I am taught in this ill weather...
to put Him between me and the storm.
Samuel Rutherford, 1636

The Setting

Benjamin was three years old and had been asking questions about his birth, infancy and adoption. We knew these questions would come, but found ourselves unsure of how to best help him. Adoptive parents can be troubled by our children’s questions. We want to answer them honestly while also soothing their unsettledness and protecting their emotional security. We are not always sure we know how to do that.

The Storm

I woke up one night to the sounds of a storm. Wind and rain pummeled the house, shrieking and battering. It sounded bitterly cold. I was glad to be snuggled under a warm blanket in a well heated home. As I lay awake, sheltered from the wailing tumult outside, I thought about Benjamin’s questions. Are these questions the beginning of an identity crisis? What kind of anxiety will our boys’ adoptions bring them in the future? When? How will it surface? What kind of grief will they experience? How can I best shepherd and love them through these questions and anything that worries them later?

It is comforting to lie safe in a warm, dark room while a storm rages outside. The blankets feel especially cozy; so does the presence of loved ones safe under the roof together. My thoughts drift from storms to adoption and back.

My son’s security may someday be assailed by other kinds of storms, tempests of doubts and grief. Questions may batter against them. But we can bear and even welcome those storms if we experience them from a safe, strong shelter. I can listen to the questions as I listen to the wind this night, knowing they sound fearsome but do not have the power to harm. We can endure a fearsome storm if our shelter is strong.

Adoptive families in the past, encouraged by adoption professionals, tried to keep out the storms by concealing their children’s backgrounds. It was thought best to give children a blank slate on which to begin their new life. But families and counselors sometimes found that burying the past was not foolproof - some adoptees still felt battered by insecurity and grief. Denying the storms might have increased their devastation when they did strike.

Now adoption professionals encourage us to talk about our children’s past often and in as much detail as possible. There is an assumption that there will be storms, and we are encouraged to tell our children to let them come, maybe even to stand out in them. Some suggest that we ask leading questions to explore things that may be troubling our children, that we tell them in advance that they may sometimes feel confused or angry or sad. But each child, teenager, and adult is unique. Some are content with their life and feel no battering from unresolved questions. Some experience a passing shower, mild curiosity that is easily resolved. Others are slammed hard with frightening questions and doubts. If we insist that our children will suffer, when some of them really may not, might that not also increase the potential destruction of the storms in their lives?

The Refuge

What if we focus not on the storm, but on the refuge? As I lie in bed, I am thankful for my walls and roof. As we fear for our children, we can draw them with us into places protected by the walls and roof of God. He calls himself refuge, stronghold, shield, fortress, and tower - each of which suggests the same comforting shelter as a warm house during a night of storm.

“I love you, O LORD, my strength.
The LORD is my rock,
my fortress and my deliverer;
my God is my rock,
in whom I take refuge.
He is my shield and the horn of my salvation,
my stronghold”
(Psalm 18:1-2).

We can hide in God. We can enjoy his presence as he shelters us through the storms of our lives.

I want to share the security of this stronghold with my children and grandchildren:

“He who fears the LORD has a secure fortress,
and for his children it will be a refuge”
Proverbs 14:26

What a wonderful verse for adoptive parents! Right now, my faith in the Lord is the refuge for my children. They are safe in upheaval because of my relationship with God. We do not need to deny or ignore the storms, nor do we need to stand outside and expect them to harm us. These children share a home with us, their parents. We share a physical home and we share a refuge of faith. Together we listen to the storms, if they come, while together abiding in the stronghold of God. We do not need to try to conceal the storms. We can acknowledge them. But we experience the threats of wind and thunder together from a safe place.

Later, we hope, the refuge of faith that protects our children will be their own, built by years of listening to the words of Jesus and putting them into practice. We hope our children will know that God’s protection is stronger than any storm that might frighten them. Perilous tempests will prove the strength of the refuge and make it even more cherished by those safe inside.

I need not fear storms that threaten my children. I need not have all the right answers in fearful times. I just need to be with them in the fortress, to put God between them and the storm. That God is my refuge is the answer for my children.

Adapted from Carried Safely Home: The Spiritual Legacy of an Adoptive Family by Kristin Swick Wong (FaithWalk 2005)