Adoptive Family Survey

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.

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This I Know

Where can I possibly begin to explain to you what this year has been? The last post on my blog was many, many months ago. I share my personal stories on my blog and somehow they resonate with people. But I entered a year where I wasn't sure what could be shared, what couldn't, who would be hurt, what legal action could come against me, or what was even true. It hasn't been just one area of life, it has been all areas of life. We moved to a new town. Kids entered new schools. We attended a new church. It was an intense year politically. (perhaps the understatement of the century) My mind and heart have been spinning, trying to find where to land. I learned first hand about discrimination. I watched as churches denied my children access to VBS because they were blind. I watched workers take the canes away from my daughters because it wasn't safe for the other kids. I lifted a limp, severely overheated daughter into my arms and removed her from a school building ...

The boy who called me mama

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...

Seeking Hope

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...

Katie R. Hurst

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