Today I have thoughts running through my head.  Memories, and feelings all jumbled together, so bear with me.  I’m adopted.  My parents adopted me when I was six years old, though I lived with them since I was four.  I remember before I was adopted.  I remember the different families that took care of me.  I remember my Birth Mother.  I remember she loved me.  I love my mom and dad now, they are the only family I could ever want.  But I know they had it rough with me.  Many people adopt, very few adopt a child who is older than 1 year though.  Once a child reaches 1, the chances of them ever getting adopted drop each year.  It’s even worse with children with diabilities.  My friend Tammi and her husband adopted an adorable little boy named Michael when he was six I believe, or around that age.  Michael has disabilities.  My hat goes off to them, because very few families take on the challenge of adopting an older child, let alone one with disabilities. So I know there are people who do make this decision, but I know they are rare.

I was passed from family to family before I ever came to be with my mom and dad.  Very little discipline had been in my life, and talk of Jesus and who he is never happened.  My husband, while not in the adoption system, also had an unstable beginning.  He was raised primarily by his grand parents in the first couple of years, and his mother left.  His Dad stepped up after accepting Jesus and raised William the best a single father could.  He was later adopted by his step mom when his father remarried.  His dad and step mom are wonderful people, just like my mom and dad, but the emotional baggage that comes with a child with unconventional beginnings can be hard on any family.

Children in these situations will often develope attatchment problems.  I know for myself, before I was adopted, I associated mother with female.  I called every woman “mommy” because I had no concept of what I mother should be until my mom came into my life.  So I was hard on my mom growing up.  I didn’t know what she really meant to me, and the affect she had on my life until I was much older.  What she taught me, what she showed me about life, and most importantly her faith.

I think about my son through all this.  How he has his mother and his father.  What we will teach him.  What he will see in our lives.  He has a much better start in life than many children get, and even better than my husband or myself ever got.  Does it make a difference?  My husband and I turned out okay.  Will Aidan be better than we were growing up?  Will he love God just as much if not more?  Will he have a greater chance of being successful in life?  Will he get into less trouble?  These are all things running through my head today.

What ever happens, I know he has a great start in life.  He is loved.  He is surrounded by his family.  A family that is not going anywhere, and will be with him his whole life.  A family who loves God.  I know that has got to count for something, and I am so greatful for the life I can give my son.