The Red Thread: For Her, I Would

This is Part 4 of our China adoption story.  If you have have not read parts 1, 2, or 3, you can catch up by clicking on the links below:

Adoption Announcement

You Convince Him! (Part 1)

You Convince Him! (Part 2)

The Legend of the Red Thread (Part 3)


Once our decision was made, the ball really got rolling fast.  First we filled out an application just to get pre-approved to start the adoption process with our agency.  On top of that, they encouraged us to complete their medical needs checklist as soon as possible in order to get us in line for the match process.  This checklist was basically a long list of medical conditions we were willing to consider when the agency found a match.  It helps them narrow down which families will be the right fit for which children.

My sweet new friend took me in as soon as I told her we were moving forward with CCAI and connected me to several online groups so that I could get the information I needed to make informed decisions.   She must have sensed that I felt like a lost puppy. Who wouldn't feel that way when making the first-time decision to adopt a child half-way around the world? There was so much to learn.

So when I wasn't filling out paper work, I found myself reading Facebook posts about special needs and looking at the faces of the many waiting children in China.  There were so many children and I was drawn to so many, wondering if one of them was meant to be mine.  But every time I was tempted to call the agency and ask to see a file, I just felt that I was supposed to wait.

As I read about medical conditions, I brought them up to Scott.  What could we handle?  What could we not handle?

Blindness?
Deafness?
What about paralysis?
Heart Disease?
Dwarfism?
What would we have to change?
What would remain the same?

We talked through so many different scenarios.

Limb differences?  Easy!
Autism?  It would just be too much.

We had to be honest with ourselves.  We had to consider our other six children.  It would have been easy to feel guilty every time I hit the no button next to the special need we knew we could not handle on the medical conditions check list.  However, as I read through some of the information, I knew that it wouldn't be fair to that child or the rest of us if we took on more than we could handle.

I got online and officially completed our Medical Conditions Checklist on January 19th.

On January 20th, we dropped off our application.  While I waited, I continued to look at posts about special needs, knowing I could go back and update our medical needs checklist at any time.  I asked questions.  For some reason, I asked the group about adopting children who require a wheelchair to get around.  What adjustments did they have to make?  How did it change their lives?  We'd already talked about how it would be too hard for us, but for some reason, I asked.  I wanted to hear from others' experiences.  I wanted to make sure I clicked no for all the right reasons and not for the wrong.

I got many answers, but as I was reading through the posts, there was one statement that I could not quite grasp.  One woman encouraged me to look at the child, not just the syndrome.

What?  How?  Every time I saw a child with a noticeable disability, fear took hold.  How do you not see the disability?  How do you look past it when it's right there in your face?  You have to consider it.

As I pondered these things, I kept going back to the waiting children list on both CCAI's website, and on Facebook.  Between January 20th and the first week or so in February, Scott and I filled out what felt like hundreds of forms.  I attended an orientation meeting, and then I went home and looked at more children.  I noticed that one of the girls on CCAI's website said "My File Will Be Returned Soon."  This same girl had some ladies advocating for her on the waiting children page.  Suddenly she really stood out to me.   I watched her video.  I played it for the kids.

"I want her!" my 6-year-old exclaimed.

"I thought you said that you didn't want a little sister?" I asked.

"Well, I want her to be my sister." She insisted.

Next, I showed the video to Scott.

Before I knew it, we were talking again about special needs.  We'd said we could not take in a child who could not walk.  We already kind of had this idea that whoever we adopted would have a relatively minor special need.  This little girl was paralyzed from the waist down, but oh was she smart, and oh was she sweet!  I still remember that night. We were sitting upstairs.  Scott had paused the t.v. show we were watching so we could talk.  I shared with him how I kept arguing with myself why we couldn't take a child like her, but every time I came up with a reason, a logical answer ever-so-gently rationalized why I could.

Ultimately, there was one answer that stopped me from coming up with any more reasons why I could say no.  I'm not saying it's for everyone, but for me, I could not deny its truth.

"There are no guarantees that with your own children, something tragic couldn't happen that could result in them needing a wheelchair. You know for your child, you would do ANYTHING, provide them with whatever care they needed without a second thought. If you would do anything for one of your own children here with you now, why not for one of these?"

I shared that with Scott, and he shared his convictions too.  We are so blessed.  We have so much. We have amazing children who are so accepting.  We have a nice house, financial stability, and a great marriage.  Before we knew it, we were both crying.  We were both broken.  How, after all that God has given us, could we say no?

On the waiting child site, the sweet lady who took me in and got me started with our adoption journey stated that this little girl came from the same orphanage that her daughter came from.  We exchanged messages on Facebook.  She confirmed that she knew this little girl.   This little girl was her daughter's friend and she cried when my friend and her husband took their daughter home.  She cried because at only two years old, she understood that she still did not have a mommy.  I could almost hear the cries.  I saw the tears.  I felt the loss ~ the desperate longing to belong.  I wept for her.

After that, Scott agreed that I should ask to see her file.  So, knowing that my medical needs checklist should match this little girl's needs, I got on my account and changed several special needs to indicate that we would take a child who could not walk.  Then I contacted the agency, only to my dismay there was suddenly a wait list to view her file.

This little girl went from having zero interest to having a wait list within a matter of days.  And I was kicking myself.

So on Friday, February 13th, we dropped off some more forms at the adoption agency's office and then my sweet husband took me out to eat for an early dinner.  I was sitting next to him with happy couples all around us and I was crying.  I couldn't stop.  I felt so stupid.  It was Valentine's weekend and our waitress surely thought we were fighting.  Scott tried to help by making me laugh.  So there I was, laughing and crying at the same time.  Great.  We weren't fighting, I was just an emotional wreck!  I knew that if I could just get my hands on her file, the answer was yes!  I didn't care what her file said, but I knew that her time with our agency was short and once that time ran out, it didn't matter if there was a wait list.  They would have to return her file.

"Have faith."  He told me.  "If she is supposed to be ours, she will be ours."

He was right.  Somewhere in my heart though, I knew that I was not going to get my hands on her file.  So with a heaviness in my heart, I left Outback with my hubby, realizing that I finally understood what that woman meant when she posted on the Facebook page to try to see the child.

Once I really stopped and looked at who she was, it no longer mattered to me what her special need was.  I couldn't say that I would have felt that way for every child on the list, but there was a connection with her that helped me to look past the disability and see the beautiful soul that she was.

I would have easily taken her in, bought her a wheelchair, taken her to therapy, and most importantly, loved on her the way every little girl desires to be loved.  I would have made sure she wouldn't have to cry anymore tears because she didn't have a mommy and a daddy.  I wouldn't have thought twice about adopting her.  I wouldn't have let fear dictate my decision.  For her, I would.  I would do whatever it takes.

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