One year ago today, on Sept. 1, we went from a family of three to a family of four. In many ways, it feels like a lifetime ago, like Marella has always been with us. But it also feels like we just got her yesterday. Time is a funny thing.
The night before we left to get her, in our hotel in Pune, India, I literally did not sleep all night. I tossed and turned, Reagan snuggled between us, wondering if we were doing the right thing. Questioning if I really heard from God on this one. Debating if we were really the people to bring her home. Unsure what our adjustment would be like. Dying to go get her. Terrified of getting her.
When we met her at the orphanage, she was a feisty, outspoken almost two-year-old, who wanted nothing to do with these strange Americans who came to whisk her away to an unfamiliar place (although she did want to play with Reagan). One year later, she’s a feisty, outspoken almost three-year-old, who still likes to play with Reagan more than us.
I could go on and on about what a difference a year makes — how she’s on, or beyond, milestones for her age level, how she talks in complete sentences and knows how to count and is learning her ABCs. I could talk about how she eats more than me, and loves her yogurt every morning, and always asks for more goldfish (pronounced gold-pish). I could also share that she tells me exactly what she wants to wear every day, including what she wants in her hair, and loves shoes (just like her Mama).
I could talk about how she calls umbrellas ‘cucumbers,’ will sometimes giggle and tell me she’s 22 when I ask how old she is, and and has terrifying dreams about a being bitten by a cat. I could also mention that she loves to sing, especially ‘Running Over (pronounced o-ber),’ ‘Jesus Loves Me,’ ‘Jesus Loves the Little Children’ and ‘My God is So Big,’ and that she waves to everyone she sees, yells “Hi airplane!” whenever she sees a plane in the sky, loves school buses, and says a train goes “Choo-choo! Choo-choo! All aboard!”
Those are all true, and I could probably come up with a few dozen more things that would give a glimpse into her personality. But my fear is that if I just list them, it will seem like we just scooped up and saved her, and now life is happily ever after — and there’s a lot that’s not true in that assumption.
The truth is that life with her is sometimes hard, and I think we have it easy compared to almost all the other adoption stories. She did just settle in with us like she was always supposed to be here, and we avoided a lot of the land mines that many adoptive families face.
But she is, like every other toddler, strong-willed and stubborn, with a fiery personality, and is not at all afraid to yell at us if she doesn’t get her way — like the other night when I’m pretty sure she cussed at me in toddler-speak when I told her to finish her fish, or when I wasn’t getting her what she wanted and she said, “Mama, you stupid.” She has recurring nightmares that sometimes keep her up. She sucks on her fingers all the time, and has a big blister to prove it. She is always on the move and can be physically and emotionally exhausting, and sometimes I start counting the minutes until her bedtime as soon as she’s up from her nap.
In other words, we are just like any other family, and she is just like any other toddler. And I guess that’s my point.
I remember before we brought Marella home, I asked other families who had adopted if there was a difference in how they felt towards the children in their family by adoption and those by birth. They all said no, most of them, thankfully, without laughing at me, at least to my face.
Because, what I know now is that we are just like any other family. My husband and I remarked the other day that there really is no difference in our feelings towards our children, at all. We love them both fiercely. They can both — together or separately — get on our very last nerve. We feel immense pride when they do some things, and want to pull our hair out when they do other things.
They are the same. One by birth. One by adoption. Both part of our crazy little family.
It’s easy for people to say things like, “What you guys did is amazing,” or “I think adoption is a great thing,” or “She’s so lucky to have you.” And every time, I want to scream “STOP!” at the top of my lungs, because none of those statements are at all accurate.
We are not amazing. We are obedient. And it’s time we stop pretending that that whole part about taking care of orphans in the Bible is an option, or that giving our $25/month is good enough. Because it’s not. No one would call me a good parent if I gave either of my children in my home $25/month worth of food, or clothing. Yet we continue to assume our leftovers are good enough for the orphans, that we can give them our scraps while we enjoy the feast. Lord, help us all.
Adoption is not a great, noble thing. Adoption is Biblical. And adoption is also tragic, because no one’s adoption story begins with happiness. In every single adoption story, there was a heartbreak first. A child who was unwanted. Or a child who suffered unimaginable loss. Tragedy will always — always — be part of an orphan’s story. We can’t change their history, but we have the immense ability to change their future.
She is not ‘lucky’ to have us. Not at all. She has a birth story that could make anyone cry. Abandoned. In a trash can. Stab wounds all over her crooked foot, with her umbilical cord still attached. ‘Luck’ has nothing to do with her story. Yes, we brought her home and we changed the course of her life, but in doing that, in saving her, we physically turned away from 25 other children in that exact same orphanage, and from the 20 million other orphans in India alone, or the more than 153 million in the world.
We are also the fortunate ones. She saved us in a million more ways than we saved her. Before her, we were blissfully unaware of the orphan plight. Or maybe we just didn’t care. It’s easier to say we didn’t know, but the truth is we chose not to look.
How close the world was to missing the gift of her — her wide range of emotions that can change in a couple seconds, the way she squishes my face in her hands and says, “Love you, Mama,” the kisses she blows, the blanket (pronounced banquet) she always has to have when she sleeps, the way she runs to people she knows at church, arms up to be held — we all almost lost that.
And we’re losing the millions and millions of other orphans who just need someone to show up. Is it hard? Yes. No one will ever say the adoption process is easy. But I promise you — I PROMISE you — all the almost four years of work we did leading up to bringing her home is a piece of cake compared to spending time in an orphanage.
Who else is languishing in an orphanage, waiting for someone to discover all the ways they can make the world smile? Who else is malnourished and ignored, without someone to hold them, kiss their boo-boos or read them a bedtime story, all because we assume adoption is too difficult for us?
Who else are we missing out on because we think we can’t do it, when the truth is, we maybe don’t want to?
I long for the day when adoption is normal. What if so many people took care of the orphans, that no one thought to say, “Wow, that’s amazing,” because it was what so many other people were doing? What if seven percent of the Christians in the world — which is all we need to completely eradicate the orphan crisis — raised their hand and said, “I can take one.”?
Who else just needs someone to show up?
As for us, when Reagan tells people that in the orphanage, Marella didn’t want us, and she only wanted him, he is telling the truth One year later, his ability to adapt to having a younger sister who always wants his toys, and wants to be with him, astounds me. He is, indeed, the best big brother.
Marella Hope Grace Thompson is a thriving, growing, talking, singing, energetic toddler. Already we see the destiny all over her life. I can’t wait to see what, and who, she will become.
Happy Gotcha Day, Marella Hope Grace Thompson. Thank you for saving us. From us.
“I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.” John 14:18
(You can read about our entire time in India, starting here.)
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