To the Dads on the Fence

Let’s be honest. Your wife is making you read this right now.

She’s been reading all kinds of adoption books and blogs and has been meticulously preparing her case for the last few months. She just hit you with her opening statement and gave you this very blog to read as homework before you feebly fumble through your attempt at a response.

I’ve been there. Caught off guard. Deer in the headlights. Mortified to have to be the one to pump the brakes pull the emergency brake on what my wife so earnestly felt God calling us to do.

Some of you may already be fathers. You may already have a whole crew, but adding one more through adoption scares the daylights out of you. You’ve mastered the fathering process. You can make dinner with one kid on your leg, the other helping stir, and a third one wrapped in the kangaroo pouch thing only your wife can remember the actual name of. But this is different, there’s a lack of control. And as crazy as your life is already, the last thing you’re willing to give up is any semblance of control you might possibly have left. I mean, you and your wife always talked about adoption. But not now. You just got your last kid out of diapers.

Others of you have been trying.

And trying.

And trying.

And trying to have biological children.

The tests. The appointments. The procedures. The bills. The glimmers of hope only to be heartbroken and grief-stricken time and time again. Now you try your hardest to re-route your shopping cart around the baby section, hoping to postpone your wife’s tears until at least a private moment. Not here.

You would feel guilty forresorting? to adoption. That’s not how you wanted to end up at this inevitable decision you?ve been dreading for the last several years.

A few of you might even be in the same camp I was six years ago. Newly married. No plans for kids anytime soon. My wife Meg had one of those moments in church. You know the kind. When the Holy Spirit puts a megaphone up to your heart and whispers loud and clear. She sat me down afterward and we had the talk. God was calling her (meaning us) to adoption, specifically adoption through foster care.

*Cue the emergency brake*

In my mind, I immediately became an expert on why this was a terrible decision for our family. Did my wife forget that we were 22 and 23 years old? Or that I had zero dadding experience? The size of our duplex shrunk to the size of a college dorm room. Could we legally fit a kid in there? At the time, I worked for a residential treatment facility for foster kids. I witnessed firsthand the effects of the trauma they had endured. There’s no way we were equipped to handle that, especially as first-time parents. And can we talk about adoptive parents for a second? These saints have it together. I don’t. They’re super-parents. I can’t fake my way through that. Everyone will see right through me.

Here’s the second-best thing I’ve ever done: instead of verbalizing that entire paragraph above that ran through my mind in three seconds flat, I said I’d pray about it.

And I did. I specifically prayed a line from a song that was on the radio at the time.

Break my heart for what breaks yours.

And He did.

A missed training at work from years before led me to a more in-depth training on foster kids. Actual kids in the system talking about the heartaches they had endured and their need for unconditional love. My heart broke. The megaphone whispered loud and clear.

If I was reading one of thosechoose your own adventure? books I would have had two options. Number one: do nothing and it’s the end of the book. Number two: do something and you?re on page one of the greatest trilogy of all-time. (Foreshadowing here, I have three kiddos.) Something I’ve learned the hard way in my walk with Christ is that there is a time for prayer and there is a time for action. Keeping things on our prayer list which God has already convicted us of can dangerously become a religious excuse for inaction.

Here’s the best thing I’ve ever done: I said yes to my wife. I know, sounds like the advice your grandpa gave you on your wedding day with a wink and a handshake. But more importantly, I said yes to God’s plan for our lives without knowing exactly what that plan looked like. Here’s the thing about us husbands, if you?re anything like me and my wife. Our wives are the optimists, we?re the pessimists. Our wives are the dreamers, we?re the doubters. We read all 142 reviews before we buy the TV. We measure twice, cut once. We want to see the money in the bank account before we commit to anything. But too often as Christian men we let our pursuit of order overrule our pursuit of submission to God’s will.

Fast forward with me to December 15, 2012. The day I became a daddy. Jacob was our first (and only) foster placement and was three months old at the time. I held him for the first time under our Christmas tree and wept bittersweet tears. In order for him to end up in my arms, some heartbreaking events had taken place. One of my favorite quotes from Jody Landers sums it up, A child born to another woman calls me mommy. The magnitude of that tragedy and the depth of that privilege are not lost on me.

By God’s grace we were able to adopt him on December 18, 2014 with the support of his birth mother. We told our families that we were pregnant with our biological son, Griffin, the next day. He was born on July 29, 2015. One pretty scary birth experience was enough for my wife, so I took the medical precaution in early 2016 to avoid those complications in the future. We were incredibly blessed with a healthy baby boy and playmate for Jacob. Later that year, Meg and I felt the nudge of God again calling us to adopt. A week later, I got a call at work from my wife, sobbing uncontrollably. When I finally got her to speak she told me that Jacob’s birth mom was pregnant. And she wanted us to adopt.

Our fundraising efforts started. Bills came in. Donations came in. Wash, rinse, repeat. With some creative ideas (all Meg’s), a generous community, and open hands, the Lord provided.

We had been planning on another boy for months. It turned out it was a goofed gender reveal when Elodie was born on June 21, 2017; the little girl this daddy always prayed for. After our crazy journey through foster care, foster adoption, having a biological son, and a private adoption of a sibling, I can tell you one thing. I can’t imagine my life if I would have said no those six years ago. God wired my wife to push me toward His plan and His blessings. It’s what I love most about her. All I had to do was say yes.

Some of you are on the fence. Some of you are off the fence, but on a different side than your wife. Some of you didn’t even know there was a fence until today. There will be struggles. There will be frustration. There will be paperwork, so much paperwork. But you’ll look back on your family’s journey, maybe six years later, and it will all make sense. You?ll look into the eyes of your son or daughter and know that God’s plan was infinitely greater than anything you could have ever hoped or dreamed for on your own.

So here’s the plan:

For more of Tim and Meg’s story:
Their journey to foster care: My Brother Is Doing It
Meg’s thoughts on foster care: A Foster Mama Shares Why Excuses Don’t Matter
Jacob’s Adoption: Meet Jacob
Elodie’s adoption: Countdown to Forever

Susan@ChristianAdoptionConsultants.com