Let’s just start by setting the record straight. I know I’m crazy.
I don’t know why this feels like such a secret, but I’m ready to go public with it. The tug is taking control. “The tug” is this urge to do something about the 140 million children who do not have parents. Not in a “send $35 a month” kind of way, although that would be a good start, but more in a “invite one of them into your family” kind of way.
If I go back to the roots of this matter, I suppose the conversation began on a crisp, clear October night on the rooftop of a brownstone on 13th street in Philadelphia when two googley-eyed 24 year olds talked into the wee hours of the morning about everything under the sun including a shared desire for four kids some day. That was the night Dirt and I met.
The tug has haunted me for years. I ignore it and I pray for God to remove it from my heart and then it goes away…for a time. And then it comes back. The tug scares the crap out of me.
The first real battle with the tug was pre-Maya. The tug attacked me while I was innocently sitting in church one morning, and soon after we began the process of having a third child through adoption. When we met with the adoption people, they were giddy about our family’s composition, apparently there is a need for bi-racial families. The only glitch was that I wanted nothing to do with adopting a baby. Nothing. I was set on a 2 year old bi-racial boy. We attended the required adoption meeting and the application was collecting dust on our kitchen table when I found out I was pregnant with Maya. I love when God trumps me, cause he’s always right.
Once Maya came, I was sure the tug would leave me alone. Tubes tied. Shop closed. No more kids for us. Done. We got through the baby years and managed a 600 mile move and things were just starting to really feel settled when the tug came out of no where and grabbed me.
I was driving in my car last December and it must have been hiding in the back seat or something, because I didn’t see it coming, and then BAM, it was on. Hot and heavy, I needed to adopt. I called the international people and they told me we should do domestic because of our bi-racial family. Then I called the local people and they told me I should try international because there aren’t any 3 year old bi-racial boys around. I was stumped. Surely this was a sign from God that adoption isn’t right for us. I tried, it didn’t work out. I’m done. Prayer answered. Thank you Jesus.
Then, in February, Shaun and Wendy had their forth child (who I love) and I laughed at them. I laughed heartily. Ha ha ha...FOUR kids! "Wow you guys will be in a mini-van FOREVER!". Recently Dirt and I started daydreaming about our next car, "I want out of the mini-van scene", I quipped, "let's get one of those great crossovers".
God was like, "Crossover my behind"....and then he dropped the tug on me like an anvil. It's impossible to ignore. Believe me, I have tried. And prayed. The tug is Superfly Snuka and it has me in a figure-four headlock. But wait, there’s some fine print on it, what does it say? When I look closer, I think it says “Ethiopia”. Ethiopia?
Me: Can we get a computer? ($1500)
Me: Can we adopt a child from Ethiopia? ($25,000)
Me: I'm serious.
Dirt: Okay. You know I’ve always wanted four kids.