Grace In, Grace Out, and Adopted Teens

All kinds of imprints exist in life. We all have them. In some ways, we collect them and they shape us. Take the everyday imprint: you wake up from a nap and scramble to get the kids at the bus stop or from school on time, only to have your friend walk up to the car window to say hi, and instead, she says, “Hey what’s that mark on your face?” You look in the rearview mirror and sure enough, a line the length of the San Andreas Fault is imprinted like a tattoo on your left cheek. The pillow has left a mark. It’s there. You didn’t know it. Thank goodness it’s fading quickly.

My kids have a different kind of imprint: not on their faces, but on their hearts. When they became teens, this imprint surfaced almost overnight. One by one, they woke up feeling something they couldn’t put rational words to. You see, my kids were all born in remote Siberia, Russia, and at birth, they were separated from their birth mothers. They met their baby and toddler milestones under the watchful, smiling eyes of caregivers, but not all their needs were met. Each came home to us with a separation wound that isn’t visible to the eye. It didn’t surface when they were wiggly little toddlers munching corn on the cob on the back deck or dancing to Veggie Tales at night before bed. Back then, it seemed like they were the lucky ones, unscathed by what had happened to them. I was a new mom with a hopeful heart who had fallen in love with my children just as God, who adopted us into his family, had predicted. But I was naïve to think an imprint hadn’t formed.

Hurting Teens Need Grace

Then they became teens, competitive athletes, good students, kids’ ministry volunteers, chefs in the kitchen, Friday night movie-goers, good friends to their friends, and so much more. On the one hand, they did what all kids do: roll their eyes, shrug off their responsibilities around the house, and sneak stuff like raccoons. But unlike non-adopted kids, a wound began to show in each of them, as if a switch had been flipped. It sounds implausible, but it’s true. The wound revealed itself in different ways for all three. For my girl who grieves, it’s “I share the same DNA with my birth father, and I’ll never meet him.” For my middle son, who is angry, it’s “I hate you! You’re not my mom!” My oldest, who struggles with anxiety, acts as though he doesn’t want to be seen (but he really does).

I’m not a parenting expert, so I had to dig for understanding. I clung to many resources, including the advice in Grace Based Parenting by Dr. Tim Kimmel. I signed up for Kirk Martin’s Celebrate Calm free emails that show up twice a week in my inbox, offering insight and scripts for everyday parenting, and later in life than I wished, I found The Primal Wound by Nancy Verrier, who clarifies the wounds my kids carry and how to better understand them, giving grace where they specifically need it. There are so many more resources I could list.

Like all parents, my husband and I bobbed and weaved our way through the teen years, creating healthy boundaries and clear expectations for our kids all while trying to navigate their wounded hearts. Still, keeping track of their hearts when faced with the typical shenanigans and emotional ups and down was a challenge. I don’t know about your kids, but at times, mine can wear me down like a threadbare cardigan, leaving me cold and lacking comfort. One moment you’re licking Superman ice cream together at Trailside Treats, and the next their words can be so cutting, making it tough to love them well. This is when I find it particularly hard to speak into their hearts. That’s when I need to reach for grace.

I think of the Israelites scrambling toward the Red Sea and reaching for a new life. Who will step into their fear? Who will guide this motley crew of clueless, on-the-run slaves who have been separated from their God for centuries? God provides an earthly spiritual father and guide in Moses. Moses himself doesn’t trust his own voice to speak the truth with grace into their frightened hearts. But he does it with God’s help, reminding these wounded hearts who they are and of God’s plans for them.

Grace In, Grace Out

Giving grace is not my wheelhouse, especially when things don’t go my way. But curiously, parenting our three teens has grown my ability to give grace. It’s a modern-day miracle to think of how God appointed Mike and me to speak truth and grace into our kids’ wounded hearts. Giving grace in the form of hugs that feel undeserved. Giving grace in the form of lying on the bed next to her, quietly being present while her tears flow. Giving grace in the form of encouragement to keep trying to make one good friend. Grace that sees beyond the loud and hurt behavior to the heart. Grace to forgive when it’s the last thing I feel like doing. Grace to seek help in the form of counselors for them and for me.

Lately, I’ve had trouble trusting my words and the timing of those words. It seems like everything I say is wrong. How many times have I heard, “Mom! You don’t understand.” My presence isn’t always visibly welcomed. I’m often pushed away. Sometimes I do toss up my hands and walk away, and I fail because I’m frail at loving others well when they don’t love me well. But underneath the stink-eye and harsh words aimed at me is my girl or my boy; their hearts of gold, their gifts, their successes, their futures full of God’s plans for them, and I know they’re still in there. There is no room for giving up. If Jesus can love me well, I need to love them well, especially in this window between child and adult. I’d rather extend grace when it is undeserved than miss out on who God created them to be.

Giving grace is tough at times. That’s why we have the power of the Holy Spirit to help us in our time of need. And the more we respond to our teens with grace, who do they see? Not just us, but Jesus.

My hope and prayer? That grace creates the environment needed to do the work of healing. That over time, this imprint, this wound my kids are burdened with will fade, and the hurt will be replaced by understanding, acceptance, and peace.

May your child who carries the wound of separation find refuge with you. May you be a conduit of God’s grace to help her feel safe, secure, accepted, and understood.

Susan TeBos is the author of We’ve Been There: True Stories, Amazing Insights, and Aha Moments for Adopted Teens. She interviewed teen and young adult adoptees who were ready to share how they navigated the teen years, including the ups and downs. Susan is an adoptive mom of three. She and her family live in Grand Rapids, Michigan. She enjoys international travel, leading Bible studies at her church, and various versions of dark chocolate. Find Susan online at susantebos.com and www.facebook.com/SusanTeBos.Author.