Redemption, Ransom, and Liberation and why the caged bird
sings
We use words. A
lot. UC reported that, on average, we
speak about 13,500 words a day. In our
house words are important. Semantics are
important—when you’re married to a legal writing expert for a husband, you
learn to choose your words carefully (most of the time)!
Yet, in adoption, we throw around
so many heavy words. I’ve been examining
myself and the words I use in adoption lately.
In my self-conversations I use the word redemption a lot. I think about our second little, our first
adoption. When she succeeds at school or
gets good marks, I immediately think, here is the proof of redemption. The child that struggled is not
excelling-documented redemption.
However, that’s not really the case.
The origin of the word redemption means to “buy back.” Ok, I can see that. Yet, today, it’s defined in one of two ways:
1) the act of saving from sin 2) the act of regaining something in exchange for
payment. Well, we can’t begin to touch one.
At 3.5, when she was adopted, was she sinful? It’s certainly debatable, but I say no—at
that moment in time at 3.5—she was exactly what God created her to be, a child,
with little conscience of right and wrong.
And, this is not a reflection on original sin.
The second
definition requires the act of regaining something through payment or clearing
of a debt, from the Latin redemptio. We didn’t buy her off the shelf. Yet, did we exchange something for her?
Possibly—having an extra child costs 2x the day care, more energy, more love,
less time for oneself—but I can not acknowledge that is a payment for our
child. Do we make sacrifices as
parents—of course. However, it’s a joy
to see our children grow because of the love that goes into them. I don’t ever want our kiddos to feel like
they are a cost or a burden—they are a joy.
So…what
about a ransom? Ransomed is defined as
the release of a prisoner after a payment was made. For our second adoption, our Kuya, it often
feels like we are ransoming him. When
trying to figure out the money makes me want to put my head under my pillow and
cry I remind myself that he is worth it.
I remind myself that we are paying the ransom (in fees) for his
life. And his life is worth it. But, ransom doesn’t sit well with me
either. Ransomed, to me, also signifies
a single action. We do not cease to
parent when that ransom is paid.
I had to
examine what words float into my head after redemption and ransom that feel
right. I choose liberate. Liberate signifies the setting free from a
situation or limit of thought. I can
only imagine the restraints that a life on the streets and in institutions can
bring. I can only imagine how attainment
goals differ for humans in such restricted situations. Our goal is not to buy our son—but to
liberate him, physically and mentally.
We want all of our children to be able to dream as big as the stars
without fear. Freedom from fear of
death, physical harm, or being homeless.
Freedom to make mistakes with the knowledge that they will be
loved. Freedom from being homeless at
14. Freedom from the void of never
having parents who love you. Freedom
from isolation. That is what we want to
give to Kuya, liberation from a world where his wings are clipped with no hope
of the future. Because in love, we find
liberation. Because being in a family
can blast open those years of being caged in fear. Because, we saw, in him, a beautiful
spirit. Because, he has fought for so
long through his cages, and his eyes are still alive. Because his eyes still sparkle. Because, his soul still sings.
A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn
and he names the sky his own
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
Maya Angelou, “Caged Bird” from Shaker, Why Don't You Sing? Copyright © 1983 by Maya Angelou. Used by permission of Random House, Inc.
