my: of or relating to me or myself especially as possessor, agent, object of an action, or familiar person

The word "my" is such a little word that has been bringing such BIG delight to my heart lately. 18 months ago, tomorrow, we stepped onto a plane and flew across the world to meet the toddler whom God had made our son. We were over the moon and we just knew this was God's perfect plan for our family. And I still believe that today. However, the reality is, there was a period of about nine months there where I wasn't so sure. Before you gasp, allow me to explain.

People, adoption is hard. It truly is one of the hardest things God has ever called me to do. You may remember that news story from a few months ago about the adoptive mom of the little Russian boy who put him back on the plane to Russia with a backpack and a note. The media had a great time feasting on that story and my heart broke for that little boy, but at the same time, my heart was breaking for that mother. Because, while I never felt that desperate, there were some terribly low moments in the beginning, where failure seemed imminent and I was convinced that I would forever be counting the days until his 18th birthday.

There is no way that a person who has never experienced it could ever fully understand, but let me try to explain a little of what we struggled with. Abe is adorable, he has been since the moment we met him. In fact, one of the things I said to Ryan on the ride from the foster center after receiving placement was, "He is so much cuter than the pictures." Anytime we take him out in public, we hear about how cute he is. So, he's had that going for him from the start. But, for a long time, that was painful for me to hear, because while he was cute on the outside, the behaviors and emotions we were dealing with were not cute, they were terribly overwhelming.

Here's the bottom line. When you birth a child, you're not going to be a perfect parent, it is impossible. But, if you are a decent parent, you are going to feed the child when they're hungry, hold them when they cry, and play with them a little each day. They are going to learn that you are a safe place and that there is security when you are around. From an early age, you are going to teach them what the word "no" means and you are going to lovingly discipline them for behaviors that might endanger them or show disrespect for others.

Now, we don't know exactly what happened in Abe's first 15 months of life. We have a few details, which are enough for us to realize that his first months of life did not provide those basic securities that most children experience. I knew this when I climbed on the plane to Ethiopia. What I did not realize was that a little love and good cooking would not be all that was necessary to reverse the effects of that deficiency. I was naive.

In the beginning, every day with Abe was a challenge. People have tried to explain to me why it was so hard and here are some of the things I heard: "You've been out of the toddler stage too long and you've forgotten how hard it is." or "Things are really stressful with all of the changes at church, give it a little time." or "It's because your other children were just easy personalities, Abe is an intense kid." and there were many others. But, I knew that there was more to this than any of those things could explain. Here's the deal...Abe didn't trust us. He couldn't understand that for us, adopted meant forever. He didn't know that we were part of the same team and that we were always going to feed him, always going to hold him, and always going to come home to him... always. How could he? With the background he came from and the tender age he was, he could only understand one thing, survival at any cost.

That's why meal times became dreaded. Making him sit in the high chair for even a moment without food in sight would send him spiraling and we'd all pay for it with kicking and screaming. If anyone forgot and left the pantry door cracked, he would sneak food and begin cramming his mouth full, then our removal of it would trigger the tantrums. Hitting and biting were his normal modes of interaction and going out in public always resulted in tears for both of us. I felt like I was a hostage to a 27 pound toddler. It was horrible. The bottom line was, no amount of food and no amount of discipline seemed to help. Those were some long, dark days. I remember telling Ryan several times during those months that I didn't want to go to bed, because I would have to wake up and face another day and I just didn't think I could do it.

And the guilt. I mean here was this child for whom I had prayed and wept and prepared my home and heart to receive and it was going horribly wrong. Not to mention, my other children wanted to love him, but he was so cold toward most all of their affections. And the energy he took from all of us was overwhelming. All of us could sense it and all of us wondered if we'd done the right thing. Every one of our children expressed disappointment and frustration at some point and we all struggled with anger at times. I remember thinking that I would never be able to recommend adoption to a friend because it was just too hard.

However, the Lord is faithful. And, like so many times in my life, He sustained me. He brought resources and people into my life that spoke truth and sound advice into our world. When I felt like giving up, he would show me some inkling of progress that would spur me on for another day. People prayed faithfully alongside us as we struggled through. And slowly, over time, we began to round the corner. I'm not exactly sure when it happened. I can't put my finger on any one event or week or month. But a day came when I realized that the "days of survival" had ceased and we were living again. And that my friends, is a remarkable revelation.

Truth be told, the difficulty of the early days brings such joy to the ordinary. Every day, I have these moments where I look at Abe in absolute disbelief that this is the same child who lived in my house 12 months ago. This boy, who initiates kisses and asks politely for his "juishe cup" and delights in his siblings is the same little boy that fought me tooth and nail on everything.

All of this brings me back to my initial thought about the word "my." Abe loves that word these days and he uses it most often when referring to us, his family. In a way that none of my other children did, he delights in the meaning of that word. Just tonight, we were at a playground and Lizzy had walked out of sight and he turned and looked at me and said, "Mommy, where my Yizzy go?" He asks me every morning, "Mommy, where my daddy go?" He has begun consistently referring to us as "my..." MY mommy, MY daddy, MY Abby, MY Iyaac, MY Yizzy, MY Dado (that's his name for Lily?) It truly is as if he finally understands that we are his and he is ours and that's the way it's gonna be always. And for that, MY heart is truly thankful.