Blessings and Raindrops

seeking joy in the midst of the ordinary

even if.

We spent some time yesterday with the absolute most adorable little lambs, ever. I now want one or two or three. Four kids…two dogs…a few chickens…might as well throw in a few sheep to round out the crazy!

As I look through these photos today, I am reminded that God tells us – me, you, my family, my S – that we are the sheep under His care. {Psalm 95:7}
Your God is coming! Yes, the Sovereign LORD is coming in all his glorious power. He will rule with awesome strength. See, he brings his reward with him as he comes. He will feed his flock like a shepherd. He will carry the lambs in his arms, holding them close to his heart. He will gently lead the mother sheep with their young. {Isaiah 40: 10-11}

Today, I can’t help but be grateful for the fact that God has placed other mother sheep in my life to walk alongside me on this adoption journey in ways that very few people can. Mommas that are lifelines for prayer and encouragement and love. I talk/email/text/message with this group pretty much daily, depending on the season and circumstance. To even begin to describe my gratitude for this group of prayer-warrior, super-momma friends is impossible. They are blessing upon blessing.

This weekend, one of these precious friends received heartbreaking news. She lost someone she loves dearly. One of the most important people in her life. {She hasn’t shared all of the details publicly so I don’t want to share here…just want to give you the general details so you can understand the heartache…}
This was a shock and our little group has been shaken and heartbroken with her. We can’t understand this pain. We can’t understand why God didn’t heal this time. Or, why the son she loves isn’t home yet after a year of waiting. 
Then, this morning, I found out some very hard news. Again, I have to be cryptic because I can’t share the details here but I will say that we really thought we had a chance of getting our daughter home. I wish I could share more but know that we had bags packed and visas ready…we were waiting every day, in anticipation for the call that would change our lives. We thought this could be it. We thought this was the door that had been opened that no one could slam shut {Rev. 3:8}.
We waited. And, waited. And, waited. 
We prayed big, bold prayers. We placed our firm hope in Him. 
And, today, we learned that this isn’t it. She won’t be coming home now. Someday, yes, but not today. 
Our baby girl turns two in two days. Two-years-old. We first saw her face and fell in love with her when she was nine-months-old. We held her in our arms five months ago. 
We watch her grow and change in photos. We try to imagine what she is doing throughout the day. We pray for her. We long for her to be here. I know, with full confidence, that God called us here. I know, He clearly said this is our daughter. He placed a fierce love in our hearts for this precious little one. 
I don’t understand any of this pain. This pain as we wait for our daughter, this pain that my dear friend is enduring or the pain that so many of my friends are living through right this minute. 
I keep asking God what He wants me to learn from all of this. Asking how He can turn this dark valley, this heartache, for good. 
He has revealed Himself in new ways over the past couple of weeks. I have been trying to process the lessons He is teaching me. I know He is asking me to have a steadfast faith. I know He is asking me to place my Hope in Him alone. Yet, I don’t fully understand what it is He wants me to ascertain from this heartache. 
He gave me an image about a week ago that I have held onto…
My family: Dave, myself, Ben, Nathan, S and baby Charlotte, all kneeling at the cross. His arms encompassing us. Holding us closely. His whisper to my heart, “I’ve got you. I’ve got them. Let go. Trust.” 
He is holding us and protecting us and fighting for us. I trust this. In the same way a shepherd protects his sheep by drawing them close when they begin to wander and lifting them out of the crevices into which they might fall, our Shepherd is protecting and guiding our steps. 
Yesterday afternoon, after my doctor’s appointment {all is well with baby Charlotte! thank you, Jesus}, I revisited the spot where, over a year ago, I had prayed over that sweet photo of our S and asked for discernment about whether or not to say, “yes.” This time, I prayed that He would come near. That He would show me that He hasn’t forgotten us … I felt a nudge to open my Bible app and read these words…”You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.” {Jeremiah 29:13}.
This made me smile. He is near. 

This morning as I cried out, I felt Him saying that this is not about S. He has her. He will bring her home. He will be glorified. This is about me. My heart. When I pray for a miracle and praise Him for what He can do; am I praying and seeking Him because of the miracle He is able to perform or because I sincerely, genuinely want to praise Him out of an overflowing spring of love and humble adoration? 
This thought hit home. I feel myself striving more and more… seeking Him more and more… yet, I am constantly picking and choosing the lessons, the scriptures. I choose the ones that reveal His power and might. The biblical accounts of His miraculous works. Because, quite frankly, I need a miracle. 
As I drove home from dropping the boys off at pre-school this morning, I heard the song Even If. 
That’s it. That’s what I’ve been searching for. I remember when a precious friend said those words aloud to me, Even If. Painful words for my heart. I repeated them with tears streaming down my cheeks. 
“…even if, even if, she isn’t home in the next month or the month after that or after that…even then, I can hold onto hope. He will give me grace and strength to make it through each and every day. I need to take one day at a time and hold onto Him in each moment of waiting…”
Even if. 
God is still good. God is still the forever faithful One. 
“Sometimes all we have to hold on to 

Is what we know is true 



Of who You are 


So when the heartache hits like a hurricane 

That can never change who You are 
And we trust in who You are 


Even if the healing doesn’t come 

And life falls apart 

And dreams are still undone 
You are God You are good 
Forever faithful One 
Even if the healing 
Even if the healing doesn’t come”
{Kutless- Even If}
I will continue to wait in Hope. I will continue to bow down in worship and kneel before the Lord our Maker, for he is our God and we are the people He watches over, the flock under His care {Psalm 95 6-7}.

the scope of my current sightline.

Sitting on the floor of my darkened closet. Door closed. Weeping. Unable to form the words.

Through the sobs… faint whispers.

“…please Jesus…please…”

The words won’t come.

The only prayer that bubbles up to the surface…

“just…help me. Help me.”

“…help me to get off of this floor…just help me to stand up.”

I can’t move.

I can’t move forward. The world is spinning with grief and confusion and sorrow.

He answers.

Dave, my kind, gentle, rock-solid-faith husband, finds me. He doesn’t say anything. He simply offers his hand. I place my hand in his and am pulled to my feet.

My Jesus hears me. He sees me. He knows that I need someone – this man – whom I trust to hold me near and not ask me to explain my sorrow. The words won’t come. The tears flow … and, gently, silently, the little closet is transformed into Holy ground. We stand together. United by our Father’s love for us, for our children, for our daughter. We stand firm in Him. Holding tightly to one another. Knowing that God is near.

In the light of dawn, the sorrow makes way for truth.

I read these words, I cling to these words…

“Being transcendent means HE gets to decide how His “beyondness” fleshes itself out in our lives. And that should be more than okay for us — because His purposes and plans, as well as His love and grace, are so far outside the limits of where our puny minds can go, we’re actually a whole lot better off just leaving the “how and when” details entirely in His hands. In fact, when we arrogantly place demands on God with our requests, we are actually doing ourselves a disservice. To limit His work to the range of our mind’s capacity to plan and comprehend is to limit our own experience of the extravagant capacity of God’s miracle-working potential, which spans all the way to eternity and back.
 
If we knew everything He was up to, we couldn’t bear the weight of it.”
 
“But I do know that when you and I approach God for help, filled with our cares and distresses, our prayers are not confined to this calendar date, to this particular month and year. What may seem to be His silence and avoidance from where you sit today is already reverberating in future places. If not right here, if not right now, you can be sure His ability is taking visible, tangible shape somewhere, even if it is beyond the scope of your current sightline.”
{Priscilla Shirer; God is Able}
 
My prayer tonight is that His extravagant, miracle-working ability is taking place just beyond the scope of my current sightline. I will continue to wait in expectant hope. 

our hope is in Him.

As I sit gazing out the window at the miraculous display of wintery white flakes falling softly, silently to the ground, I am still. Resting in the goodness of the Keeper of the storehouse of all of this snow.

God has been working in my heart in a new way over the past couple of days. I have received His grace. I can sense His presence in this place.

He knows. He sees.

He knows the hurt and the longing.

He knows how I ache for my daughter to be here giggling with her brothers as we set up the Christmas train around the tree.

 He knows how much it hurts to hang the ornaments on the tree. He knows that it reminds me that I am another day closer to the day.

He sees how much it hurts to lug out the heavy totes stuffed with lights and ribbon and sparkly, shiny décor. He knows that it all reminds me that she isn’t here. She isn’t here for this celebration.

He knows.

The time is near. And, she isn’t here, God. We have been waiting for the miracle and we are running out of time… twenty days.

Frantic prayers. Pleading. Tears. Aching. Despair…

Yet, He is here. He whispers in the quiet. He embraces the weary. He catches the tears.

He does not work this way. I don’t need to assign a deadline for His miracle. The miracle is coming. It is coming and, truly, it has already come. In twenty days, we celebrate, we rejoice, in the miracle. The miracle of His birth. The rescuer. The One who came to save. He humbled Himself and left the majesty of Heaven to come here to earth. To come close. To be near.

We will celebrate. If she is here under our roof or if she is across the ocean, we will celebrate. We can trust Him to be near. To hold her close. She is His. She was always His.

Our Hope is in Him. And, that is a beautiful reason to celebrate.

 

is justice worth it?

 
 
A friend sent this video and I watched and cried. Listening to these words that echo the cry of my heart reminded me that I am not alone in this fight.
 
The fight for justice is long and hard and can feel defeating. But, it is worth it. It is worth every tear of thanksgiving and joy in the mountain-top moments and worth every tear of sorrow during the long walk through the valley.
 
I will never stop fighting. Never. No matter how many days are spent praying, emailing, writing, calling, pleading…No matter how weary I am from the fight. I will never stop fighting. Our daughter is WORTH it.