Since we made our announcement known that we are adopting a baby, we've had numerous inquiries of the details as to how it's come to be. We've tried, as best we can, to put it in a nutshell, but if you know my husband and I at all, nutshells turn in to long drawn out stories with more details than the person asking ever wanted. I've sat down several times over the last few weeks to write this out and have tried each time to make it not so sappy; to give just the facts and details. Each time I've come up lacking, and in so doing, I've realized that our story really is not our story, and we are not the authors. The Author is God...and Him alone...and to exclude His part would make it highly inaccurate, skewed, and boring. He is the only reason it has unfolded the way that it has. We are just two of His main characters in it. So, for those of you who are interested in the long version, here's the story He's writing in our life.
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The background...
If you've known me very long you know that I am overly sensitive sometimes.
Ok...often.
You also know that I struggle with telling a story and that details confuse me; that I lose the simplest of words and that sometimes I forget what I'm saying or doing while I'm saying or doing it; that I follow rules and that throwing caution to the wind just doesn't happen very often with me. You know the depth of my scars and bruises and that they can easily become my security blanket.
What can I say...I'm an open book...and if you've known me very long, you probably know more about me than you ever wanted to.
You also know that despite my deep longing for children, it's never become a reality in my world. And you've seen how much pain that has caused. Some of you have ached with me. Listened as I wondered out loud "why?" Cried with me. Advised me. Prayed for me. Reasoned for me. And told me stories of hope in other people's lives.
And for over fifteen years, I've grown accustomed to this limp I've been called to endure. In that time, much has changed in my life and circumstances...too much to tell. Too many seasons to describe. I've changed. My thoughts and views have changed. My heart. My desires. My plans. And 'it' has accompanied me through the journey of it all. But I grew comfortable. Content. Happy and peaceful to stay...right here in this place...holding tightly to this limp with which I walk life's path. I know how to do it, and it doesn't require much thought or emotion anymore. Oh it creeps up on me every once in awhile, but nothing a good cry and temper tantrum won't fix. Bless the man who walks this journey with me! Love him.
The only thing that hasn't changed on this journey is God's presence. Often I have ignored Him. Other times I have questioned Him. I have praised and thanked him. I have acted in direct opposition to Him. And still other times I have thrown a fit and yelled at Him. His response has never wavered and He has never abandoned me. Often He has answered with a simple Trust me and on other occasions the truth of His Word has silently comforted my broken heart. Many times He's allowed the consequences of my own bad decisions to answer for Him. But every day He has been there...wherever I am...in the pit of despair or on the peak of a beautiful mountain.
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
Psalm 139:8-10
And because He's the only one who knows the depths to which my mind and heart have dipped, soared, and pondered, He's also the only one who could have known that a simple phone call to my mom on Mother's Day 2013 would be the first in a chain of events that would lead us into yet another season.
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May 12, 2013 ~ Mothers Day...
This day is hard. Every year. And every year, in the days and hours leading up to Mothers Day, I try to convince myself that "this year it won't be hard. I really think I'm ok and it won't phase me that I am still childless...at 40, 41, 42, 43, 44...". I just need to make sure I stay off of Facebook and Twitter where everyone I know posts all the wonderful ways in which they are being honored by their children today. And…oh my...don't go to church. There all the moms will be getting some sort of beautiful long-stemmed flower and will be asked to stand so the whole congregation can honor you…while I sit quietly aching to stand, too. Oh...and the store. Don't go to the store. I will be the only female there since all the dads and kids are letting Mom hang out at the spa while they buy the groceries and cards and flowers and what not.
Yes. This is the year it will be easy.
And then the sun rises at dawn on Mother's Day.
My heart is heavy.
The floodgates open.
And the tears spill out from a place deeper than I knew existed. Deeper and more painful than last year. And I don't know why…I mean, I had resolved that I was over it.
I wonder out loud to God,
"Will this ever not be difficult?"
"Will I ever not wonder if You have heard any of my prayers?"
"Will this longing ever completely go away?"
And the enemy whispers his usual reminder,
"No."
"No."
"No…this is never going to happen for you. Move on."
Then I bury the ache and resuscitate hope. Hope...that maybe next year it won't hurt quite as badly as it did this time.
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I sit on the bed and lean against the headboard. Relieved that this day will soon end, I make a plea to Siri to dial Mom. While she finds the number and rings my parents' house, I realize that Mother's Day 2013 has proven to be no different. This, in fact was not the year it was easy.
But because I have mastered the art of managing it, I navigated the steps careful to avoid land mines. I cried. I asked God why? I searched the scriptures for hope. I withdrew from the world where want and desire loom on the horizon. Yes...the familiarity of it all almost allows me to manage it in my sleep.
And then I was ok.
Which is code for numb.
My mom's voice on the other end snaps me back into the moment.
I soften at the sound of her voice. Because truly there is no other earthly voice that can soothe my distraught soul than the voices of my mom and dad.
She's had a good day and recounts to me all that she did and the wonderful ways in which my dad honored her.
"After church and lunch, we went to Courtney's (my niece) baccalaureate and sat behind the Kimbros. Marian's son is graduating in the same class as Courtney. And we just started visiting and they asked about you and how you were doing. So I was just telling them a little bit about you and Brad, and I mentioned that you all had never been able to have a baby and was telling them a little bit about how hard that's been. And then Katie said, "I know of a baby right now that needs a home…"
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