This rock will become a monument to grace

I had two miscarriages before I got pregnant with Henry.  When I made it to the 12 week mark, we finally exhaled.  We’d made it out of that “iffy” time of the first trimester safely.  Certainly it would be smooth sailing from there on out, right?

I was 14 weeks pregnant when after bathing the kids for whom I nannied, I noticed my pants were soaked.  I figured the kids splashing had gotten me and moved on.  But upon hanging up their towels, I saw that I was covered in blood.  Like my socks were wet.  My face went pale, I stumbled into the office of the dad.  I stuttered, “Umm…”  He took one look at me and said, “Go.  Go now.  I’ll call Sloan.”  

I drove to my doctor’s in a daze.  Within minutes I was in the ultrasound room, exhaling as I saw the tiny birdlike creature that was Henry safe and sound.  I had placenta previa and was put on modified bedrest.  At 18 weeks, it became apparent I had a weak cervix and was put on shots to help reduce my chances of preterm labor.  At 23 weeks and a day, I was 4 cm dialated and admitted to the hospital.  

We spoke with countless doctors covering all of our options.  If Henry was to be born this early, there would certainly be complications.  Words like “viability” and “quality of life” were tossed around.  Unbeknownst to me, our perinatologist asked Sloan in the event of an emergency whom was he supposed to save.  Both, he said.  You save them both.

At 34 weeks and a day, Henry arrived.  6 weeks early and not without some feeding difficulties, but within two weeks he was home safe and sound.

During Grace’s adoption, we were initially placed with a little girl whom we named Emma Sloan.  We’d met the birthmother and our little daughter.  I hired painters and had loads of dresses and bibs quickly monogrammed, Emma Sloan.  I’d begun to tell Henry about his new little sister Emma.  Heck, I’d even changed my facebook photo. But then, 8 days after Emma had been born, I received the most difficult call I’ve ever received.  In the commonwealth of Virginia, a birthmother has 10 days to reinstate her parental rights, and this is what Emma’s mom had done.  I literally fell to the floor in my kitchen like some bad Lifetime movie.

But then our case worker began telling us about M.  You see, my family had been this girl’s first choice, but we’d been unavailable.  Our case worker didn’t want to pressure us and certainly was not expecting an answer right away, but would we consider a placement with M?  Quickly, assuredly, I said No.  I just wanted to grieve.  I wanted to pack up all my teeny tiny pink things, set them on fire, and then throw myself a pity party.  I knew God had promised good to me, but this was NOT good.

I mean, we didn’t even start our adoption journey having our profile being open to all races!  We’d begun, like most other well meaning white people, being certain that if we were called to adopt across racial lines we’d know.  And we didn’t know, so we filled out that our profile should only be shown to Caucasian birthmothers.  We said we didn’t want to confuse Henry, were uncertain about our parents’ response, and were unfamiliar with cultural customs.  We said we didn’t want to have to be the poster family for adoption and go give speeches about it in churches.  (Ahem.)

And then, out of nowhere, I was putting our son to bed, praying the Lord’s Prayer, and I got stuck.  God’s word pierced my heart.  I began crying because I could not speak the words “On earth as it is in Heaven”.  It suddenly dawned on me that I had been called to adopt transracially…I’d just let that call go to voicemail.  

And thankfully, Jesus came for me.  He pursued my heart.  He showed me my sin was interfering with the grace he was so desperately trying to give me.  We soon switched our profile to include all races.

Which is a good thing, because that day in the kitchen, I saw firsthand how little that stuff matters.  Seeing me collapse, Sloan took the phone.  Our case worker told him all about M.  That her doctors had stated they would not allow the birthmother to parent the child, but Bethany could not find a family willing to accept this placement.

Sloan pragmatically told the case worker, “Let us pray.  Let us grieve.  But don’t rule us out just yet.  We will call you on Monday.”  I remember looking at him thinking, “What are you doing?  I don’t need to pray about this.”  Fortunately, I was too busy sobbing uncontrollably on the couch to voice this.  Sloan sat next to me and held me.  And through my tears, I heard that ridiculous pursuing love of Jesus speaking to me through my husband.  Sloan said, “For whatever reason, Emma was not our daughter.  I believe this girl is.  I’m afraid too, but we cannot allow our sin to get in the way of what God is doing.  Let’s do this.  Let’s love this girl.  Let’s be the ones to tell her that Jesus has not left her an orphan.”

We called the case worker back immediately.  After all, she was a baby without a Mommy and I was a Mommy without a baby.

This moment, this tender caress and soft conversation in my family room, is the dime upon which our marriage, our lives, and our relationships with Jesus turned.  It was like meeting Sloan for the first time and once again falling head over heels in love.  It was also the first time I understood that trusting Jesus didn’t mean I had to understand His plans.  Or even not be afraid of His plans. It simply meant that I had to take Him at His word—that He, not my child, not my spouse, not even our family’s health, was my security.  That it was the Risen Christ upon whom I was to hang my hopes and that this child was part of the good work prepared in advance for me.  

And so we chose to love her and through God’s mercy, our resolve turned into genuine joy.  Within hours of saying yes to baby M, we were talking to NICU nurses.  They told us of the great pain she was in.  That she was unable to settle down enough to eat or sleep.  That at this point, she was failing to thrive, and were we really certain we wanted her?  Livid, I told the nurse this wasn’t the SPCA, but my daughter she was talking about.  The first time I held that sweet child, she quieted.  She took 5 ounces of formula and drifted off to sleep as her Daddy whispered in her ear, “We are here for you, my sweet.  Jesus loves you.  Jesus is fighting for you, you needn’t fight anymore.”  

This is why we named her Grace.  Because despite all of my own sin, my hemming and hawing and excellent excuse making, God kept pursuing us, entreating us to trust Him, and to receive His good gift to us.   Despite our grief at the loss of Emma, we found true, deeply rooted joy.  And from the first time I held her, I was smitten.  

So it should not have been such a shock to me to learn this morning that there would be roadblocks in the pursuit of our third child.  On June 2^nd, we submitted our Letter of Intent to pursue the adoption of Charlie.  These typically get approved within a week.  Having not heard anything in awhile, I began to worry.  We returned home from vacation to a cryptic voicemail from our agency.  

I immediately began coming up with worst case scenarios.  Chin@ was going to deny our letter of intent.  They were not only going to deny our accepting the referral of Charlie, but were even going to say we couldn’t adopt from Chin@ at all.  Sloan assured me that this wouldn’t happen.  I snapped at him, “I need you to feed my crazy for just a minute.”  He laughed and said, “I will not.  That boy is our son.  End of story.”  

But then I realized that actually, the worst case scenario would NOT be if Chin@ rejected us, but if something happened to that little boy whose picture is on our mantle and is forever embossed on my heart.  Something that prohibited him from being adopted by anybody.

So to some degree, I was relieved this morning when I spoke to our case worker.  That little boy is fine.  But yes, there are some pretty major roadblocks to our adoption of any child from Chin@.  To the point that our agency is sending a worker to Chin@ to advocate on our behalf in person. 

So at this point, it is as it has always been, in Jesus’ hands.  And he is for us.

A friend this morning reminded me of when Jacob thought he was alone, sad and using a rock for a pillow and then bam!  Jacob had a dream of God coming to him on a ladder and Jacob knew that he was not alone.  Nor are we.  God is here with us in our pain.  He has not been blindsided by this.  While the roadblock may be so big it can be seen from space, it is but a speck to him.  So like Jacob, we are confident that this rocky pillow will become a stone in a monument to God’s grace to us.  

Are we heartbroken?  Yes.

Are we frightened?  Yes.

Are we without hope?  NO.  My prayer is the same as it was that first night we found out Emma was not ours.   

Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief.

From October 31, 2009

Dear Lord,

I thought I'd already fought Goliath.  Remind me that it was You who felled my giants and You are eager to do it again.  And again.

Apparently, You are not done forming Your image in me.  Give me the strength to be rescued by You.  Help me to stop splashing about in my own strength.  Give me the faith the drown in You.  Thank you that it matters not if I can hold onto You.  YOU WILL NOT LET ME GO.

Help me to not believe the lie that I am alone in this.  Grant me the faith to trust You as I step out in faith once again. 

You say You are the lifter of my head.  Lift it. 

I want to see Your face.

Through many dangers, toils, and snares, I have already come.  'Tis grace that's brought me safe thus far and grace will lead me home.