When he arrived at Children of the Promise, he came with the label
"abandoned" because his family of origin had left him for good.
A small, fierce, boy with chocolate skin and eternally brown eyes --left
by man; loved by God. And so another God story of redemption began.
Not the kind of saving we like to think of where a great hero sweeps in
and makes everything aright, but an earthy, nuanced one, full of hope and
bitterness, joy and loss, all entwined in a knotted ball of grace. This
is *Jean's story... and ours, too.
One of the great joys I get to be a part of in my role as Infant
Mental Health Provider at COTP is to help children transition when adoptive
parents finally get the go ahead to come pick them up. That is happening
right now, and today our first farewell in over two years is happening!
This is a moment of celebration to be sure, but all week I have been
thinking about how adoption is a true reflection of the Biblical narrative and
a re-telling of the "already - not yet" paradigm that story tells.
By this, I mean that the entire Bible points to a fullness of God's glory
coming, having come, and being not yet completed. The taste of fullness is on our lips!
This is revealed in the history of man's brokenness with God, Jesus
coming for redemption of mankind, and all of creation groaning and waiting for
his final return when all will be made new.
It is breathing in the beauty all around us and waiting to be complete.
That story is being retold in one life here and now.
Having recognized that families are the best place for raising
kids, and moving to a foster-parent style of caregiving at COTP, Jean moved
into a family home three years ago. His foster parents, perfectly
imperfect, moved from strangers to caregivers to parents over the course of
time. In the usual style of parenting
they changed his diapers, played on the floor, lost their tempers, took his
temperature, let him eat too much candy, tucked him in bed with kisses... all
the while knowing their job was to love him until it was time to let him go.
This child slept each night under the protection and care of those who
understood that in order for this sweet boy to be able to love, he must be
loved well.
This involved risking connection knowing the heartbreak that would
come. This involved laying down their lives for the life of another – a
reflection of redemption. This involved Christ-like love.
Just a few nights ago a Papa leaned in for the last time for a
goodnight kiss before bed, unable to hold back the tears pressing in for release.
A Mama mindlessly prepped 7 bowls of rice for lunch before her breath
stuck in her throat, realizing it was one bowl too many. The ache of loss
after having loved deeply is oh so real! They let a child go having
offered restoration and renewal, knowing they now enter into a time of a life
remembered and mourned.
But that is not the whole story. Three years ago a family
responded to God's call to care for the orphan and began a long process of
bringing a child to a forever family. An imperfect solution in a broken
place but a faith-filled response lined with God-light - another small reflection
of redemption. So they came this week,
knowing their child is loved and loves others, knowing the transition will
involve more pain and loss than joy at the outset, knowing they will make
mistakes and knowing it will take time for the emotional reality to match the
legal one. They come having entered a
bittersweet love, as well. They come
offering restoration and renewal, knowing there will be a life remembered; a
life mourned.
In foster care a good outcome follows risking connection and
permitting relationship to be the healing balm that allows the neural pathways
for attachment to even form. It involves
loving well and letting go.
In order to adopt well, initially, one must resolve to parent
without what comes more naturally with biological children-- love a stranger in
your home and sometimes submit to the smothering need of a child frantic for
attachment. Of course, at the outset,
foster parents experience much of this as well, but adoptive parents agree to
do this for the long haul.
Jean carries his monkey and backpack everywhere as if those are
items that will keep him safe in this transition from one family to
another. They are the only items that
tie his two worlds together. He did not
ask to be born to a family unable to care for him. He did not ask to be brought to strangers for
care or turned over to yet others for a lifetime. He may feel anger and sadness and powerlessness
in many areas of his life. He may not
want a good-bye party.
But bit-by-bit, in small doses of trusting relationship, he may
feel cherished, held, and secure. He may
come to know, through the example and experience of those reflecting a small
piece of a big God, that his life is part of a greater story of redemption that
encompasses us all. And because God has
invited Jean, and foster parents, and adoptive parents and vast community
before and after them to be a part of this story, a new day will come -- a day
that is already dawning in our hearts and lives. Until then we will choose to walk a nuanced
path, tasting all of life with the bitter and sweet entwined. These are the gray spaces, the blurry edges,
the broken Hallelujah we walk until Christ comes again in glorious clarity. What a great day that will be!
(*Jean is not the child's real name, in order to protect the privacy of the child and his family. Permission is given by COTP and those involved in this adoption to write about Jean's story.)
