: grown-ups asking my young black daughters about their white mom or grown-ups asking me in front of them about my young black daughters.   So life is good, and life is uncomfortable.

So there it is.  Life is good.  Life is hard.  Life is overwhelming.  Life is uncomfortable.  And life is very sweet.  On Mother’s Day, a day that is not simple for any my children or for me, we decided to get away.  We took a day trip to the beach, our first one as a family of 5, and we let the beach do what the beach does.  We let it soothe us and embrace us.  We let it heal us and renew us.  As my husband and I stood on the shore and watched our three children play in the waves together, laughing and unencumbered, I felt deeply connected to and grateful for my family and my life.  As a dear friend reminded me recently, a meaningful life is much richer than a happy one.  And the beauty is that when I seek meaning and connection more than ease and comfort, I experience more contentment and peace than I do when happiness is my pursuit.

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So, back to the question at hand.  “How am I adjusting to life as a family of 5?”

Honestly… It gets richer and more meaningful by the day.

 

The joy and grief of having more children- A tribute to the boy who made me a mom

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Tonight, I gave my son a bath and laid his pj’s on his bed like I usually do.  We read a story and the Bible just like the night before and the night before that.  We snuggled and prayed and gave kisses goodnight as always.  On the surface, tonight was like any other night the past three years.  Except it wasn’t.  Tonight, I put my son to bed as my only child for the last time.

Tomorrow is the day I have longed for since I first saw my two daughters’ faces on a website 6 months ago.  It is both exciting and scary in the same breath.  My little family of three will be a full-blown, full-time family of five.  As ready as I am for all of my babies to be under my roof every night, I am also filled with nostalgia and a bit of grief at losing what we have had the past three years.  When the desire for more kids moved from dream to reality, I felt hesitant to admit my conflicting emotions at first.  But after talking candidly to many parents (both biological and adoptive) over the past few months about our process of adopting the girls and the timeline and how things are going, the most amazing thing happened.  As I shared honestly about my deep love for my son, the boy who made me a mom, and my fear that I wouldn’t ever be able to love any child as much as I love him, I heard the most encouraging words in the world.  “I felt that, too.”

I heard fears like, “What if we can’t adapt?” and “What if it’s too hard?” and “What if I don’t have enough love, energy, dedication, [fill in word here] to parent more than one child?” and “What if my oldest child resents me for this?”  Yes.  Yes.  Yes.  And definitely Yes.

I wasn’t alone in my fears, but it didn’t end with that.  Then, my friends and family and sometimes total strangers (I’m extraverted) said more amazing and inspiring things to me.  I heard things like “It becomes the new normal” and “You will figure out what each relationship will look like over time” and “You will love each child completely and uniquely”, and quite simply, “I get it. It will be okay”… and I felt a huge weight lift off my chest.

I realized then that my loyalty and intense love for my son is not the problem.  It’s actually the answer.  Before becoming a mother through adoption, I wondered what it would feel like to love like that.  Like my mom.  Like Harry Potter’s mom.  Like Dumbo’s mom.  And now I know.  I love my son so fervently.  And now, I also love my daughters with intensity and recklessness and boldness, and that feels really good.  And I am trusting that, as time passes, I will learn how to love them each completely and uniquely more and more.

But tonight, on the eve of a complete life shift for all of us, my heart is drawn to my little boy, the one who made me a mom.  He will always hold a special place in my heart, and I will tell him that as often as I can.

Christmas 2012

Christmas 2012

 

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Dating my Daughters- It took me 32 years, but I finally learned how to date

I was never a big dater.  Historically, I have had one of two extreme reactions when encountering someone with the potential of a romantic connection- crush and obsess or run the other way. (Or, in some instances, crush and obsess, then run the other way.)

As I got older, I kept hoping I would become someone who “dates”, but it never really happened.  Even in the early stages of my relationship with my now-husband, we didn’t stay in the dating phase very long.

It’s funny to say that I didn’t really learn how to date until a few months ago when I began dating my daughters.

When we adopted our son three years ago, I got to do what I am good at.  I got to fall hard and fast for my son.  I crushed majorly for this boy, and everything moved so quickly, which made it even more intensified.  With my girls,  it hasn’t looked the same.  For dozens of reasons, it has had to be gradual, careful, and slow.  I knew that if I came across too strong, I would freak them out or shut them down.  But I didn’t want to be stand-offish or seem disinterested either.  Ahh! How do I do this?!”  I realized early on that I needed to learn how to date my daughters.

I worked hard at it and, after 32 years, I finally figured out a few things about dating.  So in the spirit of generosity, I will share my findings with you.

  1. Be attentive, but don’t smother or overwhelm.  When we first met the girls at a park, I wanted to run over and begin connecting immediately.  But that was about me, not them.  So I tried stepping back, but still engaging.  I let them come to me, and when they came, I was ready and eager to receive them.  Luckily, they didn’t have phones or I am sure I would have been blowing them up.  I couldn’t see them every day, so I couldn’t really smother.  It forced me to slow down, which also made me more attentive and purposeful.
  2. Make appropriate amounts of eye contact, but don’t stare.  This was hard because, of course, I was mesmerized by their sweet little faces, and I wanted to remember every detail about them.  But I knew that if I stared at them, it would be weird.  So no staring. (Or at least wait until they are asleep.)  When they did engage me, I looked right into their eyes so they could see they had my full attention- that there was nothing more important to me in that moment.
  3. Keep things light and fun.  DON’T GET TOO SERIOUS TOO FAST.  When dating, if things get too intense too quickly, the tone is set.  In my counseling office, I have seen this lead to an unrealistic expectation of relating that often results in conflict and tension.  When it comes to kids, it is important for adults to remember that trust and connection are established initially through positive, warm interactions, not big DTR’s the first time you meet.
  4. Physical intimacy should not be forced and it should occur in stages.  I am affectionate.  I love to hug, and it is not uncommon for me to want to put my hand on a shoulder during an informal conversation.  But there is a natural progression to physical intimacy that is important to honor.  It’s not just about me, so forcing my way of physically relating onto others (especially children with trauma) is not just inappropriate; it could be harmful.  Physical boundaries may be something people need help with if there is a history of inappropriate relating (both for kids and for grown ups), so asking permission is healing and empowering.  Asking “Would you like to high five or hug goodbye?” reminds the other person that you value their boundaries and aren’t trying to take power from them.
  5. Saying “I love you” too soon may seem desperate or insincere.  As I have stated, I fall fast.  I crush hard. I love easily.  But I had to find other ways of telling my daughters how much I care so that when I said “I love you”, they would not only believe it; they would rest in it.  I wanted to be able to back up my words with tangible examples of my love and commitment to them, and that takes time and work.  My husband and I decided not to say those words for a while when we got together because we had said them too quickly in the past.  We had to find other ways of communicating how invested and connected we felt.  And when we finally said it, we knew we meant it.
  6. Doing fun and exciting activities too often during the early stages sets an unrealistic precedent for the future.  If your first date is a flight to Mexico on a jet, it doesn’t bode well for your bank account or your relationship.  For my first date with Dave, we went to Moe’s.  It could only go up from there.  We made a decision not to woo our daughters with presents and extravagant outings because we weren’t trying to impress them.  This wasn’t a fling.  We were in it for the long haul, so going to parks and hanging out at our house felt like real life.  And that’s what we wanted to build with them- a life.
  7. Don’t shut out your friends and family when you start a new relationship. (or two)  It’s easy to isolate when you are dating.  It is important to pour into new relationships, but over time it can become secluding and alienating.  For us, exclusive bonding was and still is crucial.  We need to solidify our roles in our children’s lives, and that takes priority over incorporating other new dynamics into the system right away.  But because of our deep desire to stay connected to our loved ones and invite them into this process with us, we have had to find other ways to include them- sending updates, texting pictures, asking for prayer, looking at family photos, Facetiming, and casual group activities without too much pressure or expectation.  We don’t want to do this alone.  And we want to model community to our girls.
  8. Past relationships need to be honored and not minimized.  When starting a new relationship, we don’t usually want to dwell on past loves, but if we don’t at least acknowledge them, the relationship will suffer.  Making it clear from the beginning that there is room in the relationship for the past creates an environment that is open and promotes healthy relating in the future.  My children have all had lives that precede me.  So has my husband.  This in no way minimizes my relationship with them, and talking about the past when it comes up teaches them that it is not “off-limits” and it doesn’t threaten what we have.  It makes it stronger and more authentic.

My season of dating my daughters is coming to a close soon.  As fun as dating is, I look forward to the relief and comfort of making a symbolic and formal commitment to them.  I remember so vividly a conversation Dave and I had one night before we got engaged.  I felt angsty and unsatisfied about this “in-between” stage of our relationship, and he looked me right in the eyes and said, “This stage won’t last forever.” I felt such relief and peace in that moment.  I hope my daughters feel that soon, too.  In the meantime, I will enjoy this stage for what it is.  And I will keep falling more and more in love with my daughters.

Fields Party of 5: It’s a girl! (And another girl!)

Party of…

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After months of waiting, we have some HUGE news to share.  Our little party of 3 is becoming a party of 5! (I have so many Matthew Fox jokes to insert here since he is my husband’s man crush, but I will stay on task.) We have been matched with TWO (yes, TWO) precious little girls who we adore.  The details of how and when and why are private for now, but here is what I will say: God’s plans are better than our plans, and we are so grateful to have been chosen to parent these precious souls.

Things are about to get crazy in the Fields house!  Our 7-year-old son will be a big brother times two, and we will move from parents of an only child (a fairly self-sufficient one at that!) to parents of THREE kids of different ages with varying degrees of need and diverse interests and unique personalities.  On top of that, we are transitioning from an adoptive family to a transracial adoptive family.  This is both humbling and overwhelming as we think about navigating this world and raising our children in the cultural context in which we live.  We feel painfully ill-equipped, and we are reaching out, in and around for support, guidance and feedback.  My perspective on adoption has evolved significantly throughout this process, and I hope to share more of that in the coming months.  But one thing that hasn’t changed is my deep gratitude to our family and friends and various communities for embracing our family and loving our children. (Even before meeting them!)

Prior to our own experience with adoption 3 years ago, I must admit, I was pretty naïve about many things.  Our learning curve felt very steep, and many of our closest people learned right along with us.  There are tons of amazing resources available to facilitate deeper understanding about the adoption triad (birth parents-adoptee-adoptive parents), as well as specific areas of adoption, like international adoption, transracial adoption, adoption through the foster care system, single-parent and LGBT adoption, legal issues related to the adoption process, and services available for the various stakeholders involved in adoption.  My hope in the coming year is to devote more space on this blog to facilitate discussions, answer questions and invite other voices to share experiences related to adoption.

Surprisingly, despite a positive shift in perceptions of adoption, the number of adoptions in this country has remained about the same for the last 50 years.  The reasons for this are not simple, and I don’t believe that adoption is something everyone should do, but if adoption is something you are thinking about or want to understand more deeply, I hope this blog can link you to the resources, information and support you will need.  In my experience, the most poignant education I have received about adoption and adoptive parenting has come from the lived experiences of others.  So this is mine. Ours.

The girls (the most common reference in our household for our new family members) are not with us permanently yet, but they are very much in our lives and hearts more and more every day.  In the meantime, my family humbly asks for your prayers and positive thoughts as we transition to becoming a family of 5! It will be a huge change for all involved, but a change that we welcome and anticipate with excitement and hope.  Thank you for your care for my family.  It means the world!

Here we go…

 

 

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To all the kids I don’t adopt

The process of adopting is full of intense and sudden emotions. On our journey to find the next child that will come into our family, there are countless children who need homes that won’t become mine. Some I may see on a website. Others I hear about locally. Still others I will never see a picture of or know their names, but they are still there. Waiting, like me.

This is hard. Devastating. Confusing. It could be a passing conversation with a friend or acquaintance about a child who needs a home. It may be a call from a case worker saying “maybe”, but there is no guarantee. The circumstances may not fit for one reason or another. And then there are times when you just need to slow it down a step to catch your breath, and then the door closes. Thoughtful inaction can lead to missed opportunity. Sometimes, the inaction may not be on my part. I may be waiting for someone else to do their job, to fulfill their role. And then a deadline is missed. An opportunity is lost. A child becomes someone else’s. There are also variables we have to consider as parents to our son. Adding a new family member is a life-altering process for everyone involved, and it requires a layer of sensitivity and care when other children are present. For these reasons and others, there are many children who cross my path (and thousands who don’t) that are not and will not be mine.

How do I make sense of this? How do I go “all-in” and deal with these continual disappointments? How can I keep envisioning possible children in our family only to be let down and skeptical of the whole process? I am sure people in my position have different ways of coping with this aspect of adoption. For me, it comes down to an anchor that I have to lean into if I am going to put myself through this.

I AM NOT IN CONTROL.

There is nothing groundbreaking about this notion, but it is comforting and relieving in the midst of so much uncertainty. I have to trust that life is not arbitrary and random. That if all of life really boiled down to luck or chance or even hard work, then I would be obsessed with doing everything just right and filled with fear and doubt and pressure to make the best move all the time. “If only I had called that case worker back an hour before” or “What if we missed our child because we went out of town and delayed our home study paperwork by a week?” That’s enough to make a person (me) crazy.

There are certainly things I can do and need to do in this process, so I focus on those things.  I make phone calls, send emails, research things online, seek wisdom and counsel from others, continue working on being a good parent to my son and a thoughtful wife to my husband.  I pray. I do what I can do, then I let go of the rest.

I have to remind myself constantly that there is something bigger at work than my own agendas and plans. Sometimes, I feel called to be diligent and relentless and, other times, I feel the need to slow down and trust. It’s hard to discern the difference, which is where community is paramount for me. I need those who know and love me to anchor me, too.  I need people to remind me that my child is out there; that I am not forgotten and neither is she. That I am not waiting alone.

And when I feel my Savior Complex kick in when I think about all of the children who need permanent families in this country, I hold on to my anchor once again. I AM NOT IN CONTROL.  I cannot right all the wrongs in this world, and adopting children is not the only way to seek out justice and show love.  Instead, I can be faithful to fulfill my own life purpose, which I strongly believe involves adopting more kids.  But not 20. Not 200.  Not 100,000.

In order to make peace with the children out there that don’t become mine, I have to hold on to this. I want a family. And for now, my husband and I have made peace with some parameters for what it needs to look like to bring more children into our family. We try to be open to what falls into those parameters, and we push the parameters a little here and there.  We continually check in with ourselves and each other to make sure the parameters are not too tight because of fear or too loose out of desperation.  We want to be thoughtful, hopeful and wise.

In the meantime, as I scroll through pictures on websites or hear stories of children needing homes, I will whisper each name in a breath prayer up to God, and I will honor their story even for just a moment. Because they are valuable and worthy of love. And eventually, it will be my child I whisper a breath prayer for… And the next chapter will begin.

 

I got no patience. and I hate waiting.

I am not a patient person.  In fact, I can be a bit impulsive and rash at times.  It’s a consequence of being passionate, I tell myself. (And that’s called justification.)  Jay Z summed up the sentiments of our culture in an inappropriate song from my teenage years: “I got no patience.  And I hate waitin.”

Many aspects of today’s culture feed into this personality characteristic quite well.  My most common outlet is Amazon Prime.  Pretty much anything I want, I can get instantaneously streamed or shipped to me within 48 hours.  It takes so little forethought to order presents or to be entertained.

In a streaming culture with the world at our fingertips, waiting seems so passé.

I remember a time when trying to recall what movie a particular actor starred in or the definition of a word or a random sports statistic had to be analyzed and argued about instead of just googled.  I recall my family’s first encyclopedia on cd-rom.  It felt like magic.  So much information in one place accessible to me through my clunky desktop computer.

Most businesses have had to find their own ways of speeding up the wait in order to stay competitive.  Restaurants have apps for reserving tables and even pre-ordering your meal.  Theme parks have fast passes and online access to current wait times for rides and attractions. And despite all the increased efficiency in our society, when we are forced to wait for even a minute, we can fill that wait time with scrolling.  Check Facebook.  Check Instagram.  Check the latest scores. Text. Email. Tweet. Snapchat. (This one gets me. “Here is a picture of me waiting!”)

Waiting isn’t a time to talk or pontificate the meaning of life.  It’s a time to distract. To prevent boredom.  To minimize discomfort.

So what happens when all the technological and societal advances aren’t enough and waiting is unavoidable? In those moments, we have to decide how badly we want whatever we are forced to wait for.

That’s where I am.  Waiting.  When we decided to pursue adoption again, I had a feeling it wouldn’t be so quick or smooth this time around.  That was rare, and I know this now.  We had done our fair share of waiting prior to our son’s adoption.  We struggled through infertility and made an intentional decision to pursue adoption, which involved a lot of paperwork and conversations and classes and tons of little details.  It was not easy.  But looking back, it was not nearly as hard as it is for most.  I see that now, and I honor that.

This time around, our process looks a bit different.  We have a little boy to consider and that means more waiting and praying and exploring and information-gathering.  One of the reasons the adoption process is so intense is that it requires patience and discernment and intention, as well as courage and risk and even impulsivity.  It’s a wait, wait, wait….. GO! sort of process.  And sometimes it’s even a wait, wait, wait.. Go-no wait, maybe go?-no, go back to waiting process.

A question I keep asking myself during this ambiguous and confusing stage is “How am I waiting?”

Am I using this time well or am I biding time?  Am I scrolling and streaming instead of reflecting and praying?

I want to wait well.  Not just in our adoption journey, but in all areas of my life.  I want to be present, but also allow myself to have vision and imagination for the future.  I want to look inward and around instead of down or even straight ahead.  I want to share my waiting experiences with others and not pull away or avoid.  I want to feel uncomfortable instead of numbing myself with distractions and surface-level connection.  I want to lean into my fears and honor the uncertainty of life.  But I don’t want to do it alone.  And I don’t think I am supposed to.

I am not a patient person.  I will continue to use fast passes and call ahead to restaurants and get my tickets on Fandango because these conveniences make life less stressful and rushed for me.  But when I have to wait, I want to wait well.  And in my waiting, I want to be more attuned to those who are waiting, too.  I want to wait with people and invite people to wait with me.  After all, so much of the experience is the anticipation.  When I wait with others, the anticipation feels exciting and connected.  When I wait alone, I am much more likely to feel overwhelmed by the uncertainty and run away.  I can tell you this, I would never wait an hour in line for Space Mountain by myself.

Many things feel scary right now.  What would be most comfortable would be to forget the whole adoption thing and enjoy the comforts of my life as it is.  But that is my fear talking.  My flesh.  My physical body instead of my spirit.  So when things start feeling acutely out of my control, I have to ask myself:

How badly do I want this?

When I dig deep, the answer is loud and clear.  Enough to wait as long as I need to.

 

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A letter to my son’s first mother on Mother’s Day

My becoming a mother came at a high cost to someone else.  And on this Mother’s Day, I want to honor that sacrifice.

My husband and I adopted our son when he was 4 years old. We had the opportunity to meet his biological mother once, which I am grateful for. When I think back to that day, I can remember the pain in her voice. The sadness in her eyes. The mixture of shame and anxiety and regret and fatigue that were evident in her body language and her distant glances. But I also remember her intentionality and the way she carried herself with grace and humility. I saw her son’s/our son’s face in her deep blue eyes. I knew in that moment she would always be a part of me.

As I celebrate my third Mother’s Day, my heart is drawn back to her. I have so many things I want to say to her now, almost three years later. So I wrote her a letter.

Dear J,

There are so many things I want to say…

First of all, our son is amazing. He is a fun and gregarious boy who makes others feel comfortable and valued. He is full of insight and awareness.   He has a beautiful imagination and sense of adventure coupled with a thoughtful care and respect for the world. He draws people in with his ability to connect and his sweet spirit. He is a special boy.

You are not forgotten. I think about you often, and our son does, too. I see it in his eyes. A far off look of wonder and concern. A creased brow. A wide-eyed expression of excitement followed by a pause. A feeling he can’t quite name. A deep connection to his past that will never leave him.

He remembers and so do we.

You are not alone. You carry us in your heart just as we carry you. You are an integral part of my story, and because of that, we will always be connected. Our son keeps you with him in his big smile and his cute nose and his memories. You are always with us.

You are mentioned. I do not pretend you don’t exist or quiet our son from speaking your name. I honor your presence by asking him what he remembers and leaving room for him to speak freely about you whenever he wants or needs to. Every time we meet someone with your first name, he jolts his head up and smiles at me with a knowing glance. He calls you his first mom, and I do, too.

You are still a mother. You gave me the gift of motherhood, and now that I have experienced it, I know I can’t ever go back. I will always be a mother, and so will you. Although he isn’t calling for you in the middle of the night or asking you to tie his shoes, you know the feeling of love for your child. You made choices to protect and support him. You intimately know the pain and guilt of wanting the best for your child and not knowing how to give it to him.

You are still a mother, and you always will be.

I want you to know that you are a precious and valuable human being. I don’t know what you believe about God, but here’s what I believe. He created you. He knows you. He loves you. Your love and sacrifice is a reflection of God’s love and sacrifice, and he hasn’t given up on you. I pray that you know how precious and valuable you are, to me and to God.

Most importantly, know that our son is loved.  As a mother, the most meaningful thing someone can do for me is to love my child. To treat my son with dignity and to honor his journey. To notice him and to value him, not for what he does, but for who he is. To put his needs above her own and to give sacrificially to him. And that’s what I promise you.

I want you to know that our son is loved. And so are you. 

Thank you for making me a mother and for entrusting me with the most profound job of my life.  Our son is growing so fast.  In the blink of an eye, he went from a preschooler with training wheels to a kid riding roller blades.  He is doing well.  We hope you are, too.

Take care,

Karin

100_2247        josh skating

Mother’s Day is not easy for many people.  My son’s first mother is just one example of that.  Remember that this weekend. Look around at church or at brunch or the grocery store and show love and compassion to those with far-off looks.  I hope someone does that for my son’s first mother today.

Lord, be with the grieving, with the barren, with the lonely, with the distant, with the orphans, with the broken-hearted… Today and always.