We might not get a white baby.

There, I said it.

People seem to have very roundabout ways of asking us the same question: "So, did you put any preferences on race?"  "Are you uh, adopting from another country?"  "Is there any kind of baby you wouldn't take?"

Or sometimes it's totally direct: "You're getting a white kid, right?"  Usually that question comes before anything else- before even questions about gender or age.  Nobody has been rude to us, and my feelings haven't been hurt at all.  I'm just not sure I understand the preoccupation with the color of our future child.

Truth be told, we didn't mark any race restrictions on our application.  We could get matched with a white baby, and we would gladly take one.  Chances are good that we might not, though.  We marked what we felt would be best for our family, understanding that what is a good fit for us is certainly not a good fit for anyone else, or vice versa.

I may end up having to learn a lot about another culture, or needing to ask for help on hair care (Lord help that child; I'm not even good with my own hair).  I'm just convinced that I'll have to learn a lot any way that this thing goes down, as every new parent does.

I think that what most people want more than anything else in this world is to be fully known and simultaneously fully loved.  No one wants to hear, "I love all of these things about you, but that one thing makes you less than desirable."  I'm glad that my parents didn't do that to me when I was born.  I'm thankful that my husband didn't do that to me when we got married.  And I'm forever indebted to my God, who didn't do that to me when He chose me before the foundations of the earth.

We get a lot of questions about the practical aspects of adoption, and I am glad to answer those.  But I don't talk often enough about the why's of adoption.  There are times when the process is lengthy and painfully frustrating, but at the end of the day, I have to remind myself that this is all a picture of the gospel.  Andrew and I are going to display a pretty terrible picture of it, but I hope that it is a picture nonetheless.  To us, this whole thing is about looking at a child and saying, "Of all of the children in the world, I want you, exactly as you are."  Like Christ did for us.  Even though we share his name ("Christian," which means, "Christ-like"), we are not like Him at all- and He welcomes us into his family anyway.

Who we were before

In the next few weeks or months, our lives are going to change...a lot.  Probably more than we even realize.  Among other things, we'll be getting less sleep, carrying a car seat around everywhere, and slowing down our crazy schedule.  But in the midst of this whirlwind of changes, I pray that we stay true to who we were before kids.  

I'm not meaning to be rude here, but you've all seen them- the moms (or sometimes even dads) who only ever post pictures or statuses about their kids on Facebook and Instagram.  Often, their children are genuinely cute or funny, but I still find myself wondering, "Who are they apart from their children?  Do they even know the answer to that question?"  Being a parent is unbelievably important and valuable.  I just hope that my role as a mom doesn't completely change my primary existence as a person.  

In the 2+ years that we have tried to start a family, I have had plenty of time to observe what other people are like as they start theirs.  Had I gotten pregnant right away, I probably would have been one of those moms who slowly and often unknowingly let her world revolve around her child.  Maybe I'll still be like that to some degree.  I do remember the recent pain, though, of reading a pregnancy announcement, seeing 1,200 ultrasound pictures, and then watching five billion shots of babies appear on my NewsFeed, often from the same few people.  I know that they only want to share their happiness with others, but these were and are the people who lead me to click the "unsubscribe" button because their lives have become their children.  

I had an amazing childhood.  Our home study case worker has asked us both so many questions about our lives growing up at home, and I can't help but reflect on how very blessed I was.  The reason?  I always knew that my parents loved me to the moon and back, but even more, they loved their Lord and they loved each other.  For a span of several years during my childhood, I would ask my parents who they loved more- me or the other parent.  If it was my mom, she would always say, "I love your Daddy the very most.  But you're not far behind."  My dad would give a similar answer.  I used to hate those answers because (surprise!) I wanted to be number one to everyone.  Looking back on all of that now, I wouldn't have had it any other way.  My parents were unbelievable parents because they never forgot their first love.  

Another thing that I appreciate about my parents is that their lives never stopped when they had my brother and me.  Their lives changed, yes, but they never stopped (and I wouldn't have wanted that).  If Mom and Dad were going to hang out with friends, by golly, Tim and I were going, too.  When we were babies/toddlers, Mom and Dad would bring the Pack N' Play and put us to bed at the friends' house.  As we got older, we brought bags of toys and books with us and learned how to entertain ourselves.  Never once did I think that my parents were being selfish.  Only lately, though, have I realized that they were being good.  Allowing us to be the center of their universe would have built up a sense of entitlement in us and set us up for failure in future relationships.  Loving God and each other first made my parents love us better.

At the end of the day, I want to remember that I am and always have been more than a mother, although that role cannot be understated.  The love that I already have for our child is overwhelming, and I can't wait to be Mary Rachel the Mom.  But for the rest of my life, I hope to also still be the Mary Rachel who I have been until now: the wife, the daughter, the sister, the runner, the friend, the teacher, the writer, and the girl who loves country music, sprint car races, and good books.  I hope that Andrew is still the husband, son, friend, brother, OU fan, hard worker, and lover of Raising Cane's, sports, and board games that he always has been.  And I pray that we are still that goofy couple who cries together, laughs together, prays together, and loves being together- in spite of not "having it all together."

      

Confessions of a Minimalist

Since Andrew and I are both planning to run the OKC Memorial Marathon at the end of April, we have recently begun training with a running club called the Landrunners.  On any given week, there are between 100 and 300 people who come out to run part of the marathon course together.  While I definitely appreciate the convenience of having water set out for us every few miles and the motivation of actually getting out of bed on a Sunday morning because so many other people are there doing the same thing, I have come to one big conclusion that applies to far more things than running:

People tend to live with far more than what is necessary, or take a good thing and get way out of control with it.

This morning, my personal running plan was to run 16 miles.  That's what my schedule said, and if you know me well at all, you know that I'm all about sticking to a schedule.  The Landrunners were doing 20 miles (which, by the way, is very ambitious at this point in the training schedule...and they are planning to do two more 20-milers in the next seven weeks).  I thought to myself, "I'll just turn around at some point to do my 16 miles and let everyone else do what they want to do."  The problem was that NO ONE turned around, and I would have been completely lost trying to figure out how to get back to the starting line.  So I ended up running 20 miles, fuming and miserable during the last four miles that I hadn't prepared to do.  When I got back in the car after the run, I looked at Andrew and asked him when we got so crazy.  Maybe I'm in for a huge surprise on race day, but I have run three marathons before, and this Landrunners schedule seems like overkill.  Yet, I felt compelled to do it because everyone else was.

Ugh.  The straight face says it all.

Another thing... I ran in my marathon finisher shirt today, not because I want to brag on myself for finishing, but because it is one of three long-sleeved running shirts that I own.  Shirt #2 is also a finisher shirt (both of which I got for free), and the third is a $6 Danskin shirt that I randomly found at Wal-Mart.  I also run with my iPhone 4 (so last season, I know) because I found a Nike+ running app that tracks my distance and pace. Aside from that, I throw on a pair of shoes, my one pair of leggings, and I'm good to go.  Simple works for me.  However, when I get around huge groups of runners, I am suddenly convinced that I need that fancy Brooks shirt, the earmuffs with headphones built in, or the $200 Garmin watch that does the exact same thing that my phone does.  Nobody is rude about their stuff, and no one gives me funny looks for my lack of running gear, but I somehow feel like I am not a serious runner because I'm not "keeping up with the Joneses" (sometimes literally in this case).

Oh boy, and now let's talk about babies.  There's a good thing that gets way out of control.  Babies R' Us would have you to believe that you need at least 786 items on a registry.  I might be in for a huge surprise on this one too, but the minimalist in me likes to think that a baby really only needs a few things.  After all, people have been having babies for thousands of years, and babies back then grew up just fine without Baby Einstein, boppies, and bumbos (or whatever you call them).  My mind keeps going back to the quote that Andrew's mom keeps out in their house:

"Happy people don't necessarily have everything, they just make the most of everything they have."

Confession:  I can be pretty prideful about living simply.  I don't like a lot of "stuff" because I feel like it clutters not only my house, but my mind.  That said, people need to do what works for them and I need to stop judging.  After all, I'm pretty sure my world is about to rocked when Baby Fenrick arrives and I suddenly realize that the bassinet or the special kind of thermometer weren't such bad ideas after all.  

Not lovely

(Please excuse the bad grammar.  I know I'm not supposed to say "they" when referring to one person; however, I'd like to keep this as anonymous as possible.)

In the history of great weeks at work, this one did not rank among the top, unfortunately.  I had meetings four out of five days after school and practically drowned in paperwork.  Then there was that dangerous blizzard on Monday afternoon that snowed all of us in with its four-foot drifts.  Oh wait.  That didn't happen.  I might add that we didn't even have one snowflake stick to the ground here in Norman.  Because everyone ended up having to come to school after the Great Snowpocalypse of 2013 had been forecasted, spirits were down among teachers and students (that's an understatement).  Probably the hardest thing, though, was when I spent over an hour in the hall with Student while they kicked, punched, banged on the walls, ran away, and screamed every hateful name in the book at me...all because Student's other teacher and I wouldn't let Student play video games at school.

As this was happening, my normally low blood pressure was through the roof, and I was fighting to hold back tears.  I felt so frustrated and defeated, and in the moment, it took everything in me not to give that child a piece of my mind.  Then the other teacher in the hall with me said, as calmly and genuinely as anything, "We love you, Student!"

That was the last thing on my mind.  I did not love Student just then.  In fact, I would have been so happy if Student had gotten suspended for their behavior.  I don't think Student could see my anger because I never raised my voice to them, but I was inwardly seething.

After taking the evening to detox and reflect on what happened, I came to a few conclusions:

1.  Every day is a new day and a chance to start over.  Thank goodness for that!

2.  Student's behavior is exactly how I act when I don't get my way.  Oh, I may not kick, scream, or punch people, but I'm also not five anymore.  Now that I am 24, I have learned more socially appropriate (but equally destructive) mechanisms of dealing with my anger and sense of entitlement.  I have my own ways of "throwing tantrums" at the people who stand in my way or at the God who actually knows what is best for me.  "You're not going to let me have things the way I want them?  Okay then, I'll just be manipulative and not talk to you until you change your mind."    

3.  Everyone deserves love, even (and especially) when they are not lovely.  What if we all only loved people when they were nice and appreciative?  Yikes.  I think about all of the times when I am not nice or appreciative (which is most of the time) and am so thankful for the grace that has been shown to me in my ugliness.  That kind of love is what can melt hearts of stone, and Andrew and I have been humbled by the amount of it that we have received lately.  Today, more than ever, I am grateful for the fact that real love isn't given based on whether or not I deserve it.  

On the days when it isn't all happy...

"Request for Absence" form.  Don't mind my snow day hair.  

I'm trying to fill out this paperwork for maternity leave.  (Can't believe I just said that!)  The paperwork isn't a big deal at all; it's the people's reactions that kill me.

The lady at personnel was pleasant and helpful.  When I heard what one of my co-workers said about me taking maternity leave when the baby comes, though, I wanted to go cry in the bathroom.  "Seriously?!  She's taking maternity leave?  She isn't even having a baby!!"

I could have done without that reminder.  No, I'm not having a baby.  But that baby will be ours, and why in the world would I not want to spend the first six weeks of its life at home, like everyone else who has a newborn?  Oh right, because women aren't really moms until a baby pops out of their own bodies.

Another thing: Babies R Us.

There is nothing wrong with the store in general, other than it being super overwhelming for someone (AKA practically every new mom) who has no clue about what babies actually need.  I didn't like registering for our wedding because there were too many decisions to make, but this experience was something else entirely.

Andrew had to work on Monday, but my parents were in town to help me with baby stuff.  They graciously offered to go with me to register, which would have been extremely unproductive (and probably hilarious) if I had gone by myself.  I really am thankful that they came.  But the whole time I was in Babies R Us, I just wanted to flash my wedding ring to justify that I'm not a teen mom and that I am, in fact, married to a guy who just happened to have to work on President's Day.

Also, I've never wanted to have a belly and constantly work out because I'm afraid of that happening.  On this one day, though, I wished I had stuffed a pillow under my shirt or had a baby in tow like every other woman in the store.  I felt so many eyes on me, probably wondering why a person like me was carrying around a registry gun and pointing it at cribs, high chairs, and diapers.

When I taught autism and took my students on outings, we would get stares from all sorts of people. I loved my kids so much that I wanted to put signs on their shirts saying something like, "I have autism.  Be kind.  Stop staring."  I wanted to protect them from the ignorance of others.  Now I want to wear a sign on myself saying, "No, it's okay!  My husband and I are adopting!"  I want to justify myself for a making a decision that shouldn't need any justification.  

I'm sure this is just the beginning of the rude comments and judging stares, especially if we adopt a baby who doesn't look like us.  I do know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is the right thing.  I just wish I wasn't so sensitive sometimes.  The family and friends in our lives, the people who truly matter, have been beyond supportive.

"The truth will set you free."  I'm constantly reminding myself of that through this crazy journey.

Loved.

I don't even know where to begin.  God provides far beyond what we could ever ask or think, and definitely beyond what we deserve.

Adoption is turning out to be the greatest blessing we've ever been given.  People keep telling us how lucky our child will be, but I can't stop thinking about how lucky Andrew and I are.

When we started this process a little over a month ago, we had no idea how we would even begin to pay for it.  We had saved some, but such a large chunk of money is due up front that we didn't think we would be able to go through with adopting.  We eventually decided that if we waited until we had all of the money, we would probably end up waiting forever.  It's never the "right time" to have a baby, to marry that guy, to buy a house, or to quit that "safe" job to do something you love.  Sometimes you just have to jump into the unknown with both feet and trust that the pieces will fit together at exactly the right time.  Boy, have they ever!

On February 11th, my husband starting growing a mustache.  I'm not against facial hair in general, but I'm against facial hair on his handsome, clean-shaven face because (as he will admit) he can't grow it.  We're calling this campaign the "Stache-a-Thon for Adoption."  When Andrew's friend made the suggestion, he boldly declared that he thought we could raise $1,000 for our cause, to which I scoffed and said that that was a very nice and very impossible idea.  Less than 24 hours later, we hit the $1,000 mark, and people are still continuing to give.

The stache as of 2/17/13.  Looking like a caterpillar.

I've heard of people receiving $10,000 anonymously in the mail so that they can finance their adoption.  That's pretty incredible.  I love the way our story is being written, though- in smaller but equally humbling ways.  The $5 from that student of mine at camp, the $20 from a friend of a friend who doesn't even know us, or the larger sum from a couple who clearly made a huge sacrifice to help us are undeniably important and beautiful.

On Friday night, our friends threw us an adoption dinner party.  The idea was for people to come and have breakfast for dinner (or "brinner," as we like to call it), and donate the money that they would have otherwise spent on going out to dinner to us.  Great idea, right?  I was so honored when my friend told me that they wanted to do this for Andrew and me.  I thought we might make $100, which would have been helpful, wonderful, and totally worth it.  At the end of the night when the money was counted...

$1,046.  

I burst into tears.  

I've never known love like this.  People were very generous for our wedding, but this is a whole other thing.  I can't wait to one day tell our sweet child how much he was loved before anyone even knew him.  (Gosh, some of the people that came to that party didn't even know us!)  

Sometimes there just are not adequate words to express gratitude.  

I think this guy from Saudi Arabia summed up the whole evening pretty well in his post on Facebook.  He had come with his roommate and didn't know anyone else at the party.

"I had a great time hanging out with you guys (meaning the whole group).  It was really amazing to see how you all love each other and did this great thing for a couple.  I felt like I was with my family."

Yeah, me too.  

Family.  It truly is beautiful to see people love each other the way that God intended for people to love.  I don't think we deserve that, but I sure am thankful.  I'm thankful for such wonderful people, for an extremely gracious God, and for the astounding way that He is writing this "story of rescue." 

Unfortunately, a bunch of people had already left when we thought to snap this picture.

Jordan.

Abby set up this lovely table so that people could write notes to us and Baby Fenrick.

Jordan and Abby, our amazing hostesses.  

"The Three Families."  Love these folks so much.

Laura.  You can't see her hand on my non-pregnant belly.

If you'd like to give to the Stache-a-Thon for Adoption, you can go here.

Courage.

I didn't want to be at this seminar this weekend.

We were late, so I immediately felt every set of eyes on us as we walked in the room.  It took me all of two seconds to notice that we were the youngest ones there (by quite a lot, compared to some couples), and to make this education session into a competition between us and other prospective adoptive families.  As the adoption specialist began speaking, I made up my mind to already have the answers and to not need anyone's help.  I also determined that our adoption would be as closed as possible.  We would send letters and pictures to the birth mom just often enough to meet the agency's semi-open standards, and then we would politely walk out of her life.

I'm embarrassed to admit some of this, but these are real thoughts that I've had.  Of course, I never would have said any of it out loud.   I worried that the birth mom would want her child back.  (Do all adoptive parents worry about that?)  I secretly judged birth moms by thinking that they were just dumb girls who couldn't live with the consequences of their bad decisions.  (Yikes, I'm so sorry!)  I wanted to move away so that our baby's birth mom would never be able to have any contact with her son or daughter.  (I'm going to be one great mom, right?  *Sarcasm.*)

I'm still scared about navigating the relationship between us, our child, and his or her birth mom.  I feel so inadequate to be a parent, much less to inform our child about the unique family dynamics that occur because of adoption.  Somehow, though, I know that it will all fall into place.  One day and one question at a time.

A panel of birth moms spoke to us last night, and for the first time, I saw them as incredibly brave and selfless.  I can't imagine the strength that it takes to carry a baby for nine months, go through an intense labor and delivery, and then look your baby in the eye and say goodbye.  Although so much bravery is required for us as we step into the unknown and take all kinds of risks with adoption, I think that birth moms have more courage than I'll ever know.

After this weekend, I truly feel that the least we can do for a birth mom in exchange for the most generous sacrifice one can give is to allow her the opportunity to know her child.  That may look like pictures and letters for awhile, or our relationship could evolve so that we are all comfortable with in-person visits.  I'm not sure about any of that.  What I do know is that I no longer feel right about slamming the door in the face of a woman who chose to give a child a chance at life.

In typical Mary Rachel style, I at first freaked out about the unknown and about "sharing" our baby with his or her birth mom. "A child can never have too much love," my mom said.  Today, I'm thankful for that change of perspective.