Adoption and Running

Bringing Meadow and Flint home I was sure would be challenging.

They had endured such loss, suffered such pain, encountered such grief. They were old enough to remember what they once had. Old enough to keenly experience the effects of long term institutionalization. Living in an orphanage for 2.5 and 3 years, waiting, had taken a significant toll on them physically, developmentally, academically, psychologically, and emotionally.

They came here and after a rough but brief period of adjustment, began to thrive.

Practically spontaneously, when provided a safe and more enriching environment than they had previously known, they started to heal and grow and gain strength and confidence. Great strides were made in all categories. To this day, Meadow tells me frequently how happy she is to be here and how much she likes it. Orphanage life was not easy for her - bigger kids mistreated her. She has come face to face with the ability to be a child, to relax, to stop controlling. Relief. Flint who was sorely neglected in his former home, has flourished with attention and training and nurture (and toys!).

It was my own struggle amidst their extraordinary progress that caught me completely off guard.

I felt grief. Regret. Unqualified. Illequipt. Guilty. Uninclined. Disengaged. Angry. Disillusioned. Bitter.

5 babies in 6 years and I never had the baby blues.

Now, I had them. Only they weren't babies. And this was more than the blues.

I would try and try to shake them. Oh, how I would try. I wondered what was wrong with me. Why couldn't I pull myself up by my bootstraps? I knew, mentally, what needed to be done, how I should look at things, what I should be thinking, the gratitude I ought to feel. Why couldn't I make myself feel it, think it, experience it? Why was my gut level response toward these precious children the way it was? Why did long lasting change toward the positive continually elude me despite my best efforts?

Failure was an emotion I had become intimately acquainted with.
I.just.couldn't.rally....couldn't muster.....not enough.

On the day of the 1/2 marathon last weekend, I thought I would mostly walk. I could barely recall ever running 5 miles before in my life. Maybe years ago.....
I would do it just for fun, to be with my friends.

Then, when I got there, and the race began, everyone started off running together, and something really strange happened. For the first time in many, many months I felt something coursing through my veins that didn't know if I would ever feel again. I felt empowered. Strong. Confident. Able. Wholly willing.

Spur of the moment, I decided I would try to stay with Geni. Her pace would be my pace.

I am not the caliber of athlete Geni is. Keeping up with her was mind over matter.
I remembered days gone by, 20+ years ago. When I would tape up my ankle and do gymnastics with a torn tendon. When I could fly through the air and feel free and alive and exhilarated and accomplished. When training and exertion and sweat and pushing myself to exhaustion was the daily norm. When I would compete. I used to love competing.

For the first time since we brought our African children home, while running that race, I didn't feel weak and inadequate and guilt ridden and like something was horribly wrong with me. Although my body ached, (and ached...and ached...) my spirit soared. Failure wasn't an option. I would, once again, like when I was young, taste success. Sweet, savory, satisfying success. It was even better than I remembered....

I needed that. I needed to run.

Even in the darkest of times, there have been a plethora of situations - moments - realizations during this past year that encourage me, that help me know all is not lost, that I am not too far gone, that we will be ok. That our family, our story will be one of grace and mercy and redemption and enormous healing, for all of us.
That God will use my life in spite of myself.

I hold high hope.

Maybe, just maybe, I will one day run with my Ethiopian treasures.