God-sized Dreams: On Letting Go of My Timing

I would do it all over again.

If it meant we would be where we are now, sitting in the glow of the miracles of the past week, I wouldn't want it any other way.

The stressful and strained parts of hosting our first host daughter.

The heartbreak of losing our first host daughter I in a "failed" adoption.

The overwhelming feeling of choosing to adopt two girls from another country so shortly after our "failed" adoption.

The constant challenge of growth and dealing with our own past hurts and hang-ups as we have step-by-step walked this journey.

The waiting, the tears, the 16 weeks of wondering and waiting if a referral for our girls adoption would come, the mornings it was hard to even get out of bed, the nights I spent more time praying than sleeping.

I would do it all over again to be standing where we are now.

This morning, we received word that the ministry of the welfare would have the information for our adoption for us soon.

We received it just in time to make the decision not host again this summer.

In perfect fashion, though, too, we received this information, an answer to our long-standing prayers, as a pre-curser to other joyful news.

I have sobbed happy, thankful tears three separate times during the past eight hours.

As I've processed through everything, I've realized that if we wouldn't have waited this long that I wouldn't have had a breakthrough, beautiful conversation with our soon-to-be daughter this morning.

And we wouldn't have had that conversation were it not for her attending a camp this past weekend where God really spoke to her heart.

I realized this morning, too, that if this timing hadn't played out exactly I wouldn't have had the chance to spend time writing some advocacy blog posts for New Horizons for Children's Orphan Hosting Program ...

and that two families shared with me, one just this morning, that they decided to host because God used those words to speak to their hearts ...

and that one of those families, our neighbors and friends, is hosting our soon-to-be-daughter's friend this summer ... just down the street from our home.

I am awed and overwhelmed and GRATEFUL to have even played a small role in this, and I am overwhelmed with the beauty, the wonder and the fruit that has been born of the struggle, that has been born of the waiting.

And you, my friends. I am overwhelmed by God's goodness in bringing you alongside of us.

You have been part of this story.

You have encouraged us when I thought I couldn't do this one more day.

You have supported us when what stood before us to do alone would have been nearly impossible.

You have prayed for us when it was hard to pray ourselves.

You have lavished love on us when it was difficult for us to feel anything at all.

You have been part of more stories than just the one I have the honor of sharing.

I cannot thank you enough for being part of this story God is writing in our family and in the lives of others.

What a story that is unfolding, and how this unfolding in this way and time and space is teaching me that God's plans are so much more vast and unimaginable and better than my own!

There is, indeed, deep purpose in the pain and deep purpose in the wait, and beauty really can and really is often born from the broken.

All in His time.

Why does hosting make a different? Former host children share their stories. 
The Joy of Uncomfortable Love

If you'd like to continue to be a part of these stories, please pray for our family as we await our referral and travel dates. If you would like to support families in the midst of orphan care financially, you can do so at our site A Just Love or the Crothers' family's site Piecing Together Our Hosting Journey. 

When You Don't Feel Like Waiting Anymore

We are standing at the edge of where water meets a slice of sandy beach, watching shadows of the sun sink closer and closer to the tips of palm trees and the blues of ocean behind thick clouds.

While the sun lingers all day long in the sky, and most of the time I barely realize it's moving, I am keenly aware of it's movement when it steadily retreats into the horizon. And tonight I am asking God for something beautiful to spread out before us despite the heavy clouds hanging in the sky. I'm briefly tempted to abandon the beach and just head home because it's unlikely that we'll catch much of a sunset with all the clouds covering the sky and it's even more unlikely that we'll get a glimpse of the dolphins I've been hoping to see. I've loved dolphins since we first started visiting my grandparents in Southwest Florida, and God has spoken love to me through them. I promise our soon-to-be-adopted teen daughter, who shares my love for these animals, I will report any sightings.

I lean into John just before we are ready to resign from the beach, and instead I find myself breathing a timid prayer.

"God, something beautiful please."

The sun almost immediately slips out from behind the clouds and spreads into red, pink, orange with hints of purple.

Moved by the lovely in front of us and the graciousness of a God who answers prayers, I ask, "Oh, and dolphins, too, please!"

I can't stop the prayers from tumbling out of my lips as the sun descends and continues to set the sky bright acolor.

"Thank you for this beauty, God." I say, "Thank you for the lovely you paint across the sky. Lord, you make beautiful things. God, please, bring our girls home to us. Bring us word of movement, our referral. Please."

Where I end John begins and we are praying honest heart cries as the sunset blazes in beauty before us.

As we continue to pray, I see movement in water before us, and not one, not two, not three, but five fins take turns jutting out of the water. It looks like maybe it's feeding time and the dolphins have found a buffet just several yards away.

I breathe out gratitude and we watch them dance in the waters as the last of the sun disappears, leaving a glow in the twilight of sky and on the water.

I find myself thankful for the burst of patience and persistence gifted to us as we stood on the beach just moments before. And I am reminded of words I read earlier that day in two different places:

Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you; therefore he will rise up to show you compassion. For the Lord is a God of justice. Blessed are all who wait for him! Isaiah 30:18

When I wait you strengthen my heart. Psalm 27:14 

We have not been forgotten in our waiting. Our tears, our prayers, our pleas -- they have been heard.

Strength has been gifted in the wait. Blessing will grow in the wait. Beauty has come and will spread into more

like colors at sunset across the sky

like dolphins remembered in their need for a nightly feast

like prayers answered as two pilgrims in the journey stand at the edge of where water meets a slice of sandy beach, watching shadows of the sun emerge from behind thick clouds

and sink closer and closer to the tips of palm trees and the blues of ocean setting the whole beautiful thing on fire with color.

Miscarriage: Waiting Rooms and Waiting Days

We are the only ones left in a waiting room long after all the well people normally leave the hospital.

This realization is what grounds the hope that's been swelled up like an inflated balloon in my lungs; I am holding my breathe and still somehow breathing.

But when she angled the computer monitor away from my face and stared grimly at the screen while pressing the wand against my belly, I knew something wasn't right.

I knew as I glanced inquisitively at my husband sitting across the room that when she was done snapping pictures, there'd be another waiting room waiting for us.

These past three months have been anchored in waiting.

We waited for the positive pregnancy test of our long-hoped for fifth pregnancy.

We waited for tests to come back confirming HCG levels were rising steadily.

We waited as each week rolled by to hear the heart beat of our baby as my stomach swelled and rounded.

All the while hoping the waiting would lead to our third child being born alive and well and beautiful in our arms.

But at the midwife's office there was no heartbeat found with the doppler. So we waited for an ultrasound later that evening.

And came full circle back to the waiting room.

Somewhere in the past week or so a feeling of peace had washed over my body -- peace I couldn't understand; I'm always thinking, sometimes anxious.

I prayed, though, in trust that God would take care of this baby and take care of me.

Peace, unexpected and abounding, in the surrender.

John and I hold hands, hopeful, but the balloon begins to deflate with every moment that passes, and I'm breathing deep breathes before she walks in and hands us the phone.

My midwife, she says she's sorry. The baby stopped growing. 10 weeks 5 days and I'm actually only 11 weeks 5 days and not the 13 we thought.

I don't hear anything else she says.

I birth heavy wet tears

in the midst of peace

I cannot explain.

I voice the injustice and I sob and I fall into my husband's arms with more questions than he could ever answer.

But underlying is this strange peace.

I don't sleep much that night

but I breath, and I tell my body

"it's ok. just let go. the baby is already in heaven. so let go."

I cry more through out the Day Two and notice cramping sneak into the lower parts of my abdomen,

heart still thick-coated in grief dancing closely with gratitude, each battling to take the lead

and un-understandable peace.

So we do what we know how to do:

We wait.

We pray.

Balloon of baby-hope deflated

deep breathing

as weeks of hopeful waiting

morph to

one night of waiting rooms and

bleed into waiting days.

"Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:4-6

Pregnancy: 11 Weeks

I feel like a bad pop song lately.

I'm hot then I'm cold, yes then no, up and then down, in and then out.

You get the picture.

There are mornings when it feels like my body is starting to make the slow switch toward feeling better, but then I have days like Thursday and Friday where I'm crying on the couch and the thought of food makes me want to gag; and, thus, I'm reminded I've still got a few more weeks before I level out, if this pregnancy follows the other two.

My body has been craving fats lately, so with the green light on some food sensitivity tests to reintroduce dairy back into my diet, I carefully dove into indulging in full-cream ice creams while on vacation in Florida ... but now this week, after three weeks of eating dairy, I'm pretty certain I need to cut it out again. The tough part is that I'm really limited on easy, non-dairy fats because more than it dislikes dairy, my body really abhors coconuts {thankfully, coconut oil is ok} and avocados of all things. Super bummer.

I keep telling myself when I feel better, I'll jump into the world of making my own almond milk and almond ice cream, but every time I head for the kitchen to create I collapse in a winded pity party of exhaustion.

Actually, every time I head to the kitchen to do any sort of meal prep, I am deterred by the reality of tiredness and a plethora of food and smell aversions.

If I sound complainy, I'm not coming off right. I'm so thankful for this opportunity to be carrying our long-desired third {fourth? fifth? I don't know what number to call this one.} baby. Like really. Beyond thankful. It's just like with every other life change and blessing, there comes trial. This is my trial -- feeding my family and myself well while being really limited in the cooking and baking department.

The other trial I face daily is to adhere to my life verse and my word for the year -- rejoice.

My life verse is Philippians 4:4-9

"Rejoice in the Lord always! Again, I say rejoice! Let your gentleness be apparent to all. The Lord is near.
Do not be anxious about anything. Instead in prayer and petition and with thanksgiving make your requests known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you."

It's a tall order, isn't it?

To rejoice always {nauseas, exhausted, nervous}.

To not be anxious.

To think only on what is true, pure, lovely.

But the promise of the order -- peace that surpasses all understanding -- is an incredible one.

One that energizes me to take my thoughts and shape them toward my God who is good. One that inspires me to abandon the what-if thinking of worry and embrace instead prayer and petition and thanksgiving.

One that makes rejoicing possible in the midst of waiting.

Waiting.

Today, I woke up snuggled next to a small body who began began getting ill around 4 a.m. I've been next to him in bed ever since, tending to his needs and trying to give him comfort.

John and I were scheduled to go in to my midwife's office so we could try and pick up the baby's heartbeat via doppler; we've yet to see or hear it.

That won't be happening today, though. Not with my sick little one needing mommy and daddy.

Waiting.

We continue to wait

in patience

in gratitude

in trust.

There is peace in that but that's pretty much been a hallmark of this entire pregnancy --waiting,

I knew this was going to be a growing time in the most physical sense of the word. But I had no idea quite how stretching carrying a child after miscarriages would actually be.

Just Write: I Don't Know

She's coarse in language I don't really understand.

She presses down the wand against my abdomen as I lay on my back, skin exposed, in a warm room.

"Only see the yolk sack," I think she murmurs. "Must be early."

I assure her of dates but she shakes her head as though I don't know or understand.

I shake my head at her.

But she's right about both things nonetheless:

I don't know

or understand

any of it.

I don't understand her.

I don't understand what I'm seeing on the screen as it projects grainy images from what's growing inside me.

And I don't know.

I don't know any more than when I first walked into the ultrasound room.

"All I say is you are pregnant," she says.

I lie motionless in the dark room and one thought comes to my mind over and over and over after she tries to give me the weeks and days in numbers that I should count my pregnancy.

"Nothing is impossible with God."

It's the same thought He gave me a few weeks ago when my hormone levels didn't seem to match with possible conception dates ... which were later found to be off because of a calculation error only.

God doesn't miscalculate.

"And nothing is impossible with God."

I hear the words run over and over in my mind, and I want to shoo them away because everything that I'm seeing right now seems to say impossible.

But they persist.

And those are the first words from John's lips after he greets me in the waiting room.

"Nothing is impossible, honey," he says. "We'll wait another week, and we'll see."

We will wait.

We'll wait while I don't know, while I don't understand.

Any of it.

Except.

For that He does.

And it's enough for today.

Five-Minute Friday: Opportunity

Yesterday I sat atop a long table in my midwife's bright office, bared my arm and gave a vial of blood for testing -- our meek human attempt at measuring the progress of the miracle of life freshly sown into my body.

{I'd give much more than a vial for you, little love, just so we're clear.}

There are options if my body is having a hard time supporting the huge need for progesterone -- something I struggled with when I was sick and lost two babies a year ago and a little more.

But I am healed {in more than one way}. And as I give blood I remember I have been bought with His.

So we're thankful, oh love, are we thankful.

And believing, love, oh, are we believing that we are just crossing Ts and dotting Is and that the Gardener has already taken care to sew this seed and He will sustain it -- that God has healed my body and given it the ability to conceive and nourish and grow through His power.

But, nonetheless, we are parents, and so we go and test and wait because we'd never want to neglect a little life, no matter how small, how tiny.

Today we have the opportunity

to wait well

and rejoice

or sit in fear and what if.

And today I choose

to wait well on test results

because I know what I'm really waiting on.

And He is mighty, able and good.

Beyond Resolutions: Patience and Waiting {#OneWord365 recap}

I'm sitting atop a wooden stool in the kitchen, head buried into John's chest after demanding he abandon food prepping and pay attention me.

I am easy going until I am not. And when I'm not, I'm really, really not easy going at all.

Today is one of those days I am not.

I am a tightly wound mess of heart strings and heaping pile of emotion, and I am waiting.

I am waiting on God for more than a few answers to prayers I feel like I've been uttering all year long.

"I'm sick of waiting," I whine. "I want to know -- just a clear this way or that. Yes or no. Black or white."

With God sometimes there is no black or white but rather there are varying shades of gray and they all mess into each other in the canvas of waiting.

John hugs my body close to his, smiles and teases that I have three days left of being patience according to the calendar, and apparently I need all three of them to fully learn my lesson for the year.

I fall into his body, confident he'll catch me, but I scoff.

"Careful," he says. "Or you might have to do a repeat of your word again next year."

I know he's teasing me, a prod for a smile.

But.

I don't feel like smiling; I don't like waiting.

It's ... uncomfortable. And I can't do anything. Well anything that I like to define as productive -- like make things happen, make decisions clear, make answers known.

A friend and I decided days ago to do a study on waiting. It seemed fitting to us both.

As I settled in and read, this hit me over the head:

"The ability to wait on the Lord stems from being confident and focused on who God is and in what God is doing. It means confidence in God’s person: confidence in His wisdom, love, timing, understanding of our situation and that of the world. It means knowing and trusting in God’s principles, promises, purposes, and power." 

So when we wait, we've got two choices: we can wait impatiently or we can wait well trusting in His goodness.

This is good news for me -- because waiting well means doing something. It means coming to God in earnest prayer. It means seeking Him and His word. It means crying out to Him and letting go of my white-knuckled grasp of myriad situations and events and things.

When we wait well, something is changing -- our hearts. And, honestly, what can be more productive than taking our will and conforming it to His?

Waiting is uncomfortable because when we wait well there is change. And change involves growth. It's painful even.

There is a lightbulb that slowly burns a little brighter. It's painful. There is pain in waiting when change is involved.

And then I see it: to wait, to change is to share in Christ's suffering.

"Now if we are children, then we are heirs--heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory."Romans 8:12

To suffer is to become sanctified, righteous.

"No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it." Hebrews 12:11

He hears the cries of the righteous.

"The righteous cry out, and the LORD hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles." Psalm 34:17

So we can wait impatiently.

Or we can wait well, with patience.

"For this reason I also suffer these things; nevertheless I am not ashamed, for I know whom I have believed and am persuaded that He is able to keep what I have committed to Him until that Day." 2 Timothy 1:12

I exhale my weight fully into John's arms trusting that he's holding me as I wrestle with putting my word into practice.

And I realize I can do the same in the waiting with God.

So I exhale, breathe and let myself fall into His arms.

Patience in 2012
Patience in Healing
Patience in Waiting for a baby
Patience in Mothering
Patience with myself
Patience with grief
Patience in marriage

2012 Patience

2011 Being