Wrangler Dani

I can be a roommate to my husband pretty easily. We’re both easy to get along with, we pick up after ourselves, we grab a beer from the fridge for each other. What’s much harder is to invest in each other, to listen carefully to hopes, dreams and fears, to reverently hold one another’s heart in our hands.

Sometimes you have to remind yourself to take the time to go the long way and hold hands, be willing to have a fight if you need to, not brush something under the rug, and trust our spouse to love us anyway. Sometimes we need to make out on the couch or go out to dinner or stay up talking way past our bedtime, because we should never forget how wildly in love we really are, or that such a beautiful thing is worth the work of staying in it. Love should be a grand adventure, not an easy coast. But the adventure is often cold and windy or chapped and hot, and sometimes it sounds nice to drown out the call of the wild with a little reality TV instead – to skip adventurous flavor and sound and opt for frozen pizza and Diet Coke and a GEICO commercial. It’s just easier.

This is true in adoption too. Adoption is a larger-than-life roller coaster of emotion and work. There is a lot of time and effort and money spent just keep us in the adventure, let alone successful in it. Sometimes, it sounds easier to get off the ride and head to the nearest park bench. Sure, we’re young and energetic with nary a heart problem to be found, and technically we could keep riding – but we’re tired. We’d like the Lazy River, thanks, and a bag of FunYuns (oh, and an antacid pill, while we’re being  boring). No adventure, no fear, just a long slow coast to nowhere.

Adventure means fear. Our marriage is the most fun and romantic when we’re working together toward a common goal, but that also sets the stage for fights and eye-rolls. This adoption expedition is worth doing but it is hard. We have self-doubts and we have outsiders telling us what’s best for our not-yet-known child. Our culture is keen on racial divides and white privilege, telling us we have no business following a call to rescue a child or invest in adoption because we’re white and therefore bad, that no matter what we do our child will never be accepted because he or she is not biologically ours.

Today, I’m emotionally exhausted. I don’t feel like I can keep fighting or stay on this roller-coaster. I am aching for a soft blanket and FunYuns, but I’ve been given a tarp and an MRE instead.

But last night, Adam and I were both tired. We could have retreated to our corners and played on our phones, or given each other the Roommate Treatment. But instead we put on collared shirts and we went to the cheap movie theater in town (one with couches!). We kissed and held hands and giggled in the back row of our $4 movie. We made the effort to talk about how we felt and what we needed, and our whole day felt rescued by that foray into adventure. It wasn’t a coast, and it wasn’t as easy as our living room or our smart-phones. It was more dangerous than quietly doing our own thing, but it was also more rewarding. I’m constantly reminded of how blessed I am to have a partner like Adam, who loves me so well and is always willing to make an effort, even when coasting seems easier. It may be easier, but it’s not better. Adventure is hard but oh-so worth it in marriage, and I’m trusting that the same is true in adoption.