Faith like a wooden roller coaster

I like it when life gets wrapped up for you in a neat little package with a neat little bow.

Or, rather, I assume I would like that. I've never actually experienced that tender tidy time.

That being said, as I try to figure out what I'm going to wear tomorrow for my last Bethany interview, I realize that God has given me bookends. To the beginning of our adoption process. Nice beachy bookends. When our case worker comes to our house (which is ridiculously clean, organized, and fire-retardant), the car will be packed and after the home visit we will leave for vacation. Friday, our 5 year anniversary, will be spent in Greensboro (where everyone who is anyone goes on anniversary trips--or at least those who want to drop their kids off at Gigi and Papa's and then spend the night at the O. Henry Hotel), and then Saturday we will head to the beach. The beach where we first heard God's call to adoption.

I was speaking today with someone about our adoption process. She remarked that she thinks it is noble and so good for us to provide a home to a child in need. But I don't really think this is what adoption is about. Or at least not for us. Yes, I am excited about having a new child. Ecstatic. Elated. And lots of other "e" words--exhilarated, exuberant, ebullient, expectant, exultant, and perhaps, exhausted. This will be the first time that I get to put together a nursery for my child. (Being on bed rest from week 18 on interfered with Henry's nursery, which was put together by his Dad, Aunt, Cousins, and family friends.) There is also the possibility of being able to take my child home from the hospital, rather than have to visit him in the NICU for the first weeks of his little life. These things, which fill me with deep joy, pale in comparison to the great unending joy that comes from jumping feet first into the arms of God.

As a parent, particularly as a Christian parent, it is commonplace to say things like "I trust God with my family." But this faith, while real, is coupled with all the tiny things we do to insure that we never really have to trust God to take care of them. We get insurance; we go to our pediatrician; we limit TV; we eat healthy (most of the time); we set limits; we parent. In fact, we parent in such a way as to reduce our child's inherent need of us and his Creator. After all, a child who never disobeys, talks back, or rebels needs little grace. And it is through grace that we receive everything from God.

But adoption is different. This little child will be born of grace. Born of our humble prayers to God saying, "Lord, we believe, help our unbelief." After 10am on Thursday morning, there will be nothing more Sloan and I can do to receive our child. We will hand over our beautiful adoption profile scrapbooks, write a check, and then wait on the Lord. All the while, repenting of all the times I think, "Geesh, what if we never get picked? What if no one wants us because we have a biological child? What if they think I'm fat, ugly, and a complete dork because I included that picture of us with the dolphin in our profile?"

Henry was a gift from the Lord. No doubt. After tests, surgeries, miscarriages, procedures, and hospital stays--there is no way I could ever say that God's faithfulness to us was not demonstrated in Henry's life even prior to his birth and it is a delight to tell Henry of how God fought for him even before he first drew a breath. But this is a different kind of gift. We're not being proactive, or even reactive, about our infertile situation. We're being receptive. Quite literally, we are doing nothing to bring this child into being. We're simply trusting that God will be true to His word--Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the LORD will bring you today... The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still.

Holy crap! I've never done this sort of thing. I feel like saying to God, "What is this being still that you speak of? Be still and know what? Oh yeah, that you're God."

I've written about this before but I think it is worth repeating, if only to remind myself. Trusting God, with your whole self, is a bit like riding a roller coaster. Often, that thing you're trusting God in is something you've waited awhile to receive. And there are lots of yahoos in front of you who seem to be ignorant of their body odor and your summation of their being undeserving. And yet, there they are, getting theirs first. And you're just stuck there waiting. Sweating. And this is even before you really sit into trusting God--you're just thinking about maybe trusting Him. And then, you say, No, God gave me this free ticket and says I am tall enough to ride this ride. So you put your full weight into it. You sit, somewhat scrunched up like a sausage, possibly regretting that second funnel cake, and you, albeit white knuckled, grab onto Him. You resist the urge to pee in your pants or puke. Every muscle is clenched. It is scary as all get out, particularly when your feet dangle or your face is mere inches from a spout of fire. But if you close your eyes, you miss it. It's a rush. And your best bet it to simply scream your head off and throw your hands in the air, and trust that you are secure enough to enjoy the ride.

(I just wish faith in God came with a soundtrack--- one of my all time favorite sounds---the click-click-click you hear as you escalate up a hill on a wooden roller coaster.)

Click-click-click-click....Here goes nothing.