That's the life

A house cat prowls
from room to room
sleeping
eating
playing
pooping
looking for affection
no big plans
no outings on the horizon
just the quest for the perfect indoor spot
to curl up in the sun.

We used to say, man, that’s the life.

Maybe not.


© 2020 Amy Wolgemuth Bordoni

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Our perfect new indoor cat is definitely loving the quarantine life. Hoping to learn some things from her.

the book this fearless idealist read with a lump in her throat

I am an idealist. A positive thinker. A glass-is-half-full girl. Because of or in spite of the fact that many “worst fears” have been realized in my life—my parents divorcing, giving birth to a developmentally challenged child, experiencing serious financial difficulties—I am not afraid of much. I am pretty sure I was born this way.

I am also pretty sure I was born to be a mother. The oldest of 20 grandchildren, I took on the role naturally and gladly acted it out in family reunion skits or playing house in my grandparents’ basement. I was sure I would have at least four kids, no problem. Marrying at 34, however, has made this dream unlikely, at least as one who births all of her children. And, so, the idea of adoption grips my heart.

My husband has known even more “worst fears” in his lifetime. The child of alcoholic parents who never wanted him and ultimately abandoned him, he, too, is a fearless idealist. And a man who dreamed for years about the family he would create someday, the one that might very possibly include an adopted child.

Some people who love us worry. They know parents for whom adoption didn’t work out so well. They know we struggle financially. They know our littlest has had a host of medical issues.

But we are not naïve. We are hopeful. We believe that when God puts a call in your heart, you just can’t ignore it. We live with no regrets and we certainly aren’t going to start racking them up now.

In her new book Love You More: The Divine Surprise of Adopting My Daughter, author Jennifer Grant (a new friend I am just learning to know) understands this longing. She writes, “the idea of adopting a child lingered in me like a song you cannot get out of your head.”

Although Jen’s story, in many ways, exudes this same kind of fearless idealism, she was not naïve about the challenges of adoption. In this intimate, beautifully written book she shares tender and devastating stories, including the agonizing wait to bring Mia home, her older daughter Isobel’s painful adjustment to her mom’s divided attention and Mia’s gut-wrenching sadness over missing the birth mother she never even knew.

I love that Jen acknowledges that adoption is not for everyone and that good intentions are not a good enough reason to travel this road. But for those who feel a tug to grow their families and stretch their hearts, adoption can be an incredible gift for everyone involved.

In the year or so that we have been looking into adoption, especially when we've begun doubting its feasibility, the most amazing little prompts and signposts have shown up, in the form of new friends with adopted children, cousins on the same journey and this wonderful book of Jen's. We're slow but God isn't giving up on us. I just know I'm going to thank him for that.

the good news

Ten and a half years ago I fell in love with my husband over email. I didn't know what he looked like (aside from a couple of corny photos) and he lived thousands of miles away, but he was vulnerable and passionate, creative and funny, authentic and faithful. He knew what he wanted - a love-filled life that included a life partner, music, adventure and kids. I remember specifically that he loved the idea of adopting children.

Andrew was a third, inconvenient and unwanted child, who spent his Italian adolescence, more in less, in the home of his best friend Silvio. What Andrew remembers most about this experience is Silvio's loving and welcoming parents, who essentially adopted Andrew into their home as they had legally adopted Silvio and his sister. Here, without any blood connection, Andrew experienced love and grace. It marked his life forever.

For years we have toyed with the idea of adopting. As much as we have theoretically liked the thought, we've never had the money. It's never been the right time. The leap from theory to reality has seemed impossible. Scary at the very least. But the nagging thought never leaves us.

Nothing has changed, really. Except that God has now gone from whispering to outright shouting in our ears.

A couple months ago, I discovered I was pregnant. It was utterly shocking and terrifying and then, quite quickly, insanely exciting. We did not have maternity insurance, but who cares? Of course we'd come up with the money. Of course the timing was fine. Of course I'm not too old. Then, after 8 weeks, I wasn't pregnant anymore. Instead of being sad, we see those two months as a beautiful gift—an opportunity to know that whatever excuse we could come up with, it was irrelevant if a child could be welcomed into our home.

So, the Bordoni family is beginning our adoption journey. We have no idea how we'll pay for it. We have rooms to clean out and lives to reschedule. We hope not to be hobbling on canes when our kids finally graduate and marry. But none of these barriers really matter when our hearts have been captured. After all, that's how this incredible journey of love began ten and a half years ago. The direction seems outlandish, but God shouts in our ears "This way!" and we follow. As our pastor said on Sunday, being Easter people doesn't mean we go on vacation. It means we go to our Galilee—the sometimes uncomfortable, uncertain, messy and dangerous place where we're called to love and serve. And it means that Jesus goes ahead of us. So even though we have no idea how we're going to do it, we know there's going to be a way. And this, my friends, is the good news.