I wanted to write a post about our little family’s Advent traditions this morning. I wanted to share something light and straightforward.
Yet, here I sit, my hands hovering above the keyboard. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I refill my coffee.
I check my Facebook notifications one more time.
I start a load of laundry.
I’m avoiding the words I need to write.
The words pulsing through my head. The ones I can’t quite grasp, the ones just out of reach. I know I need to find them and they need to find their way through these tapping keys. I know because of the long discussions with fellow mommas and the text messages and the email steeped in sorrow I received this very morning.
The thing is, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to share the hard while still protecting my girl. And, honestly, I wonder why I need to share any of this. No, no…that’s not entirely true.
God keeps whispering, you’re not the only one.
And, maybe, just maybe, there is one who needs to read these words today and rest in the simple truth that she isn’t alone either.
So, how do I say this? How do I say that my daughter, the one who has been here under my roof and in my care for two and a half years now, still doesn’t understand that I’m her momma?
Yes, she knows the words. Yet, she doesn’t know.
In adoption circles, this term is called attachment. A strong, secure attachment is the pinnacle of achievement for us adoptive mommas. It’s the measuring stick we use to determine our ability to implement “connected parenting.” The style of parenting we studied about at the workshops we’ve attended and in the videos we’ve watched (repeatedly) and in the stacks and stacks of books we’ve read.
A faulty attachment is the equivalent of a faulty parent. <<– You see the lie, of course. It’s clear when typed out in black and white. Yet, when you are living in the lie, you slowly start to believe the whispers of the enemy. You start to believe you aren’t good enough. You start to believe you really and truly cannot do this. You start to believe you heard God wrong. You start to believe that all of the people who have loved and prayed and advocated and donated and sent gifts and cheered at the airport will see through the veneer and find out that you are a fraud.
They’ll see you as you are: a momma who desperately wants her baby to love her back. A momma who tries and tries and tries. A momma who shuffles schedules and bills in order to get her girl the professional help she needs. And, a momma who eventually closes off bits and pieces of her aching, rejected heart. A momma who lets resentment and anger and fear and frustration and heaps of guilt creep in as the days pass into weeks and into months and into years.
I’ve been walking through a process called Chavurah with a small group of dear friends. Chavurah is a Jewish tradition, translated from Hebrew meaning Fellowship. Chavurah is traditionally a small group of like-minded Jews who assemble for the purpose of facilitating prayer services, sharing communal experiences and Jewish learning. In our case, we aren’t Jewish but we are applying the practice of gathering each week to focus intently on the gospel and the working out of the Kingdom come on earth as it is in Heaven in our daily lives.
This week’s practice has us shifting our mindset to one of a rejoice prayer. According to A Guidebook to Prayer: “Rejoice prayer is a prayer of thanksgiving and gratitude. It lifts our eyes to the hills from where our strength comes. It reconnects us with God who delights in our praise. By praying with gratitude we are lifted in spirit and we are given a broader perspective. The Holy Spirit comforts us and reminds us of Jesus’ love. The Holy Spirit gives us wisdom to see beyond trials to the power of the cross to turn on the light in every place of darkness.”
As in life, this post will not have a tidy bow holding it together. I don’t have the answers, I know the brokenness in this world and in our little love’s past is abundant. I also know love is greater than fear. And, I know each day is a new opportunity to practice love and to pray for healing. And, certainly, I know the Holy Spirit gives me wisdom to see beyond these current hard days straight to the power of the cross. I absolutely know He alone can turn on the light in every single dark, desolate corner of her heart and mine.
Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. {Lamentations 3:22-23}
There is no one like the God of Israel. He rides across the heavens to help you, across the skies in majestic splendor. The eternal God is your refuge, and his everlasting arms are under you. {Deuteronomy 33:26-27}
Because of God’s tender mercy, the light from Heaven is about to break upon us, to give light to the those who sit in darkness and to in the shadow of death, and to guide us to the path of peace. {Luke 1:78-79}
Oh Jenny. This so touched a place in my heart that needed it. Thanks so much.
Love you, friend. <3
Oh goodness, Jenny. I hope you are able to find comfort in the fact that there are SOOOOOOO many years ahead for the attachment to happen. But I am sure it’s little comfort on a daily basis. <3
The moment by moment hard squelches that long-term perspective. Thank you for this reminder! There are so many years ahead… and I do see small glimpses here and there that I cling to! <3
I adopted my daughter (she is black, I am white) in 1998 when she was 6 months old. She would never really snuggle me when she was a baby, screamed and cried when I fed her, and sometimes would flat out ignore me. When she was two and I picked her up from daycare, she would run away from me and go to the window looking asking for daddy. She would cling to her daycare teacher everyday I picked her up for the longest time. I remember one time we were at a concert at church, and she walked over to another family (they were African-American) and put her arms up to the dad to be picked up. I tell you all this because it took a long time for her to trust in me. And I would hurt so deeply when I was rejected, or she wouldn’t respond to me, but I just kept trying with her. She is now 19, and couldn’t be more attached to me. It took time, and more patience than I possessed, but at some point it happened. I couldn’t pinpoint when, or if anything specific precipitated it, but this young lady loves her mama and I love her. Please be encouraged – I don’t know if or when, but by the grace of God, I have faith she will look at you and KNOW you are mama one day.
Jennifer, thank you. Thank you for this encouragement and for sharing your story. Oh, yes. School pick-up is always painful… when other little ones rush to their mommas at the end of a long day, mine slowly, methodically, gathers her things and walks toward me without making eye contact with an air of annoyance that I’m back again. I fully understand the complexities of adoption and attachment and her inability to do much more than to try her hardest to push me away because she believes I will leave her too. All the other “mamas” in her life have, so why should she believe that I will stay? I am so encouraged by your story and your words. Truly, thank you. <3
I’m so sorry. This sounds so painful and would break any mama’s heart . Praying for you Jenny. What a true testament of agape love you are shining.
I so appreciate your prayers, Valerie. I know God is working in and through this hard place! <3
Jenny,
Thank you for sharing your story. You did well, sharing the harsh realities while protecting your daughter and not sharing details. You see, I have five children, all adopted from Russia. They are now ages 25-30 and grandchild #11 is due in May. Like Jennifer Johnson said, attachment takes a long, long time. In fact, mine didn’t seem very attached until they became parents themselves. Truth is, they were learning it all along. It just didn’t look like it. Now we have a fantastic relationship with all five.
So be encouraged. Miracles are happening right now in the deep dark places of your little girl’s heart.
I’m so glad you wrote about this because, yes, yes, yes, so many moms feel alone and like failures. They feel abandoned … everything you said is true. Women I call SAFE moms (step/adoptive/foster/every other nonbiological) need to share stories. And they need to hear frequently that God is faithful and able and will accomplish His purposes for each child — AND for each mom.
That’s why I write my blog and have a dedicated Facebook Page (Mother of Pearls). Jenny, starting in January I’m going to host guest blogs once a month. I want my readers to hear perspectives other than mine – especially from those who are currently in the trenches. If you’re interested I can send you the details. In fact, I’d love to share this very post, if you want. I’ll share it today on my Facebook page (for Hope*Writers Friday Shares).
Again, thank you for sharing your story. Our world needs to hear it.
Oh goodness…thank you, Cheri. So encouraging. <3 I will send you an email too...
This is beautiful, and I admire your honesty so much. And your persevering spirit – loving on, even through the hurt and the discouragement. May he bless you and her richly and abundantly in your wrestle, and meet you right there.
HI Jenny! You are absolutely not alone in a less-than-ideal Advent. Or life or family or any of it. 🙂 I’m a fellow Hope*Writer, and I also work for ForEveryMom.com – and I was wondering if we could share your post at For Every Mom. With your permission, I’d like to republish your post on our site, giving you full credit as author, linking back to the original post, and including your bio and head shot. What do you think?
Either way, THANK YOU for sharing your heart and listening to those God whispers. <3
I am a fellow adoptive momma right here in Bentonville. My heart fears to ask the same questions. My little came to us at 6 months as a foster child but we didn’t get to adopt her until November when she was 17 months. I feel like I know how to support some of the delays caused by 6 months of neglect… occupational, speech, physical vision therapy, good sleep and nutrition, consistent routine, part-time Montessori preschool. But the struggle to heal her little heart and make her melt into our family is so real. ❤ Thanks for sharing.