Unexpected Gravy

**** Written last week. On the day I took my pregnancy test.****

I love McAlister’s Deli. And they’ve left Richmond. But down here in Myrtle Beach, I am able to get my Spud Ole with extra onions fix on. Sloan, however, is not that big of a fan. But his love for me obliges me the occasional MD trip. Sloan this time ordered a “pick your own meats” deli sandwich. When it arrived at our table, Sloan’s eyes popped open. His sandwich was served with a side of gravy.
“Did you get the soup and sandwich?” I asked.
“No. I don’t know what this is.” He dipped his finger in it and tasted it. “Yes! It’s gravy. And it’s good.” So he eats his sandwich, dipping it in the gravy, dipping his chips in the gravy. Saying over and over again, “Oh my gravy. I need more of this gravy.” He even took Henry’s discarded hot dog bun and proceeded to dip it in the gravy. When there was nothing left to dip in it, he turned up the bowl and drank it.
“Today is awesome,” he proclaimed. “Nothing beats unexpected gravy.”

We just found out that our frozen transfer did not take. We will not get to meet or ever hold Baby Q and Tenderoni. I am not pregnant. I will not get to feel them kicking in my tummy or have that sweaty, I’m so tired I’m going to puke feeling post delivery.
We also found out that part of the reason the transfer did not take was because of low progesterone levels. Despite the fact that I’ve been injecting the junk in my heiny every day. Low progesterone is a common cause of miscarriage. It also has been the reason my bladder has been sore, I’ve been having hot flashes, and am peeing every 2 hours. I’d thought it was because I was pregnant. No not so much.
And we didn’t know what to do. Where do we go from here? IVF again. Shared risk like we did with Henry would cost 22,000 plus the costs of meds. And insurance covers nothing. What about adoption? That costs around 20,000, but at least comes with a tax credit. Am I really letting finances decide the future of our family?
But with IVF, I feel like I’m a bit in control of something. I’m being proactive. Taking pills. Getting shots. Procedure after procedure. Sure, God is in control—but I’m doing some of the heavy lifting as well. But with adoption? I’m not in control of anything. I’m just trusting God and waiting. Just being still and knowing that God is God.
Can I do that? I don’t think I have it in me. For all of my faith and belief, I must confess that I don’t know if I trust God enough to bring us a child. I don’t trust that I can be that patient. And to be even more honest, I must confess that God is causing some serious confusion and delay here and I’m pretty sure His plan is all kinds of whack. I’m not liking it. Not one bit. I’m pretty sure not only is my plan the better one, but His plan is just dead wrong.

And yet.

I feel a pull, a nudge, a tug towards adoption. It’s been growing for awhile. It began when we first were trying for Henry. With having a women in my bible study who has two adopted children. I confessed to her that theoretically, I thought adoption was beautiful. Maybe even more theologically correct than actually birthing kids. But that for our family, I didn’t know if my heart was ready. My friend assured me that preparing my heart for adoption was impossible. That it would be God’s job to prepare my heart.
And then I reconnected with a sorority sister who has recently adopted a beautiful little girl. And as she spoke of the process, despite the grief of losing a son and not being able to bear a child again, she was lit up. As we set in a Starbucks, joy radiated from her face like those sacred hearts of Jesus paintings . Something in my heart melted.

God was showing me his redemption of a broken heart through adoption.

But there are still questions. What will this child look like? Will he or she fit with our family? How will Henry react to him? Will she be introduced in pictures by relatives as “their adopted kid”? How would we react to him or her being sick if we don’t have access to their parents’ medical histories? Of if we do an open adoption is “Auntie Birth Mom” going to expect an invite to Thanksgiving dinner?

And yet.

God has made it abundantly clear that if my objections to adoption are unbelief, that He will give me greater faith. And that if my objections are what others will think, well, now—that’s just sinful. Sinful for other people to think anything other than our child is our child, and sinful of me to not heed God’s call for fear of what others may think. For the truth is this—God is in the habit of bringing together different peoples and making them family. It is, in fact, what He does best.
And so we will trust. And though our trust is feeble, it’s all we’ve got and certainly Jesus has fed the multitudes with less. We have prayed and will continue to do so. We have grieved Baby Q and Tenderoni and will continue to do so. But we will not being doing IVF again. We will trust God to bring us our child through adoption, ever praying, “Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.”

Over and over I kept coming back in my mind to Romans 8:18-39. That we will hope for what we do not have. That the Spirit will pray for us as we do not know what to pray for. That in Christ, we are more than conquerors.
I am trusting that this, indeed, is the path God has for us. I am also reminded of Moses. That he didn’t have a Garmin to get him to the Promised Land. In fact, Moses never got to hear that lovely Australian lady tell him, “You have arrived.” Rather, he simply took one step of faith after another, following the Spirit of the Lord. So we are trusting God to be God to us. To be our help. To be our Savior. To be our Guide. Following that great pillar of smoke by day and fire by night.
And as soon as we made the decision, God brought us peace. Peace that with adoption there is no threat of death or bed rest and so I can be a better mommy to Henry. Peace that I will no longer have to suffer through the emotional and hormonal tornado of IVF. Peace that I’ll be able to go back on my meds for endometriosis and get back to a semblance of normalcy every 28 days.
While I have peace that this certainly is the right path for us, I must also confess that in addition to grieving Baby Q and Tenderoni, I must now begin to grieve the dream of being pregnant again. This, it seems, is a more in depth grief. A throwing in of the towel, even. Not a day goes by that I don’t think, “I wish I could just get knocked up by my husband like a normal person.” I told this to Sloan and he said, “Honey, nothing about you is normal. You’re fabulous. Why would this be any different? You don’t even want to be normal.” And he’s right. Even this week, I’ve loved driving in the special “Owner’s entrance” to the beach.

At dinner tonight, as we told Henry that Baby Q and Tenderoni went to be with Jesus (which was met with a sweet smile and then shoving more chicken into his mouth), we also told him that God was going to grow his new baby brother or sister in someone else’s tummy. (To which he looked down at his tummy. And then proceeded to point to his nose, eyes, and ears.) After dinner, we’d planned on some cuddle time on the couch with a movie, but Henry started saying, “Go. Go. Go” Indicating that he wanted to go on a golf cart ride.
I carried my sweet boy down the steps. Bounding joyfully not having to worry about his thirty pounds on my hip. As we were tooling around the neighborhood on the golf cart, I began to talk of all that I knew about adoption. “I think once you get your child, there is like a six month period where you are technically foster parents, then a court date, and then the child is legally yours.”
“Yeah,” Sloan said. “That sounds about right.”
“Well, the day after our court date. We are throwing a big party. Bigger than anything you’ve ever seen. We’re talking barbeque, everyone we know, maybe even a bounce house.”
Sloan started laughing. “I love you. There is no one like your Mommy, Henry. She is still grieving Baby Q and Tenderoni, and yet she’s so in love with your sibling already that she is planning a party for them.”

And that, my friends, is unexpected gravy.