Fei Wei

Sometimes the best thing to do is nothing. And that’s what I did. It only took about a week or so, but I let all my books and research just sit by the bed. I didn’t think about adoption or make phone calls or do anything but enjoy the moments as they came. Some people might have called the self-condemnation attacks from the enemy. As far fetched as that seems, I believe it’s possible. I thought it at the time but when you’re under such heavy fire it’s hard to see straight. I heard an analogy one time by a wise Pastor. He said that there are predators in Africa that will follow an expectant mother around and wait until she goes into labor to attack. He said that Satan can be the same way; he waits for us to be giving birth to something great and then attacks.

After about a week I was back feeling better. It was as if a milestone had been passed, that facing Wyatt and the profound responsibility of adoption had to hit me in order to continue forward. Soon I am opening my books again. Back on the phone. Ordering copies of birth certificates. Back on the phone. Filling out paperwork.

In a discussion one night as Tyler and I tried to develop a plan I said, “We can always stop now.” It was not that I wanted to, but there are many hurdles. The financial burden of adopting is enough of an obstacle but there’s always the looming wait time. The unknown of when your child actually comes home. Tyler shrugged his shoulders and said, “They’re already ours”. And he was right. They are. They’re out there somewhere and we’re too far to turn around. Not in money, not in paperwork, or time spent. We can throw every form away and be done right now. It’s just too late for our hearts. We know that we have children out there-we can almost get a feel for who they are. To stop now means to deny that we have other kids and that is something we cannot do.

One of my books talked about how hard it can be as an adoptive parent because no one acknowledges you. Whereas when you are pregnant you can get your belly rubbed all day by people you don’t even know. Adoptive parents are “expecting” but the world passes you by without one excited squeal from a grandma. After living through this for the past few months I can say that I feel this is more difficult than a pregnancy (not physically of course). We are ‘expecting’ but we don’t know where our child is. At least when you pregnant you can feel the movements and have an ultrasound and bond for 9 months. All Tyler and I can do now is wonder. So we pray.

Only last week we were searching through the lists of waiting children. I instantly fell for a little girl. I didn’t want a little girl. We were not looking for a little girl, but wow. She seemed familiar. And beautiful. She was 2 years old. The listing was brief but said she had a ‘limb difference’. It’s quite a task to get more information on a waiting child, as countries like to keep their child information private. After several emails I got her full disclosure records. Her right hand is malformed and her right leg didn’t properly form. But there’s a video, and she’s squealing and running, and playing. And she’s ours. I know it when I look at the pictures included in her medical report. Someone is holding her still for the picture while pulling her clothes up to clearly reveal her deformities. I’m upset and protective. How dare they? That is humiliating and she’s just a child. She loves her body. And I know their purpose and why they have to do it, but my mind is saying, “Leave her alone. She’s mine”.  Tyler is sitting next to me. He’s the first to speak. “We can do it”.  This is profound since we’ve been looking at special needs kids for a while.  I know my limits and there are so many extreme disabilities that I know I can’t handle. But this we know we can do. A quick insurance check assures us that prosthetics and therapy are covered. I send her reports to a Pediatric Orthopedic Surgeon in the city just to be responsible and see what we face if she comes home. I inquire with the agency. China requires parents to be 30 but there are waivers because of her needs. Her report reads that she was found, abandoned at two weeks old, and we still know that she is ours.

Unconsciously I spend all week thinking of her. She is only two months younger than Lexi. We plan out where to put bunk beds. We go swimming and talk about how much she’ll love the pool. I look at a giant bow at Target that would be gorgeous against her dark hair. I look at our Christmas Jet pictures and picture her in the cockpit on Tyler’s lap with Lexi. I’m acting like an expectant mom, and whether we wanted a girl or not it’s too late. She was listed under “Faith Ann” which doesn’t do her justice at all. The name on her medical reports is “Fei Wei” and I love that much better. I wouldn’t change it. It suits her. Fei Wei Stef. All we have to do is submit our paperwork to ‘hold’ her. Trying to be as responsible and realistic as possible, Tyler and I have a discussion one day of what we will face as parents. The stares, the name calling, possibly pain of surgery. Cambri, my eight year old, overhears us and calmly says, “But mom, it’s not what other people think. All that matters is what’s right.” Whoa. And of course she is right. If that wasn’t startling enough, Tyler than asks me, ‘What’s your hesitation?” Immediately I’m reminded of a Beth Moore study that I did. Beth had asked, “Why do we say ‘Don’t cry’ when we see other’s crying?” My first response to that question is, “Because it hurts to see them cry”. As I sat there in front of Tyler I know my hesitation. Because loving her will hurt me more than it hurts her. I will have to develop an arsenal of witty remarks for the comments she will get. Then there are the stares, getting picked last for kickball, snotty girls snorting because their perfect genes clearly make them better people. Then there’s aggravation over tasks she will have difficulty with, possibly learning to use a prosthetic and all that that will bring. Can I do it? Not alone, of course, but in prayer every day. Yes, I know I can. We can. Cambri spends all week talking about how to help her and what they can play together. On Friday we submit the paperwork. We can always get our boy later but we know she belongs here. Late Friday the agency calls.

“Um, I’m sorry but you can’t apply for Fei Wei”.

Silence.

 “What?”

“In China you have to be 30 and your husband isn’t.”

Very quickly, “Yes, I know, we already asked about that. There are waivers.”

“Not for China.”

Long, long silence. I hate getting bad information. As is, once you’ve learned that someone can give you bad info you are not likely to believe the next person because they might be wrong, and this is all I can think about.

“Can you check?”

“I’m 100% sure.”

“Well check again! That’s not what we were told.”

“Well, another couple applied to put her on hold today, too. Typically we’d review both sets of parents and decide which is best for Fei Wei, but you don’t qualify.”

I want to ring her neck. And cry. I am crying (which seems to happen a lot in this adoption process). I don’t know how to tell her that’s she’s ours. That we love her more than them. That we can give her a great life. I’m too devastated to know what to say. I want China to turn me down, not this girl on the phone who may or may not know what she is talking about.

“My husband is a fighter pilot. He’s not a thug 29 year old. We have Master’s degrees. We have excellent healthcare!” Yes, I played the fighter pilot card. I tried to play every card I had. How do you sell yourself as a parent? I’ve decided there’s no humble way. Am I supposed to be a pushy salesperson to get my child? Being quiet and humble certainly doesn’t seem to be an option. Somehow she tries to talk to me about their other programs but I’m not interested. It’s like having a miscarriage and the doctor telling you how to go about conceiving again. I don’t want another child, I want that child. And I know I’ve said that before, too. By the time we hang up she has promised to ‘check with my director’ and if she’s wrong she will backdate our application and we can compete with this other couple. Maybe it’s the competitive side of me but I’m gung ho for that. I know we’ll win. If we can just get that far.

We happen to have guests staying with us while this is all happening (unbeknownst to them) so I sit in my closet for a few moments to cry. Tyler finds me. We try to be happy for her, that at least she’ll have a family. But I can’t help thinking that she was ours. That we could do better. That the help she needed wouldn’t have cost us a dime. The agent on the phone reminded me that maybe this had to happen so that the next thing will happen. I try to mention this to Tyler but I’m tired of having to use that line. We say it about Wyatt. That if we hadn’t lost him and gone through certain things we never would’ve come to a place to adopt. That very well might true in this case as well, but I just don’t want to hear it. I can’t read my books again or look at more faces. I’m trying to ‘rest in Him’ which is nearly impossible and see what happens. Either He closed a door for us to direct us somewhere else or He wants to see how serious we were. I hope it’s the latter and I get a phone call with an apology over how wrong she was, but I suppose it’s not likely. Until then, we are expecting. I just don’t know who.