An Update LONG Overdue...

The kitchen sink is clogged. And that dead black goo is coming out the drain. Dropped an egg on our carpeted kitchen floor. And the jelly knife fell onto my just-washed-and-dried hair. And…did I mention I ran into the garage with my car?

What can I say? It's been one of those weeks. Full of those stupid, small, little mishaps -- until they pile up and you think you're going crazy. What else can possibly happen now? I walk around with a dead stare in my eyes, learned helplessness at this point. Like playing dodge ball in high school. I just stand at the line ready for the inevitable hit. At least they are foam balls. At least I'm still standing. The house is still standing. And the bills are getting paid. I think...

So what better time to write an update. Life has been crazy-gone-nuts for the past three months and I thought with the new year that things would settle down. Nope. And I was silly to think that my life would reach some sort of calm, therapeutic lull. I mean, come on, my life?

If I had a reality show, I would sing this update to you. I can see it now. Family and friends dancing to amazing and weird choreography…Man, I wish I had my own show. But alas…

So what happened??

. : o c t o b e r : .

We were well into the home study process with two visits completed. And we also started the home buying process! So the paper work was flying and our files are still recovering from that. Amazingly, though, both processes require almost exactly the same bits (or piles) of information. Our kitchen table turned into file pile central: one for the house, another for the agency.

We also started cleaning and painting in our soon-to-be home. It's the good man's grandma's. This was perfect! Painting for two weeks straight without furniture to move and make messy. And I am so glad the good man encouraged me to keep going. I can't imagine doing any painting now!

And we were thrown for a crazy wonderful loop when we got a call in September about a little girl who would be available for adoption soon. (!!!) We hadn't told hardly a soul and didn't want to get our hopes up to quickly, only to have them sink like an anchor. So we kept going, one step and then another.

It was a crazy couple months by then end of October -- calling social workers, adoption agencies, DHS workers, state offices, realtors, mortgage lenders…and trying to maintain some sense of sanity...

Our final home study visit was on Halloween night at our house. Still empty and freezing, we finished up some paper work and high fived! One step closer!!

. : n o v e m b e r : .

Pretty much more furies of paper work -- always one more thing needed. And still trying to get the house ready to move into.

A staffing was conducted to decide the future placement for this little girl. And we were decided as the intended adoptive family!! We expected to hear immediately after the staffing what they decided but it was a couple of days later and several phone calls away. But we are excited and beyond thrilled. We were told to look forward to phone calls and emails with her current foster parents in order to establish a bond with her. 

We closed on the house at the end of the month, right before Thanksgiving. Needless to say we had

plenty to be grateful for this year. And we moved into our new home with the amazing help of family and friends. 

And fresh venison was had by all.

A stack of crazy paper work still sits in the corner, but we are relieved that all that file hunting is behind us!

. : d e c e m b e r : .

…was pure craziness!! We unpacked, cleaned our apartment, signed the end of lease papers and were waiting for a special traveler and new family member -- a new brother-in-law!! Bean was eagerly anticipating the long awaited arrival of her fiancé, from Cameroon, who she met in Moscow. I know!  After he was told again and again to keep waiting for his visa, it finally was time for him to pick it up and get on the plane!

So for the first time ever, we met him and welcomed him home. And the timing was perfect because the wedding was set for two weeks later! I'm telling you…Pure. Craziness.

We hadn't heard anything from any social workers or DHS staff at this point since the staffing in the beginning of November. I was feeling really low and kind of defeated. Sent out several emails with no reply and wallowed into a ball of yarn.

On Friday the 13th, after climbing the ladder of DHS staff by way of emails and phone calls, I finally got the amazing information we had been longing for! Contact information for the foster parents and…A PICTURE!!! The good man was home when I opened the email and I just bawled with joy all over his shirt. That cute little face and that perfect smile!

Then I packed my bags and headed to the tundra called Northern Minnesota to help with the wedding. I was the matron of honor…and self designated bossy planner! Sure there were crazy moments, like when everything Bean touched broke -- her coat, her necklace, her capo. Or when we had to practically make a seating chart for the cars every time we left the house. But it was a beautiful wedding. Not a dry eye in the place, except for Dad, but he never cries. IF he did cry, I think all of us girls would stop the wedding and post it on instagram. For. Real. The happy couple rode off into the blistering cold to enjoy their honeymoon!

 And back to the real world. Can I just say that my struggle to hibernate was made only worse this horribly frozen year? Oh, it was terrible. I wrote the foster parents an email just after Christmas, not wanting to jump into their holiday celebration. "Hi, you're foster daughter, whom you love, is now going to live with me." No, I didn't write that, but how does one write one of the most bittersweet letters there can ever be? I did my best and sent it off.

. : j a n u a r y : .

The sink is clogged. And stinky. And I still haven't heard from the foster parents. But I'm told that they have been busy with family these past few weeks. Grace, I am giving grace.

But more, I have just been informed that this little one will not be cleared to leave her state until May. Five more months of waiting. And I am just really struggling to be positive about this. Okay, positive is not the right word. There is no positive to this. She was mine, in my heart, from the moment I heard about her and no mom wants to be away from her child. So, really, I am just trying not to be negative about this. I got myself a coffee when I picked up the plunger and I am listening to Coldplay and the Karmin cover of Look At Me Now.

How strange. This confusion of feelings.

Never have I felt it more than today. Excited and overjoyed to think that this summer we will have a little one, our little one, running around our house and our backyard. And the heartbreak and pain of waiting another season to bring her home.

I feel happy and grateful to be celebrating my Dad's birthday tomorrow -- so thankful to have his love and silliness another year. And the sorrow as today marks 18 years my grandma, his mother, has been gone. I think as I get older and remember childhood, the things that I missed, that went over my head, are hitting me now. Singing happy birthday in the van as we traveled to Grammy's funeral…just shatters my heart this year.

And as the mistakes of a friend are made known to the world, I want to show compassion yet I am angered. I have seen this news before, many times, and never once felt so conflicted. Should I have been more compassionate to others? Should I be harder now?

But for right now, I sit in my new house, which has seen the growings up of many others and has been loved well, holding tight to the knowledge that there is a plan and gathering courage to wait and hope and let the joy flow freely, celebrating the fact that we are one step closer to growing our family…and in awe that life could look so different in just a few months. October to now, now to May...

I will pull up the bootstraps and unclog the sink.

And wash the jelly out of my hair.

Beyond Names...the Other Firsts

Before you continue on...

Some Prayer Requests:

{1} A fast and smooth closing on our house. We have signed the purchase agreement and have everything into the lender. We're just waiting on paper work. Waiting is our life's work...

{2} Our home study process. That all the paper work will be completed and given to the correct offices on the first try. That we will be approved shortly.

{3} For the children and families whose lives have changed, and with whom we will forever be connected. 

. : UPDATE : .

...at the bottom of the post

.     .     .     .     .

He has learned to ride a bike, this once-little burly babe, and I can hardly believe how time does fly even when we feel it dragging slow. This child I have loved across the miles and through all life's moments these past few years. This child handed off to me between classes by grateful parents -- he with chubby cheeks and colicky ways and me astonished that someone would trust a broken barren woman to care for their boy. This child I cried with -- he when new to the world and missing mom's heartbeat, and I when mad at the world and longing to be that soothing heartbeat for another. 

And somehow she new, my friend, my Anam Cara, she knew I needed to hold new life, to know there is good, to just smell new baby and smile. And there he is, in all his awesomeness and excitement, riding a bike. My heart swells with love and pride -- for him and her. For she is growing amazing children.

.     .     .     .     .

I wrote about names before. The names we have treasured and whispered. Hopeful secrets. And now these names we hold so tightly we may have to let go. And there is more.

First words. First bath. First food. First roll. First steps. First tooth. First birthday. First day at the zoo. First  winter and snow. First bike ride. First day of school.

A mother's grief is never ending. We grieve the dreams for a boy and we must let go when we have a girl. We grieve the dreams for a girl and we must let go when we have a boy. We grieve the simple, easy baby we had envisioned when they are sickly and colicky. We grieve the cuddling and hugs when they become independent. We grieve the independent life when we discover we have a clingy toddler. We send them to school, and watch them grow. And we grieve. Where did the baby we so desperately longed for go? He up and turned into a young man.

So maybe I'm just ahead of the curve here? Maybe I'm learning early what all moms must be skilled to do -- grieve well and carry on. But that's not at all how it feels.

.     .     .     .     .

He hates it.

Well, maybe not really hates it, but he definitely wants it to stop, to be the growing up teenager, if we would let him. But here we are, again, retelling and reliving every single story from his most adorable years, of which there are many! We throw our heads back in full body laughter. He rolls his eyes and sighs loud. We gasp in surprise at how easily we have forgotten. We smile proud and look long at this young man towering over us all who somehow was, once, the littlest. 

That time he knocked down the Christmas tree in the middle of the night.

That time he climbed into the fish tank…in the middle of the night.

That time Mom became the overenthusiastic sports parent.

That time he licked Jason's chicken dinner.

The things he said, the things he did. The way he changed our everything.

How he made our world exciting, surprising, everyday an adventure.

And I remember the first word. I remember the first bath, the first tooth, the first step, the first bike ride. I remember all of these things. Not because I kept meticulous journals and records.

I remember because I love him.

I remember because these moments are important. Because they are milestones, funny stories we would die to relive, crazy stories we believe only because we were there. Because we watch in amazement as this little strange baby ambles around and suddenly becomes his own person.

    

I know he wants us to see the young man he is, the man he is growing into. He wants to be the star football player, the championship marcher, the student driver. Not the little boy who got carried all day by his big sister. And definitely not the baby who said "Booka booka" when he wanted juice.

But we sit around the kitchen table, around the fire, in the car and talk about all these moments and memories because we love him.

And later, when he is all grown up and out in the world on his own, has children of his own he will treasure the wellspring of memories we all have. And he will know always that he is loved.

…Or maybe he will still hate it. Well, too bad, Bro. Too bad.

.     .     .     .     .

I think about the firsts, the milestones and cute stories that I might never be able to tell. And it's true, there are always firsts. But all are not the same. The first word is much more cute and amazing than the first brain freeze from a slushy.

I struggle intensely with this, not that I would change anything. This road to adoption and adopting waiting children has been an amazing adventure and, quite honestly, it's our calling. BUT…I do struggle. I struggle to grieve what I must without feeling guilty for grieving. The counselor in me says "I am a real, honest, self-aware person who recognizes the need for and process of grieving in order to move forward in a healthy manner." But the others parts of me wonder, Am I an ungrateful person, a critical person, for allowing this to bother me so? Shouldn't I just be happy?

I guess the truth is -- we all grieve. And although we might not like it or think it unnecessary, we grieve and we move forward. Not forgetting, but learning and growing. We all live in the unexpected life. We all experience the now differently than we thought it would be 5 years ago. And that's part of the beauty of the adventure.

Oh, I'm babbling…

And really, though I would do nearly anything to see all of their firsts, it's not about me.

They deserve their firsts. They deserve the silly, crazy, funny, embarrassing stories of firsts and adventures. They deserve pictures and albums and retelling. They deserve to have these minor and monumental moments treasured, recorded. They deserve to know how they too made our world exciting, surprising, everyday an adventure.

They deserve to know that someone loved them from the first breath.

A child adopted out of foster care at 2 years old does not come with a photo album describing firsts. There is no file detailing the silly misadventures of this child, my child, learning to walk or eating first foods. We have the memories of the foster parents, if they were the foster parents at the time.

And no matter how much I long to bring the chronicles of firsts to them, no matter how much I believe they deserve it, how much they do truly deserve it…I might not be able to. And it breaks my heart.

I can come to terms with my unexpected life. But I would give anything to give them something them a normal beginning.  

And maybe it won't matter to them later on.

Maybe we'll find the stories and moments.

Or maybe we'll be that crazy odd couple running around creating firsts everyday

.     .     .     .     .

. : UPDATE : .

This afternoon the good man and I are scheduled to complete our second home study visit. 

We have also paid for and sent in our background studies and handed over much of the paper work. We're hoping to have our home study completed and approved before December. But in order to do so, we need to have all of our house stuff figured out too! So much going on! 

Thanks for reading, for learning about adoption, and for your support! 

What's in a Name?

 I scroll the names over and over again, in notebooks and scraps of paper when I'm at my desk, walking through stores, at the coffee shop. I text them to myself for safe keeping. I write them in color and in pencil, permanent and thick, repeatedly until I have memorized every curve and loop. Each twirl of ink a prayer that someday, one day…I will see the face of this name and know them as my own.

 .     .     .     .     .

We're riding in our little car with the little two seats and the loud exhaust so we have to speak boldly, there are no whispers here. Ever. And I must shout the next topic of conversation as we are headed to feast on Chinese food at our favorite place where Trina now knows us by name and writes our "usual" order from memory. I ask looking straight out the window, "What do you think about [insert boyish name]?" And I can see from his shifting weight and the corner smile and the eyes that the good man knows the subject well and is surprised that I have made that move to the forbid places. And by the way his shoulders drop, my love is deeply saddened that these places are so forbidden. We smile big and throw caution to the wind and talk of middle names and first names and write one in secret. Write it in capital letters, dark and bold, on our hearts together. A name as a prayer. And we are quiet again, avoiding eyes and smiling out our side windows, hope stretched out from my heart, around the world and back to his.

 .     .     .     .     .

We are, the four of us, sitting in the car in the parking lot, waiting to get moving, settling in. The good man and my siblings. Some of the most loved people in my life, and of course it is the most cherished that witness another moment of my barren womb effected brain freak out. She, with her wedding planning blissful blushing bride self, with the whole world and her whole new life ahead of her, talks of names for babes. Family names. James. Lydia. Her tongue is rolling over names I have scrolled with my heart...finding joy in the sounds of names I have hidden deep inside and...graffiti-ed on scraps of paper that I saved for almost a decade! And I can see her eyes are picturing these possible future little ones. MY LITTLE ONES. And something violent erupts inside me. I yell through my fake smiling teeth, "Who says I won't use that?" I am red and sweating and trembling. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to be offended. But I can't.

Because really, did I expect that my whole family and all of my friends would stop naming children until I got my names into good use? YES! Yes, kind of sort of in tiny places, yes. I did. And it was stupid and ridiculous and I could just slap myself for putting that expectation out there and yelling at the dreamer for it. And who could hold it against her? I've done it. We've all done it, as we picture wedding vows and the new home and registering or gifts, we also imagine the family life. And we should. She should. And I should let her.

And I realize I am possessive of these names. A link to the dream of the child that will bear this much-loved name. And in my selfishness and possessiveness I am a meanie. A bully. Or just shut down. And I am wrong.

I am sad. And ashamed to become the one, whose dreams have dried out, smashing the dreams of others. I am sorry, dear Bean. Dream on. Pick names and hold them tight. And I will pray that you see their faces one day. Soon. And they will be blessed to have you.  

 .     .     .     .     .

But it does occurs to me off and on, completely and deeply, and simply in passing, that we may not be able to name our children. And even if your story is far different than mine, for the next few minutes, imagine with me...Imagine you cannot name the child growing within you, or the child you hold in your arms, or the child you dream of. Imagine your child comes to you already named... 

.     .     .     .     .

Those names I have written and hidden and scrolled and prayed and saved and listed over and over and over again…those hopes and dreams and prayers and wishes…they may never come true. I have held so tightly to them for so long that it is the most impossible thing to do -- to let them go.

Finally we are so close. We are moving steadily to a house of toys and mess and noise and kids. And I realize here too that even when the dream of being Mom is reality, the names locked away as treasure still might have to go.

 .     .     .     .     .

Heartbreaking. This thing that we do as little girls, and boys I suppose, like tiny treasures along the road through life. A name here and there, stumbled upon, thought up, memorial to a friend or family member, histories and new beginnings listed and held and cherished, and each one important, special, and we find hope in the future.

This little thing others do, that I have done, and I worry that I have to open my fist and watch them float away. And I know a person is more than their name, my children will be my babies whether or not I name them, but it is the dreams formed or attached to the names that makes it so difficult to let go.

And the names the little ones do have…I'll tell you a secret. Lean in close, because I'll whisper it to you. I'm afraid I will strongly dislike the name. Not the child, but the name. You know that once-friend or acquaintance arch-nemesis  that you could have just done without, so much so that you hear their name and you are instantly annoyed or bothered or transported to a hurtful moment? What about those names? Will I remember that person forever as I call her to the table? Call him to bed? It's silly, I know, but something few must face and we who are called to adopt must. And I'll bet some of you have never even thought about this dilemma.

Names carry important meaning to the giver. A gift from parent to child, and even nicknames -- friend to bestie...Selfishly I want to bestow the meaning. I want to bring family history alive again. I want to chose the sounds and meanings of their first identity. I want to know where this name is from and how it was decided and tell the story and look into the eyes of the one whose name I had scrolled on scraps and saved in my box forever years ago. I want this. And later when their friends talk about where their names came from -- important moments, silly stories, last minute choices -- what will I say? "Your birth mom gave you that name and I have no idea why"? Of course I wouldn't say that, and I would hope that I could have somewhat of an open relationship with the birth mom to call or write and ask, lest you think little of me and my selfishness. But really, what do I say?

.     .     .     .     .

I have a soul friend whose children are named after Middle Earth characters. And I LOVE that. Their lives are full of adventure with costumes, and color, and wooden swords made by their father, and hand-knit hats and sweaters by their mother, and they love food fresh from the garden. I love this. I want this. And their names, however curious to others, are absolutely perfect for these burly boys.

I have a friend whose girls have short, lilty girly names that just flow of your tongue and make you melt, just like their cute faces. With curly blonde hair and joyful smiles and sweetness all about them.

My dad comes from a family where all the children's names start with the letter 'J'. And I have loved this since the preacher man said, "Jenna, do you take Jason..." J & J and j...j...j...j...j... All the names have special meaning and what a wonderful way to join siblings. 

I know that children are more than their name. I know a name does not define a person. I know that a name does not change a person's personality, demeanor, or family tie. I know this. But I know that there is something deep and rich about names with cherished meaning, names with family history, names handpicked, for which parents spend many nights discussing in whispers covered in shadows, together. And I know that cute names with meaning do not create the perfect, picturesque family.

And I just thought...I just assumed...that my grieving would end at the baby bump. But now this too I must grieve? Hasn't it all been enough? And does the grieving ever end? No, I think all mothers, no matter the journey, must grieve too as time keeps ticking and the earth spins on. 

.     .     .     .     .

How do we tread lightly with these names? How do we decide when a child is too old to change a name? Do we change the middle name? Or the first name? Or both? Do we make the first name the middle name? If we adopt an infant, do we let the birth mother pick the middle name? 

Do we keep a name even when if does not fit us or them whatsoever? I'm thinking of those names we hear on TV or the radio, those lists that come out ever year of the top worst names, (Yes, there are terrible names.) So what do we do if we welcome Apple into our home? Or La-ah(La DASH ah)? Or Melvin? (Sorry Melvins of the world).

 .     .     .     .     .

The Question: So what does the person who loves names, treasures names, finds personal connection with names do with the names of her newly adopted children?

The Answer: I don't know. I guess we'll get to it when we get to it. And we'll remember that these children, along with their names, are the children God had chosen for us right from the beginning. Just as He had in mind for us This Barren Land and this adoption adventure. And He knows what He's doing. Always. Even when we can't see.

And I am learning my part in This Barren Land is to learn the art of letting go and finding joy in the unexpected life. And that every life is unexpected. There is joy and grieve in all.

My part in the Adoption Adventure is to learn to trust the Father in His unfailing love. He's got it and I'm to hold on for the ride. 

And God, give me grace all along the way. The grieving never stops, neither does the labor, though I may never experience a contraction. Give me grace. And help me to give grace to others. 

Big Little Steps

We packed the cars again and shoved, with great effort, the doors closed. Filled to the brim with items donated by family and friends, new for this next sale, or leftover from the last. With large items loaded into a truck bed, borrowed from a friend. We have been blessed with great friends. This we are learning well and ever grateful. And we, with our loot and stickers and tape and markers and hangers, pull out onto the road. A caravan. Convoy. Train headed to great possibilities.

There is a constant nervousness about me these days. Not really anxiety. Not really worry, not really even nervousness. A kind of tickle...excitement, bubbling joy, trinkling fear of the unknown and unexpected, mixed with worry that somehow it will all be for nothing, and anticipation for the wonderful good adventure ahead...How can all of that be anything but a tickle? Head to long skinny toes.

So we head down the road and with every white dash passing on the black tar, with every breath I take, a prayer: "God, work in this. God, go before us. God, bring out the right people at the right time for the right item for the right reason...just bring them. And remind me this is all for them; for You, and them."

We pull into the driveway of a house I have never seen, belonging to a couple I have never met. And as I walk up the drive to wave to Andrea, my dear friend, her mom wraps me in a warm hug even before we are introduced. Diane and her husband Brian have willingly, graciously, joyfully offered us the use of their garage for our second and final sale. And from that moment on we have been doted upon, humbled, and just showered with love and kindness, not only from this wonderful family, but also their neighbors. Tables offered freely, neighbors helping along the way. Everyone excited and encouraging and just amazingly perfect. I have been amazed and am still in awe!



We, the six of us, dig through box after box, bag after bag -- organized and priced countless items -- into dusk and beyond. And honestly I felt that we were getting no where. It was a serious mess, not their garage, but the things we brought. Just so much in too many piles. So we broke for pizza!

And we shared a great meal together in this warm, welcoming home with these wonderful people who we did not know six months ago, who are now a huge part of our adoption story. I sat back and smiled. God is so good. All the time. And after a bit more work, wouldn't you know it? The garage looked amazing and we closed the door. A communal, grateful sigh. And the good man and I headed home, hand in hand in silent and vocal prayer.

.        .        .        .        .

I stayed up too late and woke up too early and, with great need of coffee, headed out into the chilly autumn air with simple anticipations of seeing God in amazing ways. And I'm not just saying that. I prayed and prayed and sang and talked out loud to myself -- if only I see God work, if only I see Him...I will be more than grateful no matter the outcome of the sale. So I prayed for courage and contentment. And it echoed again, those verses that have been with me since the very first steps of this journey -- in the early inkling of something amazing, and in whispers of adoption: 

{Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid. The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go. }

So I did what I do, not best, but what I have learned to do in the most daunting moments: I pulled up my bootstraps and became the determined crazy woman. And oh, yes I did.

While still dark, I walked with signs and hammer in hand to the prime sign locations and pounded them in. And when the first set of signs was securely placed, I began to run back across the overpass...in the dark...by myself...with a hammer...and laughed out loud! Because I really did become that determined crazy woman, wild hair, hammer and all! And I was no longer afraid, because really, who's going to mess with a wild woman wielding a hammer before sunrise?

So after that little show, I decided that, YES, I was in extreme need of coffee. I pulled into Dunn Bros and realized I pulled in the wrong way. *sigh* I drove around the building and waited in the now existing line. Ordered. Prayed. And pulled to the window. The chipper barista handed me my drink with a huge smile. I offered my card and she waved it away, "The person in front of you paid for your drink!" And I wanted to cry. I just wanted to melt and cry. Early morning kindness on another day I'm pulling up the straps. Oh, yes. I was going to see good things.

.        .        .        .        .

And...a couple hours later the good things were coming in the form of cloudy skies, sprinkling rain, biting wind, and fallen signs. It was 50 degrees and I was freezing. My hot coffee long gone and no one to send to fix the signs, I walked down the street and hoped to make it right. Again, the crazy lady with the hammer. And in those small moments of, "what the heck am I doing? We're never going to get anywhere with this," I remember that each freezing, tiring moment is for them. And if someone actually told me I would have to endure this cold, wet day a thousand times to have my babies, I would. In a heartbeat. And I remember He will show up. And to have courage.

.        .        .        .        .

As the day warmed up, slightly, shoppers arrived and most found at least one thing to purchase. Andrea stopped by and brought me lunch. Love. I went to get ones and some more coffee and returned to find Adele, my newest adoption friend! And she stayed to chat for a long while. More love. A friend of a friend stopped by. Small world. The good man came from work and brought warm hugs. True love and best friend. He fixed the signs and made me smile.

I did see God working in amazing and unexpected ways: early morning breakfast with Diane and a great chat about adoption. The excited smiles of strangers when listening to our story. Lunch with a new friend. A visit with a new friend. And really, just knowing that all this -- the rain, the sun, the big bills, the small change, the cold, the warmth -- is for them, our babies. And they are so worth it.

And with $176 added to our adoption fund, we closed shop. 

At home, I rested deep wrapped in His love, and his. 

.        .        .        .        .

The next morning, with the good man by my side, I opened the sale again. Signs up and sturdy, friends showing up early. The sun started to peek out bright and warm. It was looking like the beginning of something good, great even. 

Diane offered waffles and coffee, naturally, because she is just wonderful like that. And I have to get better at letting others care of me, be kind to me, love on me through wonderful kind acts and generosity. My stubbornness gets in the way, as does my fear of being in the way.

We spent the morning chatting with our friends, Andrea and Ryan. I passed on my love of knitting to my new friend and we counted time in purls and knits. We laughed loud and often and I find my joy overflowing. 

More new friends stopped by. Another couple adopting we met at our amazing adoption group. We have been showered in friends and supporters and I can hardly believe it. Friends in small group. Friends from long ago. Friends newly found on a shared road to parenthood. And I have to be better at showing these friends how truly important, vital, and cherished they are. 

At the end of the day we gathered up the things unbought and brought them to Goodwill. We kept some goodies that might do well at a silent auction. We hugged our friends and headed home. 

God works in amazing ways. In the very beginning of this journey I attended a MOPS meeting with some friends. Yes, me, that's right. And at the meeting an adoptive mom said something to the effect of "You will never see God working so vividly and evidently as when you are in the middle of an adoption journey." And I completely believe that. He shows up in the most bold and amazing ways, and gentle, quiet ease. The first sale was an explosion of people and funds. Like nothing I have ever seen before. The second sale was an explosion of love and friends and a constant flow of the Father's steadfast love, strength and courage. As if to say, "Even when the numbers are not overflowing, I've got it." 

And please do not misunderstand. I am equally excited and grateful and overjoyed by each individual sale. Each was perfect and amazing, by their own right. And God worked amazingly through each. Diane said it perfectly: Each big little step. 

And each is a wonderful part of this unexpected journey. 

.        .        .        .        .

GARAGE SALE: Metro Edition Total: $340

Total Raised To Date: $4071

.        .        .        .        .

We are less than $1000 away from meeting our first goal of $5000!! 

I know that God will push us through to the finish line and all it takes is a few willing hearts -- people who are passionate about children finding homes, people who desire to be involved in an adoption, or just people wanting to help out any way they can! I know our Heavenly Father has them marked and knows their purpose. I just can't wait to see how it all comes together!

I am still in shock! We officially started our fundraising adventure in August and not even two months later we are already so close! This little writer is fighting for the right words. We are overwhelmed, feeling so loved, and truly to believe that each one of you is just as excited to see our little ones come home. What an amazing day that will be!! 

Our funds have been raised, not only through garage sales, but also through...

     - generous gifts on our fundraising websites: giveforward, youcaring

     - through our friends at Chastanet Photography

     - sweat, blood and tears of my mom as she makes and sells birdbaths

     - and simple donations from friends and friends of friends through the mail! 

.        .        .        .        .

THANK YOU to everyone who donated, visited, gave extra, shared on facebook, told your friends, and supported us in spirit, prayed, helped and rooted for us from the beginning. 

A very special THANK YOU to our new friends, Andrea & Ryan Chastanet and Brian & Diane Wheeler, for whom we are forever grateful. Thank you for letting us use your garage, for welcoming us into your home, for supporting us as complete strangers and now friends, and for helping us haul our massive loads all over town! 

A few more wonderful friends who have helped us along the way...

Laura & Joel Boyd

Alex Boyd

Kristin Boyd

Lindsey Brimmer
Sue & Dan Skalicky
Liza & Aaron Skalicky

Robin Gunnerson & Girls

Audrey 

Olivemae Gebhart

Leslie Beckrich

Cindy Stapleton

Tammy Ranso

Marilyn Isaac

Linda Hagen

Nancy Grossman

Carry Hopkins

Tom & Barb Adams

Joyce Sjostrand

Shelly Lambert

Amanda Butterfield

Sandy Hubbart

Naomi Hoard
Gina Batchellor
Bree Fellows
Adele Yong Schultz
Carey & Michael Granica
Jamie Street
.     .     .     .     .

There are many others who have helped in the background by quietly sharing and spreading the word, and those who have helped anonymously. If I forgot to mention you, please forgive me. In this whirlwind of a week it has been hard to keep track of my laundry let alone the details of this experience. 

Waiting for You and...Nesting?

Before you read on...

Some prayer requests:

 - the mountain of paperwork to climb and complete for the home study (post about this coming your way soon)

 - the mountain of paperwork to complete for the mortgage approval

 - two more home study visits

 -for our future children and their birth families. For whatever reason, circumstance, or situation they will come into our lives and home forever. Pray for protection, comfort, adjustments, and that the Father may use this difficult time for good and His glory.

.     .     .     .     .

There have been some changes taking place and I'm not entirely sure how to explain them. A change of reference? A change in perspective? A change in heart? All of these and something more.

The good man and I filled the forms and licked the seals, dropped the package in the slot with a prayer. For a child, a family, a little one waiting. A nerve-wracking task -- lay it all bare before another to be weighed and measured as parents, when teen moms are on primetime and daytime talk shows. And I wondered, how could this be fair? And it's not.

Last bits of hope for more in our nest packed neatly and crisply in manila and love. It echoes a thud as it hits, and the heaviness is more than apparent to us. This is it. The moment. It's all come to this, the beginning of an adventure or the beginning of the end. Hands held together, linked and clasped with fingers intertwined -- a most natural movement now carries so much more -- comfort, unity, strength and courage and we hold tight to each other, hold up the other, and nod together. It's done. And it's all up to them, to Him.

.     .     .     .     .

Days later and I am deep in the valley. Aching and longing and hoping again, useless hopes of two blue lines, a plus sign or a happy face on that stupid stick. And again, I am disappointed. Yes, we chose adoption. Yes, we chose it long ago, but the realization that this is it, our trying is over, is hitting hard and it won't quit. I've battled it over and over again. We could keep it up, this charting and trying and taking temps and eating all the right things (can't there just be one fertility diet plan? No, there are hundreds, of course) and struggling and working so hard for that perfect moment when the heavens open and the time is right and the earth is spinning at just the right speed and the air is just the right temperature….and finally…

We could keep doing it, again and again, but we decided enough was enough. Enough stress and worry and regret and blaming and shame and tiredness. Enough. Besides, we're buying a house and completing an adoption, isn't that enough to juggle already? And I'm tired. It would be nice to just hang out and not count days and let a stupid piece of graph paper rule our time together!

So we stop. And focus on adoption. And I am mourning, because it is a loss. For the time being I give up hopes and dreams of that coveted swollen belly and maternity pics, the family all gathered in the waiting room and ultrasound pics, baby showers without awkward encounters because I am normal, just like one of the others. I'm giving up the life we expected, the story we expected.

And I am saying goodbye to what could have been. These children who would be created out of us, our love, our stories, our selves -- our eyes and noses and toes and smiles and ears and everything parents look for when they first unwrap the wriggling new life set in their hands. We're giving that up. And will I always wonder, "Who would they have been? What would they look like?" I am relieved the pressure of perfection is gone, but grieving the loss of the expected, the could have been, the what if of our children. Will I always wonder, "Could we have tried harder?" I wrap my arms around my empty womb, flat stomach that I hate so much, and try to imagine a life inside. Feet pushing and kicking and turning. Hiccups bouncing and making us all giggle. And it is sad. Sad to think that something so natural, so easy and normal, so ingrained in the circle of life, this something I will only ever watch before me, and never experience. And I mourn that. I cry until the heaves stop and the tears are dry. And I am done crying. There is a new path to forge, a new adventure waiting and I don't want to wish it any different.

.     .     .     .     .

Weeks later, the process officially begun. Application accepted. We are both not surprised and surprised. I guess hopes soar with elation as if surprised when the first of many mountain tops has been reached and survived. You knew you could do the work and make the climb and take the time to breathe and rest and make the trek, but knowing these things change little the fact that you celebrate with honest, unashamed, unabashed excitement when it's complete. Celebrate like a fool. And you just don't care. So we celebrated good and long with dinner and some of the best, and most hopeful conversation we've ever had -- finally relaxing and allowing a little talk of dreams of the future with children. Sheer joy to dig out and dust off the long lost hopes and expectations from years past, from different lives. Finally.

I am doing the simple, the ordinary -- picking up the well worn clothes of the week and counting quarters, two loads in -- and it crashes over. Mighty and quick and strong and I am taken aback. Tidal wave, earthquake, tsunami all at once. And I am not quite sure what it is or what to make of it. All I know is for the first time, and how do I explain this to you?: These babies are MY babies.

These little ones we wait for and long for I now know are mine. Does that make since? Haven't even laid eyes on or heard a name, yet I know in my heart they are mine. And I burst into tears.

For so long I cried one cry -- of despair and hopelessness mingled with weary and tired. And now…I don't know what this is! I cry and it is lit, this flame blazing, unstoppable. Suddenly I will move mountains, I will fill out a million papers, I will be the fool, stark raving mad if it helps this process along. I will jump through hoops of burning flames and land into a pit of lions. I am that woman who lifts a car. I am that woman who takes a bullet.

I pick up a sock and think simply to myself with a guarded smile, one of these days his socks won't be the only socks I gather up. I think this simple thought, this dream and it is at that very moment, steps closer to reality, and my heart overflows. I mean, how silly and simple and common is that? "There will be more socks." But it is in the imagining of little feet that fill the socks, and where those little feet wander, and what adventures they wander into…the little toes I will kiss goodnight and tickle good morning. The little feet.

.     .     .     .     .

When does one become a mother? A father? Is it in that moment of fists gripping and teeth clenched tight, when the wriggling new life comes into the light and the joy is on everyone's faces? Is it in that moment when two blue lines appear and what has been created in secret is finally known? Is it in those first few days of sleeplessness, sacrifice and baby cries? Is it with the first kissed boo-boo or the first time out?

I became a mother in that moment of socks and dreams and hoping and praying.  And woe to anyone who gets in my way. And I wonder, as tears puddle and spill over my cheeks, Where are my babies? What is happening to them? How did they get where they are? Where are those little feet wandering?Are they hungry? Warm? Do they know love? And I am angry for what may happen to them for them to be brought to me. Because, if they are in foster care and waiting for a forever home…we know something happened. I am scared for them. And I want to know what and beat someone up! 

The process is now no longer about approval or weighs and measures. It's about bringing my babies home. My babies.  No longer is this about applying for a child, but rather a step to getting our child. No longer are we adopting another's children, we are finally bringing home our little ones. Because if God planned this all out and made the things Satan meant for evil into good, if God was really here all along, these little ones we adopt were always the ones we were meant to have. These are our little ones. There are our babies! (Birth mothers and birth families are important and I will address my thoughts this later, just in case you are wondering. Yes, they are extremely important.)

And suddenly the paperwork is not daunting. The process is not tiring. The finances are not towering. I will do anything to bring my babies home. I will do more than climb mountains, I will move them. And if God had this all planned out, and He does, He's with me. He's with them. And because the future is His, He's already there too.

Suddenly this entire journey and adventure takes on a new urgency and I am lit up with love and passion and fierce commitment. Is this my nesting? I can't plan a room or buy the clothes...so I become this protective, brave, fierce mama bird? Well, alright I guess. I'll take it.

 .     .     .     .     .

The good man and I sit down and pray for these little ones, for their families and their circumstances. We pray for protection and comfort, healing and hope, we pray that they will find a home with us and make smooth adjustments. We pray that His hand would be upon them and keep them safe, whispering love to them. And I feel they are already mine, wherever they are, whoever they are, whatever they look like, and wherever they come from. I love them strongly, fiercely, deeply.

And I want more than anything to write them a note, a message in a bottle, or tied to a bird or, can I scroll it on a billboard?:

 "We are waiting for you. We love you already, loved you for a thousand years! We are bringing you home...

And others are waiting too! A whole community and family, who love you already for you. Uncles and Aunts and Meemaws and Pop-Pops. You are loved deeply, through and through." 

And I know when I see them, I won't be grieving the loss of the children we could have had. No, I will be thinking, Look! Those are our little ones, the ones He always had in mind. Aren't they the most beautiful sight you've ever seen? And, yes, I will count fingers and toes and marvel at eyes and noses, and never stop. 

...And on to the next...

A little something we received last night:

"Jason and Jennifer,

I have received and reviewed your application and we would be honored to partner with you, as you experience God's miracles and provisions of adoption." - God's Children Adoption Agency

Happy dancing with jazz hands, spins and kisses. 

Our next step is to begin the home study process. And as this is moving forward rather quickly, we are still looking for garage sale donations, and an official location. Send me a message on facebook or comment below if you are interested. Also we are hoping to set up a paypal button located somewhere over there --> for those of you who would like to donate but live far away. Know we truly appreciate any and all donations, no matter the size, and all prayers. 

There are still a few details to be ironed out before we do begin the home study. Our placement address is a big one. We are most likely moving but, as every aspect of our lives goes, the details are up in the air for the moment. We also have some classes to attend but we are hoping that our foster care classes might count for some of those. *hoping and praying*

And even in the midst of so much unknown and uncertainty we are constantly reminded of the Lord's faithfulness and love. Every detail is coming together exactly as it should, even if we expected it to look slightly different. We know He is faithful, able, and in control of it all. 

Just recently we received a huge answer to prayer. We had been planning to purchase the good man's grandmother's home, many of you are aware of this, but had been told that it might take longer than expected -- six to twelve months longer. So we were freaking out a little bit. Not just because we were unsure of where we might be living come winter, but because this effects the home study process, which effects our journey to adoption! After we regrouped and gave each other pep talks, we decided to move forward despite the uncertainty. A leap of faith and shaking in our boots/flip-flops. Two days after the application was mailed grandma got a call about an available apartment! And even though we envisioned the next step, the home study, to take place in our apartment, it is looking like it will probably take place in our new home! God is good and ever faithful. He is able. Never failing. 

We can never know what the future brings, but our Father holds the future and we know He works all things out for the good of those who love Him. 

Here we go again, walking together down this road...

Join us. Walk along as we uncover joy and count all as grace and gift in this unexpected life. And see how the Father takes care and goes before.

Thank you so much for all of your thoughts and prayers. We are grateful for each one of you, even those simply reading, as you are walking with us in our journey and sharing our heart for orphans and adoption.

.     .     .     .     .

Application completed and mailed: CHECK!

Application accepted: CHECK!

BEGIN HOME STUDY...