It is so hard to believe the year 2013 is soon to be coming to a close. Naturally, the end of a year is a time where many of us sit back and reflect on both the good and the bad of the past 365 days of life.
When I think about the things I have experienced this past year and the circumstances surrounding those I love, it is so easy to be overwhelmed.
Overwhelmed, even overcome, by evil.
Death, divorce, financial ruin, singleness, natural disasters, injustice, illness, poverty, disease...and the list could go on and on.
Suffering comes in so many different forms throughout our lives.
For our family these past few years, it has come in the form of infertility.
And now our suffering is subsiding in many ways and in some ways beginning to come in an exciting, painful, joyful, different form...
The journey towards adoption.
It warms my soul and makes my heart skip a beat to think of what this journey is going to bring. Literally, since our first conversation as love struck teenagers we have dreamed of that moment that God would place a lonely child in our arms and we would stare into their eyes and call them our own.
But wow is reality setting in.
While we certainly still anticipate that moment with great joy, we are realizing this journey is going to be tough and not for the faint of heart.
Just a few weeks ago, our hearts swelled with joy to learn of an infant soon to be born that could be ours. For a few days, it seemed like a "sure" thing. We didn't tell many people, just a few close family and friends. Their reactions were so precious, so loving, so sincere. Hugging us, crying with us, rejoicing in this amazing possibility.
And then as quickly as the opportunity came, it was gone.
The reason why it didn't work out is unimportant, but sufficient to say it was an emotional rollercoaster I did not feel at all prepared to deal with. I mean seriously, who is ever prepared to deal with these kinds of things?
Never had I so quickly seen God move.
He gave.
And He took away.
Those moments when He takes away can feel like a punch to the gut. I was frozen for a few days. We had already paid for an expedited home study, already hired a lawyer, and for what???
Initially, I felt like such a fool. Everyone kept telling me and I even kept telling myself, "Caitlin, guard your heart. Don't get your hopes up. Don't fall in love with this baby."
Was it a mistake to rejoice in this child? To pray for the right doors to open and the wrongs doors to be closed? To love so deeply something that was so unsure to begin with?
After a few frozen days, tears of joy followed by tears of sorrow, that still small voice came to me again with such mercy and grace.
"Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil, cling to what is good."
Romans 12:9
CLING.
That's the solution. That's the answer. That's the only way.
Cling to what is good. Hold tight to, adhere to, embrace, cleave to what is good.
When I think of clinging, I think of all the things that try to rip us away from what is good.
For me the journey to motherhood has tried to rip me away from what is good. At times, it has filled me with jealousy, anger, selfishness, bitterness, and pain that up until this point in my life I was extremely blessed to never have felt before.
As much as we all want to hope good things for 2014, the truth is not a single one of us knows what will come our way this year.
But we all have one thing we must be resolved to do, no matter what circumstances may come our way.
Cling to what is good.
What that looks like in each of our lives may be different.
For our family, what that looks like is continuing to put one foot in front of the other, continuing to struggle through this with humility and vulnerability and sincere cries of help to the Lord and to those around us, at this moment going a little crazy finishing an expedited home study, and then prayerfully waiting to see what God will do.
And I think for all of us, part of clinging to what is good means remembering that sincere love is a never mistake.
Yes, of course, the deeper we love, the deeper we open ourselves up for pain and struggle and hurt.
But it's worth it. It's so very worth it.
The one common denominator I have grasped from the countless women I have cried with who have shared in one way or another this struggle towards motherhood is that they do not regret a single thing.
How is that possible?
Because they followed the example of the One who was found clinging to goodness so tightly that it literally killed him.
And why did He let it kill him?
"For the joy set before him, he endured the cross..."
Hebrews 12:2a
He knew there was a joy coming that would make it all so worth it.
And what was that joy set before him?
"....[sitting] down at the right hand of the throne of God."
Hebrews 12:2b
Being ushered into the presence of the faithful one himself. Redeeming a people for himself. Adopting children who would forever be called his own.
We are resolved to cling to goodness because we know the ultimate goodness of eternity in His presence, thanks to the cross, is the one thing in our lives that is guaranteed.
So, as we continue to journey on towards parenthood, please pray for us, think about us, challenge us to love deeply, and along with us cling to what is good. Don't let evil and sin and suffering pry goodness away, but cling to it tightly, every moment, no matter the cost, until the goodness of God brings us adopted children to our ultimate home.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Friday, December 13, 2013
Whispers of Christmas in the Hoping and Hurting
There's something so magical about a first winter snow. Or to me, any winter snow! Born and raised as a Florida girl, last winter at the age of 25 was actually the first time I ever saw snow fall.
A few weeks ago, my husband and I were up visiting with family in North Carolina and again got to witness this miracle of snow falling to the earth. Even when it's predicted, it just feels so surprising, so unexpected, so surreal.
This all got me thinking a lot about Christmas time. Every year it seems to sneak up on us, faster and faster as the years goes by.
Some years the anticipation of the advent season is filled with such easy and obvious joy. An engagement, a new marriage, a pregnancy, a new baby, a big bonus at work, a clean bill of health, memories of joyful Christmas pasts. All beautiful, wonderful things to rejoice in.
But some years the anticipation of the advent season can seem to be filled with such hard and illusive pain. An unexpected death of a loved one, another year gone by being single, a bitter divorce, an unfulfilled longing for a child, a parent that still won't voice their love and approval, memories of painful Christmas pasts. All difficult, confusing things that if we're really honest we're not quite sure what to do with.
Often we expect and we even find ourselves begging the Lord to show up in these huge, obvious, powerful ways. We want him to come guns blazing, tables turning, and to use his huge and mighty hands to pick us up out of the danger and place us right into comfort and safety again. And sometimes in our lives, he does chose to do that.
But I would venture to say more often than not, he chooses a different way.
Take the story of Elijah. Elijah was a prophet who found himself in a very dark place. SO dark that he even prays that God would take his life. Read 1 Kings chapter 18 and 19 for a fuller picture, but for now it's sufficient to say Elijah in this moment was deeply longing for the presence of the Lord.
The Lord sends an angel to Elijah who convinces him to eat and drink and keep on traveling towards Horeb, the mountain of God. For forty days and nights, he travels until he finally reaches Horeb.
I am sure that anticipation was nearly killing him. And here he literally stands at the mountain of God, physically waiting for God to show up.
"The Lord said 'Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.' Then a great and mighty wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a still small voice."
1 Kings 19:11-12
The Lord was not in the wind, not in the earthquake, not in the fire.
The Lord was in the still small voice. As I imagine the scene, I get this mental picture of Elijah building up hope in each act of power and force. I wonder if he thinks to himself each time, "Lord? Is that you?"
If Elijah is anything like us, I bet he was filled with hope each time, then nearly crushed with disappointment.
I can almost hear the silence as the fire died down. Elijah probably painfully questioned at that point if God was really going to show up.
We all get to different points in our lives where we feel like that, don't we? We begin to think to ourselves that if God hasn't "shown up" in the way we expected yet, then maybe...he's just not coming.
Christmas for all of us hurting is that still small voice. A season to remember and renew our minds once again with the truth that God IS coming, that He always shows up, that his still small voice is speaking to hearts all around us even now two thousand years out from Christmas.
When Christ entered this world, it was certainly in a way most would not expect.
"This shall be a sign to you: you will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger."
Luke 2:12
Here he came into the world.
Not in a raging wind.
Not in an earthquake.
Not in a fire.
But in a still small voice. Like a winter snow. Predicted yet so surprising, so unexpected, so surreal.
For those of us hurting this Christmas, there could be no better news. Jesus has come and is coming again.
Death and confusion and hurting and mourning will be dissolved.
His love will win.
It will blanket the earth more so than any winter snow that's ever been witnessed and that still small voice will be loud enough for the entire universe to here.
As for me, this Christmas with the strength of God I am choosing to lift my childless arms up to the Lord. I'm learning to praise him not just IN the struggle but FOR the struggle, because I know there's nothing that is quite as freeing as being reminded you ultimately are not in control. I'm taking all the obstacles of medical testing and finances and anxiety and ever changing emotions that come up with infertility and adoption and foster care and lifting them up to a God who is more than able to handle them and is well acquainted with suffering.
As you hurt this Christmas friends, offer your hurting heart over....
to the Christ child who stooped down into the dirt and became a baby wrapped in cloths lying in a manger so he could say he fully understands His people...
to the God who sent his one and only son who he dearly loved to die a horrendous death so he could say sin and death and suffering are not the absolute final things...
and to the Messiah who whispers, often in a still small voice, so that he can remind his people to be ever watchful, ever listening, ever expectant of his arrival.
Lean in this advent and hear his still small voice.
It may be small, but if we're really listening, somehow, miraculously, through our grieving and weeping and tears, it will always be louder than our suffering.
Hear the background chorus of angels and join in the song that will rightfully be sung for all of eternity, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men!"
Wishing you peace and good will this Christmas season and always.
A few weeks ago, my husband and I were up visiting with family in North Carolina and again got to witness this miracle of snow falling to the earth. Even when it's predicted, it just feels so surprising, so unexpected, so surreal.
This all got me thinking a lot about Christmas time. Every year it seems to sneak up on us, faster and faster as the years goes by.
Some years the anticipation of the advent season is filled with such easy and obvious joy. An engagement, a new marriage, a pregnancy, a new baby, a big bonus at work, a clean bill of health, memories of joyful Christmas pasts. All beautiful, wonderful things to rejoice in.
But some years the anticipation of the advent season can seem to be filled with such hard and illusive pain. An unexpected death of a loved one, another year gone by being single, a bitter divorce, an unfulfilled longing for a child, a parent that still won't voice their love and approval, memories of painful Christmas pasts. All difficult, confusing things that if we're really honest we're not quite sure what to do with.
Often we expect and we even find ourselves begging the Lord to show up in these huge, obvious, powerful ways. We want him to come guns blazing, tables turning, and to use his huge and mighty hands to pick us up out of the danger and place us right into comfort and safety again. And sometimes in our lives, he does chose to do that.
But I would venture to say more often than not, he chooses a different way.
Take the story of Elijah. Elijah was a prophet who found himself in a very dark place. SO dark that he even prays that God would take his life. Read 1 Kings chapter 18 and 19 for a fuller picture, but for now it's sufficient to say Elijah in this moment was deeply longing for the presence of the Lord.
The Lord sends an angel to Elijah who convinces him to eat and drink and keep on traveling towards Horeb, the mountain of God. For forty days and nights, he travels until he finally reaches Horeb.
I am sure that anticipation was nearly killing him. And here he literally stands at the mountain of God, physically waiting for God to show up.
"The Lord said 'Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.' Then a great and mighty wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a still small voice."
1 Kings 19:11-12
The Lord was not in the wind, not in the earthquake, not in the fire.
The Lord was in the still small voice. As I imagine the scene, I get this mental picture of Elijah building up hope in each act of power and force. I wonder if he thinks to himself each time, "Lord? Is that you?"
If Elijah is anything like us, I bet he was filled with hope each time, then nearly crushed with disappointment.
I can almost hear the silence as the fire died down. Elijah probably painfully questioned at that point if God was really going to show up.
We all get to different points in our lives where we feel like that, don't we? We begin to think to ourselves that if God hasn't "shown up" in the way we expected yet, then maybe...he's just not coming.
Christmas for all of us hurting is that still small voice. A season to remember and renew our minds once again with the truth that God IS coming, that He always shows up, that his still small voice is speaking to hearts all around us even now two thousand years out from Christmas.
When Christ entered this world, it was certainly in a way most would not expect.
"This shall be a sign to you: you will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger."
Luke 2:12
Here he came into the world.
Not in a raging wind.
Not in an earthquake.
Not in a fire.
But in a still small voice. Like a winter snow. Predicted yet so surprising, so unexpected, so surreal.
For those of us hurting this Christmas, there could be no better news. Jesus has come and is coming again.
Death and confusion and hurting and mourning will be dissolved.
His love will win.
It will blanket the earth more so than any winter snow that's ever been witnessed and that still small voice will be loud enough for the entire universe to here.
As for me, this Christmas with the strength of God I am choosing to lift my childless arms up to the Lord. I'm learning to praise him not just IN the struggle but FOR the struggle, because I know there's nothing that is quite as freeing as being reminded you ultimately are not in control. I'm taking all the obstacles of medical testing and finances and anxiety and ever changing emotions that come up with infertility and adoption and foster care and lifting them up to a God who is more than able to handle them and is well acquainted with suffering.
As you hurt this Christmas friends, offer your hurting heart over....
to the Christ child who stooped down into the dirt and became a baby wrapped in cloths lying in a manger so he could say he fully understands His people...
to the God who sent his one and only son who he dearly loved to die a horrendous death so he could say sin and death and suffering are not the absolute final things...
and to the Messiah who whispers, often in a still small voice, so that he can remind his people to be ever watchful, ever listening, ever expectant of his arrival.
Lean in this advent and hear his still small voice.
It may be small, but if we're really listening, somehow, miraculously, through our grieving and weeping and tears, it will always be louder than our suffering.
Hear the background chorus of angels and join in the song that will rightfully be sung for all of eternity, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men!"
Wishing you peace and good will this Christmas season and always.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)