I can’t imagine what it’s like for foster and adoptive mamas when they constantly pour themselves into their kids, only to be rejected.
In my mind, I see a mama feeding her baby, but then the baby spits out everything in her face.
Oh, my goodness….the pain of giving your best but the one you love more than life itself rejects you.
Where is a mama to go when she’s rejected?
Will her mom friends not touched by adoption understand? Or, will they judge?
How about the church? Will they understand, or look down a long nose at her?
Just lately, I think much about my adoptive mom, Retha. She and my dad thought the sun rose and set on me.
The first time she saw me was when my grandma carried me into their modest home.
Her heart must have felt like it was going to beat out of her heart.
This was the realization of her dream of having a child, a family. Perhaps, the 1940’s shame-based culture would disappear when they learned about their adoption?
But, the baby was so small.
Mike held out his shaking hands and held the 5# infant. He would remember that moment until his dying day.
But, how could Retha bathe such a tiny one? She was so nervous that her nurse-friend gave the first bath.
How Retha’s dreams must have soared during those first days. She would be the best mom ever to this little one. She would pour love into her like crazy. She would delight in the close relationship she would have with her daughter, beginning now and lasting for a lifetime.
Some have said that we are prevented from seeing our futures, for the pain would be too much to handle.
That would be Retha’s story, even beginning at the beginning.
Her daughter was a failure to thrive baby, who arched her back whenever Retha held her. In addition, she couldn’t get her to drink from a bottle.
Retha wondered what she’d done wrong to have a baby that wouldn’t be held or fed?
Of course, she’d done nothing wrong, but this was foundational for shaking her confidence as a mom.
In time, other oppositional behaviors would be like bricks that would make her question her worth and ability as a mom.
This is the calling of an adoptive and foster mom–to love when rejected, trusting that love will be stored somewhere in that heart that pushes you away.
Legacies aren’t lost.
They remain deep in your child’s heart until the time for release occurs.
This very thing has happened to me–an adult adoptee whose late mom’s legacy of love has been released in this, my seventh chapter of life.
Take heart, moms!
You are building a legacy in the midst of defiance.
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