I finally mounted it and "framed" it so we could hang it up.
I JUST CAN'T WAIT to hold the sweet, little hand that goes on the heart tree!!!
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
Monday, March 16, 2015
Every Page
I tend to set a lot of goals and try to have high expectations for myself. I believe each of our stories, our lives, are a piece of God's story. I want to be a piece of God's story.
But - Sometimes it feels like many of my pages "don't make the cut", sort of like the pile of crumpled paper by an author's trash can. Writing is usually full of revisions and scratched ideas. A writer takes a page full of scribbles, wads it up, and tosses it to the nearest trash can. I have envisioned many of my days ending up in that pile. I have moments and times where I feel like I have been a part of God's work. I hope and strive for the pages that might end up in a beautiful manuscript of God's love, but that trash pile seems to grow.
There are days that seem unimportant in the grand scheme. I fed my family, made it to work, got the kids where they needed to be, and even snuck in a few hugs. Nothing that changed the world. I wouldn't even call it the most successful attempt at the normal. I know I'm in God's story; that He is in the midst of it all. But, most pages of my life seem insignificant.
Then there are seasons that seem to just disappear or feel more like a gap between here and there. Times of waiting. Times of wondering. In many ways waiting for adoption can seem like a gap, as if pieces of our lives are on hold.
Times of worry and hurt are the hardest. Why would those pages be included. You really just want those to disappear, anyway, and be thrown even farther than the trash pile. Sitting in a surgical waiting room. Watching monitors in a NICU. Worrying in the middle of the night. Praying for healing. . . . .
It's true. I would like to pick and choose the pages God includes. (I haven't even mentioned the ones of true failure. When I lost my patience, was too lazy, or couldn't get my kids to stop fussing.) I often assume that God is also picking and choosing which parts can be included.
I've realized that my feelings are wrong. My view of my pages is not the same as God's. My "unimportant" days are important to Him. (Psalm 139: 1-16)
Even the seasons of wait are fruitful in time. (Psalm 25:5) God can use those days to teach me, strengthen my spirit, or lead me to help others. Waiting just becomes an excuse, an excuse for complacency. We have to press forward and make every day count. We can't wait for the perfect scenario or for things to line up the right way. We act in faith and obedience.
Times of hurting don't make sense.
They are not God's will, but He is there. (Psalm 73:23-26) (Psalm 23:4) Don't throw those pages away. They bring us closest to the depths of God's love, and He uses them for good.
Thankfully I am not the editor of this life, and I am seeking to also relinquish control as the author. I am living God's story. He is using me, in spite of me. Every day is a piece of His work. My life is an offering, as imperfect as it may be. Why? You might be wondering. Why and how can He use every page? Why would He even read some of them? Because the black ink is gone. My life is written in red. (1 Peter 1:18-20) Every page.
But - Sometimes it feels like many of my pages "don't make the cut", sort of like the pile of crumpled paper by an author's trash can. Writing is usually full of revisions and scratched ideas. A writer takes a page full of scribbles, wads it up, and tosses it to the nearest trash can. I have envisioned many of my days ending up in that pile. I have moments and times where I feel like I have been a part of God's work. I hope and strive for the pages that might end up in a beautiful manuscript of God's love, but that trash pile seems to grow.
There are days that seem unimportant in the grand scheme. I fed my family, made it to work, got the kids where they needed to be, and even snuck in a few hugs. Nothing that changed the world. I wouldn't even call it the most successful attempt at the normal. I know I'm in God's story; that He is in the midst of it all. But, most pages of my life seem insignificant.
Then there are seasons that seem to just disappear or feel more like a gap between here and there. Times of waiting. Times of wondering. In many ways waiting for adoption can seem like a gap, as if pieces of our lives are on hold.
Times of worry and hurt are the hardest. Why would those pages be included. You really just want those to disappear, anyway, and be thrown even farther than the trash pile. Sitting in a surgical waiting room. Watching monitors in a NICU. Worrying in the middle of the night. Praying for healing. . . . .
It's true. I would like to pick and choose the pages God includes. (I haven't even mentioned the ones of true failure. When I lost my patience, was too lazy, or couldn't get my kids to stop fussing.) I often assume that God is also picking and choosing which parts can be included.
I've realized that my feelings are wrong. My view of my pages is not the same as God's. My "unimportant" days are important to Him. (Psalm 139: 1-16)
Even the seasons of wait are fruitful in time. (Psalm 25:5) God can use those days to teach me, strengthen my spirit, or lead me to help others. Waiting just becomes an excuse, an excuse for complacency. We have to press forward and make every day count. We can't wait for the perfect scenario or for things to line up the right way. We act in faith and obedience.
Times of hurting don't make sense.
They are not God's will, but He is there. (Psalm 73:23-26) (Psalm 23:4) Don't throw those pages away. They bring us closest to the depths of God's love, and He uses them for good.
Thankfully I am not the editor of this life, and I am seeking to also relinquish control as the author. I am living God's story. He is using me, in spite of me. Every day is a piece of His work. My life is an offering, as imperfect as it may be. Why? You might be wondering. Why and how can He use every page? Why would He even read some of them? Because the black ink is gone. My life is written in red. (1 Peter 1:18-20) Every page.
Monday, January 12, 2015
Miracles
We have prayed for our little girl for almost two years now. I search for words as I fumble through desperate pleas on her behalf. My God is mighty, so I ache to lift up any phrase that will bring His love and power upon her life. The word that keeps coming to my lips is Miracles. Sweet Miracles. God's awesome intervention.
Hope in the desperation. Love in the loneliness. Peace in the fear. Safety in the turmoil.
I don't even know her needs. I don't know the hurt and loss that will bring her to our family, but I know God does. I know His hand is upon her, and I pray for Miracles. Whatever her needs are, may they be met. May she feel love in every moment. May she eat when there is nothing. May the legal system move swiftly. May every barrier that stands between my sweet daughter and the love of a family crumble at the feet of my God, who is mighty to save. Miracles.
I am pleading, and my God is answering. Miracles.
Give thanks to him who alone does mighty miracles. His faithful love endures forever.
-Psalm 136:4
Hope in the desperation. Love in the loneliness. Peace in the fear. Safety in the turmoil.
I don't even know her needs. I don't know the hurt and loss that will bring her to our family, but I know God does. I know His hand is upon her, and I pray for Miracles. Whatever her needs are, may they be met. May she feel love in every moment. May she eat when there is nothing. May the legal system move swiftly. May every barrier that stands between my sweet daughter and the love of a family crumble at the feet of my God, who is mighty to save. Miracles.
I am pleading, and my God is answering. Miracles.
Give thanks to him who alone does mighty miracles. His faithful love endures forever.
-Psalm 136:4
Monday, December 1, 2014
I Wish They Could See
Today we had our home visit to update our Home Study. It's an awkward, but necessary process. They have to check your house and all sorts of random details about your life. Of course you prepare and clean to present the "best" of what your family has to offer, but it's not really the good stuff I wish they could see.
I wish they could see the floor covered in footprints from all the family tracking through. I wish they could see the dirty dishes still on the table because we opted to play outside. I wish they could see the flour cloud that fills the kitchen when the kids stir the cookie dough. I wish they could see the pillow pallet that covers the floor for movie night. Or a glimpse of the table covered in paint splotches and masterpieces. Or maybe the mountain of clothes that builds from the ongoing dress-up. I wish they could see two big kids surrounded in baby toys just to make their little brother happy.
I wish they could see the Daddy moments. The moment when Kevin plays his 1,456th game of over-the-door basketball. The time when he is curled up on the edge of a twin bed just to help a little one sleep. Especially when he sits in a circle of Barbies to play with his little lady. Or if they could see him stand ever so still as a crying baby finally drifts to sleep on his chest.
I wish they could see the empty spots, the places we long to fill with our little sister someday. The family pictures with a flower or a heart. The gifts and toys set aside just for her. The stocking hung in line waiting for an initial. The hopeful conversations when we dream of finally being together. The family prayers that call upon God's miracles for our little girl.
These are the things that really show we are a family. A clean house is nice, and we answered all the questions today, but I am thankful for the everyday mess - the real evidence of our love. I'm thankful for the hugs and giggles that come swiftly after a sibling fight. I'm thankful for the restless grunts and squirms from a baby who played too hard. I'm thankful for my sweet husband who is a constant calm in my whirlwind of worry. I wish that is what they could see.
I wish they could see the floor covered in footprints from all the family tracking through. I wish they could see the dirty dishes still on the table because we opted to play outside. I wish they could see the flour cloud that fills the kitchen when the kids stir the cookie dough. I wish they could see the pillow pallet that covers the floor for movie night. Or a glimpse of the table covered in paint splotches and masterpieces. Or maybe the mountain of clothes that builds from the ongoing dress-up. I wish they could see two big kids surrounded in baby toys just to make their little brother happy.
I wish they could see the Daddy moments. The moment when Kevin plays his 1,456th game of over-the-door basketball. The time when he is curled up on the edge of a twin bed just to help a little one sleep. Especially when he sits in a circle of Barbies to play with his little lady. Or if they could see him stand ever so still as a crying baby finally drifts to sleep on his chest.
I wish they could see the empty spots, the places we long to fill with our little sister someday. The family pictures with a flower or a heart. The gifts and toys set aside just for her. The stocking hung in line waiting for an initial. The hopeful conversations when we dream of finally being together. The family prayers that call upon God's miracles for our little girl.
These are the things that really show we are a family. A clean house is nice, and we answered all the questions today, but I am thankful for the everyday mess - the real evidence of our love. I'm thankful for the hugs and giggles that come swiftly after a sibling fight. I'm thankful for the restless grunts and squirms from a baby who played too hard. I'm thankful for my sweet husband who is a constant calm in my whirlwind of worry. I wish that is what they could see.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
He loves bubbles too.
We continue to wait in our adoption process. "Thank you!" to all of you who continue to pray for us and ask about our process. As for now, we don't have any exciting answers. The legal/paperwork process for children in Ethiopia is long and complicated, and we are also on a long waiting list of other families seeking to rescue children. The most informed prediction we have is that our wait is likely a couple of years, but I leave those details up to God. God is so much bigger so I trust in His sovereignty over all things and His peace regardless of the circumstances.
So we continue to be as prepared as possible. Right now that means updating our Home Study and government paperwork. We definitely want to get our sweet Luke added in as a member of our family. He is truly an amazing addition of joy into our home. Our three blessings keep us busy, and I was realizing the other night how quickly life keeps changing. My bubbles keep expanding - you know, the "bubbles" around my babies. The "bubble" that all parents try to have, a place where your kids are safe. The place where you know all and control all. I recently returned to work from my maternity leave. I was prepared for the separation (or as much as a mom can hope to be), and the transition was pretty smooth. Then one night I sat in the dark nursery holding my little chub and realized it. His bubble was expanding. He was moving from my arms into more of the world. I know from experience that my grasp and control are fading. That's tough. I'm responsible for my kids, and I love them beyond words. Then in my emotional state I cried even more thinking about our sweet girl in Africa. We don't know her or where she might be, but she's certainly not in my bubble. I am desperate to get her here where I can keep her safe and loved.
Then the conviction hit. My heart sank as I thought of the mothers with no bubble. Mothers who are desperate to protect and just desperate to feed their precious children. The mothers who would give anything for a job and childcare. It's the truth, and it hurts.
So what's my reality. I am blessed. I have three, soon to be four, amazing children. I have the means to care for them. I have a job that allows me to be near my kids and care for my kids in special ways. My kids have wonderful teachers, and I have the greatest childcare on earth! And I have an everlasting bubble. I can pray and will continue to pray protection over my children (all four of them) for the rest of my life. That bubble never fades, and it covers our little African beauty, even now.
It doesn't end there. My heart breaks for all mothers and all children. I join with all those mothers in their prayers. I also pray for all those children with no mother to pray a bubble around them. Is that too big of prayer? -you may ask. All the mothers? All the children? Not too big for my God. He loves bubbles too.
So we continue to be as prepared as possible. Right now that means updating our Home Study and government paperwork. We definitely want to get our sweet Luke added in as a member of our family. He is truly an amazing addition of joy into our home. Our three blessings keep us busy, and I was realizing the other night how quickly life keeps changing. My bubbles keep expanding - you know, the "bubbles" around my babies. The "bubble" that all parents try to have, a place where your kids are safe. The place where you know all and control all. I recently returned to work from my maternity leave. I was prepared for the separation (or as much as a mom can hope to be), and the transition was pretty smooth. Then one night I sat in the dark nursery holding my little chub and realized it. His bubble was expanding. He was moving from my arms into more of the world. I know from experience that my grasp and control are fading. That's tough. I'm responsible for my kids, and I love them beyond words. Then in my emotional state I cried even more thinking about our sweet girl in Africa. We don't know her or where she might be, but she's certainly not in my bubble. I am desperate to get her here where I can keep her safe and loved.
Then the conviction hit. My heart sank as I thought of the mothers with no bubble. Mothers who are desperate to protect and just desperate to feed their precious children. The mothers who would give anything for a job and childcare. It's the truth, and it hurts.
So what's my reality. I am blessed. I have three, soon to be four, amazing children. I have the means to care for them. I have a job that allows me to be near my kids and care for my kids in special ways. My kids have wonderful teachers, and I have the greatest childcare on earth! And I have an everlasting bubble. I can pray and will continue to pray protection over my children (all four of them) for the rest of my life. That bubble never fades, and it covers our little African beauty, even now.
It doesn't end there. My heart breaks for all mothers and all children. I join with all those mothers in their prayers. I also pray for all those children with no mother to pray a bubble around them. Is that too big of prayer? -you may ask. All the mothers? All the children? Not too big for my God. He loves bubbles too.
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Beyond Emotions
We've been in the adoption process for over a year now. I've learned more than I could have imagined and grown in ways I never expected. Most of this journey is very hard to put into words. Lots of people love us and join in our struggles. I try really hard to explain things and answer questions. It's hard, though. Mostly because the circumstances around adoption don't make sense. The life and world God created was not meant to include adoption. Adoption is a beautiful piece of God's redemptive work, but the reality is that adoption is a result of heartache, suffering and loss. There aren't words to explain most circumstances that result in adoption. It's not a piece of the perfect plan, but it is a Godly response. Another element is the legal and formal process involved for adoption. Just the word "legal" spins my head into threat of confusion. The processes around our country and world vary, and there is simply no easy explanation for any of it - or the time it takes. You feel sort of like you are wandering a maze blindfolded. Prayer is your only real grasp at sanity as you baby-step through. The financial part hovers over you like a mysterious cloud. Thankfully, you feel the umbrella of saints standing with you along the way. And these are the precious people that I try to keep informed. They join our journey, and I want them to understand why and how and of course when.
I've learned a lot about God's gifts and how He empowers us. From the moment we felt called to adopt, we felt burdened for our child. Somewhere a girl is needing us, waiting for us. Again, this is something you can't explain with words. Part of my heart instantly went into reserve for this child. She needs me. I began to hold out a certain pain and worry for her in my heart.
Last Father's Day, we wanted to do something special for Kevin. We wanted to honor, not only his amazing Daddy Skills for Drew and Kate, but also the love he was pouring out in advance for our little girl. We created some artwork to represent the work God was doing in our family. Drew made a "Faith" piece, and Kate made a "Hope" piece. A "Love" piece remains unpainted until our little girl is with us to add the color. Faith, hope and love are steadfast and fundamental to the work God does in us. And as the scripture tells us, the "greatest of these is Love". (1 Corinthians 13:13) Without love, the rest doesn't matter. That's what adoption has meant in our family. It's taught us more about God's love and has helped us grow in love.
Faith, hope and love. Yes, I can cling to that as my heart breaks and hurts for my little girl.
Then we came to a big moment in October. We officially completed our major work in starting this adoption. All of our paperwork (the Dossier) arrived in Ethiopia. We began the desperate hoping and praying that the years of waiting for a referral would miraculously melt down into weeks or months.
Then my grasp on reality was challenged. I had stabilized my emotional state to a certain reserve of worry. I was holding back this little bit of my heart and emotions to sort of keep a constant state of worry for our little girl. I felt obligated to that. I was resigned to not completely relish and enjoy my splendid life until she was rescued. It's not fair to walk happily along while she is facing grief.
And then the gift. A gift straight from God. A baby. The end of October brought a big shock. The gift of another child. There's no purer joy in all of life than to be blessed with a baby. What was God thinking? First of all I simply don't deserve the two gifts I already have, and now a surprise blessing. Doesn't God realize that I can't have that kind of joy right now? I am grieving. My spirit and heart are hurting for the child I wait for. I can't do both. My emotions don't work that way. Bringing new life into the world is pure, boundless joy. How do I hold out this grief for my adoptive daughter when I know the joy will be so strong.
Now if this is not making sense to you, I apologize. Like I said, it's hard to put this journey into words. But it's true. At first, I was scared to receive the gift of Joy.
But, once again a lesson learned. God taught me more about emotions. The Fruit of the Spirit is a gift. Even faith, hope and love are gifts. We receive them by choosing His Spirit, and they are nothing like fleeting emotions. And unlike emotions, they hold power. Faith, hope and love hold us, sustain us and bridge us between where we deserve to be and where God wants us to be. They fill the gaps, joining us with God and with each other. Now, joy. Joy is underestimated. It has a value in life that we overlook. "The joy of the Lord is our strength."-Nehemiah 8:10 Joy entered my body and heart in an amazing way with my little son, Luke. I understood it with Drew and Kate, and claimed it in a whole new way with Luke. "The joy of the Lord is my strength." Adoption makes you weary. But, I've learned that God doesn't need my emotions. My little girl doesn't benefit from my worry or fear. I can give all the work over to God. I can pray and pray and pray and be strengthened by His joy. God's work is far beyond emotions. Emotions are created in me. Faith, hope, love and joy are created by God and have power.
Now our wall for Daddy says "Faith", "Hope", "Love" and "Joy".
All gifts from my God.
Both "Love" and "Joy" will soon have color.
I've learned a lot about God's gifts and how He empowers us. From the moment we felt called to adopt, we felt burdened for our child. Somewhere a girl is needing us, waiting for us. Again, this is something you can't explain with words. Part of my heart instantly went into reserve for this child. She needs me. I began to hold out a certain pain and worry for her in my heart.
Last Father's Day, we wanted to do something special for Kevin. We wanted to honor, not only his amazing Daddy Skills for Drew and Kate, but also the love he was pouring out in advance for our little girl. We created some artwork to represent the work God was doing in our family. Drew made a "Faith" piece, and Kate made a "Hope" piece. A "Love" piece remains unpainted until our little girl is with us to add the color. Faith, hope and love are steadfast and fundamental to the work God does in us. And as the scripture tells us, the "greatest of these is Love". (1 Corinthians 13:13) Without love, the rest doesn't matter. That's what adoption has meant in our family. It's taught us more about God's love and has helped us grow in love.
Faith, hope and love. Yes, I can cling to that as my heart breaks and hurts for my little girl.
Then we came to a big moment in October. We officially completed our major work in starting this adoption. All of our paperwork (the Dossier) arrived in Ethiopia. We began the desperate hoping and praying that the years of waiting for a referral would miraculously melt down into weeks or months.
Then my grasp on reality was challenged. I had stabilized my emotional state to a certain reserve of worry. I was holding back this little bit of my heart and emotions to sort of keep a constant state of worry for our little girl. I felt obligated to that. I was resigned to not completely relish and enjoy my splendid life until she was rescued. It's not fair to walk happily along while she is facing grief.
And then the gift. A gift straight from God. A baby. The end of October brought a big shock. The gift of another child. There's no purer joy in all of life than to be blessed with a baby. What was God thinking? First of all I simply don't deserve the two gifts I already have, and now a surprise blessing. Doesn't God realize that I can't have that kind of joy right now? I am grieving. My spirit and heart are hurting for the child I wait for. I can't do both. My emotions don't work that way. Bringing new life into the world is pure, boundless joy. How do I hold out this grief for my adoptive daughter when I know the joy will be so strong.
Now if this is not making sense to you, I apologize. Like I said, it's hard to put this journey into words. But it's true. At first, I was scared to receive the gift of Joy.
But, once again a lesson learned. God taught me more about emotions. The Fruit of the Spirit is a gift. Even faith, hope and love are gifts. We receive them by choosing His Spirit, and they are nothing like fleeting emotions. And unlike emotions, they hold power. Faith, hope and love hold us, sustain us and bridge us between where we deserve to be and where God wants us to be. They fill the gaps, joining us with God and with each other. Now, joy. Joy is underestimated. It has a value in life that we overlook. "The joy of the Lord is our strength."-Nehemiah 8:10 Joy entered my body and heart in an amazing way with my little son, Luke. I understood it with Drew and Kate, and claimed it in a whole new way with Luke. "The joy of the Lord is my strength." Adoption makes you weary. But, I've learned that God doesn't need my emotions. My little girl doesn't benefit from my worry or fear. I can give all the work over to God. I can pray and pray and pray and be strengthened by His joy. God's work is far beyond emotions. Emotions are created in me. Faith, hope, love and joy are created by God and have power.
Now our wall for Daddy says "Faith", "Hope", "Love" and "Joy".
All gifts from my God.
Both "Love" and "Joy" will soon have color.
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