Adoption – This Eternal Journey

intertwined….

You step inside the story and you become intertwined, enfolded, grafted….

Adoption isn’t the simple act of feeding, clothing, and educating a child. Adoption is grafting. It is the grafting of another life into your life, and your lives becoming one together.

Grafting is a farming technique that joins two separate plants into one. A wound is created in one of the plants, and the other is inserted into the wound so each plant’s tissues can grow together. The plants grow and heal together until you cannot see where one starts and the other ends.

This is grafting.

Scripture speaks extensively about grafting. It was a common practice amongst the farmers and growers of Jesus’ time and the spiritual analogy of God grafting us into His family would have been well understood amongst the hand calloused listeners.

Farmers knew that a plant or tree that was grafted meant faster growth, healing, more fruit, but, you see, to be grafted meant that the plant taking the graft had to be wounded and the branch inserted into the wound was broken off from the original plant.

This is a concept that many people struggle with before and after adoption. Adopting a child is glamorized and we all love the golden hour Instagram moments, but the reality of adoption is that there is a wound made within the adopting family to accept the grafted branch. The branch that is received is a broken branch that has been cut off from familial sustenance. The self inflicted wound of the parental grafted plant is not a mortal wound, it’s a necessary wound. It’s necessary that we know it’s coming, recognizing the initial piercing change of it.

It’s an entering into the struggle and story of the child. It is painful, it is hard, it is time, repetition, exhaustion. It is wholly necessary for the grafting process so healing and growth can begin. It is going into adoption with eyes wide open….knowing that this is the reality of the journey.

For me, the wound was the first few weeks home. I was beyond exhausted, not connected yet, my 40 year old body hurt from suddenly carrying a child around. I’d wake up in the morning thinking, “this is what we chose…this is my life now”…and I’d be ashamed of feeling this way.

It’s utterly overwhelming.

Your life is upside down in every way. The wound is made and the graft is inserted. The grafted branch is heavy, painful, not healed, uncomfortable, you’re supplying sustenance, support, and life to this graft and there’s not much to show for it. It’s just plain hard work and mostly not fun. It feels like it’s bleeding you dry, but it’s not.

There’s a reason God chose you to accept this graft. His strength is gifted to you.

Time passes, and you slowly feel your heart wrapping around this small one…..your tissues enfolding the graft…. I remember a moment so vividly. I used to have to bounce Lian at night, holding him until my arms ached and my back groaned, but he craved this human touch. He would pull at my clothes until his cheek would rest on my skin, and as strange as that seemed to have this small stranger desperate for his cheek on me, I realized that, as a baby, he was never nursed…never had that intimate contact with his mother. Never fell asleep on his father’s bare chest. Never listened to a parent’s heartbeat….and so we did that…every night, until my arms shook with strain as I laid him down, heavy with slumber.

And one night, I’m doing the bouncing routine, I was startled to realize that I loved this child. It hit me full force, washing over me like a wave…tears ran down my cheeks onto his, because I didn’t know that you could love another child like your own.

I didn’t know.

I wondered, but I didn’t know. I hadn’t experienced it yet. This grafting process.

And suddenly that little grafted branch isn’t so heavy, and your wound has healed and his little grafted life is starting to bear fruit and leaves and flowers. There are days when you look at him and wonder if you birthed him, you FEEL like you birthed him, like he was always there, and what did you do before him?

You can’t remember.

This entering into the grafting process is the gift. It’s the willingness to be wounded, to recognize the hard, facing it head on, rejoicing in the journey.

It’s such a beautiful reminder of how God has grafted us into eternity with Him.

I pray that I’m always reminded of this through the daily ordinary.

hope deferred…

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.” Proverbs 13:12.

I haven’t written in a long while. Not since Ella’s birthday in May. I just haven’t had the heart to write, there is no exciting adoption update or news, just a vast, unending silence punctuated by the disheartening, autumn crow calls of more bad news.

I am Proverbially heartsick. I am watching my child grow up in fought for updates doled out like a slow drip during a desert walk.

And I’m not alone. There are hundreds of parents, families, Mamas, just like me, yearning to bring their little one home. We’ve worked so hard, waited so long….we’ve wept, written, hounded our agencies…..we posted, blogged, prayed some more.

God, how long? Where’s our “tree of life”? Why must our littles languish in cribs and institutions when we are SO WILLING to help.

I think that’s what frustrates me the most. There are people who are bravely willing to help, basically standing there with arms outstretched running to the waiting and we can’t get to the need.

Then, there’s this…..

I am definitely NOT a dreams person. In fact, I are overly critical of people who dream dreams and use them to justify all sorts of unbiblical things….I am of the school of thought that dreams need to be tested against scripture and tested hard.

But how many “coincidences” does a skeptic need? I guess, for me, a plethora.

It goes like this. Late fall of 2015, we had started our adoption journey. We wanted a little girl with minor special needs. Well, God laughed at us and we fell in love with the now-famous Lian. After we had accepted his referral (for you non-adoption people, it’s basically a process where you tell China that you accept this child and then they say, “are you sure” and you’re like “yeah” and so on…all in official paperwork forms accompanied by the familiar fees of consternation, namely because you never have enough money when said fees are due)…but I digress…

We are all formally accepted and “locked in” with Lian. It’s a big relief to know and it’s all “yay” and “wow” and “God is so good”, and so on and so forth.

And then I had this dream, one of those vivid dreams that you wake up with a start and wonder what’s going on. I mean, in the vast majority of my dreams I’m searching for a bathroom, which seems to be my lot in life (shout out to all Mamas who’ve had multiple kids, you are my tribe), but this dream was so incredibly different.

I’m in this vast, cement space, multi-leveled, many rooms and hallways. The floors and ceilings are cement, the walls are cement, there are stairways, ladders, all cement. And I’m searching for a little girl. I know it’s a little girl, I’m certain of it. Very certain. There’s nothing in these spaces except cement and shadowy gray faceless figures. I’m climbing cement ladders, I’m passing these figures and begging them, “please, help me find her, she needs me…” Please.

But the figures are silent and go on about their shadowy business…I’m on my own. I keep seeking and searching, going down stairs, climbing ladders, searching hallways, looking into echoing rooms. A feeling of desperation is taking hold of me. Why can’t I find her? I know she’s there. I feel it in my depths.

I come upon this ledge and start climbing down this cement ladder that is carved into the wall, and at the bottom of the ladder is a pile of bags and cloth. I fall to my hands and knees, desperately shuffling through the bags and cloth, feeling, searching for her and I find her! She’s wrapped in black cloth like a swaddled infant and as I turn her over, her straight black hair falls across her forehead, eyes closed, gray complexion, she’s lifeless.

In my dream, I wail, holding her face to my chest, rocking back and forth…. because I was too late! I failed her. She needed me and I wasn’t there…… I feel her soft cheek against my neck, and she suddenly gasps and cries. I look into her face and watch the rose blush rise into her cheeks, her dark eyes open. She’s alive!

And I startle awake with tears on my face, pounding heart.

The greatest puzzlement at the time was why this dream about a little girl? We are adopting Lian…a little boy…..why would I dream this? I remember the next day I was so overcome by it that when I saw my friends, I told them about the dream and it brought tears to my eyes again…I got choked up.

But we had Lian, he’s not a girl, and so, I just passed it off as some strange dream due to feeling overly emotional about adoption or eating too many chips….I don’t know.

Fast forward years…..to this year. Hands down, one of the hardest years of my life….we were supposed to travel to get Ella last December….then paperwork delays….it’s February….then COVID…and NOTHING…nothing but endless sighs, that sharp internal heart clench, deep breaths for more bad news.

We can’t go….there’s no end in sight. She’s a plane flight away, seemingly so easy and yet so impossible.

And I’m questioning God and questioning Him hard. I’m praying, I’m doubting….I’m quiet, I’m mad, I’m accepting, I’m raging. I’m all of it. (not all in the same day, mind you, that would be a lot)

One morning, in the fuzzy minutes between wakefulness and slumber this dream that I had years ago, popped into my head….this 2015 pre-adoption dream! So vividly. As if I had just had it.

Suddenly all the pieces fell into place….the search, the unhelpful gray people, the frustration, the hopelessness of it all….but I found her. I didn’t stop looking, regardless of how many cement ladders, hallways and rooms I had to traverse.

I know why I had that dream. I know why God brought it my remembrance so suddenly. Because I was doubting this journey. Wondering if God was closing doors. Wondering if it was all going to work out.

So, there’s my silence in a nutshell. This internal raging battle for this child that I love so dearly and want so desperately to be here in my arms.

There will be great rejoicing when this little one comes home.

And so it goes.

of the unsung…a compilation of images

Here’s to the husband, who realized a life shift when he heard the sniff, saw the screen glow turned his way, heard the question…..babe, look at this. Can we? Should we? Did you know? How can we not?

And you looked.

Here’s to you, your logical glance preceded by an illogical yearn. No. It’s too much. It can’t be. This isn’t our job…..our plan for our family, my life, our life. I’m too old, we’ve raised our kids, we haven’t had a child yet….

Here’s to the man who struggled deeply, battling the yes, knowing where it came from. Here’s to the husband who tried to want it, but had doubts. Huge doubts. Lingering fears. Here’s to the deep breath and lifted prayers.

Here’s to the hand on the furrowed brow, staring at budgets, crunching numbers. Here’s to the man staring at frightening diagnosis lists.

Here’s to wondering if you could love a stranger’s child like you love your own. Would you? Could you?

Here’s to you, and your brave, blind, faithful yes.

Here’s to the Daddies, the Babas, the Yeyes, the Fathers, the unsung ones that make up the tribe of men who stand in the gap for the calling. The calling to adopt, to foster, to be a father to the fatherless…..a privilege not for the faint of heart, because it takes a real man to do it.

The job is for the strongest of men, who forgo the gym, the game, the golf course for endless therapies, counseling, hospital visits.

The most challenging road where the best is yet to come, where the end game isn’t an earthly crown.

This is for you.

Here’s to the daddies who don’t count chromosomes.

Here’s to the babas who strive for attachment, who celebrate the hard fought battle from fear to trust. (the reward is a jet lagged nap)

Here’s to the fathers who risked it all and won the crown, who have already heard the “well done, good and faithful…” Here’s to your legacy of fatherhood. Here’s to the children you comforted with your last breath. You’ll meet again.

55876DC5-7FF6-48BE-8A03-EFC88EB702D5

Here’s to you, when you’re not quite sure where to go from here or what’s coming next.

Here’s to the dads who breaks down racial divides. Here’s to the dads who wait for years for adoptions to go through…longing to give their child a permanent name and home. Here’s to the fathers who set the bar high in their communities, who inspire others to follow and meet the need.

Here’s to the oh-so-tired daddies, who work second jobs to pay for home studies, who come home exhausted, pushing through evening medical routines….here’s to the men who can literally sleep anywhere. This is your legacy.

Here’s to the fathers who scarf down leftover hospital food, understand medical jargon, know the ins and outs of wheelchairs, braces, and feeding tubes. We see you. We thank you.

Here’s to the dads who hold up a family at the resting place of a fragile little one. The bravest of the brave. Here’s to the dad who knew the potential loss and chose it, relished it, embraced every moment of sweet life…..only to let it fly away.

Here’s to your silent, streaming tears, your wife on one arm, a tiny casket on the other.

Here’s to Gotcha Day jitters, the flight, the strange land, the questioning officials, the deep breath, the pounding heart. Here’s to the lengths you will go for that first smile. Here’s to taking a small person’s terror on your shoulders, here’s to the first eye contact, the first touch, the first hug….

Here’s to the moment when you realized that your compassion was light years greater than your no.

Here’s to you, father of many yeses…who did it once and went back again, who saw it all and kept offering life.

Here’s to the dads who are wrapped around their little fingers!

Here’s to the daddies who do the fun things, who are goofy, who teach, who love….here’s to the laughter and all the things that memories are made of. Here’s where adventure happens. It’s with you.

FullSizeRender 2

Here’s to the songs you sing, the swings you swing, the piggy back rides, and final goodbyes. Here’s to holding on and letting go.

Here’s what you have learned and shouted to the world. That ordinary men, with God, can do mighty things. Your gentleness is your strength. Your compassion is the most faithful of companions. You do brave, difficult, gut wrenching things.

Because of that….

You are our heroes.

Here’s to you.

*** An enormous thank you to the families who contributed their beautiful photos to this blog! The heart and stories behind each one brought me to tears while I wrote this. I pray that God brings more and more men along the way who will be willing to be a father to the fatherless, who would step up to protect and lead precious little ones Him.

And to my amazing husband, for saying yes twice to our two who are rocking the extra chromosome. God is good and I love you so very much.***

Love,

Cady

if I could write a miracle…

If I were God that I may write

A miracle, one late night

A babe I’d craft inside my hand

With extra stuff, you understand.

This miracle I’d gently place inside

A place where people seem to die.

A place where most of them don’t live

to see the daylight privilege.

I’d place this babe inside this spot

and hide his extra special lot.

Until he’s born and then I’d watch

him placed into another spot.

Picked up by strangers just to lie

inside a crib, but he won’t die;

My miracles I sprinkle, grow

They get to earth, have seeds to sow.

And from his crib, his almond eyes

take in this world with small surprise.

His growth is slow, his steps are late,

Eyes radiate joy, and never hate.

And one sweet day, heart parents come

to collect their miracle child of one.

Across the sunset line they fly,

Arrow straight, they heard his cry

For lifelong love, a family he

Will join them all eternally.

This miracle boy with extra stuff

Has things to share with all of us.

Courage to love when all seems lost

Hugs to give, without cost.

Lessons taught by one so small

Nary taught by intellects tall.

Watches your face, always in tune

For when you’re sad, he’ll leave the room

Bring tissues, hugs, whatever helps.

Thinks of others, not himself.

Yes, if I could write a miracle child

And place him in the world a while

This is the story I would write,

If dark be overcome with light.

Treasures, most times, are hard to find

And what is valued by mankind?

Wealth and status, brains, power

Societal boots crushing flowers

Of quiet innocence, simplicity

Sweet life without toxicity.

Search high or low for power to wipe

Your tears, or comfort bleakest nights.

Yes, if I could write a miracle, this

Is the pattern I’d insist.

And if you have this miracle, you

Are highly blessed, through and through.

I tell you this that joy befalls

Those who answer miracle’s calls.

Miracles are both far and few

Answer the call. You’ll find what’s true.

Written for our little miracle boy, Lian Alexander Driver, by his Mama, Cady Driver. Lian, a miracle from start to finish…from his extra 21st chromosome to the fact that God brought him into our lives through adoption, and the blessings, joy, laugher, and love that He has poured out upon us is immeasurable.

In celebration of ALL of the miracles who are rocking the extra 21st chromosome.

One can only hope that you all find such a miracle.

5 quick and easy reasons to not adopt

Adoption isn’t for everyone. This is such an oft repeated statement that we should, really, get t-shirts made of it. I mean, seriously. They would sell like hot cakes. You know how crazy adoption peeps are about the t-shirts!

For everyone’s convenience, here is a conveniently compiled list of the top 5 reasons that adoption is not for everyone. This is a great list to have handy when challenged by those crazy people who adopt, making one feel all squirmy with those shocking photos, inconvenient statistics, and, for Pete’s sake, stop with the t-shirts sales, people!

5. FROM ANY ANGLE, ADOPTION IS A CHALLENGE

If you’re a person who strives for a life paved with smooth, sparkly stones and peaceful vistas, adoption is probably something best to be avoided at all costs. For most, the challenge of running a 5K or working out in the gym should definitely be satisfying enough. Why put yourself through the equivalent of a lifelong marathon when a weekend marathon can satisfy the challenge itch? Plus, with adoption, there’s no visible finish line, no cheering crowds, and not one single shiny trophy in sight as far as the eye can see.

What attraction is there in the thankless, broken, lifelong marathon of adoption?

Although, I HAVE heard rumors that the adoption marathon could bring enormous, yet quietly celebrated victories that cannot be measured by earthly standards….but those are just rumors and who can trust those?

4. ADOPTION WILL BREAK ONE

Adoption will break the hardest of hearts in all the most tender places. This is definitely NOT good for your physical health, mental state, and definitely puts the blood pressure into digits only recommended for elephants. For example, once you’ve walked through that room, lined with silent cribs occupied by glassy eyed children, your heart will feel like it has been through a shredder and it’s a much larger shredder than the cheese one.

No longer can you enjoy a simple sunset or a cozy Christmas without being gouged by the double edged sword of happiness laced with remembrances of those who aren’t experiencing your current blessings. There is an undeniable shattering of the heart when you weep as your adopted child weeps, as they mourn their loss, as they rage against the life change, clawing through the trauma of a brief but scarred life.

A broken heart is something to avoid at all costs in life.

Although rumor has it that a tenderized heart expands in capacity and endurance, and didn’t Jesus Himself weep over the lost?….. but I could be wrong on that one.

3. ADOPTION WILL GREATLY AGGRAVATE ONE’S FLAWS

If you are like me and you work on an orderly existence with possessions that haven’t been repaired with duck tape and spit, then adoption definitely isn’t for you. If testing the absolute limits of your patience and tolerance isn’t a goal in life, definitely don’t attempt this.

In cautiously avoiding any and all situations that will challenge the assorted fruits of the spirit (love, joy, peace, PATIENCE, self-control, etc…), you can be sure to never embarrass your Christian testimony in front of others, your faith quota will always be a lavish overflowing waterfall, and you can rest assure that your spotless reputation will stay solidly intact.

Also, another benefit is that one will not ever have to rely or lean upon your church, friends, family, village, town, tribe, or even perfect strangers, and one’s fierce independence will stay firmly in place.

On second thought, I DO recall that a muscle that is exercised becomes stronger with use, and the whole “not needing anyone” could possibly be a pride issue……but exercising is hard work, and sweating through these problems might ruin the hairdo or chip the nails….and independence is SO American…so let’s just go with that.

person doing thumbs up

2. ADOPTION WILL CHALLENGE ONE’S MARRIAGE

Long walks on the beach? Dinner and a movie? Gazing at each other minus the eye bags of extreme exhaustion…. If you just ADORE these romantic things, and they are what make your marriage tick, then I’d recommend continuing on with the comfortable journey you are currently traversing. You don’t need those pesky late night migraines of trying to figure out where the next adoption payment is coming from or which kidney you need to sell to make it happen. Not to mention that the therapies and sleeping at the hospital will DEFINITELY put you out of the loving mood and who wants that?

That sweaty hand in his as you ride that elevator up to meet your child for the first time, the mascara running down your face, those whispered prayers for sleep to come in the traumatized dark hours, the bleary mornings….definitely not.

Besides, who wants to get all sorts of creative with what a date night constitutes? A 15 minute ride in the car with the child who finally fell asleep and you can miraculously finish a sentence….it’s a hot date! Grocery shopping together, catching each other’s gaze over the mushrooms and diapers (hopefully not in the same section)

DATE!

Sitting through a church service for the first time in a year because your child will FINALLY stay in the nursery without exhibiting trauma-related behavior. It’s a DATE…and if you’re lucky, you may EVEN attend a church where you can hold hands or he can slip his arm around you. * helpful hint* Sit in the back. (Not sure if making out will be overlooked, though, unless it’s one of those super progressive churches where you have to feel your way to your seat in the dark.)

man in black long sleeved shirt and woman in black dress

Nah, long walks on the beach are DEFINITELY preferred….

the moment your eyes lock over the photo of that child, and both of your hearts leap with united Divine intent…

…that’s definitely not as glam. Stick with the beach thing.

And the number ONE REASON to NOT adopt is:

1. ADOPTION WILL CHALLENGE EVERY SINGLE AREA OF ONE’S FAITH

photo of child reading holy bible

If you have a huge interest in questioning the goodness of God or why bad things happen to tiny, helpless humans, definitely adopt…..if you really don’t want to challenge your faith with these head scratching conundrums, then absolutely avoid adoption.

Is God good? Will He really, truly provide this Mt. Everest of cost? What is true worship? What does the Bible really say about laying down your life? Why are we commanded to do certain things? What is a soul for eternity worth?

Man, lots of questions like these can almost shove you out of the Christian kayak of belief and then where would you be? Floundering in the water? Getting eaten by a giant whale?

Yep.

Though, there IS some ancient text where a certain person (starting with “P” and ending with “TUR”) was commanded to step out of a boat willingly and if he kept his eyes on Jesus, he walked on water. I could be mistaken though.

Who wants to step out of a satisfyingly safe kayak for a water stroll? Not everyone.

Let’s not get crazy here, folks. Safety is our top priority, right?

Although, I have heard whispers of if a believer wishes to save one’s life, one must lose it.

35750039614df2993fcc242b80eccfb8

These pesky, Bibically-laced whispers….always so inconvenient and they make one just want to turn up the Netflix binge and block things out.

45801780_10215906708915029_2101102485149057024_o

“Whoever seeks to preserve his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life will keep it.” Luke 17:33

“But Jesus called them to him, saying, “Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God.” Luke 18:16

fear is an anchor…

What if I told you I was afraid….yes, I’m afraid.

white flower

Ignorance really is bliss during your first adoption. There’s SO much you just didn’t know and you looked at SO many smily, family photos, watched SO many tear inducing YouTube Gotcha day videos. Everything is new and amazing, sweet and lovely. You step forwards in “faith”, but a lot of it is stepping forward blindly because you really have zero idea what it is you’re getting in to.

Similar to being a new parent, there are all of these pre-conceived notions of what your birth, delivery, and basically what parenthood will be like and most of those fantasies are really shiny and pretty.

The reality of it is that when you’re staring at the pregnancy test of your second or third child, there is joy, but it’s laced with a bit of anxiety and fear, and just plain exhaustion…Am I enough? Can I love this child the same as the first? Will there enough of me to go around?

Am I right? It’s different the second time.

I’m feeling the same way with moving forward with this next adoption. I look at Lian, I look back over the last 2 years, and yes, it has been AMAZING, and we’ve learned so much, and have been so blessed, but there’s a weariness and a caution laced with fear that I feel dragging us down, holding us back, anchoring us to this earth.

There’s no shiny happily-ever-after view, it’s now all reality…..in all of its hard and wonderful, broken and healed hallelujahs.

And I’m afraid. The “what ifs” press down upon me like stormy waves. The “Was Lian an anomaly? Was he too easy or was he hard?” “What if Ella is hard, like seriously hard…..harder than Lian?”

And fear whispers in my ear because I allow it to be heard.

BUT……

Nowhere is God involved in fear. 1 John 1:18 talks about how “perfect love casts out fear…” and while the correct context of the verse instructs us to not fear eternal judgement because we have accepted Christ’s perfect love, I believe that the Holy Spirit can also give us a perfect love for others, a love that can ascend past the anchor that is fear.

And so, my prayer for this journey isn’t that we would have a blinded, rosy view again…. it’s that God would give us perfect love for this next little one who needs a home….the one who waits.

God, give me perfect love through the long, exhausting, international trip. Give me perfect love through Ella’s grieving process, through her health issues, the specialists and doctor’s visits. Give us all perfect love to, once again, step forward, accepting the hard with the glorious.

Give me perfect love to climb this mountain again. Cast aside fear because You have no part in that.

Recently, this song by Matt Kearney popped up one day in the car…and the words…struck me….and I listened to it with tears streaming down my face, because every word of it is TRUE.

NEVER BE READY

We got our feet on the wire
Talking ’bout flying
Maybe we’re diving in over our heads
Scared of what I’m feeling
Staring at the ceiling
Here tonight

Come on and lay down these arms
All our best defenses
We’re taking our chances here on the run
The fear is an anchor
Time is a stranger
Love isn’t borrowed
We aren’t promised tomorrow

We’ll never be ready if we keep waiting
For the perfect time to come
Hold me steady, we’ll never be ready
When we don’t know, though we can’t see
Just walk on down this road with me
Hold me steady, we’ll never be ready

You’re OK here with me
Here in the silence
With all of the violence crashing around
Saying we can’t go
Saying we don’t know

This road that is narrow is the one we should follow

Basically, friends, we’ll never be ready. But God doesn’t call us to be emotionally, physically, mentally, and financially ready, He just calls us to be willing. The simplicity of being willing is something to rest in, at least it is for me. Because we’ll never be fully prepared for the twists and turns of another broken heart that God calls us to love.

If fear is an anchor, I don’t want it. I don’t want to be held back from the perfect will of God.

Perfect love has no fear.

“And we’ll never be ready if we keep waiting for the perfect time to come.”

The perfect time is now.

choose…

Skyward gazing, bough swept clouds

Windward wishing, reason aloud

Ponder, mournful, wistful arms

Yearn to reach, help, and warn.

Choices, slogans shouted high

Banners, anger on both sides

Wrestling conscience, wayward blows

“Chooses” women, secretly knows

“Potential” life is incorrect

Life exists, circumspect

Mother-to-be, labelled wrong

Mother is she, all along

Cradled life, womb- wrapped peace

Then one heart stilled, a small life ceased

Taken once, no returning

Empty silence, endless yearning

Problem solved or regrets compound?

Empty arms, tear stained ground.

YET

Mothers found who chooses strong

Hard, yes, worth it all along

Unbridled joy, four empty hands

Receive her child and love expands

Her eyes, his smile, hearts alight

If her arms or theirs, a world delights

In songs composed, passionate art

Bridges built, mended hearts

Wisely choose for life denied

Splits parallel paths, one paved in lies

Listen well, truth is not loud

You will not hear it in the crowd

Choices made can’t be undone

Be strong, young mother, for the one.

grayscale photography of baby holding finger

the heart part…

“Wow”, he whispers in his husky, little boy way as I open the locket for the 9th time that Christmas day.

“Who is that in there?” I whisper back. He smells like juice and crackers and boy.

His dark eyes meet mine. “Mama.” and he solemnly points to himself. Leaning down he plants a wet kiss on the locket. I brush off the goldfish crumbs and close it.

Stay close to Mama’s heart. Here you are. And I’m suddenly overwhelmed with the fact that isn’t this every child’s desire? That connection…that love…to be held close to their parents’ hearts? It’s such a basic desire….so easily given to our biological children….and yet, there are so many who never feel that love.

Lian just revels in this closeness….being this sweet center of the family. Not in a spoiled way…well, sometimes…yes…

but in the undeniable way that he is something that he never was before.

A part of a cohesive group of people who just adore him.

Have you ever been in a large group of people, sometimes for many years, and yet you’ve never felt like you were ever truly a part of them? As if there’s this whole whirling universe of connection out there and you see it, but you’ve never experienced it?

orange and and brown chess pieces

You don’t know what it feels like to be a part of the group, but you see that some people have it, they are IN, they are a welcomed, beloved part.

Take that feeling, because we’ve all been there, and magnify it by about 1000….because being a part of a family, feeling that closeness is something that children absolutely long for, dream of, cry out for.

The least we can do is hear their cries, make them a part.

I’ve always kind of been a loner in my life. I’ve longed for deep relationships, longed to be included, but I’ve always struggled. Being left out is my normal. I don’t say that for sympathy at all. I say it merely because I understand it thoroughly.

I cannot even imagine what it is like for some of these children who see their friends, their bunk mates, their buddies in the cribs next to them, be taken away to be with family. And many of these older children fully comprehend what is going on….that the more beautiful or the less medically challenged children get chosen first….they get to go away to be the heart of a family….and she is left alone for a myriad of reasons.

This just kills me.

You know what else kills me? Yesterday I was scrolling down the adoption list for children 3 and under….the number 1 age group to adopt from, the most requested age group…..

And this list went on and on…and every other child was Down syndrome, Down syndrome, no other health issues but Down syndrome….quiet, healthy, has Down syndrome, extroverted, healthy, Down syndrome, VSD Down syndrome, repaired heart with Down syndrome.

Why? LOOK at the videos of our son! He is a happy, wonderful, sweet PERSON who simply has ONE EXTRA CHROMOSOME.

And yet the world says that because of that chromosome, most children don’t even deserve to LIVE and if they DO live, they don’t deserve families. They will sit, day after day, in a crib in an orphanage….

This KILLS me.

And it’s one thing to look at Lian, to look at us and say, “Oh, it’s so amazing what they’ve done, but I COULD NEVER DO THAT.”

Yes, yes you could do this! This is doable for you, for many people. These children deserve you, a family, to LIVE and thrive in.

They deserve to be put in a locket and worn close to their mama’s heart every day. They deserve to be sung to at night and to choose between whether they want blueberries or blackberries for snack.

THEY DO NOT DESERVE TO BE CONFINED AND TREATED WORSE THAN CRIMINALS in broken systems that churn out damaged human beings.

They deserve to know that God loves them, that they are valued more than they could ever imagine.

Church, Christians, we need to EXAMINE ourselves and our priorities….examine why we elevate comfort over sacrifice.

selective focus photography of child s hand on person s palm

We are not called to live this way.

We are called to be leading the way to rescue these small souls.

If you are feeling called to adopt, please consider a child who has Down syndrome. They are the least of these. Trust me, their extra chromosome will fill up your family with so much love and life, excitement and wonder. You won’t know what hit you.

Let’s live life this way. Without fear. Let’s say “yes” to hard things.

What you think it the hard part will definitely be the heart part.

screaming into the wind…

We can no longer exist in this state of soft and sleepy Christian denial, we must move forwards as the army of Christ and sacrifice everything we have for the cause of those who are lost. We want to stand confidently before God, look him in the face and say that we did all we possibly could to lead these small ones to Him.

45847200_10215906709075033_4845337212901916672_o

I’ll be straight up honest with you. In the church, I feel like I’m screaming into the wind, banging my head against a wall, yelling underwater…my voice is breaking.

And I keep screaming, even through the funny, uncomfortable looks or the rolled eyes or the “it’s not what God is calling us to do” statements…because there’s too much at stake here to simply let my voice take a permanent vacation.

You see, it’s not that there is an actual “no” being said. You can’t even get to the point where people actually make a yes or no decision. What always get me is the vast, unending silence and it relentlessly presses down upon my soul. It’s the total lack of interest, lack of questions, it’s the uncomfortable look people get when I start talking about the rows of cribs, the little faces, and how many children there are who wait.

It’s the endless excuses and statements of “Well, you can’t guilt people into adopting,” and “Adoption isn’t for everyone,” and “We just aren’t called to this.” And, honestly, I somewhat agree with every statement here…

You CAN’T guilt people into adopting, but you CAN challenge them to at least be honestly, wholeheartedly open to praying about it and being willing to accept the scary answer. Adoption ISN’T for everyone, I agree…but orphan care in some way, shape, or form IS. “We aren’t called to this” is the most frustrating one…because you ARE called, you ARE equipped, you ARE strong in the Lord and the power of His might.

Now, I know that people look at adoptive families and think we are all a little crazy. And we are, in all the good ways. We are CRAZY about getting children into homes…we are CRAZY about lost souls for Christ…we are CRAZY about having completely open eyes to the reality of the crisis in this world…sometimes, we are just plain crazy from lack of sleep. 🙂

When you get to the bottom of the problem, it’s an idol of convenience and comfort that we, as American Christians, must battle. Never before in all of history have American believers been so rich, so comfortable, so healthy, so free, so crowded around a man made wealth/health/prosperity theology…and it weakens us greatly. For while we think we are so strong with our coffee/Bible instagram photos and our trendy worship services, these children are going to hell in a hand basket and we are fully, completely, undeniably responsible for our utter lack of interest in them.

I AM responsible. I fully know that ONE DAY, I, Cady Beth Driver, will stand before God and give an account for my life. For the time I have spent, the resources I have spent, the talents I have spent….and I am guilty in so many ways of unrelenting selfishness. I AM so spoiled, I fully admit that. I FIGHT these urges to just continue my life, that I’ve done enough, I’ve adopted one special needs child and isn’t that enough?

dawn sunset beach woman

Well?

I don’t know….I’m not calling for legalism, but, I beg of you, please stop making us shout into the wind. I’m imploring you, as a church body, to HEAR our hearts, ask the hard questions, fully open your eyes to the reality of what is all around you. Just because you cannot see it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.

Orphans are a hard and ugly reality.

It’s a slap-you-in-the face reality. We can no longer exist in this state of soft and sleepy Christian denial, we must move forwards as the army of Christ and sacrifice everything we have for the cause of those who are lost. We want to stand confidently before God, look him in the face and say that we did all we possibly could to lead these small ones to Him.

I KNOW that there are parents out there who adopt terminally ill children. I know that when they walk through those pearly gates, that that child will be flying into their arms. I know that there are parents who walk incredibly hard roads for the sake of these small souls for eternity, but what if we all did it?

What if every church service had the hiss of oxygen machines, the humming of special needs kids, the adorable off-key singing of children with Down syndrome?

What if we had to turn up the pastor’s voice just to hear him speak over the din of welcoming the least of these into our church bodies with open arms?

What if?

Why must we shout into the wind? Why???

Why must we beg and plead, why can’t we all be this giant crowd of believers running to the helpless?

I don’t have all the answers and yes, I AM fully crazy for this cause. Because I don’t want to close my eyes and pretend like these children do not exist or that they’re not worth every piece of paperwork, every penny, ever sleepless night, every mama’s broken heart…they are WORTH IT.

My heart’s cry is this…Ask questions of adoptive parents…ask them how many children are in their child’s orphanage. Ask them what you can do to help, how you can be involved, how can you pray, how can you support.

Asking is the first step in a journey of illumination and let me tell you, you’ll never want to go back to the time when you didn’t know the answers.

This will break you in all the right ways. All the God ways.

And you’ll join the crowd of adoptive families who are shouting to come and experience the good, the bad, the heartbreak, the triumphs that make up our topsy turvy worlds of adoption.

Come and shout with us. Join us and do hard things…

love spelled with stones

what if?

#whatif

What if mama’s stomachs were never supposed to be flat and hard…what if our softness was simply a continual visual wonder for the life that quietly grew within?

What if God designed us to be soft, because our arms and stomachs and laps so often cradle a little one for sleep, for comfort, for teaching….

What if the strength of our arms comes not from push ups and lifting weights, but from lifting littles high, catching them when they fall, carrying them through the rough places of life….

What if our hands aren’t meant to be soft and photo-finish smooth, but worn and calloused….each mark representing a dish washed, a child cleaned, a household fed, a tear wiped, a garden planted…

What if our faces were never meant to be flawless, but every worry and laugh line was a reflection of shared compassion, shouldered burdens, unexpected laughter….

What if we were never meant to be mannequins, endless slaves to the ever changing, demanding whims of fashion…but we are seen for the love we hold in our hearts…. the ideas and passions that change this world for the better.

What if our hair was never meant to be continuously coiffed but as silver streaks our temples, we welcome this gradual crowning of wisdom that only time can gift.

What if our feet were never meant to be tortured in shoes designed to draw the stares of men to our legs, but instead, they were shod with shoes that only helped us run faster to the weary, the waiting, the downtrodden…

What if we have it all wrong and we strive for things that will never bring us closer to God?

What if how we, as women, mothers, daughters, sisters, wives….what if how we are made is simply the best thing as we are……untouched, un-refined…that we don’t need the wearisome race of the unnatural……and we can joyfully rest in the undeniable gift of being a woman.

What if?