Faith follows futility follows faith

Leaping

If you knew me “back then”, you might know that my (original) desire to adopt a child from Ethiopia felt like a calling. I was driven toward it without question; there was a force that was both within and outside of me. 
I am no longer able to tap into that feeling. 
Now, when people ask me why we adopted children from Ethiopia, I stare blankly at them, lips parted slightly—waiting for an answer to come—and then I start to cry. That usually prevents any more questions.

Faith, is believing in that which cannot be seen. Stepping forward, with eyes closed, not knowing whether there will be solid ground to catch your foot as it descends. And then, when there is no ground beneath you, faith is knowing you can falter and fail, and then learn to fly.

I had a deep bucket of faith “back then”.

A leap of faith is certainly what it felt like from the moment that we stepped into the Calgary International Airport bound for Toronto-Frankfurt-Khartoum-Addis Ababa. That first adoption was eight years ago. Adoption is behind us, and yet still in front of us.

That baby is one of my favorite people in the whole world. He is energetic and dynamic. He is fascinated and curious in a way that cannot go unnoticed. He sees what most of us miss, and it is a privilege to share our lives, as we do. But, you know, it was not always so. Blessings …and burdens.

Plummeting

One of the problems with taking a leap is that there is that moment—after you leap, and before you land—when you are suspended in mid-air, wondering if you are going to make it. For the briefest moment, your faith hangs back, and you face uncertainty, alone.

For someone like me, uncertainty is hard to bear. I like to—no, need to—know the outcomes of a “prescribed” action. But with parenting, certainty is elusive. My expectation for some rote behavior is often met with disappointment. I am initially indignant: What? I have done all of this, and you are behaving like that?! You MUST be kidding me!

According to psychologist, Gordon Neufeld, “The answer lies not in the battle against behavior but in the softening of hearts”.  (Sigh.) These days, my husband and I slide effortlessly into our invisible armour to prepare for the daily “battle against behavior”, and to repel the verbal jabs. The trouble is, the armour never protects us—or really even assists us—and it is too stiff for cuddles.

Letting go, is one of the hardest things we face. My desire to do good for the sake of my children is high. My desire to be what they need—each of them—moment-to-moment is unachievable…exhausting. My desire for them to love me and treat me well simply because I love and care for them, is way outside of my realm of control—especially with Faven. And that sucks.

The thing is, when it comes to Faven, I keep leaping, and despite hours of training, my best effort, and a long approach, I leap, and fall. It hurts. Remember the Coyote and the Roadrunner? Wile E. Coyote tried time and time again to best the Road Runner. He never did. He always got up though, whether flattened or crushed, and tried again. It was futile.

I too am repeatedly leaping. My techniques to love and connect are as varied as the Coyote’s ploys to trap and capture. Whatever I try does not result in what I ultimately want—a child who will love and be loved—and YES, a child who will be kind, most of the time. So, even though my motives are very different from the Coyote’s, I am experiencing frustration over and over again. Frustration leads to anger and resentment. It is a tough way to live. To continue to try seems futile. And it is!

At first, futility feels like giving up, and giving up feels completely justifiable. But giving up only momentarily justifies my next move (withdrawal); eventually I feel shitty, and get up and try again. It is an exhausting cycle—maybe this time it will work; maybe if I just try a bit harder; maybe I am not giving enough; maybe I don’t yet have the right skills—I should study harder, read more, and go for more counseling. The effort feeds the desire; the desire is an unrealistic impossibility, which results in self-blame, self-pity, frustration, and anger.

Futility, instead, is acknowledging that the current mode is incapable of producing the desired result; the situation is not going to change. Futility cannot be forced. But, when we truly get that the desire cannot be fulfilled, futility allows us to feel disappointment and sadness, and only then can we move on. Futility is a form of acceptance and with acceptance comes compassion and hope.

I wish that I could say that this is a one-time lesson, but it is not...faith follows futility follows faith follows futility, and sometimes creates hope.