Grant Alexander: Wonder of Wonders, Miracle of Miracles

We are home.

I've done my first night as a mom flying solo without a battery of NICU nurses coaching me and taking the night shift. We've successfully completed numerous diaper changes, multiple feedings, and we put a sheet on a baby crib. Big stuff, folks, big stuff...

And now it's time to tell you the beginning of "Grantlet's" story. It's a good Christmas story--lots of miracles, sparkles, love, and cuddles. So, grab your favorite wintertime coffee blend, curl up in a big comfy chair, and let me tell you a story of how a wee-small baby changed our world.

It was a cold, incredibly normal Monday night. I was curled up in bed, diligently avoiding the remaining dishes downstairs, and browsing for Christmas stories on my Kindle. Scott was at the community center and I was feeling a wee bit lonesome, hopeless and nostalgic.

Two weeks earlier, on a brittle, sunshiny day, Scott and I had driven south to Bloomington to meet another birth mother. This was our third "connection" since starting the adoption process, and "anticlimactic" could not have more fully described our emotions on that drive. Hope was dead. After a very brutal let-down, and a slow fade-out by two other moms, I was very far from believing that we would ever get a child. Christmas was approaching, and memories of our lost little baby would make me cry on an almost daily basis. Each date around this time of year was full of very painful memories of last Christmas.

I am ashamed to say, I was wallowing in a very pale-blue despair, which gently permeated multiple areas of my life.

So, we were not excited to meet this mom. We were not anxious. We were not nervous.

Over a lunch of creamy potato soup, we chit-chatted with two social workers and the birth mom. Within the first 30 minutes we learned that she had considered an abortion (I almost cried), couldn't do it, and was willing to place her boy with us. She was due the end of December.

I cried three times at that lunch, because God knew. God knew Scott and I were biased towards having a baby boy (we agree on more boy names). God knew that I wanted a baby at Christmas time (Scott said it was like a Hebrew redemptive story-line, God restoring what was lost). God knew that we couldn't handle a long wait, so He gave us a birth mom due five weeks from when we met her. God knew! And He orchestrated.

We may have been calm driving to that meeting. We were definitely not calm driving from that meeting.

And then the waiting set in. I tried not to go crazy. I tried not to buy ridiculous amounts of clothing (and I succeeded... kind of... I lost my heart to some little elephant jumpsuits and corduroy pants with a cardigan--preppy baby!). I didn't plan. I didn't bank on it. Although we had met birth mom, she had not signed anything legally binding. She could still change her mind. Even when the social worker called and said birth mom was deferring to our wishes in several areas because it was "their baby, not mine," I still tried not to hope.

So, that is why, two weeks later, curled up in bed, sipping hot cocoa, I was trying to assuage my anxiety and despair with fluffy, Victorian Christmas stories. (This genre is my weakness...). A little after 10:30 my hubby arrived home, bearing a letter. A dear sweet friend, struggling with similar feelings of motherless, aching arms, had written me a letter. As I read it, all my frustration, fear, and worry, spilled over in tears of relief. I cry every time I think of that letter... We have prayed, every step of the way, that God would use this story to proclaim His sufficiency. Her letter breathed encouragement that this was really happening: that God was really being glorified. That the waiting and longing were being used to proclaim His glory.

Tears dripping off the end of my nose, I turned to Scott and said, "It's happening, honey. Someone saw. Someone knows that God is enough for us."Stifling my last little sob, I cuddled down next to my hubby and said, (what I had said every night since we had met the birth mom), "Maybe tonight a baby will come..." (because in my mind, women only go into labor at night.)

We were jolted awake at 11:25. Phone ringing.

"Courtney?"
"Yes?"
"This is Carol, from the agency. You guys need to get in your car. The baby is coming. Do you have a bag packed?"

Did I have a bag packed!?! No, I didn't have a bag packed! That would have created hope. It would have meant that it was definitely happening, and the baby wasn't supposed to come for another two weeks!

Fifteen minutes later, we're in the car, rubbing sleep out of our shocked eyes, with a bag full of slippers, a camera, baby clothes and a bra. Somehow, I labored under the delusion that I had packed everything I could possibly need. And, who cares? There was a baby being born.

We got to the end of our driveway, and we get another call,

"Courtney? It's Carol. The baby is here. The birth mom pushed for less than 15 minutes."

Another. Answered. Prayer. Birth mom's last baby came after 36 hours of labor, and she was terrified that would happen again. We had been praying with her for a speedy delivery. I wasn't banking on it being that speedy.

We learned that little baby was very tiny, and had been born with meconium in his lungs. He was in NICU. But stable. My heart took a motherly leap, and immediately started worrying. (Because God hadn't proven Himself faithful up to this point... right.)

We held baby for the first time at 2:34 on Tuesday morning. Grant Alexander was 4 pounds, 10 ounces at birth. Incredibly tiny for such an incredible blessing.

The next twenty-four hours were emotionally grueling. According to Indiana state law, a birth mother can not place her child until 24-48 hours after birth. There's always a chance she could change her mind. Fortunately, we were blessed with an amazing birth mother. She and I chit-chatted, sipped Starbucks, and talked about our lack of athletic ability.

I told her about Baby's name... Grant. I explained that his name meant "gift," and that each time I call him, all throughout his life, I will remember that he was a precious gift from the woman who carried him, and the God who protected him.

At 11:00 on 12/12/12, the final papers were signed.*

Grant Alexander.

Gift.

Man's defender.

And proof that God will write a better story than you can possibly imagine.

Grant, less than 24 hours old... and already given us dramatic faces. He was born for this family!

* Our adoption will not be finalized in court for approximately four months. Also, Grant's biological father has refused to claim the baby and sign the necessary papers. He has 30 days to complete multiple steps in order to claim the child. Technically, this is a "legal risk" adoption. However, we have been counseled by our lawyer to continue to pursue the adoption. In over a 1,000 adoptions, the lawyer has seen less than 20 contested. Pray ours is not one of that small number, please!

'Tis The Season... for imagination, truth, and a Savior

This Christmas, as we usher in yet another year of glitz, glam, and gingerbread, I was searching for a task which would direct my heart towards Christ.

Although this holiday was not originally a Christian holiday, it has since become associated with the birth of Christ, and serves as an excellent opportunity to marvel at the all-powerful God becoming a "wee-small baby."

Amidst all the glitter and wrapping paper, I often find my mind too distracted, too wrapped up in happiness and tradition, to meditate on the beginning of the Gospel message. So, this year, as we journey through the chaos of December, I am going to try something new.

Over the next few weeks, you'll find several posts (hopefully), with a tag "Imagining Christmas." These posts are based on the scripture found in the beginning chapters of Matthew and Luke. But they will be expanded (i.e. fictionalized) from the original texts. I want to feel the sand in the wisemen's tunics as they crossed the desert. I want to hear the angels' chorus with goosebumps of awe along with the shepherds. I want to tremble in fear at the unknowns before the Savior's young virgin mother.

And my hope is, this Christmas, that the terror, awe, dirt, praise, peace, darkness, pain, and glory of God becoming incarnate will be a startling reality. For the Gospel entered the world in a startlingly simple way, and love began to work in a very humble crowd.

My prayer is that we would be gripped anew with this truth.

 

Merry Christmas.

When Everything Falls Through... And Stays The Same

Well... I suppose that it's time for another adoption update.

Clearly, we have no baby.

The mother we were talking to has continued to take her time. She had two months in which to finalize the adoption. But after multiple meetings with us, a weekend visit, and countless texts/phone calls,  she has chosen to continue to put off the adoption and refuse to set a date to sign any papers. At this point in time, our agency has communicated with her that we will now be shown to other moms. If we are still available when (and if) she ever becomes ready, then wonderful.

Until then, we will be shown to other moms interested in placing their children/babies for adoption.

We're back on the market, folks!

And we are both very calm and at peace. God has granted a wonderful amount of grace, and we are resting in His sovereignty. I'm thankful that as we walk through this, God is helping us grow in ways that I never before would have realized. Times of uncertainty are not a waste. God can redeem everything...

And I hope there's a baby (or two, or three) out there for us!

But lock up your babies... I'm going cuddle-crazy over here!

Weeping Responsibility

This morning I wept as I looked at the election results.

I did not weep for national debt. I did not weep for governmental health care. I did not weep for the degradation of our military strength.

I wept for the babies.

Since abortion was legalized in the United States, 55.6 million babies have been killed.

That means today, as I am writing this, 1, 086 babies have already died. Today. Just today.

I was hoping, all last night, as I peered anxiously at my Google election tracker (the downside of no television), that there would be a Republican house, a Republican Senate, and a Republican president. Then maybe, just maybe, there would be a chance for the babies... Just maybe...

But when I heard, yet again, that a party which believes women should choose who is allowed to live and who is allowed to die, my heart curled up into a hard, tight ball, and I cried.

I am living amidst genocide. And I am standing still, doing nothing. I am waiting for a political party, a president, or a judge to change the current status. After all, my hope was resting in a man who was only pseudo-pro-life (yes, Mitt Romney).

I feel like a German in 1940.

“When all this is over, people will try to blame the Germans alone, and the Germans will try to blame the Nazis alone, and the Nazis will try to blame Hitler alone. They will make him bear the sins of the world. But it's not true. You suspected what was happening, and so did I. It was already too late over a year ago. I caused a reporter to lose his job because you told me to. He was deported. The day I did that I made my little contribution to civilization, the only one that matters.” 

(The Dream of Scipio, Iain Pear) 

 I am watching mass murder. And I am hoping that my vote (in a state that was going to be Republican anyway) would be enough. How foolish.

I was convicted while reading this story about my lack of love and support to these women facing this decision. I have been appalled at the numbers (there have now been 1,130 abortions on today's date), but I have been motionless. I have watched the death and suffering, and I have said nothing. I have held no hands. I haven't wept with grieving women, or pleaded for a child's life. In my self-righteous laziness, I have never moved beyond "appalled" into action.

May God forgive me.


1,197 babies and mommies... and counting...

Our Story: Coffee?

Precisely one week after being gifted with the lovely pumpkin, "Bub," I was once again at church. The counseling class I was taking was riveting (and the intern in children's ministry was very attractive). How could I miss?

After soaking up wisdom (which I promptly forgot as soon as I saw Scott), I bumped into this handsome intern in the hallway. We exchanged a few awkward pleasantries. Very awkward. Poor Scott. He was fumbling all over himself, and I hardly perform well under pressure.

"So... another counseling class?"
"Yes... How were the kids?"
"Great. Did you enjoy the class."
"Yes."
"Good."

**awkward pause**

"Okay. Well..."
"Yeah... umm... have a nice night!"
"Will do. You too!"
And we parted in breathless exhaustion at that very strenuous exchange.

A very few minutes later...

Scott, wheeling a cart past me, "Hey! Wanttograbcoffeesometime?" He blurted it out. Fast. And still pushing the cart.

"Yes!"

And that was it.

Apparently we were getting coffee sometime. I had no idea when or where, but I knew with who, and I got a little thrill of excitement at the idea of coffee with Scott.

What we were going to talk about, I had no idea. But coffee (plus a cute intern), definitely sounded like a good idea.

Our Story: Bub, A Toga, and Vomit

We have a love story.

I am right in the middle of my (tumultuous, laughter-filled, crazy, unplanned) "happily ever after." And I'm loving every moment of walking with the wonderful man which God gave me.

I always loved hearing every detail of my parents' story, and God's plan through marriage is one of the most delightful workings of His grace, so, I'm going to use this fall-into-winter, to commemorate our crazy rush down the aisle.

Because we were crazy. Stark-raving mad. And totally, completely meant for each other.

It began as October began to wrap its crisp fingers around the world. I had begun my career in September (finally!) after six long years of school. I was in love with life. And I was blissfully content. Alone. With my wonderful roomie, a fabulous job (money, finally!), and family.

Other people were not quite as content as I was. It does seem like as soon as you become fully content with being alone, everyone else decides it's an absolute necessity to find you someone. I would smile, nod, and ignore all suggestions. God had finally planted me in perfect peace. It was heavenly. I did not want a man.

Which is, of course, when he entered.

Scott Allison. His picture in the church bulletin insert made him look about 32 years old. His educational background (Pensacola Christian College) made me think of ankle-length skirts and panty-hose. I shook his hand in a long line of people welcoming him to the church. It was cold. And he looked like he was trying really hard to be cheerful.

Through the remnants of September, into October, we would bump into each other occasionally. He always looked chronically tired and determinedly happy. And he was busy. All the time. Constantly. He worked like crazy cakes. So, even though he wore old man jeans, too much flannel, and had a hyper-conservative college experience, I started watching Scott Allison.

The vomit sealed the deal.

A very distraught, whining child worked herself up into a frenzy. And then she hurled all over a preschool classroom one Wednesday night. I was picking up my little sis, Julie-Bop, and I saw Scott, down on his hands and knees, cleaning up vomit for the queasy teachers.

That was it. Any guy who would clean up that mess--voluntarily--was worth some attention. Plus, I had a sneaking suspicion that he didn't really need help when he asked me to serve in the Community Center on October 16th. But, since he was willing to clean up vomit, I was willing hand out gym towels and find out more about Scott Allison.

So, I curled my hair, bought a new sweatshirt (so I could look effortlessly pulled-together), and showed up for a four hour shift. It was entertaining. The people I talked to on that day... I went toe-to-toe with a volunteer's adamant stance on questionable movie choices, counseled a crying mother, and cleaned bathrooms, and passed out lots of towels. Scott kept taking me places and "training" me: how to raise and lower basketball hoops, doing laundry, stocking the janitor's closet... And he kept talking. He shared his testimony, family history, upbringing, and how he's not a Bible-thumping-King-James-only preacher.

It was fun. I liked him. He was funny. And quirky.

Which is why, on October 27th, 2012, at the Annual Harvest Party, after my Wednesday night FCI class, I walked up and down the hall, ostensibly to find different people and chit-chat, I actually just wanted to see Scott.

And there he was! Wearing a bed-sheet toga. Because he was Pontius Pilate. Obviously. My mouth wiggled as I controlled my laughter. Our brief conversation was stilted and unsatisfactory. It's very hard to small-chat with a man draped in cream, 300 thread count bedding.

I left. A little bummed. After all, that Saturday may have just been a fluke.

"Courtney!"

I turned. A toga-clad man was jogging towards me.

"Here. There are some extra pumpkins. You want one?"

I grinned. Yes. Of course I wanted a pumpkin. "Sure. What's this one's name?" Everyone knows that each pumpkin has a name.

"Ummm... Bub?"

"Bub. Okay. Thanks."

We exchanged awkward grins... And our love story began.



Happy October 27th!

"I will never leave thee..."

 Waiting is hard. And scary. But God's "steadfast love is great to the heavens, [his] faithfulness to the clouds."

"Thou art all I need.
Let me continually grasp the promise,
'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.'''
"I cry out to God Most High,
to God who fulfills his purpose for me.
God will send out his steadfast love and his faithfulness."











(Valley of Vision, Psalm 57)

Some news... be excited!

My heart is overflowing with gratitude.

Countless people have prayed for us and our future children in the past few weeks (and months!), and we're amazed at the love that the people in our lives have shown us.

Thank you.

And so... some news on our little elephants-- yes, I said elephantS! Plural! We hope...

We have been selected to adopt a three year old little girl, and her soon-to-be-born (in January) sibling.

We are still waiting for final papers to be signed. The situation is longer, stickier, and more emotionally draining than either of us anticipated. Things may still fall apart... But God is holding us together.

Thank you for your prayers, and... keep praying!!!!

Please...pray

My husband will tell you that I'm not the most "open" person. While I am shockingly transparent with certain information, I tend to cloister myself away and not divulge deep, inner workings of my heart. This blog post goes completely against my nature.

But I have become increasingly convicted regarding the power of prayer and the way in which it is lacking in the church community today... the way it is lacking in my life today.

One of the barriers to fervent prayer is pride.

I don't like for others to see my weakness.

Or forgetfulness.

"I'll be praying for you!" And then we never do...

Or, it could be we are merely dismissive.

After all, what is my prayer going to do anyway? God will do what he likes.

But we have been pleading with God regarding our adoption. We have been begging for help. We have been down on our knees. We have experienced pleading with fasting, tears, and periods of worship.

Would you join us?

If a birth mom does not sign away her rights by October 15th, Scott and I will lose a huge portion of financial help in the form of a tax credit. (And, on top of that, I'm not sure how many more times I can be told that I'm getting a baby... and then walk off without a baby.)

God is sovereign.

God has a plan.

And God is willing to let my prayers (and yours!) influence His plans...

Will you please pray? Please? God's grace is sufficient... and He is capable of BIG things. If we ask.

The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.

James 5:16

 
Ask and you will receive, and your joy will be complete.

John 16:24 

Let's Change Perspective, Shall We?

Welcome to the land of adoption.

It's very confusing here. Things change constantly. Your hope gets lifted up so many times, and then dropped so many times, that you start taking emotional Dramamine and praying for an end to the sea-sickness.

That is where we are living.

I cannot (and at this point will not) go into more details. Since I am I woman, I want to share every detail, but since I am also a rational being, I recognize that in thirty minutes, I could have an entirely new set of details. Everything is fuzzy. Everything is transient. Nothing is stable. Nothing is reliable.

That's domestic adoption.

Right now, we have no child. We have no baby. There is no adoption court date. We have talked to several moms, we have had phone calls with multiple social workers. Nothing is written in ink, nothing has even been sketched out in pencil.

We are learning so many things about God, that I have a slew of blog posts until the end of 2012. I've even started writing in a daily journal... there's just too much to even keep up with on a blog. I am astounded at the greatness, goodness, patience, sufficiency, sovereignty, constancy, joy, support, grace, mercy, forgiveness, gentleness.... (you get the idea).... of our God. What a blessing to walk through this with Him. I have no idea how you could do this without Him...

But as we walk through this roller coaster, we have had a shift in goals and perspective.

We want children. We started this process because we want children. In fact, we want so many children, we are crazy. And we know that. (Does 9 sound like too many?) But in our pursuit of children, we tried to be very careful that our first priority was the sharing of the Gospel. We want children because we want to raise a generation that fears God. We wanted to interact with the social workers, the lawyers, the birth mom, and all extended family in a way that showed who we serve and who we worship.

God was gracious with these desires.

And He expanded our narrow thinking.

He took our view of the Gospel and made it bigger. He took our view of the cross and stretched it farther. He flipped our expectations and dreams around, and showed us an entirely different perspective.

In short, God made this journey bigger than us. He made it bigger than getting children. He made it bigger than creating our family. He made it bigger than displaying love through welcoming any gender, skin color, or birth condition. He made it bigger than our dreams, our desires, and our (hopefully) huge future family.

He made it about HIM.

We desperately want children. But that is not why we are in this adoption. Our views have now changed. Our goal is to give God glory. That's it. So you may hear us doing some crazy things. We may get involved in some messy lives. We may have promises broken, take scary risks, and cry often. We probably do "crazy" things and live in a way that is not entirely safe... because we are learning to love as Christ loved.

If we have no children.
Fine.
If we have a million-and-one adoption chances fall through.
Okay.
If our hearts are broken again and again.
All right.
If I never earn the title "mommy" and Scott is never called "daddy."
It will be fine.

In fact, it will be wonderful. Because God has only good planned for us, and we know that "no good thing does He withhold from those whose walk is blameless." Right now we are enraptured with the beauty of God's glory. And we are delighted, children or no children, to share that with the world. We don't know what that looks like, we don't know what tomorrow holds. But if, while we walk this journey, we fall deeper in love with our Savior, and we fulfill our roles as His children in our interactions with others... that is a beautiful thing.

And I would not dream of asking for more.

We have been blessed beyond measure.

You have said, "Seek my face," My heart says to you, "Your face, Lord, do I seek." I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!
~Psalm27~

The Power of the Holy Spirit...

But if we hope for what we do not see, 

we wait for it with patience.

 

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. 

For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, 

but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. 

 And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, 

 because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

Romans 8:25-27

Just keep praying, just keep praying...

I'm learning the power of prayer... not in changing my circumstances, but rather, in changing my attitude in the midst of these same circumstances.

We're in a holding pattern with our adoption, with our plans for next year, with work, and I had begun to feel like my very growth and development was in the same, ever-circling, never progressing pattern.

Waiting will give you that sensation.

But then God reminded me of prayer... An avenue to my great God. A place where I can bare my soul, cry for help, rejoice with laughter, and sit quietly with no words.

So.

I began to pray. For real. In earnest. Every day. Hour after hour. Consistently.

I hope I never stop.

Nothing on the outside has changed, but God has given amazing growth. God has shown His character in astonishing ways.

God has become my friend.

"The friendship of the Lord is for those who fear him." (Ps. 25)

Love in the Raindrops

Hello.

My lack of writing has not stemmed from a lack of learning, a lack of news, or a lack of desire.

No, rather my lack of writing has stemmed from a lack of news that I can share.

The adoption roller coaster has kept right on rolling. Here's the basic gist of adoption: "Yes. No. Maybe. Yes. No. No. Maybe?" It makes my heart hurt. There is no black and white in domestic adoption. There are a thousand shades of gray between a mother choosing you to mother her child.

In those shades of gray, there have been a lot of tears, prayers, and growth.

We still don't have a child, baby, or even a puppy. (Believe me, I've been lobbying for the puppy....)

But I'm becoming thankful for these days of waiting.

In these days I've learned that my God is gentle. He loves me. His plan for me is specifically designed to conform me to the likeness of His Son. Seeking Him. Seeking His glory. Isn't that why we set out on this voyage? Isn't proclaiming the glory of God through adoption our goal?

I'm not saying that peace has enveloped me in a cocoon of warm fuzzies. I don't smile with amicable joy every night as I turn off the light, "Look, honey, another day without an adoption. What a blessing." I think happily opening your arms to suffering makes you more of a sadist than a saint. But recognizing pain as an instrument in the hands of an all-knowing, all-powerful God, will give you delightful peace in the midst of chaos.

Uncertainty is not a fear that cripples. It's a scenario that strengthens. I recognize that my God is in control. My God is loving. And my God will work all things simultaneously for my good and His glory. He is making me like His Son. Think of that! Being made like Christ! I am a pathetic, self-absorbed, sinful person. And God is willing to take all this time--my entire life--to remake me. What a massive task!

And what a patient, loving God. He does not delight in suffering. He gathers my tears in a bottle. He will someday wipe each drop from my eyes. But He knows that in this fallen world, I need reasons to seek Him. I need chipping, polishing, and remolding.

I love the words of Joni Eareckson Tada:

“Sometimes God allows what he hates to accomplish what he loves.” 

Emissaries of Love

Today Scott and I are getting the opportunity to show the love of Christ in a very tangible way.

Life is full of pain. Misery. Darkness. People walk about with huge scars and gaping wounds.

And we're taught to say, "How are you?" in such a flippant and casual way. There's no way to answer but "fine," "good," "I'm hanging in there." We smile. We nod. We go on with our lives.

And I stand, looking at this world, a part of this world, and I have the answer. I know the hope. I have obtained the love. I have found the sunshine. I have unfading joy.

And I'm going to keep interacting with people as though they are "fine"?

You don't want "fine." You want abounding joy, unparalleled happiness, deepening passion, unconditional love.

And I have that.

May I share it today...

God's love has been poured into our hearts. God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. For those who love God all things work together for good, and there is not anything else in all creation, that will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Because of this we pray that the world may know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that all  may be filled with all the fullness of God.*

*(Summary of Romans "love" and Ephesians "love.")

Hopeful Friday #6

So many hoops to jump through... Hello, adoption!

Waiting, Nesting, and Glass Bottles

Well, dear reader, it's time for an adoption update.


Here's where we are in the adoption process... Everything we need to do is done. Everything that we can do is done. Our profile is written, our bio-clip is on the adoption website, and we are settling in for a nice, long wait for our baby.

The online bio. I did not write it, although it sounds like I did. I was surprised to hear I liked camping...

I tell myself that it's going to be a long time, but that doesn't keep me from jumping every time the phone rings, and for the life of me, I can't stop leaking tears when I walk by the baby section at Target. I don't wear water-proof mascara, so seeing baby clothes is very inconvenient.

We were told in our 8-hour "counseling" seminar, that it was probably not wise to outfit an entire nursery and start collecting massive amounts of baby clothes. Couples who have almost adopted, and the birth mom decides to keep her child, have described the emotions as "grieving a death." Having a fully equipped, yet empty nursery, could only be salt added to that wound. Plus, God may still decide that Scott and I are not supposed to be parents.

So, for now, I have only bought the bare essentials: three onesies, some receiving blankets (with elephants on them, of course!), a crib, a car seat, and some glass bottles. (I bought glass bottles because they were cheapest, and I figured all my hippie friends would be proud of my seeming attempt to protect my child from plastic-bottle-induced cancer.) I also bought a Dr. Brown's bottle. I want my baby to be reflux-free, and as a speech therapist, in an office full of speech therapists, I've heard every infant feeding horror story known to man, and I'm prepared for massive episodes of baby reflux. I also attempted gender-neutral, but you can see my natural affinity for blue (over pink) coming out... I'm afraid even a Baby Girl Allison will be dressed in decidedly unfrilly, unpinky creations, as her mother has an intense aversion to pink lace...

"Cedric the Unnecessary" waiting for Baby Allison.

The bare essentials. The onesies say "loved." How perfect is that!?!

So, the essentials being purchased and arranged, I am now in the process of looking for "safe" nesting activities. This involves starting and stopping multiple projects (for example, an oil painting that is worked on in bursts and fits, and is probably giving my husband bursts and fits, as his dining room table is frequently converted into an art studio).

I've purged all the cabinets in my kitchen. Please note this beautiful spice cabinet. My spice cabinet has never looked like this. I'm a "free spirit" everywhere (which is just another way of saying I leave things all over the place), and this is especially evident in the kitchen where chaos is king. I like to cook without recipes, and I throw spices around like I'm juggling. As a result, my cabinets usually reflect this haphazard philosophy. But I'm turning over a new leaf. I have a sneaking suspicion that I haven't gotten a baby yet because my spice cabinet wasn't clean. Moms always have clean cabinets. At least mine does...

I also color coded "my" book shelf. Scott and I have a total of four bookshelves in our house. Scott has two from his bachelor days which are filled with commentaries and dry books on eschatology and the role of _fill in the blank_ in the church. I have one that is staggered, and eclectic, and made by my dad, which I inherited when my brother left. There is also a seven foot, oak beauty is supposedly "ours," but Scott dogmatically arranges the books by author, alphabetically, and he steadfastly refuses to let me organize it as I want: by color. So, I decided that I would organize "my" book shelf in this new fashion. The results are not as striking as they would be on the big bookshelf (which I will conquer one of these days!), but I was delighted with the results of this nesting project.

So, I drift from oil painting to cleaning projects, to taking up new hobbies. I finally ordered photo prints for my picture frames, and I've decided to tackle the linen closet next.

I want to experience the anticipation, the urges to clean, the nesting, the baby showers, the excited questions from people, but I can't. This story is a little different. And I am okay with that. I can't talk about my pregnancy, and no one really wants to hear about the throes of paperwork drama I experienced. I flit between excited expectation, and a convincing certainty that we will never get a baby. I get impulses to clip coupons for formula, and then remind myself our child may already be 2 years old. The lack of certainty could be frustrating, but it serves rather as a reminder that all of life is uncertain. Even if I were carrying a baby, the uncertainty would still be there. Even if I were already parenting there would be uncertainty.

And I refuse to wallow in uncertainty. I have a God who delights in spreading His fame. I cannot but help to believe that our story is but a small, glorious snippet in the grand story He is writing across eternity. I wonder what our story will look like, while I also delight that our story is not the end.

So,  I tie my hair back, pull out my Clorox, and scrub another surface, blissfully content that God will work it all out.

If nothing else, my house will be clean.

Hopeful Friday #5

My inner-writer, fairy tale whimsy absolutely loves this.

God is writing a beautiful story... with unfathomable love.

Human beings have fallen in love with the echo of God's excellency in creation and lost the ability to hear the incomparable original shout of  

love.

(John Piper, "The Pleasures of God")

So, we were prepping for our Sunday School lesson.

Scott and I are Sunday school veterans (I think we have a combined number of 25+ years serving with kids), but this summer has stretched us beyond our comfort zones. It has tested the bounds of our teaching abilities. It has demanded that we scale unseen, unknown heights, and press through Sunday school struggles hitherto unknown to us.

We're teaching preschoolers.

It sounds easy enough. Especially if you love kids. (And we do.) Especially if you have a world of teaching experience. (We like to think we do.) And especially if you have a very clear, cut philosophy of children's ministry (and that's a soapbox we practically live on).

However, preschoolers challenge all of the above.

I don't know what to do with them... They need to go to the bathroom all the time. It's impossible to have a snack time without someone drowning all of their goldfish in their cup of water. And your story must be 7 minutes long (max) with pictures, actions, and silly voices.

I teach 4 and 5 year olds.

Scott teaches 3 year olds.

(I know. I lucked out.)

So, this past week, we were discussing the upcoming story: Rahab hiding the two spies.

I'm chatting about how we're going to role play the story, how our craft should be a verse on a braided red rope (just like the sign that Rahab lowered down to save her family), and how we would talk about how God protected both Rahab and the spies.

I turn to Scott, "Honey, what are you going to do with your three year olds?"

He pauses for a moment and then says, "I think I'll explain the terms 'brothel' and 'prostitute.' I think they need to know that it was a clever move for the spies to go to Rahab's, because the city would have been used to seeing strange men go into her house."*

Moral of the story: review your child's Sunday school lesson with them. You never know what they might be learning...



*NOTE: The 3 year old class did not learn about brothels, prostitutes, and strange men. They were just informed of the story's basics. My husband is a good teacher. Promise.

A Safe Gospel

We're in the middle of a backlash.

Young teenagers. Twenty-somethings. Career thirties. We are experiencing a pendulum swing of terrifying proportions and ramifications.

50 years ago, American Christianity looked different. We were a culture of church. We attended church. We pray at church. Our parties were at church. We tell others to go to church. We invite people to church. And every Sunday, we pulled on our pantyhose or dress pants, and polished our patent leathers. And we went to church. We sat in the pews and we heard the story of the gospel. Then we got up and shouted to the world, "Believe the gospel! Believe the gospel! Believe the gospel!"

We didn't go to the world. That would have been messy. God forbid our patent leathers get scuffed and we encounter someone who (gasp!) had committed adultery, was homeless, had an addiction, struggled with homosexuality. We didn't do that. Church was clean. Tidy. Presentable people only. So, while we acknowledged that the world was full of sin, and we recognized that the Gospel was the answer, we didn't take it anywhere. We stayed at church.*

We stayed clean.

In our bubbles.

Shouting at the world.

And my generation has seen this.

Looking at what can easily be perceived as "angry" Christianity--a Gospel filled with words (without actions), we are horrified at this callous approach to the world. We want to provide feet to the Gospel. We want to impact our world with the love of Christ.

And so, we've seen a rise in "social justice." Young people give up careers to dig wells in Africa. There are missions trips of orphanages. Sponsoring nights at homeless shelters. Raising awareness of diseases. Working with addictions and those struggling to survive.

But no words.

We reach out. We embrace a world. We give love. And then we sit back and hope that the love, on its own two feet, propels them to the Gospel. We dig wells, but we don't talk of living water. We counsel addicts, but don't discuss the One who satisfies all cravings. We minister to orphans, but neglect to mention the Great Abba-Father.

We, as a church, battle between the two ditches of Ephesians 4:15, "Speaking the truth in love." We speak truth. We love. But how often do they go hand in hand?

Our Gospel continues in narrow safety. If we shout truth from our pews--we will never get dirty. We will never get hurt. If we provide new wells--we are lauded for our philanthropy, without fear of judgment for our beliefs.

My generation is full of benevolent benefactors. Well-diggers. We will provide vaccinations, but we won't speak out about homosexuality. We cuddle orphans in Africa, but we don't fight for the unborn in America. We will crusade, but only for socially-approved messages. 

We speak of love, but practice its opposite when we neglect to share the great love that Christ has lavished. We are lashing out against the sterile Christianity of the previous years. Good. But is our philanthropy any less sterile? There is nothing dangerous about advocating for a truth that the world also holds to be true.

Dangerous Christianity is passionately pursuing the truth and the love. The world will not understand your truth, and your love may not look conventional.

We should get dirty. Dirty in the fields digging that well, and dirty in the battle for souls.

This is not a sterile belief. We do not hold a safe Gospel.

We have been given a dangerous, dirty, surprising commission.

What are you doing with it?

*I am aware that there are, and have been, and, God willing, will continue to be, men and women who have stood against the cultural mold of Christianity and have lived dangerously, adventurously, and bravely for the sake of the Gospel. When one writes of a cultural swing, one is always in danger of ignoring the powerful, Gospel-centered lives of those who live boldly regardless of their generation. This post is not for them. It is for the rest of us.

Hopeful Friday #4

My heart is full of prayers for the biological mommy of our future baby.

Sacrificial love is amazing, and only present because of our Savior's love.

So much grace.

Hopeful Friday #3

I hope our family is full of lots of differences, lots of skin colors, lots of shapes and sizes, and talents and gifts.

The world needs more people who aren't like me.

And maybe a little of me nurtured into them... Maybe?

Hopeful Friday #2

Soooooo glad this was not part of the process.
I kill everything.
Plants.
Fish.
Scott's attempts to get me to go camping.

Everything.

Happy Friday!

Hopeful Friday #1

This journey towards adoption can be a little long.

A little scary.

And a little overwhelming.

(And when I say "a little" I mean "a lot.")

So, in order to keep my eyes on the beauty adoption, I've instigated "Hopeful Fridays." (It's not catchy. There's no alliteration. It doesn't rhyme. But it makes perfect sense. So I kept it.)

Every Friday (when I remember) I will post something light and refreshing. A reminder of what we're waiting and working for. Nothing too heavy. Nothing intense.

Just a little hope.

For Friday.

This is where I'm living. Just inside of scared... praying for God's grace.

Of Political Rants and the Heavenly Kingdom

I am disgusted.

Totally and completely disgusted.

My generation of young evangelicals sometimes make me want to bash their heads together and stamp my foot in childlike anger.

A complete lack of involvement in, or attention to politics is a mindset embraced by many young evangelicals. Instead of rolling up their sleeves, registering to vote, and holding a sign at a rally, they shrug their holy shoulders and sigh...

"You know, this world is not our home. God will advance His Kingdom. I'm choosing to focus on more eternal things at this time..."

That. Is. Complete. CRAP.

(No, really, Courtney, tell us how you really feel.)

I understand the gospel is of paramount importance. I understand His will "will be done on earth as it is in heaven." I don't think I would argue with anyone who, at the end of the day, says, "God is sovereign. Won't heaven be nice?"

But that's not the point. The point is that we have been given the gift of marvelous freedom. Freedom in which we can share that gospel, preach that gospel, live that gospel. When that freedom is gone, what will you do? Of course, you can argue that you'll still share, still preach, and still live, but let me ask you: will the same number of people still be able to hear it?

Freedom is a conduit to the gospel. It is not the gospel, but it enables the free spreading of this gospel.

Attacks on freedom begin to attack the laws and commands of God: abortion, homosexuality, evangelizing, child-rearing.

When my country begins to make my obedience to God difficult, then I have lost a precious gift.

So, no, I don't sit around watching the news every day. I don't bemoan eco-friendly bills or liberal pundits getting into office. What I do  decry is a lack of willingness to address our culture, to be engaged, to protect liberty--not for liberty's sake, not as something that I'm owed--but rather because protecting this liberty will enable the free spread of the gospel for both me and my children.

So stop sounding so holy.

Call your senator.

Stay informed.

Please.


**phew!** 
 

*****************************

Some things you might want to know:

President Obama issued yet another executive order. Titled “Assignment of National Security and Emergency Preparedness Communications Functions,” it would appear that the implementation of emergency communications by Obama, using all forms of wired and wireless communication systems, is redirected through the executive branch and could expand such takeover abilities beyond the limits of an actual act of war. 

"The Rights of the Child" is currently trying to take decisions for special needs children out of the hands of their parents and making it a government responsibility. More info: http://www.unicef.org/crc/

Of Agencies, Group Counseling, and Elephants

After twenty-two months of pregnancy, mommy elephants give birth to a 250 pound baby.

I feel like a mommy elephant.

I don't know how long the wait will be (maybe as much as 22 months!), and I feel like I've been carrying around at least 250 pounds of paperwork. Adoption saves babies while it simultaneously kills trees.

In the interest of keeping all of our loved ones in the loop, I'll try to use this post to give you a little more information about the process. Careful! I just saw your head nod... About to doze off, are you? Well, so be it. Other women blog about their morning sickness. I'm going to blog about my paper cuts.

Here's our process (decry it, modify it, bemoan it, praise it... whatevs. God is big enough to use us inspite of us.)
 


1. We found an agency we liked.

This was actually a massive hurdle to overcome. We made it one of our family goals for 2012 that we would research and begin to pursue adoption. There are a crap load of adoption agencies. Seriously. Tons. We were supposed to have an agency chosen by the end of March (per our 2012 strategic plan).

The end of March rolled around. No agency.

The end of April rolled around. Still no agency.

We had contacted multiple agencies. We had even gone to meet with one (unnamed) Christian organization in Indy. The conversation still makes me chuckle...

We were escorted into a dim office, complete with pictures of children from multiple nationalities and large comfy chairs. The woman who turned to greet us was in her early 60's. In a perfectly modulated voice she welcomed us, and began to go through the process of the adoption with their agency.

All the fluff-Christian catchphrases rolled right out of her mouth. I'm pretty gosh-darn sure that she is probably the person who created said phrases... "We're all God's children." "Love is all that matters." "You must never discipline your adopted child. They may develop abandonment issues."

Watching Scott's skin crawl was positively delightful. I, meanwhile, pretended to eat it all up, and I even asked her to repeat some horrible child-psych book that recommends hugging your child instead of disciplining. But the part where we knew this was not our adoption "home" was when she started talking about their guidelines for adoption.

Their application required a "faith summary" to let them know about our stance on religion. Scott asked a seemingly benign question:

"So, all the people who adopt through you are some branch of Christianity?"
The woman looked surprised, "Oh, no... We are helping a Muslim family adopt from Pakistan right now."
We nodded smilingly.
"After all," she continued, "They pray to Allah for this adoption and we pray to God, so we're all really just praying to the same person, you know. Isn't that lovely?"

I almost choked. Scott's face looked like cast-iron. While I have absolutely no problem with adoption occurring to people with other beliefs, the blatant pandering and fluffy nonsense this woman was spinning made me want to hurl.

So end of April. Still no agency.

Then, one Sunday morning, as I was waiting for Scott to finish cleaning up, I stumbled across the Adoption Support Center (ASC) in Indianapolis. The very first thing that gripped me was their emphasis on caring for the birth mothers of these babies. They very firmly believe that they are a service first to these women, and that we, as adoptive families, are also to serve these brave girls who make such large sacrifices for their babies. More opportunities to share the gospel!

Our introductory seminar to ASC was four hours of information, and while there was fluff, (they played "The Circle of Life" during a baby-slide show) we agreed that their way of approaching adoption seemed healthy.

Agency found: middle of May.


2. Paperwork. Paperwork. Paperwork.

All said and done, we probably completed close to 100 pages of paperwork. Multiple background checks. Medical exams. Biographical information. 150 pictures. Financial data. Pay stubs. Extensive mapping of family trees (this was a separate 90 minute interview... I now know all my uncles' birthdays...).

And we completed it all QUICKLY. The agency has more birth mothers looking than they had families available. They expedited everything we did.


3. Group Counseling.

They called it a homestudy class. It wasn't. It was group counseling with the subtle theme being, "Please don't be a selfish idiot with this poor birth mother."

8 full hours.

Judging by the blonde, perfectly manicured woman to my left's questions about how the baby would look... I don't think it sunk in with everyone...




And now we're done.

Just waiting.

For our baby elephant...

Holding Loosely, Clinging Tightly

Plan. Don't plan. Think of the future. Don't do that. Wish for something. Stop wishing. Live in the moment. What about tomorrow?

Hello, conundrum:
\kə-ˈnən-drəm\

a) a question or problem having only a conjectural answer  

b) an intricate and difficult problem 

 

This is where I live. And it's where I've always lived, but this adoption process has just made that all the more evident.

  

As a human, (and a person with slight OCD tendencies!) I like to have a plan. I like to map out my future. And I often deviate from my map, but at least I made it and I'm typically somewhat in control of the deviations. When I was about 6 (i.e. could independently hold a pencil) I started goal setting every January 1st with my dad. Some people laugh at the proverbial "New Years' Resolutions," but for me they're an excellent re-orientation towards what I should be striving to be: more like Christ.

 

So, the adoption...

 

The thing is, there's no plan.

 

Oh, we filled out all the paperwork. We've paid our first chunk of change (goodbye, $$$$$), and we've completed the homestudy, the classes, and the interviews.

 

But now there is no plan.

 

 With everything that is in my heart, I want to hold a baby. I want to cuddle it, and soothe it. For years I've babysat screaming babies who quieted at the sound of their mom's voices. I'm ready to be the mom. 

Adoption isn't like a nine-month gestation period. While it may not have the swollen ankles (yay!), it does not have the degree of certainty. While I understand that literally anything  can happen at any birth, we're facing an additional hurdle. 

We may be chosen by a birth mom. I may go with her to all her appointments. I may stand in labor and delivery holding her hand. I may get to hold the screaming, brand-new baby. I may cuddle it, feed it, love it...

And then we may leave the hospital without a baby.

Until the birth mom signs the papers, that is still her baby. As it should be.

So I can't plan. I can't nest. I can't buy baby clothes. I can't have a shower. Because we may go through an entire 12 months and never get a baby. And then we have to decide if we'll pay another chunk of change, go through another home study, and complete more paperwork in order to try for another 12 months.

Because I may not have a baby.

To me it is  important that I not accumulate baby things, plan my baby schedule, and dream of baby-baby-baby.

Because then I will make an idol out of motherhood.

I want it dearly. I want it desperately.

But it may not be my plan. And if that is the case, I want to drift into that knowledge with a heart free of bitterness towards my God. I want my satisfaction to rest wholly with Him, and I know that "at an acceptable time, [He], in the abundance of [His] steadfast love [will] answer me in [His] saving faithfulness."(Ps. 69:13)

So I'm standing (perhaps) on the brink of motherhood. Trying not to get excited, but still trying to delight in this process. Trying to hold it loosely, while simultaneously passionately pursue it. Trying to rejoice in this opportunity, and rejoice if it is taken away.

For the only way I will be truly joyful, is if I believe that God alone can satisfy, and I must cling to Him. As Psalm 63 says over and over, "My soul thirsts for you....because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you... My soul will be satisfied... for you have been my help. In the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy. My soul clings to you." God's hand will not let me fall. His plans are better than mine.

My baby (if they're out there!), and all babies, rest in the same hands that I do... For my God is a big and loving God.

Same lesson as always... I just had to fill out tons of paperwork to arrive there this time...

Ginger-Ale and Communication

I get sick a lot.

A combination of a weak stomach (hello, ulcerative colitis!) and absolutely no bravado, means that about once a week, all I want to do is curl up on the couch and say "Goodbye, world!"

When we first got married, Scott knew about these episodes. He had been present when one landed me in the hospital, so he was no stranger to my suffering. As such, I thought he was privvy to the private code of the patient.

"I'm not feeling well" = the hubby should come home early, first stopping to pick up chicken noodle soup, a chick-flick with Katherine Heigl, and a big, huge bottle of Ginger-Ale.

But he didn't pick up on the code.

After the first few dozen disapointments, I realized that I was expecting my husband to read my mind. So, being the loving wife that I am, I decided to spell it out a little more clearly...

"Honey, I'm not feeling well... Ginger-Ale would be nice."

He still didn't get it. Granted, it was one text in the sea of 100-or-so that I send him that day, but he didn't grab my desperate need for Ginger-Ale even when I spelled it out.

Well, I'm an understanding, long-suffering lil' wifey. My desire is to help my husband. So I mobilized an ad-campaign via text messaging during the next sick day:

"My tummy hurts. Ginger-Ale is yummy."
"When we were sick, my mom would let us have Ginger-Ale as a treat."
"I love Ginger-Ale."
"Have you ever noticed how soothing Ginger-Ale is when you have a sick tummy?"
"Don't you just think Ginger-Ale is amazing?"
"My goodness, Ginger-Ale would sure taste refreshing."
"My poor tummy needs Ginger-Ale."

Yes. I probably over-did it. But, after all, it was loving of me, because I wanted my husband to succeed!

That night, he walks through the door. Empty handed.

"Honey, where's the Ginger-Ale?"
He looks nonplussed: "Ginger-Ale?"
"Yes, please... my tummy has been hurting."
"Oh Courtney, I'm sorry. I didn't know you wanted me to pick up Ginger-Ale."

At which point, I'm ashamed to say, I lost it:

"How could you not know that I wanted to you get Ginger-Ale!?!"
"Sweetie, you never texted me asking me!"
"What!?! I think I probably referenced Ginger-Ale FIFTY TIMES today!" (A lack of Ginger-Ale makes me a smidge dramatic.)

He pulls out his phone, "Oh, these texts? Yes, I understood you like Ginger-Ale, but you never asked me to get you any."

I bury my head in my pillow, "How on earth could you miss the fact that I wanted Ginger-Ale?"

"Well, you never asked for it... Next time, just send me a text telling me exactly what you want, and I'll put it in my iPod and make sure that it gets added to my to-do list."

Tears welled up in my eyes, "I don't want to be another item on your to-do list! I want you to just know what I need and to just remember and do it!"

"Courtney, honey, I'm not going to remember it unless I write it down on my to-do list."

"But you should! You should just know! You should just do! It shouldn't be so much work! Is it so hard  to anticipate my needs and love me?!"

At which point in time, the poor man could have legitimately said that, "Yes" it was hard! My goodness... pain makes me emotional!

You see, it's a common misconception among women, I along with the rest, that loving service should just spring up like a burbling brook, elicited by my most obtuse references. I have been blessed with the world's most loving, intuitive husband. Because of this, I took it for granted that he would understand every single, most hidden agenda in every single moment of our communication.

It's not fair to expect communication to flow they way it does in movies or chick-lit. Women interpret true love as spontaneous acts of love and service without much direction being needed. Men should just know what we want.

My wonderful hubby was very anxious to serve me, but the thought of being another item on his to-do list, made me feel un-loved (largely because I didn't like acknowledging that sick-me was so much work, and that our intuitive love didn't span all modalities of communication). My interpretation of anticipatory love was very inappropriately constructed. Love is sacrificial. The fact that my husband writes notes to himself in order to remember to be sacrificial, in no way decreases the wonder of his service. If anything, it heightens it--showing me that it is that important to him.

 True love is not a Katherine Heigl movie where the hero interprets her needs correctly during that first, candle-lit dinner. True love is writing notes to remember that a sick wife wants ginger-ale...and a chick-flick... and pj's... and a cuddle while watching said chick-flick in said pjs. It may seem less romantic, but the love that it springs from is consciouly serving the other person and striving to be a loving leader. Buying into romantic, intuitive nonsense is crazy. Clear communication and a willingness to serve (from both husband and wife!) is worth a thousand candlelight dinners.

************************************************
Addendum: Several months after the initial Ginger-Ale conversation, I became deathly ill while working--yucky flu! My wonderful hubby (without my asking!) showed up to drive me home from work. As I climbed into the car, he placed a cold towel over my eyes, presented a giant teddy-bear for me to snuggle, and said, "Honey, there's ginger-ale cooling in the fridge at home."


Now, that's true love.

FAQ : About the Allison Adoption

Let's just be honest. The way our family is being constructed is... non-traditional.

And the questions we have gotten have ranged from mundane to down-right hilarious. For example, if I was pregnant, no one would ask me, "So, do you care what your baby looks like?" If my little biological squidgee popped out uglier than a box of rocks, no one would say a peep... They would just call him "preciously tiny," and avoid adjectives like "cute" and "adorable."

However, I recognize that adoption is not the norm, and as such, there are a multitude of questions. Since I can't answer questions about how I'm handling morning sickness, or what the pressure on my bladder is like, I'll take a stab at a few of the more common adoption questions...

How does the process work?
Paperwork. Paperwork. Paperwork. And then.... more paperwork. I'm not joking. This process is insane. Then you go through a "psycho-social genogram interview" (no, I'm not making this up), an 8 hour home-study class, and then personal visits (maybe one, maybe two) to complete your homestudy at your own house. There are physicals, background checks, TB tests... It is crazy.

Then, after collecting the mountains of data, the agency (we're using ASC in Indianapolis--more about them later) creates a bio... six pages of your information beautifully laid out with pictures.

Then you wait.

Birth mothers come to the agency and look for specific things couples have. In return, some couples are restricted as to which birth mothers they want to be shown to. All you do is sit there and wait. For someone to pick you...

How long will it take?
We have been told 3-6 months if we're adopting a little black baby, 6-12 for all other races. However, we have been repeatedly warned not to listen to the averages. Sometimes it takes much longer. Other times it takes much less time. We're planning on going active in July (meaning we will be regularly shown to birth mothers). This means we could be parents in... JULY! (or it could be July 2013!)

How much does it cost?
LOTS.

Let me say this again: A WHOLE HONKIN' BIG PILE OF MONEY.

But I can't think of a better thing to do with it! Please pray for us as we manage our financial resources during this time. We do not have this cash stashed in an account somewhere. We are stepping out in faith that now is the time, and God will help us. He has so far!

What are you asking for in your baby? (gender, nationality, etc.)
We want a baby.

That's it.

That's all.

We are willing to take any race, any ethnicity, either gender. We have agreed to the widest parameters established by the agency (disability, maternal drug use, etc). Bring on the adventure!

I would not be able to catalogue order my baby if it were growing inside me. We don't think our adoption should operate any differently. We absolutely love the fact that our family will be composed of multiple different skin colors and DNA--what a picture of the global church!

Can you not have biological children?
(Yes, people ask this.)

We don't know, and right now, that doesn't really matter. Scott and I both decided (separately, and then delighted in this common ground when we fell in love) that adoption was going to be an integral part of our future family (God willing). We know that it is possible that we may have children. But we also know the chances are not amazingly good.

I personally have always wanted my first child to be adopted... I want that child to know that they weren't a second choice, they were my first choice. I want them to know that I dreamed about their unique appearance and personality the same way I dream about what a two-year old "little Scott" would look like. We are not sad or disappointed about our family options. We are delighted with them! I can hardly wait to see what our future little ones are like!

As this process progresses, there will be more humor, more struggles, and more questions (some of them my own!), but my prayer is that through it all, the model of Christ's love will be clearly seen... We want our family to display the gospel.


May God receive all the glory.