Guest Post: To The Waiting Woman Who Longs To Be A Mother

In my role as an Adoption Consultant, one of the things I hope to spread is the importance of listening to all members of the adoption triad: birth mothers, adoptees, and adoptive parents. As Mother's Day approaches, I'm sharing some letters from members of the triad. As I thought about who I wanted to ask to write a letter to the mamas in waiting, my friend, Kim, immediately came to mind. The Lord has given her a gift for words and she so beautifully shares them below. Thank you, Kim!

To The Waiting Woman Who Longs To Be A Mother

Hello friend,

I rolled out of bed in a bad mood and reluctantly dressed for church. This act of putting on my “Sunday best” was even more unbearable on this ominous day. I scowled aimlessly at the floor and imagined the women who would don matching dresses and the little girls sporting big pink bows. “I’m sure all the little boys were up early picking wildflowers while their fathers made breakfast and let their mommies sleep in”, I muttered mockingly to the empty room. Alone, in my little bathroom, I looked up to put my makeup on - getting the first real glimpse of my angry look and tired eyes. Suddenly, with fierce intensity, my fake bravado melted into body shaking sobs as I realized I was not alone. The God that made me revealed in an instant the deepest recesses of my heart and beckoned me to Him with undeserved patience and grace. As I cried, I could imagine his gentle embrace inviting me to unleash the full weight of disappointment and confusion into his capable hands. I sent up a desperate prayer, “Lord you are the God that weeps with those who mourn. Can you handle my pain? Can you take some of this burden? Can you impart your strength on this day of all days?”

I imagine, dear one, that you would prefer to spend this morning hiding beneath your covers in a dark room. Perhaps if you stay there long enough you can pretend this day never came and the longing you feel to be accepted would wait to wash over you another day. The dread and sadness feel palpable and you wonder if you accidentally put that on instead of the dress you pulled from the closet. Running into all of the perfectly coifed women with their darling little bundles would only cause the inevitable barrage of heart questions you work hard to stifle on a moment by moment basis. And you wonder if this is what you are pregnant with. Questions. Heart-wrenching questions. Is there something wrong with me? Did I do something to deserve this? Does God want good things for me? Does He see me?

Will I ever be a Mom?

Love, I have been there. I can walk into that memory as if it’s a panorama that preserved some of my darkest moments. It’s an exhibit I never wanted to visit and I’m deeply sorry that you have been given a ticket to the show. But, I’m happy to sit with you and allow you to cry on my shoulder as you ask the questions that I could never supply a satisfying answer for. Because I learned that this gift of infertility did not give me answers but people. People who tried not to offend, people who tried to understand, people who wept with me in silence, people who bound up the broken places, people who fought beside me in prayer. It was the people God gave me, that led me to understand that my longing to be a mom would only be satisfied in the arms of Jesus. If He wasn’t enough, no child would ever be able to fill that pit.

It would be easy to stay home this week - and you can. I get it. But if you can muster the dependence it takes to bravely walk into the world, I believe you’ll find hope lies within the body of believers the Lord is preparing you to encourage. Because while infertility comes at a significant cost, what you buy with your heartache is a gift I would never return. This gift led me to deeper relationship with my husband, a more dependent faith in Christ, an ever-expanding village we call family, and, eventually, six amazing children who grew in my heart. These six jewels in my crown were knit together with providence and foreknowledge. They were on my Savior’s mind as he calmed my sobs and listened empathetically to my burdensome questions. He always saw me. And He sees you too, beloved.

So this year, your arms may be empty but I’m praying your heart will be full. If you’re feeling left out try sitting up straight so everyone can see your crown.

                                                            
                                                            His, yours,
                                                                        Kim aka “Mama”


(You can read other writing from CAC mama, Kim, here: Depths of Love, The Cost Of Infertility: 10 Reflections, A Broken Crown.)

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A Broken Crown: Guest Post by Kim

Becoming friends with Kim has been one of the highlights of my work as an Adoption Consultant. It is just so obvious that Rick and Kim love Jesus and are living for His kingdom. I've learned so much from the way they've walked through their adoption processes with open hands to the Lord and from the way they seek to live each day with eyes of faith. Kim is a gifted writer and she kindly shares her heart with us in this guest post about the way Christ has transformed brokenness into a crown.

A Broken Crown (by Kim) 

I rolled out of bed when it was still dark and quietly threw on some old clothes. I was careful to tiptoe down the stairs so I wouldn’t wake my household. The babysitter would arrive soon and I had the resentful job of preparing for another medical procedure. My tired eyes barely opened and my groggy mind refused to process what the day before me held. I surfed the Internet on my phone and gulped down drink after drink until I was sure I would throw up from the sheer amount of liquid. I thanked the babysitter profusely for showing up at this impolite hour and shortly arrived at the hospital with the baby-picture lined walls. It was eerily quiet as I walked down the hall and I couldn’t tell if it was the early hour or the sacred business conducted there that caused the somber mood.  The dark little room was kept at a temperature that ensured you’d be shaking by the time the technician arrived — but at least this gave a conceivable excuse for my emotionally charged jitters. There’s no way to feel comfortable laying on that hospital bed and perhaps it was this discomfort that awoke me from my sleepy stupor.  It was then that I looked up to see—the empty womb.

I’m not in the medical field, and usually those black and white images on the monitor remind me of distorted clouds more than organs. But that day, the empty void was just too clear to ignore. This was not the first procedure and it will likely not be the last. In fact, this just scratched the surface of the lengths we would go to try and correct the multiple syndromes and symptoms that left me barren. I’ve had 6 surgeries, taken thousands of pills, been poked, prodded and made uncomfortable in ways I never imagined would become my new “normal.” So you may think it odd that as I reflect on motherhood, I’m thinking of Esther and her “such a time as this” occasion.

In Esther 4:14, the queen is reminded that her royal position is not what protects her, but it is, perhaps, how God will use her “for such a time as this.”

Awake with the youngest of my six babes, I’m wondering if my “such a time as this” is now — in the midst of my brokenness. Because what if we arrive at our time, not to a crown of glory but to a realization of need? It’s here, that for me, whether seated on a throne, or cold and alone in a hospital room that my needy moments draw me closer to a Significant Savior.

Sometimes God’s best is an invitation for you to embrace and celebrate what can only be found in brokenness, in need, in the low places, and in rejection by the world. While Esther sat on an earthly throne, the One who placed her there gave up His throne to become despised by man - crushed, rejected, weepy and desperate for His Father. The Cross is why He came. His “such a time as this” was the lowest He would ever be, so that one day He would receive a crown of glory he’ll never relinquish.

My low place is the emptiness of infertility. According to popular fiction I am an “unwoman.” Like one in eight women alive today, I live with the monthly reminders that I have no power to create or sustain life. Everyday I’m aware that my body is broken. And this constant reminder has forced me to, lean in to the Lord for greater healing, greater health, and greater trust.

And isn’t that what we love about Esther’s story—that a common girl would catch the eye of the most powerful man on earth; that a woman who was willing to take risks would accomplish remarkable things. Esther’s fame came as a result of being willing to do what was hard when all the odds were stacked against her—and it’s impossible for me to see her bravery without envisioning her wearing her crown. Esther was given the title of queen but she was powerless without her King. Her real privilege was that she had access to the One who had the power. And in that—her story is also my story.

I am seen and loved by God and he has the power to change my title and my purpose. Jesus is the Suffering Servant but He is also the Resurrected King. He graciously shares His resurrection power with me so though my womb is empty my arms are filled. He made the barren woman a mother of children (Psalm 113:9), gave her a new name and a new appreciation for all that is learned when you are without power and without hope. While my lack of power has allowed me to feel indescribable pain and heartache, I walk with a powerful God who does not leave me here. His shared resurrection power has given me a ministry to others who are hurting and a house full of children as daily reminders of His goodness. It’s because of His power that I can more confidently, and with thankfulness, wear the title of broken.

When he sets a crown on my broken and powerless head I can more fully appreciate my new position because of the depths from whence I came. It’s in the depths that I learned to petition the King and trust in His goodness. It’s there that I learned the pursuit of Him, through pain, unmet expectations and frustrations, was worth everything! Even on the days I was sure I would perish, He invited me into His strength and kingly power to do more than I ever imagined.

In my brokenness, I am given a crown of Hope - because the natural has failed me and the Supernatural has beckoned me home. I am a broken woman invited to more, by a perfect King.

(You can read a bit more about Rick and Kim's adoption journeys here, here.)

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For more information about domestic infant adoption, please contact me. I'd love to help you!

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Adoption Guest Post: Happy-Sadness

A couple months ago I shared a guest post by Kim about the costs of infertility. I have the privilege of being Rick and Kim's adoption consultant right now. I love reading anything and everything that Kim writes! God's given her a gift with words and her writing always go straight to my heart. Here is another beautiful guest post that Kim wrote about the happy-sadness of this stage of waiting in their adoption process.

Happy-Sadness in Adoption by Kim
What do you say when people ask you how you’re doing? Fifteen years ago my standard response would have been, “fine” – no matter what was really happening. But then I “randomly” sat down next to a boy I didn’t know at all and asked him how he was doing…and he actually told me! He told me that he just broke up with his girlfriend and he was trying to figure out if they could still be friends, and on, and on, and on…and after I picked up my jaw off the floor I actually shared my experience. And we had a real conversation. It felt awkward at first because he was sharing so much, but his honesty gave me permission to share my experience. And it was refreshing to feel like I got a glimpse of who someone really was!

And since then, I’ve been ruined to pat answers. (I suppose that might also be because I went on to marry that boy). I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell others what I’m feeling these days. Honestly, I’m a little all over the place emotionally. I’m happy, anxious, excited, fearful, sad. Sometimes all within minutes of each other. I promise I’m emotionally stable. Not because I don’t feel these things – but because I don’t act on these things.

But, this mingling of emotions reminds me of a reality that has become increasingly more prevalent now that I’m an adult. It’s the concept of “happy-sadness.”

The reality is that joy and sadness often mix within the adult life. The dichotomy of living with both is prevalent constantly. I didn't intend to look for instances of happy-sad. In fact, I rather naively believed that you could avoid sadness if you made all the right choices. I thought if I worked hard and did what was best I could control my life. Whatever sadness would come - would be of my own doing. Whatever happiness I experienced - I suppose was my decision too. It was a naive opinion. And a prideful one. And then life happened. Uncontrollable. Broken. Unexpected. And somewhere along the way I learned that my circumstances and my emotions weren't always compatible. Whether by wisdom or fear, I tended to spend a significant amount of time sitting in the tension of happy-sad. Excited and happy one moment and fearful and sad the next - sometimes both at once.

I've been thinking about this because it is my dominant emotion in this season of waiting. In the adoption process there's a lot of waiting. Sometimes you wait patiently, sometimes you wait busily, and sometimes you wait emotionally. This waiting season is the emotional one…because, we are matched! A brave woman saw something in us that connected with someone in her. And she decided to journey through life with us. It's super exciting – but it's also really hard.

Journeying through this stage means trying to form an instant and deep bond with someone we live far away from and naturally have little in common with. Our life experiences have been wildly different and our current circumstances make it seem like we come from different worlds. We try to empathize and therefore we feel deeply with her as she faces her own uncertainty, sadness and fears.

This is the view from the natural world. It's sad. It's hard. It's broken. But journeying through this stage also means honoring someone exactly where he or she is while praying and hoping through their potential. It means seeing your life through the eyes of someone else's experience. It means committing to love while love grows. It's being joyful about new life, because new life is a miracle. This is the view from the spiritual world. It's exciting. It's important. It's hopeful. And this is the filter we strive to exist in. Keeping in mind both the pain and the peace. Allowing ourselves to feel the fear and the hope.

There is a time for mourning and a time for dancing. There are seasons when one emotion may monopolize most of your days. But more often, I believe there's a reality that exists only in this present world. Sadness and joy. Brokenness and wholeness. All intertwined in to a surprising and beautiful reality. The sadness brings completion to the joy. The brokenness helps you to deeply appreciate when things are made whole.

It’s important to remember these are earthly lessons. Worldly trials. It’s an opportunity to know the heart of a Father that will one day express love in a different way.  We won’t need to trust him in brokenness when all is made whole. We won’t have to love him in sadness when he wipes every tear from our eyes. One day all will be healed. There will be no more brokenness. No need for hope. No prideful views. No stubborn will that needs to submit.

But today - and probably tomorrow - I will live in the tension of happy-sadness. Content to take the hard with the easy. And hopeful to lean in and learn more about the heart of my Father, while the opportunity to experience him in this way is still possible.

Cry and laugh today friends. Both are good!

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Guest Post: The Cost of Infertility, 10 Reflections

Knowing Rick and Kim has been a gift to my heart. The way they process life through the lens of the Gospel is beautiful and compelling. They have three little ones that entered their family through the gift of adoption and they are waiting again for God to bring number four. They recently had a huge disappointment in their journey and I asked Kim if I could share her thoughts because they so strikingly reflect a heart that trusts God.

The Cost of Infertility, 10 Reflections (by Kim)

This morning I was processing during a rare moment where I curled my hair. I never quite got around to make-up. But I wore something other than a T-shirt. So I'm calling it a win. I was thinking about what I would tell people about our recent journey. We want to be transparent and to communicate well. We want to continue to tell others what is true. But we aren't sure how we feel yet. We aren't sure what parts of the story need to be talked about and what needs to be stored away as mere information instead of helpful instruction.

And pretty quickly my pondering turned to pouting. I thought about the journey of others and whether or not they ever had to go through something like this. (Comparison always works out well, doesn't it?) And I decided that what we went through - being matched with a baby we believed was ours and dreaming and planning, moving our whole family so we could be his, sitting in uncertainty yet loving wholeheartedly - that this was...

The Cost of Infertility.

Everything has a cost. And while I did not voluntarily sign up for infertility - I was made for it. You read that right. I was made for this.

I don't believe God intended infertility or brokenness. Or even adoption  (though I hate even writing that because adoption is so beautiful and dear to me). The world was supposed to be without death, without poverty, without  drugs, without orphans. Families were intended to be whole. Bodies were intended to be healthy.

But that same Sovereign God made a plan for our brokenness. He gave himself to meet my needs. First to give me the great hope of wholeness and reconciliation with Him, and second for a purpose in this life while I wait to be with Him. And in this life it means living with infertility. He knew this would be true for me. And he created me and surrounded me to be equipped for this. (I also believe this doesn't always have to be true of me - but that's a story for another day).

And while it is true that my story costs me something - what I've bought is much grander than the investment I've made. Here are just a few of the gifts we've been able to purchase - without money and with very little cost:

  

1. We get to say "Yes!", when it would be easy to say no. 

In a  world that values ease, we have learned to say yes, until someone tells  us no. It's a lesson in perseverance. And it's a lesson that this  strong-willed and yet emotionally timid girl needed. It would be easy to  bail when things got hard. But we've seen that when we say yes, when we  say we're "all in" - we get to extend some of the grace we've been  given - to others. We can provide them with space to feel and to freak out because we have determined to be unyielding. It's what Jesus does  with us. He allows me to be faithless when He is faithful. I can rage like a disappointed toddler and I know I do this within the safe arms of  a loving and unchanging God.

2. We are invited in to the brokenness of others lives. 

Every adoption story involves brokenness. It involves two broken families  coming together for the good of a kid who bears no responsibility for  the brokenness surrounding them. Adoption shines a bright light on the brokenness of the biological family because there is a reason that this  child needs a new home. And when that spotlight is pointed at them and  you step into their light - you see your brokenness more clearly as  well. We've been given the opportunity to be humble when the world would  imply that we could take the dangerous road of posturing. Hopefully  we've also come out more able to love - because humility leads to  understanding and empathy. And once you can feel what others feel it's  hard not to love them exactly where they are.

3. We get to trust God when it doesn't make sense. 

We tend to  want things to be fair, don't we? We want everyone to have the same  things, the same experiences, the same views. And when we see differences and discrepancy we have two options. We can choose jealousy  and/or ridicule, which leads to bitterness. Or we can choose to trust in the plans of a sovereign God who continues to be good. The  reality is there is not always justice on this side of heaven. The rich get richer and the poor stay poor. And that stinks. But we know the one  who knows all the whys. And we are regularly given opportunities to trust Him when it doesn't make sense - when he asks us to walk so walls  fall (Joshua 6), to show up because love is an action, and to feel until our hearts  hurt for ourselves and others. And at the end of the day we get to call  Him good. We get to tell others He is good. Because we believe it, and  it's a privilege to walk with Him even if only the next step is  illuminated and the rest of the road is dark.

4. We see how GOD makes families. 

I went through sex-ed when I  was in elementary school. I know how babies are made. But we've had time and space and tears to process through what is true about families and who it is that forms them in the secret place. I've heard so many well meaning people talk about their kids by saying something like - "we  made them." And while it makes sense that the non-believing world would depend upon themselves (or science) to give them children I often ask my Christian friends, "Really, you made that? You and your husband went in to the back room and created life? How did that go for you?" After looking at me funny they admit, "well I didn't make them, God did." See, we had to come to that conclusion right away. Because when you struggle with infertility you are VERY aware that you are not the author of life. And, more so, as we've pursued adoption we've been VERY aware that God has a Will that will come to pass. In the same place that He created those cute little babies that have your hair and your husband's eyes and put them in your cute little bellies, he created lives that have our hearts and were made in His image and placed them in our family. Only God can create insatiable love for people you would have no claim to without the permanency and love of God that goes before you.

5. We have learned to be open-handed with our kids. 

While this  lesson is on-going, and must be continuously relearned, our experience  has required that we love wholeheartedly while also being completely  uncertain. You just have to be open-handed under those  circumstances. You have to trust God will pick up the broken pieces of  your heart should it come to that. You learn to say, "The Lord gives and  the Lord takes away, blessed be the name of the Lord!" (Job 1:21) And  it's hard. But it's good. While our kids could not be more permanently  ours, they are also more permanently God's. We are stewards of  them, invited to love and bless and lead them, this side of heaven.  People will often ask me, "Don't you want kids of your own?" And with  all of the grace I can muster, and just a little bit of a disapproving look, I say, "These are my own kids." God has given them to us. They are ours in every parenting sense of the word. But more than that they belong to the King of Kings, who loves them more than anyone else (even though we tell them mommy and daddy love them a very close second). Their permanency with us was always known by God, but it was not always known by us. So we prayed every day - "Jesus they are yours. Please let them be ours too." And God was gracious. He allowed us to have each other. But because of our start, we will never forget who is in charge, and who they ultimately belong to. 

6. We get to normalize that which is misunderstood. 

Everyone has a borrowed adoption horror story. I've yet to meet anyone who has adopted who has cautioned me away from trusting God in this way. But we've met plenty of people who know a friend of a second cousin who had just a terrible experience and "aren't you just so scared?" It's true - adoption is not for the faint of heart. But it's beautiful! It's glorious! It's fun! And we have the opportunity to understand it and interpret it and rewrite the language that others use. Both because adoption needs to be understood so more people can adopt - but also because I don't want people telling my kids a bunch of lies about their story because they don't understand the redemption of adoption that God writes. I'm kind of a mother bear in that way. :)

7. We have the opportunity to be intentional. 

To be intentional or deliberate is to to do something on purpose. Our path was not an accident. We purposed to adopt. My infertility was not a surprise to God - he wrote my part so that I would be ready for my kid's part. There should be no question that we chose our kids and that we will stick with them. And I love that. I used to want to have a surprise pregnancy so I'd have an excuse not to work in a job I was not suited for. And while we would have been thrilled with whatever child God gave us by whatever means, it's not a very good story is it?  "Well son, I really disliked my job so I thought having a kid might be more fun." Contrarily, our kid's stories are amazing! They have the fingerprints of  God all over them - He moved us then He made them. There were hard obstacles, but we ran through them because they were at the other  end. And all the wait seemed like just a few days "because of all the love we had for them (Genesis 29)"...And then we lived happily ever after. We've been invited to witness and live the stuff that the great  stories are made of! How cool is that?

8. We get to connect with the ancients. 

Did you know that a lot of the patriarchs struggled with infertility? Abraham, Isaac, Jacob.  They all had first hand knowledge of longing for children and having to  depend on God to provide them. Sometimes those stories went a little  wonky. Like when Jacob's wives gave him their maidservants as wives so that they could have more children...I'm just sayin - Rick gets one wife. That's it. But I have known the pain and suffering of longing for a  child and being willing to do crazy stuff to try and get one. And when we read in the Bible about how God provided, and the mistakes that were  made along the way. We pay attention a little more. We relate a little  deeper. And it encourages me that I've walked through a little of what  the faithful firsts also went through. It validates God's love of the  broken, of which I am the worst.

9. I can give an answer to the pro-choice movement. 

The biggest criticism I've heard of the pro-life movement is that their  ideals are not followed through by appropriate actions. Where will the  babies go that we want people to have? We say - to us! We are the answer  for women in crisis and for babies who need parents. Us, and others  like us. I realize that this is a very simplified answer to a very  complex problem. And I won't pretend this is the whole solution. This is  not inherently a pro-life post; but it is a valuing of life post. And  we have learned to value life because of our circumstances and our kids.  You inherently value that which is difficult to obtain. And we LOVE  kids. Like a lot. It's a blessing to have learned this before we became  parents.

10. We are invited to share with vulnerability and inclusion. 

It takes a village to raise a child. And in our case it takes a village to bring a child home. We have been overwhelmed by the help of others as God forms our family. We've had several people donate breast milk for  each of our kids (talk about a labor of love!), we've had help housing  and caring for our kids while we've traveled. You've come to court,  wrote recommendations - prayed and prayed and prayed! We've been able to  share our stories and have been invited to be vulnerable. It's a blessing to live life with others, and we thank you for going on this  journey with us.

Right now, "We are given pieces of the puzzle without being given the picture on the top of the box." And maybe this is how we feel...we know God is painting a beautiful picture. But we can only see the pieces. One day the pieces will come together and we will be delighted to share it with you. Until then, we count the cost, knowing it costs us very little. And we are grateful for what we have earned. We have much to be grateful for!

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Kim, thank you for allowing me to share your beautiful words today. I'm praying along with you and can't wait to watch the pieces come together in your story!

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