Katie R. Hurst

I have worked this over and over and over and one more time over again in my head. Still, I feel there is no easy way to write about this subject. If ever there was a hot spot in the adoption world it will come when you hear the word, "disruption." Hello Trolls, I'm glad you found me today. I figured that word would bring you to me here. I'm going to put my heart out here for you on this. Most of you know my story. If you are new, the short version is that almost three years ago we entered adoption with the adoption of our son, almost a year ago I headed to China to bring home our two daughters. Blind, they were blind and as far as I knew, a little delayed from institutionalization. Daughter one was placed in my arms and she surpassed my expectations while still being very fragile and very delayed and needy. Daughter two came one week later and my precious, longed for daughter who walked in videos and had language skills, slumped into my arms and growled. I chose

He is faithful and He always has been.  When the third child comes into our bedroom at night, He is faithful. When my son's friend dies without ever knowing a mom or a dad and my heart shatters, He is faithful. When I stroke the scars of a child who is my own and  am wrecked with the irrational guilt that I should  have been there, He is faithful. He is faithful when I let go of His hand. When I doubt His goodness, when I scream at Him for this desert, when I beg for respite, and when I throw a tantrum when respite never comes, He is faithful. When I can't stop the anxiety, the panic,  He is faithful.  When the screaming begins anew and I am surviving just one minute  at a time,  He is faithful. When I ache over the aging out child whom nobody would claim,  and am angry with all of His children,  He is faithful. When I find hidden food in the crevices of beds, He is faithful. When I live in the valley of trauma day in and

I grew up in a world where special needs were all around me. My mom was a special education teacher and she brought kids into our home who had special and unique needs. It was perfectly normal to read books with pictures of children in wheelchairs or see hearing aids sitting on the counter at home. With that in mind I walked into special needs parenting with rose colored glasses. I knew in the back of my head that moms have to stand up for their children and that not everyone is accepting of them, yet somehow it became a distant thought that I would be dealing with the ugliness of humanity as I drank in the beauty of my newest daughters. They are so lovely that it shadows the darkness that is out there. But those rose colored glasses have been thrown in the mud and smeared so much so that I can no longer see through them. I'm taking up the battle of the special needs parent. Today, my post may seem like I'm starting a battle. So be it. Adults have recoiled their hands whe

Today you yelled, said words you never thought would pass your lips. Yesterday you stopped holding fiercely onto hope.  You chucked a piece of bread against a wall and watched it crumble to the ground.  It seemed poetic to you. The dishes are spilling beyond the boundaries of the sink and the counter is shining back to you with water as its mockery. Some moms have weekly meal lists and you have a frozen pizza. Your Pinterest boards hold thousands of pins. And they stay there, pinned, convincing you that you are worthless. Your friends post pictures of being dressed up for a date night while you  hope for just one day without screaming at each other.  Your children have watched you come unglued. They have heard words that rightly shame your soul.  You are battered and bruised and your soul is begging you with every whisper to retreat into hiding. Hide this shame. Hide this ugliness. Hide the words spoken. Hide the terror of your heart. Hide the fears of attachment di

Adoption is hard. Broken souls and broken people trying to climb impossible mountains every single day. Sometimes we watch as those in our community are broken further by disruptions and dissolved adoptions. Both of these are the loss of so many dreams on every end. We need to do better as a community. Can you help by taking just three minutes and filling out this survey? It is completely anonymous. I can't track it back to you. It give me no names, no IP addresses. It is just to collect data and help find ways to assist families after adoption. I know you are busy people and three minutes is nearly impossible, but thank you for taking time to do this for yourself, for me, for our community. Together we will build a better and stronger adoption community. Create your own user feedback survey

674 153,000,000 256,258,538 1 3 A. Number of kids on Reece's Rainbow from China B. Number of orphans worldwide C. Average number of Americans identifying themselves as Christian D. Number of children I personally knew of that died alone this week. E. Number of children I know of this month alone that were disrupted and sent back to their orphanages after a family came for them. Christians you mock this being you call God. If humanity has failed in this, then surely you are far more culpable. I cannot release you  from your part in this tragedy. Evil has lulled you into a sense of comfort and you never even saw it coming for you. Your church attendance, your Sunday School teaching does nothing to alleviate you of this guilt. One died this week, three in the last two weeks disrupted and were left behind. I cannot begrudge our sweet Katie for her entrance into heaven, but I can cry that my human race failed her during her time here. I can break f

I am a watcher of time. Being on time means being late to me. I like things orderly and on time. Precision makes me very, very happy. As it turns out being the mom to kids who have special needs doesn't really work out that well with this whole little quirk of mine.  And I get frustrated.  Why is it so hard to move quickly? People, people, step to it.  I am being taught some difficult lessons right now and this is one of them.  Perhaps, just maybe, the world moves too quickly and we have bought into it. Appointment to appointment. Checklist item to checklist item. Where is the time to slow down and savor each small, momentary success? Do we even enjoy this race we are so determined to win?  We live in a world where being slow is frowned upon and speeding up is a sign of your character. Go.Go.Go. These thoughts have been running through my head since last week.  I had reached out to hold my daughter's hand and take her to play in the yard

The last month we had a lot to do. The month ended with my grandfather's Arlington Cemetery burial and family reunion. I wasn't able to be there for his funeral and this was my chance to honor the hero that he was. Ellie was strapped to me as we placed a rose at the resting place of her namesake and I wish for everything that both of those amazing people had been here to meet my darling girls. They would have wondered what I was thinking and probably told me that this was too much for me. I'm pretty positive my spunky grandmother would have dropped a few "Good God's!!"  But they would have choked up when my girls slipped their hands into their life-worn, aged hands. They would have loved them well. Shirley Jean Moschell Penny would have loved sitting with my Ellie and drawing her out of her traumatized shell. She would not have minded Ellie's rough, too loud voice. She would have told her to keep talking, keep yelling until she got it right. And she woul

Fallen, hard, impossible, failure, pain, agony, rain, tears, lonely, inadequate. These words were subtly whispered. I felt their slight breeze as they sneaked into small cracks of my heart but never recognized when they made themselves at home. They were small and subtle and I thought nothing of them until all of them combined  and together found strength in my exhaustion. Together, as one whole, they stood as an intangible force intent on becoming my ruin. They worked so hard to become words with importance, with weight, words that could define my soul. They were eager to finish their work.  Before I even had time to recognize their existence they left me broken and bruised. Whispering their own names over and over again in my heart, they found solace in creating misery, every action creating a branding on my soul. Ever so slowly I noticed changes, a head that couldn’t lift itself all the way, tears that constantly begged for release, insecurities and lips that leaked poison.

Days before, weeks before, you begin to research. Because, frankly, you are an awesome, rockin', momma. Because you have these amazing kids who  deserve every ounce of who you are to help them become every ounce of who  they can be. You beautify and try to look professional. Probably changing a million shirts because they  all definitely have some sort of kid stain. And then, THEN, you remember to forget it all. Your kid is at stake. Time to gear up and  take on this IEP Like.A.Boss. You arrive to the meeting place. You inevitably find these members: The one who looks like you did before your third shower. The one you feel sorry for in the way that you are sure she has had the kind of day that you probably call normal . Still, your sympathy is with that one.  The one who is geared up and ready to fight with you and for you  and against all the others who dare to cross paths with her.

In a perfect world *People wouldn't lean over my shoulder to peer into my child's face and walk away. *I wouldn't hear that small, sharp intake of breath as the truth dawns upon them. *I wouldn't have to be afraid of other people's thoughts and comments if my daughter growls in a restaurant. *Churches without special needs programs would not exist Suffer the little children to come unto me? Which children? The ones with good families, the ones who can control their impulses? What about the children who are harder to reach? What about the children who blurt out things in the middle of quiet prayers? The middle schooler who cannot sit still? The teenager with too many piercings? The child who stims and hums and hits the wall? Suffer the little children, Church. *People would understand when it takes months, perhaps longer to figure out how to make church work after adoptions. *Six kids would seem like a blessing to everyone. *My

The hallways were stripped bare and I heard every flip of my flops and the nearly silent swish of my long, navy maxi skirt. My hair was pulled up and braided to avoid lice, my stomach trying to hold onto breakfast. The lights in the room were yellowed and cast a strange brightness to all of the chipped tiles on the walls. I stepped through the threshold and saw a small children's couch on my right side and noticed how few children were in this room. They scooted, crawled, demanded to be scooped into my arms. As my knees found the floor the very air seemed rife with knowing. The word "mama" escaped the lips of a small child. "Mama." Before recognizing the moment and closing the doors to my soul, I scooped him up into my arms and breathed him into my memory. I willed the tears not to fall. "Mama." My heart would have spilled over into a prayer if my lips had cooperated. I remembered just enough not to tell him I loved him. It would cheapen those word

In the last year I trained myself well to focus on the task before me and not worry about tomorrow. However, somehow in the middle of this self training, in the forcing of tunneled vision I lost sight of one of the most basic things. In my quest to make it through the day I left behind the inspiration, the sustaining of hope that breathes life into tired hearts. It hurt too much to hope. The fear of having a child die is overwhelming. And so, I was just surviving and for a time survival mode is absolutely necessary. I needed to just finish one more piece of paperwork. I needed to call one more government official and not be emotional. I needed the fortitude that survival skills bring. Once in China, faced with more trauma then I even allow myself to remember right now, I needed to survive. I needed to bathe my daughter, make rice cereal, walk to the store, avoid the human trafficking rings, block out the rude stares, wipe a runny nose. I needed to survive on little to no sleep. My he

A few months back a friend of mine lost her son. The ache was felt by so many. There were too many losses. He was the baby of promise. However, he was born too soon. His momma had lost so much, so many babies. I cried for her. I prayed for her in the night hours. And then I heard his name, Emanuel. "God with us." I cried even more. What faith! It rebuked and inspired me all at once. And I knew God had given us a gift, a reminder that He is indeed always and forever with us. Emanuel. Tragedy does not negate the gift. Death does not erase life. God used that tragedy to encourage my heart in ways I am still comprehending. When I was scared of our coming adoptions I would remember Emanuel and with every remembrance I was reminded "God with us." It is a present statement, always evolving and never changing. I was asked at one point if I was ready to bring the girls home and I told them the truth, no. No, I wasn't ready. I was only ready for the step I was

He is my refuge, my ever constant help, my anchor in the storm. He keeps my feet from slipping, He sets me in the high places. He saves me. And I stand in awe of what He is doing in my heart.  Two months ago I would have said I wasn't prepared for today, had I known what today would bring to me. I would have turned and run the other way. And I would have missed it. I would have missed the shouts of Hallelujah, the giggles in the middle of the night. I would have missed learning how to feel the wind in my fingers, and how the sun draws me into its warmth. I would have missed snipping bottle tops, rocking for hours, singing songs to silly tunes.  Had you told me what I would have missed I still would have wanted to run away if I had known what I know today.  But God is greater then my weakness. He set a love in my heart for these girls that is fierce and lovely, and cannot be explained.  I know what is before me and I know that the road is crazy, ridiculo