Writing, Parenting, and Working in the Mess: Authentic Spirituality and Social Justice

I decided that starting Friday, the day after I was officially chosen to be S's parent, I would tell anyone who asked me directly that I was planning to adopt a 14-year-old girl, even if the person was not someone I knew well. Most people who know me at all know I'm in the process of adopting, but I have only told a few the details of my decision about S. Although it's not a "done deal" yet, it is time for the community to get used to the idea--and in a small community like ours, S is likely to have contact with many people who live here in one way or another. And, in any case, more people may know about my adoption than I think--I have no idea how many people from my community are reading this blog (though I suspect not many, as most of the people who respond to it via e-mail are friends living in other places). This weekend, I ran into a community leader who knew I had been planning to adopt, and I told her my plans after she asked. Her first question was, ...

Yesterday, I learned I had been chosen to be S's parent. I had been conferencing with students all day, starting at 7:30, and I was in the last conference of the evening, around 5:30, when I got the call. Last night I e-mailed a big group of friends, too overwhelmed to figure out who to call. I got a couple phone calls in response, and a friend and I went out to eat. I had a beer and tried to talk about how I was feeling, which was relieved, overjoyed, scared shitless, and sad for the other family, all at once, without much success. Then I went home and prepared for another long day of conferences. Now, I wait while S. learns about me, decides what she wants to do next--talk on the phone, meet where she lives, meet where I live. Anything could go wrong, of course--we could not get along in person, she could decide she doesn't want to be adopted after all and would prefer to be moved again to another foster home (her fate sometime before April if the adoption does not work out)-...

We had come to the end of a path in the woods, to a chasm of trees below us, and in front of us, a narrow railroad bridge. I don’t remember where we were, exactly, or whose idea it was to cross that bridge, but I do know that Jen went first, putting one foot in front of the other, steadily. Kris and I were more cautious. I went next, giggling from nervousness, and Kris, behind me, said, “Don’t even think about laughing, or you’ll fall, and if you do, I’ll reach out toward you without thinking and fall right along with you.” This only made me laugh harder. “I’m serious,” Kris said, and I could hear a little trembling in her voice. When I stopped laughing and steadied myself, I realized Jen was already far ahead of us. She was humming to herself, swinging her hips. She had always been the bravest one among us. The image of her walking steadily across that bridge is seared into my memory. She is wearing one of her signature hippy skirts with black combat boots and a ratty t-shirt. Her fin...