Language Land Mines

I've often felt that political correctness is politeness run amok--especially since politically correct terms seem to change on a daily basis. I don't enjoy the feeling of cautiously tip-toeing through conversations afraid to step on language land mines.

But being a recovering English geek, I am aware of what people say, how they say it, and how both effect the people to whom they're saying it. I want my speech to be edifying, not offensive (Ephesians 4:29).

And I've become even more aware of this as Mackenzie and I have shared our struggles with infertility and our pursuit of adoption. There's an element of vulnerability involved in both cases, and what people say and how they say it can have a significant impact.

With infertility, it's a matter of people wanting to ask questions and offer encouragement, but not really knowing how to do either without prying or somehow offending us. In terms of prying, we generally assure people that we're open to answer any questions and to share as many or as few details as they're comfortable with.

The encouragement piece is a little trickier. In most cases, the people offering encouragement are ones we love and who love us; consequently, they don't like seeing us hurting and want to assure us that everything will work out. This last part is true, but how everything will work out might be different than they or we think. I'm hesitant to share specific examples of the things people have said because I know they meant well, but I do want to reiterate that our hope is in Jesus and what he's done for us on the cross (namely, saving us from our sins and restoring our relationship with God the Father), not our ability to get pregnant.

What Mackenzie and I are currently working through is the language we'll use if/when we adopt. Russell Moore's book, Adopted For Life, (one that we both highly recommend) has been greatly helpful in this. He and his wife adopted two boys from Russia who were born three weeks apart, but not from the same biological parents. Moore explains in chapter two that one of the most common questions people asked him and his wife was "Are they brothers?" And each time someone asked them, he would emphatically reply, "Yes, they are."

Now to be sure, he knew what they meant. He knew it was a well intended question to learn more about the boys and their origins. But more importantly, he knew how essential it was for the boys to know that through adoption, they were in fact brothers--not to mention his sons.

That's one of the most beautiful things about adoption. People with no natural, genetic relationship are transformed into a family. And what's better is that this is a picture of our renewed relationship with God through his Son, Jesus. The Apostle Paul uses the image of adoption to explain the Gospel in several places: Ephesians 1:3-14, Galatians 4:3-7, and Romans 8:12-17.

In another chapter Moore stresses that "adopted" is a past-tense verb, not an adjective. He explains that "the term 'adopted kid' assumes an ongoing difference, something that differentiates him from a 'regular kid.'" But adoption is an act that happened in the past; it doesn't define a child anymore than being born premature makes a child the "premature kid" (to use another one of Moore's examples). Adoption is a part of their story, not their identity.

I don't share all of this with you so you'll watch what you say when you're around us, but to share with you what we've learned these past few months--how infertility and adoption are far different from what we could have ever imagined (and we're just getting started with the latter). Neither fit well into the plan we had for our family. But we've started to realize that this isn't Plan B; this is what God intended for us all along. And throughout this experience, we expect to learn things about him and ourselves that we never would have otherwise.