21 Wisley Family Updates

Our family has gone through a significant number of changes over the last few months. Short version: we discerned that the Lord was calling us to lay down full-time ministry for a season in order to completely pour into the three kiddos He blessed us with (in a six month time frame), and God opened a door for us to move back to Kentucky to be close to our families. All of this happened very quickly, but we are FINALLY feeling a little bit settled and getting accustomed to our new routine. I have had a number of friends ask for family updates, and I thought this might be the best place to provide those. I have more than enough content to be able to write several blog posts about each member of our family, each transition, etc., but I would have to interrupt my time sitting around eating bonbons and watching soap operas to do that (#stayathomemommisconceptions), so instead I thought I’d provide a quick list of updates for those who are interested. I wish I could say that there was some clever reason I picked the number 21, but alas, my scrambled egg mom brain feels largely devoid of creativity lately, so I must confess that the number 21 was a fairly meaningless choice based solely upon today’s date flashing in the lower right corner of my computer screen. Such is life. Nonetheless, I will attempt to summon up the meager fumes leftover from old creative juices of the past and try to be witty clever mildly interesting in my updates.

  1. Husband is still in training for his new position with the company, but is enjoying it and is excited for his store to open. The grand opening is expected to occur sometime in November.
  2. The kids started at their new school and are LOVING it. Ji has been placed for the first time in a mainstream classroom, and she is thriving beyond what we could have imagined. Thank you, Jesus!
  3. Baby C has a tooth. Other mamas out there, you know this is big news. Other breastfeeding mamas out there, pray for me.
  4. A friend inspired me to clean up my eating through the Whole 30 diet. Despite being scornful of dieting trends in the past, I was just so ready to get rid of the baby weight and increase my energy level. The verdict: in all honesty, after 52 days without added sugar, dairy, gluten, and some other stuff, I feel better than I’ve ever felt in my entire life. Guess I’m riding the bandwagon and eating my humble pie for previously being so disdainful of the Whole 30. Actually, humble pie probably has sugar…so I guess I’ll just eat humble lettuce or something.
  5. After lots of “church shopping” (something I hope to never have to do again), we found a church home. It feels amazing to be back in community again. God never meant for us to do life alone! We are so grateful for the way the Lord is already growing us through this body of believers.
  6. The kids are immensely enjoying making memories with their grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. They get lots of one-on-one time with family members, and it’s a joy to watch their confidence grow as they begin to see and believe just how incredibly loved they are. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever witnessed.
  7. JJ has made some wonderful Christian friends in the neighborhood, and we are slowly giving him more freedom. It has been challenging for this mama’s heart to let go and trust God as he navigates these new relationships and gets to enjoy being a little boy, but such a blessing to watch him flourish as experiences all these new things. Seeing him come home sweaty and dirty with bugs and rocks and skinned knees and all the stories is something that makes my heart soar.
  8. Ji had her sixth birthday in August, and her little family party was a smashing success! Our big crazy families got together at Gattitown and celebrated all day long. JiBaby got more presents than she knew what to do with, and is OBSESSED with her new makeup. I’ve always considered myself more of a tomboy, so God blessing me with this extreme girly-girl for a daughter just reminds me what a sense of humor He has. Our lives revolve around lipstick, poufy skirts, giant hairbows, nail polish, and all things pink and “so pwetty”. Lord, give me strength.
  9. Our good friends from Ohio visited us here in Kentucky with all their kids. Six kids and eight adults in the same house is fun and crazy, and we had an absolute ball. But I think we have all agreed that a vacation without kids would be delightful well-earned necessary  something worth considering.
  10. Husband, JJ, and I returned to Ohio a few weekends ago for a wedding we all had roles in. We had an amazing time during the weekend and were privileged to jump back in and serve with our Ohio church family, with both of us leading worship Sunday morning and Husband preaching Sunday night. Prior to the weekend, I had been nervous that serving would be painful for us, as our departure from ministry has been very hard to get used to. However, we enjoyed it more than I can explain. God gave us such a peace about where he has us, and the whole weekend was a balm to our souls in more ways than I can count. God is so good!
  11. GIANT PRAISE: While we were in Ohio, our house sold! Yay! Shout out to our amazing realtor Michelle for all her help!  NE Ohio residents, I highly recommend her. She is the real deal. If all goes as planned, we will be returning to Ohio next month to close on the house and pack up all our stuff. So thankful for God’s faithfulness in answering this prayer.
  12. Baby C is officially into EVERYTHING. He crawls at warp speed, and it literally takes him 0.3 milliseconds to get into all sorts of trouble. Among the things I have pulled/scraped/dug out of his mouth in the last month: a pistachio shell, a guitar pick, 326 pieces of paper towels, plastic wrappers, a bobby pin, a wad of Ji’s hair, 4 hair ties, a bread bag clip, a long piece of string, a piece of an eggshell, a bottle cap, numerous clothing price tags, and a fresh pile of dog poop. That last one really messed with me. I screamed, freaked the freak out, and scrubbed that kid’s mouth with a vengeance. I felt like the worst mom in the entire world till I googled it, primarily to make sure he wasn’t going to die of dysentery or the bubonic plague, and realized there were about 65 million more #badmomstories #mykidatedogpoop. Then I just felt like the worst mom in Kentucky. So that’s good.
  13. Husband and I finally decided it was time to stop talking about wanting to be more healthy and do something about it, so we joined a gym. I wish I could say that I now enjoy working out, and that the shiny new machines and high energy classes were exactly what I needed to make me love to exercise, but alas…I still mostly hate working out. However, the multitude of babysitters at our disposal=the loss of all my excuses, and the cost of a gym membership=all the guilt if I don’t use it, so I’m working out. Not enthusiastically…but I’m doing it. Yippee skippy. Hubs is loving it, though. Except when he accidentally goes into the weight lifting room where all the mega body builders go to dead lift 1,000 pounds and watch their gargantuan muscles bulge in the mirrors. Then, not so much.
  14. I’m certain that I’m way behind on the times here, but y’all…video baby monitors are game changers. We never got the chance to use ours in Ohio, but we finally hooked it up here, and two months later we are still oohing and ahhing over being able to stalk our child even when we are not home.Although it is significantly less fun when Husband is at work and I’m home trying to teach the little butterball to cry it out (cue the mom shaming, to which I say, he’s almost nine months old and I’m okay with it for fifteen minutes, and yes I’ve done the research, and no he is not going to be permanently traumatized, and sometimes it’s good for babies to learn they can survive without being Stage 5 Clingers). Anyways, inevitably, the moment Baby C starts to fuss, I get four rapid fire texts saying, The baby has been crying for 1.5 minutes…Are you going to get him? …Do you have the monitor alerts on? …Now he has been crying for 2 minutes. And then I’m over the magic of the video monitor.
  15. Because of our somewhat up-in-the-air living situation (we are staying with family while house hunting), we were unable to utilize the school bus system this year. Thus, I was introduced to the wonderful world of the carpool line. Two thoughts on this. (1) I need to repent of all the times I complained about having to be home in time to get my kids off the bus. Because that only took 37 seconds of my day. And the car pickup line takes 37 minutes…which feel like 37 hours when your baby screams in his car seat for all 37 of those minutes. Bless. (2) Not judging…but sincerely asking: How do some of these parents have enough extra time in their day to sit in line for an hour before school lets out just so they can be among the first ten people in line? It blows my mind! Coming from the chronically sometimes late mom who is always occasionally among the last ten cars in line, I assure you that I am only even aware of this phenomenon because I had to pick my kid up from school an hour early for a doctor’s appointment once. There were fifteen cars in line! I felt a brief moment of disbelief, which was quickly followed by denial, bargaining, and finally acceptance that I was always gonna be the mom in the back of the line, and that’s okay. We can’t all be good at everything.
  16. Ji has a number of issues that can make extracurricular activities a challenge, but Husband and I both felt that she needed an outlet. After some research, I gave her a few options, though I’m not sure why, because OF COURSE she picked Hip Hop Class, which she calls KidzBop class. She starts tomorrow. It’s going to be epic. I’m already planning weekly gifts for her teacher in hopes of bribing her into letting Ji stay in the class even if she doesn’t cooperate. Stay posted for videos.
  17. JJ started attending karate lessons with his uncle, who is a brown belt. He walks around all day showing me the four moves he’s learned. So far they are all just stances without any real action moves, but he is proud as a peacock. I think I only have about twelve more Wow, that looks great, buddy!s in me before I lose my ever-loving mind. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Parenting is not for the faint of heart, friends.
  18. My phone decided to kick the bucket a couple of weeks ago, and Husband was all too eager to go pick out a new toy to replace it. When he brought back my new phone, I decided to finally follow through with something I had been wanting to do for awhile. I deleted Facebook from my phone. Although I kept my account open so that I can check it periodically on the computer, I do not miss having constant access to it at all. It has been so eye-opening to realize how much time I was wasting on it every day, and to recognize how often I checked FB out of mere boredom. Removing access to it on my phone has helped me be so much more present in my daily activities. I made a commitment to myself that every time I thought about checking FB, I would pray instead, and it has grown my prayer life in tremendous ways.
  19. Speaking of prayer life growing, I joined a women’s Bible study which is centered around Priscilla Shirer’s The Armor of God. Ladies, it is SO GOOD. So good. It is revolutionizing my walk with Jesus. Real talk…buy the book. You won’t regret it.
  20. Ji has become much more verbal and this has resulted in people trying to engage in more frequent conversations with her. Unfortunately, she has subsequently developed a new habit of dismissing people when she doesn’t want to talk to them. The other day, my dad was trying to talk to her about an activity she was doing. After a few one word answers, she finally looked at him and said, “Pop, go to Pop’s room!” In other words, scram. It’s seriously so funny, although we of course technically are obligated to teach her that this is a bit rude. But mostly we are so thankful to hear her vocabulary growing. She has come so far.
  21. When we were in the midst of the adoption process, one of the things our social worker kept telling us was how important it was for us to learn how to take care of our kids’ natural hair. Doing African-American hair is a totally different ballgame than what I am used to, and it has been quite the learning process. Right after we moved, JJ decided he was done with mom combing/picking out his hair every day, and asked for dreadlocks. For whatever reason I decided to take on this task myself. After lots of Youtube research and some advice from some other mamas of black kiddos, I bit the bullet and dove in. Five and a half hours and many, many tears later, he had a bunch of twisties all over his head that sorta kinda resembled dreadlocks. According to all the tutorials,this was normal, but I was still pretty nervous about how it would be perceived. While we were in Ohio, we stopped by JJ’s old barbershop. The owner and another barber, both African-American, immediately asked me who did his hair. Sweating, I owned up to it. The owner looked at me in surprise and said, “You did a good job!” Hallelujah! Best compliment of my life. I successfully created dreadlocks on my kid and got the black barbershop stamp of approval. I am officially adding to my resume under “Achievements”: 2016-Created passable dreadlocks. 

And that’s all for now, folks! This SAHM needs to get back to her bonbons and soaps…that is, if I have time after digging the junk out of my baby’s mouth and cleaning the sparkles and mascara out of my daughter’s hair.


Highs and Lows and Other Paradoxes

Take a minute and try to remember the biggest mood swing you’ve ever experienced. Perhaps one moment you were on a mountaintop rejoicing about something incredible, only to receive horrible news that plummeted your heart into utter despair. Maybe you found yourself feeling incredibly angry about a situation, only to be hit by a wave of humor that sent you into a fit of hysterical laughter that continued until tears were rolling down your face, melting all the angry away. As your emotions settled back to someplace in the middle, maybe you recognized the irony in it all. If you are anything like me, you may have secretly wondered if you were are a little crazy for swinging across such a broad pendulum of emotions in such a short time.

I’m learning that adoption is like that. All. The. Time. You find yourself perpetually swinging between emotional extremes, caught in a world of irony and paradox that makes just a little sense and a lot of crazy in your head. For every mountaintop, there is a valley (okay, let’s be real…nine valleys). For every moment of exquisite joy, there is one or more of excruciating pain. You will swing from deep feelings of rage and frustration and injustice and fear into uncontrollable laughter that is senseless and necessary and life-giving and liberating. You will wonder a thousand times over if you might truly be crazy, and conclude almost as many times over that you are. Sometimes this self-diagnosis of insanity will bother you. Sometimes you will embrace it. And amidst all the feelings, there will emerge moments of intense confusion that will send you into a tailspin. But there will also be epiphanies of life-altering clarity, and these will be so eye-opening and gratifying that everything crazy suddenly seems sane…at least for long enough to hold you until the next clear moment.

Every night at dinner, Husband and the kids and I do what we call “Highs and Lows”, in which we share the best and worst part of our day. Our son loves it so much I’m pretty sure the actual game is his own personal perpetual high. The moment dinner is on the table, he starts chirping, “Highs and lows! Highs and lows!” Ironically, I feel like this could be the title for our family life as a whole.  Every day is made up of a hundred highs and lows. Some days the highs outweigh the lows. Other days, lows win by a landslide. Sometimes there are weeks of lows, in which you long for just one high to keep you going. But these are the weeks that make the highs that much sweeter when they do finally come. You see, a fight that is easily won merits a fairly inconsequential celebration. But a fight that is won through blood, sweat, tears, and after many prior losses is worth throwing a party for. Most of our highs are party-worthy. From the outside looking in, it may be hard to understand why a child who openly admitted he did something wrong is praised and rejoiced over. But when you discover that he has FINALLY just told the truth and taken responsibility after 27 previous lies, it suddenly becomes a big deal. A five year old stating that she is sad while crying may not seem of any real significance; to most, it appears obvious. But when you become aware that that same child has never once been able to identify a single emotion she was feeling, or even that she was feeling, you cry happy tears alongside her sad ones because you feel almost ecstatic at the sheer humanity and normality of what she is experiencing. Joy amidst sorrow takes on a whole new meaning.

You will experience situations of mortifying embarrassment, when your daughter throws a screaming tantrum in a store that nearly brings the roof down and commands the attention of every living being within two miles and makes you want to crawl into a hole and die. This will happen at least 46 times in three months. You will learn to appear calm, but inside, you will be screaming along with her, wishing you could cry as loudly as she does. Somehow, even as you are ready to pull her your hair out, you will feel a strange connection to her as you realize how alike you two actually are. Unexpected empathy and compassion will wash over you, and you will grasp at these as the God-given gifts that they are, lifelines in a world of swinging emotional extremes. Your heart and your mind will war with one another as you attempt to understand the source of her feelings and actions: Confusion? Frustration? Transition? Inability to communicate? Plain ugly sinfulness? Some combination of all of the above?

And then the moment of clarity, the high you’ve been desperately waiting for, unfolds so quickly you never saw it coming. One day you will find yourself checking out in a store like so many times before. You will approach the dreaded moment when you have to take away from her whatever thing she has latched onto and decided she wants (—As a side note, this is typically not a toy but more likely a roll of pink duct tape or a cooking magazine or a picture-hanging kit or a package of fish food or something equally mundane and bizarre and yet treasured by this unique little munchkin…is it weird that it’s not even weird anymore? Don’t tell me if so—). You will go to take this treasured object away from her, knowing that you have prepped her and explained to her at least eleven times throughout the course of the shopping trip that this item will not be purchased for her, and knowing equally well that all this intentional preparation will not matter whatsoever when she feels the sting of the loss and all ever-loving heck breaks loose. But she–and God’s grace–will surprise you in that moment. As you pry it from her fingers and wait for the piercing wail, you will watch a small miracle unfold instead. She will scrunch up her face in protest, but then start to chant to herself the script you have practiced with her a thousand times over. In her sweet little voice, she will comfort herself with not getting her way in one of the most healthy, self-controlled, appropriate demonstrations of coping you have ever witnessed. “Dat’s okay, baby. No fussing. Dat’s okay. No fussing. All done. All done. Dat’s okay, baby.” Your jaw will drop in shock and awe as you wait for reality to set in, for the tantrum to begin, for the spell to be broken. Instead, she will beam up at you, face full of joy and decided acceptance. You will feel like your heart is bursting with pride as you marvel at the giant leap she has just taken forward (as you inwardly talk yourself out of buying her every weird knickknack in the store as a reward for this incredible accomplishment). Every prior tantrum, every past moment of humiliation and mortification will fade into oblivion as you soar on the wings of this high that is ever so much higher than any of the previous lows.

And the extreme paradoxes will continue. One evening, your son will choose for his bedtime story a book about Rosa Parks that you chose from the book fair, hoping to create space for the conversation about race that you’ve been trying to have with him for over a year. You will read it together and watch the confusion chase across his features, followed by fear. You will feel shame, realizing that you have never once felt the weight of years of prejudice and oppression that he is subconsciously feeling now. You will feel the guilt of knowing that you were born into privilege, and that while he has been grafted into it, there will always be an unspoken divide between the two of you–unwanted and yet created by years of brutal and agonizing history–that will not be healed this side of heaven. You will be struck by both the beauty and the tragedy of the picture of adoption: this beautiful boy’s brown hand in your white (or according to him, “peach”) one…while you ponder just how amazing it is that you get to call him yours and yet how devastating it is for him that he was never given any other option. You will share in his confusion, and ask yourself why it had to be this way. You will find yourself swinging the pendulum again as your heart feels like it could never imagine life without him and then you simultaneously wish, for his sake, that you could. It was never supposed to be like this, you think. His presence in your family is the result of a fallen world, and yet together you both get the opportunity to share in the grace and redemption reflected in the mirror of adoption. This paradox is too complicated and terrible and wonderful to even comprehend, and you are struck by both the privilege and responsibility that you have been given to live out that truth on a smaller scale in your daily life.

As it has done so many times before, this paradox will turn your attention once again to the cross…the ultimate low. God in human form, bringing himself low, making himself nothing, for undeserving sinful scum like you and me. The unprecedented, indescribable low the disciples must have felt as they watched their beloved Jesus breathe His last. How fear and despair must have won the day that day! But how sweet the high–the sweetest of highs–when sorrow was transformed to joy at his resurrection! He is alive!

If you have had a day, a week, a month, maybe even a year of lows, remember that there is a high that is constant: the God of the universe, the King of Kings, stepped down to earth and humbled himself to die on a cross…for you. Then this Servant-King rose to life again so that you could walk in victory towards a future where lows will no longer exist.

So, really…when you think about the fact that His whole life was the greatest paradox of all…there is great comfort in living a life defined by paradoxical extremes.

Some Favorite Biblical Paradoxes
Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Philippians 2:5-8

For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. Matthew 16:25

But thanks be to God, that you who were once slaves of sin have become obedient from the heart to the standard of teaching to which you were committed, and, having been set free from sin, have become slaves of righteousness. Romans 6:17-18

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong. 2 Corinthians 12:9-10

Plans Unraveling

It’s funny how preconceived plans tend to unravel when real life hits. I’ve had predetermined plans about so many things, both large and small, and so many  of them have been changed, altered, or completely abandoned when reality arrived. God has a sense of humor, and I feel more thankful than ever that I was pushed as a young child to recite my dad’s mantra of Be Flexible, Be Patient over and over again 147 times a day like a robotic parrot. Somehow, at some point in my life, it became less of a meaningless, repetitive phrase that was forced upon me and more like a tightly gripped lifeline connected to my sanity. It has literally served as my inhale and exhale in moments in which the plans that I was *sure* would unfold in my life (ever so perfectly and effortlessly, I might add) were instead surrendered, all out of necessity, either willingly or kicking and screaming-ly. Among them were these:

  • I will homeschool all my children, right away, for their entire childhood
  • I will make my children eat fruits and vegetables at every meal (HA!)
  • I will do a Fun Project every day in the summer
  • I will make my children do thirty minutes of reading every day in the summer
  • I will write super meaningful blog posts documenting every event related to adoption, including bringing them home, finalization, and every trauma and celebration in between and after
  • I will never let my children have more than thirty minutes of screen time in a day
  • I will plan weekly fun “field trips” to entertain my children in the summer
  • I will purchase a family membership to the pool to ensure SO MUCH FUN for my children
  • I will join a gym to get into better shape as a Mama
  • I will make exciting and nutritious meal plans every week
  • I will be SuperMom, SuperWife, SuperMinistryLeader

Behold: all the plans. So well-intentioned. So noble. So well-thought out. Unfortunately, this naïve mama forgot to account for the unexpected while she was making all the plans. Like the fact that the adoption process can take away some of your choices about education, at least for awhile. Like adopting one child that hates to read (the thought physically hurts this die-hard reader), and another that doesn’t really need to try to conquer reading when we are still learning to pronounce the word “frog” in a way that doesn’t sound like a profanity . Like the fact that some special needs mean that fruits and vegetables are out of the question, and most days you are just happy that the kid ate goldfish, pizza, and gummy bears and hopefully got enough calories to survive. Like the reality that field trips to the zoo are awesome…unless sensory meltdowns (inevitably) ensue because you unwittingly go on the day when it’s free admission for the whole county and so of course the whole county DOES THE ZOO in loud, pushy, overstimulating and unsympathetic droves, and then nothing is awesome and  nobody has fun, not even the monkeys or the overfed giraffes. It is finding out that a summer spent at the pool is only fun if your children aren’t either (1) terrified to the point of catatonic paralysis by the thought of being in the water, or (2) ready to throw themselves with reckless abandon into the deep end the moment you let go of their hand, despite not knowing how to swim whatsoever.

The unexpected also includes getting pregnant two months before your long-awaited adopted children come home. It is unexpected when you find out you are one of those pregnant women who is ALWAYS nauseous and PERPETUALLY sleeping tired, so that when the kids arrive smack-dab in the middle of your first trimester, it’s pure survival mode and a whole lot of yes, you can have a sixth popsicle and sure, you can play your iPad for another hour because Mommy will puke if she moves and sorry, babe, but it’s cereal for dinner again and please pretend to be happy about it because otherwise I’ll have an emotional breakdown that I promise will rival our daughter’s zoo hysteria. The unexpected is finding that having time to blog is a big amusing joke and that there are some memories you’d sooner forget than document forever for all posterity to see.

But when you are learning to be flexible and sometimes patient (confession: this trait only shows its pretty face when I’ve had lots of coffee and Jesus time), you also learn that throwing out the preconceived plans is not always the worst thing. Sure, it can be painful for a bit, but there is also some serious relief and considerable freedom that accompany letting them go. And if you can learn to stop feeling the need to justify your changed plans to others AND to yourself, you might just realize that it’s okay to let yourself off the hook a bit and rest in that wonderful hammock of grace that was so lovingly stretched out for you by the One who actually knows all the plans. You will suddenly understand that the only thing worth planning on is to trust a Sovereign God who knows a lot more about your kids, their needs, you, and your needs than yours truly.

Letting go of all the other plans in favor of surrendering to His Ultimate Plan doesn’t mean the unexpected stops occurring. On the contrary, the unexpected is (forgive the bad pun) to be expected. But through the lens of grace and flexibility, the unexpected brings some pretty fantastic surprises. Like watching a little boy’s confidence shoot through the roof when he learns to ride a bike without training wheels in three days. Like seeing a little girl go from being mostly nonverbal to a happy little chatterbox in the span of a few months. Like finding out that public school teachers can be kind and loving and compassionate and invested in your child’s emotional well-being. Like learning that a projected lifelong heart condition has been healed (glory to God!) and no longer requires medication or treatment. Like finding out the baby who has been quite literally sucking the life out of you is a little brother for your son who so desperately wanted a boy. Like a hundred thousand laughs and happy tears and moments of sheer joy that you never knew you could experience this side of heaven. All things that were never written into all my carefully crafted plans.

But I wouldn’t change a single thing.

When the Waiting Hurts

I should be cleaning my house right now. To say it looks like a tornado went through it would be putting it mildly. It is my first day without kids in three weeks, and I go back to work tomorrow. I really should be cleaning. But I’m not. I’m in bed. Sick. Perhaps one day, all the nights of caring for a sick child will turn my immune system into a strong fortress, but this early on in motherhood, my body just wasn’t ready to fight all the new germs. So I’m in bed at 2pm on a Tuesday. I really should could get up, but my computer was on the floor right next to me, and after going through the list of all the things I could do besides getting more sleep, writing was the only thing that sounded even minutely appealing. At least at the end of the post, I can fool myself into feeling a small sense of accomplishment. But I will likely go back to sleep after that. I will tell myself that my body needs rest and recuperation, not only from this illness, but from 21 days that were jam-packed with fighting illness, holiday traditions, fun activities, LOTS of traveling, and figuring out how to be parents to two children that are still getting to know and trust us.

I do need rest. But the real truth of why I’m still in bed is summed up in this text I just sent my husband:

I just can’t face the thought of getting back to life without them. I can’t stomach up the courage to unpack their stuff or go in their rooms. So it feels better to hide in here, where I can avoid my grief.

Sounds healthy, huh? Maybe not, but there it is, raw and real. It’s hard to understand this sadness and longing, even for me. As the flood of tears continues to fall, I keep telling myself, Stop it! Quit being a baby! They are away from you, but they are not dead. Grow up! This is not something to cry over. What would people think of you crying like this?…  But then I have to kick that bossy, ugly, society-influenced voice out of my head and remind myself of the one thing I learned most from my miscarriage: nobody else gets to decide how you grieve, OR what you grieve for. And right now, I’m grieving. After my husband picked me up from the airport yesterday, he went to let our dogs out and came back to find me curled up in our daughter’s room, my face smothered in her blankie, bawling like a baby. I know this is only temporary, and that in a few months, they will be back here for good. But right now, their absence hovers all over this house, loud and aching and painful. When I go into the bathroom, their little bath toys are all over the floor, and the pink Hello Kitty and orange Angry Birds toothbrushes are in the jar next to mine, and I cry. When I make my way to the living room, there are two little hot pink sweater boots that were kicked off on the couch (she hates wearing shoes), and a half eaten sucker stuck to the coffee table, and I cry. In the kitchen are sippy cups on the drying rack, prune juice and pizza in the fridge, and scribbled crayon drawings taped everywhere, and I cry some more. Don’t get me started on their bedrooms. As a teenage girl would say, I can’t even.

The only room that feels safe is my little bedroom, where I can hide under the covers, away from the lingering reminders of the two skinny little goobers that have stolen my heart forever. I can hide, and I can sleep. But even here I’m not safe. Because I don’t need all the visible reminders to make me think of them. Who am I kidding? They are all I think about. They are in every thought, their names are breathed out in every prayer, and they somehow find their way into even my dreams. There is no escaping them. And even as I cry and grieve and ache to hold them again, I wouldn’t avoid the pain if I could. Because this pain reminds me that the deepest longings of my heart for so very long are finally coming into fruition: I am a mother. My babies are not with me. One is with Jesus; two are in Florida. But physical location doesn’t change familial position. I am their mother; they are my children.

And as I tearfully ponder these things, I feel I am finally beginning to understand, in a smaller way, the implications of what it means to be adopted as sons of God. I am convicted, as I realize how rarely I long for heaven the way I long for these children to be back in my arms. Do I long to be in the arms of my Father the way I ache to hold my son and daughter?

This time of separation from my children is so temporary. I already know the ending. The ending is that we will all be together, one family. In adoption, we often use the term Forever Family. This is because these children need a reassurance that they can have a sense of permanence, a feeling of rootedness, a deep trust that no one is going to abandon them ever again. “Forever” is a word that we use to help them understand that.

But there is really only one true forever, and it’s not here on earth. The hard truth is that I will leave my children one day. My body will stay, and my spirit will go to be with the One that my heart was created to long for. I pray every day that my son and daughter one day join me in this forever family. I am so thankful for adoption, not simply because it means that my empty arms will be filled, but for the greater reason that goes well beyond ourselves and our own little family. The beauty of adoption is that my sweet son and daughter will grow up hearing about Jesus. They will be fed with the Word, they will gather with the body of believers, and they will be prayed for daily. What a precious gift. Remembering this makes the waiting more bearable, and the truth of God’s Word provides great comfort:

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. (Romans 8:18-25)

So I will patiently wait…not only now, to be reunited with my children, but for that wondrous day of redemption, when we are with our gracious Father and our forever family at last.

I will wait, and I will cry. And that’s okay.
Because one day, there will be no more tears.