Strike Three

I had a revelation at about 1:30 this morning and I couldn’t sleep.  Most often, people think of adoption, especially into an America family, as the best thing that could ever happen to a child.  I have had people (including myself) tell my children how lucky they are, how blessed they are, how appreciative and grateful they must be.  What hit me early this morning was that it is the worst thing that can happen to a child. And then I couldn’t sleep.

Just think.  You lose your parents.  I cannot imagine the pain of that.  Whether the parent died or was neglectful, you lose the one person in the world to whom you had the strongest connection.  The person who was supposed to love you and care for you until adulthood.  Strike one.

Then you are placed into an orphanage.  Your basic physical needs are met.  But there is no mama to tuck you in.  No papa to teach you to ride a bike.  No mama to wipe away your tears.  No papa to teach you to respect the girls.  No mama to tousle your hair and tell you that you  are the most handsome boy she knows.  No papa to set the example of hard work and leadership.  No parents to affirm your worth.  No parents to meet your basic emotional needs.  Strike two.

Then a strange man and woman come.  They are obnoxiously happy.  They bring stuff and make promises.  They speak a different language.  They offer you things you have only dreamed of.  They put you on a plane and take you to country where everything is different.  And expect you to fit in.  You try.  But the language is hard.  The culture is different.  The other children your age seem to understand something you just can’t grasp.  You can’t fit in, no matter how hard you try.  Strike three.

Is the point of all this that we don’t go to a foreign country and adopt?  By no means!  The point is, what are you, as that American parent, going to do after strike three?  When they grieve, will you roll your eyes?  When their work ethic and coping skills are obviously lacking, will you throw up your hands and walk away?  When they cope with their loss in the only ways they have learned, will you threaten and cajole and punish?  When they just can’t seem to fit in, no matter how hard they try, will you reject? 

At one point or another, I have done all these things.  Rolled my eyes.  Thrown up my hands.  Walked away.  Screamed.  Threatened.  Rejected.  But now my heart has seen their reality.  Stripped of parents.  Stripped of dignity.  Stripped of their culture and their language.  How can I now roar “You’re outta here!!!”  I can’t.  Perhaps, instead, I will put the ball on a tee.  Maybe we’ll play soft pitch.  We might even put away the ball and bat and just sit in the dugout together and stare silently at the other players.  You know, the good ones, the star athletes, who have it all together.  Then I will tousle his hair and tell him he is the most handsome boy I know.  I will wipe away his tear.    We will go home, and by God's grace, we will affirm his worth by trying to create a place in which he can fit in.  Without even trying.