Home- in Florida

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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He is here.

He is here.

 

I couldn't believe the text I just read. I just let Kat know that I was two minutes away from the hospital and she responded with "He is here." What? (followed by a couple f-bombs. Luckily the kids weren't in the car with me.) How could I have missed it? We thought we have one or two more hours until the pushing so I left the room to drive to the rental house and bring the kids and Uncle Kevin to the hospital. Halfway into the 10 minute drive Kat texted to let me know the pushing had begun, so I knew I had to turn around. Surely I'd make it in time, I thought. I missed the birth by about 5 minutes.

 

As frustrating as the miscalculation seemed at the time, upon further reflection we were glad it was just Kat and Connie in there together. They had bonded all morning since the 4:30 am pick up time and red eye drive to the hospital. And even though Connie said she was ok with me being in the room, I sensed it was better for all of us that I missed a few minutes of details.

 

My absence also ensured Kat would cut the cord- an experience she has never had, having been slightly preoccupied during the birth of our first three children.

I ran into the room just after they placed the baby in the giant combined basinette, warmer, and scale contraption. It looked as if this device could make a mean expresso for all I knew.

But there he was! Our baby boy! And the most important thing is that this baby was safe and healthy, and crying. Crying! Good, healthy crying. Connie looked relieved and Kat was smiling. Joy. Relief. Wonder. Amazement. Was he ok? Was everyone ok? I think so.

My reaction was similar to when I met our first three children. Tears of joy. Hugging Kat- except we were both standing up this time. That was a new feeling.

I was able to hold him almost immediately. I forgot how light babies are. And the whole neck support thing- better get used to that again, I thought. We took pictures. So did Connie. The flow of text messages, emails, and social media posts began.

 

 

His scores were good and he appeared healthy. What's the catch? I thought. It will be 72 hours until the withdrawl symptoms manifest. Still a long road to go.

It only took one look to confirm we had the right name picked out. Elijah Luke Kanary. It fit him. I just couldn't bring myself to write it, or say it, until I actually met him. I have developed a reputation amongst our friends for my superstitious nature here- refusing to talk about baby names "until I meet the baby." Well I finally I met him. And he is definitely, most fittingly, Elijah.

My sister pointed out that his initials spell out the name ELK, a "majestic" animal in its own right.

Elijah Luke Kanary, born 1:37 pm Eastern time on April 22, 2014. Weighing 7 pounds, 6 ounces. 19 and a half inches in length. A majestic little boy, indeed!

Connie couldn't wait to get out of there- and since her 5 am arrival had been ensuring every staff member- including housekeeping- knew of her desire to leave early. She had been down the adoption road before and wanted to get out of the hospital as quickly as possible. We couldn't be certain if it was to seek comfort of familiar surroundings, people (and possibly substances), or to avoid the painful feelings and emotions she would (once again) feel after offering a child to another family for adoption. Maybe it was all of the above. Or none of the above. It didn't matter. We understood.

Later on while the baby was in the nursery for his bath I went to check on Connie. She spoke briefly about the birth father- who had refused his parental rights long ago. He specifically requested that she not send him pictures. He didn't want to see them. Or him. "I want to send him a picture, just so he'll see," she said. Then she broke down. "What kind of person....doesn't want to see their baby? He doesn't even care. He doesn't care. Doesn't care about anyone, but himself" she sobbed.

I tried to comfort her. Reminding her that she cares. And that mattered. That means something. She loves and cares for this baby. And she's a good person. I didn't know what else to say.

We convinced our adoption attorney Mark to get to the hospital as quickly as possible to get the signings and witnessings done so the parental rights paperwork can be finalized. Once that's done we can have "custody" of the child in the hospital- especially with Connie wanting the early departure. There's a risk we won't or can't all get back into the same location again tomorrow.

Strutting into the delivery room in a dark window pane-patterned suit, Mark brought a stack of papers, a ball point pen, and a full-fledged live court reporter with a rollerbag suitcase full of gear. In less than one hour the initial round of paperwork was done. Connie wanted to be certain her four months of post-partum living expenses (in cash) would come along with Mark. It did.

The epidural had worn off just enough that Connie could begin to feel her legs and walk. So "AMA" (Against Medical Advice) she decided she was ready to leave. Less than 5 hours after giving birth. A record time for any birth mother, according to Mark.

In a whirlwind of hugs and kisses, Connie, her mother who came to drive her home, and Jojo (who had just met her biological little brother) were gone. We'll see them again at least once before we leave for Kansas- as we had agreed upon.

Kat couldn't wait to get her hands, or rather, two other specific body parts, on this baby. We planned and hoped to have the opportunity to breastfeed this child- as we have been blessed to do successfully with our first three. Kat had been studying, pumping and preparing for this day for weeks. We held on loosely to the hope that nurturing our child in this way would be possible. While my request to publish pictures was denied by my "editor," I am happy to report that Elijah is latching on and feeding well thus far in his first few hours with us. In fact just tonight one of the nurses complimented him on his "excellent latch." Well done, son. Well done.

Mark shared some slightly discouraging yet not surprising news- the ICPC (acronym for Interstate Beauracracy for adoptions) for the state of Florida is backed up- and the approvals are taking longer than usual for other adoptive familes. In some cases paperwork that was sent in over a week ago hasn't even been opened yet. We should expect the worse, which could put us in Florida for another two weeks. Maybe more.

The hospital staff graciously offered us our own recovery room so that we could care for Elijah until his discharge- which could be as soon as tomorrow, maybe the next day. The room was ready, and now that our kids were there, Mark suggested we roll Elijah into the new room so they could meet their new baby brother for the first time. After greetings of wonder, amazement and cooing, a round of supervised baby holding, and plenty of sheilding our new son from the sneezes and coughs of our youngest daughter, we settled into our new room. Mark said goodnight, knowing he'll see us tomorrow or the next day for more paperwork. Later on I would take the kids back to the rental house so that Kat could spend the night with Elijah.

But for the moment, the first moment ever, it's just us in the room. The new us. Kanarys: Party of 6.

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Return to Florida

More waiting. This time it's at 4 am in a rented house a quarter mile from the Atlantic Ocean. I can hear the waves even with the doors and windows shut. It seems like we have had a lot of practice at waiting these past several months. Following the thrill of our first trip to Florida to meet up (and officially match up) with Connie- birth mother to our future son- it's been all waiting. Waiting to hear from our adoption attorney Mark regarding Connie's status. Waiting to hear if she peed clean this time. Waiting to know the results of the ultrasounds. Waiting to hear if she's out of rehab. Waiting for a revised due date. 

Now, this morning's waiting was different. I just sent my bride off in the dark, humid Florida air to pick up Connie. I'm waiting on my brother in law to arrive to help watch our three current children- all peacefully sleeping- so that I can join them at the hospital later this morning when the Potossin takes effect and labor is progressing. 

Today is induction day: Modern medicine's way of saying enough is enough to the waiting. 

The doctor felt it would be good for Connie to have the baby sooner than the April 24 due date due to the projected size and weight of the child.  In fact we thought we'd go in last Thursday evening for induction but that was rescheduled. Soon the waiting will be over. At least this phase of waiting, anyway. New flavors will emerge: Is he healthy? Is he addicted? Will he want to nurse from another mother's breast? Can't spend time thinking about that now. I know I should try to sleep for the long day and nights ahead.

This trip to Florida has been much different than our last one. We departed our safe, sterile suburban cul-du-sac as a family of five. Knowing we'll come back as a family of 6. Back to an even number. "For roller coasters and restaurants," my executive mentor tells me.  

Family of six. Wow. Technically enough for our own hockey team- including a goalie. That's the number I told Kat I wanted someday, joking about how many kids I wanted. While we don't have 6 actual children (this will be our 4th), it dawned on me that what was once a joke has somehow blended into vision, and now is turning slowly into reality. Kanary, party of 6. Keeping mini-vans and CostCo in business. 

We are gaining a deeper appreciation for the unique characteristics of a domestic, semi-open adoption, versus closed and/or international adoptions, for example. When we had our "God-moment" or what we now refer to as the "adoption ambush service" at church, when a totally predictable message on serving the poor, the widowed and the orphaned took a major left turn, and families came up on stage with their kids to share their stories of adoption. I began sobbing uncontrollably and Kat soon joined me. We knew then that adoption was the next step we were going to take to grow our family. Not the recommended next step. Not the next step we should think about. No. God is clearly calling us to do this. We were going to do it. Now almost two and a half years later, here we are. Okay, we're a little slow in our obedience. But the journey has been amazing and I suspect we needed that much time in our hearts to prepare for this. 

We chose domestic adoption because we knew our ability to travel together as a family internationally was limited. Seemed like there were a lot of kids who needed a family here in the US. And there are. 

No matter which route a family chooses, it's a roller coaster. This road we chose is not a clean, neat one. In fact it's downright messy. No easy entry or exit point. And there's no tidy bow to tie on or around it when it's done. 

As we sat on the beach yesterday watching our kids play with Connie's daugher JoJo, it hit me how we have become redemptively entangled with Connie and her family. Nothing like this would ever occur in a closed adoption. Connie asked us to pick up and watch JoJo for the day, so there we were. And we wouldn't have it any other way. Except I would have liked to remember to put sunscreen on the tops of my feet. 

Last month we decided to have Kat and Katherine (our oldest daughter) fly to Florida just to spend time with Connie. The trip was all about loving on Connie. No agenda other than spending time with her, going to doctor visit with her, getting nails done. Just girl time. We wanted to show her- and also remind ourselves- that this adoption is not just about a baby. It's about all of us. 

Our hope is that many lives will be changed through this process. The baby's life, our lives as parents, spouses, siblings, and Connie's life. 

We did not want to show up this month with Hi, we're here to adopt the baby now. Thanks and good luck.  It felt transactional. Of course it would be cleaner (for us) just to adopt and be done with it. Yet where is the opportunity for life change in that? Where is the chance to press into the reason we're doing this? Messy is good. Messy is hard. 

Messy brings the full gambit of emotions. Frustration. Why can't she change? How many more pregnancies will it take? Anger. How can she do that to her body with a child inside? Doubt. Is she gaming the system? Playing us? Fear. Will the child have permanent health problems? We'll be getting another phone call a year from now and she'll be pregnant again. Guilt. We're taking her son from her. Sadness. She wants us to buy a disposable camera so she can take a picture of her son (or is it our son?)  And that's just the front page of the menu. Welcome to Cafe Messy. 

Speaking of cafes, I've had two cups of coffee now. No going back to bed. In a few more hours I'll be able to join Kat and Connie, and hopefully meet our son today. This afternoon perhaps?  And as if I didn't have enough reasons to stay awake, the tops of my feet are killing me. 

Adoption- The Match Up

Chapter 1: The Journey

On Monday Nov 3, 2013 we submitted our application for Situation "CeeCee" (an alias for a birthmother in Florida)  not knowing the gender of the baby, to be born in late April 2014. The bad news: CeeCee had a history of drug use. The good news: she also had a history of previously successful adoption (a previous daugher). We decided we need to step into this. We trust you, Lord. 

On Thursday Nov 7, 2:18 pm, Kat's text to me read: "Just got the call- need to look at flights next Thursday/Friday."

I read it while on a conference call in our basement office.  I froze mid sentence talking about something related to healthcare. I couldn't believe CeeCee had chosen us. The crazy Kanary family from Kansas. Turns out we were the only family to apply. 

I ran upstairs right after my call ended and hugged Kat (in her chair) crying and laughing as she shared some additional news.  "it's a boy." Pure joy and celebration. Couldn't tell if I was laughing or crying. I think both. Ok God, now you're showing off! We had spoken about wanting another boy to balance out the testosterone. 

What's the catch? I kept asking myself and Kat. But it didn't matter. There is a baby boy that is going to be born in April. And he needs a loving family. Maybe that loving family is supposed to be us. 

Planning begins. Looking at everything now through a different lens. How will we do this or that with 4 kids? Priorities become apparent. Overwhelming sense of Joy- in the midst my changes/grieving with stuff at work. It's all making sense now. God has been gearing me (us) up for this. 

As time went on I begin to think more about CeeCee- the birth mother. Who is she? what's she doing right now? What's she eating? (it is organic food?)

We decided it would be best to take the whole family and therefore best to drive- adventure is our thing. Gotta love the homeschool. Tons of support from our friends and neighbors. The Mothers Together group gave us a care pack with games, toys, snacks and...air fresheners. Flooded with texts, emails of support. 

The adventure begins- so much anticipation. Trying to take my friend Rob's advice and not have any expectations going into it. He and his wife have adopted two girls domestically. "Don't have any expectations..." Of the process or of the people. Hold it all loosely. Wanting to be expectant of what God will do, versus holding expectations for what outcome this should have. Easier said than done. 

Felt myself wanting to know everything about CeeCee, and the complete lack of control I have about what she does and how she does things. She's used drugs before and she could use them again. Nothing I can do to stop her. 

She's offered a child through adoption before- how was that experience for her? Does she miss them? Does she grieve? 

Turns out she has a real name. It's not CeeCee as the attorney wrote about in the Situation reports. Her name is Connie. She's real. She's a mother. 

Connie sounded like a name for an older woman- every "Connie" I had ever met was older and professional, with short hair and pursed lips. What would this Connie look like?

We didn't get on the road until late afternoon Wednesday, and Kat- a marathon driver- had to keep driving even longer than we anticipated as we battled to find a hotel that wasn't booked up. Apparently Tennessee is a popular mid-week destination. Finally we found a Hampton that would work for us- but it was just outside of Chattanooga, near Lookout Mountain. That was 3 more hours to go, but it would put us closer to Florida- closer to Connie and closer to whatever the next step is that God wants us to take. 

We didn't settle into the Lookout Mountain Hampton until 4 am. Yet I couldn't help but want to get a run in when I woke up- still tired- the next morning. I grabbed the free breakfast (more waffles) with the kids (who didn't seem tired at all) then put my gear on. Made it partway up Lookout mountain - about 2 miles- and around the Civil War battle sites along the river, but decided the switchbacks were risky enough for the drivers on their way up or down the mountain without having to worry about hitting the runner from Kansas in brightly colored gear. It was a much needed, restful run. I waived to the town sherriff on my way up and back on the mountain.

The attorney also has a name. It's Mark. He's a certified adoption-matching, red-tape - navigating, bad ass. Mark called and said he had been in touch with Connie. She'd fallen off the wagon and used again. We don't know how much or when. Submitting to and passing drug tests on a regular basis is part of her obligation once we formalize arrangements. Until then, nothing we can do. 

Mark has a hard edge. No nonsense or small talk. He's worked with hundreds of birth mothers and adoptive families. He knows the ropes and we trust him. Mark had shared with us multiple times that he deals with "a segment of the population that is highly unpredictable."

I have studied and spent time with people who are institutionally poor and I understand it somewhat, as to why people get stuck in a cycle of poverty and what would appear from the outside to be bad decisions. It's hard not to judge, but even harder to not want to "fix" it by offering help. And we do and will help, but there's also times when helping hurts. Knowing something about the "segment of the population" we are dealing with helps somewhat, but it doesn't make it any less frustrating.  

Time to hit the road. No Starbucks in Lookout Mountain. As we packed the van in front of the hotel, Kat pointed to my running shoes sitting on the luggage cart. "Don't forget your shoes." Yeah, wouldn't want to do that, I thought. And then we took off. Without the shoes. 

Heading on the road toward Atlanta and decided we'll catch Uncle Lucas on our way back. After all, we need to get to Jacksonville to leave enough time to rest up and meet Connie on Friday morning. Or maybe not. We got the call from Mark- he suggested we turn around and go back home. 

Turns out Connie is stuck with family in Daytona Beach. Car trouble- water pump needs replacing and that will take the weekend, so she can't get to Mark's office for the meeting until Monday at earliest.  Crap. Mark wasn't buying her story. He thinks we are getting played. I couldn't imagine why a birth mother who has come this far would make up a story about a broken water pump. I asked Mark if we could just meet Connie in Daytona Friday. Long pause. Brilliant idea and while he can't be there, he'll coach us on what to do, what not to say. Don't give her any money. She'll make up sob stories, etc. 

There's a whole secret spy factor to the process that I didn't know about. Establish a separate phone number, separate email. Don't share too much information. No last names. Some friends of ours did this and called it the "Bat phone."

Kat had done all of this already, setting up her old iPhone with a new phone number, listed under just our first names.  Techno-nerdiness is one of the many things I love about Kat. 

At Mark's direction, I made the bat-phone's maiden phone call to Connie. Trying to sound casual. Not too parent-ty. Not too churchy. Best friend voice.  

Her voice was warm, welcoming. She seemed genuinely excited to meet us. I sensed she was releived that the car trouble didn't ruin the whole deal. We'd meet at their hotel in Daytona Beach- The Tropical Winds. Bonus: we'd get to meet Connie's mother and one of Connie's daughters- Jojo. 

Connie asked about our kids- and we said they were all with us. 

This all feels way better than meeting in an attorney's office. 

Mark continued to foward us the text messages he was exchanging with Connie. She's asking him for food and gas money to get through the weekend. He's already invested thousands of dollars in this with the tests, attorney fees, paperwork fees, etc. 

He's hammering her back with tough love texts. Hard to read but we trust Mark knows what he's doing. 

Mark coached us that it would be ok to buy her lunch and give her a gas gift card but that it would be strictly "charity" on our part. Kat and I spoke about it and knowing this is something we've done before for complete strangers, we'd do it now. Especialy for Connie. 

It will be important to establish boundaries with Connie early on but start with grace and love. Always start with love. God asks us to be salt and light to those we interact with. 

Paul writes: 

Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. (Colossians 3:12-14 NIV)

I called the Lookout Mountain hotel and they found the shoes. They'll be waiting for us when we pass by there on the way home. 

We're 20 minutes away from meeting Connie. Quick stop at Walmart to buy gift cards and a little something for her daughter Jojo. 

Here we go....

Chapter 2: The Meeting

It took a while to find what we needed in Walmart and a gas station that actually sold gift cards, so we let Connie know we'd be a few minutes late. 

Kat and I prayed in the car at a stoplight. According to google maps we were .3 miles away from meeting Connie.  Lord we come with no expectations, yet expectant of what you'll do. We hold all of this up to you- and we hold it loosely. Help us be salt and light. Help us show your love. no, help us be your love. 

A fire engine was blocking the main road to the hotel- the Atlantic Coast Highway, more commonly known as "A1A" (thanks for ruining that name, Vanilla Ice.)  After some additional navigation, we finally pulled into the parking lot of the Tropical Breeze. As we exited the vehicle, we felt that the weather lived up to the hotel's name. 

We were immediately greeted by Connie, her mother Tina, and Connie's 4 year old daughter, Jojo. 

They were very welcoming and the kids began playing with each other immediately. There was a sense of relief that Connie came out to meet us. Kat sensed that Connie could easily be a member of our extended family.  We talked on the landscaped bent-grass lawn for a few minutes as the kids dug for snails, and right away Connie shared ultrasound pictures with us, pointing to something coming out from the fetus that we all jokingly concluded was a relatively large penis. That's my son, I thought, trying to hide my smile. So far, so good.  

Connie had a warm, yet weathered look. There were layers of life and pain underneath the surface. She had gone through more in her 27 years than most people go through over an entire lifespan.  She is petite even with the basketball-sized protrusion coming from her mid section. She and Kat immediately began swapping pregnancy war stories, and how each child carries differently. 

Jojo had a beautiful smile and sparkly earrings. She reminded me of a younger version of our close friends' daughter Logan, an amazing, talented, and beautiful girl, who also happens to come from mixed race parents. 

Connie asked to make sure we were comfortable with a mixed race child, which we are and we said we looked forward to it.

There are two kinds of hotels on Daytona Beach. Old hotels and new hotels. Tropical Winds was a new hotel 30 years ago.  The diner is a greasy spoon, perfect for casual conversation and not crowded so that our kids could run around and play hide and seek amongst the tables. 

As we ordered then enjoyed the food we jumped into conversation with Connie about family, background, adoption story and interests. We asked her how she felt when she placed her other children. With her most recent adoption (a now 2 year old daughter), she felt it helped that she could distance herself from the child early on, so as to remove some of the emotion, and it was important to her that she have a good relationship with the adoptive parents througout the pregnancy. Connie craves social interaction and relationships, and we know and expect to stay in contact with her throughout the pregnancy and after the birth. 

We covered some of the hard stuff. Drug addiction, choices, relationships.  Connie is very self- aware. She knows her story well, and seemed to key in on when things went wrong, but I sensed she didn't necessarily know why. 

Her father died when she was 12, "and then it all started going bad." That hit home for us, as we immediately thought of how Kat's father passed away when she was 13. Connie became a single mother and drug addict, yet Kat went on to graduate from college, then law school. Why the different paths?

As Mark put it, "but by the Grace of God."  Mark is a wise man. 

Connie was a bit taken aback when we shared that we have chosen homeschooling as our educational choice for the kids, but seemed to grow more comfortable with it as discussion continued. 

Connie wants to make better choices. She told us about wanting to remove certain people and influences in her life. She acknowledged the pull the drugs have over her. Having struggled with addiction to alcohol myself, I could totally relate. 

She seems to appreciate the firm "tough love" hand that Mark is using with her. She respects him and it only confirmed our earlier feelings that we can (and should) trust Mark. 

Kat observed how Connie is trying to be a good mother to Jojo. And upon further relection realizing that Connie's desire to be a good parent also plays out by choosing to have her other children adopted, knowing she is not in the best position to parent them. 

Connie was clearly hurt by the fact that the couple who adopted her oldest child, through the state, had cut off contact. Clearly those circumstances were different and we believe her recent adoption (and hopefully this one) will not yield a similar cut off. 

Connie asked if we were on Facebook, which we replied we were. She didn't ask for our Facebook info, but because we aren't yet ready to share our last name with her, Kat and I later agreed to set up a general Facebook account where we could post pictures, stories, etc for her to view. It's too early to tell if we'll get to the point of full disclosure and sharing of information someday. For now we are staying with the Bourne Identity, secret spy approach. 

After lunch we ventured up to their hotel room where the kids played, and enjoyed a side building view of the ocean. 

We took pictures of each other, of everyone together and of the kids. We even showed off tattoos to each other. She had stories for hers. Some were good, and some were laced with regret. She really liked our tattoos we had gotten for our 10 year wedding anniversary. 

At one point she commented that she was really hoping for a "religious" family to adopt her child and that she whe was glad she found us.  She shared that she believes in Jesus, but quickly pointed out that she felt she hasn't gone completely "all in" yet.  She felt like God has been with her through all of her trials, which I agreed with, noting that I was not a believer until I met Kat. I also shared that before we got married (and even after) I have dealt with some crazy and challenging stuff. "Not as crazy as my stuff," Connie noted. She's probably right, yet it doesn't make the work God has done in and through all of us all any less miraculous. He's good. He's always good. 

We sent the pictures via text message and said we really enjoyed meeting her, Tina and Jojo. Connie responded with: "the same to u. y'all are the ideal parents for my son. thanks for everything."

Aside from the proverbial thumbs up and success of the meeting, there was something about seeing those words that touched us deeply, perhaps in a Mark 1 kind of way. 

Just as Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw heaven being torn open and the Spirit descending on him like a dove. And a voice came from heaven: “You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.” (Mark 1:10, 11 NIV)

Connie chose us. And so did God. 

We headed north to Jacksonville, where Mark's office is located. A pile of paper with legal language resembling a form of English was waiting for us to read and sign. 

It's all becoming real now. Kat's friend Tasha shared via group text with other friends, encouraging all to read and sing the lyrics to Jesus Culture's Come Away with Me:  "it's gonna be wild, its gonna be great, its gonna be full of me.....I have a plan for you."  

That Plan just became very real.