no trade

Occasionally, I am asked this question: “Were you aware of Micah’s special needs when you adopted him?”

“No, we weren’t,” I’ll say. “It was a gradual knowing. He was delayed in his development, didn’t speak until almost four years old. We received his first diagnosis when he was three: PDD-NOS (pervasive developmental disorder-not otherwise specified). Then, at age five, his diagnosis was changed to autism.”

Long before Micah came into our lives, when we were going through the process of adopting our first child, an application lay before me on our small wooden kitchen table. I stared at this question: Would you be willing to parent a child with special needs?

It was an inquiry I could not answer immediately. I had to wrestle with it for a few minutes. 

If I have the choice, why would I choose a child with a disability? Doesn’t every parent-to-be wish for a healthy child? Is it so wrong to want this? Do I want to make my life more difficult? Didn’t we just have our own run with pain and suffering in trying to have kids on our own? Is this something we now deserve?

I reasoned that I didn’t possess enough selflessness or compassion. I knew people who were amazing caregivers, innately gifted in this way–it was their calling. But that wasn’t me. If I was in any way similar, I would have gone into nursing, social work, or perhaps some other medical profession. Certainly, God wouldn’t give a person with my wiring such a task. Surely, that would be more than I could handle.

I made my decision and firmly checked the box marked no.

Then, we finished the rest of the adoption process and waited for the phone call that would herald news of a child for us.

In 1998, we received a beautiful baby girl. Perfect in every way–except for a click in her hip which we corrected by triple-diapering her for four weeks.

Then, in early 2007, a beautiful baby boy. Perfect as well–except that he swallowed amniotic fluid as he pushed his way out into the world. He spent four days in the NICU before we took him home.

We don’t live in a perfect world. People are imperfect. I am imperfect.

And we soon discover that our children are imperfect too.

God knows how flawed we are, how broken everything is on planet earth.

And still—

He had the best plan for our family—a plan that wasn’t based on perfection.

He gave us one neurotypical daughter and one son with autism and type 1 diabetes. Each of them precious to us above all else, loved fiercely, enjoyed immensely.

Has raising a child with disabilities made my life more challenging? In many ways, yes. It hasn’t been easy; there are many parts I would be loath to relive.

Has it made my life richer, deeper, filled with purpose? Yes–more so than I ever thought it could be.

But, if I was told I had to do it all again to have our children, would I agree? Without hesitation—yes, I would.

Our journey has been incredibly different than the one I dreamed of, and yet–

I wouldn’t trade it for anything.