he provides

Dear Parent-in-Waiting,

I see you. I know where you've been. I know the pain, the hurt, the sorrow, the tears, the loneliness. I know the sleepless nights, the journal entries, the activities you take part in to fake yourself out. I know the uncomfortable feeling you get at holidays when mostly well-intentioned people ask when a baby is coming. I know the frequent trips to a quiet corner at family gatherings to wipe your eyes away from everyone. I know the fake smile you plaster on because it's what you do at Christmas - even if it truly is your favorite holiday. 

I know because I walked that road. You see that man? He was faking his way through Christmas a year ago because it's what he was supposed to do. I remember last Christmas as a very dark time in my life internally. About a year ago while we were visiting my family for Christmas in my hometown, we got an email alert from our social worker. We received an info summary on a baby girl who had already been born. Immediately our minds went to the joy of being able to surprise our family with a new baby at the Christmas gathering. We said yes. And then the agonizing wait began. We even used some time on our Christmas break from school to research nursery organization and think of ways we could make the space unique. 

We were getting ready for Christmas Eve candlelight service at church when we got the dreaded "she chose another family" email. While we rejoiced for this life and this baby girl's future, we grieved for the loss in our own hearts. And then we had to pretend to have it together in under 15 minutes because it was church time and that's what we do. The second song we sang that afternoon was "Away in a Manger." I sobbed my way through it so badly that I am genuinely shocked an usher didn't ask to take me to the prayer room. 

When we got home that night, we read scripture - through a cloud of tears - about joy and reminded ourselves that our joy was internal and eternal.

The next day at our family Christmas gathering, we were surprised with gifts for the baby we hadn't even met yet. Needless to say, there were tears galore. In the moment, I realized how blessed we are to have a family who was loving and caring for the baby that we didn't know yet but had prayed fervently for for years. I realized how much I had missed in that Christmas season because I was so caught up in my own sorrow and heartache. But the Lord began to restore my heart and remove my sorrow. And now, I am preparing to celebrate my first Christmas as a Dada.

Wherever you are - waiting for a match through adoption, waiting for a court date, waiting for just one positive pregnancy test and a healthy pregnancy - know that the Lord sees your sorrow and knows your heart. He will provide in His time and His plan. He will provide just what you need when He knows you need it. We may not always like that time aspect, but He has written the entire book that we are only reading sentence by sentence. Remember that you have friends who will stand in the gap for you, a family who loves you, and a God who provides for you. 

May your future Christmases exceed your wildest dreams. 

thanks

You know my name, my wife's name, our jobs. You've seen pictures of us, our day-to-day life, and our big, crazy family. You know how we handle and resolve conflict, our mindset on dating and what makes a marriage work. You've seen pictures of our son's nursery, pictures of our friends, and pictures of the church where we dedicated our son to the Lord when he was barely 6 weeks old. You know so many intimate details about our life that we compiled into our profile book. 

We know your name. We know the part of the country where you live. We know your medical background. We know how you describe yourself and your temperament. We know about the medical history of your family. We have not met in person, yet we share the most intimate bond imaginable. For you made the bravest choice possible and gave life to this little man who's snoozing away soundly across the hall as I write this, and in so doing, you helped bring about a family in this home. 

Birth mother, on this first Thanksgiving for my family of three, I am eternally grateful for you. Yes because you gave my wife & me a son, but for so much more than that. Thank you for looking outside of what was easy, convenient, or practical and choosing a selfless act of love instead. Thank you for honoring life and for giving this chubby-cheeked boy a life, hope, and a future. Thank you for giving me and my wife the family we have prayed for for years. I cannot imagine the difficulty of your choice and the thoughts that went through your mind. 

Today, as we hope to do each day, we honor you in our home. We speak with our 8-month-old openly about you and how brave, how selfless, and how bold you are. He has heard your name countless times. He has heard us pray for you by name. And I pray as he ages and especially as he approaches young adulthood, that he truly understands the impact of you on his life. We want him to know how much you have impacted his life, our lives, and the lives of generations to come with a single, selfless choice.

While we may not meet in the flesh any time in the near future, we pray that we meet on the other side of eternity. We pray for your relationship with Christ regularly, and we pray that we can share in the joy of being brothers and sisters in Christ with you. There are so many other things that I want to say, because "Thank you" just doesn't seem to be enough. But I do want you to know that we love you, we appreciate who you are, and we are always grateful for your love. 

choices

Do you ever consider the impact of a single choice on your life? And I mean truly think about the weight of how that choice could mold the rest of your life? I recently listened to a book (one which I wouldn't recommend) that looked at different versions of individuals' lives and how Version 1 of Person A's life intersecting with Version 3 of Person B's life could produce a completely different outcome than Version 2 intersected with the same Version 3. And that got my wheels spinning.

Something I don't often share is that I did not officially begin college at my alma mater. I spent the first 2.5 weeks of my college career at the rival school across town. It was essentially the antithesis of my high school experience and one I swore I didn't need repeated for the next 4 years of my life. Turns out, I was miserable and cried nearly every single day. I eventually was able to transfer to the college that helped mold me into who I am today.

I remember the day I went to buy my books at my new school. It was about 3:00 in the afternoon before a hurricane was about to blow in, and I pulled into the bookstore parking lot where I saw a high school classmate and close friend, who had no idea of my plans to transfer (remember, this was pre-facebook). She immediately began jumping around and yelling as she say my car. We hugged and laughed and cried and caught up briefly before I went to buy my books. When classes began after the storm, she introduced me to a friend of hers in our literature class who she had met during SGA activities. 

That mutual friend thought I was the biggest snob on the planet, and I thought she had no goals for her life. But I was drawn to her smile, her laugh, her zeal and passion for life. Over the next 7 years, a friendship developed into something more and we eventually could no longer be "just friends." I'm sure you can guess who that friend was. What if I hadn't transferred schools? I would have missed spending life with the one who God created specifically for me. I could have potentially missed a great deal of love, laughter, and some good eats. 

If you didn't know me before my wife and I were married, you are probably not aware of the other choice that impacted our life. In the early planning phases of our engagement, we originally wanted a long engagement and to be married in the late fall of 2012. But the stress and noise of wedding planning caused us to change our wedding plans to a small family ceremony in the spring. April 2012 to be exact.

If you remember the details of our adoption journey, you know that we were unable to file papers to adopt until our third anniversary. We filed them on that day; we had a great meal at home, spend the night in our pjs, and clicked submit to God's plan for our family that night. We spent the next 6 months in counseling, interviews, and home study before beginning the matching process in October 2015 (which would not have been our 3-year anniversary had we not moved the date of our wedding). We waited for 5 months which were at times excruciating and at times joyous as we savored the final days of "just us." And on our fourth anniversary, we received the summary of our little man that God had chosen for us. 

What if we hadn't chosen to change our wedding date? What if we weren't in the matching phase when our son's birth mother began to make her brave choice? I know that our son would have certainly been matched and placed with a loving family who would raise him to honor and serve God. I am not saying by any means that we are the supreme parents who have ultimately done some good deed. I am saying that God wove our story together in such an intricate way that even a choice such as the university I chose to attend or the date on which my wife and I chose to marry altered the course of my life, my family's life, and essentially generations to come.

Our God is in the details. As we sang in church this morning, He will not be delayed. He sets plans into motion and weaves together the threads of our stories in such major ways before we even realize that the loom is being threaded. Today, I am thankful for the day in 2004 that brought me to my knees and caused me to change what I thought was my plan for life. I am thankful for the day when I met that girl who thought I was a snob. I am thankful for the night we sat in her apartment and felt that tug on out hearts to change our plans to His plan. And I am thankful for every day with my family of 3. This is us, and I am thankful for us. 

adulting

I know that y'all know my general feelings about #adulting. As in, it is equal parts liberating and frustrating. I'm only a few months into this new decade, but the 30s have proved to be much more freeing than their predecessor. I find that I'm more sure of myself and ready to face life head on. But wow, the responsibility. Throw in a tiny human into the mix, and it's. just. wow. 

It's amazing how this child who I love more than life can also be so incredibly frustrating. You go from wanting nothing but snuggles to realizing why some animals eat their young. It's a weird range of emotions if you've never been there. And people will warn you of this, and you will roll your eyes and say, "___ doesn't know me. She doesn't know my life!" And then it will be true. You truly wonder how the same thing that brings you such joy can also be so maddeningly frustrating. 

Have you ever been through a season of life in which you know your obedience was directly in line with the will of God and then things almost instantly start to cave in? I know that I know that I know that we were called to adopt our #HWD. God placed that call on our lives and orchestrated that before we were even us. Through a lot of prayer and the Lord's faithfulness and provision, we were able to adopt our son relatively quickly and debt-free. We, along with so many of you, covered the journey in prayer, and God proved his faithfulness in our lives. And the enemy doesn't like that. At. All.

Satan will try to find any way he can to tear down what God has built up. He will cause work troubles and the stress of an unexpected job hunt with a 2-month-old at home. He will bring about unexpected financial situations like a broken air conditioner (I know I know #firstworldproblems). He will cause relationships that you thought were stable to unexpectedly implode over pettiness. He will bring on emotional pain and heartache in your marriage. 

But Christ is our redeemer. He holds the keys and none of this is a shock. He provides financially beyond your wildest imagination. He brings you even closer to home in a great school. He brings true friends into your life. He brings emotional healing and immense love out of the dare to love deeply in your marriage. He brings life, hope, and peace. And that is who I choose to place my trust in. Regardless of what the world throws at you, Christ is in control. And at the end of the day, I rest in that comforting embrace.

"I will not be moved. I'll say of the Lord, 'You are my shield, my strength, my portion, deliver. My shelter, strong tower, my very present help in time of need.'"

think before you post

Parents,
Congrats! You've survived another summer, and now the chaos and regularity of school begins again. You are now entrusting your bundles of joy with adults who care about them more than you or they will ever know. And that can be scary, terrifying even, especially if you haven't had the chance to have a "meet the teacher" night - and sometimes even if you have. 

I get it y'all. I think about the day in a few years when I will have to let go of HWD's hand and send him to school all day with a teacher who I know will love on him and hopefully pass on a little knowledge to him along the way. She or he will discipline him too, and HWD might be a little sad or angry about it, but guess what? He needs it! I trust even now that his best interests will always be considered. 

Can I let you in on a secret? Never in all of my career have I worked with a teacher who was out to "get" a student, or to bring harm to anyone in that classroom. I've worked with some remarkable educators in the last 9 years - many who have high expectations, teach so much more than their content, develop an uncanny rapport with their students, and who challenge me daily to step up my game. They may do things that frustrate students or parents, but they've never been like Ms. Trunchbull with a "gotcha" attitude. A teacher's being hard on your child will only help prepare him or her for their future - whatever that looks like. I've bounced back from multiple unexpected turns in my career because I had teachers who taught me early on that it's ok to fall down, but it's not ok to stay there. They guided me back to success, and that's made me who I am today. 

While there is no formal Hippocratic Oath for teachers, I would like to believe that we all take an oath to constantly grow our field, research and use best practices, instruct with passion, teach with rigor, and to always have the students' best interest at heart. Parents, your babies are our babies. I still call anyone who was in my class ever "my kid" or "my baby." Do they sometimes stand on my nerves - not like our own children ever do that - to the point of my nearly going bananas? Yes. But I still love them and will care for them just the same. 

I say all that in preparing to ask you all for a favor. When you get frustrated with your child's teacher, when you feel they're not hearing you, when you wonder just how to fix the problem, please take a deep breath. Talk to that teacher one-on-one and don't come in guns blazing. Try to resolve the issue peacefully. If that doesn't fix the problem, seek an administrator. 

But for the love, please please please do not take to social media to shame that teacher in an arena in which he or she is defenseless. Remember that while you were wondering when summer would ever end, that teacher was spending time, energy, and resources to prepare a classroom in which your child would feel safe. Remember that your child's teacher has a family at home too - one who they love dearly and are working hard in the classroom for in order to earn a living. Remember that your child's teacher is a member of a community that may or may not overlap with yours; no one on your friends list really should have to be put in that awkward position of having to "choose a side" if you will. In the age of internet shaming, let's all consider whether or not we would want to have someone with limited knowledge of a situation that took place at our place of work to blast us on the interwebs for all to see. Ms. Greene might frustrate you once or even twice, but social media is not the place to announce that. You may feel she should not hold that position, but remember you are looking at it through a momma bear or papa bear lens. On behalf of teachers everywhere, please think before you post. 

a voice

There's a side to parenting that no one really discusses. Sure people talk about the poop and pee stains, the zombie-like state due to lack of sleep, and the film of powder that perpetually coats that corner of the kitchen counter where you store the formula. They tell you to make sure you communicate with your spouse, to shower the baby with love but not too much, and that you really do need to soak in every single moment because it all moves so quickly. But no one dares mention the soul-crushing anxiety that can encompass every waking moment if you let it.

As a type-A, OCD-diagnosed, perfectionist, have-to-do-it-myself type of person, fatherhood has been difficult at times. Don't get me wrong. It's filled with wonderful moments when he looks in my eyes and grins the gummiest, sweetest grin you've ever seen; when he coos so loudly when I sing to him my favorite vocalises (momma made me mash my m&ms, red leather/yellow leather, et al); and those blissful moments when I tell him I love him and he sinks even deeper into my arms. At that point, I know that I am doing at least one thing right. 

But then there are the moments when he literally will not stop screaming, despite the fact that his diaper is clean and his belly is full. There are the moments when you just want one moment for yourself in a slightly selfish way. There are times when you are so determined to be so over-the-top great and do-it-yourself that you do all the things and end up hurting your wife's feelings because she only sees herself as a warm body in the church routine. There are moments when your tunnel-visioned self literally cannot think of something as simple as standing up and walking to assuage the crying, and when your wife finally does that for you, you break down in sobs. It. is. so. hard. 

And then there's the issue of dealing with all of this. Yes, I take my me time to run almost every day while I train for my next half, but sometimes that just doesn't do the trick. I've always been one who struggled with voicing my feelings, but I could easily write about them. But lately, not only has it been hard to put my feelings into words, I've struggled with the way I am perceived. It seems that my intent is not always clear on my blog, and I have turned some people away. If that is true for you, then I am sincerely sorry; this is my voice, and it's the only one I know. 

Say what you will about millennials needing a safe space, but shouldn't everyone have somewhere where it's ok to speak your mind in a low-judgment arena? I don't claim to be an expert in parenting at all, or really in any area of my life, so the observations I've recorded have just been that - observations. I attempt to add humor to them to defer the anxiety, but then I wind up being misinterpreted and turning more people away. And this leads to more anxiety because I worry about how I'm going to get all these frustrations out {some of you are probably thinking a journal, right?} while still seeking some consolation that it's all going to be ok. It's a vicious cycle. 

And it has to end. Parents, we HAVE to stop burning each other at the stake for every transgression that we notice about each other - whether it's recorded on social media or not. Parenthood is tough enough as it is; we don't need to be at odds with each other over the way our babies are posed in a picture, the number of times we feed our babies, or whether or not we post about our babies on social media. Do we see what's happening here, y'all? We are missing out on our blessings because of adults who are acting like children, and we are experiencing more anxiety ourselves as a result. 

So here I am. An imperfect dad who struggles with the weight of this burden of raising a God-fearing son in our society. A man who loves his wife fiercely but doesn't always show it in a way that honors her. A friend who worries about the way his friends perceive his heart in all of this. An anxiety sufferer who hopes that at least one of you find comfort in these words. A child of God who prays that He receives the honor & glory in all things. 

color blind

Let me make something abundantly clear before this goes any further: I could not love my son any more. He is my pride and joy, and I will go to battle for him to the ends of the earth. If you've been in touch with me in the last few months, you know that my son doesn't look like me and never will. I couldn't be any more ok with that fact. Regardless of his looks or the color of his skin, he is and always will be my son. Plain and simple.

A lot has been said in the past few years especially about which lives matter and which do not. The reality of this situation is that I know my son will have a tougher go in some areas of life than I did, but I can still equip him to be a man of character, a man who loves the Lord and his family, and a man who is proud to wear this last name of his that will soon be official. People have asked me if we will tell him he's adopted, and I jokingly answer "well if he doesn't know, he may need to get his eyes checked." {Humor in uncomfortable situations is my coping mechanism du jour.} 

I've also been asked several times which race he will identify with. Part of our adoption education courses included a session on transracial adoption; we had always been open to the idea. But I guess I never really processed the depth of that question or the underlying sorrow. Because here's the reality y'all. He's a human, end of story. Why can't he identify as being a member of the human race? Why must we look at it through that lens so often in our society? Why can't we see this little brown baby as just a baby who brings his parents so much joy? Why do we have to label every single thing? 

I know, I know. In the age of social media outcries and political correctness, this can be a touchy subject. My son is a human who was created in the image of a perfect God. It doesn't matter if he had 11 toes or webbed feet; he would still be the perfect child God had planned for us. {PLEASE don't misread that as "He thinks his child is perfect," because I know he isn't.} If you see the color of my son's skin first before your recognize those beautiful lashes, those chubby cheeks, the big feet, or his infectious grin, then perhaps you need to check your own eyes and check your heart. The truth is, we are all humans. We can all use a little more love, mercy, and grace. And we can start treating each other a lot nicer too.


I also need to apologize / clear the air over a slight ruckus I created on the book o face yesterday in posting about our court date and inviting those who could to attend. We have been asked if we plan on sharing every picture from our journey, to which we responded that we couldn't for the sake of time {seriously, 3.5 months worth x 2 oversharing parents with camera phones = too many pictures to post}. There seems to be a misunderstanding that people deserve or have a right to what has been a very intimate time for us and for our families. 

Yes, we have been transparent about the adoption process and journey, partially because we feel society just doesn't have the proper education about it and we desire to be ambassadors of sorts. But we have been far from oversharers. We didn't share each time we got a birth mother summary, each mother who chose someone else and left us brokenhearted, the families we said no to simply because of the situation, leaving us absolutely broken. We haven't shared the nights we simply sat and cried in an empty nursery because of the weight of this journey. 

We have not and WILL NOT share the details of our son's journey home or his entry into the world and all that that entailed. That is his and his birth mother's story first and foremost. When he is old enough to comprehend, he will hear that from us; then he can share what he feels others need to know. While we are appreciative and grateful for those who have earnestly prayed for us daily, have donated of their time and resources for fundraisers, and have actually sent us messages of encouragement, no one has a right to this story except for Christ and the 3 people in this home. And if that's not ok with you in the age of oversharing, then perhaps you need to evaluate where you are in our life. We desire to honor Christ in our adoption, not get likes on Facebook.