I Saw the Writing on the Wall

It was not going to be a good day today.

We woke up to a downpour.

Baseball games were cancelled.  This is the equivalent of Santa Claus skipping our house at Christmas.

Better Half and I decided this would be a good day to give the house some attention.  It's been sadly neglected for Way. Too. Long.

We made the colossal mistake of enlisting the four young people who live here to help us.

We tried to soften them up ahead of time with a lovely breakfast of homemade French toast, eggs, bacon, and fruit.

That was, as my oldest daughter would say, an epic fail.  Breakfast was twenty minutes of great food--Better Half makes AMAZING French toast (which I didn't eat because it isn't Paleo), and irritable company.

Since then, I've lost count of how many times I've heard "shut up" "stupid" "jeez" "why do I have to (insert any number of things here)?".

Tension is high.

Patience is low.

Liquor stores are still closed in Kansas on Sundays.

I have a confession to make.  Although I fiercely love and adore the five other people who live in this house with me...

Today, I don't like any of them.

And I promise you.  None of them are too fond of me, either.

How soon is too soon to call this day quits, crawl into bed, and pray that tomorrow will be better?

A Lesson in Miracles

mir·a·cle

 

noun

1.

an effect or extraordinary event in the physical world that surpasses all known human or natural powers and is ascribed to a supernatural cause.

2.

such an effect or event manifesting or considered as a work of God.

3.

a wonder; marvel.

4.

a wonderful or surpassing example of some quality.

Better Half and I have these dear friends--friends who have been trying for thirteen years to have children.  

Thirteen.  Years.  

I don't think I've ever waited thirteen years for anything I've wanted in my entire life.

I've heard it said that all children are "miracles," and I suppose, in some sense, they are.  Certainly they are a gift--something to be treasured.

But I think about how my own children came to inhabit planet Earth, and even though their pregnancies and births are sentimentally special to Better Half and me, we did not do anything out of the ordinary or unusual to get them here. 

We conceived them (several with little or no planning on our part), I carried them for a little over nine months, we went to the hospital where I had four very routine deliveries.  Four babies were placed in my arms.  That natural, hormonal, mother-instinct kicked in as soon as I held each of them and smelled them for the first time, and after the doctors concluded that they were healthy enough to survive living with us, we were sent home with them.

And again, although each of my children's journey here is special to me and to Better Half, I can't call it miraculous.  I just can't.

Because recently, it's been my great privilege to witness a miracle.  

It started when after thirteen long years, a stranger chose my dear friends to be the parents of the child she was carrying.

It continued as these three people bonded emotionally--tied by the love that they all had for a person none of them had met yet, and as the three of them walked a road with no guarantees built on instantaneous trust and faith.

And it culminated when an incredibly strong and courageous woman handed this beautiful baby over to my friends and they instantly and fiercely became parents.

The maternal instinct is strong. The biological connection to offspring is instinctive. And in the natural realm, animals have to be "tricked" into adopting young that isn't biologically theirs.  

Adoption surpasses natural powers.

There are what?  Six billion people on the planet?  And yet circumstances were such that one person would voice her hopes for the child she carried to the person who knew the person who knew my friends.  And after she met them, she was convinced they were the couple she'd been looking for.  They were convinced this was the baby they'd been praying for.  Little details were not missed--right down to bureaucratic paperwork being completed early (which NEVER happens) and the attorney already involved being the one my friends liked best of all out of all the ones they've retained over the years. 

Adoption is a work of God.  

During the heartache of the last thirteen years, my friends did not allow disappointment and infertility to divide them.  They did not let it make them bitter.  They prayed and sought God's guidance.  They listened when he said, "No" and patiently waited for "Yes."  And now, they are a family of three.  Their hearts and arms and lives are full to overflowing.  Watching the three of them together makes my heart break with happiness.   

Adoption is marvelous.  

So many of you have been a part of this miraculous process in your own lives.  Many of you as adoptive parents.  Some of you as children chosen by adoption.  And some of you still as biological mothers making the ultimate sacrifice.  

I have had the privilege of hearing many of your stories firsthand.  As I recall them now, it brings a tear to my eye and a smile to my face.

Adoption is a wonderful and surpassing example of sacrifice and love.