Dear Jubilee,

This letter was written the day after Russia closed its doors for adoption with the US due to a mother 'giving' her troubled child back to Russia when she no longer wished to care for him.

We aren’t perfect. Not even close. You aren’t coming into a perfect home with a perfect family. I wish I could promise you that there will never be discord or strife, that our house will always be happy and loving. The truth is, it won’t. Sometimes there is pain in the pleasure. Sometimes there is heartache and grief. Sometimes we are selfish and stubborn, thoughtless, rude.

Jubilee, I can’t promise that I will be the best mom in the world, but I promise to try with everything in me. I can’t promise that I will always understand you or relate with you,  but I promise you are not alone. I can't promise that your transition into our family will be painless, but I promise to never leave you or give up. I can’t give you all the happiness in the world, but I can teach you that the joy of the Lord is your strength. I can’t protect you from every hard thing that may come your way but I can to teach you to be brave.

I don’t have all the answers for you, but I can give you what I do know. I know that even when tears are stinging your eyes sometimes it helps to blast music and dance. I know that if you just wait, if you hold on a just a little bit longer than you thought you could, that it will get better. I know that sometimes nothing feels as good as a loud scream, a soul-stirring shout, the kind that rises up from your belly, a battle cry.  I know that God can take your honesty and wants your honesty, even if it doesn’t sound anything like trust and faith and honor, even if it sounds angry and bitter and full of rage. I know that God’s arms are strong around  you, even when you feel like you are free-falling. I know that sometimes you can think you are running away from God and then you run right into Him. I know that God is good, even when you feel empty. I know that He is faithful even when you feel alone. I know that God is down-to-earth and relative to you no matter what, no matter where, no matter when. I know that sometimes He speaks clearly and sometimes He doesn’t and you just have to walk forward in your life and trust. I know that life has heartache and pain and sometimes it just plain sucks. I know that sometimes its hard to handle and seems impossible. I know about being fatherless. I know about rejection. And I know that forgiveness is the sweetest tonic on earth.

I know other things too. Like what it feels like to conquer and overcome. I know about climbing a mountain and standing on the edge of it and looking out into a never ending expanse. I know what it’s like in those moments, like you have found a way to wrap your arms around the sky. I know that if you work hard and you stay positive and you ask God to help you that you can be strong and you are capable of more than you ever thought was possible. I know that life is full of moments, even ones that come out of pain, that are sweet and valuable and should be held onto. I know that its ok to screw up. Honestly, you can really wreck havoc in your life, you can make big mistakes, dig yourself into a giant pit, feel like there’s no hope. But there is. And there’s mercy. And God can re-write anybody’s future. I know that being thankful trumps being miserable. I know that simple things are the best, like flying kites, digging your toes in sand, squinting in the sun, chewing on a blade of grass. I know that sometimes we look for God so intently that we miss His in those simple things. I know that materials aren’t eternal,  but I also know that buying something pretty does wonders for a downcast heart. I know that a piece of chocolate is needed after a good meal or even after a bad one. I know that rain is worth walking in, running in, crying in, playing in. I know that if we saw life as a gift it would be more fun living.

I know you are a miracle, a child of the heart. I know you are part of me and part of my family. I know that I love you, Jubilee. I always will. And I give you what I have.