.Thoughts on her.

It's quiet outside.  

The sun set a long time ago,
Gabe is asleep upstairs,
the neighborhood kids are all inside for the night
and I am sitting on our comfy little seat on the porch as I wait for the overwhelming thoughts to pass.  

Even though I have one darling boy sleeping upstairs and two others waiting for me half a world away, 

sometimes it's impossible for my thoughts not to go to her.  

Especially when it's quiet.  

Especially at night.

As her first birthday approaches, I think of her more frequently.

Instead of just every morning, her sweet face graces my thoughts through out the day.

How big is she?

Is she walking?

Does she sleep well? 

What does her laugh sound like?

Surely she's much bigger than the 7lbs I can still feel in my arms when I think of her.

Is she safe?

Is her tummy full? 

Is she loved well?

Those are the thoughts that are even harder to think about...  

The little boy sleeping upstairs hasn't asked about her in months yet he always stills when he hears her name on one of the shows he watches.  Thankfully his heart has recovered from her loss and now just patiently waits for his brothers to come home.  

Hearts are resilient like that; healing is hard but with time, faith and grace it happens.  

Time for your heart to heal, for the pain to ebb and life to slowly move forward.

Faith to remember you're not in this alone and when you feel like your stumbling the blindest is when God is shining the brightest. 

And grace, well that's the funny one.  

Grace from your family and friends to grieve a loss they don't really understand.

Grace for yourself to wallow when needed, to fake it until you make it and to live fully even if something is missing. 

Grace from our Father to fully heal, to fully redeem the loss and to be our constant reminder that love wins.  

Love always wins. 

Love wins.  Redemption comes.

It sometimes just looks differently than expected.

For us; it's in the extraordinary privilege to be the parents of three amazing little boys and have part of our heart always with the little girl God asked us to love.  

To love deeply and fully no matter the outcome.

For reasons I'll never fully understand we were asked to love our sweet girl; to love her and not keep her.  It's a precarious position to be in; to be called to love and let go; to love and not know the outcome. But to have our little girl would mean we wouldn't have Thomas and Samsel and that is unfathomable.

So tomorrow like everyday since we drove away from Atlanta last July 15,
we will think of our girl.
We will think of her with love...
with joy mixed with sorrow...
with wonder...

Birthdays are days to celebrate the beauty of life and tomorrow we celebrate her.
Her life, her future and the beautiful blessing that she was for us. 

"Children are a blessing from the Lord" Psalm 127:3

No matter how long you hold them,
no matter where the Lord takes them,
no matter how hard it is to let them go...
She is a blessing from the Lord.
To us. To her family.  To the world. 

.It's here.

I had been waiting for it, 

longingly thinking about it 

and it finally came.  

2014 is here!  

I'm generally not someone who looks forward to rushing through time.  

Life is precious, Gabe is growing quickly and I want to enjoy every moment of it but 2013, well it was rough.

 It was hard.  

It was ugly.  

Sure there was much beauty seeped into the pain but I was ready...

Ready for last year to be the past...

Ready to leave the many losses we and our friends encountered behind us...

The pain, the lessons, the growth, the love... we'll carry that we with us.

But it was a much needed flip of the calendar this December 31st.

We are moving forward into 2014 with high hopes, full hearts and a spirit of anticipation.

"Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.  See, I am doing a new thing!  Now it springs up; don't you not perceive it?  I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland."  Isaiah 43:18-19

Praying that streams, no rivers of God's goodness pour into the wasteland that last year left behind.  That you my friends who languished in the trials of last year will be overcome with a wellspring of good news.  You are loved.  By us.  By Him.  And we are ready for a year of rejoicing.  

This spoons for you (y'all know who you are!): 

source

.Hope Doesn't Float.

I remember the first time I saw the movie Hope Floats.  My dad had taken me and a friend to the neighborhood video store to rent movies and that was our choice for the evening.  I loved Sandra Bullock almost as much as Raj Koothrappali does and I was not going to miss a Sandy B movie.  

Every time it plays on television a little nostalgia always sneaks in.  

A few days ago I was channel surfing and glimpsed Birdie and Bernadette arguing on the steps and flipped back to watch.  But wasn't the nostalgia creeping in that slowed me down this time, it was the title of the movie.  Hope Floats hasn't changed in the 14 or so years since I first saws it, but for me, hope, well it isn't something that floats.  

When I think of floating I think of bubbles or balloons and the fact that after they float for a short time they pop.  Or sink.  You can't float forever. 

But hope.

Hope anchors.  

It secures. 

It's no secret that this past year has been hard.  If I'm being completely honest, it's probably been the hardest 12 months of my life.  I thought it was going to be amazing; we were moving back home from Texas and we were still anxiously waiting to see our little ones face.  Instead we've ridden an adoption journey we never imagined. 

A year ago yesterday Gabe and I were in Target, the cereal aisle looking for a bargain when my phone rang.  Our case worker called to say she received our paperwork but also wanted to talk about a waiting child.  Our little "A."  I hung up with her, frantically called Matt to come home and then we saw the face of our son.  A few days later that all fell apart.  We grieved.  I cried more tears than I'd ever cried.  Life, the rapidly approaching holiday season, everything felt a little empty. 

And then we moved back home.  

Home without a son waiting for us on the other side of the world.  

Home to friends and acquaintances who didn't know we lost the referral and would ask when our little boy would be coming home.  

My heart was in pieces.  

I thought home would be healing.  

It was but it wasn't.  

It's hard to grieve properly when life doesn't seem to ever slow down. 

But we did.  

Our hearts started to heal.

Life started to go on. 

As the healing was going on the hope was anchoring us down.  It wasn't floating, it wasn't even filling me up but it was anchoring me.  Anchoring me to truth.  To the truth.

"We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.  It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain where our forerunner, Jesus has entered on our behalf.  he has become a high priest forever. 

 Hebrews 6:19-20 (NIV)

I can't count the number of times I've repeated the first part "We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure."

Saying that, repeating what has become my mantra this year kept me grounded. 

Life continued to buzz by and God brought another surprise into our life; a sweet baby girl that we didn't even know we desperately wanted until we found about her.  We loved her from the start and that love stretched over 3 months while she grew in her mama's womb and 1 week while we waited in Atlanta believing surely we were adding a beloved daughter to our family.  

While she is beloved, she is not our daughter.

Part of our hearts will always be with her but she was not ours to keep. 

No words can describe having to give your baby back.  

The pain of watching our daughter disappear down the road is paralyzing. 

For me, it was like she died but rather than going to heaven with her Father she went to some place unknown.  And we'll always wonder about her and that unknown.

We grieved hard.  The grief is still here.  

We lost not only a daughter but the future we had planned for us;

family get together's, holidays and traditions all look different this year.

They are missing something.

How would we keep going, keep smiling, keep celebrating?

We do it because we have too.  You can't stop to grieve forever.

But we move on, we move forward because of our hope.

Shortly after coming home in July a fellow adoptive mom knowing how much I was clinging to Hebrews 6:19 sent me the Weymouth New Testament translation:
"The hope we have as an anchor of the soul; an anchor that can neither break nor drag"

Neither break nor drag. 

Read that again.  Say it aloud.

This hope, the hope that anchors my soul, can not break nor drag.

These have been the worst 12 months of my life.

Matt and I have endured quite a few losses in our almost 10 years together but this year broke me in ways I didn't imagine.

But it was hope (and a lot of chocolate, lets be honest) that got me through. 

Hope that the God that sent a wind and made the flood waters recede for Noah...

the God that fed the hungry, healed the sick and triumphed for the ...

the God that gave Hannah her son Samuel and Sarah her son Isaac will not forget us. 

The God that looks after the sparrows and the flowers, will continue to take care of us. 

He will not fail us.

Hope. 

It doesn't float. 

It anchors. 

It secures.

It's everlasting. 

"the Lord delights in those who fear him, who put their hope in his unfailing love"

Psalm 147:11

Encouragement.

"Therefore do not lose heart but take these truths and day by day focus on them.  preach them to yourself every morning.  Get alone with God and preach his word into your mind until your heart sings with confidence that you are new and cared for." 

- John Piper

In the past couple of weeks, four friends have posted this video. The first time I listened to the song but then became distracted and never listened to what John Piper had to share. 

This last time I watched the whole video and listened to John Piper.

If you are going through something hard, 

listen to John Piper. 

My heart hurts when I think of all of my friends that are going through the hard stuff right now. 

 Gut wrenching, heart stretching, faith testing stuff.

Let yourself be encouraged by him.  

Listen to John Piper and know your pain, your trials are not in vain. 

 

Though tonight I'm crying out

let this cup pass from me now

You're still all that I need

You're enough for me.

In the days that followed the loss of our girl a number of friends told me to listen to a certain song.  

I'd heard it on the radio numerous times but didn't pay much attention to the lyrics.  

After the third or fourth person directed me to it, I pulled it up on youTube and listened to it.  

And cried.  

Boy did I cry.  

Then I had to stop listening to it.  

I have stopped listening to music most of the time anyways right now. 

For me music evokes strong emotions and since I primarily listen to music while I'm driving and crying and driving don't go well together, the radio is off a lot in the car these days. 

So I haven't listened to Worn by Tenth Avenue North for a few weeks now.
Not crying while I'm driving is definitely a good thing.
But I have been feeling so worn.
Last night a friend who knows about my aversion to music sent me the lyrics to Worn.

Instead of using a Veggietales song to speak to me,
He used Worn.

I've learned that the lyrics, rather heard on the radio or read in an email evoke the same emotion.
Tears.
Of course.  Tears. [Smile].
The past few days have been harder than I imagined.
I thought we were over the insanely hard days.
I was wrong.
And I am tired.

"Let me see redemption win
Let me know the struggle ends.
That you can mend a heart that's frail and torn."

We're nearing two years of waiting for a referral.
It's been almost 3 years since we began the process to adopt again.
While we're still waiting and it feels like the "wait" is never going to end...
it will.
The past few weeks  friends have received referrals while other friends have received travel dates to go pick up their little ones and bring them HOME.
Redemption does win.
Sometimes it just takes longer than we'd hope.

We may be worn but we are mending.

Bigger than Godzilla

"I know whatever's going to happen that God can handle it"

Gabe loves Veggietales.  

Especially Junior Asparagus.

God is Bigger than the Boogeyman is his favorite song.

Matt and I have to sing it every night when we tuck him into bed.

Every. Single. Night.

And sometimes God uses a children's song to speak directly to my heart.

I don't believe in the boogeyman.

But my pain.

My anger.

My confusion.

God can handle it. 

One day Gabe won't be so camera shy and I'll have to share our sweet boy singing about God being bigger than Godzilla.

Waiting and Healing

23 months ago if you would've told me that in August 2013 you will still be waiting to adopt from Ethiopia I would have laughed at them.  At the time we submitted our dossier wait times were 12-18 months.  Just a few months ago our agency sent out an update preparing families to a wait of three years (or more!).  

There is so much within me that longs for the timeline provided by a pregnancy.  The certainty that after 9 months, you go to the hospital, give birth and then bring home a baby.  The certainty that that sweet little baby is yours; the adoption won't fall through, birth parents won't change their mind, no court has to approve documents... you get my drift. 

Nevertheless, that is not the certainty God has called us, too.  

There are only two things in the adoption path that we are certain about.  The first is that nothing in adoption is certain; loss and pain, unknown and griefs are give-ins.  The second certainty is that despite the pain, the wait, the heartache we are growing are family in the way God has asked of us.  I may not have stretch marks on my belly but oh, the stretch marks on my heart are deep, many and permanent. 

As I think back to the time when we were waiting for Gabe there was so much angst.  How I wished my baby would come sooner.  I prayed for a child, I begged God for a baby and pleaded that we needed a child soon.  If I had my way we wouldn't have had to wait so long for Gabe.  But then we wouldn't have Gabe and that is unfathomable.  

I feel that angst now.  How I long to hold our second child in my arms and never let him go.  But it hasn't been our time.  My timeline, my hope that Gabe would be a big brother by the time he was four, that we'd be a family of 4 by the end of 2013 is a moot point.  It's moot because God is always on time.  It may not be my time but he is always on time.  

Waiting is hard.  

It involves painstakingly throwing aside your expectations and going with the flow.  

I am not a go-with-the-flow type of girl.

Waiting is refining. 

I am definitely not the girl I was 3 years ago when we signed on with AGCI.

I'm not the same person I was when we submitted our dossier 23 months ago.

I'm not even the same person that lost a referral 8 months ago. 

Adoption and waiting for your child changes your heart in ways you can't even imagine.

The way you love someone you've never met before causes your heart to grow more than you can imagine. 

Loving a nameless, faceless child a world away makes your heartstrings grow weary yet stronger.

Your marriage grows stronger, deeper and more steadfast during the wait.  It'd have to for any husband to handle the crazy that is a waiting adoptive mama.

Sometimes you find it hard to live in the present because you just ache for the future that holds your next child.  But your heart cherishes, rejoices and relishes in each moment you have with the baby already in your arms. 

Waiting is hard. 

But it's life changing. 

And while today marks 23 months of waiting, it also marks a one month anniversary for our baby girl.  One month ago, we drove two hours south of our hotel to bring our girl home.  We anxiously signed paperwork promising to be the best parents possible to our sweet girl.  Then there was the sweetest handing over ceremony ever and we headed back to the hospital.  Happy.  Full of hope.  Certain the next 10 days would be pure torture but then we'd come home as a family of four.

That obviously didn't happen.  And while the pain is still so real and the grief is sometimes still paralyzing, the hope we had when we brought our sweet girl home with us is still there.  It's buried at times but it's still there.  Hope for our future.  Hope for the future of our family.  Hope which is an anchor to our soul and that will not disappoint.  

I have three Bible verses on our refrigerator.  I've pretty much ignored them the last few weeks and just paid attention to the beautiful pictures of sweet little ones that hang next to them.  But today I glanced at one of them.  And that hope that is sometimes hard to find, resonated deep and loud. 

He who calls you is faithful; 

He will surely do it.

1 Thessalonians 5:24

  

Inconceivable

It seems impossible that 1 month ago I raced through an airport and missed our little girls birth by mere minutes.  

In some ways it feels like a lifetime ago....

Has it really been 25 days since I kissed her sweet cheeks?

Wasn't it just yesterday that I smelled her sweet baby smell and swaddled her in the blanket Auntie Sondra made for her.

In other ways it feels like just yesterday...

I wake up some mornings and can still feel her 7lbs in my arms.

I close my eyes and I can still see her chocolate brown eyes, pursed lips and scrunched nose.  

When Gabe asks about baby sister I remember him laughing at her as he showed her Junior Asparagus singing the Boogey Man song, the sweet way he'd ask "baby okay?" whenever she'd make a sound or how he always wanted to give her hugs.

It's inconceivable that just one month ago our hearts were filled with the hope, joy and love only a new baby entering the family could bring.  

I thought our healing process would be much further along that it is at this point.

On one hand, she was only ours for a few short days.  On the other hand, we love big in our family and it would've been impossible for us to not fall head over heels in love with what was to us a long awaited daughter.  While she was never truly 'ours,' she owned our hearts from the day we found out about her.  We had been waiting so long for another child, for a sibling for Gabe... although we tried to prepare our hearts for all possiblities, our hearts are just really good at loving.

Grief is tricky.  It's deep, fierce and runs rampant through your heart. 

Processing my grief, this time, is harder than I ever thought it would be. 

Helping Gabe process his grief is harder than I ever imagined.  

Almost impossible.

It's hard for me to understand why God asked us to be our little girls family for just a few days, so how do we explain that to a 3 year old?  My prayer is that this experience will open Gabe's heart to the idea that we love people deeply and fiercely no matter how long they are in our loves.  

One month since her birth.  

25 days since I had to give her one last kiss, buckle her in her car seat and watch her ride away.

A lifetime left of loving, wondering and praying for our sweet girl. 

An Unexpected Ending

Whenever I thought about what was happening, I'd marvel at the miraculous way God was rewriting our story.  It wasn't the first time we thought life was going one way and God redirected our paths. We were nervous, yet excited.  Anxious but filled with hope.

You see, the ending to this story isn't what we anticipated.  Instead, the blissful end of July we were expecting has turned into another season of loss.  A season where tears are bountiful, hearts are heavy and our souls feel worn.  We thought we'd be adding a sweet daughter to our family and instead we are walking through another loss.  The second in just 8 months.

The story begins at the end of April when a birth mother connected with us.  She knew us through her cousin and wanted us to adopt her baby girl.  Us!  Confusion was the first emotion.  Why us?  We never planned on adopting an infant domestically; there are so many people waiting to adopt healthy infants and that was just not on our radar. However, after Gabe's adoption we did make the statement that the only way we'd adopt a newborn was if God brought a birth mother to us.  Joy and guilt were the next emotions.  Joy that we would be adding another child to our family, a precious daughter. Guilt that there were children in developing countries desperately needing a family and we were adopting a baby that thousands of couples in the US would quickly welcome into their family.  After prayer and conversations with people we love and trust, we knew this precious one was meant for our family.

Now, let me digress.  Each state in the US has different adoption laws.  In Ohio there is a relinquishment period of 72 hours, in Georgia where our little love was going to be born there was a relinquishment period of 10 days, starting after the birth parents sign their surrender papers.  The 10 days was a bit of a shock; we were dismayed by the long length of time but we knew God had brought us to this baby.  Answering our request that a birth mother find us, providing scripture from friends to affirm what He has asked us to do and giving me a deep, silent desire of my heart - the gift of mothering one more newborn.  

The past few months were spent preparing our lives, hearts and Gabe's heart for a new little sister.  We had a surprise reveal to our families on Mother's Day where Gabe wore a shirt (and football helmet) for the big announcement.  We discussed nursery colors, found a milk sharing program and bought sweet little baby girl clothes.  

Those few months also provided us with time to get to know Miss J, our sweet girl's birth mother.  Each discussion brought tears, laughter, love and an affirmation that we were meant to walk this road together.  Her hopes and dreams that she shared for her daughter, while she wasn't able to provide them for her, the love she had for her was real and deep.  Deep enough that she created a plan of adoption so that her little one could have everything in life growing up that she did not.  Some of what she shared took my breath away and I knew without a doubt that adoption truly was the best and only option for both of them.  God used these conversations to graft her fully into my heart. My prayers for Miss J went from good health for her and her baby to prayers that the Lord would pour into her heart, speak into her life and show her just how precious she is to Him. 

Tuesday July 9th I received a phone call from Miss J.  She was on her way to the hospital and would be delivering our girl soon.  She was scared and alone and after a few clicks on the computer, Matt reserved me a ticket to Atlanta.  A hastily packed bag and lots of reminders of what else Matt needed to pack before he made the trip later that night with Gabe and my mom, and I was on my way.

On my way to meet our girl.  Our daughter.  Our precious joy.

Divine intervention allowed for two adoption mama friends to pick me up from the airport and take me to the hospital.  Less than an hour after touching down in Atlanta, I was with a nurse walking towards the nursery to see our baby.  I was only allowed to see her through the nursery window but she was perfect.  Honestly, she could have had two heads and six arms and I don't think I would have noticed.  I was humbled by God's goodness that I was seeing our daughter just a few moments after entering this world.  

I spent most of the night with Miss J and ended up sleeping in the hospital waiting room (after walking around Atlanta after a hotel didn't have my room for me and a whole debacle of trying to find a new room - that's a story for another time.  Note to self - walking through a big city at 2:30 in the morning, alone, is not the brightest thing to do).  Matt, my mom and Gabe pulled into Atlanta around 10am, we ate lunch and then headed to our hotel.

We were told we wouldn't be seeing Miss J or our girl until after the relinquishment papers were signed. Imagine our surprise when Miss J called and asked us to come up.  Matt and I couldn't believe this surprise blessing and were so excited to officially meet our daughter. 

Although I'd seen her through the glass nursery window, meeting her was something else. It felt sacred.  It felt holy.  It is a moment we will never, ever forget.  

You see, I didn't care if we ever had a daughter.  Gabriel is an absolute joy and I was perfectly fine with being a mom of only boys.  But then those first moments of holding our girl, they completed me in a way I wasn't expecting.  She filled a hole in our lives that I hadn't realized existed until she was already filling it. Absolute perfection is the only way to describe her; sweet soft skin, a head full of dark brown locks, glorious little eye brows and long, delicate fingers.  Our love for her was immediate, it was deep and it was an everlasting kind of love. 

Because of certain adoption laws in Georgia, Miss J didn't sign the paperwork until Saturday meaning the first day of the 10 day relinquishment period wouldn't start until Sunday, July 14.  We couldn't wait to get the adoption agency and after what seemed like a lifetime, she was in our arms.  

After a little bit of a rough start (Gabe fell asleep in the car and woke up a little sad) Gabe was as smitten as we were with our sweet girl.  Every sound she'd make, Gabe would check on her and say "okay baby"  He showed her his favorite toys and tried to get her to dance to Junior Asparagus on the iPad.  For only a few days old, she had some great dance moves. Gabe was going to be a great big brother.  

Everything about her was perfect.  She wanted a bottle every 3-4 hours, was smiling (and no it wasn't gas) and didn't care if you changed her diaper.  Her coos were sweet, we barely heard her cry and she had her days and nights reversed.  While I love my sleep, I was so grateful that we had those hours together at night.  Hours to just look into each other's eyes, time for me to pray over her, sing to her and tell her all about our hopes and dreams for her.  Spending all night awake with her and then watching her sleep during the day - pure and utter bliss. 

Matt had to come back to Ohio for work Sunday afternoon and we hunkered down at the hotel to wait out the 10 day relinquishment period and then for the Interstate Adoption paperwork to be completed.  My mom's cousin and her daughter came to wait out a few days with us and we all spend Sunday night marveling at our sweet girl and laughing at Gabe's antics.  

Monday dawned early and we prepared to go take in the hotels super delicious complimentary breakfast. And then the phone rang.  I missed the call by seconds and saw it was our caseworker, C.  Not thinking much of it, I hit the call back button and waited. The second she answered, I knew.  There was the long, pregnant pause and then the crack of her voice as she said "I'm so sorry, Meredith."  

Miss J had changed her mind.  And while we knew this could happen and we tried to prepare our hearts as much as possible, we were not prepared for this.  There is no way you can keep your heart prepared to lose your daughter, when she's resting in your arms. It is just. not. possible.  In an instant our hopes and dreams for our daughter died.  The life we had envisioned back home came crashing down.  We lost our daughter. Gabe lost his sister.  My mom, who graciously came down to Georgia with us, lost her granddaughter. Intellectually I know she didn't die, but for us, the grief is so real, so strong and losing her... we lost a beloved child.  

After calling Matt to tell him the news, I had just 3 hours to spend with our girl. Three hours to fill her with enough love to last a life time, three hours to say every prayer I could think of over and to whisper scripture verses into her ears.  Three hours.  It was not nearly enough time. My thankfulness for her days and nights being reversed soared.  Just three hours.  The tears wouldn't stop.  My heart felt like it stopped beating. And my sweet Gabe, he had no idea what was happening, why he had to say goodbye to his baby sister and why Mommy was so sad.  

C came.  She let me carry our girl out to her car and then gave me a few extra minutes to love on her.  From the first time I saw her through that glass nursery window until the second I put her in the car I would tell her frequently "I will love you forever, I will love you for always."  And even though she's no longer ours, we always will, love her forever and love her for always.  

Blindly we made our way home.  We stopped halfway to sleep and give Gabe a break from being in the car. Although my mom offered to drive, I drove the whole way. Driving was the only way I was holding myself together.  Coming home to an empty house with just my sweet boy broke me in two.  Falling into Matt's arms when he walked through the door and him not leaving my side for the next few days propelled me on. 

On but not forward.  

Moving forward means leaving behind our sweet girl.  The girl who we love completely, stole our hearts and completed us in ways we didn't expect.  While she was only ours for a few days, she was ours.  We loved her from the time we knew of her and a week apart isn't going to change that.  

Where does that leave us?  Besides heartbroken and weary, it leaves us with hope.  

Right now, the hope is hard to find sometimes.  Occasionally I don't believe it's even there but now and then, we find it again.  It sparks up.  It's in Gabe's smile and laughter, it's in the morning sunrise and freshly laundered bed linens.  I would be lying if I said I understood why God brought us to this situation to experience another loss. We may never come to a point where we understand losing our girl.  

But understanding is not an underlying factor in faith.  God brought us to this little girl. For a second time in 8 months he has asked us to stand in the gap for one of his children; to love them and pray for them for the rest of their lives.  Most times I want to scream at him, ask him how he could do this to us.  Again.  I'm mad that the life we could have given her; a daddy, a mom, a belly that would have always been filled with good food, a house filled with love and a foundation in Christ was stolen from us.  From her.  I hate what we lost but I'm filled with rage when I think about everything she lost. 

My predominant feeling is grief and sadness.  Periodically though, I feel glimpses of gratitude; gratefulness that He allowed us to have her at all.  Thankful that he continues to entrust us, however briefly, with such prized possessions. Beholden that He loves us and His plans for our future our good.  And when these periodic moments are few and far between, we have family and friends to remind us of these as they pray for and encourage us through this shattering loss. 

We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.

Hebrews 6:19a

We know that this isn't the end of our story... our hearts are weary and worn but we are trusting in a future in which God's plan for our family will be revealed.  

Heavy stuff.

My heart has been so heavy lately.  Multiple times a day I have to blink back the tears that seem to always be swimming up as my heart tries to process what my brain keeps taking in.    

In March we received news that the family that our sweet little A was placed with would not be able to bring him home.  Circumstances no one could imagine arose (that will remain private to protect his story) and this little one will remain in Ethiopia indefinitely.  My natural instinct was to hop on a plane and go get him.  Our love for him is deep and forever, but as we learned on Tuesday December 4 (one of those dates you'll never forget), he does not belong in our earthly family.  In my heart, he will always be our second son, our first Ethiopian boy.  It's hard to process that two families could love a little boy so much but for certain reasons, for now, the best life for him is in a safe place in Ethiopia where he is being loved and cared for.

It is so hard to understand God's plans, God's timing when things like this happen.  It'd be too easy to stop trusting that His will for our lives is good.

Psalm 118:8 “It is better to trust in the LORD than to put confidence in man.”

Trust.  Hope.  Faith.  Through a dear friend I had the privilege to "meet" a woman who embodies faith, hope and trust in God.  But as she trusts, people around her question why.  How could God be calling this beautiful mother and wife home to Him.  My heart is so heavy for my friend who, for now, has to say an earthly goodbye to someone she deeply loves and admires.  My throat starts to constrict as I think about a husband losing his wife, children losing their mother, my friend losing a family member.  And the reality of it is, none of us know what tomorrow may bring.

Psalm 56:3 , “What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee.

Another friend is in the fight of her life for the safety and health of her child.  So many of us our praying for circumstances to change but for now a sweet little girl is in an unsafe place while the mama she doesn't even know does everything she can to protect her from a far. 

The friend of a friend and her family lost their referral because of UNICEF's involvement in southern Ethiopia.  Want to hear me get passionate about something?  Ask me about UNICEF.

Poverty.  Job-loss.  Homelessness. 

Lots and lots of heaviness, friends.  And my heart has felt so burdened for it. 

Psalm 55:10 Cast your cares on the LORD and he will sustain you;

he will never let the righteous be shaken.

 

This heaviness in my heart would be all consuming if not for two things.  One, my faith.  And two, the glimmers of hope I see around me every day. 

 

Dear ones pregnant, good friends getting their referrals much quicker than anticipated, God providing big (and I mean BIG) for an adoption, new mom's bringing their babies home from Ethiopia, Taiwan and even hospitals in Ohio [smile]. 

 

Despite what the world wants you to believe, despite how my heart feels, there is so much good in the world.  You just need to open your eyes and take it all in.

 

Psalm 27:14  Wait and hope for and expect the Lord; be brave and of good courage and let your heart be stout and enduring. Yes, wait for and hope for and expect the Lord.

18 Months Waiting

We have now entered the "Dolphin and Whale" stage of our adoption. 

 

Don't tell me you didn't know dolphins and whales have 17-19 month gestation?  Scientifically speaking, more intelligent animals have longer gestation periods.  Now, I'm not saying I'm an animal per se, or that we are waiting for an animal... but with this long of a "wait" obviously this next little one is going to be of Sheldon/Reid* genius status.

source

That is my fairly poor attempt at finding humor in our wait.  But to be real, this wait is hard.  I was laying in bed yesterday morning thinking about how today would mark 18 months waiting and for the first time in a week I opened my Jesus Calling Devotional.  And it smacked me upside the head.

"Waiting, trusting, and hoping are intricately connected, like golden strands interwoven to form a strong chain. Trusting is the central strand, because it is the response from My children that I desire the most. Waiting and hoping embellish the central strand and strengthen the chain that connects you to Me. Waiting for Me to work, with your eyes on Me, is evidence that you really do trust Me.  If you mouth the words, "I trust you" while anxiously trying to make things go your way, your words ring hollow.  Hope is future-directed, connecting you to your inheritance in heave.  However, the benefits of hope fall fully on you in the present."

Out of those 3 strands mentioned I've been waiting but just on our child... not on what God is doing in my life.  I've been hoping... I have a ridiculous amount of hope.  But it's the trusting that I've had the hardest time with.  As much as I want to trust in God's timing, I find it difficult.  Not because I don't trust God but the fact is, we live in a fallen world.  And I truly believe that sometimes God's timing is disrupted because of our fallen world.  I don't think that line of thinking goes against God and honestly, that line of thinking has brought me so much comfort since losing our referral.

 

"Your heart must not be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in Me." John 14:1

It's true my heart is troubled.  Troubled by things of this world; children waiting far to long to find a forever family, children never finding a forever family and children that are just stuck in this system of depravity.  But today I'm trusting in God for the future of our family and waiting not just for a referral phone call but on God, for His plan to be revealed in all of its glorious detail. 

"Wait for the LORD; be strong and courageous. Wait for the LORD." Psalm 27:14

* Reference to Sheldon from the Big Bang Theory and Reid from Criminal Minds - my 2 favorite shows!

It happened at Les Mis

 A few weeks back some last minute plans landed me sitting in a darkened theater tears silently running down my cheeks while I watched Les Miserables.   If you haven't seen Les Mis (the musical or the movie) it is a beautiful story of redemption.  Love and revolution, adoption and loss; the plot is just beautiful.  I read the play in high school and have loved it ever since.

 

 

Nearly 3 hours later the finale came.  And it had me in pieces.  Fantine (who is dead and welcoming Valjean into the afterlife) and Jean Valjean (who is dying) sing together:

"Take my hand
And lead me to salvation
Take my love
For love is everlasting
And remember
The truth that once was spoken
To love another person
Is to see the face of God."

 

                                             

It was the lyrics at the end, the words "To love another person is to see the face of God" that turned the steady stream of tears into still silent (hopefully) sobs.  As I processed the words, for the first time in over a month I felt a small glimmer of peace.  Not the peace that passes understanding but the peace that allows you to take a deep breath and relax your shoulders a little bit. 

There are some things I will never understand.  Certain questions continue to haunt me.  Why did we lose our referral?  How could our agency go to bat for another family but not ours?  Will there be a Christmas that is tainted by waiting, loss or both? 

I don't know the answers to those questions (and more) but I'm making my way at finding peace.  Some of that peace is found in my usual spot of delving into scripture but other parts of that peace appear where I least expect it; at the end of a musical turned movie, watching Toy Story cuddled with Gabe, peeking at Matt and Gabe from around the corner or just quick texts with friends. 

Peace.  Grief.  It's a little bit bittersweet, a little bit ugly and remarkably, a little bit beautiful as well.

**photos from google images.

Grace and the Hard Stuff

This past week has been one of the most emotionally difficult week I've had in all my 30 years.  I'm not sure why, but I just didn't expect it to be this insanely difficult. Like an anonymous blog comment pointed out, we had never met or held little A so why is this so hard?  It's so hard because in those 6 days we thought he was ours, our hearts had already begun to dream and plan for him.  Just like a newly pregnant mother muses about the child growing in her belly, I was dreaming about the child growing in our hearts.

But amongst the heartache there has been also been a lot of truth spoken.  I have been so encouraged by the family and friends who are praying with us, sending thinking of you texts and when they've come across a scripture verse they've found to be encouraging forwarding that as well. 

Now let's be honest, I truly appreciate the prayers and the text messages and phone calls seem to always come just when I need them most; just when the grief or pain becomes to strong to bear alone.  But as for the scripture, well, I tend to ignore those messages until my mind is a little clearer and I want to read them.  I'm sure I should read them immediately after receiving them but I just can't seem to bring myself to read them.  I know they will bring me comfort but at times, I don't want the comfort.  I don't want to be reminded that God is in control or this is all part of His plan.  Because when your pain is intense and your grief runs deep, the platitudes and hopeful scriptures seem trite.

So I let myself rage just a little bit longer until the intense pain peeks and then wanes.  It is at that time that I feel like I'm able to read a scripture verse or two; to find hope in the one who gives all hope.

Right now though, I keep repeating this verse and clinging to the part where the Lord said "My grace is sufficient for you" 

Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. 

But he said to me,

"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." 

Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses,

so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. 

2 Corinthians 12:8-9

 

The past few days people have told me that we're handling this situation with so much grace.  I'm not seeing it.  Maybe because I'm looking at everything from the other side of the mirror.  I feel the hurt, I'm listening to my inner voice dissecting every thought I have and I am not feeling full of grace. 

 

But grace is a funny thing.  God gives it freely to us but it's a concept so foreign to human nature that it's hard to accept.  I try so hard to give grace to those around me, especially to Gabe.  I want Gabe to grow up to be a well mannered and sweet boy who loves God but I don't want him to think he needs to be perfect.  And that's where grace comes in... if we can teach Gabe about grace at a young age, maybe, just maybe Gabe will be able to accept God's unconditional grace when he's older. 

 

So we're trying to teach Gabe grace and we try to show grace to others around us, but this accepting grace for myself, well right now, with losing our referral and life continuing to move forward.. it's hard.  Really hard.  I know God is being graceful towards us, just the fact that I get out of bed each morning after getting little sleep and praying for peace throughout the night, shows just how plentiful his grace is towards me. 

 

But I'm struggling with showing grace to myself.  If I'm sad, I get upset with myself that I just can't be happy that Little A has a forever family.  When I can't sleep, I berate myself for being too emotional.  Texts go unanswered, phone calls ignored because it takes too much energy to act normal and then I get mad at myself that I can't just get over this. 

So it's like I said, this grace thing is tricky as is losing a referral.  And right now, I just don't feel like I have a lot of grace left to give and especially none to give myself.  Which is why 2 Corinthians 12:8 is so important.  While my grace is waning, His grace is more than enough.  For me, for you.  And it's from His grace that I'm going to dip into and let myself grieve without feeling guilty, cry freely for my pain but rejoice equally for little A's new family.

 

This part of adoption, of life is hard.  But somehow, with the amazing love and support we've received... I can see a little bit of the beauty hiding behind the hard stuff.  

 

And the fact that I can still see that beauty hidden there is a forceful reminder that God is good.  And he is good. 



Bitter & Sweet

Every aspect of adoption is bittersweet.  Last Thursday we had a taste of the sweet side.  Tuesday the bitter part pulled the rug out from under our feet.  And today?  The bitter sweetness collided. 

I received a message minutes before leaving for the airport to come back to Houston.  I can't even begin to explain how I felt while I was reading it; feelings from joy to desperation to betrayal to confusion back to joy.  Emotional roller coaster.

I'll explain.

Yesterday, another family was referred our little A.  I can't even begin to understand how this all happened.  Things happened and events transpired that I thought were impossible.  I am beyond thrilled that little A will no longer be an orphan but behind that feeling are many others. 

Confusion. 
Betrayal.
Loss.
Grief.
Desperation.
Sadness.

Of course, with those feelings comes questions...Why didn't his adoption work out with us...How many losses does someone have to go through....What in the world am I possibly supposed to learn through this.... Where do we go from here...How do we go back to waiting after seeing his face...

The hard stuff, the bitter side would be overwhelming if it weren't for the sweet part of little A's story. 

His family; oh how they love him.  They've loved him for so long and now their prayers for their child, their son is are coming to fruition. And that is the sweet side that redemption through adoption can bring. 

And we know their family.  I love little A's mom.  She is a sweet, honest breath of fresh air.  She's exactly like I want to be when I grow-up (and no she's not older than me, just wise and Christ-like).  Little A will be loved, cherished and given everything he's missed out thus far in his little life.  He will be encouraged to be all that he can be and raised in the truth.

What more could we ask for? 

Bittersweet.  Adoption will always be a little bit of both.  And today I can taste them both.  I'm delighting in the sweet flavor but still choking back the bitterness of it all.

Once again, I ask you to continue to pray for little A; that he gets home to his family.  And for little A's family as they work their way halfway around the world to meet their little boy. 

trying...

I read this early this morning, like 2:15 early:

"When life is sweet, say thank you and celebrate. And when life is bitter, say thank you and grow." — Shauna Niequist

Really struggling with that whole thank you part... and sure hoping I'll grow.

Hard stuff

"And we know that God works for those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose"  -Romans 8:28

 

Even when we can't see the reason, can't see beyond our own heartache and grief, we know that somehow God will work this out for the good.

Right now though, I'm clouded by pain; desperate to make sense of the madness the last few days have brought.  But right now I'm just clinging to my faith...

because I can not see the good in this past the hurt in my heart.

I can't close my eyes and not see the sweet face of little A dancing behind my eyelids.

For reasons far beyond our scope of understanding things came up in regards to little A's files.  Things AGCI didn't know and didn't know to tell use. More news cropped up in Adis today that led AGCI to make the painful decision to not be able to place little A.

 

We've lost our referral to little A.

Little A was only ours for a few days but he was ours.

He was loved.

He was cherrished.

His family found him.

And now we've lost him.

 

This is hard.  Much harder than I could have ever imagined.  Again, this is something we never imagined would happen. 

Before getting off the phone with our caseworker she asked how I was feeling.  I told her I didn't know.  Sad, angry, confused, hurt, unbelieving.... I'm sure those feelings will come, mostly now though, I just feel numb.  Like my brain has processed too much over the past few days and is using this numbness to protect itself for a little bit longer. 

Our caseworker asked if I was okay. 

Again, I told her I didn't know but then I told her these two things, two things I've repeated to myself at least 1000 times this afternoon:

God is good and the sun will come up tomorrow. 

 

So tonight as I lay in bed and tomorrow as we continue to process this I will continue to repeat the two things I know with complete certainty.

God is good.

The sun will come up tomorrow.

 

We truly appreciate your prayers during this time.  Prayers for us and prayers for little A - that the family God has planned for him finds him and finds him quickly.