i try to remember and can’t. i try really, really hard. but when i go back in my mind, it’s not there. i then i remember it didn’t happen that way. all it takes is a clip of a commercial…the one with the mothers holding their new born babies, and my mind goes racing back to the day when i gave birth to Sophia. but i didn’t. and it’s one of the the strangest feelings i’ve ever had. the first time it happened, i kind of freaked out. i was watching some movie on tv, and there she was, a new mommy holding that precious little baby, and in my mind i thought, “oh, how sweet…i remember how i felt when i…” and then i froze. no, i don’t remember that, but oh how it feels like i should! we’ve been home with sophia for over a year now and God has sealed us together so tightly as a family, that i forget we went to China! i feel as if i gave birth to her…i feel as if it should’ve have happened! the first time i had that realization, i cried. i guess i was grieveing what didn’t happen, but i was also just plain feeling sorry for myself because one day i would so love to tell sophia about the day i gave birth to her. and on top f that, i never want her to feel as if she is different than any other little boy or girl whose mommy and daddy love them and brought them home a few days after entering the world. so, i did what i always do…i turned to Him. and He did what He always does… He gently reminded me of His perfect plan. His plan of how He brought our family together that day in China… the way He wanted to. He reminded me that i need to trust in Him when the time comes to explain those things to her, and that giving birth is miraculous. whether it’s natural or supernatural, like ours was. after the initital shock of trying to conjure up a memeory that was not there, i realized how blessed i was to feel that way. she IS my daughter, and yes, I am her real mommy. nothing will ever change that. our circumstances are different, but boy are they incredible! today we celebrate her birthday. and even though i may not remember the day she was born, there is someone who does. a nameless woman, halfway around the world, who, today, i’m sure, is remembering the day she walked into a hospital in Nanjing three years ago and gave birth to the sweetest little girl on earth. her memories, i’m sure, are filled with pain. i can’t even imagine what she may be feeling. i pray for her today. i pray that God somehow will let her know that the child she gave birth to is with a family (and i mean a great big family!) that loves her beyond the moon and back. i wish i could thank her. thank her for loving her enough to risk going into a hospital to give birth. to thank her for choosing a better life for her. to thank her for following God’s plan…even if she didn’t know what she was doing. one day i may be able to do that. only God knows…but for right now, i pray that today will bring peace to her. we have such a beautiful story of love to share with our daughter one day. and although our memories with her start at 21 months old, i think we are doin a pretty good job of making some wonderful memories with her. today is her day. and we will celebrate the joy of who she is in our lives. a daughter we can’t imagine never not having. and it really doesn’t matter how God did it. i’m just so glad He DID!

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Margy and her husband, Darren, traveled to China in November 2011 to bring their daughter home. Sophia Li was 21 months old at the time and has been helping Margy burn lots of calories ever since. The three live in southeastern NC and enjoy ice cream, visiting Disney World whenever possible, and being a forever family that God brought together by His perfect design.  You can follow their story on her blog, Hughes House.

Paul has been delving deeper into his life story as of late. Partly because I finally got it together enough to transfer his story from “out of my mouth” (his phrase for the paperless storytelling that sometimes happens in those dark and dreamy moments before sleep) and onto the printed page. And while I love “out of my mouth” stories, there is something solid and substantial about holding a story, with its heft and crackle and smells of ink, firmly in one’s hand.

We are a people of story. We need stories to learn, to grow, to make sense of the world around us. Stories connect us to our past, give us roots, a sense of place and permanency, fill us with resolve to spread our wings and seek new adventure. Stories give us hope.

No man can know where he is going unless he knows exactly where he has been and exactly how he arrived at his present place. – Maya Angelou

Children from hard places especially need story, need to tell and retell story in part to answer the big questions that comprise their past: Who am I? What happened to me? Is what happened to me my fault? What will happen to me now?

These life stories can be difficult because they contain such sadness and tragedy and loss. There are unanswered questions – unanswerable questions. Paul’s story, which is his own private story and only his to tell when he is ready, contains many such questions. There are huge gaps about which we know nothing. It’s a many-piece puzzle with no picture reference and no way of knowing how many pieces might be missing. It’s easy to want to fill in the gaps with wishful, loving platitudes “Your first mother and father loved you so much that…” or with what-might-have-beens or with outright untruths. But this is something we cannot do. We cannot lie or platitude or wish away those hard gaps.

I naturally use story in my counseling work (where it is sometimes called narrative therapy or metaphor therapy, which you really only need to know if you’re preparing for the board exam). My office is stuffed with folktales and fables and “Tell a Story” games and personal narratives littered on scraps of paper, complete with childish illustrations.

Sometimes I get calls or emails from teachers whose students have written such a story with a bit more…darkness…than they are used to seeing. One student with a hard, hard past, after months of games and metaphors and play both in my office and in family therapy, finally penned his story to paper. Penned it for a class essay project, which after reading the teacher quickly escorted to me.

The student entered my office warily, and when he saw the story on the table his eyes blazed and his arms crossed.

“You’re not in trouble,” I said. (They never are in trouble with the “upstairs Mrs. Thompson.” That role is completely out of my giftedness. They may have to engage in some natural consequences or “energy renewers” when they are with me, and I have been known to encourage students whose poor choices left havoc in their wake to get busy cleaning up said havoc, but never “in trouble”.)

He didn’t look convinced. “This is Powerful.” I looked him in the eye, placed my hand on the story. “Powerful.”

“It is?” He seemed to consider this. He knew full well that the story he’d written wasn’t “good” or “neat” or “lovely”, knew it wasn’t written with the only goal an A at the end, knew the language contained therein wasn’t much tolerated at this private Christian school. But powerful? Yes.

We sat at the table and read the story and acknowledged its pain and considered it in the objective sunlight streaming from my brilliant window and both knew something had changed, something had healed.

“It isn’t finished,” he said finally, with that twinkle in his eye I’d learned to recognize.

“No,” I agreed. “It isn’t finished.”

And he went on to write more of his story, and he is still writing, and now the stories reach beyond himself to others, to my own little guy, from healing his own hurt to understanding and empathizing with the hurt of those who’ve walked a similar path.

And so we help Paul tell his story with those same goals of understanding, healing, growing, with those same goals of hope. Patty Cogen, in Parenting Your Internationally Adopted Child, recommends using the wording Big Change in the child’s life story to note those life altering losses and transitions surrounding first family, caregivers, orphanages, adoption, moves. So much out of their control. So many Big Changes.

Paul has questions. “But how did you know to find me MIS?” he asked one evening after pouring over the pictures of one such Big Change, the day we met, May 7, 2012.

So many thoughts whirled through my head. How had we known how to find him? How had our little family connected with this one particular little boy half a world away? International adoption laws and adoption agencies and missionaries and matching meetings that seem on the surface so random yet are anything but. “We prayed for a little boy and God used our adoption agency to help us find you,” I finally answered.

He considered this. “But how did God even talk?” he wondered. Then, brightening. “I know! In you’s heart.”

In my heart. Absolutely in my heart. That is where his story and my story connect, where his part one ends and part two begins, the day his name flashed across my email, the day I saw his pictures, the day I read what little I know of the first part of his story – joyfully and fiercely in my heart.

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Kristi and her husband of 19 years stay busy loving, laughing and chauffeuring their teenage daughter (biological) and kindergarten son (home six months from Lesotho) around their Kentucky home. Kristi works part-time as an elementary school counselor (and as such knows parenting advice is easier said than done and that all of parenting is an on-your-knees-with-God proposition) and part-time as a writing instructor with the Institute of Children’s Literature (as an excuse to read really great books before anyone else) and any-other-spare-minute (none) writing children’s books. Since she “thinks through her fingers” she shares their adoption journey as a coping mechanism on her personal blog.

Hebrews 12:28

“Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe”

The sun is shining through my window this morning as I wake.  The faithfulness of God is more evident to me this morning than I have noticed in past mornings.  I get up and breathe… “Lord, help me finish well…”

Today is the day before I leave to visit my son in Haiti.  Today is the day that ends the “Week before I leave”.  Tomorrow will be my ninth trip to visit my son.  The “week before we leave” has been faithfully painful in different ways since we began our journey between these two countries 2 years ago. Tomorrow will be my 9th trip to see my son who I long for daily, but also to leave him again. Tomorrow will be my 9th trip to bring my son a part of his future, but also to speak of the future that is not fully clear yet.  Tomorrow will be my 9th trip to leave my worries here alone, but also to leave my 3 other children behind. Tomorrow I will walk ahead into this journey that has been both glorious and devastating all at the same time.

The “week before I leave” has always given me a fight.  I am one that will make lists and plan…take notice of what is ahead and anticipate all of my needs! What I can not do is anticipate everything that will interrupt those plans to sabotage my entire goals of finishing the way I wanted to.  I have many things lined out in my mind that that tell me, “Once this happens, you will be okay to go…okay to leave.”

Leaving is never something my mind, heart or body can fully embrace without concerns.  Fears and anxiety come from the underlying knowledge that it’s impossible for everything to be ‘okay’ when it comes to leaving.  I have a list: for the grocery store, for the packing bag, for the time with kids before we leave, for the things to do before we leave, for the bills to pay and the mail to send off.  I think if these lists get done, then I will be okay.

But every day of that “week before we leave”, I am shaken.  Every list, every need within my family, every road to accomplishment meets an obstacle that shakes my trust that things will “be okay”.  I am like a soda can that is shaken causing bubbles to erupt and give pressure…leaving me to spew everything that has risen up in me due to the shaking of these obstacles.

Almost always I yield to arrogance and attempt to control my week.  The irony is that this attempt almost kills me every time.  I go into distress because I can’t get to the store because someone gets sick or our car breaks down.  I don’t account for the normal emotional drama and parenting that has to continue despite my stress or to do lists.  My attempt to control only yields fruit of anger, bitterness and blaming everyone.

As I am shaken by this “week before leaving”, I am reminded that I am not all knowing.  I do not hold all things together.  I do not rule time and providences. I do not know what I need.  I cannot live on my own.  I am broken, meant to be shaken, so that I can see that I need my faithful and loving Father who is God of all of these things.

My God is at work.  And I have been adopted into His kingdom that cannot be shaken to destruction.  He says that He will work all things for my good, to His glory even when I don’t know what that practically looks like.

I begin this last day of this “week before leaving”, that has been one of the hardest weeks out of the 9 times leaving, taking a new breath.   I see Him.  Despite all of the darkness that the week has seemed to give, the sun still comes up.  My God is faithful and is my help.  Nothing will be okay if I act as god and seek to help myself.   But I know that everything will be okay because my God is indeed my help and it is my prayer that I will finish in this truth today.

So as we walk in this month of thanksgiving, I am thankful for the shaking that happens to me in my adoption journey.  It testifies that I am not God, but that I need Him desperately.  It testifies that I am a part of a kingdom that cannot be shaken and for that I am thankful and in awe of my LORD who has once again shown himself faithful.  I will leave tomorrow and everything will be okay.

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I am married to Michael Stewart. We live in Austin, TX with our 3 children, Wesley-Grant (7 yrs), Sally (6 yrs) and Karis (4 yrs) while waiting on our son, Kelly who is 5 yrs old, to come home from Haiti. We have been in the process of adoption for almost 2 years. We are imperfect people but loved perfectly by a gracious and loving God. Follow our journey on our family blog.

I’ve been called a lot of words I don’t deserve in the past week: beautiful and obedient and gracious and grace-filled and sweet and honorable and passionate and amazing and courageous and inspiring.

You want to know the word that best described me the night before I posted our adoption news?

Terrified.

The week before, I sat trembling in my Bible study group because I knew God was moving in us to do something about this orphan named Jesse who would be renamed Zoe Amanda. I just didn’t know how to tell anyone. I didn’t know how to explain myself.

I thought we would be called crazy. (And a little part of me thought that we’d deserve that.)

I thought our friends wouldn’t stand by us. (How I misjudged you!)

I thought our choice would be considered reckless, when we already had two young children and when I was still recovering from knee surgery and when I seem to collect chronic health problems. (No one brought up any of that.)

Friends knew we planned to adopt someday, but we had no homestudy started yet, we weren’t on any waitlist, and we hadn’t narrowed down a country or special need or age or anything else yet. We were caught by surprise, so we knew other people would be too.

I’m smiling in this picture, but I was so scared of how y’all would respond to the news.

A little blond girl who is wise beyond her years was the one who gave me the words, days after our announcement.

We sat with my brother-in-law’s family, and they asked why we were doing this. I tried to answer, and I stumbled over my words: “Well, this wasn’t the country we expected, or the special needs we expected, or the age of child we expected, or the timing we expected, but…” I couldn’t find the words to finish that sentence.

Jocelyn, who now dotes on her sister with more love than I thought she was capable of, jumped in.”But God said to do it, so we’re doing it.

I am in the process of thinking though all that God has been doing in our lives over the last few days.  As many of you know, I got a call one week ago that changed my life in a moment. It was the call from our adoption agency telling me the story of a little boy who suffered at the hands of his father. “He needs a special daddy, one who is good and kind and can be patient with him” she told me. “We read your file and thought that might be you.  Does that sound right? Can you be that Daddy to him?” What do you say to that?  Everything in me cried out “I want to be!” but at that same moment all my failings as a dad flashed in my mind. The times I let my exhaustion result in a sharp tone, the times when I”ve parented out of my own weakness or insecurity. All the mistakes and missed opportunities.

“He sounds like a really special boy who needs a family to love him.  I will talk to Amy and pray about it.  You will hear from us shortly”.  That was all I could muster.  I sat in my car shell shocked and sobbing.  Sobbing for this boy, my son, and from the weight of the question….Can you be that Daddy?

Every year I make a Christmas CD.  I know, it seems a bit weird, but it’s just one of those things I fell into over the years.  Amy is to blame.  I could fill a 10 volume book series on the amazing things about my wife.  Chief among her virtues is her kindness.  The way she loves those around her is startling and the most beautiful thing in the world to behold.  That being said, in that 10 volume “Ode to Amy”, you would be hard pressed to find a description of her love for GOOD music.  She does love music, it’s just that a lot of it is, well…. not great to listen to in my opinion.  I’m sure you’re thinking her kindness must be unending to live for so long with a jerk like me…you are correct.  If she controlled the play list Christmas music would start around Labor Day and end around the 4^th of July.  I decided if I was doomed to 6 months of Christmas music, I would do my best to find some that’s tolerable to listen to.  So that is how 10 years ago, I started making Christmas CD’s.

Now the process of scouring through thousands of Christmas songs is part of my holiday tradition.  No joke, I have well over 600 Christmas songs on my iPod right now.  Ridiculous… I know.  My favorite part of the tradition is that (while listening to Stryper Christmas Reunion Album) I get to refocus my mind on what Christmas is about.

This year, as our adoption is closer than has seemed possible, I reflect on the birth of Christ in a new way.  I can only imagine being in a field in the middle of the night, watching my animals as the most important moment in the history of the world is happening right over the next rise.  It is still now a thought that makes me fall on my knees.  That God would choose a frail and flawed race of people to bear his image.  That he would demonstrate his plan for humanity through a baby born to a young girl and an adoptive father who were in poverty.  You get a glimpse of the Fathers heart.

I can only scratch the surface of what Joseph must have been feeling.  Is this really God’s baby?  Was that really God’s angel who appeared to me in my dream?  How can I be a father to God’s son? The confusion and fear he must have felt would be paralyzing.  Would he even feel worthy to be Jesus’ father?

Truly we are not worthy to be God’s hands and feet to those around us.  To those that God has put in our care.  As I again reflect on that question “Can you be that Daddy?” I know that I cannot give my son or my other children the full measure of the love they deserve.  I know that the love I give is filtered through the broken and frail man that I am, BUT I know who can be that Daddy.  And I know that He loves me.  And when I press into His love, it can spill out of me and cover those around me.  It is a privilege that God uses us to share His heart with those around us.  In a new way I learned to say to God… “I will love your kids as best as I can.  Forgive me when I fail.  Thank you for the pleasure of letting me have them for a while.  They are yours to do with as you see fit, because I know you will be a better father than I can ever be.  Help me be more like you, Father.  Then I can be that Daddy.”

Amy is a business owner and adoptive mommy whose heart has been broken and expanded by loving orphans in Ethiopia.  She blogs at Love the Least of These because there is power and transformation in sharing our stories with each other.  She and her husband, Ben, and their three children make their home in Colorado Springs where Ben works in orphan advocacy for Children”s HopeChest.