A beautiful day for a run.....

If you’ve glanced over some of my other blog posts, you’re fully aware I’m not what one would call…”athletically inclined.” Despite this factor, I dipped my toe in ballet (kindergarten) and recreational sports all the way through grade and middle school. You could see me picking daisies in right field, kicking the soccer ball and bloodying the nose of a fellow teammate or eating the spoils of our sweet win (not due to my abilities) at the concession stand after our weekly softball games. 

So it may have come as a surprise to some when I made the decision to start running in 2011. To heave this body in a state of flight was going to be a feat of epic proportions. Yet…It was something I had always wanted to do. I would look out the window sometimes and say..gosh, what a beautiful day for a run. One day, I was tired of just saying it. I wanted to do it. 

I started my running journey with the couch to 5K app. When I began, I quite literally felt like I was going to die. My lungs were burning, my body ached….and this was after 30 seconds before falling back into a 2 minute walk. I felt that there was no way I was ever going to be able to do this. Yet the app didn’t have us jump immediately into running the 5 K. It was gradual. Each day I’d run just a little bit longer. Each day was building upon the other- increasing strength, Increasing endurance. Each day I was getting a little bit further a long. I started signing up for 5K’s…then 10K’s….then a half marathon. I was utterly hooked. I was running the race. 

I remember one night in particular, it was really late. I was running the alley’s of Taiwan; training for my half marathon. I loved running at night because the humidity wasn’t as stifling. I was trying for a 10 mile loop, but I was queasy, dizzy- a hot mess. I started staggering around…unsure if I could make it home. I had not prepared well for this run. I did not stretch or hydrate well and it was clear that this was showing in my sloppy display around the city. 

Cool Aly. Thanks. So……….is this really about running or is this just a clever parallel to running the race of life? Oh friends. You’re so smart. 

**Bear with me as I begin the running/marathon analogy. Feel free to tap out as needed.**

This month is National Adoption Month. Every part of my cliche running journey relates to that of our adoption journey. Adoption is achingly painful. Every. Single. Piece. Of. It. Painful to the bone.  For every person involved.  I love what my friend Jackie has written- “Adoption is Beautiful and holy but the need for it comes from brokenness, and love and family don’t fix all things. God is good and He is mighty but adoption is hard and being an orphan is not meant to be.” Hard words to swallow- but they resonate so, so deeply. 

If you know an adoptive family, you may have seen the hashtag we could have missed this next to their precious photos. I’ve caught myself a few times typing these words then erasing them…because I felt like a fraud. Because the moments in my pictures are a fragment of what we go through on a daily basis and they are not our norm. Because many times when my body is weary and I have not trained well for the day a piece of me wants to miss that moment. The moment of being screamed at, of having something thrown at me, of a house destroyed or a full on meltdown of epic proportions. Guilt and shame at some of my regrettable reactions to feeling out of control in my circumstances. But just as my first day of running was not a 10 mile run, my journey with these boys is not going to magically be one of smooth sailing. Please. This is motherhood. This race is gradual. One cannot fully enjoy the end of the race without the daily training and rough spots it takes to power through to the end. If we were to only get the sweet spots, there would be no growth, no increase of strength or endurance. You would not be well prepared for the next race at hand.

Alex came home at 1 1/2. He was fifteen pounds of precious. He did not sleep….for about 4 years. Guys? No-one is built for that. There were days I was full on hysterical. Delirious. We were living in a foreign country and I was depleted. I had a unit of 4 women that were my sanity. My girlfriend Candace would walk with me. Every. Day. We would walk the streets of Hiroshima, get a coffee, put Alex in the stroller and just get outside. It was his happy place- and Candace knew what I needed. She supported and loved on us in a way I can never ever thank her for. She would listen. These girlfriends were my people; holding signs during this season of my life race saying, you got this. WE got you. You are not alone. 

At the end of my first half marathon, I felt exhilarated, nauseous, in excruciating pain. I bawled. I had trained so long, and I had finished the race. Later that day, I swore I would never do it again…..

Bowman came home at 6. I think I am still in a state of shell shock quite frankly. After all, this is a race I said I would not run again. The adjustment we are still going through, mirrors that of the other two boys. Similarly, I surrounded myself with trainers and exhorters. Now back in the U.S., I had a small, trusted network of friends who were holding signs and giving me water throughout yet another race. Jenni, who would call and hear in my voice that one or two of the boys needed to be picked up ASAP. Friends who would drop coffee on the doorstep instead of asking how I was doing…...Listen to me when I say…you do not need to be the one running the race. Hold the sign. Pass the water, be the listener. Be the village. Love on those kids, because sometimes mom and dad have nothing left in the tank to give. 

We are not in control. At the end of the day our kids may leave and never look back…that’s just not what it’s about. This race is one of brokenness, hope, redemption and redeeming love. Our race in life should be one of discomfort and growth- one of strength and endurance. 

While the road is rocky and the days are hard…..it’s all worth it. Every moment. While we are running our race, we are teaching our boys to run theirs as well. Teaching them to start slow, not to sprint, find their pace, hydrate, ask for support, let us in and hold their arms and run with them. 

I’m so glad that I’m not still staring out the window on a beautiful day simply saying- wow, what a beautiful day for a run. Think of what I could be missing right now. 

#wecouldhavemissedthis

Just a glimpse....

I close my eyes briefly and lean into Will. I think back to when the boys were…..well….boys. The days that I would be curled up in the fetal position crying my eyes out in the back of the bathroom praying they wouldn’t find. me. THEY ALWAYS FOUND ME. 

The days that felt endless. The days that I felt less than. The days I cried out to the heavens and God to just help me through the next minute. 

Fifteen years ago. 

And now. 

Now I lean into my husband and take in the scene playing out before me. 

The crowd is immense. Everyone is holding their breath as the young man completes his parallel bar routine. Flawless. 

Only when he stuck his landing did he open his eyes and look up in our direction. His magnetic smile is electric and the tears start pouring down my face. The four of us stand and roar in amazement. He did it. HE DID IT. 

Alex didn’t find his voice until Jia-Ming entered our home. Let's be honest. For the first five years upon Jia-MIng coming home, I didn’t think we would make it. You may not want to know this, but in adoption? It’s not always an instantaneous love match. It takes SO much time. SO much patience. So much of all the things you don’t think you have in you..but that surface because of faith, family, and your village. 

In fact, it took both Jia-Ming AND Alex both, five years from entering their new family to finally feel like they could breathe. That they could lean in and know that despite their behaviors and verbalizations…that they were not going anywhere. They were a Cooper for life. 

But Alex. That boy stole my heart from day one. I think it was his size. His vulnerability and the need to be held and loved on. Maybe it was the three of us that held him back. That babied him too much. He never really had to “stand up” for himself. Wyatt and Alex were always thick as thieves. Wyatt bending over backwards and carrying him and just doting on him endlessly. Alex was just easy to love. 

Enter Jia- Ming. 

While Alex did not lose his birth order placement…still the baby; he did all of a sudden gain a brother 9 months older. A very VERY verbal brother. He suddenly discovered that if he wanted to be heard at all, he would have to speak up. He would not only have to speak up, he would have to stand up for himself as well. 

Will and I watched this transition take place gradually over many years. It was beautiful to behold….like a flower bud that you know will be stunning in full bloom, but you’re just never sure if you will see it in all of its glory. 

I think back over the past decade and a half…of the verbal and physical fights between those two. Of their differences…their commonalities…their desire to discover who they are, where they come from. SO many questions. Jia-Ming, the big powerhouse, but Alex finding the ability to step out of that broad shadow and create his own identity and following his heart and passion. Watching his skill today and all that his hard work and the fruit of his labor had born, I could not be more proud…and I knew that his brother had propelled him there.

Will seems to read my mind and weaves his strong fingers through mine. He squeezes and looks over at Wyatt. I follow his gaze and smile to myself. Our Wyatt. The child whom I swore I would never have, then once he arrived I promised would be an only child. A mother brags on their child for sure….but Wyatt. He’s a special one.  He has a heart that is bent towards helping and serving others. I was so worried when we were in the adoption process with Alex. The stress of the process, then the stress of Alex’s arrival. The sleepless nights, my irritability….so many regrets and things I look back on wishing I could change. Wyatt was always willing to help me out, but I never noticed just how much he had emotionally grown until Jia-Ming came home. Jia-Ming tried desperately to alienate everyone in the family, while simultaneously trying to squeeze drops of love out of us like blood from a stone. I could not have made it through those five years without Wyatt. He rarely ever complained. He jumped in to watch the boys, to let me go for a run, to just catch my breath. Wyatt learned to read my mood and knew when he needed to step it up. He learned to read Jia-Ming’s face and hug him tight, even when Jia-Ming pretended he didn’t care. I watched Wyatt painfully learn how to not favor one brother over another, and to empathize with his brothers' emotions. Particularly Jia-Ming, who came home at the age of six and was in a very pained emotional state. Wyatt, just entering adolescence and trying to cope and handle all the emotions and feelings that come from beginning puberty, was also learning and coping and empathizing with a six year old who did not know how to handle his. Wyatt would in these scenarios,  without question, grab Alex, leave the house or room without needing to be asked. He was just a constant presence that I could not have lived without. 

And here he was. A twenty eight year old married man, in the midst of the adoption process himself. A man with a heart for children who are hurting and in need of a father. A man of integrity, strength, and humor. A man who would not have turned out the way he did without his unique life experiences. I wish that I hadn’t wasted so much precious time worrying and fretting. God was holding him in the palm of his hand the entire time…and the result was breathtaking. 

As if he could read my thoughts he turned to me, half grinning half rolling his eyes. Typical. 

We all looked at the judges scores…each of us sucking in our breath.

“C’MON"……I heard Jia-Ming talking aloud as he was waiting on the results. He had finally cut his long hair. It hung thick and wavy in front of his eye. I begged off the urge to push it out of his site line; instead lightly brushing his scarred cheek with my fingers. That damn scar was still there from when he decided clinging to the cement post was a great idea.  I refrain from going back to that place. It’s hard not to. Because this young man. This young man with his new heart….

*sigh* I would have never thought over a decade ago that MY heart could hold so much love for him. It had been such a long journey to get to this point. A journey that had broken me into a million pieces.  Over the years these pieces were put back together, to form something different, something lovely. He brought me to my knees in prayer. He forced me to seek and cry out to my village for help. To be less selfish. To be more humble. To be more forgiving. To be more Christ-like. 

With closed eyes, I let myself go back there…to that place. To those days of grieving and mourning what I believed was lost in that moment. 

Grieving and mourning you ask? Absolutely.

To grieve is to feel sorrow, to distress mentally…. And I did. I grieved over having emotionally and behaviorally, nontypical children. I grieved over not having a day that was filled with therapy or Dr. appointments of some type, whether it was speech or attachment therapy, cardiologist, endocronologist or neurologist appointments… I grieved for the days that were once not filled with screaming, thrown objects and punches and smacks across my face. Grieving and mourning all the days lost with my family unit as half of us had to leave the vicinity so as not to become a casualty in a fit of rage. 

I remember my village at that time telling me that it was OK to grieve and mourn these losses. This path we chose was the road less traveled, and it was a rocky one. Did I get stuck in this place of grief? No. But I allowed myself to feel and work through it. 

I open my eyes. And here we are. I glance over and see JIa-Ming looking at me. He sees me in a way the two others do not. While Wyatt and I have similar temperaments, he is not as observant as our Jia-Ming. Jia-Ming "gets it" and sees people on an entire different level. A young boy who knew to much to soon. Feeling him reading my thoughts I reach out. He grasps my hand in a way that tells me I am loved by him. A feeling I was never sure would be reciprocated. 

My breath catches. Again.

We all stare down at the competitors. Alex. HIs numbers are in. We are all on our feet. He has done it. 

I think back to when my boys were 6, 7 and 13….If our choices had been different. If we decided to stop at a family of four. It would have been the equivalent of clipping the wings of my sons for an easier "right now." This present moment that I was experiencing would never be happening. These men would never have become these men because they would not have been able to sharpen one another to be who they were meant to be. 

** As I am working through the grieving process now, this story gives me hope. Hope for the future, for the men my boys are becoming **

Five Years Strong.

"Fear you don’t own me

There ain’t no room in this story

And I ain’t got time for you

Telling me what I’m not

Like you know me well guess what?

I know who I am

I know I’m strong

And I am free

Got my own identity

So fear, you will never be welcome here"

It’s been a tough season. Tears streamed down my face as this song came on the other day while running countless errands in the car. I began thinking of this current season I am in and how paralyzing fear and unknowns can potentially be. 

Thinking of past seasons and what could have been if we had let fear instead of trusting God take root, I turned around and looked at our Alex. Alex, who is so very quiet, but feels so, SO deeply, watched me, with tears streaming down my face as the words to this song played around us.  My sweet boy, feeling my heart so deeply, also began crying. With silent tears streaming down his face, I pulled over the car, unbuckled my boy, and held him on the side of the road until we both nestled into one another and settled down. 

If we had let fear rule our hearts, I would have never known the depth of a love this deep. 

This boy, our son, whose referral we waited, prayed and waited some more for. This boy who was presented to us with so many unknowns; premature, birth complications, speech and fine motor delays. The paperwork, the waiting, the big business of it all. 

Our boy who arrived and overcame. Ceaseless head-banging, sleepless nights filled with night terrors and uncontrollable emotional outbursts. Delays, and scary diagnoses and evaluations that spoke of autism and cerebral palsy. Neurological evaluations, Growth Hormone tests, speech therapy and occupational therapies….What if fear and the unknowns ruled our hearts?

In the thick of the season of when Alex came home, I could never have imagined half a decade later that we all would have grown so much…he has come so SO far. WE have come so far.

A few days ago Alex and I were in the car yet again and a familiar song came on the radio….

 

"Fear you don’t own me

There ain’t no room in this story

And I ain’t got time for you

Telling me what I’m not

Like you know me well guess what?

I know who I am

I know I’m strong

And I am free

Got my own identity

So fear, you will never be welcome here"

Had you been anywhere near our car you could have heard the two of us belting out these lyrics together. Fear IS NOT and WILL NOT be part of our story. Fear is not welcome here. We may be scared about all of our unknowns but we can remain confident that what we cannot see God can- and he’s got this.