The Destination

Last week, I explained to you what our journey feels like. Now I’ll tell you what it actually is:

We are ADOPTING!

So, if you care to read it, here’s the story... prologue and all:

I never thought I wanted more than two kids. I grew up in a house with two kids. All of my cousins have come in sets of two. My marriage is a set of two. I have two hands... It just made sense to me. Two is manageable. Two is enough, isn’t it?

Then God called me to that wide gravel path; the perfect place to find a new direction and think it over for a while. I was reading a fictional novel that was centered on a girl in the foster care system. And while this book was a work of fiction, it haunted me that many of the issues this child was facing are a reality in the lives of others. I thought, This is something we could do. We could be a light in a child’s life through foster care. Andy and I talked about it, and excitedly agreed that we could offer a great foster home to children in need when our two boys have grown and gone.

Feeling at peace with this slow plan, we buried it in a time capsule to be opened in 2021. Or, I should say, we thought we did. As the months passed, God kept reminding me of this call, this need that He had positioned us to meet. At the same time, He pointed out my own needs and desires that would be met in His plan.

On April 25th, Christine Caine was preaching at our church. At one point in her message, she was speaking of a girl who had been rescued from human trafficking. This girl looked Christine in the eye and asked her, “Why didn’t you come sooner?” When Christine spoke those words, it felt as though a lightning bolt had struck my heart. What are we waiting for? Why should we wait? Because it will be “easy” when the boys are grown? How many times has God called me to do what is easy?

Never.

It is an understatement to say that I was rattled. Satan seized the opportunity to get in my head. I can’t remember whether or not I told Andy about the lightning bolt. If I told him, I’m sure my speech lacked any recognizable confidence. I didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t particularly want to hear what God was saying, so I turned inward. I felt very alone.

Months passed.

But God did not leave me. He continued to press me, repeatedly bringing these hurting children to the forefront of my mind. God worked on me to bring the desire of my heart in line with His. I knew exactly what God was telling me to do, but I wondered why He was only telling ME. I prayed that He would communicate this plan to Andy as well, and I imagined a magnificent moment when it would all come together… But it didn’t. I prayed that God would reach in and change Andy’s heart, that Andy would share my urgency. I even gave God another choice in the matter: Change Andy’s heart OR change mine. If I’m seeing this whole thing wrong, fix me, God.

Well, He did. But not in the way I was expecting. God let me know, in no uncertain terms, that sharing this vision with Andy was my burden to bear.

So to fix me, He broke me.

In a flurry of words and tears, I laid it all out one Monday evening while I was making dinner. Before I was even done talking, Andy had made an appointment to have coffee with a friend of ours who, along with his wife, has fostered several children. By the end of the week, we had gone to an information meeting and shared our vision with Jackson and Parker.

In the information meeting, it became crystal clear that God’s plan for us is adoption. So, we are planning and pursuing the adoption of a school-age local boy. We don’t know who he is or when he will be ours, but I know that God does.

It has been amazing to live this story as it unfolds. We have several friends and family members who are adopted, and others who have adopted or have had the seed planted in their hearts, that someday they might. As time passes, more and more people join this little community of support. I am so grateful for them, especially after the months I spent feeling very alone.

We have completed our required training classes, background checks, health screenings, and the like. Tomorrow afternoon we are having our home study, and then we wait. In my last post, I talked about the valley ahead. For me, this time in waiting is the valley. Generally speaking, I don’t think I’m very good at waiting. But I have plenty to do to ready our home, so that this waiting time can be spent in active preparation.


The mountain on the other side of this valley is the work that we face when the waiting is over. Having another child physically present in our home is one thing. That’s what all of the pre-placement requirements have been for. The mountain ahead is the challenge that our family will meet together, embracing this new son and becoming a family.

(By the way, Andy shared the news in a video on his blog a while back. Give it a listen if you are interested in getting his perspective. It’s almost the same as mine. Almost.)

The Journey

In the summer of 2009, God set my feet on a path. It was like a wide country road, with trees on one side and fields on the other; remote and empty but not at all lonely. It felt breezy and sunny, with just the suggestion of a destination down the line, but no rush to get there. A slow, easy summer stroll.

I told Andy about it, and he stepped on the path alongside me.

And then fall came.

And then winter.

And through my days, God occasionally reminded me of the path. He gently suggested that I might want to move a little faster. That I might want to reach the destination sooner than my current pace would allow. I wasn’t sure. Would Andy want to move faster? And what about the boys? They don’t even know we’re on this path.

Spring arrived.

I kept my leisurely pace.

God’s gentle suggestions lost their subtlety. His breezy whispers became gusts at my back.

On April 25, 2010, a lightning bolt struck my heart, and I knew that I had waited too long. I was being disobedient to God, languishing along this easy stretch of road.

Still, I did nothing. I hid behind my doubt. Someone slid out of the trees, offered me an apple, and whispered lies to me. Andy won’t be ready for this. The boys won’t like it.

Summer again.

The path became more defined. There could be no doubt that this path was ours to take. The wind picked up and thunder rolled, urging me to hasten my steps.

I started to prepare for the journey, but still hesitated to go.

Finally, when I found myself without a shred of peace left in my heart, I spilled it all to Andy in a torrential downpour of tears. Before I could even get it all out, he was lacing up his running shoes.

Hand in hand, we took off without looking back. The silence and stillness of the beginning has evolved into music and motion.

Now our path feels like a race course. Our boys are running with us, excited about each completed step; anticipating the future. As we pass landmarks and checkpoints, we can see what is ahead. Many familiar faces have greeted us along the way, sharing wisdom and encouragement. We are grateful for every one of them.

Between us and the finish line, there lies a valley and a mountain. From here, there is no telling how deep the valley will be or how long it will take us to pass. And that mountain looks pretty high, but I’m not afraid to climb it.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.

Hebrews 12:1

Growing Up

I started growing up ten years ago today. My grandmother pointed that out to me recently. We were talking about what a terrible child I was growing up. She said, “You didn’t really settle down until you had children,” as though it were a surprise… After all, how many nineteen year olds just up and decide to become settled? Not many, I imagine. None that I have ever known, anyway.

God has taught me so much during these ten years. I’ve learned that love for a child is a ferocious thing. I’ve learned what real commitment is, what relationship is all about, what it’s like to slowly, purposefully, faithfully lose control. Not that I have mastered these things. I just now know what they are.

I think of all those strong Biblical mothers who released their young sons to the will of God. Sarah, Hannah, Mary... What were their boys like at the fine age of ten? Were they sharp and testing like mine? Were they careful and skeptical? Were they imaginative? Clever? Witty? Were they dear? And loving? My Jackson is all of these things, and more.

Looking back I can hardly believe that God entrusted me, a clueless kid, with a precious baby.





I cherish the time that I have had with you, Jackson, and I look forward to the years ahead!

As you get older and seek more freedom in your days, I hope that you will lean on all that we have taught you. Don’t try to grow up too fast. Let the whole world see WHO you are and WHOSE you are.

I love you, Bubble!

Chopping the Lawn

I was outside with the dogs when it started to rain, and I thought of my husband. He and I both love this kind of weather: cool temperatures, overcast skies, and falling rain. The perfect compliment to this weather?

A fire in the fireplace.

Which brings up a bit of a need. It’s only kind of a need, since the fire is just for enjoyment and not for survival. But if we’re going to have a fire, someone is going to have to chop the wood. Preferably before the wood gets soaked by the rain. Andy always chops the wood. It’s just one of those “man things” that he does, and I believe enjoys doing. But I don’t want him to have come home, after working all day, just to go out and chop firewood in the rain. So that leaves it to me.

Let me just say that I’m a bit leery of dangerous-ish physical activities. I have a life… I can’t afford to hurt myself doing something stupid.

But if we’re going to have a fire…

At first I swung tentatively, striking with my eyes closed, lodging the axe somewhere along the middle. Not really splitting the logs, but just nagging them into pieces. Then I got a little more comfortable and swung harder, burying the blade of the axe in my lawn more than a couple of times. Chopping the lawn isn’t as much due to brute strength as it is timidly swinging with my eyes closed. Make note of that. It’s profound.

At some point, I became brave enough to keep my eyes open without imagining a massive shank of wood rendering me blind. And that is when it all came together and I really found joy in the work.

I love the crisp sound of a log splitting with just one swing, the satisfying ease of movement. What a sensation! Every muscle working in tandem to swing hard and hit my target, hearing, feeling, and seeing the wood split.

I’m sure this all seems girly and dumb to you if you’re outdoorsy. Or even if you’re not. Sorry. I’ll make my point now.

As I was working, I realized that this is a great picture of our approach to life. When we are fully engaged in what is going on, the experience is so much better. Timidly chopping wood is lame. With my eyes closed, I often missed the mark. It took longer, it wasn't very satisfying, and it was actually much more difficult. I think the same is true with nearly everything. Think about your work. Even just your drive to work, or anywhere else you may go. Think about parenting your children. Loving your spouse. How much collateral damage is caused by holding something back?

My life is better when I put my whole self in it; when I open my eyes and stop haphazardly chopping the lawn.

Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.
Colossians 3:23-24

For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline.
2 Timothy 1:7

Loaves, Fish, Paint, and Paper

I just read this post from Andy, about our sorry attempts to put God in a box. And that got me thinking… Do I do that? Do I try to put God in a box? And I decided that No, I Don’t. I have a different problem. I see God AS the Box, and I put limits on what He would allow inside. Health, Relationships, Education = IN. Bugs, Laundry, Fantasy Football = OUT.

For example:

The last couple of weeks of my life have been wild with activity. Among other things, I’ve been working with a team of fellow parents to build a homecoming parade float. A fantastic parade float, bearing the name of our children’s elementary school. It was pretty awesome. And if I do say so, it was the best float in the parade.

Anyway.

On one of our workdays, when we were trying to figure out if we had what we needed to do all that we wanted to do, my friend Christy just stopped and prayed. “Please, Lord, let us have enough. Multiply our supplies like the loaves and the fishes.” And I just kind of smirked and shook my head. I had been praying for other aspects of this project, but supplies? That’s sweet, Christy, but I’m not sure God really cares about whether or not we have enough paper, paint, and salvaged scraps of wood.

But He Does.

We did the math. There shouldn’t have been enough paper to cover everything we wanted to cover. And I know how much paint was in that bucket. It wasn’t enough. But when our team put it all together, it worked out. There were mere inches of paper left over, and just a smidge of paint left in the can. There was enough, and just a tiny bit more. When the ladies told me that they were done painting, I turned to Christy and with great surprise (and yet, none at all) I said, “You were right. He cares about our little parade float. Here are your loaves and fishes.”

God cares about the silly little things in my life. Maybe because He cares about me. Or maybe He really likes a good parade float. Either way, God blessed me through this experience.

For me this was a revelation but, as I write this, I can't help but think that it all sounds kind of stupid. I’m sure it doesn’t mean much to anyone who wasn’t involved, and maybe not even them.

Then again, who am I to decide what others do or don’t care about?

And just in case you want to see it, here's the float:



See? I told you it was awesome.