Pride?

 It's February (and currently feeling like April outside), and as much as I love the cold and the snow, I am not minding the sunshine that is coming in through the windows here at the coffee shop as I write to you. It's warm and bright and it helps me clear my head and process my thoughts as I stare at the blank page in front of me. (It also makes me realize how dusty this computer is, and I think I can ignore that for now, but if you happen to be here too and see me using my sleeve to wipe the screen and keys, it will be obvious that the dust won.) 

Mike and I are coming to a process in adoption that we have never made it to before and while it's really exciting, it scares the dickens out of me. We are starting to think and plan and move things to get "the room" ready. We have always dreamed and talked about what "the room" will look like and how we will arrange and what we will have to move out, but never have we done anything for it. Even as much as I would have loved to have it all ready 3 years ago, it just didn't make sense before. But now, it's what we need to do. Did you read that word? It was "need". Not "want". We need to have a space ready...we need to make sure our house meets the requirements of the state of Michigan. We have approximately 400 books (wish I was kidding, but I'm not and that may be underestimated) that are going to be gone through and the ones that make the cut are heading across the state to Auntie Merner's bookshelves so that the bookshelves we have can be filled with toys and children's books. We are going to be moving the desk and filing cabinet out and downstairs so that the space can be used for beds. We are going to go through the closet, so that it can be filled with clothes. You guys!! It seems like a cruel dream almost...to be planning this when time and time before, we have faced a very sharp bend in the road. It almost makes me feel like we shouldn't be doing it - that this is foolish. Like I've written before - hope can be a very hard thing to fight to keep. Which leads me to the next thing that I wanted to write to you about...

We finished our required 12 hours of PRIDE courses on Saturday. These training's are required by the state in order to be a licensed foster/adoptive home and I'm going to be totally honest with you - they were extremely overwhelming and actually really discouraged me. They told us that the statistic that so many couples end up divorced after going through this process. They told us all the hard things we could face, and gave us examples of what our child(ren) might be facing and how it will effect their lives. They gave us statistics and numbers. They wanted to be "real". I understand them, I know why we took them and why they present the information as they do. They want people to know that this journey we are all embarking on is going to be hard. It's going to be sad. It's going to make us feel crazy. They don't want us doing it and then burning out or coming in with unrealistic expectations. One of the men on our class ended up asking the last trainer "Are there any good experiences that you've had?".  All this left me in a place where I questioned: "Do I have what it takes to do this?". Can we handle this? Will people stay by us when it's hard? Most people seem to be supportive right now and say they are accepting "no matter what", but will they be? Are they going to be accepting when it's different than what they think? What if our support system goes away? Can our marriage make it through this? God...I don't know about this.  

As we were making dinner and trying to decompress from the information that we just sat through, I told Mike "I am totally questioning whether or not we can do this.". It was a truly awful thing to admit...and because of the turns we have faced and the closed doors and the grieving processes we have walked through, I had to question if this was God telling me that this was another door that was closing. He gave me a hug and understood what I was saying. But, he also reassured me that this is where God has us. So, I decided to continue to fight for hope, even though I felt bloody and weak and discouraged.

I will fight to be excited. I will fight by asking the Lord to protect our children and thanking Him for how He promises to use the lives of our children to further His kingdom and point those around us to Him. That's a bold promise for me to feel...to let the knowledge that our children are His and that HE has a plan for them. I refuse to let the pride of discouragement win. I am begging the Lord to take over these feelings and thoughts...I am pleading with Him to fill me with the joy of hope. I don't want to be sitting over here with rose colored glasses on, but I WILL be joyful for my children. I will be excited for them...they deserve to be excited for. They deserve to be dreamed about and planned for. They deserve my prayers. I know things will be hard, but they deserve to be fought for and protected and loved. It reminds of me of the verse in Zephaniah where the Lord says He will rejoice over us with singing. 

 For the LORD your God is living among you. He is a mighty savior. He will take delight in you with gladness. With his love, he will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs!

(Zephaniah 3:17) 

This verse has been on my computer at work for a little bit now, and even now as I re-read it - I realize how rich with promises it is. He is with me (Immanuel)...He is a savior. He will take delight in me and be glad about it. He will calm my fear with perfect love. He will sing over me. This is the love and hope that we want to show our children...we want them to know this love and this hope for themselves. This is the love and hope He wants to show to you too. 

I wasn't sure how this blog post would end when I started to write it...I wasn't really feeling like I had the strength to fight for hope and wasn't even sure if I would make it all the way through. But, as I continued to type and think, He has filled me with the joy of hope again. He has calmed my heart just as I asked Him to. He has reassured me that people may come and go, but that He is a constant and promises to always be so. He has also reminded of me of a dream that I had last night that I didn't remember until now - it was a dream of a precious child that was mine...that I was getting to know and discover and holding in my arms. "He will rejoice over you with joyful songs!" Amen.