DEAR MOSES // AN ADOPTION LETTER
A couple weeks ago, we celebrated one year since Moses was adopted. If you have followed our story, or my blog at all, you have undoubtedly noticed a severe lack of posts over this last year and a half. And it’s not because there has not been things to write about (oh, the material I have to work with!). ;) But because over this last year, I have been torn between these to great realities: (1) I have too many things to say, too many words to write, so many thoughts, so many feelings, so many opinions…. But also (2) I have been completely lost for words. Unable to write, unable to form thoughts, no way to express myself. And that is a pretty challenging place to be as I am a verbal processor. I have learned a lot about our son (obviously), but even more so myself and our family this last year. Adoption puts you on the fast track to maturity and growth, whether you wanted it or not, and whether you were ready for it or not. It peels back layers, reveals the unseen, and shows you so many things that you were unaware of. Because when you come to face to face with brokenness and orphanhood, your own brokenness is ripped open, freshly exposed, and your own orphanhood is revealed as you understand just how much more you have to learn and accept about Identity, Worth, and Sonship.
You see, I have tried writing out our adoption story over and over and over again. I have about 5 drafts of the story that made Moses our son; and yet the words don't seem adequate. I have taken time off blogging this last year and a half, only writing a few times, and only ever writing in metaphors—relating our story to climbing mountains or swimming oceans. Never giving much detail, always trying to be mindful that what I share is how I directly represent our son to you and to the world. And I believe that his story should be honoured, and the things that he has gone through are to be respected. I read so many other bloggers who share all the details of what their adoptions have been like, and after I’m finished reading into their hearts—though I appreciate their honesty and vulnerability, believe me, I really do—I sometimes wonder what their kids are going to think when they read the many blog posts written about them one day. How difficult they were, how exhausting they are, how their parents wondered if they made the right choice.…
Because you guys, it’s not that I can’t relate. I can. Oh goodness, I can. But I think, “One day when Moses is a man and he reads what I wrote about him, will he be built up by my words, or will he feel guilty and ashamed for the ways he reacted out of his brokenness? Will he be honoured by my words or instead feel like he was a burden to us? Will he feel proud to be apart of our family, or feel like it was all a big mistake?”
I want Moses to grow up always believing he was one of the best choices we ever made. Secure in who he is, secure in who we say he is, and secure in who God says he is. And so, though I am still sometimes lost for words, and some days wonder how long I can hold on on this wild ride, I want it to be made clear what I think about my son and how I have seen him transform this last year. I want you all to know the journey that we are on, but know that I will always choose to honour and respect him and the journey that he is on, especially on such a public space like my blog and Facebook. He has overcome so much, you guys. So, so much. It makes me cry and it brings me to my knees. There are days where I am just so furious to know what he has endured—my mama heart can only bear so much.
And yet it spurs us on in the battle that we are in that declares “Children belong in families. We were adopted, therefore we adopt. These kids deserve more, and I will not give up until we see the change of children restored to families.” Because adoption means change. Adoption means transformation. Adoption means healing, and identity, and value, and worth. Adoption means wholeness and fulfilment, mending and setting right.
And so the only thing I feel is fitting as we celebrate this landmark day, is to share some simple words. Because when there are too many words, or on days just not enough, its best to choose simplicity. Here’s my heart for our son, one year in.
You came home last year a different boy than I see today. From insecurity and fear, to a growing security and trust. From manipulation and control, to softness and safety. From uncontrollable and unpredictable, to thriving in structure and routine. I will never forget those first few months. I wasn’t sure if we would make it. And yet, here we are, one year down with a lifetime to go. I was 19 when you were born, and you were 2 when I first met you. How would I have been able to know the journey we would one day be on together, not as strangers but as mother and son. I see you growing each day, more secure in your sonship. More secure in the fact that we will never leave you, and that no matter how hard the days are, at the end of the day we are all still together. Bedtime stories being read, prayers being said, tucking you in at night in the comfort of you own bed. Secure in knowing nothing will happen to you while you sleep and when you wake up with nightmares, we will come running to comfort you. You are realizing more and more that you are not alone, you don’t have to fight…. you don’t have to strive, charm, or perform for attention or love. We love you just as you are, and who you are is amazing! You have a tender, teachable heart. You have a loud, infectious laugh. You make babies smile and you love to meet new people. You are thoughtful, creative, and loving. You make friends easily and are always thinking of ways to bless others. You love to spend time with dad, playing catch, playing with your ninja turtles, cutting weeds, going to town—any type of quality time. You love to go on special dates and I love that your one request for your 9th birthday was to go on a date with me and dad. Our relationship is growing each day and it looks so different than it did a year ago. I am so, so proud of the progress you have made, the ways that you have had to change, and the ways that you have adapted to everything. You are an amazing big brother! Your siblings love you so much and I am so blessed to see how quickly you all have become friends with one another. It hasn’t been easy, but you all are thriving and there is nothing that brings my heart more joy than seeing you all play together as brothers and sister. We love you so much Moses. You have a strength in you that will change the world. I believe that God has great things in store for your life. You will be a leader of many and I know, without a doubt, that because of your journey and everything that has lead to this point, others will be spurred on towards greater things. You inspire everyone you meet. People love you instantly and you are loved by so many! I am so glad that you are our son. I’m so glad that God told us to adopt you. I’m so glad that we laid down our plans and accepted His GREATER plans. We are different people because of you—better people. Thank you for taking a chance on us. Thank you for telling the judge that you wanted us to adopt you. We are so glad we did! The journey is not over; there is still a lot of work to be done. Oceans to cross and mountains to climb. But I’m proud of us. We haven’t been perfect, we have fallen short daily. But I can honestly say today, one year in, it’s all been worth it. This journey is worth it. You are worth it. And to echo what Mr. Paul said to us after working with you, “Thank you for adopting him. Thank you for not leaving him an orphan. He’s a really great kid.”
You’re such a great kid, Mo. Thanks for letting us adopt you. Thanks for sticking with us—we’ll always stick with you. It’s an honour to be your mom. I love you so much, bud.
