We Can Do Hard Things

Adoption is hard, really hard. I am at the point in our journey that I read about: the part where I am starting to forget some of the trials of the last year. I look at Bren, and he is my son. I am confident about him and us and what came together, and I am thankful that our journey has been swift and relatively smooth--many adoptive families cannot say that.

Recently, our family has been praying about whether we are being led to adopt again. I pray for that giant sign that I cannot miss saying "YES, go this way!" or "NO, turn back. NOW!" Alas, God does not communicate to me in such ways. It doesn't help that I have at times really identified with the misguided prophet, Jonah. And then, there's the overthinking...

 

Today, I was thinking about entering into adoption in 2010. Before that time, I saw adoption pretty much as a big bowl of rainbows and ponies with sprinkles on top. I am pretty sure I have established by now, that is NOT what adoption is. During the darkest moments of 2011-2012, when we had a toddler grieving his losses (of family and familiarity), a middle child protesting his new family position and me struggling to hold it all together (I may or may not have been in the fetal position), I often turned to a phrase posted to Facebook by my friend (and adoption angel), Kryste:

We can do hard things.

It is that simple.

We can.

I can. 

No one ever promised us easy.

 

 

In October, we will mark one year together with Bren. He is 180 degrees different...we ALL are different. It has not been without tears or pain or compromise...but we are all better for what we have experienced and the promises of our future. Bren is just amazing--he is flexible and brave. He is funny, social and a great dancer. :-) He is kind, strong and compassionate. Lately, I have worried if it is too soon for him. He still says, "Mommy, will you love me forever and ever?" Sometimes, he slips and calls our home "your" instead of "my." I can't help but wonder if another adoption too soon would hit a weak spot and strike him off-balance.

 

Daily I consider whether I CAN do it again...as well as whether we should. I always viewed 2010 as the opening for adoption: we were at the beginning of a three-year tour at MacDill--we had a window. Here we are closing in on 2013, a PCS year.We do not yet know where we report next. On top of that, we are all in different places than we were two years ago. For those of you who don't have a 10 year old girl, let me tell you that ONE of those is enough to keep your plate full. Lately, I feel like my life is the scene from "Tangled" where Rapunzel has just left her tower:

 

"Best day ever!"

"I am the worst daughter ever!"

"I am never going back!"

"I have to go back..."

 

Aidan can cry over Radio Disney playing the "wrong" song, and the boys are looking at me like, "Is Aidan possessed?" Whoa...and apparently, it only gets more fun...

 

Aidan's talent in the arts is also maturing. Recently, her teachers have muttered the word "Broadway," and her dance studio is like my second home. There is a lot of seeing what she is made of going on. She is up on pointe and dancing 15+ hours per week. She wants to go to Julliard...did you know 24 applicants per year are accepted to Julliard? 24. Wow. I am starting to feel like Aidan's handler, driver, scheduler, etc. But, I believe in my children, and I will always support their dreams.
 

I am the fifth of six children. While I love being from a large family, I am personally aware of the point where a child may get lost in the crowd. I know there are exceptions to this, but generally, giving everyone the proper balance of attention can prove challenging with more children vying for that attention...pretty logical.

 

Of course, being me, I then wonder...who is putting these thoughts in my head? Is it Satan trying to interfere with God's plan (he does know I am an easy target!)...or are they just reasonable considerations about a huge decision? Either way, right now as we look to 2013 and what that brings, I find faith and confidence in knowing one thing: If adopting again is truly God's plan, it will happen. My little brown-eyed boy is living proof of that.