August Adoption Family: Loves Fried Chicken
Eight years ago on June 28th, the day before my 40th birthday, the cutest, wildest, most curious, strong, and beloved little boy sauntered into my world. Well, he didn’t exactly ‘saunter’ it was more of a strut or pounding! He was nearly ten years old and would eventually carry all the ‘scary’ diagnosis an adoptive Mom did not want to hear. What no one seemed to know at the time was that he also carried hope and a resilient character.
I had met my little guy through a ministry I was running for at-risk families. Even though I had already started the process to become a certified foster/adopt parent I thought this was a short term arrangement. By the time I knew he would be staying in my life I was anxious and burnt out from the rigors of inner city ministry and a ‘deer in headlights’ as I watched RAD unfold before me. I boarded a plane for a pre-set dream vacation to Costa Rica leaving him with a qualified and loving friend, a box of gifts to open each day and me with the baggage of a weary and questioning heart.
The friend I was traveling with was craving – of all things – fried chicken and mashed potatoes. As we circled the airport at San Jose, Costa Rica she frantically thumbed through an airline magazine and found a restaurant. After walking for over an hour in the heat we stumbled into the little dive. I was exhausted and more than a little annoyed that in the land of plantains, tortillas and pulled pork I would be eating fried chicken! I griped
about the heat and her insistence on this restaurant as I pulled my hair into its standard messy bun. My friend, who was aware of my doubts and the challenges I was facing with my little boy, repeated my name until I finally looked at her. ‘Look at the table’, she said sternly. We were sitting at a wooden booth with a rickety ceiling fan overhead when I sighed and looked down. Unbelievably – someone had carved my boy’s name in giant letters onto the top of the table.
I left Costa Rica ten days later knowing that I would indeed adopt my little boy and become a single Mother. There have been days when I have questioned my abilities or if his heart would ever heal enough to truly trust. Those letters carved into the top of that table in the middle of San Jose have held my heart like writing on a wall. Today my son is glorious. He is a fantastic teenager (not all Moms get to say that) and a young man with a heart as wide as the ocean and as wise as a king. On top of that he’s a great big brother to the little sister who entered our world five years ago as an infant.
There are 143 million orphans who, much like my son, are facing overwhelming challenges with the hidden potential for amazing resilience, hope and life. Orphans on our city streets and in our nations foster care system and orphans created by disease, war and natural disaster like the shattering earthquake in Haiti on January 12th. During these ‘crazy’ years of adopting two children 
in my forties I’ve left the inner city and pursued my graduate degree in counseling. I’m also embarking on another adventure by starting ZoeRoots, a new organization that will bring life to grass root organizations that are serving populations experiencing crisis, trauma and burnout. In August a team and I will travel to Haiti to lead a conference for 125 teachers who have received 500 traumatized children into their schools since the earthquake. Some of these children are now orphaned, some are living in refugee camps but all are hurting, grieving and beloved. ZoeRoots’ team will attempt to communicate the psychological, physical and spiritual impacts of trauma with a heart of hope. I doubt we will be craving fried chicken as our plane approaches Port au Prince but I am certain I will be missing my bambinos back home and looking for God to show up just like he did on that table in Costa Rica. Who would have ever thought that fried chicken would lead to a family and a worldwide concern for orphans!
