A Different Kind of Labor

A few weeks ago I found myself in a familiar place. A place, due to my season of life, I find myself in quite often. I was sitting in a circle of women who were sharing their birth stories. I heard tales of water breaking, c-sections, epidurals, 10 pound babies, water births, midwives, and even a husband’s broken hand. These are not unfamiliar stories to me. I listen quietly as women share about their miraculous moments often. I usually nod, smile, say “awe” at the appropriate times, and sometimes hold back what might be coming forth from a rumbling in my stomach as certain ladies like to give vivid detail.

This time, this conversation, was a bit different however. At the end of three women’s stories, most like I had heard before, a lady turned to me and said, “Wow, I guess you got the easy way out huh?”  In the moment I was thrown off. I just smiled and said, “Well, adoption is certainly a different kind of labor but I wouldn’t say it was easy.”

So on behalf of all adoptive mothers I would like to share about a different kind of labor.  I think every birth is miraculous and undoubtedly special for the mother so I am certainly not trying to take anything away from biological mothers. I think it’s incredible, and after hearing some of the stories I have heard, downright impressive. I want to hear your birth stories. I want to enter into that moment with you as you relive the excitement and wonder of bringing your child into this world. So, please don’t hear me say that I think adoption is harder, more difficult, scarier, riskier, etc. Please do hear me say that adoption is different. It is hard, it is difficult, it is scary, and it is risky. But so is giving birth, or at least that’s what they tell me 

If I had had the time to think through it, here is what I would have said to my friend who jokingly implied that I got the easy way out by adopting rather than giving birth. Yes, I agree with you that I did not have weird cravings and swollen ankles for months of pregnancy. I agree with you that I did not struggle through hours or physical labor. I agree with you that I did not feel the pain it causes a woman’s body to deliver a baby. I agree with you that I was not sore for days afterwards or don’t bear the physical scars delivery may have left you with. You are right. In the physical sense I did get the easy way out.

But I would like to tell you how very hard adoption is and how much I labored over my son. I began laboring almost 2 years before he was born. I labored over a desperate desire for a child. I labored in prayer so hard that I wore a permanent callous on my knee and a worn spot on my plush bedroom carpet. I cried out to God for a child and waited, then waited some more. I know there are many biological mommies who began labor the very same way, so we might have that in common.

I labored over the decision to adopt. I knew it was what my heart desired. I had always wanted to adopt. But to actually come face to face with the decision was quite difficult. I kept mulling over all the things you  hear about adoption: “It’s too risky, what if they want the child back, what if the child is sick, what if he/she has serious emotional problems, what if the birth mother does drugs, and not to mention the cost.” After months of wearing my callous knees just a little tougher we put our yes on the table. We said we will move forward with adoption and see what God has in store for our family.

Then I began laboring over mounds and mounds of paperwork. I would fill out one packet just to receive another in the mail. It felt endless. All that was keeping me from my baby was this paper, and that paper, and this medical form, and that FBI check, etc. I labored well into the wee hours of the morning filling out those papers and requesting those forms.

Then I began laboring through each adoption situation. Our phone would ring and we would hear about a little baby being born in X amount of days, weeks, or months. We would find out if this baby was a boy or girl, if they were at any health risk, what the situation with the birth parents was like, etc. Then we would decide whether to present our profile. Most of the time we said yes. After presenting our profile I began another kind of labor. Laboring over the wait to hear if this birth family chose us. Many times, 6 to be exact we got a phone call saying that the birth family of this little one that I had already fallen in love with simply by the brief description provided, chose another family. Of course our prayer was always that each child would be placed in the family God desired for him/her but it didn’t make those labor pains any easier.

Then I began what may have been the most exciting and terrifying part of this different kind of labor. We matched!!!! I had ten days to get ready for my little guy. I labored over all the fears that I had somehow pushed to the back of my mind. What if something happens to him? What if she changes her mind before we get there, or worse, after we get there? What if I hold him in my arms and fall madly in love and she says she can’t do this and wants him back? What if 3 years from now he looks at me and says, “Mommy, why is your skin lighter than mine?” What will I say, how will I help him know just how very special and amazing he is?

Once we arrived at the hospital labor got really intense. I heard his heart on the monitor and I fell a little deeper in love with each beat. I tried to hold back and guard my heart until the five day revocation period was up and he was safely and securely in our care. But I couldn’t do it. I was in love and that wasn’t changing. There was no holding this mama’s heart back. Then I held the hand of a woman who was physically laboring as she gave birth to my son. I labored with her, a different kind of labor, but labor all the same.

Then, unique to most births, my labor continued. I was holding this little miracle for which I had prayed for so long and I was looking in the eyes of the beautiful woman choosing me to be his mother. I ached for her. I ached to wrap this baby up and take him far away so there was no chance he would not be mine. I ached for time to still and speed up all at the same time. I watched the clock as the hours ticked by until the five days (the revocation period) was up. I placed my baby boy in the arms of his birth mother twice. I watched her tear up. I watched her hug and kiss him. I watched her snuggle him. Talk about labor. That was intense. I wanted to hug her and tell her that it was all going to be ok, that she was making a good choice and that he will always know how much she loves him. And at the same time I wanted to scoop him up and stake my claim. I’m not sure I have ever experienced anything so incredible and so painful at the same time.

So, no I don’t have a great story of how many hours I was in labor (although I could add up the hours it took me to fill out that paper work and I might have you beat). I can’t join in your conversation as you share about all the birthing methods you considered, or tried. I don’t know what it feels like to have my water break, heart, yes, but water no. I don’t know what it feels like to be numb from the waist down.  I have never experienced the intensity pitocin adds to labor. Although, there were many times I wish there had been some medication, some thing, that would speed up my labor process.

But I do know what it feels like to labor over a child, a life, a miracle. And, I did it all without an epidural. 

But a Vapor...

“Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” So, I realize that the title of this blog post is from Scripture, James 4:14 to be exact, and that the first sentence is a quote from Ferris Bueller in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off , but stick with me.

God has blessed me with an incredible job in which I get to minister to His children every day. For that, I am beyond grateful. I experienced one of the most eye-opening, thought provoking, awe-inspiring moments I have had in my 6 years of vocational ministry a little over a month ago. It brought me to my knees in thanksgiving, in confession, in pleading for wisdom, and interceding on behalf of some beloved people in my life.

Over 3 years ago I met a woman, I’ll call her S. I met her through the ministry that I direct in which we do outreach projects and Vacation Bible School to meet and minister to the people in our local community. This particular week we didn’t have very many children coming to our ministry but we knew we were there for a purpose. That purpose was S. She brought her one year old son with her every day. We played with him, fed him, sang songs with him, cleaned up his peanut butter and jelly fingers and bare belly. We even bought him some clothes and toys as it was obvious this family did not have the means to provide for him.

S came faithfully every day and sat with us as we taught the children. She told us how lonely she was and how much she needed people around her. Over the next few years I really got to know S. I have visited her about once a month and we have shared a lot of life experiences with each other. She calls me telling me of her life struggles and asking me to pray. Sometimes she calls and all I hear is a faint cry on the other line. All I know to do is say I love you and I am praying.

Shortly after I met S, her one year old son that our mission team fell in love with was taken from her home and placed with some of her family members. She informed me that this boy was her 4^th child and all of them had been removed from her home. It was heartbreaking to walk beside her in this knowing how much she cared. It also hurt seeing how she was not able to provide financially, physically, or emotionally for those children no matter how much she wanted to. I won’t go into all the details but S is living in a difficult situation with difficult people but she has a heart of gold and loves her Heavenly Father with great passion.

A few months ago S called me to tell me she was expecting again. We talked for a long time that day and she informed me that she had made an adoption plan for this baby. She knew we had adopted Ben and was asking all kinds of questions about our process, Ben, his birth mother, etc. It was neat and heartbreaking to share those moments with her. From the time I found out about S’s pregnancy I took her to several doctor appointments, bought her prenatal vitamins, informed her that she may want to lay off the mountain dew for a while, and listened to her cry as she doubted her decision to place this baby.

A little over a month ago I got a call from S. She was in the hospital getting ready to deliver her precious baby girl. I got there a few hours after the baby was born. I held S’s hand, doted over the beautiful baby, oohed and awed over her sweet sounds and beautiful name. I prayed with her, answered some questions, and had the honor of meeting baby girl’s adoptive mother.

Sitting in that hospital room on a green couch holding a baby that another woman had just delivered brought me racing back to the day Ben was born. I remember how hard it was that day to know how to feel. I felt overwhelming joy and overwhelming sadness. I was holding my little baby boy and he was perfect. I had dreamed of that moment since I was a 4 year old pushing my cabbage patch doll around in a box I called her stroller. But I also felt sadness for Ben’s birth mother. It was hard to express both joy and pain in the same moment. But the Holy Spirit showed me how.

So on this green hospital couch holding a two hour old baby, looking at the smiles and joy on the mother’s face, and the pain and fatigue on the S’s face, I was overwhelmed once again. The mother asked me all kinds of questions about Ben’s adoption. She was brimming with excitement. She told me all about the baby’s nursery, picking out her name, etc. I was smiling with her and remembering that elated feeling. I would peek back over to S out of the corner of my eye. She was half smiling, half holding back tears. I wanted to scoop her up and hug her until it was all ok. Instead, I handed that little bundle of joy back to her mom and sat on the side of S’s bed and prayed.

That was early in the afternoon that day that I got to watch life enter into the world. I got to see redemption unfold before my eyes yet again through the miracle of adoption. I got to see the pain on the face of a birth mother who did what was best for her child. Nothing is more selfless or brave in my opinion. It mirrors our Heavenly Father’s love for us. He gave His son because He knew it was best for all of His children. He knew it was necessary just as S knew placing this beautiful baby girl in the hands of another woman was just that, necessary.

That evening I traveled to my hometown to be by the side of a dear friend from high school. I walked in another hospital’s automatic doors, but this time I was not headed to the maternity ward. I followed the signs to the hospice suite where my dear friend’s grandfather was taking in his last few breaths. This friend was one of the reasons I made it through high school. I was shy, awkward, and had not grasped that my confidence can only come from the Lord, not from the popular crowd, grades, or anything else. She welcomed me in when my family began attending her church. She sat by my on all of our youth trips and roomed with me. She may never know how much those simple acts of kindness and friendship meant to me. They gave me the courage to be me.

Her grandfather must have taught her a thing or two about kindness and hospitality. He was a man that I will always admire. I never had a grandfather growing up. Both of mine had passed away before I was born. This man became my grandfather. He loved on me as if I was his own. He doted on me and looked for me every Sunday to give me a big hug. Any time I would come home from college he made a big to do about me being there.  I will never forget his smile, his kindness, his laugh, and his authentic love for the Lord and for people.

I walked in the room that was filled with his family, many of whom I had gone to church with for years. He was frail and struggling to breathe. They were tired and anticipating the coming hours. I held tight to my friend and told her I loved her, him, all of them, and I was praying. We shared some stories about him and laughed as we remembered. He was in and out of sleep most of the time I was there but in one brief moment that his eyes were open he extended his hand for me to hold. I came close to his side and grasped his hand. He still had a strong grip, and with the sincerest voice he said, “It was so sweet of you to come.” I wanted to say, “It was so sweet of you to love me like one of your own all those years.” But instead I assured him there was nowhere else I would rather be in that moment.

I stayed for awhile and then left the family to pray, wait, and lean on each other. Early the next day I got word from my friend. Her message read, “He’s gone.” I grieved with them. I hurt for them. I know the pain of loss and I don’t ever want anyone else to know it. I wish I could take it away from them in those moments. I cried tears of pain for my friend and her family and I cried tears of pain for S who just earlier that day experienced a whole different type of loss that I don’t understand.

In the span of 24 hours I watched life begin, hearing the tiny cries of a newborn and I watched life end, hearing the effort from a man taking his last few breaths. I couldn’t help but think of how quickly life passes. There were many years between that newborn and my friend’s grandfather but I bet it didn’t seem like that many years to him. When I stop to think about my life over the past few years, or even longer, it seems unreal that I could be 29. It seems impossible that my son who I feel like I just met is 7 months old.  Where does the time go?

Since that day, I have asked myself that question a lot, “where does the time go?” It’s an important question. I want to know where my time is going. I want it to count. I want it to make a difference. I want it to go to my son, to my family. I want it to go to falling madly in love with my Savior and to serving His people with the gifts He has given me, I want it to go to fight for justice, to set the captives free, to be a voice for the voiceless, to be hope for the hopeless. I want it to go to feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, and housing the homeless. I don’t want to look back in 29 more years and wonder where the time went. I want to know.

It’s true what Scripture and Ferris Beuller say, “Life is but a vapor,” (James 4:14) and “Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” Take a moment of that quickly passing time of yours and ask yourself, “Where does the time go?”