They Weren't Home Yet

forever mine

 I wanted them.  The gaping hole in my heart ached to scoop my babies in my arms and hold them close.  Sharp pain throbbed in my chest.  With my finger I needed to gently stroke their forehead just above the brow until they’d drift off to sleep the way I did with my first three children when they were infant small.  In these moments a mama examines hard her new child life blessing—memorizing every detail:  placement of birthmarks, the way the hair falls, facial expressions.  This is time I desired to touch and see and know exactly how I would fit so perfectly together with my babies.  But they weren't home yet.  Days turned to months.  Months turned to years and still my babies remained in the orphanage.  And there is nothing pretty or right about a mama watching her babies live in a 3^rd world orphanage.  

Most days I prayed fervently.  Over and over I’d cry out:

“Jesus, please.”

“Move the big mountain separating me and my babies.”

“Nothing is impossible for You!”

“I believe.  I do.  But, Jesus, how much longer?”

Other days I could barely find the strength to whisper out His name.  Those were the days I know some of you were standing in the gap for me, on your knees, crying out to Jesus while I was numb.  By the way, those prayers didn't go unnoticed—they are the most special sort of gifts you can give a sister in Christ and I’m forever grateful.  

All of those days, months, and years—they cut pain straight through me.  If I let you hold my heart today you’d see the scars—scars deep and long from all that waiting.  Adoption is beautiful but hard.  In my dreams we’d dance.  I’d kiss their cheeks, my lips on their baby faces.  My cold nose pressed to their cheeks, so close we'd breathe the same air—at least in my dreams.  Then I’d wake up and they'd be gone.   

For 2 years my world was a collision of heartache and grace.  I’d be foolish not to go back and remember this time because it was then when I learned how to depend on my heavenly Daddy in ways I never had before.  And even now, I grasp the indisputable parallel between earthly and heavenly adoptions.  I'm the child who is not home yet.  I have to remember this and you should too.  To make ourselves too comfortable in this world is to forget we have a Daddy with a promise...the promise to come back and never leave us orphaned. 

While I waited for Raphaella and Wana to come home it was either run to Jesus or die.  This sort of pain is the kind that can kill a person and I just know apart from the grace of God I wouldn't have survived.  And it’s a lunatic thing to say but I think I’m better off when I’m frail and desperate, the way I was then.  Humbled before my Creator, He reaches down and picks me up, dresses me in His grace and I feel safe like this.  My Jesus becomes my only hope, my only focus, my only way. I rest in the arms of Comfort and Peace, soaking in deeply every drop of His grace like a sponge.  It’s shocking but when you know Jesus there is beauty to be found in the midst of a shattered world.  The glory of my Lord so radiant, my soul can’t help but to cry holy. 

Holy, holy, holy! 

My God never left me, not one single time.       

Yes, I missed their first two years but this morning they are here.  Our eyes find each other, mine invite them to dive in, begging them to take hold of as much of my heart as they need, hoping they take all of me.  Though they know already, I have to say it out loud again…sometimes in English, “I'm your mommy.  I’m really happy God made me your mommy” other times in Haitian Creole, “Mwen se manmi ou.  M’ tre kontan Bondye te fem manmi ou.” 

sweet kisses

There is only 2 days until our first Gotcha Day.  For those who don’t know, Gotcha Day is the anniversary of the day adoptive families finally get to bring their children home from the orphanage to live with them forever.  I've never done a Gotcha day before but something big, really big, stirs deep down when I think of this day and I don’t want to mess it up.  Today I reflect, marvel, and praise God for that hard path that led us to the miracle on February 17, 2012.  And on Sunday I’ll write again…it’ll be our first Gotcha Day—a reason to search my soul, to dig deeper, and find a way to share what it all means to me.  All for His glory.