Children of Our Own

We are overwhelmed by the blessing of God …and simply God Himself.

This little pre-adoption trip to Amalfi has given us the much-needed time and space to process all that has been unfolding in the past few weeks and months. Minus the traumatic thirty minutes I spent today locked in the bathroom of the fitness room at our hotel, [I never learned the Italian word for "help." I wondered as I was shouting and banging on the door for help if "ciao" or "bon giorno" might have the same impact but then I figured someone walking by the fitness room hearing "Hello!" over and over again might not be compelled to see what was on the other side of the door and respond] … every piece of this trip seems to have been hand constructed for us.

I think I’m discovering that circumstantial blessing from God can be as alienating as circumstantial struggle. Each one has led me to ask “What did I do to deserve this?” and both have triggered an initial desire in me to distance myself from God. Just as uncomfortable as walking through pain when clarity is absent is stepping into circumstantial blessing when you know you haven’t earned it. However, when I step back I keep coming back to the same thing. This man — Jesus. He knows the movements of my heart better than I can discern them and He has concocted a cocktail of circumstances that continue to draw forth from me what I was made to do: worship. We can’t help but worship Him here, just 48 hours before we near the end of this chapter of waiting for our children.

God, You have been so kind.

Although we haven’t come across many Americans here, we had a run in with one group that I won’t forget. Somehow it came up that we were headed to Ethiopia after this little “baby moon” to pick up our children. This older woman in the group so boldly said “well, you know … then once you get them you will be able to have children of your own!”

I’ve really tried to stay away from the subject of “stupid things people say”, primarily because I’m one of those people who constantly says stupid things. Truly, I have much grace for the person with a heart to connect with another’s story but a filter that can’t quite keep up with their mouth. [My fourth grade music teacher called this diaharea of the mouth].

We’ve heard this phrase, “children of your own” quite a bit. In fact, I’m fairly certain I probably used it before we began this process.

This particular day, however — just a few days away from meeting these children this woman had referred to, seemingly, as not in the category of “children of my own” — it stung. What will I do when Caleb and Eden, after learning English, are in earshot of a person in line at the grocery who asks me if I have other “children of my own”? This phrase I have dismissed because of my over-zealous understanding of the filterless communicator, is now something I will be forced to graciously correct. I don’t want my children to hear me submitting to this notion that they are in any way, shape, or form *not* my own.

Although I’ve never been a mother who has borne a child through her womb and cannot fully understand what the weeks and days leading up to birth feel like–I can tell you that I have no doubt in my mind that these little ones (now just a seven hour plane ride away) are my “own”. Before time, God knew they would be ours. They were conceived through another woman’s labor but have been and will be born into our family… forever.

While the pain of not having biological children is still present, it does not in any way lessen the reality that these African born babies are our own.

And in 41 hours …we get to meet them.