Overcoming

Our Adoption Plan

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So, the questions have been rolling in about what type of adoption we are seeking. Some have skipped right past the generalized questions and asked what country. Well, if our fundraiser shirts are any indication, we are looking to adopt from right here in America. We are working toward what is called a private domestic adoption. Private, however, does not mean secretive. Private means, more or less, from individual to individual. In other words, not through the foster care system.

 

Let me take this moment to add a side note: We highly believe there is an urgency for children to find homes where they are loved and cared for through the broken system of foster care. We are not in any way trying to minimize that need. We, however, feel our call, at least at this time, is not through fostering. Here’s why.

 

I’ve alluded to my personal, emotional struggle throughout my pregnancies here before. I won’t go into detail now, but I will say this: Those were some of my darkest days. Days I experienced the loneliness of depression, the desperation of feeling trapped and the fear my world was ending rather than beginning. I even allowed my thinking to wander into territory of what release from mothering obligations would be like… However, by the grace of God even in the dead of that winter, I knew hope. I knew the torment to be fleeting. I knew God would prevail even if I withered away in the process. And though my husband did not know at the time the extent of my depression, he knew the internal struggle to be nothing short of a battle being waged. A battle the enemy did not win.

 

So, though we will not claim to understand the ramifications of abortion, we know the circle of lies that can lead down that oh so trodden path. And we’ve heard the pain relayed by those who’ve traversed it. I look back at those days with humility, seeing what I was spared from – how my son specifically was spared – and mourn over those who aren’t so lucky.

 

To say this journey for us is more than just following a hunch, is an understatement. It’s a mission to back up with actions what we’ve claimed with our mouths. Abortion is wrong. I don’t say that with condemnation but with conviction. There is grace upon grace for those who ask for it. I will not point my finger. Nor will I sit back any longer. I will fight on my knees, proclaim with my mouth and reach with my arms to protect the sanctity of life. And so, Rob and I have decided through prayer that we are called to this here and now. And it’s our heart’s desire to be the open arms to a couple who may have felt they were out of options.

 

In fact, many of the referrals to the agency we’ve chose to walk us through this process come from crisis pregnancy centers around the state. So, even though this is a private infant adoption, we do not, nor may we ever, know the birth parents. However, as much as our heart yearns for our little one, it also yearns for the birth parents who will decidedly walk away empty handed. So, we chose with intentionality an agency that offers support and council for what they call the triad of adoption: The birth parents, the child and the adoptive family. The birth parents will have someone who will come alongside them as they walk through the hard days of decision making to well after the placement has been made. All the while pointing them to Jesus. Just as they will advocate for the child and support us in the waiting.

 

We can’t begin to imagine what lies ahead, but we will follow the call with purpose. For we know He who called us will be faithful, not only to our family and our child, but also for those who will give life to our baby. And I’m praying for them to find Jesus in their dark days as I found Him in mine.

 

Be On The Lookout: Logistical steps through the adoption process and where we are in the journey coming your way next! 

Stories of Rising Above

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I love stories. Fiction and non-fiction alike. Stories, imagined or real, that tell the tale of redemption, beating the odds, the overcomer and the passionate. The emotions alone stirred up with this heart of mine at the very word uttered from someone’s lips are proof of this ongoing zeal for the written tale.

Recently, I took an unplanned break from weekly pouring into this love of mine for writing, specifically stories. I found it difficult to direct the path the story line should take, find the time to work at it and muster up the motivation to attack it. Essentially, it got hard, so I checked out.

I was reminded yesterday during our church service that opposition to a calling should not only not be a reason to quit, but should also be expected. When God is in it, the enemy hates it. He’ll throw whatever scum he can at God’s people to keep them down or stop their progress.

So it’s been with my writing.

So it’s been with life lately.

The feelings of rejection, subjection, one-thing-after-another, have left me reeling in the hurt, frustration, resentment and heartache. I’ve tried to hide. I’ve tried to pretend the problems don’t exist. Yet they do, even when the door to the basement is closed, the broken car is parked out of view, the texts I haven’t gotten have gone unnoticed and our first adoption fundraiser updates are ignored.

However, as time continues to press us forward, distancing us from the latest catastrophe seemingly onto the next, I’m daily being reminded: I asked for this. No, not in so many words. I certainly did not wish for a third of our home to be earmarked virtually unusable for the next several months as the slow process of refinishing my once finished basement takes shape. I didn’t ask for the car to break or technology to fail me. We did, contrarily, decide to follow the call placed on our family. As one friend put it, right now we are making some bold strides for the Kingdom of Heaven and satan doesn’t like it. (By the way, I’m done capitalizing his name. I can’t bring myself to do it any longer. I’d rather look at the red squiggly line from the built-in editor than to capitalize a word referencing the enemy of my faith and Creator.)

The hope I’m clinging to in this world’s muck as of late is simple, yet profound: I’m making the enemy tremble. As well he should. For what I read in my Bible says God wins. God is the victor, past, future and present. My hope is not in my house for it’s built of sticks. My hope is not found in the rusting car or the already outdated technological advances surrounding me. It’s not in my frustrations of our finances, the numbers that make me swoon. Or even in the flesh and blood of those I love and adore. No. It’s lies solely in the insurmountable Power, the Counselor, living inside of me and the promise He’s given of that which is eternal. I don’t have to focus my attention on the crashing waves about me when the horizon stands constant just beyond them.

My hope is unmovable.

It’s certain.

It’s constant.

So, I’ll keep writing and letting Him write. These stories are far from finished. Stories of rising above the adversity to the treasure waiting just beyond the trials. This is the story God is writing. With every hardship, heartache and frustration and every moment of joy, victory and love in between, He writes the tale. He’ll keep writing as long as I continue to follow.

And follow I will.