March 26, 2016

Where we Begin

March 23, 2016

I have thought of a thousand and one ways to possible start this, but every time I try, I never end up with words or convictions or really anything other than what to say. I know how I am feeling, but I am unaware how to express it. What I say is not unique or profound, and it is not as dire as other’s stories, nor is it as uplifting as some, filled with rainbows, white clouds and miracle babies. It is what it merely is: a story of two people who fell in love, followed the code of the Christian life with monetary balance and responsibility, and still ended up where they did not see themselves being, a road and in some ways, a destiny created by pure bad luck and circumstances. It starts with a three year old and ends months after a second miscarriage after a scare of the Kell antibody and a diagnosis of down syndrome. It is simple, keep trying, but in its simplicity, there is also recognition of prayer and what is leads you to do. And that is where we stand, where we exist, waiting on the next step. I have always wanted to adopt. It has been a part of me since I was little. I never saw myself as the type of mother who needed her children to come from her. The only joy I had in pregnancy was what came out of it, and that was my Jackson, but if he had come to us in another way, it would not have changed the love I have for him. It is unconditional, and pure, and my all means, and maybe even a  bit cliche, the highlight of my life. I have had many dreams, some of which were never and will not even be obtained: a beach house with my family; a huge house in which I do not have to clean; a nicer car; a more financially sound job. All of these things were dreams, but out of all them, the one I never thought would be the hardest to reach would be children, and yet, it the one I cannot give up on, and for some reason, I feel this is the correct path, and that is the easiest, and most straightforward  terms to which I can define.

I feel.

I feel this is the right decision for our family. I feel this is what God intends, if nothing else, to reach others with our words and faith. I feel lead to move forward, and put aside any doubt I have in my mind over my intentions and their outcome.

I feel.

I feel he or she is out there somewhere. I feel a birth mother will see our little family, reflect upon our three year’s face, and also feel he is meant to be an older brother. I feel compelled to put myself, my words, and my emotions out there, leaving exposed all the things I do not allow others to know I experience. I feel the miscarriages were not a part of some elaborate plan, but a mere stepping stone build upon how I respond, what we choose, and what God intends.

I feel.

I feel sadness, and sometimes, fear, and both will linger and pass, sometimes within moments of each other, but they are both there, both present and alive from day to day. And they are both necessary because they are both real, and they are without a doubt what every parent and believer has at sometime felt.

I feel.

I feel rejoicing in what I do not understand, nor could never comprehend. I feel rejuvenated when I have hope, and I feel the aftermath of its death  and go through a period of mourning when it leaves, but I almost always feel its rebirth, alive and well with God’s words and His worship music, and even prayer.

It is these feelings, good and bad, that have molded our decision, and with ask, I ask merely what other believers out there ask of their peers: for prayer. Prayer for guidance and funds, and for our birth mother, wherever she is, because it is not not a just our child who needs prayer. She does, and she always will, for what she chooses to give her child is more than a chance at life; it is a profession of faith for both of them. Prayer also for me, because with this blog, I am intending to be honest, and in some ways, painfully honest because it is what I have been lead to believe as a follower of Christ: I am not perfect, and neither is my faith. I will not paint a fancy beautiful scripted picture of how “everything works out.” It does not, and I know that. But I also know that the greatest gift, the greatest emotional experiences I have ever had have been born out of broken moments of faith, connected to a spirit of hope, created from utter desolate despair and pain; Hope, to me, the most dangerous and rewarding aspect of Christ. Someone likes to argue with me that I only have hope because “things work out.” And that is the furthest thing from the truth. I have hope because in my lowest moments, it is literally the only thing I have: the only thing I can control. Where it takes me depends on my journey, God’s path for my life, and what I decide, and right now, I hope for a bigger family to which to love and raise according to His will, and the blood and sacrifice of Christ.

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick but when dreams comes true, there is life and joy.”- Proverbs 13:12