Adoption and the afterlife: Part 1
I have known since I was 12 years old that adoption would be a part of my life. My next youngest sister was born, 12 years separate and I remember when my mother announced the existence of the germinating cells that would grow to be the person she is today it went something like this:
"Kids (my older sister and brother and I), Dad and I have a surprise for you!" Immediately, my sister and I had the same thought. The Horse that we endlessly perused the newspaper classifieds for was finally going to be a part of our lives! The Mother had somehow gotten past her deathly allergy to horseflesh and gotten over the fact that we lived in a three bedroom rental house in the suburbs and had miraculously convinced The Father that we didn't need more books, we needed a Gelding (appaloosa preferably). We shouted it out. "We're getting a Horse!". My brother sat silently and just stared at us. After a pause The Mother said, "nooooo..... something better". At this I was stumped. My sister and brother threw out a few more guesses involving Disneyworld and other wildly unattainable dreams of 'something better'. I had nothing. There was nothing better than a Horse. Really at a loss for any ideas I finally said, "well you better not be having a baby, because that wouldn't be a good surprise."
Guess what? She was going to have a baby. Really it didn't turn out so bad and looking back now I see the wisdom in not having a Horse. There was definitely just as much poop and 'mucking' involved though.
But when she came, early on a Sunday morning, things just suddenly looked different for me.
She was so translucent and fragile. I spent a lot of time at the Public Library in those days and was (still am) an avid reader of biographies. I read about Africa and AIDS. Of Rwanda and the Genocide. About slavery in the USA and human souls being owned by another from the dawn of their lives to the setting of the same. I read about the fragility and vulnerability of slum orphans on the streets of India. The faces of those little ones were all suddenly her face.
This is when adoption became a part of me. I had no skills but I just wanted to wrap my arms around those little bodies and somehow make them feel safe. Maybe you can understand. Feeling so helpless to help them. In my mind, as soon as I was able, I was moving to Africa to hug those starving kids.
You can see the naiveté. I could too, but I knew I just had to keep moving in that direction and hope that I would figure out a better plan on the way.
And then Life. The suburbs don't let a person go so easily. I won't pretend I am extraordinarily brave or ambitious. I have to admit sometimes my biggest goal in life is to 'fly under the radar'. The less people know about you, the more control and power you have, right?
Fast-forward into marriage to a wonderful man (that wasn't in my plan), the birth of three kids and the loss of one, and life looked far different than the way I envisioned it a decade before. Africa seemed so far away, literally and figuratively. But my heart still burned, more than ever.
Enter, attendance at a new church. Here were people who were going about adoption a different way. They did it by intentionally living in poverty stricken and disadvantaged neighborhoods and opening their homes and hearts to the kids next door and down the block. They did it by adopting internationally and domestically. They did it by adding a seat at the dinner table for the neighborhood kids who were still at their house at 6pm for the fourth time that week. They did it through becoming foster families.
Fostering sounded like the most terrifying of those options to me, but also the most inexpensive. Therefore, as I am known to do, I went straight for it. Because honestly, one can not allow oneself to be put off by fear, it MUST BE DEFEATED. And also there is the budget.
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