Jesus met me in my kitchen today. I stood in front of a sink piled high with drying dishes, horses grazing in the neighbor’s field and kids dancing in the living room. It didn’t matter that I was in the middle of lunch preparations or that my son asked me for the location of a bookmark. When Jesus shows up, everything else can wait.

A friend asked me the other day how I was doing. I told her in all honesty how filled I have been with hope. This past week has served as confirmation that what I have in faith proclaimed, God is indeed doing. Today, however, hope feels waned.

It’s been confirmed: This door is closed. This child due to make their debut in the midst of our birthday extravaganza this April will not be ours. And though I’m sad, I am not without hope.

These last few days I’ve been challenged to not only hold onto this gift of hope, but also to cultivate a heart of gratitude. I want to be the kind of woman who chooses to focus on the good God is doing, right now. There is always something in which to exude thankfulness, regardless of the circumstances. So there I stood at my kitchen sink mourning a loss that was never meant to be mine. And with clear intentions, I thanked the Lord for these trenches.

Yes, I realize the word mourning sounds intense here. In fact, it almost seems foolish to label these feels as such. But if I’ve learned anything on this journey, it is that I have to allow myself to mourn what it feels I’ve lost
in order to move forward to what was always destined to be mine. I’ve mourned control, my own ideals and even my fantasies of how Jamie would write the story. All in an effort to truly leave it to the capable pen of the true Author of this story.

These days of waiting are painful, but they are good. Regardless of how chastised or even naive I’ve been led to feel in this waiting, these days are filled with purpose. They are no less filled than every day after our match, placement and adoption.

Today, I’m sad. I won’t hide it or negate that fact. I wanted this. But as my husband so often assures me, it’s my sensitive heart that allows me to love so well.

So even in the heartache of my tears I’m reassured. I’m thankful. All the lies that threaten I won’t be able to love a child not born of my womb are here quieted in my tears. As my heart breaks for the “could have been’s” I’m encouraged. God is in every detail. He is answering my prayers to create within me the heart of a mother my child will need. He is weaving together a good story.

My faith is increasing in measures unrestrained. This feeble heart is gaining strength. And hope is becoming reliant on one Source.

Even as the tears fall…