I can’t stop crying. For two years my adopted son has worn me out at school. I’ve spent whole days sitting with him there, gotten more phone calls than I can count, and rushed over to pick him up when it got to be too much. Trauma is hard. It’s messy, it’s tiring, and it never comes with a rule book.
Courtesy of Amber Kait Photography
There’s no guide for raising a child who’s been through abuse and neglect. No steps for loving someone who’s been broken. The only thing I know for sure is you bring grace. Piles of it. And when you run out, you go find more.
Courtesy of Amy Pollard
Before the adoption, I got one of those calls. “He’s having a rough day, can you come?” I drove 30 minutes expecting trouble. Instead, he asked if he could have a race car for Christmas and a game for his birthday. I wanted to be annoyed. But then I realized, it wasn’t about gifts. He wanted to know if he’d still be here by then. That no one was coming to take him away.
Courtesy of Amy Pollard
His story isn’t one anyone would choose. Neither is ours. But I believe God started writing it long before we met, and rescue is the thread that runs through it.
A few months back, we had the chance to switch school districts. It could mean better support for my boys, but it also meant leaving people who knew us and loved us through our hardest days. I didn’t want to go. I wasn’t ready to trust again. But a dear friend reminded me, sometimes rescue means stepping into the unknown.
So we moved.
Three weeks into the new school, the principal called. My heart dropped, another bad report? But no. He said my son had been recognized for being kind, ready to learn, and working hard. I cried right there on the phone.
This journey has been full of lows, but moments like that make it worth it. I know the principal probably thinks I’m a little crazy, but he doesn’t know what it took to get here.
Courtesy of Amber Kait Photography
We all doubt ourselves. We all hope beauty will rise from the mess. Sometimes we need rescue from a situation, a person, or our own fear. I didn’t pick this story, but I’m thankful for it. I get to watch my boys heal, grow, and fight for their futures. And this is only the beginning.
