hold fast

I’ve read a lot (read: too much) about adoption. And I’ve read from all sides, adoptee, adopter, birth parents. I’ve read international, domestic, foster care. And I’ve heard a lot of different opinions. But this one caught me a little off guard. I was talking to one of the cooks here, a proud Bolivian woman. We were discussing her “hijito”, basically the 9 month old she claims as her own. “Me amo a ese niño, Tia Sarah, le amo mucho.” Translation: “I love him, Tia Sarah, I love him so much.” We chatted a little about his adoption, why she didn’t want to, anyone whose expressed interest, and then she said something I didn’t expect. “I don’t want him to stay here. I want him to go with foreign parents, to go somewhere else. Out of Bolivia.”

I wrote this post a month or so ago, but never posted it. I fear commenting on adoption or orphan care lest I be labeled naive. But, I read it again, and I still think it stands. And I am naive, I’m still fairly sure we can change this world, because God is on our side. I’m just learning to embrace it. (Ps. Since I wrote this I have gathered approximately 200 new poo related stories, including Baby B who pooed on my bed the other night. It’s a good thing he’s cute.) — Yesterday I sat through a sermon with three kids who shouted, cried, huffed, stomped and never sat still. Tonight I have lay for the last hour on a bed in the bedroom of four kids under five who are flat out refusing to sleep, even though everyone of them is exhausted. This weekend I have dealt with two cases of explosive nappy where I have ended up covered in poo. Yesterday I received a message from Daniel after he also dealt with an epic poo incident which I can only assume has forever impacted the smell of