Yesterday we were able to take Elijah out of the hospital and home- well at least to our temporary home here in Florida, until the interstate adoption paperwork is approved.
"It could be 10 days plus before anyone even opens the file", Mark said, never much for bedside manner. Yet we'd rather have it straight and prepare for the worst. We're already investigating additional extended lodging accomodations. Our rented beach-access, shotgun style house has seen better days. Plus the frequent multi-legged and/or slimy native visitors are wearing out their welcome- and ours.
Katherine spent the night with Katrina to "help" while I had Jack and Ella at the rental house. I convinced the two of them to get up early to catch the sunrise over the ocean with me on a 5 miler double jogger stroller run along the beach. The beauty of the sun poking up into the horizon coupled with a few stops for Jack and Ella to collect sea shells in their pajamas made the early rising worth it. By the time we arrived at the hospital, our band of sunrise catchers was tired enough to match Kat and Katherine- who had a long night with the new baby. Elijah looked refreshed.
Mark hovered around in what was now our mother-baby suite. Another dark suit on, but no stenographer this time. He was there to help us work through the paperwork needed so that Elijah could be released to us- and with us- from the hospital. He's ours (technically he is Mark's until the final hearing this summer).
We took our first official family photo outside the hospital. Here we go, I thought. This is real now.
When we arrived back at the rental house I attempted to steal the kids away to the beach to give Kat and Elijah a break to nap. As soon as we found our spots in the sand, Kat called. Mark needs paperwork for Florida Department of Child Services filled out. They had to approve our adoption as well. Off to FedEx to do some printing and scanning in our mobile minivan office.
Now that the dust had settled from all the excitment of the induction and birth, we learned the real reason Connie wanted to delay the induction for 4 days. It was not cold feet. She was hoping to avoid a positive drug test and the ensuing wrath of Florida authorities. Her plan failed. It is hard not to be angry at her. We thought we had formed a bond. An understanding. Clearly her addiction was more powerful than that. I had dealt with my own addiction and wanted to emphathize, yet I just couldn't understand it. That -in a nutshell- is the frustrating, mysterious part about addiction and addicts, for that matter. To those on the outside, it makes no sense. Why would someone throw their life away for that? Why would they risk it all? And while my addiction to alcohol may not have been as physiologically strong as an addiction to cocaine, it gripped me and controlled me just the same.
Our future interactions with Connie are going to be hard- for us and also now, for Connie. She plans to turn herself into authorities on Monday in hopes that will curb the impact on her ability to see her daughter JoJo, and allow her mother to retain custody.
We have plans to spend time with Connie this weekend before she turns herself in. We felt it was important that we speak into her in as loving of a way as we can now, while we still have the opportunity. We've held back on this so that we can build the relationship with her, but now that Kat has witnessed a 7 pound human come out of Connie's womb, now feels like as good a time as any.
To prepare our hearts and counter the feelings of anger, resentment and frustration, we recorded as many positive things about Connie that we know are true. 100% true. The list was small at first. Hard to write. Then as the day went on the list grew. We wrote it out on the beachhouse whiteboard and sent her the image tonight, asking her to read it in hopes that it may open doors to some meaningful, fruitful conversation during our visit tomorrow. Here is what we fit so far onto the whiteboard:
I would be shocked if Connie has ever heard any words like these spoken to her (or about her) in her 28 years on earth. She's faced many challenges we cannot begin to fathom. Her father died when she was 12, "and it all went downhill from there," she told us when we first met her back in November. Sidebar: it immediately hit us that Kat's Father died when she was 13. Why the different paths? Simply put: Kat was raised by a strong mother and surrounded with a support network of friends and families that kept her on a path. She thrived. Became a leader and one kick-ass wife and mother - if I may say so. Oh yeah, and the Holy Spirit came into her life and took hold. Faith in the ultimate Dad.
By contrast the outlook for Connie is grim. One year from now there is a high likelihood she will be in one of these conditions: pregnant (again), incarcerated, or dead. Connie will not overcome her addiction unless an outside force intervenes. State-mandated programs probably won't do it. Neither will more prison time. Her plans and her power are futile. I know this. I think she knows it, too. She will require the help of a professional Rescuer. A Hero. Right, Jesus- the risen son of God. No way around this One. She doesn't (yet) believe this Hero is truly available to her, how could there be a hero that could possibly redeem a hopeless situation. If she can somehow hear (and comprehend) the truth about who she really is, maybe, just maybe she'll believe she's worth it, and that there is in fact a Rescuer who is furiously chasing her and won't give up on her. He offers hope for her, as he does for all of us. If we just stop long enough to recognize Him and surrender to Him.
We're still waiting on the magic hour to pass when the symtoms of infant drug withdrawl can be ruled out. We're not there yet. Maybe another day. Maybe longer? As we prepare for what will likely be a restless, fitful night for Elijah, our prayer tonight is that Connie receives our list- and hears the Truth- in her heart. As my friend Bill prayed: "May she be blindsided by the Holy Spirit."
Our prayer is that she will stop and turn toward her ultimate Father. (Mark 1:15) The Dad she never had- but always wanted. This Daddy stands by, ready to adopt her right now. No paperwork. No stenographers. The Rescuer will open Connie's file with no bureaucratic delay, wipe her record clean, and welcome her into His arms. Abba, Father. May it be so.
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