Ground Zero

September 8, 1997 ranks as one of the worst days of my life.  A day I had to face the darkest parts of myself and admit my deepest failures.  A day I’d rather ignore, pretend never happened and bury under smiles.

Here’s the thing.  If I deny the moment, rebuff the memories and hide behind time, I lose the miracle of what happened.  The miracle of rebirth.  Restoration. Redemption. 

That Monday signaled our marriage’s Ground Zero.  It was the day that, dazed and broken, we made the choice (and really, was it a choice? Maybe a spiritual shove…) to be a team… partners…family no matter what.  Despite the pain.  Despite the brokenness.  Despite the despair.

In the years since I am sure we have each wondered at times, “What was I thinking?”  Trauma doesn’t stop once the tragic defining moment is passed.  It carries a ripple effect through each day, month, year until the ripples get further and further apart and you realize you are still afloat and the swells are softer, smaller and safer.

This was no bootstrap accomplishment.  This was divine intervention.  Make no mistake. I am still the damaged, difficult person I am. 

But God.

But grace.

Today I thank God for Ground Zero.  I hold it in my heart with a somewhat uneasy, but gentle recognition that Ground Zero was our kairos moment.

Coming Out of Hiding

I love the app “Time Hop”.  I enjoy pulling it up each morning and looking at the posts and photos from that same day throughout the last 7 or so years.  Occasionally they bring a tear to my eye but more often than not, I smile.  The memories are so precious… even the ones that hurt.

But something happened a couple days ago.  My “Time Hop” from a year ago abruptly went silent.  No posts.  No pictures.  No memories.  Just sudden stillness.  And I remembered.  My open book was slammed shut exactly one year ago.  For five days.  Five days in mental health facility.

Yes.

You read that correctly.

Don’t let anyone try to convince you that there is no such thing as post-adoption depression.  Or that dealing with a traumatized child will not in turn traumatize you as well.

Love alone does not conquer all.

But here’s what does:  Love with a heavy dose of Grace, Knowledge, Mindfulness and Eff-ing Hard Work.  And God.

Last September I reached the limits of my own strength.  I could no longer “pull myself up by my bootstraps.”  In fact, I didn’t even want to. I've had such dark moments of doubt that I've questioned whether I could ever believe again.

I had a small child in my home that did not speak.  Not English.  Not Mandarin.  Not Cantonese.  No words except those spoken as an echo.  He also did not cry.  Not when he hurt himself.  Not when he was sad.  No.  He did not speak.  He did not cry. 

He screamed.

All the time.

He was terrified, distressed, fighting for survival.  For him every moment was fight, flight or freeze.  All too often it was fight.  Pulling out fist full after fist full of my hair.  Spitting in my face.  Scratching me.  Biting me.  Kicking me.  Head butting me.  Hitting me.

For hours at a time. 

It seemed that nothing could calm this poor child.  And as odd as it sounds, while I was the recipient of all the rage, I was also the recipient of all of his need and attention.  I could not leave him for a moment.  He clung to me incessantly.  Always touching me, grabbing me, pulling me.  He would not let me speak to anyone else… not my husband, my children, my friends without first doing everything he could to distract me and then, if that failed, yanking my head toward him and screaming at the top of his lungs so I couldn’t hear the other person.

I knew this was the effect of trauma.  I knew he was in terrible pain.  I knew that every woman who had ever been in charge of his care had abandoned him.  I knew that he had been abused.  I knew that he had spent the majority of his life fighting to live.

I also was quite aware that I had willingly signed up for this.  This did not make it any easier.

I hid.  Or I escaped.  As often as I could.  I began to either recoil or burst into tears at the mere touch of another person.  A simple hand on my arm could send me into uncontrollable sobbing or on the other extreme, feel as if I had been burned.  I began to isolate myself.  From everyone.  I was embarrassed.  I was scared.  I was lonely.  I was hurting.  I was, in my eyes, the Queen of Inadequacy.  And I was failing at everything.

So… how did all this change?  How did I get to today?

1.     I got help.  Counseling.  Treatment.  Support.  With people who were trauma-informed. (VERY important)

2.     I was given grace by those who loved me and cared for me.

3.     I learned.  I studied.  I educated myself on the effects of trauma on children and the residual effects on those who care for them.  I found resources and was able to equip myself with the tools I needed to navigate this time of healing for both me and for my son.

4.     I stopped hiding.

I’m still learning.  I’m still working hard.  This is not easy.  But as Glennon Doyle Melton says, “We can do hard things.” (http://www.momastery.com) I believe it.

Resources:

http://empoweredtoconnect.org

Anything written or developed by Dr. Karyn Purvis (Director of the TCU Institute of Child Development)

http://drdansiegel.com

People of the Second Chance http://www.potsc.org

http://www.biblegateway.com

http://www.parentingadopteescantrust.com

And They Ask Us Why...

You’d be surprised at the kind of questions adoptive parents get asked.  Everything from “Oh… is your husband Asian (…black…Hispanic)?” to “How much does it cost?” to “Do you have any of your “own” kids?” to “So, are you not able to conceive?”.  Yes, folks, people, total strangers, have asked about my fertility or lack thereof.   But the question I get most often is “Why?”.  Why are you adopting…when you already have kids or when you don’t have all the money or when you don’t have another bedroom?  Why did you choose China (instead of U.S., Africa, Eastern Europe etc.)?  So, for your reading pleasure I have decided to tackle those “why” questions head on. 

Little disclaimer:  Not every family who is adopting has the same answers to the “whys”.  These answers are unique to the Baldwin Brood and the particular adoption we are going through right now.  In addition, we are not trying to convince anyone or change anyone… this is just what is real and true for our family.

Why are you adopting when you already have so many kids (4 children currently)?

Side Bar:  With all the reality shows focusing on families like the Duggars or Jon and Kate +8, it comes as somewhat a surprise to me that 4 children are considered a large family…

The simple answer:  Because we believe God called us to.

The longer answer:  James 1:27 says that true religion to God is caring for the orphan and the widow in their distress.  God’s heart is for the fatherless and we want our hearts to break with the things that break God’s heart.  We believe that each of the children we have adopted (2 out of our current 4) were placed in our family for a specific reason… that God is redeeming the tragic circumstances that made them “orphans” and is inviting us to participate.  We believe in providence.

Why are you adopting when you don’t have all the money in hand?

The simple answer:  Because we believe God called us to.

The longer answer:  Because over and over we see evidence in scripture that God has a habit of not calling the equipped but equipping the called.  David did not have the stature, reputation, lineage or looks of a King but he is who God chose to lead his people.  Peter was a brash, outspoken fisherman who had a penchant for offending and yet God chose Peter to be the pillar of the church.  Scripture tells us again and again how in our weakness HE makes us strong.  That He uses the things of the foolish to confound the wise.  We do not know exactly why God called US to be Benjamin Lilu’s parents but we know that He did.  In spite of our weaknesses, our deficiencies and our lack of cash on hand.  And, you know what?  There is only one thing to be said:  WE did not do this.  GOD did this.  HE made this happen.  It was nothing we could have done ourselves.  We have been totally dependent on God opening each door, providing each financial blessing, bringing people who want to be a part of Benjamin’s story into our lives… from ALL OVER THE WORLD!  This boy is a true miracle.  And the credit goes solely to God, our/his Father.

Why are you adopting when you don’t have another bedroom to spare in your house? (The answer flows right into the answer of “Why China?”)

Short answer:  Because we believe God called us to.

Longer answer:  Benjamin Lilu has lived in an orphanage… an institution… for all but 6 months of his 6 years of life.  He has lived tightly sandwiched in the midst of a small band of orphans each night.  While here in America the youth dream of (and some insist on) having their own room, in China they can’t even fathom the concept of having their own bed, their own clothes, their own toys… their own ANYTHING!  NOTHING belongs to THEM.  They own nothing.  They belong to no one.  Even their names are chosen simply reflecting where they live and what year they entered the orphanage.  They are not TRULY “named”… named in the sense of being acknowledged as precious, longed for, cared for, advocated for, provided for, protected, loved, fed, comforted, healed… In our western sensibilities we have placed “space”, financial affluence and security, possessions, titles, prestige on the top of the list of our values.  God turns that upside down.  In his kingdom, the first shall be last.  And the last shall be first.  If you want to be great, you must be a servant.  Blessed are the poor in spirit.  Blessed are the meek.  Blessed are those who mourn.  God’s kingdom, to us, seems subversive… crazy at times.  And yet, once one realizes that they are indeed the poor, the meek, the ones who mourn… when they strip all the facades away… this kingdom is the one they can be a part of… not just to live there but as a son or daughter of the King with a full inheritance and overwhelming grace.  In light of God’s kingdom, the number of bedrooms we have in our house, or square footage in our house, or cup holders in our minivan, do NOT matter.  This little life that has burrowed its way into our hearts is what really matters.  No matter what.