Their door was always open, and their house was full.
They had just adopted three more, at one time.
To say it was a wild time feels like an understatement. What I can say is that any lingering, romanticized ideals I still had about adoption found their end. My eyes were opened up wide, and I stared into adoption at its truest and best.
Doors were slamming, children were crying (and yelling), mom and dad were weary, and some moments felt downright chaotic.
And I was this family’s help. Once I knew they were adopting again, I’d committed to being at their house about three days a week, five hours a day.
I chased children who ran away from the unfamiliar. I sat next to closed hearts who refused to speak. I passed out tissues to the weepers.
I remember mom meeting me at the front door one morning when I arrived. I’d not even made it through the threshold before her eyes teared-up, and she asked, “Are we gonna make it?”
Here I was, twenty-something, freshly awakened to adoption’s challenges, and was just hit with a question I didn’t know if I knew the answer to. But I knew the answer that she needed to hear.
“Yes, you’re gonna make it,” I told her.
That was almost ten years ago. And they are so making it.
In those first years after the adoption, I saw a small community of believers wrap around this family and give their support, so that they wouldn’t have to try to make it alone.
And the most glorious thing? I watched a mom and dad who wouldn’t give up. I watched them hug their kids who fought against them. I listened to them praise their tiniest achievements. I saw them cry tears. And I heard them pray bold prayers.
And I watched their family make it.
Have you seen this yet? Take 3 minutes. Watch. Pray. Join in.