Is adoption perfect?
That would be an emphatic, "No."
At the surface, in and out of our days, she is absolutely no different than her brothers. She makes up jokes, she dances on the dining room floor in her stocking feet to this song, she begs for another cookie, she prays "Jeeesus, my heart" at bedtime, she gobbles up her dinner, all the usual things. She's our kid. No bout a doubt it (as my daddy would say).
She clings to me. She aches for something. She says things like, "I'm sad" and, "My feelings hurt."
Is anyone's life perfect?
Now that is an emphatic, "No."
My worst memories of childhood are in my closet, crouched on the floor, hugging my nervous dog while he drooled on my toes. While we waited out the storm. The storm outside the house. The storm inside the house.
My worst memories of adolescence are in my closet, hiding from the world, hugging my loyal dog while he licked my toes. While we waited out the storm within myself. Clinging and aching, just like my daughter, just like everybody else.
Which brings me to what is perfect. Or rather who is perfect. You all know Who I am talking about.
And so we hope on. And hope on. And hope on.
And we adopt little ones, because in an imperfect world, we've got to try, don't we?
I think that is an emphatic, "Yes."