Embrace YOUR Story: Reasons for Adopting

“Do you want to have your tubes tied?”  I was 23 years old and pregnant with my second child when my doctor asked me this question.  No, she wasn’t being insensitive or doubting my ability to parent more children.  But after watching my journey through pregnancy with type-1 diabetes, she wanted to make sure that I knew what another pregnancy would mean.  There would be more ups and downs.  There would be more chance for problems.  Did I really want to push it and risk my health or a future child’s?

I believe whatever child I might have delivered would be worth the pain, but honestly I was scared.  My second pregnancy had come with a hospitalization I hadn’t planned on due to diabetic complications from…the stomach bug.  How many pregnant mommas end up in the ER over THAT?!

Two stressful diabetic pregnancies unexpectedly unearthed a dream of adoption that had been blooming somewhere in the recesses of my brain since I was young.  It was filed back deep in my box of passions, bolstered through listening to missionaries to orphans abroad and watching friends and relatives adopt as I grew up.  Their stories were indelibly seared in my heart where I still carried them when I got married at age twenty-one, but diabetes made me pull those dreams out, polish them up, and chase them with my whole being.

Looking back, if I could find no other joy in diabetes, I’d be thankful for the way it brought me to my miracle third child.  No more a miracle than my others, but somehow I recognized the pure, unmerited gift in him in a fresh way, with nothing but faith in God to unite us.  And yes, I believe there’s a divine reason he’s part of our family.

So diabetes brought me to a desperation deep enough to pursue adoption even though I had no clue what I was doing.  It’s a huge piece of my story.

What is your story?  I know there are many who adopt because of infertility, others who adopt because pregnancy would be hard for them with medical conditions.  There are families who adopt because they feel strongly called to look after an orphan or child in distress, and others who specifically look to adopt kids with special needs.  Some feel there is a hole in their heart without another child, and others simply feel drawn to make room in their hearts for one more.

You shouldn’t feel guilty if your story of adoption doesn’t start just like someone else’s story.  If you try to compare your story or motivations with someone else’s, you’ll always feel like something is wrong with you.  Instead, own who you are and the unique losses or victories that brought you to this place.  Be honest with yourself because that will shape which path you choose on your adoption journey.

While we were waiting to be placed with a child, I became so desperate at one point that my prayer to God shifted away from my honest heart and I started praying whatever I thought God wanted to hear.  Maybe if I was open to older children with more special needs God would be answer or be more pleased.  I really wanted an infant but I thought maybe that was asking too much, or that maybe I was a horrible person for saying no to older children who needed a home.

But along my journey, I learned to be honest with myself and even with God.  Sure, he has the beautiful ability to take our desires and shape them into His own, but we don’t need to hide our hearts from Him.

And we don’t need to hide our hearts in all their weary expectant mystery from our own selves.

This doesn’t mean we set unrealistic expectations of adopting the perfect rosy child who smiles on cue, always eats her vegetables, and has zero baggage from her past.  I’m sorry, biological children don’t come with any such problem-free guarantee either!  Don’t close yourself off to a blessing of a child in the pursuit of an elusive “perfect”.

At the same time, don’t try to say yes to a path to adoption that isn’t right for you, or feel guilty about not taking a child that you don’t think you’re capable of caring for.  Know yourself, give your heart to God, and then trust Him in the waiting.

(Pst.  It’s a lot easier said than done.  More on the waiting in a future post.)

Also take the time to educate yourself and hear other people’s stories.  Someone else’s story might stretch your view of what’s possible, or it may make you say, “Nope! That’s not for me!”  That’s OK.  Either way, you’re learning something important about yourself and your journey.

I found this link in my search for tools, and it seems like a great beginning for those not sure where they stand with adoption.  So for a first baby step, I encourage you to check out “Questions to Ask Before Adopting”.  It will guide you through some initial self-investigation to sort out your heart and some possible next steps.

If even that feels overwhelming (you’re not alone!), maybe start writing out or thinking through your own story.  What events and people have shaped you strongly?  How did adoption end up on your radar?  Who can you share your heart for adoption with who will encourage you and help you wrestle through your thoughts?

I hope as you continue to follow my blog you’ll continue to find confidence to step out and dream a bit more.  Next time I’ll talk a bit more about the kinds of adoptions you might pursue and share a bit from my friends! Thanks so much for joining, and as always, feel free to reach out with any questions or comments.

 

Dear Husband, [Insert Sappy Title Here]

Dear Husband,

I don’t know how to start this letter.  I thought about using some sappy music line about you lift me up to soar or fly or generally be airborne.  Like one of the lines from this song:

Except I know that’s not exactly your music preference, and I didn’t actually realize till just now that she’s singing to her sister, not a man.  Oops.  Moving on…

Even though it’s not our anniversary or Valentine’s day or some super romantic day like Superbowl Sunday, I’ve been thinking about you a lot.  I’ve been thinking about the ways you constantly give.  How you clearly don’t keep track of whose turn it is to pick a movie on date night, since by my count I’ve picked the last 38 out of 40.  How after I talked to my mom on the phone that one day and had the sudden urge to plan a trip and cart the kids hundreds of miles to see them, you asked, “When would you want to go?”, instead of “Why would we spend money on that?”  How you give me the gift of your honesty when I need to be sharpened or I’m being selfish. (Not to say that happens frequently, or anything.  Ahem.)  How when I get a little too excited after watching a romantic comedy, you humor me by dancing across our sexy toy strewn living room floor.

I watch you give yourself to the kids too, when it’s not always convenient or easy.  You read and play video games and sit on the floor to play and they know your love is faithful and ever-present.  They are so excited for you to return home each night- and if you ever think you’re not enough, I hope their excited little faces make you think twice.

But what I’m most grateful for today is the way you’ve loved me in my growing up.  In my still becoming who I am.  In my figuring my stuff out.  Man, we were babies when we got married.  At 21 how could I possibly have known all that would happen?  That I’d be diagnosed with type-1 diabetes.  That we’d end up adopting.  That it would take me till I was nearly 30 to realize and own my crazy God dreams.

Don’t you dare say it, we’re both aware that most of who I am is crazy.

Thank you for loving me not just for who I was when we met, but for loving me right into now.  For loving who I may become.  For loving me through a chronic condition that is difficult and sometimes makes me play the victim.  For loving me when I’ve made selfish choices seeking to find myself, and for supporting me when I finally found a passion that I couldn’t seem to breath without.  Thank you for loving me in all the messes and “middles” of the story when I’ve bitten off more than I could chew and ran crying to you to talk me off a ledge and encourage me to get back out there.

Thank you for listening and listening and more listening.  And for those precious words of wisdom that you somehow seem to store up for just the right moment.  And for making me laugh, because no one can do that quite like you.  (Which is saying something because you’ve got some tough competition with my sister.)

And it goes without saying, but thank you for every single dish you’ve ever washed, because nothing says, “I love you” like a clean dish.  Or a coffee.  Eh, it’s a toss up.

Anyway, in a world where it’s easier to take than give and to criticize than encourage, I just want to say thank you for choosing to give and encourage.  You’re my wind and my joy and my better half and all that jazz.  I’m probably missing something super corny but important, so hopefully this picture just summarizes all my sentiments.

Photo Credit: Angela Yuriko Smith (Pixabay.com)

I love you.

Your-Crazier-by-the-day Wife

Son of a Beach (9 Problems With Paradise: Vaca Day 4)

Don’t judge me CT….I love the ocean- really I do.  But there are just a few minor issues I have with paradise.  So I made a quick list:1. Rental coffee cups. (The one of the left.) For some reason, most of the lake-house or cottage rentals I’ve been in are stocked with coffee cups the size of thimbles.  I know we’re on vacation and everyone should be perky and happy but for. the. love.  I have three good pint-sized reasons to require heavy amounts of java regardless of the situation.  The mini-cup is “cute” in an itty bitty baby romper kind of way (aww…) but cute isn’t going to keep me awake.  So my husband picked me up a slightly larger model to try on for size.  And yes.  It is making me Awesome.

2: Beach crabs.  OK, they’re actually pretty cool and probably don’t belong on this list.  But this morning when I woke up early to catch some sunrise and read and I noticed all these little holes in the sand.Next thing  I know, I’m catching sneaky ghost crab movement out of the corner of my eye and a bunch of these little guys prairie dogging out, flinging sand.Not creepy all by itself…but I definitely got a little bit of that Hitchcock’s The Birds vibe from the whole thing.  Or maybe that scene from Jurassic Park when the tiny dinosaurs nibble that guy to his death.

3: STUPID ICE CREAM TRUCK!!!!  OK, does anyone else feel like ice cream trucks are the last legally acceptable form of child-stalking?  They started showing up at my kids’ school earlier this summer and my kids are well-aware that I’m not forking over the money.  The whole world can be at peace and then that irritating carnival music starts filtering in, hazy at first, and the kids melt faster than the ice-cream.  There’s a truck seriously patrolling our block and I’m afraid I’m going to forever have gorgeous beach scenes (like the one below from this morning) eerily tangled up with some creepy version of “It’s a Small World”.  Not cool.4: Shaving.  People, if you don’t know by now, I’m pretty low-maintenance in the beautification department.  I air-dry my hair and my shower schedule is more based around whether I wake up in time than on cleanliness.  (Now you know my shame.)  Anyway…who has time to stay beach shaved all the time?  I see all these apparently “normal” people who seem quite capable of smooth-leg upkeep…not this girl.  Hence my swim shorts and stubble-forgiving flowy bathing suit top.  Moving on before I say too much.

5: Billiards.  No, I’m not condemning billiards, you’ll have to watch Music Man for that.  I’m just saying I don’t play often…in fact, virtually only on vacation at this point. 

So when I played pool with my 6 year old today I had a whole bunch of ugly false starts.  Bad. I finally and proudly hit a ball in a pocket (kind of the idea) and that jerk of an 8-ball followed suit and fell in too.  Then my husband came to watch us and got a front row seat to my embarrassment.  Painful.

6: Photo ops.  I have a little issue with expectations.  I’m sure eventually these expectations are going to create an extensive money-making opportunity for some therapist out there.  And one of my expectations of vacations is that we document with photos. I don’t expect perfect pictures- I don’t need my kids to be matching or smudge free.  But it would be nice if everyone were looking, or heck even just angled slightly towards the camera.  And maybe if every pose wasn’t a growl or a karate chop move.  I don’t know.  Just saying. 7: Diabetes + Beach = LAME.  I won’t go into the whole dramatic sob-story of all my diabetes related fears, but let’s just say it complicates beaching.  You have to bring all this medical junk with you, and somehow I feel like I’m a bathing suit model for a hospital.  Maybe if I stuck a bow on my pump.  Eh. That and everyone and their mother is eating ice cream in front of me.  (Obviously not from the truck.)  And sometimes you just really want to gorge yourself on ice cream, but I can’t.  So I drink coffee instead.  Which only perpetuates issue #1.  8: Sand. You can really only tell your kids to “not throw sand” so many times. And its not even entirely their fault because the wind is a sneaky wingman and doesn’t leave a lot of safe places for shaking out beach toys.  But the eyes, children, for the love of all things sweet, watch out for the eyes!

9: ACDC.  Not the band, actually, I just made up a new acronym.  Air Conditioning Death Chill.  You know that amazing feeling you get when you walk out of the sweltering heat into the cool oasis bliss of an air-conditioned room?  And then, five minutes of AC later, you feel the need to check your children for frost-bite?  The back and forth hot to cold is just confusing. I packed for the beach weather, just not for the AC.

Well.  That’s all for now.  Wishing you peaceful, balmy weather as wonderful as ours here.  And maybe a little less sand?

~Carrye

Unraveled (Friend Post Friday #3)

I’m beyond thrilled for you to meet my friend Sharon Butler who is this month’s “Friend Poster”.  I’d introduce her myself, but I can’t beat her own beautifully spoken bio…so the rest is Sharon:
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These days, I am the wife of a crazy redheaded lumberjack, the mother of seven amazing kids, a homeschool mom, a blogger at www.PureReligionIs.com, an anti-human trafficking activist, and a compassionate entrepreneur. 

I’ve been a writer as long as I could write. The downstairs bathroom was my childhood office and the toilet lid was my desk. I found quiet and solitude there, perfect for my childhood writing. As a teen, I processed fears, beliefs, joy, and all my strange ideas in my beanbag chair writing-lab. 

By college, I was a misfit journalism and ministry student who wanted to change the world, but I started to doubt myself and God’s plan for me. I stumbled, doing things my way for the next several years. Then one day, God took it all. He wrecked the life I had built, and led me through years of wilderness while He shaped me, carved me, humbled me, and began to prepare me to do it all His way. 

I wear a lot of hats, but of this I am sure: that no matter how much or how little I know, God chooses the weak, so He can use even me. Whatever I do, I do for His glory. May that be always evident in all I do.

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UNRAVELED– by Sharon Butler

No Strings Attached

If life is like a tapestry, you can imagine how it might unravel. A loose thread here, a tug, a yank, a pull. Before you know it, you’re just a mess of string, unattached.

The unraveling comes in those hard times that shake us to our core, circumstances that seem to wreck our lives. I presume we all have them, but we don’t always know what to do with them, do we? In the midst of a crisis, we may not see the whole tapestry—only the pull that’s causing the destruction.

My unraveling season was the spring and summer of 2008. It almost seems surreal as I think back to this time of my life. It lives in my mind in mere flashes of scenes – disconnected from each other, but yet, held together by the tiny thread that unraveled me with each tug.

It was the family vacation when I first suspected my husband’s affair. He was on the phone with work way too much, and missing our time at the beach house. When we returned home, I asked him to cut back on his time with her, because something didn’t seem right; but instead, he said, no and walked out the door. That’s how I found out that there was an actual problem, and it was not just paranoia.

It was the day my boss, friend and mentor told me she had cancer, and I felt that knot tighten in my throat. I didn’t dare burden her with my troubles. Then later, she asked for my help crafting a ‘positive’ message about her illness to the staff, while she was losing her hair and growing thin and frail.

It was the day my daughter was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes, right before she and I should have been leaving for our first vacation alone. I knew our lives would never be the same again.

It was the day I secretly hoped her Diabetes would bring him back to us, but it didn’t. It was the day he asked for a divorce. It was the day my boss died and my world was wrecked.

That was it. My life unraveled. I was undone—a mere pile of thread tangled up on the floor.

Before that, my life had been a string of people, places and events that connected me to the world, a tapestry of experiences, hopes and dreams; but after, my life was punctuated by nightmares, tears, and far too many unknowns. It was a mess, with no meaning, no pattern left.

My marriage was over, my job was in question, my daughter was chronically ill. And I was alone, with no strings to anything, except my sick baby girl. I had lost my framework — my goals, my dreams, my career, and my partner. I stood there like a blind man in the middle of a room trying to feel for a reference point.

For weeks, I cried as I walked to work. I would pull myself together long enough to look reasonably professional, and cry again on my way home. Occasionally, I’d turn off my office lights, sit under the desk and cry. She, my former boss, would have understood. I would always clean myself up outside the front door of my house, and be sure to walk in with a smile to see my daughter at the end of each day. I’d lie on the floor and let her crawl on me because that’s all I had energy for.

I grieved. I mourned. And then one day, I knew I had to make a decision. I could continue grieving, or I could make a new life, put some of those threads back together, no matter how messy. The tears may not have stopped just because I said so. I still cry nine years later as I recall that time, all the loss. But I began carefully crafting a life for myself–something different to set my eyes on for the future.

First goal: Find me.

After years of marriage to a man I began dating in college, I had given up so many of my own personal dreams and desires, and even elements of my personality, that I didn’t know who I was anymore. I’d moved for him twice, helped put him through medical school, and lived as a single parent, effectively. So the first goal was to uncover who I was. Do I like to dance? I have no idea! Let’s take a Salsa class! What kind of music do I like? Who knows anymore! Let’s go hear some bands.

Second goal: Be brave.

All those things that scared me? I now had a drive to overcome those fears, to try new things, to stretch myself. I had to become brave. I made my list of fears and determined to overcome them with personal challenges. Afraid of swimming with creatures? Snorkeling in the ocean will cure that! Scared of guns? Well, that means its time to learn to shoot.

Third goal: Dream.

For all those years of marriage, I had put my own dreams on hold. I pushed them back into the dark corners of the closets. Now, as I struggled to untangle that thread, I didn’t know what to use it for. What was it I wanted? What was it I loved? What was it I felt called to do?

Dreaming is scary. It’s dangerous and risky. What if I dream it and can’t achieve it? At the time, I was so scared, I manufactured false dreams—dreams I was willing to walk away from easily. And I did. But years later, God restored my true dreams of old—the dreams I had dreamed my whole life—the dreams of helping hurting people, dreams of writing, dreams of family and faith and ministry.

Even though I forgot who I was, forgot how to be brave and forgot my dreams, God never did. He held the plans for the tapestry of my life all along. I had made some poor design choices and ended up with a tangled up life, so as it unraveled around me, God saw opportunity—a chance to re-weave my life into what He intended all along.

The Inconsistencies of My Heart

If you’re feeling discouraged, left out or abandoned by God, unheard or unnoticed, this post is for you.  It’s one of my journal entries from this month, and I wrote it as though God were speaking it to me…I believe He impressed it on my heart and I hope it lifts you up and challenged you as well.


“I AM unchanging- unfailing- my thoughts beyond tracing out.  You sit in your unanswered prayer- your diabetes- and ask if I hear you, wonder if I care, doubt my love.  Yet I’ve told you that my love and your pain are not mutually exclusive- I AM here IN your pain, through the fire, near in your broken-hearted moments, seasons, journeys.  For your own peace I promised you truthfully that you’d find trouble here, but my presence in unending measure.  For those who wait.  Remain in my love.  Seek me first.  Acknowledge me.  Love me with your heart, soul and mind.

You accuse me of inconsistency- but I’ve never promised you safety and ease- your claims about my inconsistency reveal the truth of YOUR heart, not mine.

My Child- let me ask you this: When you come to Me in song- when you tell Me ‘nothing you desire compares with Me’… that I’m ‘all you need’… that you’re ‘desperate for Me’– why do you cry out the next moment in despair over your circumstances?  Have you ever asked yourself about your inconsistencies? How your words before me are fickle?

Dear one, am I enough for you, no matter what?  Do you desire me more than being fixed right now?  Do you trust that my love really does have your best at heart?

I know it will take time for you to be stripped of your fear and doubts and struggles.  You are human, after all.  And while you’re wrestling, know that I AM here, all love, waiting…pursuing you.  Though you doubt, remember that I died for you and there’s not greater love I could show you than that.

Can you trust that love right where you are today?”


What are you struggling with today?  Do you have prayers that remain unanswered?  I know it’s hard to share our most vulnerable hurts, but feel free to vent in this space.  And if you’ve found that whisper of God’s hope and love in the midst of your pain, I’d love it if you’d post what God has spoken to your heart!  May we continue to encourage one-another. 

Inside Chronic

Chronic.  If you’ve ever been diagnosed with something “chronic”…ongoing, possibly worsening over time…it changes you.  The simple fact of living with something that will not go away UNTIL death- that’s hard to embrace.  Puts a different spin on life.  Though oddly, in embracing my chronic I’ve embraced my mortality and that demands I live a bit more focused, more grounded in seeking something that will outlast this broken body.

It leaves me dreaming a bit more about heaven- about a time when there won’t be tubes or equipment tethered to me- freedom.

Chronic is just so daily though.  And as a result, if you have something chronic, chances are you get tired of telling people that you’re overwhelmed.  You might tell people you’re having a “bad day”, an “off season”…but sometimes it has just been a bad long many years.  Not all bad.  But a stress and a strain that wears you thin and you don’t know how to tell people because it underscores all of life, not just bits and pieces.  And you’d like to be able to tell people that everything you complained about last week “got better”….but unlike a cold or a teething kid, chronic doesn’t hold hope of going away.

And then there’s the fear- fear when things get worse, fear when you feel out of control of things in your body that others take for granted.

And guilt…because whatever is affecting you most affects those closest to you.  My all too frequent high numbers make it difficult to parent well at times- it adds to irritability, to stress, like a static chaos frequency running constantly in the back of your head.  And as much as I own that I have plenty of faults as a wife and parent as it is, sometimes I give in to the overwhelmed feeling and my family absorbs that.  And I hate feeling like “Mom’s chronic” is all going to come out in a therapy session when they’re older.  (Along with some vague memory of me yelling directions from inside the bathroom.  But for the love, can your question wait 3 minutes?)

And God…well…chronic will put Him to the test too.  Because there’s an awful lot of verses that sound pretty rosy until God isn’t changing your circumstances.  Chronic has brought me to wrestle with God more than anything else and it forces me to confront whether my God IS good, whether He is big enough, whether He loves me.  Whether He really has a plan for my good.  Maybe we don’t get to the bottom of those questions without some pain and suffering.  Somedays I know, even in the rain, that God is beyond good, beyond any love I know…and other days…like today…I just want to give up and ask why He seems to have left me alone.  Those days I find myself feeling too drained to trust, and I give God a bit of a defiant “Your move” look.

And I like to be strong; I want to be someone that others can go to for support. Yet I assume we all hit those moments where we just want to hide and hope someone will find us and pull us out.  And I’m so grateful for those friends in my life, even if it doesn’t fix it for good.

So where to land- maybe you’re in chronic land too… maybe you have type 1 diabetes like me…or maybe it’s depression or PTSD, Crohn’s, MS, Celiac or so many others.  I just want to let you know I’m here, and I’m not always OK and if you ever need to swap some venting, I’m game.

 

 

(Hope in) Wearing my Disease

 

I don’t usually ask for jewelry.  My mother-in-law seems to know exactly what necklaces to buy me, and my mom lends me jewelry indefinitely forever, so I have a cute little collection going.  But it’s not something I want to spend a lot of money on.

But this Christmas, I asked my husband for a bracelet.  It’s beautiful- a perfect dose of classy with a hint of sparkle to pop.  (Fun fact: I do not shave my arms.)

But I don’t want this bracelet that I asked for.  Not really.  I should have bought a bracelet like this years ago- 7 years ago, to be exact.  But like I said…it’s not a bracelet I wanted.

The truth is, it’s really just a glorified medical ID tag.

And underneath all the pretty- the class and sparkle- is an inscription that labels me: “Carrye…type-1 diabetic”.  No, I never wanted the bracelet, because I never wanted the disease.  And if there are stages of acceptance, of grief over something, I’m not there yet.  I don’t like feeling

vulnerable.

medicine-dependent.

afraid of exercise.

isolated as a medical minority.

anxious.

like a financial liability.

left with no cure.

There are so many worse diseases, so many worse problems, and trust me I’m grateful for every last medical achievement that makes my life so that you wouldn’t know to look at me that my life is anything but normal.  In many ways, my life is thriving and so absolutely beautiful.

But I have this bracelet, see.  And without a miracle or a cure it’s one I’ll wear for life.

And yet…I can let this disease own me or maybe I can own my disease.  Maybe in wearing my disease out loud, I can choose to see the power in even this broken part of me.  This isn’t who I am, but it is shaping who I am…and as a good friend told me once, God is using this disease to strip me of even the fear that seems like a side-effect of diabetes.

Maybe there’s something being forged stronger in us through our trials than we’d ever know without them.

The storm demands my God be bigger.

I’m letting go of my pretend control.

I’m fighting to know His peace verses the world’s.

I’m weighing the fleetingness of my life.

I’m slowly feeling bolder, braver.  Baby steps.

I’m being pushed into a journey to test and know if Jesus really is enough.

So maybe this is Hope.

And wouldn’t you know.  That came with the bracelet too.  It’s not what I wanted to wear.  But maybe it’s producing in me what I wanted to be all along.

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P.S. I’m thankful to my cousin for sharing this medical I.D. bracelet site with me.  If you have a chronic condition, check out the beautiful designs at  Lauren’s Hope. If you have to wear something every day, it may as well be something you like.