Author: Rachel Goode

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End of the Wait

I am so tired of waiting for joy.

I am so tired of saying that life will be great when ______.

When I meet my husband.
When I finish school.
When we have children.
When Amelia gets home.
When our finances change. (not that we lack!)
When my schedule clears.
When my work situation is different.
When this.
When that.
When
when
when
when

THIS is the life I am living. Here and now. And it is a gift from a God who loves me more than my tiny brain can fathom. A gift so big, I can only unwrap it in tiny layers, and I haven’t even begun to see a drop of this Life’s glory. (Because He is the Life.) Do I think I deserve something better than the oceans of grace He has flooded onto my life?

I AM TIRED OF WAITING.
I am DONE waiting for joy.

I remember when we were waiting for Amelia, God began to whisper to my heart that I wasn’t REALLY waiting for Amelia. He whispered this to my heart: “You are waiting to see ME.” Yes. I see now that I was! And wow… how He is now showing Himself to my open, starving, begging-for-more-of-Him heart.

I thought we would see God most in the wait. In the trial. But oh, thank You God! The real miracles in this heart of stone I carry have begun in the days since we got home. God is going to change me. I know He is. He wants to show Himself to me. To us. To whomever is hungry for the Only True Joy.

I will leave you with an incredible quote from the book I am currently obsessed with. I now think this: During the painful darkness of our adoption wait, I was in the cleft of the rock, being shielded from God’s consuming glory by His covering hand. But now… oh chilling miracle… He has lifted His hand so I can look upon the back of a Holy God passing by.

Wasn’t that too His way with Moses? “When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by. Then I will remove my hand and you will see my back” (Exodus 33:22-23 NIV)
Is that it? When it gets dark, it’s only because God has tucked me in a cleft of the rock an covered me, protected, with His hand? In the pitch, I feel like I’m falling, sense the bridge giving way, God long absent. In the dark, the bridge and my world shakes, cracking dreams. But maybe this is the true reality: It is in the dark that God is passing by. The bridge and our lives shake not because God has abandoned, but the exact opposite: God is passing by. God is in the tremors. Dark is the holiest ground, the glory passing by. In the blackest, God is closest, at work, forging His perfect and right will. Though it is black and we can’t see and our world seems to be free-falling and we feel utterly alone, Christ is most present to us, I-beam supporting an earthquake. Then He will remove His hand. Then we will look.
Then we will look back and see His back.
Yes, God. Help us look back and see YOU.

____________________________

Rachel Goode

 

Rachel has been married to her husband Brad for 5 years. They have a 3 year old named Caroline and a 1 year old named Amelia, whom they recently brought home from Uganda. God has used Amelia and adoption to show His love and glory to the Goode family. You can follow their story on their blog.

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It’s Not Fair!

I think I am back on my feet.

I spent a couple of days in denial before I finally faced my crushed emotions about having to wait even longer for our daughter. I felt victimized by our circumstances. In some ways, it is still tough for me to wrap my mind around the fact that I have NEVER heard of another Ugandan adoption taking 19 months

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Amelia’s Rest

It is Saturday night.

I am rocking Amelia in the dark, trying to listen to the crickets outside rather than my own sharp and raspy lullaby. Amelia touches my lips and “sings” along, and I can tell that she thinks my off-key song is beautiful. I think she’s beautiful. We trace each other’s faces and fingers as we hum.

My mind wanders back several days, to when I showed Amelia a picture of Mama Sarah. Sarah was Amelia’s favorite caretaker in the orphanage. I cannot overstate how much they loved each other. For weeks after Amelia came home to us, we would get Amelia to smile for photos by yelling “Sarah” in a Ugandan accent.

I always want Amelia to know Sarah’s face, the first face that she knew as love…

And so last week, I showed Amelia a picture of herself with Mama Sarah.

Amelia laughed, grabbing for the laptop and yelling her baby-talk version of “Sarah.” She stared for a long time. Then Amelia turned to me, cried, and slapped me in the face.

My baby slapped me in the face. She hasn’t done that since Africa.

I know, baby. You miss Sarah, and you’re mad that I’m not her.

I think about this as I sing to sleepy Amelia in the dark…about my baby slapping my face, and how she both loves me and resists me…how she has bonded to us more quickly than we ever imagined, and how there is still so much bonding to be done.

Before long, Amelia is deep asleep in my arms, body limp and breath deep. I linger in her room for a long time, relishing this rare moment when I as an adoptive mother am recognized by my baby as her safety; her comfort; her rest. This isn’t the daily norm for Amelia. It is different for her than it was for our biological daughter Caroline. Even at the age of three, Caroline’s instinct is still to yell “mama” when she is hurt or scared. But Amelia is having to learn what comes naturally to other children: She is having to learn what it means to have a mom.

I just want to be a place of rest for Amelia.

Rest.

The thought hits me like a wave, and I laugh out loud. The word “rest” has been jumping out of Scripture during my quiet times lately. I have stared at the word curiously. I have turned it over and over in my mind, and I have prayed for God to show me what it means to “enter His rest.”

And once again, this tiny brown toddler sleeping in my arms has unknowingly opened my mind to some of the mysteries of God. She has cracked the window of heaven just a bit more for me. I feel the warmth of eternal beams shining around our rocking chair and I know:

REST means knowing who our Father is.

Just as I want Amelia to rest with me as her mother, God wants us to rest with Him as our Father. Rest means trusting that He loves us. Enjoying that He is in control. Ceasing to resist Him.

Rest means learning that His arms are a safe place… And sometimes, as Amelia is teaching me, a place to curl up and sing to Him as He sings over us.

________________________________________

Rachel Goode

Rachel has been married to her husband Brad for 5 years. They have a 3 year old named Caroline and a 1 year old named Amelia, whom they recently brought home from Uganda. God has used Amelia and adoption to show His love and glory to the Goode family. You can follow their story on their blog.

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My Honor

Originally posted about 8 months ago as Rachel waited…

________________________________________

When we started our adoption process, I used to cringe at the thought of being gone for so long when we travel to get Amelia. At least 5 weeks without Caroline. At least 3 weeks without my husband, trying to fare with a new baby in a very foreign place. While part of me romanticized Africa, another part knew how difficult my time would be.

I still realize it will be difficult. I am sure it could be one of the more lonely periods of my life. I have heard that many fellow adoptive parents become depressed by the end of trips that go on for weeks or more, especially when they are separated from children and spouses in a place that so lacks familiarity with home.

I have thought about this trip for a year and a half

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