Meeting Nathaniel

We met Nathaniel on July 3, 2013.

He was seven months old.

He studied us closely,

as if he knew it was an important moment.

We counted fingers and toes.

We learned about his medical conditions.

He fell asleep in our arms.

And wrapped himself around our hearts.

Photos by Clint Thayer Focal Flame Photography

On Being Chosen

The following was written the morning of July 3, 2013 - the day we met Nathaniel for the first time.

We are meeting Nathaniel today.

I am scared I won’t feel love towards him.  And yet at the same time my heart beats so hard in anticipation of loving him that I think it might explode. I wake every morning wondering how he did through the night. I am scared that his medical stuff will scare me away. And yet at the same time every doctor’s note and diagnosis I read in his file gave peace rather than alarm.

It is a very odd thing to be chosen as an adoptive parent. Our official status is a “pre-adoptive" foster family. We've been identified as the permanent placement, but start as a foster family. After six months in the "pre-adoptive" foster category, if all goes well and Children's Division gives a final consent, we can petition the court to adopt.

There is a special ceremony at S-F Boy Scout Camp during summer camp weeks for scouts being inducted into Order of the Arrow. On Thursday night the scouts stand in a long line along the waterfront; their parents across the lake. An Indian runs back and forth searching for the scouts chosen for the Order of the Arrow honor. The actual selection process occurred prior to Thursday evening and is based on the scout's character and determined by his peers. On Thursday night,  one by one, the Indian identifies the boys. He stands in front of them, pounds loud on his chest, points, and yells, “You are chosen.” The call echoes across the lake as a deep roar as if spoken from another world. The chosen boy steps out and is escorted to his first challenge – spending the night in the woods alone.

This ceremony came to mind the moment we found out we were chosen as Nathaniel's forever family.

It was as if God thundered down loud from heaven, “You are chosen.”

The words are humbling.

Paralyzing almost to know that at this moment, for this child, we have been chosen. All of our life experiences. All of our skills. All of who we have been and who we will yet become is going to intersect this little fragile life. It hits me in a way that I never felt with my birth children. Perhaps because I wasn't interviewed for an hour and a half by a panel of fourteen to become their mom. Perhaps because I realize after raising seven children what a huge responsibility this panel of my peers has entrusted to me. Adoption is often spoken about as the parents choosing a specific child over all the others available. Today I am humbled that out of all the parents and families that could have been selected to love this baby, we were chosen.

Photo credit: David Plocek

Introducing...

Nathaniel Steven Rankin

Born November 24, 2012

4 lbs 15 oz; 18 1/2 inches

Adopted on February 4, 2014

"For God has not given us a spirit of fear,

but of power, and of love, and of sound mind."

2 Timothy 2:17

Nathaniel - "Gift of God"

Photos by Clint Thayer Focal Flame Photography

Christmas Naan and Flexible Traditions

It seems we've always had to cope with our children being away from home on Christmas.

Rich's joint custody agreement allowed each parent alternating years to celebrate the Christmas holiday.  When the boys were with us for Christmas, we had them for ten days. Those years coincided with Rich's extended family's Christmas and it usually meant a full week of cousins and meals and fun at Grandma and Grandpa's house complete with tri-colored layered jello that Grandma made in stages over multiple days. The years the boys spent Christmas with their mother we didn't see them for a couple weeks. It was very hard as a young wife and mother to create our own family traditions when the holidays were never consistent one year to the next. Our solution was to celebrate with a "Wise Man Party" mid January. We ate a large elaborate meal, burned frankincense, and gave our children their Christmas presents long after the rush of the season was over.

Around our eighth or ninth year of marriage, extended family dynamics changed and we found ourselves often hosting my out of state family for Christmas. One particular Christmas Eve it started snowing about an hour after our travelers arrived. Within a couple hours, it was blizzard conditions and no one could make it to their hotel that night. I will never forget the warm cozy feeling of having my family in my home despite the fact that many people were sleeping on the floor and our furnace went out at midnight! The Wise Man Party meal was replaced with what would become "my" traditional Christmas dinner as a hostess with signature baked mashed potatoes.

A few years after we moved into our current home, Rich's father came to live with us and my extended family's gatherings at Thanksgiving or Christmas opened up to include members of Rich's extended family. We handled the crowd by moving our family room furniture into the garage and setting up wall to wall tables. Two turkeys and pounds and pounds of those baked mashed potatoes were needed year after year.

But this year started yet another era. With the medical demands of our new baby, I couldn't entertain a crowd for either Thanksgiving or Christmas. We were blessed to have a smaller gathering with all our children home for Thanksgiving last month, but today finds the Cowboy checking calves in northern Montana and our married children celebrating with their spouses' extended families.

We had just half of our children home today for Christmas. Bah Humbug can creep in when a mom is preparing for only half her brood. Adding to the lack of time and energy is the fact that over the last eleven days the baby has had ten doctor or therapy appointments and one surgery. Christmas needed to be simple, fun, and new so we didn't feel like we were comparing our table for six with the relative rush we've come to assume creates holiday happiness.

We went ethnic: Hummus and Pita chips as an appetizer (both store bought), a quick throw together Lentil Soup, a simple Greek Salad with store bought dressing, homemade Naan (where I put my energy), and store bought Baklava.

It was a huge success in all three categories: simple, fun and new. And while I deeply miss my children who are away from home today, I suspect we've found yet another new Christmas tradition. When just a few can gather around the table, we'll be eating soup and frying up some Christmas Naan.

Christmas Naan (Recipe from my friend Caren)

• 1 tablespoon yeast
• 1 cup warm water
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 3 tablespoons milk
• 1 egg, beaten
• 2 teaspoons salt
• 4 1/2 cups bread flour
• butter

In a large bowl, dissolve yeast in warm water. Let stand until frothy. Stir in sugar, milk, egg, salt, and enough flour to make a soft dough. Knead 6-8 minutes on lightly floured surface. Place dough in a well oiled bowl, cover with a damp cloth and let rise 1 hour.

Punch dough down and pinch off small handfuls (golf ball size) and roll into balls. Place on tray and cover with damp towel and let rise.

Preheat grill to high. Roll dough ball into circle, lightly butter the grill and cook 2-3 minutes on each side or until lightly puffy and browned. Keep warm until served.

The Empty Christmas Nest

Rich spotted it first.  An empty bird's nest nestled in the branches. We paused. Admired. Took a photo. Considered the tree. But moved on, leaving the nest for whoever claimed the tree.

But the image stuck with me all month. It was Advent to me.

"A little empty bed waiting for a baby," was the comment I posted on the photo when I uploaded it to Facebook.  I regretted leaving the nest. I wished I had brought it home to symbolize the coming of Jesus, the one who fills empty places in managers and hearts.

Finding an empty nest last December was strangely fitting. Our nest has been slowly emptying for years. Only four of our seven children were rambling through the tree farm with us that day. One of those four, The Cowboy, already had his train ticket to head west just after Christmas. Another, Mr. Numbers, would return to college mid-January. Just two in a nest that once held seven.

What does a couple do when the nest empties?

The house still smelled of Christmas pine late last December when my friend sent the question that would challenge our empty nest question. Would we allow Jesus to fill our nest again? Or more pointedly, would we look admiringly at the baby in the manager, but join the throngs in Bethlehem in telling Him there is no room?

I found a little decorative nest at the craft store last spring and it's nestled amongst the ornaments and lights on my tree today. It is a symbol of my Advent prayer:

Come Lord Jesus -

Fill the manager with your presence,

Fill my heart with your kind of love,

Fill my home with your people.

Come Lord Jesus.

My First Experience in Court

I went to court for the first time in my life yesterday. And it about did me in.

It was family court. Rich and I sat outside the court room for too long waiting for our new baby's case to be called.  The waiting space, it can't be called a room because it was hardly more than an extra wide hall, was filled with people. Parents. Lawyers. Social Workers. Multiple times during that wait I had to swallow away tears due to the conversations I overheard. Because children's lives aren't meant to be decided on linoleum floored courthouse hallways or lived out in five inch rubber banded manila file folders.

I wiped a tear when the bio mom of some unknown child sat opposite me and let silent tears roll down her face because she finally just got it that she should have followed through on her court ordered visits this fall and now her children weren't coming home for Christmas.

And I wiped a tear when a grandparent of another unknown child explained to a social worker what it is really like to raise her son's child on her meager social security check and how she desperately wants custody of her grandson but fears if she can make ends meet monthly. Or will live to see him grown.

And I wiped a tear when we finally sat before the judge and our baby's guardian ad litem made a motion that his case move toward permanency and adoption in his current foster placement. Our placement. Our home. Permanency with us.

There is a strange dichotomy in family court. The bailiff presses on through the docket while grief and jubilation pass shoulder to shoulder through the courtroom door for back to back hearings.

My journey as an adoptive mother will always be seasoned by the fact that I was a biological mother first. So while it delights my heart to see those little outstretched arms lifted toward me and his smile of recognition that I am mommy, I am also aware of the heartache and sadness and loss that will forever be part of his story. There is a gravity that comes when realizing there are two sides of every adoption.

We are one step closer to helium balloons and cake and our photo opportunity with the judge on adoption day. And when I push back the deeper analysis of life that I am prone towards, that simply brings tears of joy.