We all face that moment of truth when the referral comes in, and we stare at our potential child’s special need for the first time (can “potential child” be an actual term?) Sure, we checked “yes” in the box for that particular special need, but now we have three days to decide whether or not we want to check “yes” to it for the rest of our lives.

Talk about a leap of faith!

During the paper trail phase of our China special needs adoption, my hubby and I spent hours pouring over all of the conditions on the special needs list. We researched their implications and their complications, in full deliberation over what to “accept” and what to “reject.” It felt more like buying a car than adopting a child. Passenger side air bag? Check. Heated seats? Check.

But what about a bad transmission? Would we accept a car that had no power steering? Or one with faulty brakes? Driving a car like that would be risky. Forget impressing our neighbors with our new ride. Forget driving long distances without a care in the world. It would be a battle just to get to Wal-Mart and back in a car like that.

It would be a leap of faith.

In the end, we felt limited by the fact that we live overseas, in a country where healthcare is undependable at best. Still, we checked “yes” to as many boxes as we could, and submitted our form to our adoption agency. Then we waited, prepared to see a referral for a child with cleft lip and palate, or an ear malformation, or a lazy eye.

We were not prepared to click on the attachment in my inbox and see this:

“H-h-honey,” I muttered to my husband, who sat beside me at the computer with his jaw hanging open wider than mine. “What in the world is that?”

Thus began our journey as the parents of a child with a vascular anomaly.

Jubilee has an hemangioma attached to her torso. It webs her armpit and includes a crude nipple. During her first three years of life, it stuck out several inches from her body and weighed at least a pound or two – oozing, cracking, bleeding, and causing her physical and emotional pain.

The weekend that her referral came in, we hardly slept. The doctors were telling us that her hemangioma could be connected to her organs. It could be affecting her motor skills development. She could have other anomalies, external and internal, which the orphanage had not detected. There were lots of question marks.

But what I couldn’t get over was her beautiful face, and in particular the look in her big brown eyes. There was a spark of life in those eyes, but only barely! I had a strong feeling that she needed to go home soon, before she lost that look of life altogether. As we prayed over her file, it became increasingly clearer to my husband and me that Hong-Hong was our Jubilee, and that her home was with us.

One. Two. Three. LEAP.

I’ll never forget the first time I saw Jubilee’s lesion up-close. I pulled her shirt over her head that first night at the hotel, and I’m sure my face revealed my shock, despite my efforts otherwise. She looked back at me searchingly, asking with her eyes, “What do you think of me now? Do you still want me? Do you still think I’m cute?”

I answered with a smile, touching her hemangioma with my bare hands. How hot it felt! The blood that filled it warmed it like a hot water bottle. I watched the expression on her face soften, though, as I applied cream to the rough, craggy surface of her chest.

And over the past year-and-a-half, we’ve watched the spark of life in her eyes become an awesome, roaring flame.

We went on furlough several months after “Gotcha Day,” and while in America she was accepted for treatment at Arkansas Children’s Hospital in Little Rock. There, surgeons started at the middle of her sternum and cut across her chest, under her arm, and around to the very tip of her lesion (which wrapped just onto her back). For several hours, they painstakingly removed the filling of her hemangioma, scraping it away from the muscle tissue beneath. Incidentally, it had not grown connected to any of her organs nor major blood vessels! Another win: the doctors were able to find her breast-bud in the mass, and they secured it in place behind her salvaged nipple, so that when womanhood hits she will look normal in clothes. We were thrilled for her about that!

When the surgery was over, the nurses returned to us our groggy, gorgeous little girl, complete with an enormous incision across her body. It would bleed for almost two weeks, and when it healed, the scar would be gnarled and sore. Hemangioma skin is very different from normal skin and doesn’t scar well. But with the help of special creams, we have been able to keep the scar soft and painless. Jubilee’s hemangioma now looks like this (and always will).

Our daughter’s torso no longer bulges. It no longer looks as if someone stuffed a pillow in her shirt. She plays Star Wars with her brothers, cuddles with her Daddy, and follows me around the house in a flurry of endless chatter. In fact right now, as an almost-four-year-old, Jubilee’s hemangioma (which still peeks out at her collar, and out from the end of her T-shirt sleeve) doesn’t bother her at all.

But when she gets older, it will be a different story. Jubilee won’t be able to wear a bathing suit, for example. Hemangioma skin burns easily and should be kept covered outdoors. No v-neck tees for her. No tank tops. And she probably won’t choose a strapless wedding dress, either.

So, what will her daddy and I say when she asks the question, “Why me?”

I have no idea.

I guess that’s why they call it a leap of faith.

I emailed her about him and asked a couple questions. She gave me the information she had on him…

And then she gave me a link…

Which changed everything…

I felt like a boy was waiting somewhere in China for us and I wondered if this was “our boy”.

We were familiar with the special need and truthfully,

it’s an easy one.

So many people fear it in the USA, mostly because they are uneducated about how it is transferred from person to person. AND they just don’t know how truly healthy these children are when they are on medication.

In China… EVERYONE feared it…

So much so, that they would JAIL a child to protect themselves…

There was no thought or consideration for the child that was being “jailed”.

No one considered what was in his best interest.

No one thought of how they may be harming him by keeping him isolated for 3 years.

Everyday he looked through the bars in his room and crib and saw the other children playing outside.

I am guessing that he longed to be free and play with the other children.

For three years he was “jailed”…

Isolated in every way…

No hugs,

No kisses,

No comforting…

When I saw what was being done to this child,

and that he was separated from everyone else due to no fault of his own.

And that he was being HIDDEN because he was HIV positive-

I WAS SICKENED.

truly. physically. sick

I wanted to throw up,

my knees were wobbly…

My head hurt as

my thoughts were wildly spinning around.

And I moaned in pain for him.

I wanted to break him out of jail immediately.

When I hear of situations like this,

I ache.

How can life be so unfair.

How can people be so inconsiderate, unkind and ridiculous.

My Momma Bear instincts flare up when a child is involved and

ESPECIALLY

when that child is an

ORPHAN.

They have NO VOICE and no choice.

They are innocent victims… of an adult world.

Here is the article I read about this boy.

And, yes…

With time God revealed that

this little boy is our son.

Through a multitude of events He showed us his plan.

This is our Joseph…

We have been told that once this article was published and his story was out in the open-

HE

WAS

FREED!

We think the orphanage has since been educated and our little boy is interacting with the other children and in preschool.

At least that is what we have heard.

We are praying that it is true.

I have only seen one picture with him and other children.

He doesn’t seem to be dressed like the other children.

I find that a little concerning.

He is on medication now and doing very well. We have no idea what the repercussions of being isolated for 3 years will be. Praying he can over come the past and embrace his new life.

Sometimes the HIV positive kiddos go to an undisclosed foster home in their Province. They are able to partake in “normal life” and they flourish. Their special need is kept quiet and they can live life just like any other child (rather, just like any other orphan). They are cared for by nannies that understand HIV and are not afraid of it.

We are thankful for this article and the people that were involved in writing it.

It’s because they exposed the injustice that occurred and it resulted in his freedom.

Oh God, please bless him and watch over him…

Please prepare his heart and mind for parents and for a big family.

Our Mondays together have included some preschool lessons, lunch time, rest time and of course plenty of play time.

Two precious kiddos, born on different continents in 2008. These “built-in best friends” now live in the same neighborhood, are on the same swim team, and before we know it will start kindergarten at the same elementary school. I watch these two together and their interaction brings a smile to my face.

The way she jumps in and plays monster trucks or tool guy with him without skipping a beat…

The way he irritates her by calling her “Cordie” ~ even though she calls him “Danger.”

The way they create and play with legos for the longest time…

The way they can just sit, side by side, happily together.

Two best friends, brought together through special needs adoptions. It isn’t lost on me how easily they ~ and we their parents ~ could have missed out…

Peter is still waiting for a family to choose him as their son.

Peter wants a family. Could it be you? Please watch the advocacy video we have prepared for Peter and help us spread the word about this wonderful young man.



Peter is currently assigned to the individual agency list of WACAP. WACAP is generously offering a $4,200 grant for the adoption of Peter by a qualified family.

For questions about the adoption of Peter, please contact elizabethR@wacap.org or advocacy@anorphanswish.org

Please help spread the word about this very special boy.

Today was a different scenario. I found myself waiting (not so patiently) in that room for my son to arrive. Watching the other families receive their babies. Some happy to meet their Mama and Baba, some not so happy, and even one that arrived at Civil Affairs sound asleep and transitioned into her Mama’s arms without even noticing. I was a bundle of nerves with tears in my eyes, reliving my first two “Gotcha Days” as I watched new families form right before my eyes.

When the van arrived, I knew it was finally our turn. With the one other family that had a child coming from the same orphanage, my husband and I looked outside in eager anticipation. And when the doors opened, there he was. My breath caught as I rushed to the window to take pictures of him. The first moment of laying my eyes on him in real life. I cued Dad to get the video camera rolling and headed to the door to greet the boy had waited so long to hold in my arms. I snapped a picture as soon as he walked in and he smiled at me, knowing full well that I was his new Mom. That scrapbook I worked so hard to put together for him paid off.

It was a magical moment when I walked up to him with open arms and he returned my embrace. But it was even more magical watching him sign the forms saying he wanted to come with us. So many people throughout the wait had expressed wonder at our willingness to adopt a teenager. The truth of the matter is, though, he took a much bigger risk by signing those papers than we did. The weight of the moment was not lost on me. Watching this young man entrust his entire future to us was one of the bravest acts I’ve ever witnessed. My prayer is that as our days together continue, he feels the risk was worth taking. Because…after only a few hours with him…I already know it was on my end.

Four long hours.

That’s an eternity for an active 2 year old to be expected to sit! So she wanted to know if he could hang out with us. I checked my calendar and let her know we were a go!

Gabe and their son have played together several times…with both mamas present! They do so well together and it makes my friend and I just giddy to watch them enjoy each other.

They came around 8am and only a few, quick tears were shed. We went outside to play {and distract!}. Everything was going great. It was just at one point when I needed to pick our friends’ son up for a second that I noticed something.

Rewind to our first three months home.

Although we fully realized that it takes an immeasurable amount of time to completely settle, Gabe was adjusting better than we could have ever hoped. He was showing great signs of attaching. Sleeping like a dream {no pun intended!} and was affectionate, happy and seemingly fine for the most part.

But he made a sound constantly. And when he was clearly stressed, the pitch was higher and louder. I wish I could describe it. Almost like a bird’s cry. Only more like a rattle. Where he would do something with his throat and push air out of his mouth.

It was a funny little sound. And back then, got to be a little unnerving at times. One day, almost out of the blue, he just stopped doing it. It was as if we looked at each other and said, “Hey, did you notice!?! He’s not making the crazy sound anymore!”

Only last Friday, he began again.

We haven’t heard that sound since January I bet. But when I picked his friend up to tend to him, Gabe was at my leg in a flash, gazing up at me and that little rattle was flying out of his mouth. And with it, the words, “My mama. My mama.”

It all came back to me then. I’ve told y’all countless times, I’m such a moron. And it didn’t occur to me, when we were in the throes of re-entry, that this sound has a purpose.

Our little prince was coping.

I was just too exhausted or idiotic to see it at the time. It was crystal clear on Friday though. Crystal clear that while we’ve come so far, we still have miles to go.

In helping him realize that we are inseparable now.

That we are as much his as we could ever be.

And that we will love him with fierce, mad love until we die.

It’s been eight wonderful months. Everyday we lay more groundwork in attachment. Every night we solidify his safety and well being as he falls asleep smiling in my arms. And every morning, when he stands up in that crib to look for us, we assure him all over again…that while there are still miles to go, we are here forever and are more than happy to walk those miles with him.

While thinking about this on Mother’s Day, I couldn’t help but notice something God-breathed and simply beautiful. It was the way Sunshine was so comfortably a part of everything, as if she had just always been. She was happily climbing all over my dad as any grandchild would do. She was interacting with her 93-year-old great-grandma in a way that no one else could. She ran to each of her grandparents effortlessly, squealing their names with delight. She played with and chased around her brother and sister as any sibling would. She wrapped her little arms around her daddy’s neck so sweetly as he carried her around. And she laid with me on the sofa with such trust and security and love, as if I had always been her mama. It was the way it’s supposed to be. It was breathtaking.

Almost two years ago, we brought her home to us forever. At the six-month mark, I thought things were good. At the one-year mark, I thought things were great. But almost two years home, oh my it just keeps getting better and better. The love that I have in my heart for this precious child has grown so big, it’s overwhelming at times. It definitely had to grow and be nurtured, but it’s very real and it is fierce. She is mine and that is amazing. This plan that God has for Sunshine and for our family is pretty awesome. And watching it unfold right before my eyes is truly remarkable.

We had been waiting in line at the fair for our tickets. I had told her to stay still too many times. Up and down, jump, up and down, jump. And, every time, the rickety metal steps leading up to the ticket trailer would rattle and shake. “Lydia, sit down! Stop moving!” She frowned and sat for about 5 seconds before she proceeded to climb the railing again and fall and hit her head on the corner of the step.

There she was, screaming and bleeding, clearly needing stitches. And, I was angry.

We were going to have a fun night at the fair, one of our last nights together as a family before Mark left for China for 2 weeks. I had told her to stay still; I had told her to stop; she didn’t listen…again.

He had to take her to the emergency room; I wasn’t ready to be the parent she needed there.

With the roar of the rides and all the bells and whistles of carnival games in the background, somehow my heart quieted, and I remembered what I knew to be true about my daughter. The world was not as it should be for my daughter during her first year of life. When that is the case, there is a profound impact on children, and we’ve seen that in our little girl. With the complicated integration of her traumatic infancy, personality, and the nature we all share to choose our own way, we have our Lydia. She’s always moving, always touching, always climbing and jumping, always sensory seeking. And, it’s really hard for her to not. It’s not simply an issue of disobedience.

I left the fair and met them at the emergency room. I saw my baby all curled up with her father in that big bed, sad and scared. All those feelings of compassion and fear for her welled up within me. I could love her now the way she needed to be loved, with the kind of love that pursues knowing her more fully, the kind of love that considers who she is and guides her based on that and not what I want.

She got a couple stitches that night as her daddy and I literally covered her with our own bodies while the doctors worked on her pretty little face. When it was all over, she clung to us, this little independent girl physically demonstrating her utter dependence on us.

And, then we went back to the fair as a family. Riding side by side on a kiddie roller coaster was just what the doctor ordered—for Lydia and her mom.

her in my arms, snuggling, giggling, crying, jabbering about all types of things.
though my arms tire, my heart never does.

holding a wee one in their greatest as well as saddest moments is of the deepest treasures not just in motherhood, but life in general.

i am deeply moved by brave birth moms and foster moms who hold children for brief moments but love for a lifetime.

relief workers, doctors, selfless friends who care for orphans lost in the system…not knowing what the future holds for the sweet children they are blessed to have cared for, but knowing each one is a unique and fantastic ball of potential.

to love a child deeply…even from afar when oceans or death separates…is one of the most beautiful and painful blessings that God created.

i am ever grateful for the people who cared for my daughter when an ocean separated.

it strikes me at random moments…the knowledge that we have an extended family we won’t ever know.

it’s painful and sad and perhaps the most difficult part of our journey as a family. it isn’t just for her to bear alone. she will not grieve by herself when she one day realizes the loss she suffered in her early moments of life. we will all grieve with her. the loss of one’s first family is perhaps the greatest of all losses, second only to losing a child, which emery’s birth family has suffered. there aren’t many words i can say to make it “all better.” but i will hold her. i will talk when she wants to talk. be silent when she wants to be silent. and i will never let her story be far from my lips. not because she is always “adopted” but because she is always my child and her story is important. her birth family is important even though we may never know the circumstances that led to their painful choice. we know God created a most fantastic treasure from their bloodline. He fashioned her in her birth mother’s womb in a most perfect way. i am grateful to the woman who carried my child when i physically couldn’t. but it is painful. i cry any time i think of her, this woman we know so well (because we know her child). i know she must have been fantastically bright and witty. she most likely had incredibly long and full dark hair and piercing large, deep brown eyes. she was most likely petite and slender, with the most perfect of all golden skin. she most likely ate lots of noodles, eggs, rice, green vegetables, potatoes and fruit when she was pregnant because her daughter prefers those items to all others. and i believe she loved the child in her womb. she chose to carry her and give birth to her. that is love.

i will never understand it all, but i don’t shy away from processing it.
because she + i is the most beautiful of all gifts and deserves thought and time. walking alongside of my child through the deepest of all pain is a journey i am honored to be a part of.

There was a special little girl that had a daunting special need. We didn’t completely understand it but her picture was adorable and being positive thinkers we knew there was a chance her diagnosis may be wrong. We felt very drawn to her – the pull of God.

We asked for her file and another agency had just taken it. We missed it by a day… was that a sign that she was not ours? Within two days we got word that if we were positive about adopting her the agency that currently had her file would transfer it. This little girl had waited a long time for a family and her health was not good.

We gathered all the information we could find – her old file – and prayed over it. We were both a little fearful. What if we adopted her and she died? That would be very hard for the whole family.

As I privately thought those thoughts… it dawned on me, it would be even worse if she died without a family. I felt like yes – we could be cowardly and not listen to God calling us. Or we could trust the Lord and trust that he would see us through this journey and that even during the HARD parts HE would not leave us. So many thoughts whirled around in my head. But the one thing I could hear amongst all the confusion where these words, “she needs to come home, she needs to come home, she needs to come home.”

As hubby walked in the house after work he said to me, “So what do you think?”

I said, “I don’t know? What do you think?”

He said, “I think she needs to come home.”

I just smiled and said, “I think you are right.”

And that was the beginning of bringing Abigail Elizabeth home.

The diagnosis was MDS. A pre cancer condition that eventually leads to leukemia. I did a little bit of research on it and of course only remembered the positives. God is so good that way. We felt his comfort throughout the whole process and Abby came home in December 2011.

For the next year she had many tests – liver MRI’s, liver biopsies, Bone marrow biopsies, CAT scan, MRI of her heart, etc. She has had blood transfusions every 3-4 weeks and chelations every 2 weeks, plus more.

The first diagnosis in the USA came back in March of 2012 as MDS. China was right… We immediately went to meet with the BMT specialists. A bone marrow transplant was her only choice and they seemed eager to have this take place sooner rather than later. HOWEVER, her liver was very unhealthy and having a BMT now would most likely result in liver failure. Her chances of surviving were not good.

We began aggressively chelating – to get the excess iron out of her liver. The goal was to get her liver as healthy as possible, to closely monitor her and watch for any changes in her health and signs of leukemia. In July 2012 she had another bone marrow biopsy- the samples were sent to Boston Children’s where they specialize in pediatric MDS. The results came back in October 2012. Abby did not have MDS but instead has Congenital Siderblastic Anemia.

AND WE EXHALED…

Whew… Praise the LORD!

This means she is no longer racing against time in regards to Leukemia. It is not a pre cancer situation.

Abby will have another liver MRI within the next month. They are anticipating that her liver is in better shape and the iron levels are way down.

Soooooo, what about the bone marrow transplant?

This is our dilemma…

A bone marrow transplant would cure Abby. That would be wonderful. No more transfusions or chelations. No more low, low hemoglobins. If it worked, her new bone marrow would be able to produce red blood cells that could carry oxygen in it. She would be healthy and live a normal life.

Wow, that sounds good!

BUT there is a 30% chance that the bone marrow transplant will not work and then she would immediately have to have another one. In that 30% is the chance that she will not survive the bone marrow transplant. And it may be questionable if her liver is actually healthy enough to withstand the chemo drugs that are used in the process.

They have found a 5 out of 6 point cord blood match for Abby. That is pretty good. BUT how good is pretty good?

The bone marrow transplant process is over 5-6 months long- if it goes well. She would be in the hospital for 30-60 days. Then if it goes well she would come home but she cannot be exposed to anything because she will have no immune system to fight it off. Our family is large and although we have been very healthy we have many possibilities of spreading unwanted germs

So the other option is that Abby has transfusions and chelates for the rest of her life. Her life will be shortened most likely(50’s- 60’s). She could at any time develop a reaction to a blood transfusion- I am not sure exactly what that means and what would happen if she did start reacting.

We are not sure what to do? How do people make this decision? What a huge decision this is… Do we wait until she can make it herself?

Right now we are still gathering information. We need to see the results of the new tests coming up. We would want to meet once again with the BMT doctors to see if her odds have improved and hear what they would recommend.

We have been praying over it and we know God will make the direction clear to us when HIS time is right. But sometimes someone else sparks a thought or can add new knowledge to a tough situation.

Please tell us – what are your thoughts?