Hannah Meeting Stephenie

Having an adopted child has been a blessed, but sometimes crushing experience.  

This little person wrapped up in brown skin with soft curls had laughter that came from her toes. She filled our world with joy previously undreamed of.  

We would actually  miss her after putting her to bed as a nine month old. After waking her up to play with her for just a few minutes, she would happily go back to sleep again. A few years later, that became an absurd memory when we were sleep deprived with two more babies.  But that’s the way it was with Hannah Jean.  Joy.  True, real, and lasting. She was a gift from heaven.

As the reality of what adoption meant sunk into her happy bones, an ache settled along with it.  Being raised by us meant that there were other people out there to whom she was connected.

She began to gaze with longing at “brown people” and wonder where her biological family might be. Questions about them didn’t live on the surface, but pulsed within her, occasionally making their way to the top. She had questions which needed answers and emotions which needed validation.

She had a beautiful heart, this Hannah Jean, filled to the brim with talent.  Maybe the ache inside of her found expression as she  danced, drew,  and sang.  It all flowed out of her naturally.

Each of us have something we are waiting for; Hannah waited to meet Stephanie, her birth mom. 

Love isn’t always easy.  It chooses to trust and believe that it will be okay to take the risk.  To share the name Mom or Dad.  Oh, but love rejoices to see hope fulfilled.

One of the sweetest moments of my life is captured here when Hannah and Stephanie finally met.  It says it all.

On Wearing White

As I stood in the bridal shop dressing room looking at my reflection, I had one of those rubber meets the road moments.  

As a bride “making herself ready” it was time to choose the dress I would wear as I walked down the aisle on the arm of my father.  The internal "Scarlet A" had long since been erased by my Heavenly Father and I was walking in freedom from shame and guilt.  My life had become filled with traveling and singing and I hardly had time to focus on planning my wedding.  Between tours I would go to a place of business armed with my dear father’s credit card and make a decision, knowing that the number I gave secured the appearance of flowers, food, and a photographer on the wedding day.  It was all quite simple.  

But here I was, looking at my reflection in the mirror. There were two dresses to choose from. One was a floor model, on sale for a pittance. It would need cleaning and mending because it had been  tried on and left behind over and over again in the search for something better.  It would have been fine after a bit of attention because it fit well and would be pretty once it was cleaned up.  

The other dress was satin, brand new, and priced quite a bit higher.  It would take a lot of confidence to buy that dress.  It was symbolic of something, fit for a princess.  Clean and white. 

Choosing to believe my earthly dad’s heart for me was where the rubber met the road that day. 

The dress hangs in my closet even now, a reminder that as a forgiven bride, I have value, I have been made whole, I am loved.  

What a beautiful reflection.

Risk

After writing my previous post, opening the door to my sordid past, I experienced something I do not like.  Though it was delayed, it made its way full force to my unsuspecting heart:  vulnerability.  

Life is so much easier when we play it safe.  Insulating ourselves from our own pain, and that of the world, it could be tempting to live a life of sterile numbness.  No pain, no great joy, just safe, monotonous, risk-free living.

There are times when I am on the edge, having said yes to something outside my comfort zone, and I’ll be wondering just before I get up in front of a bunch of people,  how in the heck do I get into these situations??  But the answer is pure and simple.  I don’t just want to live my own life in my own house with my own family in my own comfort for my own pleasure.  Man, it’s tempting to do so because I am mightily blessed with the best.  My husband, my home, and my kids (not to mention my horses) surround me with great joy. 

Before investing in the stock market, one must assess their own tolerance for risk and make sure the stress of potential loss can be handled.  The hope for gain is proportional to the risk taken.  So it is with life, and some things are worth the risk.  Like being known. So every once in a while I open a door that could hopefully bring hope to a mom whose daughter has run away. Or maybe the aloneness of  shame and guilt can find healing in the safe light of camaraderie.  I know few people who have actually experienced some of the things I have walked through, but many have found identification and help from me sharing mine.  There’s value in that. In fact, other than relationships, what value is there, anyway?

I’m so glad Jesus took the ultimate risk.  He saw true worth and laid His life down for something of value:  relationship with you and me.

Yes, He is the example we are to follow…..may we see value when it’s staring us in the face, and go searching for it when it’s not.  

Vulnerability?  You are worth the risk.