Day 10

My youngest son is two years old. One of his toys is a square, wooden box with cut-out shapes in every side. The object of the game is to fit the correct cut-out in it's corresponding hole. This is an endless source of frustration for him, as he cannot seem to wrap his mind around the concept. He'll have the square in hand and with all passion, he will relentlessly try to shove it into the circle hole. Soon his shoulders will sag, tears will spring from his blue eyes and he will quit, defeated. As his mother, I can see the question and answer very plainly. I try to gently direct his hand, but he will refuse to be helped.

Yesterday is a day I'd rather not re-live. From the moment my eyes fluttered awake until I crawled wearily back into bed everything was off. I felt as Maddox, peg in hand, trying fit every problem in my life in it's correct place. And as my son, my small mind can't quite wrap around the answers I seek in my life. I barely can understand what shape I am holding let alone in which slot it will fill. My shoulders sagged. Tears sprung from my blue eyes, and in my heart I quit, defeated.

This morning I think about this day that is spreading out before me. I think about the dilemmas in my life, the obstacles I have felt were impossible to overcome. I look out the window. I think of God, my father, who pulled each one of the trees up from the soil, who carries the wind through them with His breath, who pinched the mountain peaks that I see standing in the distance like clay in his hand, who made the world, who calls me- a small speck of humanity, by name, who knows every shape in my heart, who knows it's place.

Today I am not going to push my Father's help away. I am going to trust Him and wait for him to direct my hand. Its exhausting to fight for control that isn't really available to me.

There was no referral brightening my in-box. And I have no answers for many other things in my life, but this morning- I really don't give a rip. I'm going to be fine. Jubilee's going to be fine. My life is going to be fine. I am daughter of the shape keeper.

Day 9

Nothing.

This sucks.

Day 8

Psalm 31:14-15a
But as for me, I trust in You, O LORD, I say, "You are my God." My times are in Your hand...

No referral.

Last night my mom spoke at an evening service at church. It's always a little shocking to see her up there, microphone in hand, speaking to the masses. Several years ago I wouldn't have believed it. God has transformed her. I was sitting in my seat trying to capture the moment, trying to tether it, pull it down into a locked box in my heart. This is my mother, my heritage, bringing people to tears with her words. This is God working in her, speaking through her. She is my mama. I couldn't help but think of my little Jubilee. What pictures will I leave her? What will she tether and keep from my life lived out? I hope she sees me as a daughter loved deeply by God. A daughter that knows her father and trusts His every move.

I'm going to trust God today with my baby. He will protect her, love her, care for her. He will make a way for her and hold her securely. 'cause He's like that.

Day 7

Today marks one week since I received word from Rwanda that I would be referred a child within two weeks. Last week was painfully long.

No word today. I have to continually give this to God because every morning I am fighting feelings of frustration and even dread. I almost don't WANT to check my email for fear of it being empty again. We've had a lot of setbacks and I have this nagging fear that two weeks will come and go without a word.

Here's the good news: God gave me the adoption gene. He started this work. He'll finish it. End of story.

Mary

2 Corinthians 5:17
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new.

Last night I watched my foster sister take her last breath of air and leave this world.

Three days ago Mary was taken to the ER after having 16 seizures. The doctors discovered that a fierce infection had entered her bloodstream, making recovery unlikely. Yesterday I received the call that any loved ones should make their way to the hospital immediately: Mary was expected to live through only a few more hours.

On the hour long drive into the hospital I thanked God for the chance to say goodbye to Mary. To tell her that I love her and I’m sorry for the things I did wrong. To hold her hand and walk with her to the end of this life. Losing a loved one is always tragic and hard, yet for Mary, leaving this life and entering the next holds something extra-precious. You see, Mary was a beautiful girl trapped in a broken body and a broken mind. She lived out her 29 years mentally and physically handicapped. She never got to experience many things we take for granted: walking, running, dancing, talking, being heard, being understood, understanding, independence.

Mary died slowly. For hours she would take a breath only every minute, and then every two minutes. Still, it seemed so peaceful. The longer time passed the less she struggled. There was a peace in the room in the final hours. When she opened her eyes there was no fear. I remember looking into them and thinking that she had never looked at me with such intention, like she was more present than ever, like she was accepting our comfort, being washed in love.

My favorite memory of Mary is her sitting in her wheelchair in the summer shade at moms house. How many times I watched her, long black hair glossed with sun, quiet face lifted toward the sky. If I ever had wondered if Mary spoke with God, I knew in those moments that she did. She knew His love. Of that I am certain.

Today when I woke I felt sadness and loneliness wash over me. I wondered about Mary. I tried to see her in my mind. I wish there was a window with which to peek through and watch. In the midst of this heartache and guilt and sadness, through the sorrow and longing there is joy. Yesterday Mary was an orphan. She was a stranger to most of humanity. She was misunderstood. She was invisible to most, even myself at times. She was trapped and helpless and bound. Today Mary has legs to stand on. She has met the one person who has always loved her perfectly and as she was. She has been embraced by the God who fashioned and formed her. She can speak, she can sing, she can dance, she can bend and unbend, she can think clearly, she can be Mary unrestrained. She is more free and whole than I can ever imagine.

Oh, Mary. We love you. We miss you. We can't wait to meet the new you.

In 2006 - This was my very first published poem:
For Mary

you are beautiful somewhere
and you know it's close
on the tip and trapped
like a word
that won't push
from the tongue
drawn nigh and left to fill
the beacon mouth with silent
arcane thoughts
which you roll, like poppy seeds
in the loll of your mind
set them to germinate
in numinous folds the soul
of someone lovely
who is green
who is growing a garden

Day 5

People who live the most fulfilling lives are the ones who are always rejoicing at what they have. - Richard Carlson

I don't have a referral.

But I do have a little girl who has already been chosen for me by orphanage nuns, by Rwanda, and by the God of the universe. I do have a big, wonderful supportive family and friends that love me and love this unknown, unseen, unheard child. I do have two little boys that have opened their hearts to their someday baby sister. Just last week after seeing no toys in the nursery, they dragged their best toys up two flights of stairs to Jubilee's room so 'baby fishter had fun stuff to play with.' I do have a husband who was willing and able to 1)Adopt 2)Adopt Mixed-Race 3)Adopt internationally - on the other side of the planet. How many husbands would really do that? I don't think many. I do have a husband that works so incredibly hard so that I can spend my time as a stay-at-home mom, capturing every possible moment I can with my children. I do have a warm home to welcome her into, money to support her, strong arms to carry her with and hope in the ultimate adoptive father, her true father, which I will spend my life demonstrating before her. I do have everything I really need in my life. I am blessed beyond compare. I have nothing to complain about today.

Day 4

Well, I can't say I'm not disappointed. Empty in-box and now we are onto the weekend so we won't hear anything for at least two long days.

I don't do well with suspense. I was the kid that unwrapped the presents and wrapped them back up. This is really hard for me.

Darn.

O.K. God. Make a way. My hope is in you.