This Eternal Journey

intertwined….

You step inside the story and you become intertwined, enfolded, grafted….

Adoption isn’t the simple act of feeding, clothing, and educating a child. Adoption is grafting. It is the grafting of another life into your life, and your lives becoming one together.

Grafting is a farming technique that joins two separate plants into one. A wound is created in one of the plants, and the other is inserted into the wound so each plant’s tissues can grow together. The plants grow and heal together until you cannot see where one starts and the other ends.

This is grafting.

Scripture speaks extensively about grafting. It was a common practice amongst the farmers and growers of Jesus’ time and the spiritual analogy of God grafting us into His family would have been well understood amongst the hand calloused listeners.

Farmers knew that a plant or tree that was grafted meant faster growth, healing, more fruit, but, you see, to be grafted meant that the plant taking the graft had to be wounded and the branch inserted into the wound was broken off from the original plant.

This is a concept that many people struggle with before and after adoption. Adopting a child is glamorized and we all love the golden hour Instagram moments, but the reality of adoption is that there is a wound made within the adopting family to accept the grafted branch. The branch that is received is a broken branch that has been cut off from familial sustenance. The self inflicted wound of the parental grafted plant is not a mortal wound, it’s a necessary wound. It’s necessary that we know it’s coming, recognizing the initial piercing change of it.

It’s an entering into the struggle and story of the child. It is painful, it is hard, it is time, repetition, exhaustion. It is wholly necessary for the grafting process so healing and growth can begin. It is going into adoption with eyes wide open….knowing that this is the reality of the journey.

For me, the wound was the first few weeks home. I was beyond exhausted, not connected yet, my 40 year old body hurt from suddenly carrying a child around. I’d wake up in the morning thinking, “this is what we chose…this is my life now”…and I’d be ashamed of feeling this way.

It’s utterly overwhelming.

Your life is upside down in every way. The wound is made and the graft is inserted. The grafted branch is heavy, painful, not healed, uncomfortable, you’re supplying sustenance, support, and life to this graft and there’s not much to show for it. It’s just plain hard work and mostly not fun. It feels like it’s bleeding you dry, but it’s not.

There’s a reason God chose you to accept this graft. His strength is gifted to you.

Time passes, and you slowly feel your heart wrapping around this small one…..your tissues enfolding the graft…. I remember a moment so vividly. I used to have to bounce Lian at night, holding him until my arms ached and my back groaned, but he craved this human touch. He would pull at my clothes until his cheek would rest on my skin, and as strange as that seemed to have this small stranger desperate for his cheek on me, I realized that, as a baby, he was never nursed…never had that intimate contact with his mother. Never fell asleep on his father’s bare chest. Never listened to a parent’s heartbeat….and so we did that…every night, until my arms shook with strain as I laid him down, heavy with slumber.

And one night, I’m doing the bouncing routine, I was startled to realize that I loved this child. It hit me full force, washing over me like a wave…tears ran down my cheeks onto his, because I didn’t know that you could love another child like your own.

I didn’t know.

I wondered, but I didn’t know. I hadn’t experienced it yet. This grafting process.

And suddenly that little grafted branch isn’t so heavy, and your wound has healed and his little grafted life is starting to bear fruit and leaves and flowers. There are days when you look at him and wonder if you birthed him, you FEEL like you birthed him, like he was always there, and what did you do before him?

You can’t remember.

This entering into the grafting process is the gift. It’s the willingness to be wounded, to recognize the hard, facing it head on, rejoicing in the journey.

It’s such a beautiful reminder of how God has grafted us into eternity with Him.

I pray that I’m always reminded of this through the daily ordinary.

hope deferred…

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.” Proverbs 13:12.

I haven’t written in a long while. Not since Ella’s birthday in May. I just haven’t had the heart to write, there is no exciting adoption update or news, just a vast, unending silence punctuated by the disheartening, autumn crow calls of more bad news.

I am Proverbially heartsick. I am watching my child grow up in fought for updates doled out like a slow drip during a desert walk.

And I’m not alone. There are hundreds of parents, families, Mamas, just like me, yearning to bring their little one home. We’ve worked so hard, waited so long….we’ve wept, written, hounded our agencies…..we posted, blogged, prayed some more.

God, how long? Where’s our “tree of life”? Why must our littles languish in cribs and institutions when we are SO WILLING to help.

I think that’s what frustrates me the most. There are people who are bravely willing to help, basically standing there with arms outstretched running to the waiting and we can’t get to the need.

Then, there’s this…..

I am definitely NOT a dreams person. In fact, I are overly critical of people who dream dreams and use them to justify all sorts of unbiblical things….I am of the school of thought that dreams need to be tested against scripture and tested hard.

But how many “coincidences” does a skeptic need? I guess, for me, a plethora.

It goes like this. Late fall of 2015, we had started our adoption journey. We wanted a little girl with minor special needs. Well, God laughed at us and we fell in love with the now-famous Lian. After we had accepted his referral (for you non-adoption people, it’s basically a process where you tell China that you accept this child and then they say, “are you sure” and you’re like “yeah” and so on…all in official paperwork forms accompanied by the familiar fees of consternation, namely because you never have enough money when said fees are due)…but I digress…

We are all formally accepted and “locked in” with Lian. It’s a big relief to know and it’s all “yay” and “wow” and “God is so good”, and so on and so forth.

And then I had this dream, one of those vivid dreams that you wake up with a start and wonder what’s going on. I mean, in the vast majority of my dreams I’m searching for a bathroom, which seems to be my lot in life (shout out to all Mamas who’ve had multiple kids, you are my tribe), but this dream was so incredibly different.

I’m in this vast, cement space, multi-leveled, many rooms and hallways. The floors and ceilings are cement, the walls are cement, there are stairways, ladders, all cement. And I’m searching for a little girl. I know it’s a little girl, I’m certain of it. Very certain. There’s nothing in these spaces except cement and shadowy gray faceless figures. I’m climbing cement ladders, I’m passing these figures and begging them, “please, help me find her, she needs me…” Please.

But the figures are silent and go on about their shadowy business…I’m on my own. I keep seeking and searching, going down stairs, climbing ladders, searching hallways, looking into echoing rooms. A feeling of desperation is taking hold of me. Why can’t I find her? I know she’s there. I feel it in my depths.

I come upon this ledge and start climbing down this cement ladder that is carved into the wall, and at the bottom of the ladder is a pile of bags and cloth. I fall to my hands and knees, desperately shuffling through the bags and cloth, feeling, searching for her and I find her! She’s wrapped in black cloth like a swaddled infant and as I turn her over, her straight black hair falls across her forehead, eyes closed, gray complexion, she’s lifeless.

In my dream, I wail, holding her face to my chest, rocking back and forth…. because I was too late! I failed her. She needed me and I wasn’t there…… I feel her soft cheek against my neck, and she suddenly gasps and cries. I look into her face and watch the rose blush rise into her cheeks, her dark eyes open. She’s alive!

And I startle awake with tears on my face, pounding heart.

The greatest puzzlement at the time was why this dream about a little girl? We are adopting Lian…a little boy…..why would I dream this? I remember the next day I was so overcome by it that when I saw my friends, I told them about the dream and it brought tears to my eyes again…I got choked up.

But we had Lian, he’s not a girl, and so, I just passed it off as some strange dream due to feeling overly emotional about adoption or eating too many chips….I don’t know.

Fast forward years…..to this year. Hands down, one of the hardest years of my life….we were supposed to travel to get Ella last December….then paperwork delays….it’s February….then COVID…and NOTHING…nothing but endless sighs, that sharp internal heart clench, deep breaths for more bad news.

We can’t go….there’s no end in sight. She’s a plane flight away, seemingly so easy and yet so impossible.

And I’m questioning God and questioning Him hard. I’m praying, I’m doubting….I’m quiet, I’m mad, I’m accepting, I’m raging. I’m all of it. (not all in the same day, mind you, that would be a lot)

One morning, in the fuzzy minutes between wakefulness and slumber this dream that I had years ago, popped into my head….this 2015 pre-adoption dream! So vividly. As if I had just had it.

Suddenly all the pieces fell into place….the search, the unhelpful gray people, the frustration, the hopelessness of it all….but I found her. I didn’t stop looking, regardless of how many cement ladders, hallways and rooms I had to traverse.

I know why I had that dream. I know why God brought it my remembrance so suddenly. Because I was doubting this journey. Wondering if God was closing doors. Wondering if it was all going to work out.

So, there’s my silence in a nutshell. This internal raging battle for this child that I love so dearly and want so desperately to be here in my arms.

There will be great rejoicing when this little one comes home.

And so it goes.

stuck…

Adoption journeys stalled, Covid-19 in 2020, she should be home by now, nations stalled in panic, doors slammed shut….we are stuck. And the ones who suffer are the tiny souls who wait.

Being stuck invites inevitable well meaning cliches…”It’s not the right time yet, in God’s time, God must be teaching you something, enjoy this time.”

And so it goes.

What the un-stuck cannot fathom is the love. Take your own child and put them in another place, cared for by other people, oceans away. Add in few to no updates, a lot of sleepless nights, wondering, waiting…that is the stuck. The love isn’t just a seed, waiting to grow. It’s real time love, already deeply rooted in the dark soil of paperwork, watered in months of tears, and grown in the desert of prayer.

Stuck is the small face on the fridge, reluctantly taken down, replaced by an older face. It’s the missed first steps, first words, candleless birthdays, the deep breath and closed eyes of more bad news.

Stuck is the aching bittersweetness of the longed for update. It’s the slow wait, but also the disbelief at the passage of time. Stuck is deep diving into adoption waters, knowing you can’t breathe again until the weight of her is in your arms.

It’s not easily explained unless you’ve donned the shoes.

Those who are stuck aren’t alone. In the wee hours glow, together we reach for each other, tapping out news and fears on tear drenched keyboards.

And for those alongside the stuck, just be with us, for bandaging words aren’t necessary. The necessary is simply the space to wipe a tear or clear our throat when her name comes up. It may be something as simple and profound as a hand on the shoulder and “this is hard”. It’s the room to grieve lost time and childhood. We aren’t fixable.

Because, you see, loving an unmet child doesn’t equal less love than what we have for those already home.

It just means that, for now, we are holding our breath…until that door opens….and there she is.

Only then can we catch our breath again.

the day you were born…

Dear, little Ella Fēi,

May 1st. Today is the day we celebrate your birth. While we may never know the exact day of your birth, you have been gifted the birthday of May 1st. May day. What a lovely day to celebrate you on! The day of spring, May flowers popping up their vibrant heads after April showers….the day where, in the past, sweet spring traditions were passed along from child to child.

In our country, children used to gather up armfuls of spring flowers, leave them on doorsteps, knock, and run away giggling…hiding in the bushes for the pure pleasure of seeing the delight on the receiver’s face. May day.

And you, my child, may have been found on this first day of May…..and while your finder may have viewed you with dismay, people gathering around, wondering where this tiny flower came from….where the authorities may have passed you from person to person before you came to be in the place you now are, please know that we celebrate the sweet gift that you are to us on this May day….the gift that we know you will be to us.

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Even though governments, disease, panic, restrictions, and all that is shoving hard against the brave of us….. and every waiting family, even though every new announcement is time pushed back, pushed back, pushed back…the frustrating, helplessness of the unknown, separating families, holding strict hostage of adoption timelines……We still look ahead, longing for the day where we can arrive and hold our sweet flower in our arms.

So, despite the bittersweetness of this day…. getting out your little dresses, shoes and toys that were tucked away, patiently awaiting their small owner….we celebrate this day of your birth.

May day.

Ella Fēi, your Mama woke up this morning to the usual….your big brother thumping down the hallway, throwing open the bedroom door, “Mama, UP!” he states….He’s enthusiastically thumping a pink balloon on his head.

Where did he get the balloon, I sleepily wonder?

I walk out to see that your big sisters have sweetly decorated for you…..

This, Ella Fēi, is your day, decorated….. we should have had you by now. You are pink, blue, green….all the joy colors of spring.

Here is your May Day birthday outfit….you should have been wearing it by now…Flowers for Ella Fēi.

Here are your patiently waiting lovies…….the future of snuggles, tea parties and long walks…. you should have been holding them by now.

This is a little gift from your siblings…..a sunhat and choose happy….to match your big brother. You should have been twinning it with him by now….

This is your big sister, making a delicious cake, celebrating you!

This is your chromosome cutie brother, mad at Mama for making him try on your new hat for size. Big brother hates trying on girlie things…..it’s pretty funny, actually.

Your Daddy went to the Chinese market to get ingredients for his famous homemade dumplings.

And here is your cake, from scratch by big sis.

I guess I write all of this so that you will know that you were chosen, wanted, loved, looked forward to…all the lovely things that make up who we are.

The family things.

The God things.

The adoption things.

May Day is the day of spring, new life, colors and promises.

I pray that you somehow sense this today, our Ella Fēi, our May Day girl.

Happy Birthday.

Love,

Mama

of the unsung…a compilation of images

Here’s to the husband, who realized a life shift when he heard the sniff, saw the screen glow turned his way, heard the question…..babe, look at this. Can we? Should we? Did you know? How can we not?

And you looked.

Here’s to you, your logical glance preceded by an illogical yearn. No. It’s too much. It can’t be. This isn’t our job…..our plan for our family, my life, our life. I’m too old, we’ve raised our kids, we haven’t had a child yet….

Here’s to the man who struggled deeply, battling the yes, knowing where it came from. Here’s to the husband who tried to want it, but had doubts. Huge doubts. Lingering fears. Here’s to the deep breath and lifted prayers.

Here’s to the hand on the furrowed brow, staring at budgets, crunching numbers. Here’s to the man staring at frightening diagnosis lists.

Here’s to wondering if you could love a stranger’s child like you love your own. Would you? Could you?

Here’s to you, and your brave, blind, faithful yes.

Here’s to the Daddies, the Babas, the Yeyes, the Fathers, the unsung ones that make up the tribe of men who stand in the gap for the calling. The calling to adopt, to foster, to be a father to the fatherless…..a privilege not for the faint of heart, because it takes a real man to do it.

The job is for the strongest of men, who forgo the gym, the game, the golf course for endless therapies, counseling, hospital visits.

The most challenging road where the best is yet to come, where the end game isn’t an earthly crown.

This is for you.

Here’s to the daddies who don’t count chromosomes.

Here’s to the babas who strive for attachment, who celebrate the hard fought battle from fear to trust. (the reward is a jet lagged nap)

Here’s to the fathers who risked it all and won the crown, who have already heard the “well done, good and faithful…” Here’s to your legacy of fatherhood. Here’s to the children you comforted with your last breath. You’ll meet again.

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Here’s to you, when you’re not quite sure where to go from here or what’s coming next.

Here’s to the dads who breaks down racial divides. Here’s to the dads who wait for years for adoptions to go through…longing to give their child a permanent name and home. Here’s to the fathers who set the bar high in their communities, who inspire others to follow and meet the need.

Here’s to the oh-so-tired daddies, who work second jobs to pay for home studies, who come home exhausted, pushing through evening medical routines….here’s to the men who can literally sleep anywhere. This is your legacy.

Here’s to the fathers who scarf down leftover hospital food, understand medical jargon, know the ins and outs of wheelchairs, braces, and feeding tubes. We see you. We thank you.

Here’s to the dads who hold up a family at the resting place of a fragile little one. The bravest of the brave. Here’s to the dad who knew the potential loss and chose it, relished it, embraced every moment of sweet life…..only to let it fly away.

Here’s to your silent, streaming tears, your wife on one arm, a tiny casket on the other.

Here’s to Gotcha Day jitters, the flight, the strange land, the questioning officials, the deep breath, the pounding heart. Here’s to the lengths you will go for that first smile. Here’s to taking a small person’s terror on your shoulders, here’s to the first eye contact, the first touch, the first hug….

Here’s to the moment when you realized that your compassion was light years greater than your no.

Here’s to you, father of many yeses…who did it once and went back again, who saw it all and kept offering life.

Here’s to the dads who are wrapped around their little fingers!

Here’s to the daddies who do the fun things, who are goofy, who teach, who love….here’s to the laughter and all the things that memories are made of. Here’s where adventure happens. It’s with you.

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Here’s to the songs you sing, the swings you swing, the piggy back rides, and final goodbyes. Here’s to holding on and letting go.

Here’s what you have learned and shouted to the world. That ordinary men, with God, can do mighty things. Your gentleness is your strength. Your compassion is the most faithful of companions. You do brave, difficult, gut wrenching things.

Because of that….

You are our heroes.

Here’s to you.

*** An enormous thank you to the families who contributed their beautiful photos to this blog! The heart and stories behind each one brought me to tears while I wrote this. I pray that God brings more and more men along the way who will be willing to be a father to the fatherless, who would step up to protect and lead precious little ones Him.

And to my amazing husband, for saying yes twice to our two who are rocking the extra chromosome. God is good and I love you so very much.***

Love,

Cady

if I could write a miracle…

If I were God that I may write

A miracle, one late night

A babe I’d craft inside my hand

With extra stuff, you understand.

This miracle I’d gently place inside

A place where people seem to die.

A place where most of them don’t live

to see the daylight privilege.

I’d place this babe inside this spot

and hide his extra special lot.

Until he’s born and then I’d watch

him placed into another spot.

Picked up by strangers just to lie

inside a crib, but he won’t die;

My miracles I sprinkle, grow

They get to earth, have seeds to sow.

And from his crib, his almond eyes

take in this world with small surprise.

His growth is slow, his steps are late,

Eyes radiate joy, and never hate.

And one sweet day, heart parents come

to collect their miracle child of one.

Across the sunset line they fly,

Arrow straight, they heard his cry

For lifelong love, a family he

Will join them all eternally.

This miracle boy with extra stuff

Has things to share with all of us.

Courage to love when all seems lost

Hugs to give, without cost.

Lessons taught by one so small

Nary taught by intellects tall.

Watches your face, always in tune

For when you’re sad, he’ll leave the room

Bring tissues, hugs, whatever helps.

Thinks of others, not himself.

Yes, if I could write a miracle child

And place him in the world a while

This is the story I would write,

If dark be overcome with light.

Treasures, most times, are hard to find

And what is valued by mankind?

Wealth and status, brains, power

Societal boots crushing flowers

Of quiet innocence, simplicity

Sweet life without toxicity.

Search high or low for power to wipe

Your tears, or comfort bleakest nights.

Yes, if I could write a miracle, this

Is the pattern I’d insist.

And if you have this miracle, you

Are highly blessed, through and through.

I tell you this that joy befalls

Those who answer miracle’s calls.

Miracles are both far and few

Answer the call. You’ll find what’s true.

Written for our little miracle boy, Lian Alexander Driver, by his Mama, Cady Driver. Lian, a miracle from start to finish…from his extra 21st chromosome to the fact that God brought him into our lives through adoption, and the blessings, joy, laugher, and love that He has poured out upon us is immeasurable.

In celebration of ALL of the miracles who are rocking the extra 21st chromosome.

One can only hope that you all find such a miracle.

the ripple of yes….

Somehow, somewhere, you find yourself standing in a place where yes doesn’t quite makes sense. It’s a blind spot in the crossroads of your life. Something pulls in one direction, but rational sense points fiercely in another.

God, why? God, how? God, where? God, now?

The refrain patterns over and over again in the travelers who walk this particular uncertain road. We struggle with this yes, for it’s an uncomfortable one. It’s the yes that doesn’t fit the framework of long held dreams.

Bossy prudence says don’t. Don’t sacrifice yourself to this yes. It’ll cost you. Friends and family warn you. Is this a yes for the betterment of you? Your family? Your future?

But then, like a sweet spring rain, God waters a yes into the soil of your soul with the purpose of planting His desires with yours.

Just like that, up sprouts a tentative yes.

These are the families of “yes”. With uncertain steps, most didn’t know where their yes might lead or what this yes really means.

Nevertheless, the families say yes, and in taking that first blind step of faith found a road that is so incredibly less travelled that opportunities abound to shout from the mountaintops the worth of the blessed few who walk this earth while carrying a piece of God’s heart in theirs.

The unfolding patterns of “yes” look slightly different in each narrative. The call occurred in one spouse’s heart and leapt to the other’s. A few knew their yes calling for years, but for most, this yes was never the anticipated oasis on any life horizon.

But….God.

God ever-so-gently placed the yes into each family, and while the it was heralded by uncertainty, it was answered with brave.

And we, the families of this extraordinary yes, declare that where there is life, there are people who say yes to it. Where there is hope, we shout yes. Where families are needed, we whisper yes, in the dead of night, even in our uncertainty.

We toss our tiny pebble of yes into the waters of faith, and the resulting ripples rock the heart boats of the fearful tarrying yeses. The skeptical yeses. The timid yeses.

Once the yes has a sweet face attached to it, it’s that much easier for the neighbor’s yes, the friend’s yes, the teacher’s yes to mirror yours….turning doubts into families found, lives restored, healing for the oft abandoned lingering hearts.

Just imagine, that somewhere in the depths of your mother’s womb, the division of your life cells was amiss. Because of that mathematical anomaly, your life path now denied you family, home, country, dignity, education, every aspect of what humanity demands for a life of yes.

What does a small soul of destitution have to do for the large souls of plenty to say yes to the simple grace of love? Family? Life?

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This is the Extraordinary yes of Down syndrome adoption. It’s the road less travelled, the path not taken, the yes of faith over fear.

It’s the best yes, the scariest yes, the most exhilarating yes. It’s a yes that will both drive you to your knees in the darkest hours, and radiantly illuminate your previous dimly lit worldview.

Would you join us by celebrating this ExtraOrdinary yes?

The brave yeses of small lives, who defy great odds to tell the world that their yes is brimming with eternal value, overflowing with joy.

Fall in love with the these 13 families of yes in Extraordinary Adoption. Book royalties go towards the “Say Yes” grants through Open Hearts For Orphans to directly help more families adopt children with Down syndrome.

#Extraordinaryadoption

Order here: www.extraordinaryadoption.com

5 quick and easy reasons to not adopt

Adoption isn’t for everyone. This is such an oft repeated statement that we should, really, get t-shirts made of it. I mean, seriously. They would sell like hot cakes. You know how crazy adoption peeps are about the t-shirts!

For everyone’s convenience, here is a conveniently compiled list of the top 5 reasons that adoption is not for everyone. This is a great list to have handy when challenged by those crazy people who adopt, making one feel all squirmy with those shocking photos, inconvenient statistics, and, for Pete’s sake, stop with the t-shirts sales, people!

5. FROM ANY ANGLE, ADOPTION IS A CHALLENGE

If you’re a person who strives for a life paved with smooth, sparkly stones and peaceful vistas, adoption is probably something best to be avoided at all costs. For most, the challenge of running a 5K or working out in the gym should definitely be satisfying enough. Why put yourself through the equivalent of a lifelong marathon when a weekend marathon can satisfy the challenge itch? Plus, with adoption, there’s no visible finish line, no cheering crowds, and not one single shiny trophy in sight as far as the eye can see.

What attraction is there in the thankless, broken, lifelong marathon of adoption?

Although, I HAVE heard rumors that the adoption marathon could bring enormous, yet quietly celebrated victories that cannot be measured by earthly standards….but those are just rumors and who can trust those?

4. ADOPTION WILL BREAK ONE

Adoption will break the hardest of hearts in all the most tender places. This is definitely NOT good for your physical health, mental state, and definitely puts the blood pressure into digits only recommended for elephants. For example, once you’ve walked through that room, lined with silent cribs occupied by glassy eyed children, your heart will feel like it has been through a shredder and it’s a much larger shredder than the cheese one.

No longer can you enjoy a simple sunset or a cozy Christmas without being gouged by the double edged sword of happiness laced with remembrances of those who aren’t experiencing your current blessings. There is an undeniable shattering of the heart when you weep as your adopted child weeps, as they mourn their loss, as they rage against the life change, clawing through the trauma of a brief but scarred life.

A broken heart is something to avoid at all costs in life.

Although rumor has it that a tenderized heart expands in capacity and endurance, and didn’t Jesus Himself weep over the lost?….. but I could be wrong on that one.

3. ADOPTION WILL GREATLY AGGRAVATE ONE’S FLAWS

If you are like me and you work on an orderly existence with possessions that haven’t been repaired with duck tape and spit, then adoption definitely isn’t for you. If testing the absolute limits of your patience and tolerance isn’t a goal in life, definitely don’t attempt this.

In cautiously avoiding any and all situations that will challenge the assorted fruits of the spirit (love, joy, peace, PATIENCE, self-control, etc…), you can be sure to never embarrass your Christian testimony in front of others, your faith quota will always be a lavish overflowing waterfall, and you can rest assure that your spotless reputation will stay solidly intact.

Also, another benefit is that one will not ever have to rely or lean upon your church, friends, family, village, town, tribe, or even perfect strangers, and one’s fierce independence will stay firmly in place.

On second thought, I DO recall that a muscle that is exercised becomes stronger with use, and the whole “not needing anyone” could possibly be a pride issue……but exercising is hard work, and sweating through these problems might ruin the hairdo or chip the nails….and independence is SO American…so let’s just go with that.

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2. ADOPTION WILL CHALLENGE ONE’S MARRIAGE

Long walks on the beach? Dinner and a movie? Gazing at each other minus the eye bags of extreme exhaustion…. If you just ADORE these romantic things, and they are what make your marriage tick, then I’d recommend continuing on with the comfortable journey you are currently traversing. You don’t need those pesky late night migraines of trying to figure out where the next adoption payment is coming from or which kidney you need to sell to make it happen. Not to mention that the therapies and sleeping at the hospital will DEFINITELY put you out of the loving mood and who wants that?

That sweaty hand in his as you ride that elevator up to meet your child for the first time, the mascara running down your face, those whispered prayers for sleep to come in the traumatized dark hours, the bleary mornings….definitely not.

Besides, who wants to get all sorts of creative with what a date night constitutes? A 15 minute ride in the car with the child who finally fell asleep and you can miraculously finish a sentence….it’s a hot date! Grocery shopping together, catching each other’s gaze over the mushrooms and diapers (hopefully not in the same section)

DATE!

Sitting through a church service for the first time in a year because your child will FINALLY stay in the nursery without exhibiting trauma-related behavior. It’s a DATE…and if you’re lucky, you may EVEN attend a church where you can hold hands or he can slip his arm around you. * helpful hint* Sit in the back. (Not sure if making out will be overlooked, though, unless it’s one of those super progressive churches where you have to feel your way to your seat in the dark.)

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Nah, long walks on the beach are DEFINITELY preferred….

the moment your eyes lock over the photo of that child, and both of your hearts leap with united Divine intent…

…that’s definitely not as glam. Stick with the beach thing.

And the number ONE REASON to NOT adopt is:

1. ADOPTION WILL CHALLENGE EVERY SINGLE AREA OF ONE’S FAITH

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If you have a huge interest in questioning the goodness of God or why bad things happen to tiny, helpless humans, definitely adopt…..if you really don’t want to challenge your faith with these head scratching conundrums, then absolutely avoid adoption.

Is God good? Will He really, truly provide this Mt. Everest of cost? What is true worship? What does the Bible really say about laying down your life? Why are we commanded to do certain things? What is a soul for eternity worth?

Man, lots of questions like these can almost shove you out of the Christian kayak of belief and then where would you be? Floundering in the water? Getting eaten by a giant whale?

Yep.

Though, there IS some ancient text where a certain person (starting with “P” and ending with “TUR”) was commanded to step out of a boat willingly and if he kept his eyes on Jesus, he walked on water. I could be mistaken though.

Who wants to step out of a satisfyingly safe kayak for a water stroll? Not everyone.

Let’s not get crazy here, folks. Safety is our top priority, right?

Although, I have heard whispers of if a believer wishes to save one’s life, one must lose it.

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These pesky, Bibically-laced whispers….always so inconvenient and they make one just want to turn up the Netflix binge and block things out.

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“Whoever seeks to preserve his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life will keep it.” Luke 17:33

“But Jesus called them to him, saying, “Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God.” Luke 18:16

fear is an anchor…

What if I told you I was afraid….yes, I’m afraid.

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Ignorance really is bliss during your first adoption. There’s SO much you just didn’t know and you looked at SO many smily, family photos, watched SO many tear inducing YouTube Gotcha day videos. Everything is new and amazing, sweet and lovely. You step forwards in “faith”, but a lot of it is stepping forward blindly because you really have zero idea what it is you’re getting in to.

Similar to being a new parent, there are all of these pre-conceived notions of what your birth, delivery, and basically what parenthood will be like and most of those fantasies are really shiny and pretty.

The reality of it is that when you’re staring at the pregnancy test of your second or third child, there is joy, but it’s laced with a bit of anxiety and fear, and just plain exhaustion…Am I enough? Can I love this child the same as the first? Will there enough of me to go around?

Am I right? It’s different the second time.

I’m feeling the same way with moving forward with this next adoption. I look at Lian, I look back over the last 2 years, and yes, it has been AMAZING, and we’ve learned so much, and have been so blessed, but there’s a weariness and a caution laced with fear that I feel dragging us down, holding us back, anchoring us to this earth.

There’s no shiny happily-ever-after view, it’s now all reality…..in all of its hard and wonderful, broken and healed hallelujahs.

And I’m afraid. The “what ifs” press down upon me like stormy waves. The “Was Lian an anomaly? Was he too easy or was he hard?” “What if Ella is hard, like seriously hard…..harder than Lian?”

And fear whispers in my ear because I allow it to be heard.

BUT……

Nowhere is God involved in fear. 1 John 1:18 talks about how “perfect love casts out fear…” and while the correct context of the verse instructs us to not fear eternal judgement because we have accepted Christ’s perfect love, I believe that the Holy Spirit can also give us a perfect love for others, a love that can ascend past the anchor that is fear.

And so, my prayer for this journey isn’t that we would have a blinded, rosy view again…. it’s that God would give us perfect love for this next little one who needs a home….the one who waits.

God, give me perfect love through the long, exhausting, international trip. Give me perfect love through Ella’s grieving process, through her health issues, the specialists and doctor’s visits. Give us all perfect love to, once again, step forward, accepting the hard with the glorious.

Give me perfect love to climb this mountain again. Cast aside fear because You have no part in that.

Recently, this song by Matt Kearney popped up one day in the car…and the words…struck me….and I listened to it with tears streaming down my face, because every word of it is TRUE.

NEVER BE READY

We got our feet on the wire
Talking ’bout flying
Maybe we’re diving in over our heads
Scared of what I’m feeling
Staring at the ceiling
Here tonight

Come on and lay down these arms
All our best defenses
We’re taking our chances here on the run
The fear is an anchor
Time is a stranger
Love isn’t borrowed
We aren’t promised tomorrow

We’ll never be ready if we keep waiting
For the perfect time to come
Hold me steady, we’ll never be ready
When we don’t know, though we can’t see
Just walk on down this road with me
Hold me steady, we’ll never be ready

You’re OK here with me
Here in the silence
With all of the violence crashing around
Saying we can’t go
Saying we don’t know

This road that is narrow is the one we should follow

Basically, friends, we’ll never be ready. But God doesn’t call us to be emotionally, physically, mentally, and financially ready, He just calls us to be willing. The simplicity of being willing is something to rest in, at least it is for me. Because we’ll never be fully prepared for the twists and turns of another broken heart that God calls us to love.