On Doubt
In an earlier post I mentioned the time we first learned of KJ. I was on a business trip to Rochester, New York, and Joie and I traded a number of emails about the girl who smiled shyly at us from the CHI newsletter. Julie, our CHI contact and the Colombia program director, was very patient and wise with our first stumbling questions about the girl. In one of the messages she traded with Joie and I she made a point that kept coming back to me: “Just remember -- the question is not whether she's a great little girl who needs a family, because that is certainly true. The question is whether she's your girl.”
The thought that kept coming back to me, the thought that I woke with next day and carried around, was not whether she was our girl. It was, “Are we her family?” This isn’t just a question of semantics. I wondered: When she dares to dream of the kind of family she wants to have, are we anything like the one she imagines?
We have been blessed to have fine company on this path. Among the friends that have been advisors and sounding boards are Fred and Jeanne from Florida, and Reed and Erin who we met last spring to discuss our questions about adoption and who we’ve since grown very close to. Fred and Jeanne brought their daughter Ellie home from China last year, and Reed and Erin are in China as I tap out these words, crossing the final steps of the bridge that will connect them to their new one-year-old daughter, Abigail (read their journal! www.teammueller.com). I have found myself envious, at times, of both of these couples. They don’t seem to suffer from any self-doubt about their processes. There isn’t any uncertainty in their actions. Where is the angst and worry?
Some people are bound to say, “You’re six days from flying to South America to bring home your new daughter, and here you are talking about your doubts?” Understand, though, that these aren’t doubts about KJ. They are doubts about me, about us and our life. At this moment I want more anything in the world to not disappoint her.
When I look at our life, the life we are bringing her into, I see a loving family that already wants to hug her close like the daughter she is. But I also see a mom and dad who yell at their son Braden too much, who are often self-absorbed (me!), who are by turns over-indulgent, crabby, forgetful, and short-tempered. I know we have a great capacity for love and tenderness, and I know that we want more than anything to raise children that are happy and content and who live rich, abundant lives. But I see all the flaws, too.
I even worry about material things, and it drives Joie crazy. Will KJ be disappointed in our old and noisy house? Will she be disappointed by the life we are asking her to live: neither poor nor rich, not desperate or pampered, but painfully normal?
KJ is twelve, and she’s had a substantial life to develop opinions and ideas. She has beliefs that are becoming uniquely her own, and she probably has dreams that she’s nurtured from the tiniest grains of longing. Will we fit those? We have to fit them, in some way, because they are a part of what she is. We are a part of what she will be.
Maybe this is why I feel nibbles of envy for the doubt-free calm with which Reed and Erin seem to approach their meeting with Abigail. I wonder if we are strong enough, or grounded enough, to not only adopt a daughter but to also adopt her past, all her memories, good and bad? There is a story behind KJ, whether she is ready to tell it to us now or in three years. There is a father she remembers, and there is a mother. And there are probably other things that no girl should have to remember. I pray that we don’t let her down.
And we won’t. If I have doubts about our fitness to serve as her parents, if I have doubts about our ability to help her fulfill all her dreams, I also know that we were meant to be together. No one else asked about her. After several years in the program they had stopped talking to her about adoption, and then we saw her picture. Maybe someone else would have eventually seen what we saw, and said “We should bring her home.” But for whatever reason—whether God, fate, or blind and beautiful happenstance—we will be her parents.
Other friends are on this road with us too. I look at Rick and Karen, and I see Phillip and Angela, and I hope they know what fantastic parents they will be for their daughters. If they feel any doubt at all, I hope it is only enough to balance the faith that is guiding them right now. Because, in the end, that is the great thing that doubt does for us: It reminds us that we’re human, and it lets us see our faith for the divinely inspired emotion that it truly is.
We’ll be meeting KJ in 8 days. I hope she is happy with us, doubts and all.
The thought that kept coming back to me, the thought that I woke with next day and carried around, was not whether she was our girl. It was, “Are we her family?” This isn’t just a question of semantics. I wondered: When she dares to dream of the kind of family she wants to have, are we anything like the one she imagines?
We have been blessed to have fine company on this path. Among the friends that have been advisors and sounding boards are Fred and Jeanne from Florida, and Reed and Erin who we met last spring to discuss our questions about adoption and who we’ve since grown very close to. Fred and Jeanne brought their daughter Ellie home from China last year, and Reed and Erin are in China as I tap out these words, crossing the final steps of the bridge that will connect them to their new one-year-old daughter, Abigail (read their journal! www.teammueller.com). I have found myself envious, at times, of both of these couples. They don’t seem to suffer from any self-doubt about their processes. There isn’t any uncertainty in their actions. Where is the angst and worry?
Some people are bound to say, “You’re six days from flying to South America to bring home your new daughter, and here you are talking about your doubts?” Understand, though, that these aren’t doubts about KJ. They are doubts about me, about us and our life. At this moment I want more anything in the world to not disappoint her.
When I look at our life, the life we are bringing her into, I see a loving family that already wants to hug her close like the daughter she is. But I also see a mom and dad who yell at their son Braden too much, who are often self-absorbed (me!), who are by turns over-indulgent, crabby, forgetful, and short-tempered. I know we have a great capacity for love and tenderness, and I know that we want more than anything to raise children that are happy and content and who live rich, abundant lives. But I see all the flaws, too.
I even worry about material things, and it drives Joie crazy. Will KJ be disappointed in our old and noisy house? Will she be disappointed by the life we are asking her to live: neither poor nor rich, not desperate or pampered, but painfully normal?
KJ is twelve, and she’s had a substantial life to develop opinions and ideas. She has beliefs that are becoming uniquely her own, and she probably has dreams that she’s nurtured from the tiniest grains of longing. Will we fit those? We have to fit them, in some way, because they are a part of what she is. We are a part of what she will be.
Maybe this is why I feel nibbles of envy for the doubt-free calm with which Reed and Erin seem to approach their meeting with Abigail. I wonder if we are strong enough, or grounded enough, to not only adopt a daughter but to also adopt her past, all her memories, good and bad? There is a story behind KJ, whether she is ready to tell it to us now or in three years. There is a father she remembers, and there is a mother. And there are probably other things that no girl should have to remember. I pray that we don’t let her down.
And we won’t. If I have doubts about our fitness to serve as her parents, if I have doubts about our ability to help her fulfill all her dreams, I also know that we were meant to be together. No one else asked about her. After several years in the program they had stopped talking to her about adoption, and then we saw her picture. Maybe someone else would have eventually seen what we saw, and said “We should bring her home.” But for whatever reason—whether God, fate, or blind and beautiful happenstance—we will be her parents.
Other friends are on this road with us too. I look at Rick and Karen, and I see Phillip and Angela, and I hope they know what fantastic parents they will be for their daughters. If they feel any doubt at all, I hope it is only enough to balance the faith that is guiding them right now. Because, in the end, that is the great thing that doubt does for us: It reminds us that we’re human, and it lets us see our faith for the divinely inspired emotion that it truly is.
We’ll be meeting KJ in 8 days. I hope she is happy with us, doubts and all.
posted by Michael Thelander at 11:35 AM
<< Home