Broken

This post has been swirling around in my head for many months. It is something that I work through personally almost daily as a foster/adoptive mom, but have a hard time expressing in a way that makes sense.

There are so many “common” questions that are asked of parents in our unique situation, but there are some that are much harder to answer.

“I know they’re adopted, but are they yours (speaking of emotional attachment)?”

“Are they ‘normal?’”

“Are these issues that you will deal with when they are teenagers?”

These questions aren’t always phrased as questions. Sometimes they are phrased as statements with extreme stories attached. You’ve all heard them: 

“You know, my brother’s, uncle’s, step-mother’s grandpa adopted kids and…(insert horrible story here).”

Now please don’t think I’m living in a hole. I know that those stories exist and that horrible things really do happen, but this post isn’t about those stories. It’s about something I am learning in spite of the fact that some of those stories are true.

I have three adopted daughters. This week, my two-year-old has begun exercising an ability that she has been capable of for many months: climbing out of her crib. Sunday afternoon my husband and I were enjoying…well, let's just say that we were enjoying the quiet of the house during naptime..., when an adorable Paula wandered into our room informing us that she “needed to poop.” This may seem totally normal to many of you moms out there. For us, however, it is not something we have had to work with our children on. I’m going to spare you all of the details because they are very heavy, but let’s just say that the background our children came from made this part of parenting (and many, many other parts) very unique. 

For our oldest, it took months of training and reassuring before she would EVER leave her bedroom – even if it meant wetting the bed, sleeping in her throw-up, or remaining scared from a nightmare. It is still very rare that she will come to inform us of a need. She will typically wait for me to come to her. 

Our second child has never seemed to feel a need to come get us – or maybe just not yet recognized that she can. She never climbed out of her crib and is my “loner” child. It took many months for her to run to me to kiss a skinned knee or other injury even during the daytime. She seems to be unaware that there is or will be an “answer” for her hurts. 
Unfortunately, both of them have seen too much of the brokenness that the world has to offer. 

My little Paula, on the other hand, still seems blissfully unaware of it and my heart hurts for the day she will begin to see the brokenness of her past.

Because her past is broken. She is broken. Her sisters are broken. In fact…all of us are broken!

I was recently struggling through a personal issue that was causing me to feel very “broken.” My husband and I were speaking with a counselor about the issue and he said something that turned my thinking completely around to where it should rightly be. He said, “Well, you are broken! We are all broken. This side of heaven everyone is broken.”

Broken: separated into parts or pieces by being hit, damaged, etc; not working properly; not kept or honored.

Each part of this definition can easily be applied to any one of us. We all have experienced a feeling of “brokenness” at some point in our lives. For me personally, this feeling is something that I have fought against and sought to subdue for most of my life. I wanted no one to know how broken I really was. I wanted to conceal it, pretend it didn’t exist, look as perfect as possible. I have felt deep shame at the aspects of my life that I viewed as irreparably broken and have struggled to admit the depth of my brokenness.

When the counselor spoke those words to me, it jolted me back to truth. The truth is that if we refuse to recognize our brokenness, we make the cross of Christ an unnecessary evil! Why did God have to send His Son to die the death of a criminal in our place, to right the wrongs, and perfectly satisfy His justice and love? If we are not broken, we have no need for a Savior. If we are not broken, Christ died in vain. If we are not broken, no satisfaction of God’s wrath would be needed for us to have a relationship with Him!

Here’s another question I get asked:

“How can you do it? How can you care for kids so ‘broken’ without your own heart breaking over and over again?”

My answer? I can’t. We don’t. Our heart does break over and over again. We are stretched past the limits of our own wisdom almost daily. But there is also great hope. It’s in darkness that light shines the brightest. And Christ wins. This brokenness will end. For my daughters. For you. For me. We are all broken and one day…

We will all be whole. Healed. Made perfect through Christ. No more tears. No more pain. No more brokenness.