"YOU'RE 40 WEEKS PREGNANT--YOUR BABY IS DUE!"
Those were the words that greeted me from gmail this morning at 8:03am. According to babycenter.com this day should be going very differently than it actually is. I SHOULD be HUGE, swollen, uncomfortable, wearing an unsightly Kirstie Alley-esque mumu and CROCS, shlepping around the house with decaf coffee in hand, watching Ellen and laugh-crying hyterically. I SHOULD be answering a call from an anxiety ridden, frazzled, hyper-active, on-point, go-mode husband every five minutes about how I'm doing, if anything is different, if my water has broken and even though I'll feign mild irritation with a 'Sweetheart, I'm FINE. I promise you will be the first to know. I'll call you if anything happens", I would really be feeling like the most attended to, loved woman on the planet. I SHOULD be packing and re-packing a bag (or ten for those of you who have seen how I pack), checking things off a list, calling my mom one more time just to hear her birth stories again in case I missed a useful detail the first 7,000 times, calling the hospital just to make sure they didn't go out of business in the last 24 hours, second guessing our ENTIRE birth plan and reading the side effects of epidurals and recovery advice for c-sections, uh-gain, just in case.
None of those things are happening because I am not 40 weeks pregnant. My baby is not due. She was born into my hands exactly 253,447 minutes ago which is why I am instead sitting at a desk in a big, fancy office building, starting on my fifth cup of regular coffee because drinking water on a freezing day like today is really just not an option, answering phone calls, checking emails, scheduling travel, reading memos, filing reports, chit-chatting with co-workers about random nothingness, trolling facebook for interesting comments on last night's awards, and of course, now, we can add staring at the above sentence with a blank look on my face to the tasks of the day.
It's that word. DUE. It's just irritating. And it doesn't actually make any sense whatsoever. According to Webster it means two exact opposite things simultaneously which is just totally ridiculous.
Definition #1. A person's right; what is owed to them
Definition #2: A person's obligatory payment or fee; what is owed from them
You mean to say 'I OWE' and 'I AM OWED' can both be true? Isn't that considered a double negative? Who do I owe? What do I owe? Who owes me? What do they owe me? When do they owe it to me? Can we drill down to some specifics please Mr. Webster because this entire idea isn't really working for me.
It isn't really working for me because it isn't true. At least when it comes to God and plans and purposes and events and life and death and everything in between. So ok, back to, it isn't true.
And of course, like the predictable Christian I am, my thoughts turn to a strong, powerful, wealthy, middle aged man thousands of years ago who was said to be a 'good man-his character spotless, his integrity unquestioned. He deliberately avoided evil in all his affairs and believed in God so much that he sought to honor Him in all things'. This man had 10 children and thousands of animals, a multitude of capable staff, successful businesses, million dollar properties and a seemingly loving wife. As an effect of the amazingly good life he had, people considered him blessed by God. Which is why, when he began to lose those blessings, one by one, people questioned his faith and surmised that he must have done something to deserve it. His children were killed in a storm. "God must be punishing you", they said. His livestock was stolen, attacked and slaughtered, "Ask for forgiveness, change your life, turn back to God", they said. His wife abandoned him, his friends challenged him, his body began to fail him, "Curse God and die", they said as if there was nothing to be done.
And if this man, Job, had considered God to be a vending machine like most of us do; dispensing blessings like candy to anyone and everyone who had worked hard enough and saved long enough and prayed loud enough and worshipped often enough and been good-enough to be able to 'purchase' a chocolate covered miracle for $1.75, he might have done just that because there's nothing more frustrating than putting your quarters in the slot, expecting a honey bun and getting something else or even worse, getting nothing in return. And I've seen how we do. We curse and bang on the door to see if we can shake lose the missing blessing. We call the office manager or the company and demand a refund. We hit 'return' over and over and over like trained monkeys and then shove our greedy 'obviously deserving' little hands in the return slot to see if by chance justice has been served and our money dutifully returned. And then, after all avenues explored, all options attempted, we realize defeat and with slumped shoulders trudge back to our desks; exhausted, starving, defeated and empty handed, swearing on our great grandmother's grave to never do that again, EVER.
We curse. We turn our backs.
And then something awesome happens.
And we raise our hands and sing songs about rainbows and tell people how blessed we are.
Until we're not.
God is not a vending machine. His M.O. is not quid pro quo. Something given for something taken. He does not desire my pain to accomplish His purposes. He is not in the business of dealing short hands and dead babies to force people to their knees in worship of Him and to become worthy of His blessing.
In fact, He makes it very clear who can consider themselves blessed. And thankfully I don't see a price tag or a list of names included.
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the gentle, for they shall inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.
Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called sons of God
Blessed are those who have been persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
I used to think, 'Alright, alright, alright!' If I could just accomplish a few of these I would be way ahead of the game and a waterfall of blessings would be headed my way and the gates to the kingdom of Heaven would be THROWN open for me. Or at least left cracked open so I can squeeze through. And then I realized something weird and I'm no theologian so don't quote me but it spoke to my heart. The first and last 'causes' if you will; being poor in spirit and being persecuted for the sake of righteousness both have the same effect; possessing the kingdom of heaven. It's a LOOP! This is not a list of singular directives given and if I get 6 out of the 8 of them right most of the time I'm THAT closer to the end-game of heaven. They ARE the cause AND effect. The kingdom of heaven, the dominion and reign of God happens BETWEEN them, WITHIN them as we travel THROUGH them. Stay with me.
When I am poor in spirit I am empty, hollow, a joy-less, life-less shell of the me I could be. Feeling this way, being this way is excruciatingly painful and causes me to howl, literally howl in grief. Heart wrenching, body racking, swollen faced, snot running freely, choking, wailing, unstoppable, incontrollable sorrow. Sorrow like that breaks a person, breaks them absolutely in two. The heart melts into a puddle on the floor, the walls come down, the stoicism ceases, the mask removed as the heart softens and becomes gentle as it lands with a thud at the very lowest point there is. And when your heart is beaten and broken, lying on the floor, the only place to look is up, to the top of the moutain from where you fell and you begin to search for a way to get back there. You look for answers and those answers change you. You begin to open your eyes to the others that are at the bottom too. You see yourself in their pain, their broken hearts. And they see you. And as you hold hands and sit and rock and cry there at the bottom you begin to learn what loving another really looks like. And His sacrifice makes sense. And all this compassion and love and understanding fills your heart and gives you strength enough to begin to climb. But this time it's different, as you pass other travelers on the road, headed up or headed down, you see them through a lense of grace, of mercy. You don't demand or judge or ridicule or climb over them or stand on their broken back to advance yourself. Love is guiding you now, not fear. There is not room for both in a heart that has been purified by pain. And it's only a pure heart such as this that has the ability to pursue peace; with itself, with others, with God. But peacemakers are rarely understood by those who aren't there yet, those who are still going down fighting. The unshakable calm that they posesses is frightening. Others want that so badly that when they feel they can't have it, they try and make sure others don't either. They lash out and they try and hurt. They persecute. And in that persecution, our spirits are crushed and emptied, our pain, once again becomes palpable and we face, yet again, the choice to pursue a journey of blessing or not.
I'm not having a baby today. I may not have a baby ever. And the idea of that is so sad that it takes my breath away. But my God is not a vending machine God. He does not dispense or withhold blessings based on how I act toward Him or how well I do in Christianity 101. He has paved the road of blessing with His blood and if I choose to walk it with him, no loss or gain can take away the name He has given me.
"{They} will stand up and call her BLESSED". Proverbs 31:28
Monday, March 3, 2014
Saturday, January 11, 2014
Shadow Boxing.
Mark 10:8-9....."and the two will become ONE flesh so that they are no longer two but one. Therefore, what God has joined together let no one separate."
There's a scene in one of my all time favorite movies, The Princess Bride, that for years has proven to spur many a successful quote-offs in my family. It's the scene when Princess Buttercup is being forced to marry Prince Humperdink against her will, but there are whispers among the wedding guests that her true love, Wesley, is coming to save her.
I know I make an obscene amount of references to movies from the 80's but really, in terms of movies, who can disagree that my decade produced some goodies. We probably could have gone without parachute pants and unfortunately, Vanilla Ice ended up being sort of a dud, but still, who can forget that little priest in his gaudy wedding garb with his oddly pigmented face and champion speech impediment.
"Mawwiage. Mawwiage is what bwings us togethaaa, todayyyy. Wove. Twue Wove....." Prince Humperdink interrupts and urges him to the grand finale before the important stuff even has a chance to be said. "MAN AND WIFE. SAY MAN AND WIFE!" To which he responds forlornly, "Man. Annnnnd. Wife."
If you're equal parts hopeless romantic and hormonal pre-teen like me, your reaction might have been similar to both mine and Fred Savage's at the time, "STOP! NO! This can't be happening! Where's WESLEY?! He's supposed to save her! She can't marry HUMPERDINK." And as your heart broke and your face fell, you knew, or seemed to think you knew, that the damage had been done. There was no going back. They were married. One. It was over for Wesley.
We all know how the story ends so I'll spare you the dramatic detail because this post isn't really about getting married or who gets who or if all ends well, it's about the afterbirth of marriage. The one flesh part. Which can be tricky and most of the time isn't all that cute.
The other day I was RAGING. I was hormonal, the yummy soul food, time with family, twinkling lights, everything is merry and bright, time to toss the leftovers and get on the scale, post Christmas depression had hit. I was on a roller coaster of emotion; elation at being chosen to be the mommy of two precious little girls and sorrow at not being chosen for their younger siblings. Gearing up to take down a MOUNTAIN of Christmas décor and head dive into more house construction AND it was New Year's Day; the FIRST day of the year; full of promise and hope and newness and change and things unknown and reflection and preparation and black eyed peas but for some reason I could NOT pull myself together which made me feel worse considering it was 'supposed' to be all those things. So naturally when things don't feel right and I'm a mess I do what I do best. I would love to be able to tell you that I took a deep breath, made a green smoothie, went for a jog, read my Bible and gave it all to God, AS USUAL, but that would be very, very untrue. Rather I looked for the nearest, unsuspecting, target and when I found him, I attacked with the enthusiasm of a caged raccoon. I picked and I nagged and I rolled my eyes and I lashed out and I ignored and I said hurtful things on purpose and made mountains out of molehills and in general had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day only made worse by the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad way in which I acted toward someone I love and cherish very much.
Of course after the smoke had cleared and he was still standing, guns undrawn, rock solid and unmovable, AS USUAL, I ended up in a puddle of awful, guilt ridden, self loathing tears on the floor. As I choked on the embarrassment and shame and the pitiful apology that could have been avoided entirely had I made a smoothie, gone for a jog and given it to God, I wondered aloud "WHY? WHY do I always beat up on you? You've done nothing. You're so precious to me. You are never anything but loving, supportive, kind, generous, patient and wonderful. I don't know why I do that. I'm so sorry." The words that came out of this loving, supportive, kind, generous, patient and wonderful man's mouth next, were truly straight from God in my opinion. Simple in structure but holy and profound to me that day.
"We are one person. It's easy to beat up on your spouse because it's like beating up yourself."
And there it was. What God has joined together, let no one separate. Not even you, Whitney.
It crushed me. I had always read this verse through the eyes of a child it seemed. Naïve and foolish. Assuming this was speaking of the dangers of outside influences; affairs, etc. Things that led to the ultimate separation of divorce. And I'm sure it was, but in that moment I knew there was much more to it. This idea of one flesh. This idea that what I do to me, I do to he.
When Andis and I were engaged we went to pre-marital counseling. One day our counselor read THAT VERSE. Every woman knows the one. Regardless of how you feel about it, it's the one that has made my skin crawl more times than any other verse, ever. "Wives, submit to your husbands." He turned to me and asked me how that made me feel. I tried to hide my contempt but it came out before I had a chance to wrestle it down. "AWFUL!", I said. Submission was a dirty word in my world and my parents could probably attest to the fact that it had always been. Andis, however, looked like he had been slapped. "It's not about that," he said quietly. "It's about mutual love and respect. Caring for someone else as much as yourself."
"Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do the Lord.....Husbands, love your wives just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.....in this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife, loves himself.....for this reason....the two will become one flesh. THIS is a profound mystery." Ephesians 5: 22-32 paraphrased
Submission to one flesh. Selfless. Sacrificing. Honorable. Holy. Mysterious.
All those times that I thought I was shadow boxing there was actually someone else in the other corner of the ring.
He. Me. One flesh.
I get it now.
Time to put the gloves down.
There's a scene in one of my all time favorite movies, The Princess Bride, that for years has proven to spur many a successful quote-offs in my family. It's the scene when Princess Buttercup is being forced to marry Prince Humperdink against her will, but there are whispers among the wedding guests that her true love, Wesley, is coming to save her.
I know I make an obscene amount of references to movies from the 80's but really, in terms of movies, who can disagree that my decade produced some goodies. We probably could have gone without parachute pants and unfortunately, Vanilla Ice ended up being sort of a dud, but still, who can forget that little priest in his gaudy wedding garb with his oddly pigmented face and champion speech impediment.
"Mawwiage. Mawwiage is what bwings us togethaaa, todayyyy. Wove. Twue Wove....." Prince Humperdink interrupts and urges him to the grand finale before the important stuff even has a chance to be said. "MAN AND WIFE. SAY MAN AND WIFE!" To which he responds forlornly, "Man. Annnnnd. Wife."
If you're equal parts hopeless romantic and hormonal pre-teen like me, your reaction might have been similar to both mine and Fred Savage's at the time, "STOP! NO! This can't be happening! Where's WESLEY?! He's supposed to save her! She can't marry HUMPERDINK." And as your heart broke and your face fell, you knew, or seemed to think you knew, that the damage had been done. There was no going back. They were married. One. It was over for Wesley.
We all know how the story ends so I'll spare you the dramatic detail because this post isn't really about getting married or who gets who or if all ends well, it's about the afterbirth of marriage. The one flesh part. Which can be tricky and most of the time isn't all that cute.
The other day I was RAGING. I was hormonal, the yummy soul food, time with family, twinkling lights, everything is merry and bright, time to toss the leftovers and get on the scale, post Christmas depression had hit. I was on a roller coaster of emotion; elation at being chosen to be the mommy of two precious little girls and sorrow at not being chosen for their younger siblings. Gearing up to take down a MOUNTAIN of Christmas décor and head dive into more house construction AND it was New Year's Day; the FIRST day of the year; full of promise and hope and newness and change and things unknown and reflection and preparation and black eyed peas but for some reason I could NOT pull myself together which made me feel worse considering it was 'supposed' to be all those things. So naturally when things don't feel right and I'm a mess I do what I do best. I would love to be able to tell you that I took a deep breath, made a green smoothie, went for a jog, read my Bible and gave it all to God, AS USUAL, but that would be very, very untrue. Rather I looked for the nearest, unsuspecting, target and when I found him, I attacked with the enthusiasm of a caged raccoon. I picked and I nagged and I rolled my eyes and I lashed out and I ignored and I said hurtful things on purpose and made mountains out of molehills and in general had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day only made worse by the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad way in which I acted toward someone I love and cherish very much.
Of course after the smoke had cleared and he was still standing, guns undrawn, rock solid and unmovable, AS USUAL, I ended up in a puddle of awful, guilt ridden, self loathing tears on the floor. As I choked on the embarrassment and shame and the pitiful apology that could have been avoided entirely had I made a smoothie, gone for a jog and given it to God, I wondered aloud "WHY? WHY do I always beat up on you? You've done nothing. You're so precious to me. You are never anything but loving, supportive, kind, generous, patient and wonderful. I don't know why I do that. I'm so sorry." The words that came out of this loving, supportive, kind, generous, patient and wonderful man's mouth next, were truly straight from God in my opinion. Simple in structure but holy and profound to me that day.
"We are one person. It's easy to beat up on your spouse because it's like beating up yourself."
And there it was. What God has joined together, let no one separate. Not even you, Whitney.
It crushed me. I had always read this verse through the eyes of a child it seemed. Naïve and foolish. Assuming this was speaking of the dangers of outside influences; affairs, etc. Things that led to the ultimate separation of divorce. And I'm sure it was, but in that moment I knew there was much more to it. This idea of one flesh. This idea that what I do to me, I do to he.
When Andis and I were engaged we went to pre-marital counseling. One day our counselor read THAT VERSE. Every woman knows the one. Regardless of how you feel about it, it's the one that has made my skin crawl more times than any other verse, ever. "Wives, submit to your husbands." He turned to me and asked me how that made me feel. I tried to hide my contempt but it came out before I had a chance to wrestle it down. "AWFUL!", I said. Submission was a dirty word in my world and my parents could probably attest to the fact that it had always been. Andis, however, looked like he had been slapped. "It's not about that," he said quietly. "It's about mutual love and respect. Caring for someone else as much as yourself."
"Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do the Lord.....Husbands, love your wives just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.....in this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife, loves himself.....for this reason....the two will become one flesh. THIS is a profound mystery." Ephesians 5: 22-32 paraphrased
Submission to one flesh. Selfless. Sacrificing. Honorable. Holy. Mysterious.
All those times that I thought I was shadow boxing there was actually someone else in the other corner of the ring.
He. Me. One flesh.
I get it now.
Time to put the gloves down.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
I USED to think roller coasters were fun.
I've never been a bungee jumper or a zip-liner or a skydiver. Well there was that one time but it was only because I was trying to impress the man I knew I wanted to be my best friend until death do us part. Considering I wanted to back out, screamed bloody murder the ENTIRE WAY DOWN and probably had a pee spot on my jeans afterwards makes me think the odds might not have been in my favor on that one. He married me anyway so all's well that ends well.
Roller coasters on the other hand? Bring. It. On. Something about being strapped in and someone else pushing the lever that makes it TOTALLY different on the risk scale and WAY doable. And I do. If theme parks weren't so dang expensive and hours away, I would be on roller coasters every weekend if I could. Roller coasters to me are like roman candles; amazing and wonderful and exhilarating and shocking for .02 seconds and then it's over. And being over is good because there's a certain rollercoaster threshold that we all have and let me tell you; once surpassed, it is ALL DOWN HILL; literally AND figuratively.
Yesterday I reached that threshold, but the ride unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, DID NOT STOP. I felt like I was 6 again and on the Merry Go Round for the first time. You remember the Merry Go Round don't you?! That awful kiddie ride that looks so beautiful and fun from the outside, like it's made of candy and rainbows, but once you get on you realize it was designed by Satan himself. Why you people encourage your kids to get on that thing is beyond me. I guess maybe the picture BEFORE the one of them projectile vomiting on you turns out pretty cute, perhaps?
So yeah, yesterday. At one point I just had to grab a brown bag and pray that Mary Poppins would save me and my horse would LEAP off of the ride and go pogoing through the country side so I could get some AIR. It did not happen. Instead, this is what did.
About an hour after the meeting to determine if we were the right 'fit' for the girls had commenced and our caseworker had presented the 70 page Goble stack of information, she left the meeting so that the adoption committee could arrive at their determination. She got in touch with us to say that she had received overwhelmingly positive feedback, that everyone seemed to be pleased with what The Goble Family had to offer, and that we should have a decision shortly. Yay! Our three girls seemed so close that I felt as if they were locked in the next room and I was waiting patiently to be given the key that would open the door to our interconnected futures. I still held a soft, sad spot in my heart for the fact that their brother would not be joining them, but I had already settled myself into a forced peace about that some time before so rather than being excruciatingly painful it was more like a quick, band aid ripping pinch and then it became more of a dull ache. Until I read the rest of the email.
Sam, she went on to inform us; piece number three of our four piece puzzle; the little boy that runs away from me in my dreams, the son that my husband would not yet have, the one that, mere MOMENTS before, my mind was pushing way down into the heart caverns where things not yet understood live, WAS in fact also available for adoption! I had no words. I had no breath. All of my dreams, my prayers were about to come true. Our puzzle would be complete and our babies would not be separated after all. God was good. So good.
But we continued to wait. And by wait I really mean: prayed, cried, paced like a starving lioness, tried to distract my busy, over anxious, OCD imagination with Facebook, Pinterest, Google, YouTube, GodVine, Grey's Anatomy and even some work thrown in for good measure.
And then it arrived. The email outlining the fate of our future. And I saw them. Those three little words. YOU'VE BEEN SELECTED. In that moment time stopped, and those three little words were more profound then all the I Love You's and I Hate You's of which I had ever been on the receiving end. They were the most beautiful words I had ever read. They were the words that were paving the way to a future filled with laughter and giggling and screaming and fighting and pancakes with way too much syrup and allowances and chores and sleepovers and tickle wars and pain and tears and scrapes and cuts and bruises and passing grades and failing grades and little league and little dribblers and broken hearts and hopscotch and family game night and bedtime prayers and manners and maybe none of that but maybe all of that. My babies were on their way home. It had been a long journey, but then again, it was only just beginning....................for two of them.
"It has been determined that you have been selected for the adoption of two of the four children in question. Congratulations and good luck."
Isn't a tornado formed when the warm air of the south and the cooler air from the north sweep into each other and the effects of the two opposites create the perfect storm? There is no explanation for how I felt but that's as close as I think I can get at this point.
Inexpressible joy and confidence. Indescribable confusion and fear. The golden key that unlocked the door to the room where my two oldest girls were being kept, had been handed over on a silver platter while the other two keys had been put in a bottle, sealed and sent out to sea. You know that moment when you are laughing so hard that you start to cry or that moment when you are crying so hard that you can't help but laugh? The two emotions must be similar enough in nature that your mind and heart literally become confused and exchange one for the other, even if just for a moment. How can one heart have enough room for such overwhelming joy and overwhelming sadness at the same time?
And then I knew. In that moment I had become a mother.
And while one side of my heart swelled with pride, anticipation and thankfulness, the other side shrank back in the face of fear and doubt. But just for a moment. A moment is all it took for me to remember my new title and all of the responsibility and strength that it carries. For to whom much is given, much more is required. So like the growing embers in the belly of Smaug, the dragon from the Hobbit, a fire had been lit in me that would not soon be put out.
".....suppose a woman has ten silver coins and loses one (or two). Doesn't she light a lamp, sweep the house and search carefully until she finds it?" Luke 15: 8
The answer to this is a resounding YES. So in the meantime I'm off to hunt for a good deal on some scuba gear.
Roller coasters on the other hand? Bring. It. On. Something about being strapped in and someone else pushing the lever that makes it TOTALLY different on the risk scale and WAY doable. And I do. If theme parks weren't so dang expensive and hours away, I would be on roller coasters every weekend if I could. Roller coasters to me are like roman candles; amazing and wonderful and exhilarating and shocking for .02 seconds and then it's over. And being over is good because there's a certain rollercoaster threshold that we all have and let me tell you; once surpassed, it is ALL DOWN HILL; literally AND figuratively.
Yesterday I reached that threshold, but the ride unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, DID NOT STOP. I felt like I was 6 again and on the Merry Go Round for the first time. You remember the Merry Go Round don't you?! That awful kiddie ride that looks so beautiful and fun from the outside, like it's made of candy and rainbows, but once you get on you realize it was designed by Satan himself. Why you people encourage your kids to get on that thing is beyond me. I guess maybe the picture BEFORE the one of them projectile vomiting on you turns out pretty cute, perhaps?
So yeah, yesterday. At one point I just had to grab a brown bag and pray that Mary Poppins would save me and my horse would LEAP off of the ride and go pogoing through the country side so I could get some AIR. It did not happen. Instead, this is what did.
About an hour after the meeting to determine if we were the right 'fit' for the girls had commenced and our caseworker had presented the 70 page Goble stack of information, she left the meeting so that the adoption committee could arrive at their determination. She got in touch with us to say that she had received overwhelmingly positive feedback, that everyone seemed to be pleased with what The Goble Family had to offer, and that we should have a decision shortly. Yay! Our three girls seemed so close that I felt as if they were locked in the next room and I was waiting patiently to be given the key that would open the door to our interconnected futures. I still held a soft, sad spot in my heart for the fact that their brother would not be joining them, but I had already settled myself into a forced peace about that some time before so rather than being excruciatingly painful it was more like a quick, band aid ripping pinch and then it became more of a dull ache. Until I read the rest of the email.
Sam, she went on to inform us; piece number three of our four piece puzzle; the little boy that runs away from me in my dreams, the son that my husband would not yet have, the one that, mere MOMENTS before, my mind was pushing way down into the heart caverns where things not yet understood live, WAS in fact also available for adoption! I had no words. I had no breath. All of my dreams, my prayers were about to come true. Our puzzle would be complete and our babies would not be separated after all. God was good. So good.
But we continued to wait. And by wait I really mean: prayed, cried, paced like a starving lioness, tried to distract my busy, over anxious, OCD imagination with Facebook, Pinterest, Google, YouTube, GodVine, Grey's Anatomy and even some work thrown in for good measure.
And then it arrived. The email outlining the fate of our future. And I saw them. Those three little words. YOU'VE BEEN SELECTED. In that moment time stopped, and those three little words were more profound then all the I Love You's and I Hate You's of which I had ever been on the receiving end. They were the most beautiful words I had ever read. They were the words that were paving the way to a future filled with laughter and giggling and screaming and fighting and pancakes with way too much syrup and allowances and chores and sleepovers and tickle wars and pain and tears and scrapes and cuts and bruises and passing grades and failing grades and little league and little dribblers and broken hearts and hopscotch and family game night and bedtime prayers and manners and maybe none of that but maybe all of that. My babies were on their way home. It had been a long journey, but then again, it was only just beginning....................for two of them.
"It has been determined that you have been selected for the adoption of two of the four children in question. Congratulations and good luck."
Isn't a tornado formed when the warm air of the south and the cooler air from the north sweep into each other and the effects of the two opposites create the perfect storm? There is no explanation for how I felt but that's as close as I think I can get at this point.
Inexpressible joy and confidence. Indescribable confusion and fear. The golden key that unlocked the door to the room where my two oldest girls were being kept, had been handed over on a silver platter while the other two keys had been put in a bottle, sealed and sent out to sea. You know that moment when you are laughing so hard that you start to cry or that moment when you are crying so hard that you can't help but laugh? The two emotions must be similar enough in nature that your mind and heart literally become confused and exchange one for the other, even if just for a moment. How can one heart have enough room for such overwhelming joy and overwhelming sadness at the same time?
And then I knew. In that moment I had become a mother.
And while one side of my heart swelled with pride, anticipation and thankfulness, the other side shrank back in the face of fear and doubt. But just for a moment. A moment is all it took for me to remember my new title and all of the responsibility and strength that it carries. For to whom much is given, much more is required. So like the growing embers in the belly of Smaug, the dragon from the Hobbit, a fire had been lit in me that would not soon be put out.
".....suppose a woman has ten silver coins and loses one (or two). Doesn't she light a lamp, sweep the house and search carefully until she finds it?" Luke 15: 8
The answer to this is a resounding YES. So in the meantime I'm off to hunt for a good deal on some scuba gear.
The Examined Life.
I want you to think back on your life; all of it. From if you were a preemie to the relationship you had with your father to if you were spanked to how you did in school to the sexual relationships you had to the drugs you did or didn't do to the regrets you have and the missed opportunities and things accomplished and what went right and what went wrong and how many do-overs you wish you had and what physical ailments if any that you have and your ideas about God and punishment and how you would handle this thing and that thing and the other thing. And I want you to spend months writing it all down; in essay form and questionnaire form and multiple answer form and all of the pages and pages in between. And when you're done; after you've read and re-read and edited and re-edited and had your husband and your mom and your best friend look at it until they just didn't want to know anything more about you, I want you to look at that STACK. It's a pretty hefty stack no doubt. Probably 70 something pages or so. And I want you to ask yourself, 'Is it ALL in there? Does that stack represent WHO I am? After reading it, could you walk away and be able to describe in detail what it means to be Whitney Kay Goble? Satisfied? Ok.
Now I want you to imagine a panel of about 12 people sitting around a table and reading through the 70 pages of notes on your life; yes, all the nitty gritty details, all the boring details, all the in between details.
Now I want you to imagine that panel of people, with that 70 pages of notes spending an hour or two determining if you were 'fit' to be a mother and not only a mother but a mother to several little babies to whom you have already knitted your soul.
Keeping in mind they have never met you. They will likely NEVER meet you. And even if your caseworker does a bang up job and even makes an adorable little scrapbook of you so that they can get a 'feel' of who you are, how could they possibly REALLY know?
They won't have access to your smile or the way you tell a story or the way you make people feel. They will never know what great hugs you give or how passionate you are or how psychotic you can be when you have found that THING; that thing that drives you. They won't ever get to see your kid friendly and fun holiday snacks or how good you are at organizing or how creative you can be or how, at family parties, you can be found on the floor playing checkers with the kids. They won't know about that time you stood, all 5'4'' of you, in between 40 very at risk youth and young adults who were about to start, what most likely would have been a fatal gang fight and talked them down with logic and humor and capri suns. Or that time, in order to keep your staff safe that you had to lock yourself in a room for hours with that boy who was so emotionally disturbed that you weren't sure if he would kill you, or himself first. Or the fact that you get up at 5am every morning just to 'practice' being a mom and the time it will take you to get everything done in order for everyone to have as successful of a day as possible. Or the hours you spend on your knees, in tears, in prayer over the lives of the children who did not come from your womb but who have been born of your heart.
And then I want you to imagine trying to 'RELAX' as the second hand on the clock ticks about 10,800 times while those 12 people read through that 70 pages of notes to try and make 1 decision about the lives and those several little kids and one hopeful mommy and daddy.
Yeah. I didn't think so either.
Now I want you to imagine a panel of about 12 people sitting around a table and reading through the 70 pages of notes on your life; yes, all the nitty gritty details, all the boring details, all the in between details.
Now I want you to imagine that panel of people, with that 70 pages of notes spending an hour or two determining if you were 'fit' to be a mother and not only a mother but a mother to several little babies to whom you have already knitted your soul.
Keeping in mind they have never met you. They will likely NEVER meet you. And even if your caseworker does a bang up job and even makes an adorable little scrapbook of you so that they can get a 'feel' of who you are, how could they possibly REALLY know?
They won't have access to your smile or the way you tell a story or the way you make people feel. They will never know what great hugs you give or how passionate you are or how psychotic you can be when you have found that THING; that thing that drives you. They won't ever get to see your kid friendly and fun holiday snacks or how good you are at organizing or how creative you can be or how, at family parties, you can be found on the floor playing checkers with the kids. They won't know about that time you stood, all 5'4'' of you, in between 40 very at risk youth and young adults who were about to start, what most likely would have been a fatal gang fight and talked them down with logic and humor and capri suns. Or that time, in order to keep your staff safe that you had to lock yourself in a room for hours with that boy who was so emotionally disturbed that you weren't sure if he would kill you, or himself first. Or the fact that you get up at 5am every morning just to 'practice' being a mom and the time it will take you to get everything done in order for everyone to have as successful of a day as possible. Or the hours you spend on your knees, in tears, in prayer over the lives of the children who did not come from your womb but who have been born of your heart.
And then I want you to imagine trying to 'RELAX' as the second hand on the clock ticks about 10,800 times while those 12 people read through that 70 pages of notes to try and make 1 decision about the lives and those several little kids and one hopeful mommy and daddy.
Yeah. I didn't think so either.
Sunday, December 29, 2013
Lasting Impressions.
I've been thinking a lot about this idea that what you put out on the internet you 'never get back' so to speak. How a photo, video, thought or comment can 'go viral' without you having to do much of anything more than hit that tiny little word, 'POST'. How in under 24 hours, you, what you said, what you did, what you took a photo of, what you 'posted' can make an impression on hundreds of thousands of people that you don't know from places you've never been, cultures you don't understand and backgrounds you could never comprehend.
I was thrilled to have a visit with a dear friend from my past yesterday. As we were driving around, having breakfast, laughing and talking about past, present and future and generally having a great time, she made reference to me 'cussing like a sailor'. It took me aback for a second because you see I USED to cuss like a sailor. I admit it. I did. For a long time actually, and it probably started, oh, around 3rd grade and ebbed and flowed in tsunami sized waves over the next 20 years. And though I'm not exempt from the rogue expletive flying out of my mouth from time to time in crisis, as a general rule I try to express myself in more creative, less personally offensive ways these days. So being the 'non-swearing like a sailor' person that I'm trying to be now, it was sobering to realize that how I am STILL known by this old friend, SEVEN years removed from a time when our paths were consistently crossing, is so contrary to who I think I am now. But those two Whitney's; the swearing like a sailor Whitney and the non swearing like a sailor Whitney are actually the very SAME person. I did not die and come back to life in a different body, with a different soul and different vocabulary habits. All of the choices that I have made, the things I have said and done, the ways in which I've acted, not acted, pretended to act, all culminating up to this point are who I am. Though many of us wish we could cut out chunks of our past and toss them to the sharks or borrow MIB's mind swipey things and erase everyone's memories of us then, we cannot. Despite the grace of Christ through the love and mercy of others that covers our many sins and allows us to continue to move forward, grow and change, we're still stuck with the impressions we've made on others from start to finish.
And the impact is sometimes, oftentimes, much deeper and more significant that we realize. The web defines 'going viral' as objects or phenomena that are able to replicate themselves or convert other objects into copies of themselves when these objects are exposed to them. This has become a common way to describe how thoughts, information and trends move into and through a human population.
Hmmmm. To replicate or convert upon exposure. That idea doesn't just apply to youtube videos on the internet. It applies to you and to me and to every single person and situation we encounter along the way.
I'm sure my dear old friend isn't bothered in the least by her memories of me being 'the ultimate sailor' but what about the countless other impressions I've made; negative AND positive through the years that have literally left permanent (and maybe not so permanent when they should've) imprints on the hearts and lives of others? To what are those who cross my path being 'exposed' and more importantly, TO WHOM?
I really can't say I'm sad to see 2013 go, but let me tell you, it is a year I will NEVER forget. Nor do I want to despite the heartache it held. 2013 burrowed itself deep into my spirit and began a conversion in me that will not soon be shaken. This events of this year have been refining; breaking me down, chiseling away at the unimportant, the distractions and revealing the truest parts of me; in my character, in my purpose, in the vision I have of myself and the future..in every part of my life.
And I'm glad for it. Because as a goldsmith continues to purify gold until he can see his own reflection shining back from it, I know that my God and Creator sees a little more of Himself when looking into my face as an effect of this year.
"You now rejoice in this HOPE, even if it's necessary for you to be distressed for a short time by various trials. This is necessary so that your faith may be found genuine. Your faith is more valuable than gold, which will be destroyed even though it is itself tested by fire. Your genuine faith will result in praise, glory and honor for you when Jesus Christ is revealed. Although you've never seen him, you love him. Even though you don't see him now, you trust him and so rejoice with a glorious joy that is too much for words. You are receiving the goal of your faith; your salvation." 1 Peter 1: 6-9
So goodnight 2013. In a few short hours we lay you to rest, like so many others this year. And tomorrow we rise from the ashes and trade our mourning in for dancing. And ohhhh, 2014, I think we both know, there will be MUCH to dance about.
I was thrilled to have a visit with a dear friend from my past yesterday. As we were driving around, having breakfast, laughing and talking about past, present and future and generally having a great time, she made reference to me 'cussing like a sailor'. It took me aback for a second because you see I USED to cuss like a sailor. I admit it. I did. For a long time actually, and it probably started, oh, around 3rd grade and ebbed and flowed in tsunami sized waves over the next 20 years. And though I'm not exempt from the rogue expletive flying out of my mouth from time to time in crisis, as a general rule I try to express myself in more creative, less personally offensive ways these days. So being the 'non-swearing like a sailor' person that I'm trying to be now, it was sobering to realize that how I am STILL known by this old friend, SEVEN years removed from a time when our paths were consistently crossing, is so contrary to who I think I am now. But those two Whitney's; the swearing like a sailor Whitney and the non swearing like a sailor Whitney are actually the very SAME person. I did not die and come back to life in a different body, with a different soul and different vocabulary habits. All of the choices that I have made, the things I have said and done, the ways in which I've acted, not acted, pretended to act, all culminating up to this point are who I am. Though many of us wish we could cut out chunks of our past and toss them to the sharks or borrow MIB's mind swipey things and erase everyone's memories of us then, we cannot. Despite the grace of Christ through the love and mercy of others that covers our many sins and allows us to continue to move forward, grow and change, we're still stuck with the impressions we've made on others from start to finish.
And the impact is sometimes, oftentimes, much deeper and more significant that we realize. The web defines 'going viral' as objects or phenomena that are able to replicate themselves or convert other objects into copies of themselves when these objects are exposed to them. This has become a common way to describe how thoughts, information and trends move into and through a human population.
Hmmmm. To replicate or convert upon exposure. That idea doesn't just apply to youtube videos on the internet. It applies to you and to me and to every single person and situation we encounter along the way.
I'm sure my dear old friend isn't bothered in the least by her memories of me being 'the ultimate sailor' but what about the countless other impressions I've made; negative AND positive through the years that have literally left permanent (and maybe not so permanent when they should've) imprints on the hearts and lives of others? To what are those who cross my path being 'exposed' and more importantly, TO WHOM?
I really can't say I'm sad to see 2013 go, but let me tell you, it is a year I will NEVER forget. Nor do I want to despite the heartache it held. 2013 burrowed itself deep into my spirit and began a conversion in me that will not soon be shaken. This events of this year have been refining; breaking me down, chiseling away at the unimportant, the distractions and revealing the truest parts of me; in my character, in my purpose, in the vision I have of myself and the future..in every part of my life.
And I'm glad for it. Because as a goldsmith continues to purify gold until he can see his own reflection shining back from it, I know that my God and Creator sees a little more of Himself when looking into my face as an effect of this year.
"You now rejoice in this HOPE, even if it's necessary for you to be distressed for a short time by various trials. This is necessary so that your faith may be found genuine. Your faith is more valuable than gold, which will be destroyed even though it is itself tested by fire. Your genuine faith will result in praise, glory and honor for you when Jesus Christ is revealed. Although you've never seen him, you love him. Even though you don't see him now, you trust him and so rejoice with a glorious joy that is too much for words. You are receiving the goal of your faith; your salvation." 1 Peter 1: 6-9
So goodnight 2013. In a few short hours we lay you to rest, like so many others this year. And tomorrow we rise from the ashes and trade our mourning in for dancing. And ohhhh, 2014, I think we both know, there will be MUCH to dance about.
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Satisfaction with Real Life > Obsession with Secret Life: MOVIE SPOILER ALERT
Last night Andis and I watched 'The Secret Life of Walter Mitty' and though it had some over the top bizarre day dreaming scenes and silly jokes, overall it made a pretty profound impact on me. Walter Mitty is dissatisfied with his life. His job, his dating life (or lack thereof), himself in general. So dissatisfied in fact that he often 'daydreams' himself into amazing adventures wherein he is naturally the brave, creative, risk taking hero. Whether he is jumping out of helicopters, skateboarding across Greenland or hiking the Himalayas, his dreams are a far cry from the reality of his boring, predictable white washed desk job of a life.
Even though I am 99.9% satisfied and in love with my life I found myself resonating with his restlessness. Who of us hasn't dreamt at one time or another of the vibrant, technicolor life that the unchartered waters of our future has provided? There was a time when I made a million plans to do a million things that all involved adventure, mystery, danger and intrigue. Moving to the Philippines to save AIDS infected abandoned babies in the mountains? Check. Quitting school to become a break dancer? Check. Joining an organization that found the sex trafficked child victims of stateside families? Moving to Mexico City to be a missionary? Becoming an advocate against the Japanese slaughter of dolphins? Biking across the entire U.S, hiking the Appalachian Trail? Check. Check. Check. Check and CHECK.
Which is why I and probably so many others were drawn to this movie. It reminds us. Stirs the adventurous streaks in our spirits. Allows us to revel in the dream of leaving the dishes and the day job behind and doing something crazy big. But there was a bigger lesson to be learned from witnessing the secret life of Walter Mitty.......
A while back I ran into a friend and noticed that she seemed a little down. I asked her what was wrong. She thought for a minute and replied that she 'just wished she were different'. You see, my friend is shy. If I were to guess, she's probably the shyest person I know. And she hates that. She wishes she were more social, more outgoing and talkative. I AM social, outgoing and talkative and I love it so I of course could relate. However, if being outgoing, social and talkative is a gift I've been given (my husband may venture to say it's a bit of a curse from time to time), then being a good listener is NOT a gift I've been given. But guess what?! There is something my shy friend is so good at, that she should probably get an award! LISTENING. She's an AMAZING listener. Hands down probably the best listener I've met! And I would know because I do A LOT of talking. So if being a good listener is a gift that she's been given, then wouldn't being shy, (which has helped her develop into being a good listener), ALSO be a gift that she's been given?
You see we suffer from a 'we can do ANYTHING' mentality. And the things we think we must do well have grown to an insurmountable capacity with social media and the disease of comparison fanning the flames of our feverish drive to do and be different than we are. I'm not saying that growth and horizon spanning, self stretching goals aren't healthy and even necessary, but figuring out what we're good at, and pursuing those things and figuring out what we will just never be good at and letting it go sometimes, seems like it might be worth a little of our time.
Which brings me back to Walter Mitty. More important than breaking out of our own status quo to climb mountains and have adventures is finding the mountains and seeking out the adventure in the lives we are now living. Because if it is truly the life we are meant to live, it's exactly where we should be. Even if it includes day jobs and dishes.
My Pa-Paw Baker said it best when he said, "If you ain't where you are, you ain't NOWHERE."
Friday, December 27, 2013
And then there were Three.
"Now we see things imperfectly, like puzzling reflections in a mirror, but THEN we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but THEN I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely." 1 Corinthians 13:12
I feel like I've been hit by a MACK truck. Actually, no, that's not good enough. I feel like Mike Tyson has sucker punched me, bitten my ear off and then his pet robot warrior has picked me up and thrown me in FRONT of a MACK truck and after a few forwards and reverses over my crumpled, pancake flattened like body, I have been peeled off of the sidewalk and flicked into the Atlantic and now the below freezing waves are washing over my body and cementing this pain into my cells like memories.
Sam, the third piece of our four child puzzle, has been placed with an adoptive family. And it's not us.
If our caseworker wasn't so tiny and cute and lovable and amazing I might have tried to pitch her right out the door like an unwanted salesperson interrupting dinner, last night when she delivered this crushing blow. We KNEW this was a possibility. We did. But sometimes knowing a thing doesn't prevent the overwhelming pain of a thing. And of course, as we were putting on brave faces and blinking back tears and choking on the worst news of the month from across our kitchen table; the table that has the perfect amount of chairs for a family of SIX, not five; we asked the same questions as you are probably asking now.
WHY would they break up a sibling group when there is a couple who wants ALL OF THEM?!?! How could they DO THAT?! Who could possibly be better for him than US? What are their names and where do they live and how can I make them DISAPPEAR? And what about his sisters? What will they do without HIM? Oh. My. Gosh......his SISTERS. How must they be feeling right now? Knowing that their brother has been placed and they have NOT. Are they scared, sad, angry, confused? Are they putting on brave faces and blinking back tears and choking on the worst news of the year too? Oh, their sweet little hearts. The jealousy, the fear, the worthlessness, the insecurity, the LOSS. Each feeling I know well....
And then I saw it.
Just for a moment, just a glimpse and a blurry glimpse at that, but still, there it was. The story. The story that's being woven into and through the lives of these children, the story that's been woven into and through our lives and the connection between the two. It's messy and broken and like the back of a tapestry as it's being woven, it doesn't make sense. But to judge each chapter on it's own, isolated and removed from the context of the entire story is enough to infuriate you; so you slam the cover closed and using your best wind-up, launch it across the room and into the wall, never to pick up again.
(Like that moment in the Neverending Story when Atreyu loses Artax, his beloved white stallion to the Swamp of Sadness. Every 80's baby remembers that one. And I would bet that if it had been a book and not a movie, there would have been a significant 'book smashing' movement across America then.)
But then you realize it's not your book. You didn't write it and you don't own it. It's merely been lent to you. So, you mutter curses against the author under your breath as you take the walk of shame across the room to pick it up, smooth the pages and bite your lip as the tension between crushing sadness and potential gladness wages war on your will. Should I read on? I cannot. It's simply too painful. But two little words answer that question for most of us. WHAT IF? What if I just don't understand because I don't have all of the information? What if tomorrow everything changes but I miss it because I'm scared? What if there is good news right around the corner, on the next page? WHAT IF there are three little girls who need a daddy's attention as much as a mommy's in a castle all their own so that they can heal and grow and one day be able to accomplish God's purposes for them? And WHAT IF there is one little boy who needs to be the PRINCE of his new parents hearts, in a kingdom all his own to heal and grow so that one day he can accomplish God's purposes for him? We all know how that battle ends because we were created for the hope that every new chapter offers; like a tiny seed planted in the secret places in our hearts, we believe the unbelievable, see past the unthinkable and dream for the happy endings that we KNOW must be there, even if the space in between is so sad that you feel like drowning. So we read on.
And instead of hurling insults at the author of the story, the creator of this unfinished masterpeice, I think I'll choose the high road and take Julia Robert's advice from Mona Lisa Smile.
" Do me a favor. Do yourself a favor. Stop talking and LOOK. You're not required to write a paper. You're not even required to LIKE it.....you ARE required to consider it."
So here I am. Attempting to consider all that I do not see and understand about this unfinished story and dreaming of a day when I get to meet a little boy who's heart and life I will love from afar as he excitedly becomes the missing peice of someone else's story.
Because the fact remains. There are still THREE.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aHCUoDf7KGA&feature=player_embedded
NOTE: Our adoption of the girls is still in the early stages of the process and though it's 99.9% certain we will be moving toward that end as we are the only family currently applying for their adoption, there are always hiccups and unforeseen obstacles. At this point there is nothing we can do but wait for more information. Thanks for your continued prayers and support!
I feel like I've been hit by a MACK truck. Actually, no, that's not good enough. I feel like Mike Tyson has sucker punched me, bitten my ear off and then his pet robot warrior has picked me up and thrown me in FRONT of a MACK truck and after a few forwards and reverses over my crumpled, pancake flattened like body, I have been peeled off of the sidewalk and flicked into the Atlantic and now the below freezing waves are washing over my body and cementing this pain into my cells like memories.
Sam, the third piece of our four child puzzle, has been placed with an adoptive family. And it's not us.
If our caseworker wasn't so tiny and cute and lovable and amazing I might have tried to pitch her right out the door like an unwanted salesperson interrupting dinner, last night when she delivered this crushing blow. We KNEW this was a possibility. We did. But sometimes knowing a thing doesn't prevent the overwhelming pain of a thing. And of course, as we were putting on brave faces and blinking back tears and choking on the worst news of the month from across our kitchen table; the table that has the perfect amount of chairs for a family of SIX, not five; we asked the same questions as you are probably asking now.
WHY would they break up a sibling group when there is a couple who wants ALL OF THEM?!?! How could they DO THAT?! Who could possibly be better for him than US? What are their names and where do they live and how can I make them DISAPPEAR? And what about his sisters? What will they do without HIM? Oh. My. Gosh......his SISTERS. How must they be feeling right now? Knowing that their brother has been placed and they have NOT. Are they scared, sad, angry, confused? Are they putting on brave faces and blinking back tears and choking on the worst news of the year too? Oh, their sweet little hearts. The jealousy, the fear, the worthlessness, the insecurity, the LOSS. Each feeling I know well....
And then I saw it.
Just for a moment, just a glimpse and a blurry glimpse at that, but still, there it was. The story. The story that's being woven into and through the lives of these children, the story that's been woven into and through our lives and the connection between the two. It's messy and broken and like the back of a tapestry as it's being woven, it doesn't make sense. But to judge each chapter on it's own, isolated and removed from the context of the entire story is enough to infuriate you; so you slam the cover closed and using your best wind-up, launch it across the room and into the wall, never to pick up again.
(Like that moment in the Neverending Story when Atreyu loses Artax, his beloved white stallion to the Swamp of Sadness. Every 80's baby remembers that one. And I would bet that if it had been a book and not a movie, there would have been a significant 'book smashing' movement across America then.)
But then you realize it's not your book. You didn't write it and you don't own it. It's merely been lent to you. So, you mutter curses against the author under your breath as you take the walk of shame across the room to pick it up, smooth the pages and bite your lip as the tension between crushing sadness and potential gladness wages war on your will. Should I read on? I cannot. It's simply too painful. But two little words answer that question for most of us. WHAT IF? What if I just don't understand because I don't have all of the information? What if tomorrow everything changes but I miss it because I'm scared? What if there is good news right around the corner, on the next page? WHAT IF there are three little girls who need a daddy's attention as much as a mommy's in a castle all their own so that they can heal and grow and one day be able to accomplish God's purposes for them? And WHAT IF there is one little boy who needs to be the PRINCE of his new parents hearts, in a kingdom all his own to heal and grow so that one day he can accomplish God's purposes for him? We all know how that battle ends because we were created for the hope that every new chapter offers; like a tiny seed planted in the secret places in our hearts, we believe the unbelievable, see past the unthinkable and dream for the happy endings that we KNOW must be there, even if the space in between is so sad that you feel like drowning. So we read on.
And instead of hurling insults at the author of the story, the creator of this unfinished masterpeice, I think I'll choose the high road and take Julia Robert's advice from Mona Lisa Smile.
" Do me a favor. Do yourself a favor. Stop talking and LOOK. You're not required to write a paper. You're not even required to LIKE it.....you ARE required to consider it."
So here I am. Attempting to consider all that I do not see and understand about this unfinished story and dreaming of a day when I get to meet a little boy who's heart and life I will love from afar as he excitedly becomes the missing peice of someone else's story.
Because the fact remains. There are still THREE.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aHCUoDf7KGA&feature=player_embedded
NOTE: Our adoption of the girls is still in the early stages of the process and though it's 99.9% certain we will be moving toward that end as we are the only family currently applying for their adoption, there are always hiccups and unforeseen obstacles. At this point there is nothing we can do but wait for more information. Thanks for your continued prayers and support!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)