The Lonely

*Linking with Lisa-Jo for Five Minute Friday. You have five minutes to write. Period.*

We hear people tell us how big a heart we have for having adopted. How unselfish we are and how lucky our children are to have us. 

Sometimes I try to set them straight. Sometimes I just shake my head. 

But always, I remember this…

Because we have learned to seek God’s wisdom no matter how obvious the choice may seem, when the call came that a baby girl needed a momma and a daddy, as much as our hearts thumped wildly inside of our chests, we asked for a day to pray. To ask for 24 hours was tortuous when all we wanted was to run out to get her. 

But we did. 

And we prayed. 

And as I laid face-down in the room that would eventually become the nursery, I cried out for wisdom and courage to become what I had been dreaming of becoming for several years: a mom. 

I opened my Bible to my favorite book and my eyes fell quickly on these verses:

“Father to the fatherless, defender of widows- this is God, whose dwelling is holy. God places the lonely in families; he sets the prisoners free and gives them joy” (Psalm 68:5-6, NLT).

I felt the answer wash over me.

Yes, there was a fatherless baby girl. Yes, God was lovingly caring for her life through the adoption agency. And yes, this would be our baby. But you see, the reason we are not saints with big hearts, unselfish people who just wanted to help someone is because the ones who needed most desperately to be placed in a family, the lonely ones the verses speak of…that was us, not her. 

Look!

Joining today with Lisa-Jo for her 5 Minutes Friday. Topic: Look. You have five minutes to write...GO!

Look again.

Look hard.

Please look.

Don't turn away.

Don't pretend you don't notice.

Don't be "color blind."

Don't be blind to the beauty God created in our family.

We are four shades of different. We are pale like cheese,warm like coffee, rich creamy brown like chocolate, deep and reddish like cinnamon. But look.

Don't say "color blind."

It may sound correct to you but it undermines who we are. We are many colors and we want you to know. We want you to see it. Because we are proud. Our family is a tapestry of God. A microcosm of what He's done in the world.

Don't think "color blind."

To think color blind misses what we celebrate every day. Our color is much more than skin deep. It is part of who we are, our culture, our history, our background. We come from Germany, from Ecuador, from Spain, from the African plains, from the first inhabitants of this land. Our color reminds us where we've been and where we want to go. It reminds us everyday that God's grace transcends many barriers. It reminds us everyday of his healing love that is extended to all. He created us in his image.

All of us.

 He chose for each of us a color.

 And we praise Him for that!

Because we are fearfully and wonderfully made.

Don't act "color blind."

See the colors, embrace the colors, celebrate the colors.

Be color conscious, be color loving, be color grateful...

Be color-full. 

Not destiny or magical thinking...but still God.

A while back there was an article in the New York Times' blog that quickly became a hot potato in the adoption world. It’s called “Adoption, Destiny and Magical Thinking”. In it the author discusses the phenomenon that many adoptive parents feel their child was “destined” to be theirs. Adoptive Families Magazine posed this question on Facebook as a result: do you feel your child was brought to you by fate, destined to be yours? 

The answers given left me deflated and broke my heart.

The majority of people that answered the question felt their child was “meant” to be theirs. Most of those people also stated that it was God who brought their child to them and many went as far as to imply that the only reason that child was created was because God wanted them to be parents. I was appalled at the lack of compassion and kindness these answers showed.

Several people understandably cried out over the idea that a loving god would ordain and even create the painful situations that often lead to birthparents placing their children for adoption: poverty, loss, rape, brokenness. This comes across as a manipulative god who uses people as baby-making machines, then tears their family painfully apart (adoption is painful, people) to make those other people happy parents. It does not make sense, they said. 

And I agree.

Yet, I believe strongly that God had a big hand on our adoption of Isabel and Noah. If you’ve read this blog before, you know that very well. Except, the God I serve and love does not work the way those “destiny,” “meant to be,” “all about my happiness” people say He does and I believe when Christians use clichés like those in response to people’s pain and tragedy, we are dragging His name through the mud and hurting our witness. But that’s a post for another day.

I feel compelled however, even in my little space that does not speak very loudly, to make amends, to apologize to those who have been hurt by those comments made by adoptive parents and to explain how the God I know played a role in our adoption, just as He plays a role in every other decision I make. 

I believe in a God that gives people free will. This means people have the ability to make choices and live with the consequences, good and bad, of those choices. Everyone is making choices every day; we are not puppets in the hands of a manipulative god.

In adoption everyone makes choices as well. On one hand you have a woman who, by her own choices or the choices made by others in some awful cases, finds herself pregnant. She has three choices then. She can abort, she can parent, or she can place her child for adoption. When my children’s birthmother found herself pregnant, she made the choice to place them with an agency for adoption. She chose a closed adoption. She made use of her free will and chose what to do about her situation.

On the other side of this adoption you have two people deciding how to become parents. When we found out we could not conceive naturally we were faced with choices of how to expand our family. We could use reproductive technologies, we could use a surrogate, we could adopt, etc.

Here is where God comes in, at least in our story.

Because we are believers in God, we try to live according to the Bible’s teachings. We believe in making our decisions prayerfully and seeking the Bible as our guide. So when we are faced with choices, we go to God. Not so that He will force us to do this or that, not so He will manipulate us like puppets, but so that He will give us wisdom and insight in how to proceed.

We decided to pursue the most natural and least invasive process of reproductive help that was available, and twice it was unsuccessful. Then, prayerfully, we decided to go no further with reproductive assistance. The Bible teaches us that we are in this world to take care of one another and to be family to those who have no family, so the decision to adopt had been a part of our marriage’s DNA even before we knew it would be our only option. To stop spending money on medical assistance and instead use that money to adopt was not a hard decision for us, because we felt God directing.  

Because we are believers, we chose to go with an agency that has the same Christian values. I cannot speak for the way my kids’ birthmother made her choices because, unfortunately, we don’t know her. But for whatever reason she called this particular agency for both of her placements. Both of the kids had already been placed by the time we received the call to ask if we would adopt them. Both times we sought God’s wisdom in deciding, both times we accepted and we have never looked back. 

We don’t believe God orchestrated S. getting pregnant so WE could be parents. To think so is arrogant and unloving towards a woman whose decision was painful and difficult. But we believe God took all of our choices, hers to place, ours to adopt, and directed us to find these particular children to become part of our family. We believe He led us to that particular agency because S. went to that particular agency and He knew our two kids would need us. When we adopted Isabel, we were the only couple that agency had that would take children of color. Noah, being biologically related, was placed with us automatically and now they are together.

In that sense, our adoption was miraculous. Not in the magical sense. Not in the manipulative sense. Only in the sense of a loving God who can take the painful situations we experience by our choices or the choices others make, and finds ways to create beauty (families, loving open-adoption relationships with birth parents, true orphans who find a home) through people who seek him and allow themselves to be led and used for his loving purposes.

I realize this probably makes no sense to someone who is not a believer. And I get that. To expect you to share, agree or even understand my way of life is not fair to you and it only creates more division and separation between us. I also know that there are Christians out there who do believe God pre-determines all of our choices. Clearly, that is not my theology and it is not a theological debate I seek here. 

But if you ask me if God played a part in the adoption of my children, carefully, tactfully, but definitely I will tell you YES! I just hope you give me the chance to explain before you assume I am a “destiny and magical thinking” kind of mom. 

Infertility, You Lost Again

There was a time when I used to think about infertility a lot. Every month, in fact. Each time the stick was negative, each time I was injected with horrible hormones that made me crazy, each time my friends would announce yet another pregnancy, I would remember. Time after time. Year after year.

One day we decided infertility would no longer define us and we turned our hearts to adoption. Quickly came Isabel and soon after, Noah. In the busy-ness of parenting, infertility became an old nightmare that no longer occupied my thoughts or my heart.

And yet this last year I have been reminded that no matter how long I’ve been a parent, no matter how many children I have, no matter how much I look, sound, and act like any other mom, when it comes to growing my family I am still just that: infertile. If I want another child I have two choices: expensive medical procedures that have no guarantee to work or a very complicated, intrusive, prolonged adoption process. And the frustrations of each choice again remind me:

You. Are. Infertile.

So, we chose to adopt again. We sent the paperwork and we opened ourselves to being scrutinized in ways no biological parent ever is. We have to prove we are good parents. We have to show we have the finances necessary. We have to convince that our marriage is strong in every way. We even have to submit to psychological evaluations to make sure we are of sound mind. Despite the fact that we already have two well-adjusted children at home. Despite the fact that the same agency that twice trusted us is now handling this adoption. And the complexity of this process insists:

You. Are. Infertile

We joyfully announced our decision to the world. And our motives were questioned. We were met with doubt. We were asked about our choice to adopt internationally rather than “take care of the children right here in our land.” We were asked about our discontent with having a family of four. We want three children, not twenty and we have saved, we have prayed, we have made this decision carefully. 


We were questioned even as we celebrated the baby-shower of a 16-year old who is keeping her baby and whose family, after the initial shock and disappointment, joyfully awaits the new life that will come to brighten their clan. And the lack of support for us, seasoned and equipped parents, whispers loudly:

You. Are. Infertile

But, infertility, you will not define me yet. You have forced me to take a different path than the one I anticipated. You have brought me down a journey I did not ask to take. But you have met a bigger foe. You have met the One who still works for the good of those who are called according to his purpose. You have met the One who took my inability to conceive and turned it into full arms and joy and laughter. You are battling against the One who called us to search and reach for a child we have not yet met,  but whose name is already written in our story. You will never win against the One whose plans for us are meant for hope and a future.  You have given ashes to the One who knows how to exchange them for beauty. 

You lost the battle, infertility, because I am the mother of three. 


**Linking up with Jen for SDG this week, and with Ann for Pages in Our Heritage of Faith** 

Not like Hannah but blessed still...

My sweet friend is pregnant after four years of trying unsuccessfully and a failed start down the path of adoption. It is a miracle to be sure. And to God be the sole glory for it. We rejoice when a barren woman finds life within and we call her “blessed.” And we remember that the Bible teaches that children are both gift and reward and we say “the Lord has bestowed favor on you, sister.”

And I look from the outside in wondering how God chooses those whom He blesses. And this (mis) understanding that the gift of life that we call miracle can only come from your own womb breaks my heart for I have not been favored.  Have I not been found faithful? Have I not asked with enough fervor? And forgetting that God’s blessing finds many paths I fail to remember there are miracles in adoption as well.  

I have watched friends eagerly answer the call to adopt after mourning the loss of their biological children never to be. I have watched them fill the paperwork, take all the right steps, answer all the right questions, and, finding themselves “paper-pregnant,” have gestational periods that last years. And years.  And years. Empty arms, once eager to be filled, now disillusioned again by yet another path to parenthood that does not seem to bring them the desire of their hearts. And still they wait, even today.

I have known of friends matched with a child, hope soaring high, nursery ready, only to be denied the dream at the last minute or, worse yet, after a few weeks of experiencing it. I have seen loss, and wait, and disappointment, and shattered dreams.

Yet I have experienced none. Our first adoption took two months. We had not yet settled into waiting. We had no nursery, no baby-gear, not even much of an expectation when the call came. Two days later we were parents. Papers signed. Full arms.

Our second adoption was a surprise. We did not pursue it. It fell on our laps and three weeks later there was a boy. Papers signed. Arms even fuller.

So I think about this as I ponder why I don’t belong to the favored group of barren women who have seen their tears wiped away by God in the secret whisper of life in their wombs. It’s true: I have not been blessed like Hannah, or Sarah, or Leah, or Rachel. 

But I have seen my children come to me in miraculous, unexpected, God-ordained ways that I could not have predicted. There may not be a great number of scriptural examples of my type of favor but you can definitely call me “blessed.”

We are daily aware of the ways God moves in the life of infertile women who beg to conceive and are granted their deepest desire. Our hearts are moved and turned to the Lord because of their stories of faithfulness and we praise Him for His love and mercy in their lives.

But adoptive mother, rejoice! 

Miracles happen in adoption too, and you have seen plenty of them. You have lived them; you are experiencing them now. And your story counts! You, also, are a testimony of His promises and His goodness. He has seen your tears and He has not forgotten them. He has answered your prayer and given you what you most wanted. 

Sister, God has blessed you, and favored you, and honored you as well. You have been gifted and you have been rewarded. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise!

Brownie...

We walked hand in hand into the Goodwill looking for nothing in particular, as we often did. Me, the lover of books, would peruse the paperbacks and find some treasures for a quarter. Matt would spend his time in the house wares finding salvageable oddities. But we always avoided the children’s section. Too painful. Too pointless.

Except that day. I don’t remember if we had already started the process of adoption or not but as we looked through the store we found ourselves walking down the last isle, next to the wall covered in broken toys and teddy bears. Up on the top shelf I saw it. It was a brown, fuzzy, child-size bear with a blue scarf around his neck. It caught my eye because it looked expensive and new. It was a Gund bear. The kind you find in fancy toy stores but at Goodwill discount. We took it down, inspected it, and carried it away.

And I named him Brownie.

On the way home I dared to dream a little of a time when Brownie may accompany a child into the land of dreams and protect him or her from the bad ones. It was the perfect bear for a little one: soft and friendly, seeing the world from the same eye-level, a relatable companion.

A couple of years went by. Isabel came and filled our lives with joy. Still Brownie was relegated to live on the guest bedroom bed. When Isabel went through a phase of dressing animals as people I held a silent hope for Brownie, who could wear her clothes easily. But Brownie was overlooked and left alone on his bed in favor of smaller Pooh.

 A few more years went by and we grew by one more when we brought Noah home. One evening as I prepared the kids for bed, Noah, not quite four-years old, asked to sleep with an animal as was his custom. This time he selected Brownie, who had moved from the guestroom into the large bin of stuffed creatures that now lived in the kids’ shared bedroom. Brownie, who was almost as tall as Noah, never left the bed again.

The fuzzy bear I dreamed so many years ago as a friend to the children I was yet to know  became more than a sleeping prop. Brownie is now the star of many adventures. He has traveled the world, he has lived in many countries, he has survived eating poison, he can breathe under water, he would put James Bond to shame and yet he has never left our house. He is also the baddest bear in the land. He steals money from Elmo, he lies and disobeys Noah and gets put in time-out a lot. He hits his friends and provides me with many teaching moments, as I explain to Noah why Brownie’s behavior is wrong and smile at Noah’s vicarious living through his unruly bear.

We chuckle to hear our children begin conversations with each other like this: “Remember when Brownie…” and we have to walk away so they don’t see us laugh when the other one replies: “I remember and he also…” filling one more detail of an adventure neither one of them witnessed.

I don’t know why Isabel did not take to Brownie. Maybe she had too many other choices. Or maybe their personalities simply did not “click.” My daughter is nurturing and prefers small creatures she could wrap in blankets and hold as babies in her arms. Brownie is a big bear, more of a pal than an offspring, so his charms did not work on her.

 It took a quirky little boy with mischievous eyes to see the possibilities this bear’s company had to offer. They are best buds. Brownie wears Noah’s clothes and, in exchange, Noah has made Brownie the star of his childhood adventures. It is endearing. And a little nerve-racking. The way this bear acts sometimes I worry he can be a bad influence on Noah…

I would have danced in the middle of that Goodwill with Brownie in my arms if I had known the life he would live and the small friends he would keep.  But the afternoon we met, I cautiously held him by the ear, trying hard not to get too attached and trying not to think about his loneliness and mine, were he never to have playmates.  

Sometimes you have to take a step of faith and buy a bear for an empty home, believing God keeps his promises. Sometimes those promises take you on a journey you did not expect because God’s crafted a different plan than you anticipated. And sometimes the earliest evidence of God’s plan in your life is brown and fuzzy, and wears a blue scarf around its stuffed neck.

We Did Not Choose Transracial Adoption

Here is the latest post for Adoptive Families Circle. If you are not a member you won't be able to comment, but if you would like to comment, please come back here and let me know your thoughts. I love to hear from you all. It makes my day!

"Most adoptive families encounter intrusive questions that biological families don't typically have to deal with. My husband, my children, and I belong to three different races, and our family is always being asked how we came to be together. I have yet to understand why that seems to matter to strangers on the street. I think that many people have a need to "figure out" any situation that looks strange to them.

This need to categorize our family also appears to include understanding why we chose to adopt children of a different race. We have been asked all kind of questions on the subject. We've been asked if we were trying to take a social stand against racism. We've been asked if we preferred black children to white or Hispanic children. We've been asked if we could not "get one" who "looked like you." We've been asked if we thought we would wait less time if we chose a child of color. We've even been asked if our children were "cheaper," which always bothers me."

Will come click over here to continue reading? And if you know anyone who would enjoy reading it, please share it or tweet it. Thanks, y'all!

Life in A Glass House in 2011: A Year in Review

Dear friends,

This is a year in review, a virtual Christmas letter if you will, to look back at the best of 2011 in our family's life, as recorded in this blog. I'm linking with Mama Kat this week, who provided the prompt for her Writer's Workshop.

Isabel was born in January. Her birthday always stirs in me a mixture of joy, pain, and gratitude. Perhaps because of the monumental decision her birthmother made, I felt compelled to write on a topic I would rather leave to better writers, or deeper thinkers. I prefer encouragement to discord but January saw me a little braver and able to take a stand. So in honor of my children, I wrote this.  

At Christmas I was given one of my favorite gifts of all time: my first sewing machine (or musheen, as Isabel calls them). I loved it so much I named her. Sally Maria Brother. 

Had I known the grief and frustration she would cause me as I tried to learn to sew, I would have named her Child of Satan. I wrote this in February after completing my most challenging project yet: a quick-sew-but-nothing-quick-about-it, make-in-two-hours-but-it-will-really-take-you-weeks fleece jacket for Noah. 

March brought me a crisis of discontent. We had gone through yet another infertility treatment, against our will, by doctor's orders, and, as usual, it failed. So I lost all perspective and, like a whinny child, began to complain about the things I lack. Patient as always, the Lord reminded me gently of his love and provision. This is what came out of my heart that day.  

On my birthday, in April, I experienced an overwhelming feeling of being loved, thanks to the magic of Facebook which allowed so many happy wishes from so many people in such a short time. It inspired me to think about the impact I can have in someone’s day by just taking one minute out of mine and I wrote this.  

Isabel started her first season of YMCA soccer in May. She was unsure and scared but she was blessed with the most wonderful coach we’ve ever known. This gentle man deserved his own ode here.    

In June my husband and brother in-law talked me into going camping for the first time in my life. On the beach. In a tent. But the experience began on the way there with a stubborn fly inside our van. Read about it here.  

I learned a hard lesson in July. One that I needed to learn and one that was embarrassing to admit, but one that is foundational to loving my neighbor as I’ve been commanded.  

In August we joyfully announced our new paperwork pregnancy like this. I have not updated much yet for the process is boring to tell, but when we have exciting news I will shout it to the four winds (and the blog world!).

I got my feelings hurt like a silly child in September, and, after crying and pouting, I turned to the Lord for help. Here is what I learned about his compassion.  

After eight months without a working stove, in October we finally bought a new one; only to have a frustrating and scary encounter with the Sears’ collection department. But we learned about God’s mercy for us in spite of our mistakes and because of our obedience, when He intervened here.  

Half-way through the first year of officially homeschooling my children, the constant questioning about homeschooled children’s social skills finally got under my skin enough to prompt me to write this in November. You be the judge!  

After a wonderful and full year, December brought our eleventh wedding anniversary. While this has been an amazing decade as Matt’s wife, as I looked back on it, I realized our life has not become what we thought it would be. Yet, it is so much more than we ever imagined: we embody a Proverb! This one.  

Have a happy new year and may your 2012 be filled with the love of family and friends, and many blessings. Above all, may you grow deeper in your relationship with Christ and, if you don't yet know him, may you come to know him and love him as He loves you. 

The Johnson clan.

What makes a mother?

Today I have the privilege of being a guest at Christy's place. She is One Fun Mom and she is doing a series called Baby Days with stories, advice, and encouragement for new moms. She asked me to write about my experience as a mom and I chose to highlight how we are all the same even as we are different...

I had a very short pregnancy with my first child. In fact, it was a three day pregnancy.

We received a phone call from the adoption agency on Tuesday and we brought Isabel home on Friday. A few weeks before that, when the last signature was placed, and the last document submitted, we were told the wait would be at least several months.

“We have time,” we thought.

But my wise sister-in-law gave us a car seat and said: “you just never know.”

So a car seat is all we had that Tuesday night the social worker called and said, “there is a baby…”

Please click here to read the rest and visit Christy's place. 

Does DNA make a family?

Friends, here is the latest post for Adoptive Families Circle. It is very similar to one I posted here a while back (in fact, it was the foundation for it!) but if you are fairly new you may not have read it before. You won't be able to leave comments at AFC unless you are a member, so would you kindly come back here and leave your thoughts? I would love to read them!

How much did she cost?" "Why can’t you have biological children?" "Why did her birthmom not want her?" "Aren’t you afraid of how he will turn out?" "Do you know who her REAL parents are?"

When we walk around the block, or through the grocery store, or just about anywhere else, there's no hiding the fact that we're a family formed by adoption. Not that I would want to hide it -- ever. But I do sometimes cringe at those intrusive, tactless, ignorant questions that would never arise in any other context.

Please read the rest over here: http://www.adoptivefamiliescircle.com/blogs/post/does_dna_make_a_family/

It Happened at Daycare!

Here is the latest entry for Adoptive Families Circle. They won't let you comment there unless you are a member, so if you have some comment-love for me, please, please come back here and talk to me!

"When you have a multicultural, multilingual, and multiracial family you get used to some strange comments, bizarre questions, and amazing assumptions.
Some you are prepared to deal with, some you learn to handle as you encounter them, some are forgettable, and some stay with you and don't let go. There is one such interaction in particular I remember and it happened at daycare."

Read the rest of the story here:

http://www.adoptivefamiliescircle.com/blogs/post/transracial-families-talking-about-adoption-myths/

On Growing a Family

Joining with Lisa-Jo for her Five Minute Friday on this week's topic: GROWING.

How does a family grow? How does it go from one to two to three to four to five?

Ten years ago I was one.

One is a lonely number so along came Matt and then we were two.  

Two can also be a lonely number so we set out to be three.

Three, however, was a difficult number to come by. And it took some heartache but God being who God is, at the right time, we became three.

And three was not so lonely a number anymore and we were happily settled for the time being but then there was a phone call and …surprise!...we were four. 

Four is a great number. It is an even and solid number. It is a number to sit on forever.

But…

One is a lonely number when you are one child among many in an orphanage and there are only so many hands to take care of all the needs.

One is a lonely number when you were meant to live in family and to have a place to call home.

One is a lonely number when, by simple addition, you don’t have to be alone anymore.

Years ago I didn’t know how we would grow from one to four but today I do know how we will grow from four to five.

And as we embark in this adventure of a Haitian adoption here are some other things I know about growing:

My belly may not grow but my heart will.

My bank account may not grow but my family will.

My house may not grow but the love and the joy it contains will.

And even though none of those things may grow…a child will.

Waiting...again.

Once upon a time we wanted to be parents. Once upon a time we dreamed of the possibilities, and planned for the wondrous day we would tell our friends and family we would soon be three. And once upon a time our dreams were shattered by infertility. Once upon a time we had no idea how our empty arms would be filled.

But, all the while, God was writing a different story for us to live. As we grieved our broken hopes He began to weave into our hearts a new dream of parenthood. The dream grew into a possibility and some five years ago it became a reality. We chose to put the nightmare of infertility behind and embraced God’s calling for us to adopt a beautiful baby girl, who was soon followed by a wonderful little boy.

The reasons we chose to adopt all those years ago were manifold. Strongest among them was our desire to fill our lives with the joy that children bring. Simply put, we wanted to be parents and, prayerfully, we decided this was the path God was laying before us and became the parents of two.

But where there is room for two, there is room for three. As we began seeking His will for our next adoption our hearts began to change. No longer empty of arms, no longer with an unfulfilled desire to become parents, we searched our hearts for the right path. We prayed and we actively waited for God’s guidance educating ourselves on the options.

And as we prayed, a common theme began to emerge: the orphan.

Over and over and over again, through many different conduits, God grabbed our hearts and our minds and wrapped them around James 1:27

“Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world”

We have been compelled. We have been commanded and we have our answer: the orphan.

I go back to the deep longing I had to hold a child in my arms and relieve the pain of being told it may not happen, and I realize that my longing does not begin to compare to the longing of a child to be held, to be loved, to be part of a family, and my heart breaks.

Haiti and its children had had a special place in our hearts since the earthquake three years ago, even though for a while Haiti adoptions were completely stopped. The needs are great and the orphans many. Haiti is now open and we are now ready.

This is scary to me. I am familiar with domestic adoption. I know the process and I have two miracles to testify to how well it works. International adoption is unpredictable, and different, and unfamiliar. And frightening.  And every time I bring my fears to the Lord, I am reminded that I was not given a spirit that makes me slave to fear, but the Spirit of God who adopted me as his own child.

So here we are. Process started. Wheels rolling.

Once upon a time we wanted to be parents and God was faithful to our hopes. Now that He is calling us to embody the hope of a little one who dreams of having parents, my prayer is that He will find us faithful as well.

Will you join us in praying for this journey? The journey will be long but we are not walking it alone.

They Aren't Really Your Children!

My husband, Matt, our kids, and I were sitting at the counter of an ice cream shop licking away, trying to keep the sweet cream from running down our arms, and enjoying watching people hurrying up and down the busy avenue. A woman walked into the shop and without stopping to buy anything said to me, "Those are not your children, are they?"

In shameless self-promotion, here is the latest Adoption Family Circle post. Please join me here to read the rest of the bizarre conversation that ensued!

A Proper Welcome!

Linking up with Lisa-Jo for her Five Minutes Friday.

How do you welcome a dream? How do you express the long wait, the deep longing, the desperation of thinking this day would never come? How do you show the deep gratitude and appreciation for the gift you were just given and the way it changed your life?

With the help of your friends and with seven different baby showers, of course!

The phone rang on a Tuesday. She was two months old, healthy, and in need of a family. Were we ready? We asked for a day to seek His wisdom; He said Of Course! We said Yes, yes, yes!

But we had nothing. We were ready but not prepared. So the community of our loved ones and friends rallied around us. They had been walking this journey with us. They had been praying and hoping and waiting just as long. They had been expecting this call with us and, when it finally  came, they rejoiced and celebrated with us. But they did more than just declare Congratulations!

They moved to action. So…

Baby shower #1: from my work.

Baby shower #2: from my students

Baby shower #3: from my department

Baby shower #4: from another group of students

Baby shower #5: from our church

Baby shower #6: from my family

Baby shower #7: from Matt’s family

By the time we were done our house looked like this:

This was everyone’s baby. Impatiently expected by a mob, dearly loved by a crowd, warmly welcomed by a community.

It really does take a village to raise and to welcome a child. And we never forgot the blessings of this homecoming that surrounded us with such generosity.

Dreaming at Held

If you have been reading this blog from the beginning you may recognize this post. It was one of my earlier ones and one that is dear to my heart. Today I am honored to be guest blogger at Held, a Hannah's Prayer Ministry. Won't you click over to read the rest and be in community with some amazing women? And, if you have a minute, I would love for you to leave a comment over there so I know you stopped by!

We were made to procreate. God placed in each living being an instinctual desire to re-create and continue the species. Humans being were further given the opportunity to make choices about procreation. We can choose to do so or not to do so. We are not just driven by instincts. We can logically and personally decide if we want to bring forth children or remain child-free.

Except when you can’t. What most take for granted for some of us is unattainable. You don’t really understand the power of that choice until you don’t have it. Infertility is cruel and random. You mostly don’t think about it until it invades your life, turns it upside down, and takes over your dreams.

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"The Call"

Linking to Mama Kat's Weekly Writer's Workshop: "A phone call you won't forget."

When you are in the process of adoption all you want is “the call.” The mere mention of that event can make your stomach knot and your heart rate accelerate. It is what you pray for every night, what you hope for every time the phone rings, and what you cannot imagine ever happening.

We experienced “the call” one Wednesday in March. The “there is a baby for you, would you like to know more about her?” call. It was exhilarating and exciting and amazing. We were ready for it, we longed for it, we had been preparing for it, and when it came all of our dreams seemed to come true. 

A year and a half after “the call” we were settled as a family of three. We knew we wanted more children. Maybe one or two more at some point. We would start the process of adoption again when Isabel was about two, knowing it would take several months to complete it and bring home baby number two.

But God had other plans…

That spring, unexpectedly, Matt received a call from a church in a small town a few hours away that wanted to interview him. He felt it was time for him to make a change and he was praying about accepting. I was frustrated with the seemingly bad timing of the offer. If he accepted we would move in September which meant I either had to move a month before him to start at a new school in August or take a semester off and start in January, which meant living on one income for a while.    

The same day Matt accepted the position at the church, I took a job at one of the high schools in our new town to start in January. We still had not figured out exactly how we would work out the timing but we had made the decision prayerfully and trusted the Lord knew what he was doing.

The night we took the jobs I was out for the evening when Matt called and asked me to come home now. Our social worker had called. She never called. E-mail was her normal way of contacting us so we got back to her right away. She proceeded to tell us about a two-day old baby boy that had been placed in their care by the same woman who made an adoption plan for Isabel, her birthmother. The agency had a policy to call the family of the first biological sibling in such cases.

“Do you want the baby?” she asked. This was “the call ” to be sure. But this time we were neither expecting it nor prepared and at first I didn’t know how to feel. A completely antithetical experience than our first one. 

Did we want the baby?

We were about to embark on a new chapter of our lives where we would be experiencing several of the greatest stressors a marriage can go through: a new job, a new town, loss of one income, a house to sell, both a mortgage and rent, moving from a house to a two bedroom apartment, on the second floor, with two dogs and now a new baby and a toddler under the age of two.

This was a tremendous risk and by all rational thought a bad idea.

But how could we not?

This was Isabel’s biological brother. And while I am a firm supporter that family is not made by DNA, so many adoptees are never afforded the opportunity to meet, let alone grow up with someone who shares with them physical features and such a shared history. In a world where talking about babies inheriting grandmother’s nose or dad’s sense of humor is a main subject at family reunions, people who were adopted can feel isolated and out of place. How could we separate them? So we did.

We adopted the baby.

But in God’s amazing goodness, adopting this baby also meant maternity leave for me from my current job and with it, the opportunity to keep our health insurance and receive a little pay while we made the transition to our new city, finished the semester and started at a new school fresh in January.  

We picked up Noah on a Saturday and we moved the following Saturday to our new apartment, dogs in tow.  Right away Matt had to report to church and begin work. I was home with the kids and the dogs. I thought I would go insane. I thought I would be lonely and sad. But those first six months in our new life were the happiest months I remember in a long time. We were broke, we were alone, and we only had one another. We grew closer as a family and closer to the Lord.

The day Isabel ate a blue crayon, threw up blue chunks and followed me sobbing with filthy little blue hands, while I attempted to keep the dog from eating her mess I realized I was not reacting the way I thought I would have with all that stress. I was laughing. I could see the humor in the situation and I could not wait for Matt to get home to tell him about my day.

While I will never forget the first “call” because of what it meant for our family of two, it was the second one that sticks in my mind as the most wondrous and memorable one. It came not at the right time by logical standards but I serve an illogical God whose timing is perfect and whose plans and ways are higher than mine and I praise him for that each time I look at my precious boy.