What I Won't Sacrifice to Adopt

Things have been moving full-speed ahead with our adoption. First, our CARA (Central Adoption Resource Authority) application was APPROVED. CARA had the final say in whether or not we were approved to adopt from India. I was just a tiny bit apprehensive about it, because we didn't meet exactly, to-the-letter a couple of their requirements, but we were approved. So now all of our application/paperwork/home study/dossier/piles of forms is officially DONE. I'm pretty sure the 'Hallelujah chorus' is playing in the background.

We finally sent off our check for $8970, to our adoption agency. I had a hard time writing out those numbers, even though I whole-heartedly believe we are doing the right thing. Soon, we will mail off another check for $7500 -- and then there will be a few more after that.

It's a LOT of money. I'm not going to lie. It is a huge chunk out of our savings account. But, I want to be very clear .... we are not sacrificing anything to adopt our little girl.

Let me say that again.

We are not sacrificing anything for our adoption.

Nothing.

To me, sacrifice implies laboriously giving something up.

Dictionary.com says: The surrender or destruction of something prized or desirable for the sake of something considered as having a higher or more pressing claim.

We aren't going to surrender something prized or desirable just to bring our daughter home.

That would be ridiculous.

What  we are going to do is make some adjustments in our life to bring her home. We're going to eat out very, very, very infrequently. We're going to cut back on our grocery bill even more. We're going to do fun trips around town that are free, or very, very, very cheap. 

But that's not really a sacrifice.

Giving up an over-priced chicken dinner so a little girl who is spending her days in an orphanage, without someone to tuck her in or read her a story every night can have a family, isn't a sacrifice. 

 We are making adjustments in our lives to bring her home. But it isn't a sacrifice.

And, let me add this is not some saintly thing we're doing. Far from it. I've panicked over it, a lot. More than once, it's caused tension in our marriage. I've sometimes thought that it was asking too much of Reagan, of us. I've laid awake at night, crunching and recrunching numbers, trying to figure out how in the world we are going to pay for this.

I'm certainly not skipping around humming an annoyingly happy tune about this. It is HARD. It is so hard, and we haven't even brought her home yet. I weigh it all out in my head and my heart, and I sometimes want to forget it all and go to the Caribbean instead.

But.

There is a little girl somewhere in India, with a disease that doctors haven't cured. Or a disability that has labeled her, in their Hindu culture, untouchable. Worthless. Without value. Nothing.

According to the Hindu religion, which makes up most of India, suffering and disabilities are "thought to be part of the unfolding of karma and is the consequence of past inappropriate action ... that occurred in either one's current life or in a past life."

Orphans are considered 'Dalits,' which in the caste system is the lowest of the low. They are not entitled to ... well, anything. They are given menial jobs, if given a job. They are not allowed to advance in society. They are not given access to clean water, medical care, education, or anything else that is commonplace in our society. They barely exist.

According to Families for Orphans, "India is home to more orphans than anywhere else in the world, thousands and thousands of Dalits that are forever deemed untouchable by humanity."

This. This is not ok.

Giving up a $20 steak and ambience, that's ok. Not staying in a four-star hotel for a week, that's ok. Missing the latest, greatest movie in the theater, starring some lead actor who makes more in a day than I will make in a year, that's ok.

But knowing that I could make a difference in a child's life, that I could give a child love and acceptance and attention and physical affection and healthy food and medical care and a thousand other things that are normal in our society -- if I don't do it, then that's not ok.

I feel like I always need to make a disclaimer when I write these adoption blogs. Because it's something I'm so passionate about, I feel like I walk a fine line between passion and coming off as persuasive, and maybe even a touch pushy.

Not everyone can or should adopt. Every family and every choice and every situation is unique, and I certainly don't look at people who go on expensive vacations and live lavish lifestyles with disdain, silently judging their choices.

Far from it. This is our life and our choice ... and I sincerely hope that somewhere in my future is an all-inclusive vacation where my biggest decision is if I want to read a book or take a nap.

But, my point in these occasional adoption ramblings is two-fold. One, to give our friends and family who have walked this journey with us since the beginning, an update. And two, to follow through on what my husband has said all along -- that he hopes that if nothing else, we show people who want to adopt, who feel that tug on their heart, that normal people (us) with normal jobs (us) and normal paychecks (us) can give an orphan a forever home.

We have a big fund-raiser on May 14 at the Listening Room, with some of my dearest friends donating their time and talent to help us raise money. Some of our friends are hosting dinner parties on our behalf. We've been blessed and humbled with people's generosity so far. We are not alone in our pursuit of getting our daughter.

This little girl will come home to a lot of love from a lot of people.

Stay tuned.

"I don't want a flame, I want a fire. I wanna be the one who stands up and says, 'I'm gonna do something.'" ~Matthew West, 'Do Something'

To help us bring her home, click here, and in the bottom right-hand corner, put 'Johnny and Gayle Thompson' in the space for Designated Family. Checks can be made payable to AWAA, and sent to America World Adoption Association, Attn: Accounting Dept., 6723 Whittier Ave., Suite 202, McLean, VA 22101, along with a form that can be found here. Checks must be designated for the Eternal Family Fund. Or, you can donate to our GoFundMe page.

A Letter To My Reagan

Dear Reagan,

I can hardly believe that you're THREE years old!! Where has all the time gone? It really feels like just a short while ago that I was bringing you home from the hospital, and now you're THREE.

You are a true joy to your father and I, and to everyone around you. You love Thomas the Tank Engine, Mickey Mouse, Caillou, puzzles (which you are very good at), books, cars, trucks, stickers and anything you can do outside. You are a true boy -- if there's dirt, you will find it! You also love your swing set and your ball and bat.

Much has happened in the last year! We moved into our new house, with a big yard that backs up into the woods -- one of your favorite places to play. We went on a few trips ... two to Mommy's family in PA (where you get spoiled by your Aunt Dawn and Uncle Mike and Hunter), and a trip to Destin in November. And, you got to go to Florida with Mommy just a couple weeks ago. It was a work trip for me, but you got to play with Gran Jan, which you loved.

You also get a weekly play date with Oma, and usually with Poppy too, and you love going to Aunt Tracy's to play, especially when Daniel and Grace are there. Between the various activities we are involved in, you're also at church about three times a week. I love that, every time when we pull up to the church, you clap your hands and say, "Yeah! Church!" That says a lot about how nice your teachers are to you. You also enjoy playing with your friends, including Lauren, Paxton, Jaxen, Claire and Jack.

You moved into a big boy bed this year. I have to admit, I'm pleasantly surprised at how well you've adjusted. I think you were ready for it long before Mommy was. You're also trying to learn to potty ... although, your interest in that isn't very strong at the moment, even with the fun Elmo potty.

You are an incredibly kind and thoughtful little boy. I love, during the day, when you just come up to me and pat my arm and say, "I love you, Mommy." You love to help, whether it's with the laundry or dishes, or dusting, which is your favorite chore, I think.

Daddy and I are learning how to deal with the strong will that is inevitable when you reach this age. Sometimes you know what you want, and nothing else will do, and then you cry and cry (and sometimes throw yourself on the floor for dramatic effect). Often times, after you're done crying, you ask me if I will love you for always. The answer is YES. A thousand million times, yes. Because, no matter how good or not good you are, how well you listen or don't listen, my love for you is constant. It's the one thing that will never, ever, ever, ever, EVER change.

You are such a special little boy. When I asked you what you wanted for your birthday, without hesitation you asked if we could go get your sister. We talk about her often, and I know you're going to take such good care of her.

You are an incredibly articulate speaker, which surprises a lot of people. You're also a very good eater, and eat anything! If we have broccoli, you almost always ask for more. And just the other day, you ate almost half of my spinach and eggs. You also love to bake with me, and I cherish those times. You've become quite adept at cracking eggs all by yourself.

I love you so much, John Reagan Patterson Thompson. You teach me a lot -- about patience and understanding and kindness. You remind me, daily, about what's important in life. My favorite time of the day is before I tuck you in, when you pray. Those prayers touch the heart of God more than any eloquent words I could ever say, I am certain.

I am fumbling along through this parenting journey, and I will make a million mistakes, but know this -- I will always love you with a depth and a magnitude that I will never be able to describe. You are, without a doubt, my favorite little boy.

 

 I love you to the moon and back, times a million. Happy birthday to my sweet, sweet boy.

xo,

Mom