I just finished this book, an autobiography written by the first trans-racial adoptee EVER in the state of New Mexico. It was a required read for an adoption process we were going through, that fell through.
I've gone back and forth about whether to follow up on it here, mainly because the baby comes from a very hi-profile situation and I can only get into so many of the details. Nonetheless, he has been a big part of our lives and I feel I must share him with you, even though he will never come home with us.
He has a name, but he will remain nameless here. This is his story, (or my story inside of his story,) and one he will never know...
At the tail-end of April, I began to have random thoughts about a fourth child. VERY random and out of the blue as we, (and by we I mean Shaun,) were about to get the big snip-snip in March. But maybe that's why this was on my mind, it seemed so permanent, and it bothered me that I couldn't shake the anxious feeling of expectancy. I knew I wasn't pregnant, but I felt like I was. I felt very mental emotional. Very crazy hormonal. And for no good reason.
I prayed about it, I shared it with a friend. I asked both the Lord and the friend, is something wrong with me that whenever life gets calm again I feel the need to invite more chaos raining down on it... is there some wound from my past that makes me this way? Am I mental? Am I crazy? He didn't answer me as specifically as I wanted Him to, but He did wake me up at 4:44 in the morning. Ha- Ha- Ha. He gave me a Word on holding loosely to my plans, on how He reserves the right to redirect His children.
Okay. I said, pleased to know I wasn't totally crazy. But what does that mean?
SO... as I've always done when I feel the impulse to dodge responsibility for a big decision, I dumped the whole thing on Shaun:
Um, yeah... I think maybe we're supposed to have another baby but I'm really not sure and you need to pray about it, okay? Okay. Thanks. (Then I did a little clickclick with my tongue in my teeth while shooting a pointing a gun gesture his way, and went on with my day.)
And he went right on with his day, too, thinking, hmm... it's going to be really difficult to tell her no, I don't feel the same, but whatever I have to go to work now, and where'd my shaving cream go, anyway?
(Actually, I'm kind of lying there, about my getting on with things, because I really had trouble getting rid of the obsessive thinking about it, asking what it meant, and trying NOT to think about it.) I had trouble sleeping at night: I don't want to be pregnant again, what if I get sick... I got rid of my maternity stuff... something is bad wrong with me... issues... big issues... I'm a freak... I need counseling...
Even if I thought on other subjects, which wasn't difficult to do, I still had trouble sleeping. I have three preschoolers, remember? I NEVER have trouble sleeping.
About a week or two into this roller coaster ride, on March 6th, I received an email on my day to pray with my email prayer group from my Mother-in-Law who never emails. Never. (Okay, well, she's getting better... she can right click and drag now.)
My mother-in-law is a foster mother in another state. She has adopted four children herself, and those after having 6 biological children of which Shaun is the oldest. She is something crazy... has more energy and zeal for these children than most of us have in our pinky finger.
The email read:
Katie
We were just asked to take a newborn baby boy weighing six pounds and three ounces. This is a hi profile case and I am honored to receive him so near Mother's Day, please pray that he is safe with us . He was found in... (this part left out)... I have not had a boy in a long time and was wondering if you might have some clothing that you no longer need, I am hoping to call him... (this part left out, but a Biblical name with a beautiful story as to why that name)... I know God has a wonderful plan for his life. Last time I accepted a baby from this particular agency I was allowed to suggest a family to adopt and I now get to watch him grow up in our church. I would love to be a part and pick a Christian family again but pray the Lord lays someone on my heart if that is meant to be... I will start visiting him at the hospital tomorrow and possibly bring him home around the weekend or early next week.
I read this aloud to Shaun as I was reading it for the first time myself, my heart was pounding with every word. I felt certain the Lord was connecting the recent burden with this specific baby. I asked Shaun if he thought he was supposed to be ours. He wasn't sure, but unlike before, he was actually considering the question. He, once again, had to leave for work but said he would pray about it. We spoke shortly after on the phone and agreed that neither of us could get him off of our minds. Just call my mom and see if he's healthy, Shaun said, as we both knew we were poorly equipped to take on special needs.
Long story short, (and by that I mean I am condensing A LOT of details playing out in this one paragraph now,) he was a completely healthy African American baby boy and the agency was highly interested in us being the adoptive family. They preferred him to come across state borders to be more removed from the media and story. We felt the Lord calling us to be obedient and trust Him for His will being right. A close friend of mine here in town "happens" to be an adoption specialist- the best there is- and she made the whole experience so personal for us. There were many hurdles to cross for it to happen, and I wanted to walk nowhere the Lord willed us not to walk, so I held loosely to the baby boy... as loosely as possible, though we did start having to think like a family of four and talk to the kids, and viewing his precious picture and hearing his milestones of smiling and laughing made it difficult to not get attached.
The children were so excited to welcome him into the family. They looked at his picture with me and talked about what they would do with him when he came and how God had rescued him. Whenever they saw a dark baby anywhere they thought of him and wanted to know if he was that big already. Once I had Jack's car seat sitting on the front porch to be cleaned out and Evan walked by the front door and did a double-take. Mommy! I think Baby ______ is here!
Every door flung wide open along the way. This went on from March 6th till June 26th. Financial obstacles? Poof! Gone! Logistical obstacles? Poof! Gone again! Systematic obstacles? Poof! Every. Single. Door. Lord, we prayed, if You want him with us, You keep opening those doors and we will walk through them, but we don't want to take a single step out of Your will.
Meanwhile, we did the legwork. We filled out forms, collected information required, got fingerprinted, read required books, wrote family histories, gathered references. This book above was one of those required readings... it had a huge impact on me. It sobered me up, tested my heart. When that last week in June rolled around, I knew my heart was in the right place. I was scared- well, you know the saying. Completely bowed down before the Lord and waiting for His answer. That was the court date, the 26th. The day our family, and our family alone, would be placed before the judge. Everything was in place and the predicted outcome was to be a stamp of approval and a signature.
The book had me well aware of what we might be embarking upon the day that happened... the pain we would have to be willing to carry, the sacrificial love we would have to give. Jaiya John's story showed me how a sensitive black child reared in an all-white environment struggles. Not because of the family not loving him enough, but because adoptee's start out life with a wound. They have a mysterious past that haunts them. and they long to know where they come from, a question that can't always be answered in abandonment situations.
But I was ready. Bowed down, like I said, and ready to take it on. I knew a little something about abandonment. I had experienced a wound like that myself. I could feel secure enough out of my own experience to understand that his gaping wounds would not be my fault nor my responsibility to fix, and could not be patched up with a small band-aid of well, we love you, so get over it. I was unsure how we would empathize and work through it without hyper-fixating on it, but I was ready to trust the Lord to show me and walk me through it.
We were at the beach that day. The 26th. With every page I turned of Black Baby, White Hands I wondered if the phone call would come that very moment, that page turn. Shaun went out to pick up a pizza for the family and when he returned he came down to where the kids and I were watching a movie and said, ' pizza's here.' He had a funny look on his face, a passive smile that was hiding something. I searched his face inquisitively and he knew I was asking him what?
We didn't get him.
What!
We didn't get him. The gavel came down before the judge even heard our names. The Guardian ad Lidem who was assigned his guardian and had ultimate authority over him never showed to any of the meetings- this is typical, apparently, and usually they just sign away to the agency's plans but not this time.
The who? What?
Yeah. He wanted the baby to stay in state. Thought it would look bad for their state to not have a place to put him. They think maybe he'd spoken with the judge in advance.
So it's over? Just like that?
It's over.
There are a million complaints we could make against this person, against this state and the way they've handled things. What's worse, they had no plan on where to place him past this. He could've been with us for weeks now, already, and still, he's with my mother-in-law because of politics. Not only that, not only was he rejected once at birth, but he had gone home with two other families since we were turned down and they both sent him back. Like a dog they didn't want. Like some pet they just couldn't feel attached to. THREE times this child has been rejected, and this is where I begin to cry while I type.
Every day my mother and father-in-law bond with him a little more. He loves the sound of my father-in-law's voice, which sometimes sounds like Shaun's voice. I can't help but wonder if going from Shaun's dad to Shaun might've been an easier transition than wherever he goes from here. (And they do have plans for him right now for a family who has already trans-racially adopted once, a child who is now 10.) I hope and pray they are good to him and adore him.
Despite the obvious human questions asked, and the obvious emotions... when it comes down to it, the whole thing is really very simple to me. Honestly. I firmly believe that God has specific things He wants each of us to apprehend. I believe everything we go through, walk through, are born into, is to better mold and equip us for the people and hearts we were created to apprehend. We were apprehended by Christ to apprehend for Christ.
This means, we were not the right family, the right environment for the baby boy to grow into God's best version of himself. The Lord's will is tied to our greatest good. I know this to be true. This means this decision is not only His will, but His greatest good for _____ and for us. How can we argue with that? I am not going to wrestle God for something other than His best for _____ and His best for us. That would be utterly ridiculous. But I have asked Him why a few times.
Why did I need to walk this road for this little while?
To apprehend what I apprehended you for.
And already, He has brought several specific events and people to mind... encounters, relationships, and knowledge gained, and perspective gained... and so much that has changed for me because of this experience. And I'm confident those things, great as they are, are only the tip of the iceberg. When God moves, He doesn't just move this or that, the whole universe seems to move with him, like the ripples that extend from an object tossed into water. The whole universe vibrates and jives from His motion- after all, the Bible says, "in HIM we live and move and have our being." We are so clueless how completely dependent we are on Him with every breath.
So, where to go from here?
I took a small break from the book before finishing it. Last night was a real treat, though.
Jaiya John can write, did I mention that? Well, whoa Nelly, can he. I can't say I took everything he had to say as Truth with a capital "T." Some statements, it seemed to me, were distorted or exaggerated because of the wounds he was viewing them through... but I think even he would agree on that.
We all have distorted truths we live by- wounds are like that. They teach us to take things as truth that are not, in fact, Truth. But overall, I came away with a heart swelling with gratitude and respect and admiration for this man. I hope to meet him some day so that I can thank him in person for ministering to me in this interesting season where my emotions feel pinned to my shirt sleeve.
In some ways he is my polar opposite, and in some ways I feel him completely-
I am a white woman. Whiter than white can be. (As one man who worked at Home Depot once put it: "you are the whitest white woman I've ever seen." Thank you very much.) I was raised in the Southeast with everything I could've ever wanted. I spent my summers at a lake house, in a bathing suit and barefoot. My parents adored me. I had a strong sense of my roots, of where I came from. I got to see alligators up close and personal in my "backyard," I got to ride dolphins, go on mission trips and vacations. I slept in the middle of the Amazon with a once savage, now God-fearing Ecuadorian tribe, I sat in a box with a homeless man under a bridge in New York. I traveled to Europe, I traveled to 23 of the 50 states by the time I was 22. I went on cruises. I went to Bela Karolyi's gymnastics camp, where he called me "leetle thingy," amongst other camps. I took a chartered plane to see the Gators play a bowl game. My life has been so very, very rich in the deepest sense of the word. I wanted for nothing the first half of it. (The second was filled with wounds and much, much more difficult.) I have become an open book, and I love to write. It all started in Ocala.
He is a tall, strong black man. He borrowed roots but longed for more, to know where he really came from, to belong to a culture seamlessly, without turning heads and without pretended understanding. He was raised in the Southwest. He was raised on a middle class salary. He was hurting and wanting the first part of his life, and the second was less difficult as he got answers and healing. He has become an open book, and he loves to write (and does so much better than I do, and is much more of a poet than I am.) He has found peace from the longing he once had. It all ended in Ocala... where he met his birth father and family.
Our "Ocala's" are so different. Worlds apart, yet on the same dot on the map. How I would love to get to know his Ocala!
He describes it like this:
As we entered Ocala, I was transfixed at everything outside the car window. This place was a southern portrait of the kind I had often imagined. The old, rural feel was strong. the land was thick with trees, the homes modest. Even from the car, I could see that there were two Ocalas- the one Black and the other White, two communities tethered within the same geography; a juxtaposed set of worlds about which I was eager to learn. We arrived at their house in the Black community of Happy Homes, and got out of the car. Each step of this process was a ritual for me. I passed through each moment granting it the solemnity it required. I stood and exhaled. The air was humid, heavy, and smelled slightly sweet...
Ocala was truly the Deep South, only two hours or so away from the border of Georgia, and growing to know its subtleties was an experience. I could feel a distinct vibe between White and Black people unlike that in the Southwest, West Coast, and East Coast I had known. There was a clear distance between the groups, but in a peculiar way, less tension in the racial interaction. The coexistence somehow felt more natural, more honest about its friction and divide. This was no racial utopia, but at least the people were familiar with each other. I did not see an alien reflected in the pupils of the white locals, just a person who resided on the other side of their color line...
Ocala was like bathing in the Jordan River. It took me home in a powerful updraft of self-retrieval...
Across boats separated by a few feet of water, Black and White speak to each other, like humans:
Morning.
Morning.
What you working with today?
Worms. You pulling anything?
Got a few blue gill, some shell cracker. I left some for you. Fid-na try that hole over there.
Good luck.
You, too. Enjoy the day.
It is a ritual, this conversation. It is contained within its boundaries but sincere with its affection. The true impulse of a person is revealed when the overwhelming beauty of nature cleaves social detritus from hearts life fish from the bone, and lifelong racial lessons are for the most part left behind on the shore.
(There is so much more I'd love to quote from this book than this little bit- the last two or three chapters were such a treat, such a magnificent "happy ending." I HIGHLY recommend this read, even if it has nothing to do with life where you're at right now. It is worth reading for the sentences and descriptions and poetry alone... just a great read.)
My racial experiences in Ocala were not so harmonious- the check out girl at Walgreens hated my guts, (presumably, because my guts were a different colors than hers.) My 6th grade math teacher looked down her nose at me for an entire year, and even went so far as to make sarcastic comments about my white doctor daddy. Then, when I was transferred from Physics to Home Economics (and rightly so) in high school I tried so hard to befriend the rest of my black classmates but they looked at me like I spoke a foreign language, and with disgust in their faces, that is IF they even acknowledged that I had spoken at all.
Moving to Chicago was very eye-opening to me. When a black Chicagoan check out girl rang me up she treated me like a human being, like an equal, and it was such a stark and obvious contrast (especially being a check out girl,) that I wanted to squeeze her. She was such a relief to me, and from her on, as I encountered different colors in Chicago, I was thrilled the rest of the world was progressing a little faster than Slow-cala...
I know I'm taking a total tangent now. I guess I'm just trying to express how God affirmed to me, so personally- even by this book landing in my roots- that this was a field trip He wanted me on, regardless of the outcome. Some things can't be learned in the classroom. Some things we have to step out of our comfort zone to really "get" as my dad reminded me of Abraham with Isaac.
Some of our friends have suggested that maybe we are still meant to adopt, and if money weren't an option, I would adopt trans-racially here in Florida in a heartbeat. (This baby was ward of the state he is in, so we took the lack of high costs as yet another open door.) After hearing updates on this baby for weeks, and reading Jaiya John's book, I was so ready to personally step over that color line and walk with him through whatever pained him. I longed to embrace him and his roots (or lack of them.) I longed to tell him about Jesus and how we are all born in separation from God and with serious wounds, how adoption is the Greatest Story ever told. It is my story, it is Shaun's story... and so naturally, my heart aches a little when I watch the beautiful black boy swim next to Evan at swim class in the morning. Sure, I wonder what this sweet baby will look like and who he will be as he grows... what great things he will do for the Lord. But it is, in a strange way, a peaceful ache. It reminds me I am alive. It reminds me there is a bigger world than mine, and a much bigger God.
Labels: adoption, baby, faith, food for thought
