Pain is not something I deal with in a public way. I hide it in the deep recesses of my soul preferring to weep in solitude in my room quietly. I have grieved in closets, grieved next to beds and in small corners but you won't often catch me crying or grieving in public. However, I was recently touched by a couple's public pronouncement of their pain and it made me think that sharing my pain might be of service to others as well as help me put closure on the pain I've experienced.
Pain has been a pattern in my life as it is in everyone's. I often have remarked that is the most painful thing I have ever been through only to be catapulted deeply into something more severe. But when the pain ends and my life resumes its normal positive journey I have not been reflective enough on how I was brought through that pain and what resulted from the pain.
When I was young I dreamed of being married and having a family. My sister and I have always remarked how we had the perfect childhood. My parents fought, we had financial problems, we didn't get the cool clothes or new technology of the day but we were loved immensely by our Mom and Dad. They showed it in everything they did. They sacrificed for us and made family time a priority. I imagined I would do the same; make the perfect childhood for however many children I had. More than ten years ago when I was in my twenties and still married my husband and I decided it was time to have our family.
After 9 months of trying I was finally pregnant. I was elated. I began making big plans but those plans were not meant to be. I miscarried after only 8 weeks. I was devastated but hopeful because the doctors said it was normal and I could try again soon. We tried for along time. Each Mother's Day passed with me weeping in my bedroom and my husband trying to offer comfort that would not come. I spent countless hours crying and questioning why I wasn't good enough to be blessed with a baby. Going to church was brutal. I was old enough to have a family and had been married long enough. Church is centered around family and so the invites to social gatherings were few and I felt isolated. Through it all I taught children's church longing for that connection.
That was my lower story. Eventually I went through infertility treatments which were all unsuccessful. It was painful physically and emotionally. All the while I talked with my husband about adoption because honestly it had been on my heart since I was a teenager. God was preparing me.
Meanwhile in the upper story. Maxim was born in Russia when I miscarried to a mom who could not take care of him. He lived in an apartment with no furniture and random people going in and out. His mom was an alcoholic. She couldn't provide for him. She had already given up another child, a sister but that was not where her or his story ended. As I spent years in doctor's offices trying to figure out what was wrong with my body Max spent years trying to survive. Eventually his mom gave birth to his brother, my little Nikolai. Max took care of his brother when no one was there. He loved that baby brother of his and he tried to take care of him even though he was still a baby himself.
When finally I had given up on birthing a baby and knew adoption was my road I began my research. We had decided on Russia because of a simple photo on a website. It was a little boy who had recently been adopted.
I prayerfully considered all options. God led me to our adoption agency and Russia. I knew I was prepared to raise boys and we decided to ask for two at once. We also decided to ask for brothers. It would take over two years processing paperwork, being interviewed, having our house checked and applying for documents. Once again the lower story of pain and frustration.
In the upper story, Nikolai had been born and both boys were left at a hospital; abandoned. Their age difference was enough that in Russia they were separated, something we would only know later was painful to Max. Max had cared for his brother. He was three when he was left and Nikolai was just a baby. They were sent to different orphanages with little hope to be reunited. This was their lower story. Meanwhile in their upper story God had made sure our application asked for brothers between the ages of 4 and infant.
In my lower story I prayed daily that God would not make me turn down any orphan as that would be too painful. That prayer led to a long wait to match us with children and I was still weeping almost daily. I was frustrated and exhausted but God was not. He was waiting for his perfect timing.
I finally got the call that we had been matched with brothers aged three and 14 months. I could hardly contain my excitement. We anxiously awaited the video that would show us the boys and help us determine whether or not they would be our boys, my boys. The video came and I watched it so many times, I can't even remember. Max did not speak once in the video and I was a little nervous about that. Nikolai was not yet walking and I could tell from the look in his eye that he was going to give me a run for my money. He was just like me, I could tell from the twinkle.
The doctor's viewed the video and said they looked healthy so we began making preparations. Max's fourth birthday was coming up and I was praying we would be able to scoop him up before it came but it seemed it was not meant to be. Our travel arrangements and court date were set for after his birthday, I was a little sad but ready no matter what. Then one day at work my adoption agency called me and said, "You need to travel next week. The court date has to be changed because the judge is going on vacation and if you don't go next week it will be several more months." The next week would put us there during Max's birthday. I would have my oldest boy before he turned four. The upper story was playing out just as it was supposed too.
Our journey to Russia is another story for another time. It led me to my boys who God had set aside for me long before I realized it. It led me to one really amazing upper story despite the pain in the lower one. And all those tears I shed were not wasted because they were like offerings going up to God. He blessed every last one of them and I am now blessed to be raising two wonderful boys.
Max's upper story was even better. He was reunited with his brother before we made it to Russia. He was allowed for those few weeks to live in the same orphanage as he awaited our arrival. He has been forever the caretaker of Nikolai, a role he has never forgotten. I cannot describe in words his face when he found he would be going home with us and Nikolai. It was both scared, relieved and at peace all at the same time.
Nikolai's upper story was blessed as well. He loved to be held and couldn't be held in an orphanage full of youngsters needing attention. His first English word was up followed by "up Mama, please". He was heavy but I did not care. I toted him around everywhere. My muscles grew as our bound grew.
My boys and I are deeply connected. That is our upper story. We are intertwined and that family I had wished for has been created. I may not have the husband but I am certain my children will look back at their lives the same way my sister and I did and realize they have truly been blessed.
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