A DETOUR ON THE PATH TO PARENTHOOD - By Kristen Gorski

Shortly after being diagnosed with fertility problems, my husband Chris and I attended our first informational adoption meeting.  I remember driving home from that meeting, clutching the agency’s pamphlet featuring sweet babies and smiling, happy families in my hands, and thinking that adoption was a great option…for someone else’s family.

It didn’t feel right for us.

Still reeling from my diagnosis, I wasn’t ready to let go of the dream family I’d imagined for us.  Before we even got married, I’d started picturing what our children would be like.  I imagined a little girl with my tiny feet and Chris’s freckles; a little boy with Chris’s patience and my green eyes.  Those were the children I wanted.  The children in the pamphlet, as cute as they were, weren’t the ones I had dreamt about, prayed for and planned.

I wasn’t ready to let my dream children go.

Plus, adoption scared us. 

A lot.

We worried that an adopted child wouldn’t feel like “ours” or that he would end up resenting us because we weren’t his “real” parents.

We worried we’d end up one of those horror stories on the news, our child ripped from our arms to be returned to a biological family member years after our adoption was complete.

We worried that adoption would mark us as different, that we would never fit in with “normal” families.

We worried that an adopted child would carry physical or emotional scars from orphanage or foster care that we wouldn’t be able to handle.

If I’m being honest, the truth is that becoming an adoptive family didn’t seem fair.  It didn’t seem fair that we were struggling to have a family.  We were "good people who had done all the right things."

We shouldn’t have to give up our dream children.

We shouldn’t have to learn about and embrace a new path to parenthood; a path that was full of challenges we didn’t know how to face.

The truth is, considering adoption filled me with grief and fear.  So, like many of us do when confronted with things that make us uncomfortable, I ran as quickly as I could in the other direction.  As soon as we got home, I shoved that pamphlet into the junk drawer of my desk, slammed it shut and decided not to think about it again.

And for over a year, I didn’t.

Instead, Chris and I poured all our energy into trying to have a baby.  I consulted specialists, had surgery and endured countless examinations and appointments.  I prayed every day, begging God to let me get pregnant, but my prayers continued to go unanswered.  I felt like a lab rat, trapped in an endless maze of hopeful anticipation and crushing defeat.  Then, a year later, it finally happened – I was pregnant!  We were so excited and thankful.  It had been a long and difficult road, but we were patient and we trusted God and now He was blessing us with the child we’d been dreaming about for so long.   We basked in the glow of that pregnancy for three days.  Then, once again, the rug was yanked out from under us.  My first round of bloodwork raised some red flags.  The next round was even more concerning.

Within three weeks, my precious baby was gone.

My miscarriage was one of the most devastating periods of my life.  It also turned out to be one of the most important.  I spent months grieving the baby we lost.  I staggered through tear-filled days and sleepless nights, leaning on God in a way I never had before.  I was crushed and heartbroken, but never alone.  I knew God was right there with me, providing me comfort, giving me strength and ensuring I never had to face my grief on my own.  Then, when I was ready, He put the pieces of my shattered heart back together - and it changed me.  I was ready to let go of the dream family I had imagined and embrace the one He had planned.  Over a year after I first tucked it away, I was ready to take that pamphlet out of the drawer.

Fast forward a decade and Chris and I are now the proud parents of three incredible boys; one adopted from Guatemala and two adopted from Korea.  None of them have Chris’s freckles or my eyes – and doesn’t matter.  The fact that we aren’t biologically related doesn’t prevent us from loving our kids.

All our fears – about not feeling like a real family, about not fitting in, about not being able to handle the added issues adoption brings – haven’t come true.  Our kids are the best things that have ever happened to us and we love them more than we ever imagined.  Adoption is part of who we are, but it’s not the defining feature of our family.  I don’t wake up every day thinking about it.  It’s not something that pops into our heads when we are sitting around the dinner table or playing catch in the backyard.  It’s true we face issues biological families do not – like fielding questions from strangers, talking about birth families, exploring our children’s heritage and dealing with racial issues our kids sometimes face.  It’s also true that navigating these issues has required us to seek out support and sometimes parent in ways we didn’t think we would.  But none of that prevents us from being happy or loving our family or feeling like we are complete.

Adoption isn’t easy and it isn’t for everyone.  I’m glad we didn’t rush into adoption after that first meeting. We weren’t ready to adopt and if we’d done it then, it wouldn’t have felt like an incredible blessing.  It would have felt like a consolation prize.

If you are battling infertility, I’m not trying to minimize your pain or suggest that the only solution is to adopt.  What I am saying to anyone considering expanding your family – whether you are dealing with infertility or not – is to please consider adoption.  Don’t just dismiss it as an option without really thinking it through.  Definitely don’t run away from it out of grief or fear like I did.  Instead, take the time to research it. Talk to adult adoptees and adoptive parents.  Read adoption websites and blogs.  Attend adoption seminars.  Most importantly, pray about it.  Educate yourself and remain open to the possibility of what God may be calling you to do.

Our road to parenthood is proof that He can do amazing things when we give Him time to work on our hearts.

More from Kristen Gorski

The Whys
Grief, Faith, and Trusting God

A JOURNEY OF FAITH - By Michele Haske

National Adoption Month.

A moment in time to focus on those who have lost everything, the most vulnerable in the world.  The statistics are overwhelming, numbers you can't even grasp; 143 million orphans in the world!  Who can even imagine what that number looks like?

It looks like any child you see as you walk your kids to school, go to the mall, sit in church.  Except an orphan has no one.

They don't have anyone to walk them to school, or they can't even go to school.

They don't get to go shopping or sit in church.

They don't know who God is or if He even exists.

And they did nothing to deserve being abandoned and left alone.

But God knows each and every one of their faces.

God SEES them and he calls us to care for them.

He called me to care for them, and by marriage, he also called my husband Rich, much to his dismay in the beginning!  Ha!

I will never forget the day almost 12 years ago, when I was home alone one evening watching a show on TV about a celebrity who was taking gifts to orphans in Africa.  My two kids (biological) were sleeping and my husband was away on a business trip.  I was watching as the children all gathered and one by one in an atmosphere of jubilant chaos, were given Christmas gifts.  They had never been given anything in their lives before that moment.  The look on their faces was pure wonder, confusion and JOY all at the same time. What was happening?  I can't imagine what was going through their minds.  I remember seeing one little girl and I couldn't take my eyes off of her.  And sitting on my couch, all by myself, I HEARD God say, "NOW, your child is waiting, it's time for you to adopt your child.  She is waiting."  It may sound crazy, but I HEARD God!  And I cried, really cried, because I knew He was right.

You see, I had thought for many years that I wanted to adopt a little girl from China.  My heart ached for the plight of girls in China.  The one child policy, boys being preferred to girls. Girls being killed at birth or at best case being left in the dark of night to be found and taken to an orphanage.  And I would talk to Rich about adoption a few times, but as in life, we worried about the cost, the upheaval to our current life with two kids.

But after that night, I knew what I was going to do.  A day later Rich returned home and I just said, it's time.  We need to adopt NOW!  He looked at me like I was nuts.  We had recently been relocated, my father had just passed away, our lives were in upheaval.  But with only the strength God can give, I told my husband there were no more excuses.  The time was NOW.  Our little girl was waiting for us, and we were going to get her!

To say Rich was hesitant would be an understatement, but soon after we began the process.

Fourteen months later we were in Wuhan, China where we were handed the most beautiful little girl.  Annabelle Faith JiaChun was handed to me and though we were overwhelmed with love, she was terrified and screaming after one look at me.  But she was perfect!  She was three days shy of her first birthday.  What I remember most of that time in China was Annie's courage.  Her will to survive and thrive. I have often said, that orphans are the bravest people I know. They have lost so much, and yet they will cling to Hope, for the chance to be loved, to belong.

We went back to China two and a half years later to adopt our son, and this week, after eight years of waiting, we will once again travel to China to adopt our daughter, who just turned eleven!

Yes, we are older, yes we have grown kids, yes, Rich will have to work a few extra years, but neither of us would do it any differently if given the chance.

Adoption is hard, it is loss, it is pain, it is suffering.

Adoption is also Faith, Hope, Trust and above all these, Love.

God has a plan, and when he whispers in your ear, or in my case yells at you on the couch, LISTEN!  He is calling you to do one of the BEST things life has to offer.  Trust in Him.  The reward is beyond anything you could ever imagine!

CRUSHED BUT NOT BROKEN: THE UNKNOWN SCARS OF ADOPTION - By Heather Ann

“You’re ADOPTED!”, the young boy on the school bus shouted at me that cold rainy morning.  “Your mom left you in a garbage can, haha” he sneered and pointed towards me. 

My heart sank as I stared out the rainy bus window.

Kids can be cruel.

Those words stung, and stuck with me, longer than I realized.

Maybe I wasn’t worth keeping after all?  My young 10-year old self thought, as tears streamed down my freckled face.

Why did my birth mother give me up?

Was I as worthless as trash in a garbage can?

My young brain didn’t fully comprehend the magnitude of what was spoken over me early that school morning, but I internalized those words for many years, well into my young thirties.

People always ask me, “When did you first know you were adopted?” and all I can say is I always remember knowing, from the time I was a child.

I remember the day my parents first told me I was adopted.  They made it sound fascinating, and told me they proudly picked me over all the other babies in the orphanage, and that I was theirs.

I felt special then; superior in a way.  But at age five I didn’t understand what being adopted meant, other than my parents told me they wanted me and I was special.

And while I could elaborate on that feel-good story, I’m going to share a different perspective.

There is the painful side of adoption that isn’t always talked about.  It’s the elephant in the room no one wants to acknowledge, but everyone knows is there.

And like any elephant, while people can pretend it doesn’t exist, the grandiose nature of its presence makes it impossible to ignore.

You see, whether the adoptee chooses to acknowledge it subconsciously or not, there are natural scars carved into every adoptees’ heart that run deep; wounds that slice to the core.

And there comes a day when all adoptees must fully realize and process for whatever reason, valid or not, they weren’t wanted by their birth parents.

Harsh but true, this realization stings.

And it hurts.

While most people experience some form of rejection or abandonment in some capacity during their adult lives, I experienced these at a young age, before I could put into words and identify exactly what was happening to me.

Even when I tried to “forget”, and pretend that everything was “typical”, I was always reminded.

Family genealogy reports at elementary school?  I didn’t “really know” where I came from or what physical characteristics had been passed down, other than I had red hair.  And while I knew I was Irish, I could only speculate my other ethnic makeup.

Doctors’ visits consisted of filling out charts about my family medical history, which I would leave blank or write in big bold letters “ADOPTED”, because I didn’t know how to answer questions such as “Does cancer or heart disease run in your family?”

The overall inherent shame and trauma I experienced were real, and continued to compound once I met my birth mother.

I was 19 years old when I first met her face to face and asked “So, what happened?”

She told me she was raped, and that’s where I came from.

I remember a blank stare coming over my face, as I attempted to process what she was telling me.

Again, not fully realizing the impact these words would have on me later, I remember using logic (my typical coping strategy) to continue to ask more questions about my birth father such as – “Well, where is he? Can I find him too?”

She said he wanted nothing to do with her, or me.

It wasn’t until many years later, again not till my early thirties, did I start to understand.

Wow, I was a product of rape. I wasn’t conceived in love. I wasn’t wanted. I could have been aborted.  Not exactly the fairy tale love story, huh?

And looking back, I can’t imagine the pain she felt.

She carried me to term, gave me away, and then retold the story, reliving the process all over again, as I sat next to her flesh and blood in her car.  At the time, I remember my young ears held on to her every word and soaked in anything that could help me make sense and process all this chaos.

Over a decade later, as I grieved the full reality, mourning what happened, and what could never be, an amazing light shone through the darkness and penetrated the depths of my soul.

It was at that moment the Lord revealed to me, through it all, He was there the entire time.

He was with me, as my heart began to beat (Job 10:8).

He was there, as I formed in my mother’s womb (Psalm 139:13-16).

He was with me, as I took my first breath (Job 33:4).

He was there, as the orphanage placed me into my parent’s arms for the first time (Psalm 22:9-10).

He was with me, that cold rainy morning on the school bus as the young boy’s words crushed my spirit (Psalm 34:18 and Deuteronomy 31:6).

He was there, the day I met my birth mother (Isaiah 49:15).

And He’s with me now, as I continue to process and accept my life the way it happened (Isaiah 55:8-9).

Adoption is beautiful.

A child has a chance to be born, a chance to experience love, and the chance to fully live.

Even though I was conceived in the most horrific of circumstances, God used it all for good.  His good.

God has used me to tell His story.  The story of life.  The story of redemption.  The story of reminding us all, if we accept His Son, Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior, we too can be adopted into His kingdom (Ephesians 1:5).

I’m thankful my birth mother chose life, and I’m thankful the Lord allowed me to be adopted into a loving home.  I love my parents dearly and I couldn’t imagine my life any other way.

Remember, God is bigger than anything that could ever happen to us. His ways are bigger than ours, and He sees the entire story of our lives.

I can now confidently say the Lord fought for my life, even before I was born.

To all the adoptees out there who may have experienced similar pain, I hope you find comfort in the verses I listed above.  Know God did not abandon you, He saved you.

To all the parents who selflessly chose life, and placed their babies up for adoption to have a better life, thank you.

And to all those who have adopted children into their lives and hearts, without you, we wouldn’t be where we are today. Thank you for loving us, as your own.

Finally, to those who don’t yet know Jesus, and may have experienced similar abandonment issues from your parents even if you were never adopted, know that God is there with you too, and He can be your Father.

“For all who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God. So you have not received a spirit that makes you fearful slaves.  Instead, you received God’s Spirit when He adopted you as His own children.  Now we call Him, “Abba, Father.” For His Spirit joins with our spirit to affirm that we are God’s children.  And since we are His children, we are His heirs.  In fact, together with Christ we are heirs of God’s glory.  In fact, together with Christ we are heirs of God’s glory.  But if we are to share His glory, we must also share His suffering.” [Romans 8:14-17]

The enemy wishes to silence and shame, but God, the author of life, provides healing in the light.

He gave me a voice to tell His story, and now it’s time for you to tell yours.  May we all embrace life.  Choose Life.  Live Life.  And never take one single moment for granted.

Happy National Adoption Month.

THE GIFT - By Renee Williams

“Mama…is Michelle going to get me a Christmas present?”

I glance in the rear-view mirror at my four-year-old son John and search his face for signs this was more than a simple —albeit slightly consumeristic — question.

Michelle is my son’s birth mother.  While “open adoption” (where the birth family has contact with the adopted child and family) has been the trend in adoptive relationships, John’s adoption has essentially been closed.  John’s birth father preferred no contact and Michelle is comfortable with very limited contact.  We include Michelle’s picture in a book of pictures of friends and family and we see her around town about once a year.  We have been upfront with John about who Michelle is and what role she has in his life, which forced us to have rather straight-forward conversations about anatomy early in John’s development: “You grew in Michelle’s uterus and after you were born, she chose us to raise you.”  I wish she and his half-brother could be in his life, though that will have to be in God’s (and Michelle’s) time.

Back to the car. I read books on how to talk to your kids about their adoption.  We read children’s books on adoption.  We did our homework yet I hadn’t anticipated this particular question.

I feign deafness to buy time: “What did you say, sweetie?”

He repeats his question.

My brain whirrs.

What am I going to tell this child?

This child who loves to get presents to the degree that he is already planning what we will give him for his birthday in August.

It’s October.

Do I tell him what I think is the truth?

“No, she’s not. It’s not because she doesn’t love you. I’d bet she thinks about you all the time—imagining you playing sports and wondering what size of shoes you wear.  She has thought of a thousand gifts she would like to give you, it’s just too painful for her to send you a Christmas gift knowing that she won’t be the one who gets to read that book with you or see you in that hat.”

Do I pontificate?

“Michelle may not give you a toy this year, though she has already given you the most astounding gift of self-sacrificial love—she trusted me and your Dad to provide you with the opportunities that she wasn’t able to offer.”

Do I lie?

“No, honey. I don’t think she has our address.”

Michelle has been to our house.

Do I offer a vague hope?

“Maybe?”

I settle on honest and concrete:

“Some adults give you presents like me and Dada, Granny and Papa, and Grandma and Grandpa and some other adults who still care about you very much, don’t buy you presents. Michelle is one of those adults. She cares about you very much though you probably shouldn’t expect a Christmas present from her.”

He looks out the window and considers this quietly.

Then, true to form, responds: “Why?”

Before I had children I loved that simple question.  I even got a minor in college in philosophy which considers “why?” at length.

Now, I dread “why?”—often because I don’t know the answer.
“Why?” indeed.

I know he’s trying to understand relationships — why some people are closer to him than others, why some can show love easily and others cannot, why some people will accept him and others will turn away from him.  It’s going to take a lifetime to puzzle through those questions, kiddo.

Yet, my thoughts settle in the larger questions...

Why do we live in a society where a mother is shamed for her decision to place her child in an adoptive family?
Why do adopted children — even those in the most caring homes — often live with deep wounds?

My faith tradition does not offer easy answers to these questions, which are ultimately questions about suffering.  We center our faith on Christ crucified and we speak of a God who is no stranger to suffering.  As disciples of Christ, then, we are called to be present in suffering with people whenever we encounter it.

I know John will have more questions about adoption — one day I anticipate the ultimate “why” question: 

“Why was I placed for adoption?”

I don’t anticipate our answer will be sufficient, though I pray our compassion will suffice.

There is joy that comes with adoption as well. Just as we care called “to weep with those who weep,” we are called “to rejoice with those who rejoice”.  Our family, our church and our friends celebrated John’s arrival in our lives.  My family has been created through the adoption of two beautiful, incredible children and I am so thankful this is possible for us and for many other families.  Michelle and all of the birth parents of my children are daily in my prayers in thanksgiving for their courage and love for their children — my children.  John may not see a wrapped present from Michelle under the Christmas tree this year; though we certainly receive him as a gift every day.

A BLESSING - By Dawn McGowan

Adoption.

Every time I sit down at the computer, my mind gets overwhelmed by what to write. I sit and stare at the screen and then I end up deciding to try again another time. It is difficult to figure out where to begin. There are so many things to say, as well as a roller coaster of emotions. As I sit here, I am thinking back on our family’s journey and I am reminded that God does have a plan for us. Fortunately for our family, that plan included adoption, and it has been our biggest gift.

So here it goes....

My husband Nate and I were married for a few years before we started trying for a family. We were both young and healthy and figured we would get pregnant right away. We were excited, but that soon turned into sadness when months passed with no positive results. We prayed about it, but the prayers were always focused on what we wanted. 

We questioned why God wasn't listening to us.

We didn't understand why everyone else was able to get pregnant and we were having all this trouble.

It didn't seem fair. 

There were many tears and frustrations with God. I can still feel our sadness as I venture back to that time. But Nate and I are both really positive people and decided to start focusing on all the good we had in our life. We poured our love into each other, our family and friends, and we found joy amongst the pain.  We began to appreciate the small things. Our relationships grew deeper.

A blessing.

While undergoing many tests and doctor appointments, we discovered that Nate was a carrier of cystic fibrosis.  After doing a little research, we discovered Nate's sister, Kate, had many of the symptoms we were reading about.  We chatted about our discovery with her and she called her doctor to do some tests.  Her results came back positive for cystic fibrosis.  She was able to start receiving treatments to help maintain her lung function.

She would say, "It was a God thing." 

A blessing.

We found out shortly after that time that in vitro fertilization would be our only chance to get pregnant.  We began the next phase.   There were many letdowns and stresses involved in this process.  We prayed even harder and found a church in our town because we knew we needed God to help us through this.  We started talking with God in a different way and our relationship with Him grew deeper.  We were now starting to realize that we didn't have the control.  We couldn't plan everything.  After many failed attempts at IVF, our hearts were sad, but we started to feel like God was telling us He had a different plan for us.

We began to listen more and adoption started to move to the forefront.  We were scared, but felt a strange sense of peace.  Nate and I knew we were in this together, but that God was now leading the way.  It was out of our hands and we had to have faith in Him.

Another blessing.

That path led us to working with two different adoption agencies - and eventually our three beautiful children.  Each experience was quite a journey.  All of our children's birth moms prayed for guidance during their pregnancy.   They were able to make the loving and selfless decision to choose adoption.  Our connections have been instant and full of love.  Nate and I have felt God's hand in each of the adoptions.  We can look back on it now in awe at how everything unfolded.  Each adoption taught us something.  God has helped us grow in so many ways and blessed us with our family. For that we are grateful!

 "Wait for the Lord; be strong, 

and let your heart take courage; 

wait for the LORD!"

Psalm 27:14

IS JESUS A REPUBLICAN, DEMOCRAT, OR SOMETHING ELSE? - By Ted Carnahan

Thomas Jefferson wasn’t much of a Christian as most would consider 'historic Christianity.'  One time he set out to free Jesus from the supernatural and miraculous stories surrounding him.  Taking in hand the New Testament and a razor blade, he literally cut out everything that seemed to him to be at odds with his view of the real Jesus.

Unsurprisingly, the so-called “Jefferson Bible” paints a picture of Jesus Christ that looks remarkably like Thomas Jefferson.

Since the founding of the American republic, people of all views have invoked the name of God over their particular political positions and persuasions.  But with the coming of the “Moral Majority” in the 1980s, a fairly narrow segment of Evangelical and Fundamentalist Christians (claiming to speak for all ‘real’ Christians) loudly voiced a particular political platform: anti-abortion, anti-gay rights, anti-immigrant, pro-school prayer, pro-Israel, and so on.  Pretty soon, both Democrats and Republicans turned “Christians” into just another voting bloc.

Today, Democrats and Republicans alike strategize on how to use religious values to manipulate people into voting for them.  Democrats propose programs to assist immigrants and the poor.  Republicans advance public morality and personal responsibility.  Both say they are motivated by their Christian faith.

When we let any other framework or platform become the lenses through which we view Jesus, the message of Jesus becomes distorted.  If you are a Republican or a Democrat first (or anything else first) and a Christian second, you will invent a Jesus who looks remarkably like you – along with your politics, your preferences, and your priorities.

We have words for a Jesus like that: Idol. 

False God.

Disappointment.

If the teachings of Jesus don’t challenge you, no matter what your political persuasion or how long you’ve been following him, you haven’t been taking him very seriously.

PRAISING IN THE STORM - By Rebecca Krishnamurthy

A year ago my world turned upside down.  To give you some background, I have always loved Jesus.  I met Him when I was four years old and distinctly remember sweet encounters with Him as a child.  I had times of rebellion and experimentation as a teenager, but never stopped loving Jesus.  I believed very firmly in His power, His comfort and His desire to draw close to us.  I had a rocky family life growing up and often turned to Him for comfort.  I also had seen many miraculous things. I have seen my sibling’s trajectory change when my Mother cried “Jesus!” and fall into a laundry basket of clothes instead of a hardwood floor.  I have seen healings over and over.  I have experienced miraculous healings for things as small as a hiccup to a headache.  I ate an entire bottle of my grandfather’s heart medication when I was two.  When they pumped my stomach in the ER, there was nothing.

My brother was born with Down’s syndrome and had three holes in his heart.  We took him forward in church and were overjoyed to find out before his heart surgery that the holes were gone.  He also had Grand Mal seizures as a baby.  Through an experimental vitamin treatment they were healed completely.  At the same time, there are many aspects of his condition that have not been healed.

That is why my world turned upside down a year ago.

My 20 month old son began regressing from an active happy toddler to being unable to crawl or function independently in a four month time span. We don’t know why.  We have seen specialists in multiple hospitals.  We are waiting on test results.  The doctors are stumped.  We have the small possibility that my son will have a treatment option available to him, but every doctor or therapist we speak to thinks this is a lifelong journey, with the possibility of a shortened life span for my son.

I’m scared.  Who wouldn’t be?  To say that hearing this is hard is an understatement.  My heart breaks.  My spirit groans and screams for healing.  I have often wondered why my mother has not done more to take my brother to places where he could be prayed for and we may see healing.  I understand now.  There’s nothing left.  Between the ridiculous numbers of doctor appointments, to the sheer physical demand of caring for a quadriplegic, there’s no energy left to think about taking my son across country to visit that place I might have heard of that has healing services.

“Where is Jesus in the midst of this?” You might ask.

Didn’t He miraculously heal people in the Bible?

Isn’t He alive and active today?

Why did my brother experience miraculous healing in certain areas but not others?

I have asked these questions.  I have screamed them internally.  I have despaired and had hope.  I have had moments where I thought I would fall apart and moments where I was ready to fight.

The one constant in the midst of this is Jesus.  

He is my comfort.

That seems like such a small word, right?

It’s not.

When was the last time you allowed yourself to be comforted?  Like really comforted?  While your eyes are streaming, your body is heaving with sobs, you flail and cry and pour out every thought that’s in your brain.  Knowing full well that on the other end of it, there will be no offense taken, no instruction to hold it together, no reprimand for being too extreme.  Just a peaceful, quiet voice saying “I’ve got this. I’ve got YOU,” - with a smile.

Isaiah 40:11 says that God leads gently those with young.  I think He knows how hard it is to carry small children both physically and emotionally.  A hundred years ago, many children didn’t live past the age of two.  My son would have not survived then.  The incredible inventions that we have in the medical field make miracles happen every day.  I have often been convicted for being dissatisfied with that type of miracle.  I want the one that comes and returns everything to normal in an instant.  I don’t want the process.  I don’t want to have to carry the weight of grief as I watch my son progress and deteriorate, to have hope and then despair.  I know Jesus is healing my son.  I know that the breakthrough is coming.  He has shown me in my dreams.  He has said so in the Bible.  He did it on the cross.  Right now I’m in the battle.  I’m in the “now & not yet” realities that we live in on this earth.  How I handle it is what is most important.

I don’t mean to keep my chin up and keep going until the breakthrough happens.  I mean that I fall apart on God’s lap.  I scream at him, I cry and flail and grieve.  He grieves with me.  He screams with me.  He flexes his arm and sends angels to assist in the battle.  I have seen mountains move in my journey with my son.  Miracles have not come in the way that I want, but they have come.  I have seen doctors the next day that didn’t have openings for six months on their schedule.  I have had tests come back in 4 days that should have taken 2 months.  I have had family and friends bend over backwards to serve my family and to meet any need that we had.  I have had every need met.

I know that God is answering and he’s answering with a vengeance.

He’s got me.

He’s got this.

He’s doing it so I can fight this battle.

He’s taking my sword and my shield when I’m too tired to fight and he’s fighting for me.

He’s doing it so I can stand with Him on the battlefield and win.

He’s my defender and my strength.

He’s my partner and my friend.

If you are going through a similar situation, don’t try to do it all.  Don’t try to be strong by yourself.  We were never expected to be.  The Bible says that those who mourn will be comforted; those who are weak will be made strong.  Trying to fight a battle alone is ineffective at best and a sure way to lose.  Take time to be comforted.  Take time to grieve your situation and let God whisper his love and comfort in your ear.  Let him be God for you.  Let Him be strong for you.  Let Him take care of things when you’re tired, and when you’re ready to get up again, fight the battle with everything you’ve got.  Don’t reserve your energy in case you need it later, give it your all and then go rest.  I have had many people ask me if I’m taking care of myself in the midst of this.  I have had to learn how.  What that really means is that I make time for Jesus to take care of me so that I can take care of other things.  He loves you.  More than you can know.