Ten Important Personal Lessons I Learned From Adopting a Child with Disabilities
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
[As we approach the 10th anniversary of our adoption this weekend, I thought I’d expand on a previous post I wrote.]
I tell people that it was against my better judgment to say “yes” to the adoption of our special needs daughter, Anah. Unlike the many kind-hearted and compassionate people who adopt for godly reasons, I adopted to alleviate my guilt and fear. You can do the right things with completely sinful motives.
(I say that to make sure you don’t give me more credit than I am due.)
But despite my shameful admission, I can also say that the past ten years with Anah have put me on the fast-track to learning some important lessons that I missed earlier on.
These lessons are key to what I do today, and I am so thankful that the Lord chose this kind and gentle way to teach me. I hope you’ll learn these too—without going about it the hard way as I did.
God is gracious.
I bought into the lie that because I entered into this adoption with self-centered motives, God was punishing me when I encountered the inevitable hardships that come with adoption. I believed that because of my small-heartedness, I deserved to not experience joy ever again.
That is not the way our God operates. If I am in Christ, He doesn’t punish us for our sins any longer. That would negate the work of the cross.
Instead, I am (still) learning that the hard times, the suffering—they are actually a gift. They keep me turning to Him, trusting Him. He protected me from myself. And for that, I am most grateful.
2. I’m a special needs child too.
My disability? Sin.
Until Anah arrived, I prided myself in being a good girl. I was completely blind to the pervasiveness of my sin.
But the good news is this: seeing the depth of my sin has also increased my appreciation for the Gospel. It is not merely a ticket to heaven but the power for a new life.
3. Love is unfair.
At least, the love Christ models for us is. His kind of love is sacrificial, so if I truly want to become like Jesus, I need to accept that I will give more than I receive.
That is the way He loved me. And a servant is not greater than her master (John 13:16). Though I have a long way to go, Anah is giving me a chance to learn this kind of love.
4. I need help.
Our adoption pressures were God’s loving tool to bring my special needs to the surface so I could recognize and begin dealing with them. Wounds. A small heart. Blindness. Grief.
Through three concentrated seasons of counseling—personally and in our marriage—God met me in the unseen places through the help of other believers. This intensive discipleship helped me to see my struggles as God’s redemptive opportunities, not things to escape or avoid.
5. I need community.
Counseling revealed my prideful independence, not only from God but others too.
I learned not to pretend I had it together when I didn’t. Seeing my limits forced me to ask for help. That is also humbling but letting others in to my areas of weakness and need and letting them serve me helped bring healing to a misshapen part of my heart.
6. Trust God for today.
One of my biggest temptations is to worry about tomorrow based on what I saw today. I tend to forecast far in advance about Anah’s future and wonder how we’ll get her through this struggle or that obstacle.
Jesus tells us not to worry about tomorrow (Matt. 6:34), and I think I’m learning why.
My human perspective is limited. His is not. He sees resources at that future time that I am completely unaware of today.
My job is to trust Him for today, knowing that what I’ll need then will show up at the right time.
7. Create restful rhythms.
For the first few years, I was on duty 24/7. I was never fully present and sleep was never restful. Not surprisingly, I developed health problems that forced me to reconsider my ways.
What I realized is that I was trying to be God—always awake, always at work. No human can live this way.
God intended rest to not just be restorative but nourishing—sleep, Sabbath, festivals, Jubilee.
We don’t have those now, but we still need rhythms of rest. Putting a good night’s sleep and a weekly Sabbath into my life has been instrumental in stabilizing my days and makes caring for Anah sustainable.
8. Serve others.
Besides Anah, I have three other children. With a reduced bandwidth, they (unfortunately) got less of me. I was exhausted and any spare energy, I hoarded for myself. It made sense.
But this selfishness also backfired. When we look inward, we actually grow smaller.
I was in danger of becoming ingrown with Anah; serving others helped me to enlarge my heart again. As I looked outward and upward to God for strength, He stretched me beyond my limits and expanded my heart to others again.
9. Welcome friends to challenge you.
At the lowest part during these past ten years, I had a few friends who truly loved and cared for me at my worst. They did not allow me to wallow in my pity party.
Sure, they sympathized, but they were also willing to ask the hard questions and challenge me. Self-pity is ugly and crippling. And honestly, there were times I liked it.
However, as I nursed my feelings of victimhood, I only became smaller. In fact it made my world cave in. I functioned as an atheist, without hope.
So though I didn’t always appreciate it then, I realize now what a gift those friends have been. Their love and care were just what I needed, even if it hurt, because like the paralytic man’s four friends (Mark 2:3-4), they helped bring me back to the truest Friend of all, Jesus.
10. Let your pain bless others.
Adopting Anah allowed me to taste the sweetness of His comfort firsthand. Because it is no longer theoretical, I am able to speak to minister others in ways I never did before (2 Cor. 1:3-4). This story has even blessed those who are in entirely different situations.
Any blessings we receive through our pain are meant to be a testimony and a gift to others. Like Paul, I sometimes still feel this adoption is a “thorn” in my flesh.
But also, like Paul, I can say this too: “Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” (2 Cor. 12:9b) I am learning how to be content in my circumstances, but I can say, “For when I am weak, then I am strong.”
God never wastes our suffering. This is what gives me hope as I look into a lot of changes coming up for us as Anah approaches her 18th birthday next year.
He has been faithful for ten years. I know He will be faithful the rest of the way. Praise be to our God!
