This is especially for my fellow CHRISTIANS!!! (Non too)
PLEASE listen to adoptees!! Here you have a 7 year old who is able to express her sadness, confusion, loneliness about her identity and the loss of his natural mother.
It took me 37 years to come out of the fog and grieve.
PLEASE understand what happens when you remove a child from their natural mother.
PLEASE allow your children to grieve.
PLEASE make sure the child you are about to adopt is actually an orphan!! (Many are stolen and sold via child trafficking).
PLEASE understand that we need the space to feel our pain (it can come at any age).
PLEASE sit with us in those moments and let us know it’s ok to feel all those feelings.
I thank Sarah, a believer herself, for recognizing that the church community needs to re-examine the celebration of adoption and the message that comes across.
Posted @withrepost • @sarahagertywrites My relationship with adoption changes every year alongside my relationship with my children, whom we adopted.
“Mom, it bothers me when people say they love adoption. I don’t love adoption,” says one of mine. Adoption, for her, meant the devastating loss of something so fundamental. Family and safety and a biological mother’s skin against hers, thus the loss of a sense of identity that brought with it questions like “why am I even here?” For a seven-year-old.
Much like our Christian culture that longs to skip to the end, to read the last page, we want to call children like mine restored and rescued … overlooking that restoration can be both a one-time act *and* a lifetime of walking it out. We were made for the end of the story — thus, we crave it. But it is the everyday walk towards that end of the story that makes us. Shapes us.
As my kids grow and I watch their grief unfold, I find myself advocating for that which we often dismiss: the need to grieve.
So many have told us over the years as we witness the repercussions of our children’s losses: “it’s just a life-stage, they’ll get over this.” But it’s not. And if I rush them towards “normal,” in my idealism, I miss scooting them towards the tender God who comes to kiss their foreheads and tousle their hair and hold them in their grief.
For the once-orphaned ones (big and small) that fill our churches: give them permission to grieve … to not perform … to writhe, even, in their pain … and, thus, to find Him and be restored. Don’t rush them towards answers, give them Him, who isn’t irritated by their lack of Christian productivity but who weeps with them over their loss.
It’s in the ache where God is most near. Let us not begrudge the fatherless in our midst the chance at slow growth that starts with grief … the opportunity to find Him.