By Jordyn Glaser
Dear Adoptive & Foster Parents,
In 2017, my husband and I felt the desire to pursue adoption again. At this point in our life, we had a full home and busy life with a 7, 5, and 2-year-old. We began praying about what taking the next step might look like and wrestled with the idea of starting the process over again. After we brought our daughter Esme home, our thought had always been that if we adopted again we would pursue another domestic process, but now that we were actually thinking about moving forward it just didn’t feel right.
In fact, nothing felt right.
One unusually quiet afternoon, I found myself sitting cross-legged on our bed scrolling through the faces listed on a waiting children website. My eyes brimmed with tears as I stared at each small square picture representing a child somewhere without a family. These children were exactly as described—they were waiting. For one reason or another—health, disability, age, sibling group—they had not been matched with an adoptive family and now they were listed here. There were literally thousands of pictures and profiles to scroll through, and the burden of that truth felt overwhelming.
As I attempted to absorb the weight of what this list represented, a small face with dark almond eyes and a truly awful haircut rolled up from the bottom of the page. “Noah” was his profile name. I hovered the arrow over the link for a moment before clicking. My eyes instantly took in the new pictures that were now displayed on my screen of this fragile-looking boy. As I shifted my focus to his profile and scanned the list of health issues, my gaze snagged on two words—heart defect. This tiny little boy with the tragic hair was born with a heart defect just like I was. Suddenly this case felt within my scope of ability—I could do this. With my own background, I felt equipped to handle a heart problem, and I was comfortable with cardiology. I quickly stood up and walked with new purpose to the living room with the laptop still open to Noah’s page. I handed it to Brian and watched him take in what I wasn’t saying out loud. His eyebrows narrowed toward the screen as he studied the information that already knew. Finally his eyes lifted to meet mine.
He gave a small nod of his head, “Let’s request more information.” That was all the permission I needed to run with it.
Dwindling the Army
It’s embarrassing to look back now at the confidence I had in my own perceived ability. We can take comfort in Scripture when we need to be reminded that we are not the only ones who can miss the mark in this area. In Judges 7, we see the story of Gideon entering into battle with the Midianites. God dwindled Gideon’s army from 32,000 men down to just 300, and the reason he gave had nothing to do with how capable or impressive Gideon or his army was.
No, God dwindled the army because he knew his people would boast and take credit for the victory that God gave them.
If only we would learn.
The Humbling Process
After receiving the file from the agency, we were promptly advised by multiple doctors to “reconsider” proceeding with the adoption. This case was a complicated one, and as we were regularly reminded, “we had other children to think about.” After a lot of prayer and conversation Brian and I came to the conclusion that a child’s health, disability, or trauma should never determine their worth. So less than 8 months after I saw Noah’s face we were in Guangzhou, China, to bring home our youngest son.
To say the adoption process was humbling would be an understatement. God humbled and dwindled my hypothetical army to the point where I had no doubt that my only contribution to this adoption was my obedience.
I brought nothing else to this battle.
Our son (now named Abel) has been home for 7 years. He has undergone multiple surgeries, endless therapies, finally made it onto the growth chart, and currently believes he is living his best life riding the school bus every day to second grade. This kid has changed our life and our family in the best way. But with all the medical issues and delays and trauma Abel has, there is one thing he doesn’t have—he does not have a heart defect.
The day we left the pediatric cardiologist with a full clearance, I swear I could hear God chuckling at me. As adoptive and foster parents, we are accustomed to fighting big battles. Even to the extent that sometimes our life might feel a bit quiet without them. But what we need to keep in mind is that God is the one who will bring the victory—our contribution is ourfaithfulness. And let me say from experience, God has no problem humbling us when needed. Just as he took Gideon’s army from 32,000 to 300, he will lovingly remind us of our proper place in his story. He doesn’t need us to be impressive.
He needs us to be obedient.
Sincerely,
Jordyn Glaser
