Navigating God's wil

I had this great blog planned weeks ago. I was feeling great about the adoption. I could almost picture our little boy coming home. I wanted to write about how great it felt to be following God’s will for our life, since I thought I finally understood it. As it turns out our journey was too new to predict where it was going and how it would end.

 I grew up a type A, perfectionist, control freak. I had life planned out from birth to death. Unfortunately from the moment I was a senior in high school there has been a combined total of one ‘plan’ I made that actually came to fruition. It’s been painful watching others plan things and have it work out; wedding dates, pregnancies to the exact moment of conception, and careers. I’ve asked God for predictability many times but I do not think it’s meant to be a part of my life. So far the answer has always been ‘no’.  No, I cannot stay in one place long enough to call it home. No, I cannot raise my children where I want to raise them. No, I cannot send them to public school and have time to myself. No, I cannot have a normal courtship, wedding, or marriage. No, I cannot keep all of the babies that are given to me. With every surprise I become more flexible and think maybe now I have gone through enough to be found worthy of an easier future. Surely now, after everything we’ve gone through in our short lives, we deserve something smooth and easy.

After Fei Wei we felt drawn to many of these so-called ‘waiting children’. They are children who are released for adoption to the agencies but then no one adopts them or they are turned down by a family. Many of them have special needs, such as cleft lips, club feet, downs syndrome or cerebral palsy. Some needs are minor and some are severe. Sometimes they are on the list simply because they are older than three-years old. Most couples adopting want a young child so they are the most in demand. Over three-years old is considered undesirable. In our desire to search through these children I found myself wanting a child who was able to be ‘fixed’.  Perhaps they needed a surgery or prosthetic, just something they didn’t have access to that would improve their quality of life while finding a good home. At the time I tried to keep myself in check, questioning my own motives. I did not want to adopt a child in ‘need’ simply so I could feel like a hero and save them from their current state of being. That is a selfish desire. Psychology on adopted children states that the parents need to treat all children as equals; that the adoptee should not be required to show more gratitude than the other children because they were ‘rescued’. I cannot adopt a child to fulfill my own desire to be a hero.

One day many weeks ago I called our agency to ask about a certain child on the ‘waiting child’ list. The lady on the phone, Erin, directed my attention to a different child. “Look at Phoebe,” she said gently. Of course her name was not Phoebe, their names are simply protected. Here, on the computer, was a picture of a girl who Tyler and I had actually looked at. Her file had said she a history of seizures so I had not looked further into her. I am learning, however, that the one paragraph posted next to a waiting child is hardly ever the full story. I asked for her full record and mentioned it to Tyler. For some reason we felt open to whatever her story was. Since she is five-years old we had to make a phone appointment with a social worker to see if we were even a suitable family. Looking back I can see where I was not worried or stressed about this little girl. I felt very confident that it would be clear right away if she belonged in our family. We were cleared to view her true file and waited the long weekend until it was finally emailed to us on Monday morning. I was anxious to open it and was forwarding it all to Tyler at work. Her name was Prae. I thought it was beautiful. My inbox was filled with 150 pictures of Prae since the age of two, when she first came into care. We were warned her file was hard to read but nothing could have prepared me for this. Through broken English I read her reports.

Mother was trying to get boyfriend to stop cheating. Got pregnant. Didn’t work. Child was left with many subsequent boyfriends. One pretended to take good care of the child. Brought in by a neighbor, unconscious, covered in scars.

Pictures are taken of almost all of her scars, just the ones that were decent to take. The pictures portray the same beautiful girl, battered, bruised, and burned one month before her second birthday. And here I was thinking my life was unfair. This was a completely different ball game. Prae suffered a brain injury. The papers say a bilateral subdural hematoma, but considering the lack of medical testing and the extent of her wounds we may never know what her brain injury really was. Somewhere in the mess of small text that alternates between English and Thai is says she also had a retinal bleed. The reports are cold and unfeeling. After the injury the mother no longer wanted her and she was placed in a foster home. This was actually a small blessing. Orphanages can be more harmful to young children since they receive less individual attention and needs are unmet. I shuffle through her medical reports, looking for hope and good news. All I want to do is wrap my arms around this girl and tell her I love her and that she’s a beautiful creation of God. But I don’t know what I’m dealing with yet.

There are two videos in the packet and I’m anxious to open them. One video is four months old and the other is six months old. There is Prae, being instructed in Thai to walk up and down stairs and ramps. I watch intently, tears in my eyes, as she kicks a soccer ball, buttons a shirt, zips up a gym bag, and feeds herself. I am pleasantly surprised by her. It was more than I expected based on the medical reports. Her left side is weak and it’s obvious as she runs. Her little left arms hangs closer to her body and she can’t control fingers on the left hand as well. It takes her a good few minutes to fit a button through a hole with her left fingers but she works so hard at it and screams, “yea!” when she finishes the task. She completes a four piece puzzle on the ipad and I have to remind myself that here is a girl who is five-years old and it’s only a four piece puzzle. But I don’t want to think about that. I want to know what can be done.

I shuffle longer through her reports. I reach one visit when she is four years old that says her IQ tests results in a test score of 44. Mental retardation. Oh no. I back away, my bubble burst. No, I cannot do that. Tyler comes home from work very excited about Prae and I remind him of the IQ test. We’ve been through enough and I simply cannot handle that. We watch the video together. She doesn’t look retarded. She’s having fun, obeying instructions, and working harder at tasks than my own children work at things. Prae is motivated by other’s responses to her which is more than I can say for my son, who has Aspergers. Suddenly I don’t believe the reports and I want more information. Call it a gut instinct but it’s all too odd. Each report is by a different doctor who writes a different diagnosis and different prognosis. No one is really paying attention to this girl. What is her exposure to therapy after her brain trauma? I need to know more.

Luckily for me this is not an unusual thing. Back on the phone with the agency my thoughts are confirmed. “Usually IQ tests overseas are inaccurate. It depends on if she was even paying attention, if it was administered by a professional, or if she has even been exposed to the activities that they are testing her on. In the hospital she may not have even been seen by a doctor. Usually it’s an intern of some sort writing up reports…” It’s definitely important information but it is safe to assume at this point that the more I find out, the less I know. We send Prae’s medical records (however invalid they may be) to an adoption doctor at the University of Washington. Since that’s not enough for me we also sent it to a neurologist in Dallas and my son’s own Applied Behavioral Analysis therapist. The doctors gave us a range. She could be live independently with enough help and therapy or she could be mentally retarded and never live on her own. Thank you so much for clearing that up, docs. The therapist on the other hand was the most help. Prae is motivated, processes directions quickly and is completely problem solving on her own. The brain is placid and can heal, change, and regrow pathways forever. It becomes more difficult later so the sooner she gets help the better. This is all encouraging but I need more. Our agency sent me the email of a mentor family to contact. One day I found myself dialing a lady in North Carolina to ask about her experience with brain trauma. I thought for sure this phone call would talk me out of it. I expected her to say something about being exhausted and depressed. But as I should’ve expected, nothing is ever the way I think it is. The woman, Traci, told me about adopting her son 16 years ago from India. They thought he had cerebral palsy but once in the states they learned the left hemisphere of his brain was malformed. He’ll never live independently but he does work at the local YMCA. Through all of this she explained how her life was better because of him. She got to learn a piece of God’s heart by raising him. That her kid’s lives were changed by it but it was all for the better. I was speechless. How can that be? That’s nothing you ever hear about, the blessings of a mentally handicap child. I was starting to loath this roller coaster we were on. This wasn’t clear anymore. What happened to our clear plan? I just want a son, God, why are you showing us this girl? Why do we actually want her? Through this whole process of getting information on her we began talking about where Prae would sleep, things she might like and what toys could be hers. I didn’t try to do this. I actually tried for the opposite. I tried to not be interested in her or like her or even watch the videos. We sent a list of more thorough questions off to Thailand, to try and better gauge her cognitive functioning. Until then we sit and wait and pray for how our family will be built.

My bedroom wall- constant reminders

In these days I have tried to forget about Prae. To stop picturing her in our family. Then at night I stare at our adoption quotes and verses that line our walls. The one right in the middle, in big print says, “…once our eyes are opened, we can’t pretend we don’t know what to do. God, who weights our hearts and keeps our soul, knows that we know, and holds us responsible to act.” (Proverbs 24:12). For the first time in a long time I am upset when Scripture stares me in the face. I keep looking for an out. I pray for my feelings towards this girl to change. Can’t I just pretend that I never knew she existed? I prayed for wisdom and direction. My daily Bible reading plan began reading James Chapter one to me that week. If you are trying to look for comfort to not adopt, James 1 is not a chapter to hear! I began reading the Bible for direction. 1 Peter 2:18-21 states, “…for God called you to do good, even if it means suffering, just as Christ suffered for you. He is your example, and you must follow His lead.” That wasn’t what I was looking for. I want the Bible verse that talks about drinking from a coconut on a beach. Church that week was fairly boring (come on, we’ve all been there) so I spent the whole sermon with my eyes shut praying about Prae. Towards the very of the service there was an amazing display of grace. Chris Tomlin’s “Our God is Greater” was played while people walked out on stage with cardboard signs. One read “Living in sin”. Then it was flipped over and read, “Now living for God”. The sign holder stood still, beaming at his renewed life. The next one I felt speak to me as it read, “Living in fear”, and she flipped it over to reveal “Learning to trust God”. The next one brought a squeak out of my throat and tears down my face as I read, “Sexually abused”, which became, “Loved and guilt free”. And for the second time in my life I bawled my eyes out during this song. The same song I bitterly choked out weeks after Wyatt passed away. Our God is greater. Our God is stronger. God you higher than any other. Our God is healer. Awesome in power. Our God. After service they always offer to pray with you and usually I don’t think twice about this but this day I marched right over and told three members of the prayer team our story. It was amazing to be prayed over. They asked for direction and provision in our decision and to be released from guilt if we didn’t adopt her. They asked for His will.

During that week we receive a call from the home study agency here in Nevada, West Sands. They inform me that they’ve run into some unexpected complications during their licensing and they’ll have to transfer us to their sister agency, Premier. This means redoing all the paperwork and all of the reference letters. Anyone who has ever done a home study before knows that this is a serious pain in the rear end. So I put up a small stink, like “didn’t you guys see this coming?” But ultimately I have to fill out all of Premier’s paperwork and do this all again. That same day, the international adoption agency calls about our interest in Prae. They inform us, “I’m sorry but you can’t adopt her. We only work with one adoption agency in Nevada and it’s not the one you are doing your home study through. It’s called Premier.” Well I’ll be! I respond that this just so happens to be our agency, much to our earlier dismay. Problem solved. Is this a sign? I try hard not to look hard for “signs”. I remember a talk from Andy Stanley about how caught up we can get, looking for codes in the letters on billboards and such. I don’t want to make a mountain out of a mole hill.

I spend time thinking about all the things that I don’t know. I don’t know how much improvement she can make. I don’t know if she remembers her traumas. I don’t know if the IQ tests were accurate. I don’t know how she’ll react coming to America when she can hardly speak Thai, let alone English. What I do know is this: this girl was abused in the worse ways possible. She has no parents. She receives no therapy. Her nutrition is minimal. She attends a Buddhist temple, which means she has no Jesus. She has no hope. With Jesus there is everything. Without Him there is nothing. When I began home schooling I was very nervous and voiced this to a home schooling friend. She chuckled and said, “Well, I figured I could do at least as bad as the 46^th state.” Now I ask myself, “Can I do at least as bad as the Thai government?” You betcha.

So I started this blog thinking of our boy and how great God was. Now I’m wondering if doing God’s will isn’t necessarily about what I want or at least thought I wanted. Maybe it means loving a mentally retarded girl. Maybe it’s not drinking from a coconut on a beach.