First Christmas

A year ago yesterday I was up late getting ready for Christmas, to be celebrated on Christmas Eve. We were to have one hour with the kids who might become ours. Baking and wrapping and setting things out, a million emotions running through my heart and mind. Would this be our last quiet Christmas with two young children? Would we have several more children next year? What if we don’t? Was I hoping and wishing for what life might hold...or grieving for what might no longer be? Or both and all and everything in between. 

One hour, sandwiched between our traditional Christmas morning at home and celebrating with my family. An hour which ended with this sweet little girl who I knew in my heart to be mine having to be literally pried off of me, begging to stay with me. Walking away listening to the shrieks, leaving my children in a facility instead of being in our home, a part of our family - or any family - for Christmas. Everything out of my hands at that point, unable to even promise a next visit. It was easily one of the hardest days of my life. Filled with uncertainty and emotions and tears.

That was last year. Tonight I kissed my little girls goodnight. All of them. Tonight we set out seven place settings for breakfast and filled seven stockings. There are still plenty of emotions to go around, but the uncertainty is no more. Tomorrow we celebrate Christmas as a family of seven. And it feels just right. ❤️

What it takes

Right now I have a pulled muscle (again), a bruised hand, aching knee, I’m sore all over, and I am on day five of a headache. I am weary of being kicked at and screamed at and yelled at and hit at. Of things being thrown constantly, kicked, torn apart and damaged. Of being told how I care only about myself - by the one for whom I chose to spend my past 12 months wrecked. Having hatred and rage and anger spewed directly at me. Only at me. Only because I am mom.

My days are spent in a fog. Either I am spending hours managing an irrational and escalating child...or recovering from the adrenaline surges of it all. I can’t just walk away from it and continue my day where I left off either. My brain simply can’t think straight and my energy is sapped. Possibly sustaining an injury or two. Always scrambling to think through how to respond next. Or how to avoid the need for me to respond because my calm responses are all used up.

I love everything about Christmas. This year I am wondering if we will make it to Christmas Day with our family intact. Nine days left. Nine days of a child trying to cut her losses and get her Christmas taken away already so she can quit dreading losing it, in spite of anything we say. Indefinite more days of a child trying desperately to break me. To prove that we were going to give up on her at some point anyway. 

It feels impossible to see her as she is through what she does. We haven’t settled down in four months. I am weary, my other children need me, and I cannot continue functioning like this. Yet there is no other solution. In the end, no matter what we do, it will always come down to me and this child. Either she breaks me or she does not. I do not have it in me to love her through this. I do not have it in me to hold on through the hurricanes. I do not have the patience or the fortitude or even the love to get us through. Only God can do in me what needs to be done to get her through. If I can stick it out just long enough, she will stop trying so hard to push me away; I’ve seen it in her and I know this to be true. If I can be the safe mother she’s never had, she might one day believe that a mother can be safe. If I can love her right through the storm of hate, she may finally, eventually recognize love for what it is instead of all the things it has masqueraded as in her life. I do not have that kind of love. It isn’t there. It does not exist in me. Yet it does exist in Christ. It is the love that gave us Christmas. The love that drove him to the cross - while we were yet sinners. The love that whispers grace to our hearts in the very moments of our darkest sins. That which ignites hope in the midst of hopelessness. The love that gave himself for the very ones who rejected, abandoned, mocked and killed. This is the kind of love he calls each of us to walk in. Not just me with my child, but you in your own life. And he does not ask of us what he does not promise to supply. It is not in me. It is not in you. It is all from him. 

I can stand on that truth, even while everything else falls away. His love IS strong enough to hold us together. I know this because it is his strong love that has held me to himself right through the rages of my own life. If his love can keep my wayward heart in his, then it can certainly teach my heart to love like his.

This is the very essence of both Christmas and adoption, is it not? To take the love given to us by a Savior who took us at our very worst and loved us to himself - to take that love and offer it to another in the very same way. He offered his very life for us, to the point of death. No exceptions, no limits, his love and unending grace stands open to any who will accept it. May we, by his great power, learn to love as he does in order that those who we love will see the love greater than ourselves.

A Year Ago

A year ago I posted the song below on Facebook. I posted it in between nerve-wracking emails that were leaving me an absolute emotional wreck all day. 

Those emails led to an outing that evening. The evening one year ago today when we met three of our children for the first time. We drove away from that first visit utterly overwhelmed. The VOLUME and ENERGY level was overwhelming. The obviously high level of needs were overwhelming. The thought of the drastic changes we were contemplating for our family. The weight of the decision that had the potential to change everything. Forever. The sheer insanity of the idea. 

We met four strangers that night. Within a matter of weeks, three of those strangers were living in my home and calling me Mom. We could have walked away and said it was too much for us. Because it was. But we both knew. We couldn’t actually walk away. It was too late. We had seen their beautiful faces, heard their anxiously chattering voices, looked into their eyes as they studied us wondering if we might be kind - sure we couldn’t be trusted. That night God was asking of us the impossible. They were not the first children we had met. We had said no before when we were not the right home. That night, however, we knew that walking away would not be an option this time. No matter how crazy it seemed.  Because these children were our children.

Last week we went on a wedding anniversary trip for a few days without the kids. Since getting home I have done little beyond managing the self-sabotaging behavior of one of our children who struggled with us being gone and is trying her hardest to prove that she doesn’t really need me by pushing me away. It is exhausting. These past months, particularly since finalization, have been even harder than I dreamed. To be honest, I wondered what to even write about today’s anniversary. What does one say after literally hours of managing a grieving, conflicted child who masks fear as rage, spewing hatred at you, and trying desperately to break you? “One year today! To celebrate, I spent nearly the entire day battling a child. I’m so glad we are here!” Not exactly the feeling that comes to mind. 

Yet here we are. A year ago we had two beautiful children. Today we have five. Five little people (one not so little!) who, without hesitation, call me Mama...Mommy, Meemee, Ma, Madre, Moooooom. Who make me get well cards when I am sick and hug me every day and trust me enough to cry their tears. There is a light in their eyes that wasn’t there a year ago. We have watched confidence grow in beautiful ways. I have grown myself in leaps and bounds. They are making me become a better person - albeit slowly and as a result of shining bright spotlights on my weaknesses. We share a name; we share our home; we share our struggles. It might take 20 years for our one daughter to believe we won’t leave and we won’t abandon and we won’t throw her out...but like I told her today, at the end of those 20 years we will still be there. Possibly haggard and worn. Definitely stronger and more patient and with a far greater understanding of our Father’s grace.

A year ago I awkwardly, nervously met anxious strangers. Tonight I kissed my daughters goodnight.

“Letting go of every single dream

I lay each one down at your feet

Every moment of my wondering

Never changes what you see

I’ve tried to win this war, I confess

My hands are weary, I need your rest

Mighty warrior, King of the fight

No matter what I face

You’re by my side

When you don’t move the mountains

I needed you to move

When you don’t part the waters

I wish I could walk through

When you don’t give the answers

As I cry out to you

I will trust, I will trust

I will trust in you.

Truth is you know what tomorrow brings

There’s not a day ahead you have not seen

So in all things be my life and breath

I want what you want, Lord,

And nothing less

…I will trust, I will trust,

I will trust in you.”

https://youtu.be/n_aVFVveJNs

Are you sure?

When asked by an acquaintance how things were going, I honestly answered that life is busy and overwhelming. Later in the conversation, I mentioned that the adoption should finalize sometime this Summer.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

I laughed. “Well, it’s a little late for that now.”

“Not really. You could change your mind. I mean, foster kids are used to being moved anyway, right? At least that’s what I have read.”

“They don’t get used to it. Every time they are told they will live with someone forever and then are moved, it damages their brain’s ability to form relationships.”

“Yeah, but you know what I mean. They kind of get used to that.”

“No, there is not really any getting used to that. Yes, they expect it, but that’s the problem. Every time changes their brain more. The only thing that will correct how their brain responds and allows them to have relationships in the future is for someone to not pass them on. For someone to stay.”

“But are you sure you want to do that?” She prodded.

“We already made that decision when we brought them home. When we chose to bring them home as our children, that was us making a commitment to them. The same kind of commitment as saying “I do” at the altar for marriage. There is no decision now except to stick it out no matter what.”

“I just don’t understand it. I really don’t.”

No, I suppose she really doesn’t. Foster children are not theory or philosophy. They are not a news article or a book. They are children. Little people. People with hearts and minds and memories and hopes and fears and dreams. They have friends and family and loved ones – even if they can never see them again. They have names and faces. We have spent six months creating memories with our girls, spending our every day together. There is no such thing as saying, “Never mind. I want to go back to how things were.” There is no going back as if you did not just build relationships, such as they are, with three individuals.

The first time we met our children, we were overwhelmed, overstimulated and terrified of the idea of bringing these strangers into our home as our own. We knew it would change everything and our life would never be the same. And we knew in our hearts that it would be impossible for us to walk away. These were our children. They are our children.

Technically, yes, we still have a choice. The papers have not been signed; they do not yet bear our name. This life we have chosen is hard. It really is hard. There are many days when a large part of me wishes I could run away from the heartache and overwhelming exhaustion of it all. But there is no running away from your own children, your own heart. They walked into our lives and into our hearts and we were right: we are not the same. Everything has changed and I am honestly overwhelmed by it. And I would never go back.

All These Things

“But rather seek ye the kingdom of God; and all these things shall be added unto you.”

I feel responsible for so much these days. I feel the weight of responsibility to teach and train and clothe and feed and de-escalate and diagnose and connect and grieve with and piece together histories and hold and love and attach…and carry in every way the children who have been entrusted to me. And it is heavy. So heavy. The weight of it all is crushing when held on shoulders not created to bear it.

When I finally asked God what in the world I am supposed to do with all of it, this was his answer. Seek first his kingdom and all these things shall be added. All these things?

The dirty floors and the paperwork and the diagnoses waiting to happen? The piles of dishes and laundry and the vanishing food that I can’t keep up with? The research and therapy and handwriting that needs to be corrected? The tantrums and tears and the weeks when everyone is coming apart at the seams for days on end? The balancing sensory loads and energy outlets and reading practice? The heaviness of the diagnoses and evaluations as they come in? The weight of the case files and disclosures and decisions that will effect your child for years to come? The process of attachment and exhaustion and being desperately needed when you have absolutely nothing left to give? The grieving and anxiety and long nights and hard memories? The navigating minefields you don’t even know exist? All these things?

But rather seek the kingdom of God.

Adoption has broken me as I have tried to carry the weight of a load he never asked me to bear. He asked me to seek His kingdom and to love his children with the love that he gives through me. He asked me to trust him with their every need, as he loves them more than I ever will. He offers mercies, new every day. He promises all sufficient grace. All these things will be added.

Attaching to near strangers who take everything you have plus some (and then some more after that) is hard. Making big decisions on a regular basis is hard. Normally small daily decisions becoming big ones as you maneuver fragile emotions is hard. People around you not understanding that is hard. Handling meltdowns out of nowhere and disruptive tantrums and frequent tears (and more tears, and a few more tears) every. single. day is hard. Feeling pressure to respond perfectly to it all is hard. Undoing years of trauma, literally rewiring brain connections, and catching up on missed developmental areas is hard. Nothing about life being normal (neither your own normal or the standard normal) is hard. Going to great lengths to create felt safety, and scrutinizing the smallest changes and every event or outing through that filter is hard. This life is hard.

But seek his kingdom, and these things will be added to you as well. All these things.

I don't want to continue to strive for the impossible. I do, however, want to live an impossible life within his hand, by his strength and filled with his grace. Not my own. This is what I desire more than anything else.

“And you will seek me and find me, when you search for me with all your heart.”

 Jeremiah 29:13

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."

Matthew 11:28-30

“Then Jesus said to his disciples: ‘Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. Life is more than food, and the body more than clothes. Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest?

‘Consider how the lilies grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you, O you of little faith! And do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink; do not worry about it. For the pagan world runs after all such things, and your Father knows that you need them. But seek his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well.’”

Luke 12:22-31

If not us, then who?

I had a conversation today standing beside the vinegar in a Walmart aisle, while trying to prevent my three year old from blocking every passing cart as he sorted the macaroni on the shelf. An acquaintance who does not know the Lord and who is aware of our adoption was simply baffled by our family makeup. The conversation went something like this...

Lady: "I just don't know how you do it."

Me: "By the grace of God and taking one day at a time. When it's your life you just do it I guess."

[Sometimes one minute at a time, to be perfectly honest.]

Lady: "I mean, you did choose it though."

Me: "Sort of. When God tells you to do something, you kind of just say okay and go with it. He was pretty clear about this one."

[Ignoring God seems ill advised. Ask Jonah.]

Lady: "But adding THREE children at once? Why would you do it?"

Me: "Well. If not us, then who? Who else is going to offer these children stability and a home? After all, why not us?"

This. This is the honest why behind what we do. If not us, then who? If not you and I, the church of God, then who else? Who else will welcome his beautiful children with open arms and an open door? Why not us? Because we are exhausted and don't have great health and already have kids and don't have experience and aren't wealthy and we have dreams (good dreams!) which include a normally functioning family and...and...and...yeah. We tried those reasons. We did. His response was always the same. If not you, then who? Who else is going to love them no matter what? Who else is going to let them fight and scream and cry and rage and still be there when they're done? Who else is going to laugh with them every day and notice that sparkle in their eyes? Who else is going to stick around long enough to find out who these precious people really are inside? If not you, you for whom the Father has looked beyond your fighting and raging and defiance and has sacrificed his own Son in order to welcome you into His own family by adoption...if not you, then who? 

The how is Him. The how is always Him. The who, though...that is us. 

A Glimpse Into Our Journey

I really wish that I had the time, emotional energy and mental capacity to better chronicle our adoption journey. Here or in my personal journal – anywhere! I saw a mother’s journal that piqued the idea of maybe just grabbing a notebook and jotting down a sentence or two every day. Perhaps that might grab some of the biggest highlights and lowlights. I feel like I’m going to eventually look back and wish I had tracked SOMETHING beyond the legalities and paperwork. So here is an attempt at summarizing just a little bit of our journey thus far.

Some portions from my blog on January 2^nd, 2011

---

"It is a safe thing to trust Him to fulfill the desires which he creates." ~Amy Carmichael

Amy Carmichael said well the thoughts which have been going through my heart and head in recent weeks. If God has placed a desire in our hearts, will he not fulfill the desires he creates? Will he not satisfy the longings he builds within us? I must believe so. Does ever he call and then fail to equip? Has ever he failed in faithfulness to those who take a step of obedient faith? I think not. 

…All that to say, we are praying and working towards adoption - hopefully in the near future, though we do not know what God's timing will be. Whatever the timing, we do believe this is the direction we are to go. So we are doing what we can to prepare and to walk in that direction now, believing that he will open the doors when the time is right. 

…Some may think us crazy (or naive) for jumping into this so quickly after getting married. Perhaps they are right. But I am okay with being crazy if it means allowing God to do as he pleases in and through our lives. I honestly don't know how soon things will start moving. It may be awhile yet anyway; but for now we are praying and preparing. 

---

Ah, yes. All that.

When I wrote that post we had been married just shy of a month. We would find out within approximately two weeks of this announcement that I was already pregnant (!). At that time I had no idea it would be six years and two children later before the door to adoption would finally be flung wide open.

We put off pursuing adoption when we found out I was pregnant. I remember when Addy was just a few months old it occurred to me that our children might already be out there somewhere (three of them were!) and that I could start praying for them then, even if it might be a long time yet before we met them. I wish I could say that I was consistent about this being on my heart and a part of my prayers. It wasn’t always in the forefront of my mind or prayers, but it was often.

When Addy was 10 months old we heard about three little girls who were waiting on a forever home. We made about a gazillion calls and then spent a good chunk of money to push through a private home study within two weeks’ time in order to be considered for placement, even though we were not technically licensed yet through the state. For whatever reasons their case was politically charged and we suspect Nathan’s job had a lot to do with us not being selected. Most of the next year was spent submitting our home study over and over and over. To multiple state, open to all ages and most needs. Nothing.

Finally we chose to try to have another bio child, as adoption was not looking imminent and we felt that Addy needed a sibling before she got used to being an only child for too long. We let our home study expire and started out on what would turn into an INTENSE two years of struggling through the complications of that pregnancy and Elijah’s infancy. He has been such a delightful baby and little boy. He’s had such a pleasant disposition even in spite of his chronic pain and difficulties. He introduced us to the life of digging for medical answers for our children. I’ve lived that for a decade myself; it is very different being on the parent side of it. He taught me that God can give very specific direction to get the help needed. That I could be stretched beyond anything I thought I could. And that we could make it through some intense seasons. Getting us out the door for therapies multiple times per week and driving hours to see the right specialist who could help us became a normal part of our lives. Those were foreign, intimidating things before…and then they just were.

Eventually he began to stabilize and we began to stabilize as a family. Early in 2015 we found out that a STARS class (required foster parent training) was scheduled for Saturdays, which could be a rare schedule find at times. So even though we were only barely coming up for air we decided to go ahead and take advantage of the more convenient class times so we could have it taken care of when we were ready down the road. After all, maintaining a license until we are ready is no big deal, right? We took the class with the intention of waiting about a year. Maybe the following Spring we might start seriously pursuing adoption. Turns out we are not all that good at waiting. As soon as the classes and home study were finished we started looking at the waiting child galleries online…and couldn’t help but start submitting our home study.

By Summer of 2015 we started visits with a teenage girl with whom we all quickly fell in love. Initially I really wrestled with the idea, but after spending some serious time praying about it I agreed to the visits. I’m so glad we did! Our time with her was so precious and we would have brought her into our home and family in a heartbeat. It broke our hearts when politics and Nathan’s job position once again wiggled their way in and completely slammed the door shut on our ability to have any relationship with her. The situation was taken entirely out of our hands and we were left with only the ability to pray for her from a distance and grieve the loss of what should have been our child. We were remodeling our newly purchased house at the time of doing visits. I still look at the walls she worked with me to paint and think of her exclamations, “This color makes me just want to hug the walls!” She never got to see it after it was all finished. I am so thankful for the memories we made over the few short weeks we had with her and I don’t think my heart will ever not miss the opportunity to have her a part of our family.

After that, we were pretty discouraged about the possibility of being able to ever adopt while Nathan worked for the state children’s division. He began seriously looking around for other job options as we wrapped up our remodel and settled in. After the high stress and physical labor of pushing through the remodel on a tight deadline, while Elijah was still not sleeping, my health totally gave out for the Winter. Thankfully, God again gave direction and guidance and 2016 was spent figuring out what I need to be healthy and then inching my way back. I’ve learned a lot in this past year about my many years of chronic illness. Throughout that season, the Lord was also working in my heart. Teaching me what faith is and that it comes from him not from within myself. I learned to begin to ask him for the faith to believe that he is who he says he is and that he will do what he says he will do. I still struggle to trust well, yet I am learning to bring that struggle TO him and ask him for the faith that HE can build in my heart. Eventually we started half-heartedly submitting our home study again. We wanted to be ready, but knew we were not quite there yet. Nothing came of anything until after my health had significantly stabilized.

Also during this time, we began to realize that what we had always suspected was almost certainly true: Adalynn struggles with sensory processing disorder (SPD) and for whatever reasons her struggles with that really peaked for awhile. This thrust us into studying and learning and seeking out those who are further along in the journey than us, with both adoption and special needs (since those so often go hand in hand anyway). In the process, it has totally reoriented how we approach parenting in general and her needs in particular. We have grown immensely because of it, as parents and as individuals. The difference in how I view people in general now compared to what I did even six months ago is amazing to me. I am thankful for the people God has placed in our paths to help us to grow in our understanding of a variety of needs and in how to respond to them.

In August, for the first time after an accumulative 2+ years of submitting our home study for literally dozens upon dozens of profiles we were actually selected as one of a few families to go for an interview to be considered for the placement of two little girls. We were uncertain about going for it with my health having been so poor so recently, however, after much prayer we felt like God was asking us if we were willing to say yes to him. So we said yes and asked God to either open or close that door as would be best. He closed that door and, surprisingly, I was mostly okay with that. Again, Nathan’s job had played somewhat of a role in make it a complicated situation and we wondered anew if he needed to find another job in order to pursue this thing we knew that we knew that we knew that God has put in our hearts. Again, God closed doors as Nathan applied and nearly got a new job.

In October of 2016, I took note of an email from our licensing worker with a profile. We had begun looking seriously again and had submitted our home study probably a dozen more times. Typically, if an emailed profile is not within certain boundaries I immediately delete or archive it and go on. What we will consider has been WIDE open, however, if it was more than 2-3 siblings it usually got immediately archived. For some reason I actually opened that one. Not only did I open it, but I really read it. In my memory, I thought there had been a picture enclosed in that first email – Nathan is certain that the picture did not come until after we had asked for more info. Which makes it even more odd that I paid attention (because, seriously, who can ignore a picture??). I have no idea what possessed me to even be open to considering it, but I responded and asked for the long profile with more info.

Long story short, we ended up one of two families who were considered for this sibling group. They needed to find a home ASAP so we didn’t have to wait long for the decision. Nathan, who had previously been open to larger sibling groups really dragged his feet about it this time initially, however, God really impressed these particular kids onto my heart so he prayed about it rather than write it off. I knew that whoever received these kiddos into their family, the kids will be such a blessing to them. That’s not *normally* my early thoughts when thinking about adopting a larger sibling group. No, my thoughts normally are along the lines of, “That would be crazy!” Still, I couldn’t help feeling like these kids are a gift and some family is going to be so lucky to get them. The Designed for Life conference was right about that time and the entire conference my heart was centered around adoption and, in particular, these children. Every prayer time, the cry that God placed in my heart and gave me the faith to pray was, “God, bring our children home.” Even though the case worker liked our home study and what little she knew about us, the team selected the other family purely because of the ages of our kids versus the other family’s. We were mostly okay with the decision, figuring that it must have been more than we could really handle – after all, FOUR kids!! Still, what God gave me the faith to pray at DFL became my reoccurring prayer for the following months: “Please, Lord, bring our children home. It is time. Bring our children home.”

Fast forward to December. Another emailed profile in our inboxes…only they were the same children that we had been considered for in October. We were devastated to learn the attempted placement had not worked out and that they were again seeking a home for them. It was so frustrating to know that someone had committed to the kids and then did not follow through. Again, we prayed, uncertain if we should even initiate contact with the case worker again and open that can of worms. God had closed that door already, hadn’t he? We cried and prayed and maybe panicked a little. Then after a few days, I called. One thing led to another and before we knew it, the team was asking if we would meet the kids. Yes. We met them and were overwhelmed by the number and the energy and the needs…and we left that visit knowing there was absolutely no way on earth we could just walk away now. More visits. More panicking and sheer terror at the enormity of it.

How do you even commit to something so big and so permanent when you cannot even fathom what forever means? Yet the Lord keeps whispering, “Will you love my children? Do you believe that I am big enough?” And you know your heart is already gone.

Prayer became like breathing. Day and night and night and day.

 “Are you sure God? Is this a terrible idea? Can we do this?”

“You cannot do this. But I can. Trust me.”

“You will really, really be with us? Will your strength and wisdom really carry us every moment of every day?”

“Trust me.”

“Is it really you I am hearing? Or is this all in my head?”

“Trust me.”

“Okay, Lord. I trust you. Bring our children home.”

And he is. After six years, he really is bringing our children home. Oh, how thankful we are for the journey it has been. We are not the same people we were six years ago. We still have a long ways to grow (so long), but we are vastly more prepared than we were then. Elijah’s medical needs, Adalynn’s behavioral and emotional needs, Nathan’s job, my illnesses. They have all made us who we are today. We are still terrified and overwhelmed. The confidence in our spirit still wrestles with the fear in our flesh. However, as we get to know our children and begin with these baby steps of learning to become a family, we are also excited.

I have no idea what our future holds, except that we will certainly grow and that God will follow through on his promise to be with us. This is all new territory and all we have studied and learned and practiced over the years suddenly feels so insufficient. We have no idea how to be parents to our children or how to manage this transition for all eight of us (eight?!). There have already been hard things. Really hard things. Constantly I find myself thinking in my head as we face yet another scenario that should not even be: Adoption is not normal. It is common, but it is not normal. There is nothing beautiful about adoption. It is the piecing together of brokenness and trying to make sense of it all. It is messy and ugly and heart wrenching. Often there are no good answers and you are left to just pick the best there is and work with it. But our children are beautiful and our God is faithful and his redemptive story is working. I know there will be dark days ahead. Probably more than I can imagine. I also know there will be blessings of which I never even thought to dream. This IS crazy, this doubling our family and venturing into such a vast unknown. And these children are blessings. These children who have a hold on the heart of the God of the universe. And we get the awesome privilege to have these beautiful, beloved children in our lives. We get to be the ones to fumble our way through the dark days with them and, by God’s grace, learn to dance with them on the bright days. Adoption is brokenness. God’s redemptive plans are beautiful. And we are incredibly privileged as the ones he has called to be family.