Because of Aaliyah and Shiloh

My last post over five months ago, was written through tears of disappointment because God had used us in a birthmom's life in a way we wouldn't have chosen - being there for her through the struggle of her uncertainty, ready to welcome her baby into our family as our own, but then being called to rejoice with her as on her way to the hospital she called saying she was choosing to parent her child. After we hung up the phone from that call, without wasting much time, we went through the house putting away the pack and play, the car seat waiting to be grabbed on the way out the door to the hospital, and the pink onesies and sleepers ready to dress Aaliyah, our anticipated baby girl.

It wasn't primarily for me we cleared away reminders of the bundle who wasn't coming home, but because we knew who would be coming home in just a few hours. The three children God had called us to parent. And we didn't want to make the sight of unfulfilled hopes harder for them to bear.

I laid with Stella in her bed later that afternoon as she sobbed heartbroken, hugging her and wiping her cheeks, blotchy from tears. I couldn't help but wonder how navigating the peaks and valleys of emotions associated with adoption might effect her heart and view of God. But that was out of my control. As a family we talked through it, prayed about it, and grabbed onto the same truth that had us securely strapped in all along.

So, we were not greatly shaken when our second adoption fell through a few months later. We opened our hearts to learn and be and receive whatever God wanted, and prayed for baby Shiloh and his future without us.

Then God surprised us again today, as he loves to do in adoption. But not with a baby to hold. Instead with a third place ribbon around her neck from Stella's speech contest. She competed against over 200 students and placed for her speech articulating why adoption is important. In it she said how adoption has helped her understand birth parents who are in situations so different from hers. She concluded that together we are loud in supporting adoption and helping children have loving homes.

Once again, God has reminded me that he has not wasted these last three years as we've been waiting for an adoption match to finalize. Through it, he is working in our hearts - and our kids' hearts - every step of the way. So even though we never got to kiss Aaliyah or snuggle Shiloh close, God has used them to draw us and our Stella, Ruby, and Schaeffer, nearer to his heart. This medal will continue to be a visible reminder to us that our empty arms are not an indication that God is slow in keeping his promises. Instead, he is patient, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance. (2 Peter 3:9) So we ask again, keep working in us and through us for your purposes, Lord!

 

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Because of Aaliyah and Shiloh

My last post over five months ago, was written through tears of disappointment because God had used us in a birthmom's life in a way we wouldn't have chosen - being there for her through the struggle of her uncertainty, ready to welcome her baby into our family as our own, but then being called to rejoice with her as on her way to the hospital she called saying she was choosing to parent her child. After we hung up the phone from that call, without wasting much time, we went through the house putting away the pack and play, the car seat waiting to be grabbed on the way out the door to the hospital, and the pink onesies and sleepers ready to dress Aaliyah, our anticipated baby girl.

It wasn't primarily for me we cleared away reminders of the bundle who wasn't coming home, but because we knew who would be coming home in just a few hours. The trio of blessings God had called us to parent. And we didn't want to make the sight of unfulfilled hopes harder for them to bear.

I laid with Stella in her bed later that afternoon as she sobbed heartbroken, hugging her and wiping her cheeks, blotchy from tears. I couldn't help but wonder how navigating the peaks and valleys of emotions associated with adoption might effect her heart and view of God. But that was out of my control. As a family we talked through it, prayed about it, and grabbed onto the same truth that had us securely strapped in all along.

So we were not greatly shaken when our second adoption fell through a few months later. We opened our hearts to learn and be and receive whatever God wanted, and prayed for baby Shiloh and his future without us.

Then God surprised us again today, as he loves to do in adoption. But not with a baby to hold. Instead with a third place ribbon around her neck from Stella's speech contest. She competed against over 200 students and placed for her speech articulating why adoption is important. In it she said how adoption has helped her understand birth parents who are in situations so different from hers. She concluded that together we are loud in supporting adoption and helping children have loving homes.

Once again, God has reminded me that he has not wasted these last three years as we've been waiting for an adoption match to finalize. Through it, he is working in our hearts - and our kids' hearts - every step of the way. So even though we never got to kiss Aaliyah or snuggle Shiloh close, God has used them to draw us and our Stella, Ruby, and Schaeffer, nearer to his heart. This medal will continue to be a visible reminder to us that our empty arms are not an indication that God is slow in keeping his promises. Instead, he is patient, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance. (2 Peter 3:9) So we ask again, keep working in us and through us for your purposes, Lord!

 

We Don't Get To Decide

The situation takes me back 9 years ago. I'm standing at the counter mopping up crumbs while I mop up tears too. Wiping up a kitchen mess while I wipe my red, swollen eyes at the same time. The familiar lessons of sovereign bullets and choosing to give thanks in the taking, quickly come to mind. They are a strange comfort to my grieving heart, messengers of sorrow, but simultaneously singing a sweet refrain.

For two months now, we've anticipated the December placement of a baby girl in our home. We met with her expectant mom and talked, crying and laughing, for over an hour. She set up a hospital plan, inviting us to visit her during labor and take over parenting responsibilities immediately following delivery. And then yesterday, she changed her mind, and decided not to follow through with the adoption plan.

While we rejoice for this life and the unification of a family unit, we can't help but grieve over the loss of this baby being added to our family. Adoption always involves grief, and in this case, in spite of our tears, we are thankful that we are grieving so this birth mom doesn't have to. When starting down the path of adoption, it's easy to talk a big game about taking risks, being a father to the fatherless, and painting this glorious picture of the gospel. But actually, we don't get to decide how it all ends. Because really, God is the one who is ultimately Father to the Fatherless, and maybe what he really wants us to do is be faithful to show his love to those in need in smaller ways, like getting an expectant mom through the roughest six weeks of her life because she knows someone cares and is willing to love her child as their own. Maybe he wants us to bring her flowers and write her a reassuring card telling her she matters. Maybe he wants us to faithfully pray for her and her child because no one else is. And maybe he wants us to be willing to open our hearts and enter into her hard story and make it our own, helping her bear all the heartbreak and drama it involves. And in the end, maybe our arms are empty, but hers are full. And that's OK, because we don't get to decide how he uses us.

As friends (who have had more than their share of grief in the adoption process) told us, "We don't adopt perfectly. But God does." And our expectation has to be in him - the real Father to the Fatherless and Helper of the poor and needy. Maybe our adoption story doesn't end like we expect, at the front of a courtroom all smiles with the same last name. But maybe God chooses to use our willing hearts to love others in a smaller way, even to our personal hurt, as just a part of the process and writing of a few short pages in the longer story of their lives.

And we've decided that what he decides is good enough.

 

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I Love You When You Lose

Battle of the Books

Because this Museum of Memories isn't just for the wins. It's not about making me look like a rock star mom with above average you name it, so I can manage a certain public opinion of our family. It's about recording for each of you a history of our constant love for you, often in good times, but even in disappointing times. It's about assuring you we love you regardless of your performance. I just so happen to keep learning that lesson from the One who promises to love me with an everlasting love and continues his faithfulness to me. (Jeremiah 31:3) He recorded that message for me, in a museum of sorts, because He knew I'd need to keep remembering it too.

So rejoice in our love for you on this difficult day! And remember this is real life. Our love will help you learn from it and grow through it.

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An Example of Preaching the Gospel to Yourself

Horatio Spafford, author of the well-known hymn, "It is Well with My Soul," knew that his life was a portrait of grace. He and his wife Anna, served God faithfully through the big, small, and unexpected events of their lives. When they were blessed with five children, they gave thanks to the Lord and followed him in joy. And when their only son died to scarlet fever, they continued to follow the Lord even in sorrow. This untimely death of their son, would mark the beginning of "sorrows like sea billows" rolling through their lives.

Mr. Spafford was a successful and wealthy attorney, but their lives were consumed with ministry. When they lost most of their investment property and financial resources in the Great Chicago Fire of the 1870s, instead of selfishly despairing, they served their now homeless neighbors, providing food and care for their grief-stricken friends.

As they recovered from the tradgedies of the months prior, an oppotunity arose for the Spaffords to travel to England for a vacation. While they were there, they planned to assist their friend D.L. Moody, in his evangelism efforts. Some unexpected business detained Mr. Spafford, so he sent his four daughters and wife before him, commiting to join them in England as soon as he could.

Midway through their voyage, the ship was struck by another vessel crossing the Atlantic. The Spaffords' daughters perished in the sinking ship in spite of their mother's efforts to save them. When Mr. Spafford got word, he immediately set sail to join his wife.

As Spafford's ship apprached that dreadful location where the sea had swallowed up his precious girls, Spafford looked at those waters and preached the gospel to himself. He wrote:

1. "Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
   Let this blest assurance control,
   That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
   And hath shed His own blood for my soul."

Although he was weighed down with unimaginable grief, the good news of Jesus assured him that though all was very wrong around him, all was still well within him. By faith that made all the difference.

So, even today, we too must affirm that every river of peace and wave of sorrow we experience flow together by God's sovereign storm-calming hand to assure us of His unwavering faithfulness. In those all too frequent moments when it feels that our souls will surely give way under the pressures of life, with the eyes of faith, we must look to the cross and remember that our greatest trial - separation from God - has been removed and dealt with in Jesus. "Praise The Lord, praise The Lord, O my soul!"

 

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The Day After

So what happens the day after Mother's Day when another hurdle has been jumped but your brave heart has melted and the hurt is still there and your arms are still empty? And not only are your arms empty but maybe that finger on your left hand is too. And it has been for too long. And you can't get away from mothers and fathers and doctors killing babies when you just want yours. And husbands and wives fighting and belittling and divorcing when you just want someone to love you and love back.

Cry. Yes, go ahead and keep crying. Let the tears roll into His sovereign bottle. And as you cry, remember Jesus cried too. Stella asked me why Jesus wept at Lazarus' tomb when He knew He was going to raise him back to life. And with a quivering heart I told her that tears streamed down Jesus' face because He saw the effects of sin and the misery of the world He had created to be happy and holy. He saw the sorrow and loneliness of His infinitely loved friends burdened with the knowledge of good and evil when all He wanted them to know was good. And with the authority of God Himself who knew what it had been, and with the experience of humanity who saw what it is, every wet salty drop down His face was screaming, "This isn't the way it's supposed to be!"

Now let His tear-filled eyes meet yours. Now hear His life tell you it won't always be this way because He died to make it better. And let Him wipe away your tears with promises of a world to come where all you'll know is good again. None of this evil, hurt, and injustice. Then pack up those promises and load your arms and fingers full of hope. And carry those mercies around with you in this miserable world. And hold them close. And never forget them. Let His love surround you - underneath you, all around you. He loves you back because He loved you first. And most. And enough.

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