In 2012, CMomA launched our Adoption Grant Gifting Program. We put the word out to partnering agencies and organizations to let them know, “WE HAVE MONEY TO GIVE” to worthy and wonderful childless women, men and couples adopting special needs and/or older orphaned children. The number of special, new families to whom we’ve awarded adoption grants is growing steadily. You can read about our past adoption grant recipients here.
Now, we are thrilled to share more GREAT NEWS, this time about CMomA’s eighth grant recipients Trevor and Abbey Callaway from Missouri, who adopted their children, Christiana and Martin Pauli from Bulgaria and brought them home in August 2015. Both children have special needs, that have proven more extensive then what they originally anticipated.
Our Gifting Program (more about CMomA Adoption Grants at the bottom of this post) has eligibility requirements that take into consideration the story of both the childless want-to-be parents and the orphaned children awaiting the time to go home with them. We are moved and inspired to share part of this extraordinary family’s story, best communicated by Trevor’s blog post:
“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.” – Romans 8:28
All things.
Every joy, heartache, and adversity we experience has a deeper purpose in our lives. In some way, they all work together for our good.
It’s an easy notion when all things means a flat tire, or a backed up sewer drain. But when all things becomes a terminal illness, or a lifelong disability, do we still believe that all of these things are working together for our good?
When adversity rises, and we say, “I didn’t sign up for this,” do we still believe that we are called according to his purpose? Yes, but only with faith and time. Time is God’s great tool for fine tuning our understanding.
We’ve learned this first hand:
When we began our adoption journey, we were asked what medical conditions we would be comfortable with taking on. Looked over the conditions, checking the boxes, and leaving out anything that we thought we couldn’t handle. We were comfortable with our submission. Included were minor correctables and ailments with which we were familiar with.
But upon arriving home, a reality set in that we were up a against a challenge much greater than what we perceived we could handle. It was something that we didn’t sign up for – literally. This challenge, we’ve discovered, turned out to be one of the greatest gifts we’ve ever received. Through it we’ve been reminded – by the indomitable spirit of a child – that it’s not our job to be capable. Our only job is to be willing to see what faith can accomplish.
The first month home as a family seemed like one long doctor’s visit. Determined to get to the bottom of where our children were medically, we sought every evaluation possible to put them on a path to succeed. But as the appointments increases, the puzzle pieces started to fall into place.
We knew that our son had issues with mobility. On our first trip to meet him, we were told that he was delayed, and that he would be walking soon. However, on the second trip we discovered that he hadn’t made any progress in walking, which was alright, we just figured he was a slow learner, and things would progress once we got him home.
As the doctors began to study our son, the speculations quickly went from developmental delays to something bigger. Uncertain of what we were up against, we knew that it might be a larger mountain to climb than what we had previously thought. Our beliefs on what we could handle were about to be challenged.
On a warm Autumn day, my phone rang. It was Abbey. Sounding disheveled, she told me that after another visit with the amazing doctors at Children’s Mercy, they believed M had Cerebral Palsy. The severity was still unclear, but what was certain was that my son had an amount of neurological trauma that was hindering his physical progress.
I began to process the information, reassuring Abbey that we would be fine, and that we would get it figured out, but in the back of my mind, I spun. Cerebral Palsy? I clearly recall looking at Abbey as we filled out paperwork, and stating that, “I couldn’t handle Cerebral Palsy.” Conversations we had a year prior to this phone call shook through my mind:
“It takes a special person to take on something like that.”
“I have no idea how we’d make it.”
“I couldn’t handle that.”
At times, reality acts as a filter. You dream, aspire, and selfishly assume that things will be just as you imagined. And then, with sledge hammer-like devastation, the filter of reality sets in, providing you with the actual view of your situation. It’s crushing, but at the same time, it’s beautiful.
Here we were, taking care of, loving, and watching our son – with CP – THRIVE. Was this our “plan?” No. But how often do our plans really call us to something extraordinary? How often do we – of our own desire – ask for a challenge that we perceive is beyond our capacity? The answer is: not very often.
Abbey and I experienced a broad spectrum of emotions. We mourned for M, we were angry, we were afraid. The anxiety felt like quicksand: the more we struggled with it, the more it choked the life out of us. The vision of what Martin’s life would look like was suddenly riddled with what-ifs. Our perceptions were being challenged.
“Normal” took on a different shape. Three to five therapy appointments a week, assistive equipment, and lots and lots of doctor’s appointments. But in all of this, fear began to give way to resolve. Our worry and despair began to galvanize into hope and faith. We finally remembered one very valuable piece of information:
“We know that for those who love God all things work together for good.”
Our situation wasn’t a mistake, no, far from it. This was a divine appointment. A gift from God, meant for our good. The flawed medical reports, the not so true predictions of M’s progress – these were not accidents, these were notes in a song that God had written for us. We were exactly where we needed to be: providing care for our son.
It wasn’t until recently that I realized how selfish my initial wishes were. I wanted challenges, but only challenges a “relatively healthy” child would present. I hid behind this term, avoiding the fact that there were thousands of children with disabilities in orphanages across the globe, who were looked over due to the concern caused by their conditions. I put God in a box, and let him know what I could handle. He has since destroyed that box, and shown us the incredible joys that lie in living beyond a “comfort zone.”
Looking at the joy in M’s face as he takes full steps in his walker, I couldn’t imagine life without him. I couldn’t imagine a life without my son’s challenge that he faces every day, like a warrior. I couldn’t imagine him not getting the medical attention that he needs.
We get front row seats to the fight of a lifetime. A boy, who wakes up everyday with a smile and a laugh to the braces strapped around his legs. A tenacious human who – when he doesn’t have his walker handy – crawls to get where he needs to be. I get to be his corner man.
I’m honored to know him, and call him my son.
All things.
Cerebral Palsy and sunrises. Joy and pain. In all of these things, there’s a deeper meaning, and it’s meant for our good, if we choose to be open to the idea that real change happens when we let go of limiting beliefs of what we “can handle.”
Have you considered adoption? Has it ever crossed your mind that this might be something you’re called to be a part of? For a moment, I want you to think of adoption in a way you might have never thought of it before. I want you think of it as a war.
Light versus dark. Hope versus despair. Growth versus decay.
At one time in my life, adoption was a dream – a fairytale. But now, after seeing my children, holding them in my arms, and mourning their time spent away from me, I realize that we are involved in a conflict. And the future hangs in the balance.
Please consider joining the battle. Whether it be sending aid to orphanages and areas affected by poverty, financially assisting families who are adopting, or pursuing adoption for your family, please join us in combating orphanhood.
Take on something that you can’t handle. That’s the only way the world changes.
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