In the Same Room

Romans 12 tells us to rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep. The Church has become so good at the first half of that verse. We are asking it to remember the second half exists too.

Drew and I went to our church’s marriage conference this weekend. We had the joy of seeing a lot of friends there and enjoying fellowship with so many people that we love and adore. We got to experience worship, fun, laughter, tears and hear from several different speakers on marriage and how to keep working at it with God at the center.

One of the breakout sessions we chose to attend was on emotional intimacy. This has been a big challenge for us in our marriage, particularly through infertility struggles, but even more so post-adoption. Thankfully we’ve made some great strides in this area thanks to the work we’ve done in a marriage curriculum called re|engage. But we figured, what can it hurt to keep pursuing additional tools? 

The speakers shared about how they met, their dating years, their wedding, and then the plethora of loss and grief they had experienced throughout the first few years of their marriage. After years of struggling, they saw God’s faithfulness and found joy again with the arrival of their oldest son, and later, with their second son.

After another season of loss and grief, they adopted their daughter. They beamed as they looked at their family photo up on the screen, sharing how she had completed and healed their family so deeply and brought endless amounts of joy to their lives. I was genuinely happy for them. And as I sat there in my chair, smiling at their photo, I found myself unable to take a full breath.

Now before you jump to conclusions and assume that I’m just jealous or bitter, please hear this: My brother was adopted. I have friends who were adopted and/or have adopted. I am no stranger to the beautiful, redemptive, and joyful adoption story. I have personally experienced it growing up. But what I have yet to experience is a church that gives a stage to the other simultaneous truths about adoption. That there is hurt, trauma, danger, fear, and shame surrounding the adoption stories of families like ours. Families who are silently navigating death threats, sexual abuse, accusations and allegations, and simply trying to keep everyone alive or out of jail. Obviously one story doesn’t cancel out the other. But there is a flip side to every coin, and it seems to me that the Church continues to selectively choose one side over the other. 

Here’s what I want the Church to know: Yes, we have walked an incredibly difficult road filled with loss and grief. No, we don’t have a beautiful and redemptive family adoption story to share. Maybe one day. BUT GOD is still faithful. We have still found joy in the midst of our journey. We still believe that God has done mighty things in us and through us. God has given us purpose in our pain (Salvo). He is still a good God who is using our story for his glory. 

And yet, the question remains: Why aren’t more stories like ours (or yours) being shared? 

It’s been heavy on my heart all weekend. And on top of a heavy week of navigating our own personal family challenges, one of the churches Salvo has been in conversation with for months ultimately decided not to move forward as a partner. It's a reminder of exactly the gap we exist to close. Even churches that want to support post-adoptive families often don't yet have a category for what that support looks like.

But most importantly, each and every one of these situations has reminded me just how important it is that Salvo exists. Even when we feel unseen or unwelcome we will keep on advocating, keep on educating, keep on raising awareness, and keep on fighting for families!

In order to do that, we need more families to write down their stories.

That's why we're asking: 

If you are a post-adoptive family living somewhere in the hard middle of this, we want your story. Not a polished one. Not a resolved one. Not the version you've learned to shrink down so it fits comfortably into small group. The real one. The one you've been carrying alone because you weren't sure anyone could hold it with you.

It doesn't have to be long, and it doesn't have to be finished. You can write two paragraphs or ten pages. You can use your name or you can stay anonymous, and we will protect that fiercely. You can tell us about the hospitalization, the placement, the police report, the marriage that's hanging on by a thread, the moment you realized love wasn't going to be enough on its own. You can tell us about the day you couldn't get off the bathroom floor. And you can tell us where you've seen God show up anyway, because so many of you have, and nobody has ever asked you about it.

Then, with your permission, we'll share it. One by one, family by family, until these stories stop being the exception nobody mentions and start being part of what the Church actually knows about adoption.

[Share your story here — link to Google Form]

And to the Church, I want to say this as gently and as clearly as I know how: we are not asking you to stop telling the beautiful stories. Tell them. Put them on the screen. Celebrate them. They are true, and they are worth celebrating.

We are asking you to stop telling only those.

There are families in your building right now who have never once heard their reality named from the front. Not in a sermon, not in a breakout session, not in a single announcement. They have learned, through years of silence, that their story is not welcome in the room. So they stop talking. Then they stop coming. And most of the time, nobody follows up, because a family that disappears is so much easier than a family that tells you the truth.

Ask us to speak. Make space on stage for a family whose story doesn't resolve. Host a RAD training event for your kid’s ministry volunteers or partner with Salvo for a respite night. And when one of us finally works up the courage to tell you what's happening in our home, please don't flinch, don't fix it, and don't explain it away. Just stay.

Romans 12 tells us to rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep. The Church has become so good at the first half of that verse. We are asking it to remember the second half exists too.

That's it. That's the whole ask. Make room for all of it.

Because we are still here. We are still showing up, still fighting, still trusting that God is faithful in a story that hasn't gotten to the redemptive part yet. We just want to be able to say so out loud, in the same room, with the same dignity.

In the fight, 

Bri