Long before the first 3:00 a.m. feeding;
before the first photo text on our phones announcing her arrival;
before the sight of tiny pumping heart chambers on our computer video.
This story began even before one extraordinary, beautiful young woman made her choice to give this spirit life.
When my eyes met Lenna’s mortal eyes for the first time, it was as if a sealed part of my book of life had suddenly been unlocked. I recognized her. She’s always been a part of my story.
Lenna’s life and our lives are more because of all we experienced to be prepared for her. I’ve learned that every adoption story is unique and miraculous and I never get tired of hearing them. Our story is not just about miracles, but having the hope of miracles.
The morning after we received the news that we had been chosen to be parents, I wrote on Facebook “Life is one big miracle. Even when it isn’t, it is.” I could suddenly see the intricacy and weaving of choices, trials, both painful and joyous preparation, of heartaches and tender mercies. When this view of things appeared, I thought what I was feeling was overwhelmed. Looking back, I see pieces of emotional armor chinking into place, readying me for the onslaught of doubt that would come over the next two months. To protect my own scars from absorbing the waves of fear that came rushing at us, I needed that armor. And Alan? He came into this world with armor for battles like these.
But one thing I did have was hope: Even when I knew I could no longer bear my own children. Even when I fully accepted the knowledge that motherhood is inherent in all women and could be used to better any child’s life, regardless of whether or not you were rearing one as your own, in your own home. Even then– I always knew I would be a mother in this life. That is how destiny is.
For years I fought an inward battle to define the difference between faith and hope. Did I have enough faith? Not always. Sometimes it was hanging by a thread. Sometimes I lost it. But hope? I’ve determined, in my 17 year wait to be a mother, that hope is something God never allows to diminish. The hope of who we were meant to be burns on inside us, even in our darkest days and we forget it’s there. Our spirits never forget, because it’s something we inherited from our Father.
To be continued…