When I was younger, there was a group called The African Children's Choir that used to travel around the U.S. to help raise money to send back to their homes. Most of them had lost both parents in tragedies that we couldn't even fathom. When they would come through Salt Lake, my family used to host a few of the kids. It was only for a few days, but those few days were long enough to make a lasting impression. I remember one particular year it had snowed in the mountains so we took the three girls that were staying with us up to see it. They had never seen snow before in their life and couldn't get enough of the fluffy whiteness that blanketed the ground! Throwing it in the air and at each other and sticking handfuls of it in their mouths, they were absolutely delighted at the snowy surprise! That same year, one of the girls had gotten very attached to my dad and when it was time to leave, all I can remember is that little girl clinging to my dad's neck, crying and not wanting to let go. My dad held her, patting her back and coaxing her to release. But I knew what she wanted was not to let go of the safety and security that she found in my dad's arms. I cried watching, because I knew how good those arms felt. A lasting impression.
I don't know if that's what started this stirring in my young heart, or if God had it planted there all along, but while most little girls played "House" and stuffed a ball up their tummies to pretend like they were pregnant, I was the odd one out who always dreamed of going over to Africa to save the orphans. It's something that I never grew out of, and I can remember one particular night about 5 years ago when I was going through a hard time {yet another identity crisis}, there were so many unknowns in my life and I was so confused about who I was and what I was supposed to do. I can remember God whispering to me that night as I lay in bed crying to write down the things that I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he had told me about myself. I began making a list, and on that list was one thing that was outstanding above them all: I was called to be a mother to the motherless. I can remember even writing that phrase down brought me to tears. Typing it now has the same affect. It was a promise that I kept very dear to my heart and buried in the deepest, safest place.
Flash forward a couple years and I'm talking on the phone to a blue-eyed boy from Oklahoma. We're still in the getting-to-know-you stage, discussing dreams we have for our lives, when out of nowhere he says something that makes my heart stop. He begins telling me that he's always felt that God has called him to be a father to the fatherless. He wasn't really sure what that meant, and at that time he took it to mean that he was a father to all the hundreds of teenagers that he was with every week. But I knew better. I just listened, never revealing to him until almost a year later when we were engaged that God had spoken the same thing to me. But in that moment of his confession, I knew that that was the man I was going to marry. I even have it recorded in my journal. Creepy how stuff like that happens, right?! Only God.
Adoption has always been the topic when Matt and I talk about having a family. The alternative {which is, having a baby of our own} rarely if ever comes up as an option. That's not to say that if we had one of our own, that we wouldn't adore and cherish him or her, but it's just to say that our hearts have always been so set on adoption, that it's hard to imagine anything else! Most people have a hard time understanding that.
And here we are, in the present, on January 21, 2012. Today. The dream has been has been in slumber for quite a while, but in the past couple months, has slowly been making it's way to the surface. I don't know what that means for us or a timeline of when it will happen, but I just know that something deep inside me has started stirring. Maybe it's God starting to prepare our hearts for whatever the future holds or maybe it's just a result of all the pregnancy hormones floating around in the air. Whatever it is, I do know that I've started praying for our {future} little ones. Because maybe they are being born today. Because maybe their birth mother needs someone to show her compassion. Or, because maybe they need all the health, love, and compassion that only can be provided by a mother's heart who's half a world away. So instead I pray. I pray for health, love and compassion that comes from the ultimate Father of the fatherless. It's so comforting to have Him on our side and to know that wherever we are, wherever they are, we have someone who loves and cares for our little ones more than we can ever imagine!
So that's where we are folks! In the middle of a big bowl that's being stirred by a much bigger hand! We don't have a timeline, but we do ask that if it ever crosses your mind, that you pray with us!
"Father to the fatherless, defender of the widows - this is God, whose dwelling is holy. God places the lonely in families..."
Psalm 68:5-6
