Out of the ashes.

The past few weeks have brought unbelievable changes to our home and lives. Amazing opportunities. New arrivals. Relationships struggling and broken. Crisis. Adventure. Joy. Heartache. All in a swirling tornado plowing through our life. We've been steady and surefooted through most of this... but I woke up this morning and realized that my carefully laid-out plans for this year have gone up in flames.

At this point, you might feel like posting an image of a kitten clinging to a tree branch emblazoned with the words "If your plans don't work out... it's because God has something better for you!" on my Facebook page. Let me save you the trouble. First, I strongly disagree with that saying. Second (oddly enough), I'm okay with all this. Although we've suffered some disappointments... as the dust settles, I feel good... even joyful, about the changes that have come.


But I'm grieving, a little bit. I need some time to let go of "what might have been".

I walked confidently into the year 2012 knowing what to expect... because we'd made plans. Me, Bruce and God. And they were GOOD plans. I don't feel like I've participated in some God-hosted-swap-meet where I meekly turn in my lame "worldly" plans for his awesome, undeniable, outrageous, blessing-filled replacement plans. I feel like my flight has been diverted mid-flight and I’m headed somewhere new. Not somewhere better or worse, just different.

For the moment, I’m happily distracted with the excitement and newness of entering uncharted waters. But a small part of me is still in mourning. Looking back over my shoulder, watching those dreams fade in the distance. They were good plans, but it’s time to let go. Not for the promise of something bigger or better, but simply because God asked. Sometimes we foolishly boil God’s purpose in our lives into a series of upgrades. I hear faithful, Christian couples say things like this all the time: “God transferred us away from our home and family, halfway across the world... but LOOK at this backyard! Half an acre! What a blessing!” It’s great to be a “glass half full” person, or to look for the silver lining on a cloud... but it’s also okay to be real. To struggle. To admit that God is calling us to something that is hard. Or painful. Or overwhelming. But also, beautiful. To trust that God can grow something beautiful in the ashes of our sacrifice.

“The LORD makes firm the steps of the one who delights in him; though he may stumble, he will not fall, for the LORD upholds him with his hand. I was young and now I am old, yet I have never seen the righteous forsaken or their children begging bread. They are always generous and lend freely; their children will be a blessing.” Psalm 37:23-26

Does it feel the same?

I've been privileged to bring three children into this world.

I will never forget how it felt to see their faces at the moment of their births.

Exhausted and in pain... then suddenly the whole world stops moving... like all the church bells in the world are ringing at the same time, and a ray of sunshine straight from heaven is shining down on this child in my arms. Every detail of this little stranger's face is new, but somehow familiar.

On those first long nights in the hospital, although I was weary, I found myself unable to look away. I just held my baby in my arms and memorized every eyelash and dimple. I still marvel every day at their beauty and uniqueness. Each son and daughter a delightful combination of my husband and myself.

I was SO eager for the world to appreciate the beauty of this person we had created in love, so I mailed out announcements and pictures within weeks.

Let's be honest.

My babies were jaundiced, scrunched, blotchy, hairless little people. But I was convinced they were the most beautiful things to ever grace the earth. I was blinded by love. It sounds cliche, but this love is something only a mother can understand.

I'm an adoptive mom too. And there is something I want you to know:

It felt the same.

He was an awkward teenage boy with stringy hair and baggy pants, but when I laid eyes on this 15-year-old boy who would be my son, my heart caught up in my throat. Beyond a deep and sweeping love, I felt an emotion I can only describe as "mineness". In those first awkward moments of our first meeting I tried to act natural and relaxed. But I couldn't take my eyes off him.

I know that not every adoptive mother feels that way when they see their child for the first time. We recently adopted a sibling group of 3 children and I can honestly say, that although they are about the cutest kids on earth, I didn't hear any church bells ring when they came to our home. They were placed in our home for temporary foster care with a goal of reunification. I think it took many weeks for me to let down my guard and begin to fall in love with them. My love for them started as a tiny spark that needed time to grow into the warm glow of "mineness".

But I feel it now.

Biological children and adopted children are different. This is an inescapable truth. The children I gave birth to were thrust into my arms the moment of their first breath. I felt every kick and have seen every milestone. They wear my husband's light eyes and sprinkle of freckles. Their faces possess an almost mystical attraction to us... because they are ours.

But becoming an adoptive mother taught me something new.

The God who formed the stars and the seas from nothingness can create an attraction between strangers, through adoption, that is just as strong as the one created by biology. When I gaze at the faces of my adopted children, I don't see the likeness of my spouse or self. I see the faces of their birthparents. But God has taken our human hearts, that seek out familiarity and likeness, and created in them a delight for variety.

It is a beautiful thing when this magic happens in an instant. When your eyes see past abuse and neglect and medical diagnoses and race and you fall in love with your child in that moment... but it is also beautiful when this love takes time to grow. When you push past hesitance and insecurity and confusion and allow love to blossom in it's own time.

Whether this love manifests in a split second, or takes years of careful nurture to grow... when you get there, it feels the same.

After a long silence.

It might seem that there was much I want to say. To catch you up. There are many things in my heart I have written and deleted, or not yet found the courage to write. So I will share only this:

Let's suppose that, from the very beginning, a child's personality, potential, talents, strengths and weaknesses are already set. Every detail already written on their DNA. That "how they will turn out" is decided before they take their first breath. Alcoholism, depression, sexuality, narcissism, addiction, anxiety, obesity, violence. Imprinted on their being as clearly, and inescapably, as the color of their eyes.

Would we adopt a child knowing that no amount of "nurture" can change the course set in place by "nature" from the moment of conception?

I can only speak for myself, friends. But I say "yes".

I would choose you. If I knew that your path was destined to be troubling and destructive, I would take your hand and walk beside you. Maybe that is all I have to offer you. Even if my efforts cannot change the destination, you will not have traveled there alone.