God wiff us

“His name shall be called ‘Immanuel’, which means?”

I paused waiting for someone to answer.

“God wiff us,” came from a small raspy voice in our little circle. And then several more voices said it quickly in that "I knew that too" way.

“Right. Immanuel, which means God with us,” as I turned the page.

The livingroom was dark except for the light of the tree. I kept the kids up past bedtime to wait for Daddy and Uncle John to get home from the Christmas Eve service. We all gathered together on the floor to read our beloved and well-worn Advent book. I wish I could tell you that they all sat perfectly, soaking in every word.

My kids are really good at that special art of yelling whispers, that tone that’s almost like a growl: “She’s pushing me” “I can’t see” “Its my turn!” “I wanna read it myself!” “Ew Mom, Micah’s drooling!” “I CAN’T SEE!”

I read, “For God so loved the World that He gave his only begotten son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but live forever.” I closed the book, with a small bit of relief that it was the last page. “Ok lets pray.”

The little ones thanked the Lord for Christmas, for “this food” (we weren’t eating), the Christmas tree and a few other things. And then the older ones prayed for their sick brother, a teacher with cancer, and that in the morning they would remember that Christmas isn’t just about presents but about Jesus. Ok, they’re getting it.

Christmas morning we had a big breakfast before diving into presents. We’d all “had Christmas” twice already with Grandparents. So the kids were surprisingly patient to have breakfast and watch a little of White Christmas and  play while we cleaned up.

~~~

This morning I woke up to a news feed full of beautiful Christmas pictures. Clean, smiling children in matching Christmas pajamas in front of a perfect tree. I searched the pictures on my phone to contribute a Merry Christmas from the Spencers.

Um, nevermind.

My kids weren’t really in Christmas PJs at all, much less matching. I should have given baths the night before but ran out of time. A few of the stockings had fallen from the mantle because they were too heavy. The tree had been “redecorated” several times in spite of my empty threats. Our presents are wrapped in Disney Princess paper and not the Pintrest-trendy craft paper and twine. And it’s nearly impossible to get Abby and Kate to sit still for pictures and look at the camera. (It’s just too much to ask, apparently.) Micah's on day 3 of a fever and my kids all had some awesome bedhead going on. Do people fix all their kids' hair before taking Christmas pictures???

We're kind of a mess.

But. 

We had a wonderful Christmas. We played board games and made cookies and watched movies. The kids ran through the house playing (loudly) with their new toys. We had a big, delicious (if I do say so) dinner and went to bed full and happy. I love my big crazy family and I can’t imagine it any other way.

Today is the day after Christmas. And I’m thankful that today, Immanuel still means God with us and that God is still with us.

The creator of the world, came as a child. I know all about what it looks like to birth a child and watch them grow. God came as that? He came in the most humble way possible. He became one of us. To save us. He knew we needed saving. 

And the only way to do that was to be with us. 

Immanuel. 

Savior... which is Christ the Lord. “God wiff us.”

Rather you're having a picture perfect year, you're a hot mess (like us), you're going through something difficult or celebrating your best year ever: He's with us. And that's all that's needed, all that matters.

Merry Christmas 2014, from our family to yours.

When they don't come home (Encouragement for failed adoptions)

I wrote this post some time ago. I never published it and I'm not sure why. Maybe it was too painful then.

But in light of a friend walking this same rough road right now... and a recent precious gift... I think its time to share.

I've never experienced a miscarriage. So I don't know that pain and I can't speak to it. I've never had a child go to heaven. So I don't know that pain either. But I did have a failed adoption. Its a very unique, horribly painful experience. And I know that in those first days after it happened I cried harder than I probably ever have in my life. I knew that God promised him to me. And while, to the world, and to my friends and family, it made sense that I brought Mabry home instead (because I heard the Lord tell me "2"), she was never the "instead of". She, like all of my children, was her own sweet, precious, amazing gift and still is.

The Lord said two. And two came home. So was Oleg never "meant" to be ours? Did God change His mind? I never made sense of why it happened. Because really, it doesn't matter now. I don't have to know.

To this day I deal with the pain that my baby boy is out there somewhere. Yet, I have to trust that God is good, that He's sovereign and He has a plan to prosper me and to prosper Oleg. 

Oleg age 3 1/2, just months before we were to come for him

In my heart, he will always be my baby. He was taken by a Ukrainian Orthodox Priest to be raised by monks. Never to know the love of a mommy. When people ask me how many children we have, of course the answer is six. But in my heart, there are 7.

Oleg turns 10 in February. And every year I pray for him. Because I also believe that as a mom, the most powerful thing I can do for my children is to pray for them. And even if I can't hold Oleg, or cook for him, or take him to school, or wipe his tears, or laugh with him... I can pray. The best that I could do is all that I can do. And nothing can take that from me.

Failed adoptions are messy, ugly, painful, and publicly miserable.

Maybe you know this pain. Maybe you've known it more than once. I want to encourage you, don't let it make you turn your face from the Lord. May it make you bury your face in His chest. As His child, nothing comes to you that He hasn't allowed. There is purpose in it. You might not know the purpose this side of heaven or if you think you do, you may not like it.

The child that you aren't holding needs you to run to the Lord. Don't let the enemy steal the power of your prayers as well. 

Run to Him. Run to the One who sees your heart and knows your pain and hears your cries. The only peace, comfort, and power you'll find is there. 

~~~

For my birthday last month, my mother-in-law wanted to buy me a piece of jewelry of my choosing. (I'm a little bit Etsy obsessed, and she knows it. :))

And I'd had my eye on a mothers necklace. Simple, no initials or birthstones. Just arrows.

Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord... Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, so are the children of one's youth. Happy is the man who has his quiver full of them. Psalm 127:3-5

Six arrows. And one wing, tucked in the middle. For Oleg.

And as a finishing touch, my husband's birthstone hangs from the clasp sealing the necklace. Which is just perfect and made me cry a little bit. ;)

His ways are higher than my ways and His thoughts higher than my thoughts. And had I been able to "chose" my family... genders and birthorders and levels of development and adoptive countries... it might have looked a lot different. But I'm so thankful that I couldn't. And that I didn't. And that I still don't. 

"The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the Name of the Lord." In all this Job did not sin nor charge God with wrong. Job 1:21-22

I'm not promised tomorrow. I'm not promised that I'll have my home or my husband or my children tomorrow. But in this moment, I'm thankful for what I have. It hurts that Oleg never came home. 6 years later, it still hurts. But through my pain, I want to be like Job. Not sinning or charging God with wrong. But to say with all my heart, blessed be the name of the Lord.