JUDGEMENT

Is it wrong that the narrative that my husband and I just finished up (HUGE YAY) makes me like us a little bit less? It is so easy to say "but I try" or "I have the best of intentions" to amend for my shortcomings; but in black and white, well it is just so very evident that I am far from perfect. Perhaps far from ideal or even acceptable. And I am supposed to submit this to a stranger to assess us? I am sure these feelings are par for the course, but I am really fighting the urge to rewrite the narrative complete with rainbows and fairies, beatific pictures and a Disney soundtrack.


I know it is beyond silly to think that there are perfect parents in this world, perfect husbands or wives, ideal daughters and sisters, but in reading through my narrative I think to myself, there might not be perfect people but surely there are people much more evolved and capable than I. And that pestering, negative voice jumps into the conversation. No good comes from his involvement. I want to shout, but I am loving! And fun! And goofy! Honest, loyal, diligent and I really will try my best for any child God sees fit to give me. Please don't judge too harshly, I know I have warts (some quite massive) but I will try my very best to reduce their impact in my life! 

The last time I completed a homestudy I was pretty darn full of myself. I didn't realize it of course, but the folly of youth was more than evident in my homestudy draft ...yet I was approved. Motherhood is hand-down the most awesome and rewarding experience I have ever had; it is also the most humbling. These are all lessons that I thought I had a handle on before I had kids, funny that. How can a person believe they are ready to be a parent without really knowing all that it involves, the way it changes the very fiber of your being? I am embarrassed by my previous narrative almost as much as I am by this current version. I am not sure that bodes well for me.
Am I the very best parent for Pasha? Who knows. Reading my narrative I am overcome with fear that I am not. Perhaps that is a good sign! A sign that I am already invested enough to bare my life and my soul to a stranger for the chance to sacrifice all I have and all I am for him.
I am positive that Eli will be an awesome big brother to Pasha, instructing him on all things Thomas, Gordon and Percy. Showing him the exact order that all the trains must go on the track; tattling away as all older siblings do. Don't deny it. . ..older siblings invented tattling.

As I proofread my draft One. Last. Time. I am praying that the Social Worker will see past all our faults to the people we are striving to be. And that we are the family for Pasha.

These insecurities as an adult are shocking to me. I thought that by now I would be a little more comfortable in my own skin, with a very matter of fact "take it or leave it" mentality. HA. I am realizing that people who present with this attitude are just as insecure as the next, they just handle it differently. Either way, I am eager to send in my life story for judgement. Another step forward to Pasha and that much closer to being able to hold him in my arms! If it means scrutiny, failure, dwelling on all of my imperfections, well I guess I will have to pull up my big girl panties and get on with it!

Imagine then, how a child must feel. Clearly not perfect in ways that cannot be hidden on the inside. They have no opportunity to defend themselves, to present their character to a Social Worker to judge their abilities. Their pictures greet me every morning and grace my thoughts every night before I close my eyes. These perfectly imperfect angels, wanting to be found. Dying to be considered "good enough."  Do they have any idea how wonderful they truly are? Sadly, I don't think so, how could they? They all desperately need the love of a Mother and a Father to make them believe their worth.

Megan has been waiting ever so long. She has a whopping 24k available to help cover adoption costs. .. so where is the delay? How are we allowing her to wonder why? Her pain is unimaginable to me.

And Marcus. Sweet, sweet Marcus.  
Oh, I have such a soft spot for these little boys. They should be covered in dirt, playing with worms and spiders, driving dump trucks through the mud. Instead they are waiting indoors, starving for love and affection. Marcus has seen many of his friends get adopted. The questions in his head are probably damning. He must believe that his condition is so unforgivable that no one could possibly want him. .. . I pray every single night for his Mama to rush forward and prove him wrong! I already love him to pieces and IF my husband allowed me to adopt numerous children, I would scoop him up in a heartbeat.

And then there is Marky Mark. They little boy with a wry sense of humor, still waiting for his Mama to wipe the cynicism off his chubby face.

Pick us! Pick Us! Do it! You know you want to!

As adults, we can hopefully better handle the harsh glare of judgement on our faults and failures. These children. .. they should not be expected to endure this questioning. Let us all pray for these sweet, perfect children!
I am sending in my narrative tomorrow. . .but I may put a picture at the end with a caption of "PICK US! PICK US!"