As Our Own

Sometimes, I look at her and my heart crumples into a million pieces. She is beautiful. She is smart. She is silly. She is loved. And she is my sister. The joy of living with such a miracle is frequently too precious for my heart to bear.

Oh, but this heart of mine...

I remember the day my mom came home from that tea (it had to have been six or seven years ago). This tea supported a group of missionaries who traveled to orphanages across the world. Mom came home so happy, almost blissful; showing us a video of this group and the children they aided. My heart was soft towards these poor children. And I was proud of Mom for how she displayed such love for them.

Not too long after, I remember coming into the kitchen and finding Mom on the computer, scrolling through pages of faces...faces of orphans waiting to be adopted. She ooh-ed and ah-ed over their cuteness and the different personalities described in their bios. She would call us into the kitchen to look at these kids, all the while laughing and rejoicing in their gifts and crying over their difficulties. Something pricked my heart. I didn't know what it was, but something hurt about that.

That's when it all began, really. Mom prayed for these orphans. Days passed, and the word "adoption" began to fly around our home. 

"Sure, I'll take a cute, sweet baby!" I wanted so badly to feel happy.

But we didn't adopt. And certainly not a baby.

Months passed, and Mom found out about a foster-to-adopt program based down South. This program brought kids to America from Ukraine, all with the hopes of finding a "forever family." Mom was in frequent contact with the woman who ran the program; trying to learn more about how it might work for our family. 

Summer of 2010 took the Johnson household by storm. We signed up to host a fourteen year old girl, all very wary and hopeful of our next months together. 

 The kids were to arrive at a tiny, country church in the middle of nowhere, North Carolina. I sat at a plastic table eating Chick-fil-A to-go, wanting to vomit. Families around me were rejoicing, anticipation building as they waited to meet their maybe-new-child. Oh gosh, that night. My stomach was so sick. I didn't want her here. I was always the oldest. Our family was big enough already. We were happy--we all had our place. Why did she have to screw everything up? 

My thirteen year old self was bitter.

When we first met her, I thought things couldn't get worse. She didn't speak a lick of English. She smelled awful. She was grumpy and shy and extremely hungry. And I was angry. 

Jealous, really. Selfish, completely. 

On the ride back to the hotel, all I could manage to think was "Eight weeks. Just eight more."

The weeks to come would prove themselves more difficult than anything I had yet to experience. She began to love us. I didn't want anything to do with her, so...I didn't have anything to do with her. Mom and Dad would beg me to at least give her some attention and affection, but frankly, she'd stolen mine. 

Deep in my heart, I wanted to be her friend. I had moments of compassion and attempted to give her love and a friendship, but I felt shaken and angry. Her attitude of entitlement only set me off more. She didn't always appreciate what we gave her, nor did she respect Mom and Dad-- the very ones giving her this opportunity. What if she were to become part of our family forever? What if life was always this stressful, always this back-and-forth?

At the same time, I struggled so deeply with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I developed Anorexia Nervosa...trying to gain control of this new chapter of my life. I was hurting, confused, and attempting to establish my identity within a new family dynamic.

I don't know if there was ever a more bittersweet time than the day she left. I haven't seen her since. I was glad for her to be leaving my home, but terrified for her to go back to a country and place so dark and alone.

We hosted two more times. Two more teenage girls, each with their own set of challenges and lessons, but each with the same results: faith-building experience, but not right for us.

I am so proud of my beautiful parents who never hesitated to walk forth. Obviously, none of the three girls ever became a Johnson by name, but they hold a special place in our hearts. 

About two years ago, Mom and Dad gathered us on the sunroom porch. We were weary of listening to the call to adopt, but not knowing what to do. After three attempts, we were tired, frustrated, and dare I say it, maybe even doubtful. But, we walked. And we chose China.

The day we got our referral, I thought my heart would pop. I never knew I could love a face as much as I loved Lu Lin Li. She was a bubble of sunshine. But come to find out, her heart was in incredibly bad condition. Yet again, we felt disheartened. Would God really choose us for her? Could our family of seven take on this three year old baby girl needing multiple major surgeries?

It was a unanimous yes.

On December 19, 2013, Mia Lu Faith Johnson came home. Since then, we've walked through Christmas, New Years, Valentine's Day, her fourth birthday, open heart surgery, two trips to the beach, Fourth of July, first day of school, and Thanksgiving. She's had lots ice cream, played in the pool with her big brothers, decorated a Christmas tree, worshipped at church, learned the word "family," giggled at our doggy, laughed with her daddy, ran through the yard with pigtails bobbing, and made many new friends. 

She is the perfect fit.

And I am reminded afresh of God's faithfulness...when we choose to keep walking, He not only blesses our obedience, but those in our path. We weren't supposed to adopt the three girls we fostered, but were able to love them and share the Gospel with them. We made many new friends and gained lots of stories through that chapter of "yes." And when the right fit came along, we were prepared to take it.

How precious it is to belong to something. And not just "something," but HIM. Beautifully and perfectly created to live inside His family. We learn through times of difficulty-- growing to become more and more open to His plan. 

I have learned to love His children-- all His children -- with a love so deep and strong, I would never take back the difficulty in any of this process. 

He paved the road, so we walked.

"Know therefore that the LORD your God is God; he is the faithful God, keeping his covenant of love to a thousand generations of those who love him and keep his commandments."

Deuteronomy 7:9