Pearls and Anchors

You see, there was this man. He was a jeweler, a salesman, a trader in fine things. His specialty was pearls. He searched the world for the prettiest, the largest, and the most valuable. Over the years he collected quite a bounty and traded for fine fabrics, tents, sandals and the best carts and ships to assist his journeys. Then one day, after years of hunting, there in the middle of a crowded marketplace he found her. A beautiful, perfect pearl that was so glorious and unique he had to make it his. But the price? Too high. So he went home and without a second thought gathered every beautiful piece of his collection and sold it all. He took the money and returned to that pearl, which he bought at a great price. While I've imagined the circumstances, Jesus gives us this example as an example of the kingdom of heaven in Matthew 15.  It is worth giving up everything we have to attain. There is nothing we possess that compares to the Glory of God.

We have long associated this pursuit with our pursuit of our daughter. I found a journal entry to our "Lulu" a name that means pearl from 2011. (Other names we have considered over the years are Margaret and Margeaux/ Margot which also mean pearl). Going into this journey we knew it would be a long hard road. We expected disappointments and trials. We expected cost. What I did not expect was the loneliness. Even surrounded by fellow adopting/ adopted families there is no way to share this with anyone. Even between the two of us, we are experiencing this journey in our own ways.

I've seen about 32,458 articles this week pop up on my various news feeds about Saying YES! Being brave! jumping in! care for the orphans! If not you then who?! And you know what? If article 32,459 pops up I just might scream. I might throw my phone out the window. Or flush it. Or just look at it and cry. Because you know what? {we. have. said. yes.} So these articles make me wonder if HOW you say yes matters. I often wonder if I accidentally said ours in mandarin, or martian. It has been 9 months since we submitted our first application. 18 since we first "requested information". 9 years since I married a man who I knew would adopt one day. The reality is, even when God has our yes, his answer might be no if our yes is from a selfish place. Let me be clear. This is HIS story. Our yes might matter, but our submission to his will matters more. Our pearl is NOT our daughter. And that sentence right there is where the lonely lies. We want so badly as humans to be a part of something bigger. We love nothing more than a flash mob, or a box office smash hit, or a  reality show we can talk about with everyone in the office tomorrow. Community matters, and so does joining in on the fun. With pregnancy you automatically enter the belly club. You get to joke about who groped the belly that day and how many grandmothers gave you unsolicited advice. I'd give anything for some random lady to grab me by the shoulders and tell me what to expect from this adoption. I'd give anything for ANYONE to tell me what to expect. The unknown is scary and this is by far the foggiest cliff we have ever stood on. We believe that God hears our prayers. We BELIEVE that our father loves adoption. We BELIEVE that he places the lonely in families. We HOPE that we are one of them. Our pearl, must remain HIS story. Our Pearl MUST remain HIS glory. Our Hope lies in his character and promises.  Hebrews teaches on this anchoring of our hope.

The Certainty of God’s Promise

13For when God made a promise to Abraham, since he had no one greater by whom to swear, he swore by himself, 14saying, “Surely I will bless you and multiply you.” 15And thus Abraham,^b having patiently waited, obtained the promise. 16For people swear by something greater than themselves, and in all their disputes an oath is final for confirmation. 17So when God desired to show more convincingly to the heirs of the promise the unchangeable character of his purpose, he guaranteed it with an oath, 18so that by two unchangeable things, in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before us. 19We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, 20where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf, having become a high priest forever after the order of Melchizedek.

Monday we will attend another interest meeting with another agency. This one will open us up to the possibility of pursuing adoption from the foster/foster adopt angle. I'll be super honest. This scares the boogers out of me. Talk about treasure I don't want to give up. Security, simplicity, avoidance of government agencies, naming our daughter the name she will be called from birth, knowing the birth mom, or at least the possibility of it, baby showers, a big coming home spectacular, a promise that the baby we bring home would most likely stay. Even the bringing home of a baby. These are all treasures we would likely need to lay down. BUT we are beginning to feel that our "yes" looks more like multiple options. Our anchor is God's character~ His promise to go before us while we wait. It is in remembering what our pearl is that we stay focused, and feel a little less lonely.

** clarification: we are not ending our journey with our original agency. They encouraged us from the beginning to pursue adoption in any and all ways we want to. This is just acting on that encouragement. I'm actually making appointments for some dr notes and filling out some additional paperwork for "agency a" right now. **

On Another's Sorrow

This weekend was FULL. We had our second garage sale fundraiser for the adoption and raised just shy of 1000$ to go towards our adoption expenses. We are so grateful for everyone who donated items, helped us sort and set up, and then everyone who shopped. I was so blessed to meet two adoptive mamas ( one who adopted from our agency ! ) and also a grown adopted daughter. These sweet connections encouraged us and gave us some much needed motivation to get through our last few bits of paper work.

Along with the garage sale we hosted my little sister ( who is almost 13) for the weekend. She is fun and active and is in crutches at the moment. We had a sweet time hanging out and even found a chance to venture out to see Rio 2. I also enjoyed trying out 4 kids and was pleasantly surprised that the chaos didn't feel any more chaotic! Woo-hoo! Hope!

This weekend was also a weekend of tenderness. We have always been blessed, every city we have lived in, by friendships with families who grieve. And I say blessed because I have learned more about our Father God through friendships with parents and families who have lost children than I otherwise would have. There is a depth of understanding of his grace and mercy when a mother or father who has experienced that loss looks you in the face and tells you it is true. Here in this town in this moment, this was a heavy weekend of memory as we as a congregation remembered a sweet little boy I will one day meet in heaven. His mama, and other women I deeply care for and respect have heavy hearts this week as it is an ebenezer of the day he began his journey home. I do not usually shy away from these moments as they arise, but as humans we have our own grief, and grief triggers grief. So Thursday and Friday nights were long nights of hard dreams. The ones where people visit. The ones you don't want to wake up from. And so we wonder. How do we, people living our busy lives with adoptions and fundraisers and children and events, share in the sorrow of another? How can we carry the grief of our friends? How do we enter in to their sorrow when the reality is that our sinful selves are incapable of true empathy. I'm comforted that this is not a new question. William Blake wrote of this in his Songs of Innocence (1790's) in "Sorrow of another." His answer to grieving with each other? Our Father in heaven grieves too. We do not carry each others burdens alone. He carries mine. He carries yours. He carries what I carry for you. He weeps with us. "Till our grief is fled and gone, He doth sit by us and moan."

William Blake
Sorrow of Another

Can I see another's woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief,
And not seek for kind relief?

Can I see a falling tear,
And not feel my sorrow's share?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow filled?

Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

And can He who smiles on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small,
Hear the small bird's grief and care,
Hear the woes that infants bear -

And not sit beside the nest,
Pouring pity in their breast,
And not sit the cradle near,
Weeping tear on infant's tear?

And not sit both night and day,
Wiping all our tears away?
O no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

He doth give His joy to all:
He becomes an infant small,
He becomes a man of woe,
He doth feel the sorrow too.

Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
And thy Maker is not by:
Think not thou canst weep a tear,
And thy Maker is not near.

O He gives to us His joy,
That our grief He may destroy:
Till our grief is fled and gone
He doth sit by us and moan.

Easier out than in, or is it?

Teething. The bane of early childhood. The most common answer to "why is your baby screaming like a lunatic?" 

When our babies are little we hold them and struggle with them and cry with them through every minute of their teeth coming in. We seek advice, buy remedies, rock, snuggle and lose sleep. And then they become toddlers. When their molars come in, well darling... Just let me know and I'll bring the wine. Let's just say those days can be so long and so hard that years later you are willing to write a blog post lamenting their difficulty. 

But then. But THEN. Oh the audacity. These same teeth that took an eternity to work their horrible necessary selves INTO the mouth of your beloved first born start flying out once a week when he approaches his 11th birthday. Every other day this week has brought me yet ANOTHER tooth. Four this week. And I hate them. These horrible pieces of bone that I don't know what to do with ( seriously, they feel too sacred to throw away and too morbid to hold on to) they are taking over. Not cool teeth. Not cool. And the worst part? They are causing his sweet little mouth, the one I tenderly held ice and teethers and tablets and the forbidden orajel... This sweet little mouth is no longer sweet and little but older and teenagery and saucy and smart (in a good way). 

The same little teeth the bit my shoulder one unfortunate midnight feeding, these same precious teeth that chewed the Cheerios, rejected the peas and claimed many a pizza crust , these horrid little beasts have the gall to just fall out. Without even a to do. Without drama or consequence. Without even a fairy request. And I'll miss them. Oh man. I miss them already.