So many times I'm having a "momment" while driving, shopping, churching, cooking...and I think to myself "I will write about this in my blog" but then I forget what it was. This is one of those nights. Here are some things I planned to write about, but keeping forgetting.
(1) The essay contest to raise money for the next adoption - contestants pay $100 - winner gets to name the baby. Mark does not like this idea - someting about ethics and HE wants to name the baby. Fooey.
(2) I find that I don't have time to write. Some things I want to write are: Divina's adoption/birth story - My BYOT (this is a class offered at my church, Building Your Own Theology where we answer the profound questions "Who am I?" "Who/What is in charge (of the universe)?" "What does my death mean?" and two others I can't remember. I discovered a time to write but Mark, again, finds ethical problems with it. I could bring my journals with me to church and write during the service. What? I would be quiet.
(3) Educate my readers about adoption and infertility. Here is an example. I was at the post office the other day and the clerk asked me if Divina was my foster child. I said that she is my daughter, we adopted her. Note I said "we adopted her" instead of "she is adopted." It takes the stigma off her and places the action on us. Then the clerk told me story about some friends of hers that adopted and then got pregnant. She wanted to know if we were going to keep trying for a child of our own. I said "Divina is my own and I'm hers." The misunderstandings with this line of thinking are that (1) infertilty can be cured by relaxing, filing paperwork, or somehow doing IT differently, (2) the goal of a couple is always to produce a biological child, (3) somehow love for adopted children is not legitamate because a biological child would be better. The miracle of adoption is that she did not grow in my body, but her soul grew in my heart. The universe works in such a way that, through a very unlikey chain of events, we found eachother, despite miles between us, despite her not growing in my body, despite us being different races. We searched many places for our daughter and she found her way to us. This is a miracle.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Things to Remember
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
If Mark is going to name the new baby "Fooey", I am going to come up with my own nick name. Annie.
I never knew my birth mother. She just left. I was never adopted by my Mom, who is 85 now. She got me and made me hers when I was five and she was 19. It is working out pretty good for us after 65 years. Like a lot of men I have a few mother issues and it is always my real mom and not my birth mother. It is interesting because our whole extended family is one that takes in children that need a home and a mother and a father. We don't think much about it anymore. My brother has a child like that. My sister has a child like that too. Love is where you find it. How it works that you get "adopted" is a profound mystery that we live in.
Post a Comment