There is no right answer on this side of Heaven in regards to transracial adoption. THERE IS NOT.
I love this little boy. When parental rights were terminated, there were options dictating his future which, (due to his age), he was unable to choose for himself. We chose for him. It was done prayerfully and thoughtfully, but who can ever know if you decided correctly for a 2 year old what was best for the rest of his yet unfulfilled life?
I do not pretend to think that this will be easy. My anxiety over his growing identity is literally a daily concern and prayer for me. I will never understand what it means to be a racial minority, or what it means to be a member of the same race as my son. I’ve read the books; adopting transracially poses a litany of hurdles to maneuver over (and sometimes crash through). I understand that I will inadvertently say things that are considered off taste. I understand that we have birthed a family that will remain in the spotlight because of the scorchingly touchy subject matter of transracial adoption. I understand that, despite ALL of this, there will be those who disapprove. Those who judge me without knowing me. (Perhaps a tiny taste of what my son will encounter at some point in his life?) I give grace to you when you voice your disapproval to me crudely and harshly. But I will continue to fall back into truth which is this:
We are, all of us, broken. We live among brokenness. We are called to do the best we can with what we are given and make choices that give life and grace.
I chose to give my child the best life I felt was offered to him.
I choose to give grace to those who don’t understand.
I will fight for the well being and secure adjustment of my son despite the brokenness.