Searing truth.

We’d been parents for under two years. We’d just begun to hit a stride with Eden and Caleb when we felt the nudge to say ‘yes’ to yet another paper pregnancy. We suspected it would be two, but felt for sure it would be children who were the same age or younger as our two now. “The paint is still too fresh on the walls,” Nate said when I told him about the older girl lingering around the orphan babies with new stories emerging, often overlooked. She haunted my waking hours. “Later, we’ll adopt an older girl,” was his response.

I agreed. The thing I wanted most was actually the thing I feared most.

Isn’t that how it always is? Fear forms a hedge around our greatest calling.

But then, through a circuitous series of events –one that,  in retrospect, was the undeniably kind and gentle way of the Father, we learned about her.

Nate’s heart changed. “We have to go after her, Sara” he said one morning.

Somewhere deep down I knew he was right, but my mind made a case otherwise. Fear wore the guise of reason.

And when I recounted to my friend, that afternoon over tea, all the reasons why adopting an older child, alongside another and outside of the birth order, at this time just didn’t feel wise, she spoke truth.

I had article after article and hours of classwork to back up my case. And, friends, I am a researcher by nature so my intent in this post is not to blow the research out of the water, but it’s to point to a Man who, at times, trumps both research and reason.

God builds the family.

++++

“I need to do what Lily does, Daddy,” she said. It was the first morning we saw significant progress in an issue on which we’d focused heavy attention, prayer and training weeks prior. Our “first” oldest child made a shift. Her newly-older sister’s example, the catalyst.

Eden was joyful and obedient. Her little-heart’s zeal for Jesus and His children was unquenchable, and she was about all-things-Mommy-and-Daddy. Her life carried the perfect mark of an oldest child, one that would set the pace for children to come after her. “We want to preserve her place in our family,” we told our social worker during our homestudy. Every time I said that phrase I felt a nudge, a check, as if maybe that framework was being checked by the true family Planner.

When we learned about Lily, all we knew of her was her picture and a few brief observations from her soon-to-be foster mama. On paper, she was foolish for us. Adopting a child who would be third or fourth in line seemed like less of a risk than this one (who could be as old as 10 or 11 for all we knew), after which all the others would now follow.

But He led. He confirmed. He gently course-corrected.

And we walked what felt like the plank, with no reason other than His.

At times while we waited — and even after we immersed ourselves in Africa’s dust — the fear felt unbearable to me. I would read an email, a post to an adoption forum, another research article and find myself shackled, again. What were we thinking? We’re nuts. Worst-case scenario thinking would rest over me like a cloud. Our first few weeks with her offered many opportunities for me to search for confirmation of those very fears. My perspective was horizontal, not first from His source, going out from me and back to me.

But then, beauty broke dirt’s surface. Early indications rolled in: His plan was better.

Her quiet, gentle spirit began to carry a mantle of leadership. She desired obedience, and they made her a role model. She looked for hidden ways to bless, and they stole her ideas. She giggled loud, and the joy that marked our family before she came only grew. She received, and they, too, sought to shed orphan-skin.

He sent us a first-born, late but just in time, who hungered for Jesus — my deepest heart cry for my children.*

We couldn’t have ever known. Our principles would have kept us from His perfect plan, had He not been so gentle to speak clear and consistently.

He showed Himself faithful to thwart our plans with a better one.

Just the other day Nate found this in his pocket.

Her own words, not copywork. She hid it in his coat. Full of surprises, our little girl, their big sister.

Full of surprises, this mysterious God.

*One caveat for those of you who have brought older children home and are in the midst of the inevitable intensity that comes with a life finding a new home in you: our highs with Lily are sometimes proportionate to our lows. But isn’t that so with life? We want her to soar with Him, but it’s in the lowest places where we find that we were made to soar the heights. Lest you read this post and think we drew a “lucky” card, Jesus is healer in our home. And He will show Himself healer in yours. Though you may not see it today, I pray my words might be the same signpost He’s flashed for me. (He continues to flash for me.) God always wins, their hearts are included in that promise. Part of the healing, for us — for our hearts, has been to set up memorials around beauty and make the decision not to see struggle as the final verdict, but a pathway. He is good.

And as I stand just inside the foyer of 2012 with my fingers wrapped around His ageless hands, hoping I can somehow scoot near enough to know Him as Counselor, He whispers one phrase.

From a group of women gathering to discuss, to my own personal study, and off the lips of the man giving the message up-front came the same phrase. His Words are alive. Spoken then, reverberating now, they are the best thing around.

Christ in you. (Colossions 1:27)

Not Christ-in-me when my circumstantial strains let up, not Christ-in-me when my seven year-old prayer is answered, not Christ-in-me when I’ve had my very best day putting forth my very-best me. Christ in me, now.

This can’t be true. If it is, it changes everything.

I’m writing here, I’m telling you, because every day I have to tell myself. I am making a habit out of declaration. Adoration is the practice — the habit — of teaching my heart new Truths, age-old Truths, by adoring the Teacher. I’m sweeping house of the musty, mold-ridden thoughts by replacing them with new aroma, even when I feel musty myself.

(So, each Monday, the column of adoration to the right-side of my blog moves front-and-center, here, and I invite others who are doing the same — stretching their heart to lift God’s Word up and back to Him, despite every obstacle the day presents – to add their link below in the comments section. You can link people back here from your post by grabbing the code on the right side of my blog. If you don’t have a blog but are, yourself, a lover of words and of God and of God’s word, feel free to add an adoration of your own in the comment section. Whether there is one of us or one hundred — and even if the words are written “merely” on our hearts — we will give Him the praise He’s due.)

Christ in you, the hope of glory. Colossians 1:27**

This changes everything. You, babe in the manger that mystical, magical night when the sky broke open with the songs of angels, have chosen a resting place. Inside of me.

Hope for me, is You in me, not me getting closer to You. You are already here, the great mystery. I feel far and You whisper that You are close. You have always been close. Closer than I can conceive. Waiting graciously on my understanding of this 2000 year-old Truth. You left them on that terribly wonderful weekend of death and new life so that You could live here, in me. It was “to their advantage” — and, mine, too.

God came near. Glory. It happened once, it broke through the expanse, but each day is now pregnant with opportunity. God is near. Inside. And I get to participate. Who are You, oh God who involves me by living inside of me?

When the enemy launches seething whispers about how far away You are and how deserving I am of Your distance, Your Word counters. You are nearer than even the dearest of humans, those who have moved my heart. You inhabit my frame with an understanding of me that my mind cannot comprehend. 

But more than just knowing me, You give me access to You. And then You offer me a lifetime and into eternity to unlock it.

Oh, God of access, I worship You. I adore You, the One who promises that not one day is wasted when You live inside of me.

The darkness closes in, and fear haunts, but You are working another angle. I love You, God who transforms my insides. I look out but You are working from within.

I feel powerless, but You remind me of how You created the heavens and the earth and how that same You rests within me. I feel alone, but by this very phrase You shatter what I’ve believed to be communion. You tell me that I’m not needing to reach to link arms with the external, but that a new relationship awaits me right here at home. 

You are at home in me, God, and have given me a lifetime — that starts with one day, today — to find myself intertwined in You. I thought I knew You, and You chuckle. You are so gentle with me in my limited perspective. I adore You, God, patiently alluring me in deeper.

I have only just begun to pursue this latent mystery. 

I love You, God unending.

* Photo courtesy of Mandie Joy Photography 

**For a context to this little space on my blog, read: Why I Adore. You can easily subscribe to these devotional meditations as they are delivered, by using this feed: http://www.EveryBitterThingisSweet.com/posts/chai/feed or by entering your email address in the second box on the right-hand side… (scroll up a bit).

That summer training pushed my physical limits to capacity. Each day I was more tired than the last. Muscles I didn’t know I had found themselves tested, and torn. In the afternoon hours, I ached and creaked only to get up the next day and do it all over again. And again. My body learned the rhythm of reach and rest.

My now-season of motherhood parallels that summer time. Four kids in two years, recovering a collective 15+ years of fatherlessness. Adoption made family addition more like multiplication for us. I’m a step away from –continue reading here on Mothers of Daughters–>

These years are not about me, they are about them. Sounds good, right?

I scurry to fill tummies and enrich minds and foster hunger for Jesus. I teach fingers to tie shoes, lips to say “will you forgive me?”, and minds to memorize scripture. All good things, necessary things, but with a faint emptiness if fueled by this lie, cloaked as truth.

It’s this lie which leaves me feeling anorexic after even their best days, and it’s this lie which leaves me frantic to turn up the treadmill after their worst. Like a hamster wheel there is no way out of this notion, which is maybe only ten degrees off-center in appearance — but on the other side of the globe from what these years are really all about. Their needs only grow and my ability to meet them flatlines. Nobody’s happy.

Though selflessness is most certainly a bi-product of motherhood – or maybe, perhaps, a best supporting actress — it’s not the end in itself. And when I believe the end to be “the most selfless version of me” or “the most perfected version of them” — because, remember, motherhood is really all about them – I get lost.

Replace motherhood with ministry and that was me 10+ years ago. Different scenario, same outcome. And marriage? I’ve been there too. Meeting needs and finding the end in a person, or a mission, instead of the God-Man.

It’s subtle. The enemy comes like a thief in the night. And before I know it, my days have been stolen.

There’s no question that motherhood is not all about me.

But it’s not all about them either.

It’s about Him.  Him for them. And Him for me.

And if this new line to which my mind assents also filters in to the boiler room of my heart, everything changes. Under this umbrella, these years become limitless, instead of limiting. We’re all recipients. Their little hearts and mine. The lie none of us would ever say with our mouths, but often live by our actions, gets debunked when we believe that even our children’s lives and futures fall backseat to God Himself. Paint-stained fingers and moods out of whack and lessons learned over and over and over again are fodder for abundance … for His all. Because when we mamas (or we ministers, or we wives or we business men and women) eat daily of His abundance, glory breaks through.

So, since the best way for me to move a concept from my head to my heart is adoration, on this I will adore: abundance for them, and abundance for me. Glory. I speak, say and sing back what’s already written in the book of ages, and in hopes that it will soon become mine. History has shown it will.

Adoration works, out and in.

(So, each Monday, the column of adoration to the right-side of my blog moves front-and-center, here, and I invite others who are doing the same — stretching their heart to lift God’s Word up and back to Him, despite every obstacle the day presents – to add their link below in the comments section. You can link people back here from your post by grabbing the code on the right side of my blog. If you don’t have a blog but are, yourself, a lover of words and of God and of God’s word, feel free to add an adoration of your own in the comment section. Whether there is one of us or one hundred — and even if the words are written “merely” on our hearts — we will give Him the praise He’s due.)

Ho! Everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; And you who have no money, come, buy and eat. Yes, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend money for what is not bread, and your wages for what does not satisfy? Listen carefully to Me, and eat what is good, and let your soul delight itself in abundance.
Isaiah 55:1-2**

Abundant God, Your abundance is indiscriminate. I spend a day so undeserving, fighting off the deepest dark spots on my flesh, and You invite.

You say “come!”

Your requirement is thirst, and when I get through all the muss of life I realize, buried within, that thirst is the very thing by which I’m marked — and I hear Your call.

You came for not my best version of me but my me, weak-and-feeble, and You call me to feast.

I barely know abundance because my whole life I’ve lived with eyes on what I’m not and You say: today’s as good of a day as any to eat.

I worship You, cheerful God. I love You, God who loves to give. You are good and You satisfy.

When I come close to abundance, I realize I’ve never really known delight and You tickle my insides. I am mother to them, but child to You and You delight in my delight. I see my lack, fully prepared to starve myself into change, and You have another plan. Feast, You say. Dine. With the sweat of motherhood still on my brow, I can find elegance because in Your presence I am royalty. 

I come close and everything changes.

Oh, God of abundance, You offer me new perspective, and when I see You with Your eyes, I can’t imagine not coming back. Even the greatest of life’s consolations pale in comparison to the daily, hourly, minute-by-minute drip of endless delight offered to me directly from its source.

I praise You, God who lifts me higher. I praise You, Father, for a way up and out without the scenery ever changing. Beauty in my kitchen. Life pouring forth over our playroom and schoolroom, and even in the laundry. My waking and my sleeping hours — every single one of them — are just waiting to be made new with delight. All because of You.

**For a context to this little space on my blog, read: Why I Adore. You can easily subscribe to these devotional meditations as they are delivered, by using this feed: http://www.EveryBitterThingisSweet.com/posts/chai/feed or by entering your email address in the second box on the right-hand side… (scroll up a bit).

Such is my life.

But finally, I have a place to bleed excitement for the things I love and the stories behind them.

(Because there is always a story.)

Here are just a few of my very-favorite favorites from 2011:

Favorite Gifts

We chatted over a conference lunch and I knew I liked her. She was feisty with depth, just my kind of girl. I picked her brain about a never-ending topic of interest, nutritional health, and she shared some of her secrets. Sprouting and dehydrating was on my list to explore, but, “we’re in the middle of an adoption, and when you are adopting there is little change left on the dresser” I said. A few weeks later, this prize arrived at my door with a full kit to begin sprouting, recipe books and all.

She spared no expense.

He spared no expense.

“I felt a nudge from Him,” was something like what she said in response to my gratitude. My children are still feasting from the bounty and their mama has tuned her ear to learn to listen like this new friend did.

He whispered, and she responded. It’s His way of gift-giving. And I am living the story. In the midst of “God, will you provide for this adoption?” was a unnecessary treat. Isn’t that just like Him?

And then there was another.

Just before Christmas, a package came my way — another whisper from Him, to a friend, to me.

Early this fall I began reading a summary of the writings of a 19th century educational reformer as she discussed the necessity and beauty which comes from forming habits, even in the lives of young children. Her writings resonated and as I began to train their little hearts and hands to form habits, I sought after my own reform. I picked up a journal to record my daily adorations and heart-prayer wanderings. The new habit stuck. It went with me, everywhere, absorbing watermarks from the kitchen faucet and cucumber-peel stains along the way.

Simultaneously, I began lighting a candle. In the midst of everyday chaos, I needed reminders of the fragrance coming forth from this life, foisted into motherhood overnight. That sweet candle traveled from room to room until I put one in every room.

Fast-forward to just days before Christmas and that package. How did she know? I thought, as I opened this other friend’s gift. Enclosed was a new journal, in perfect time for the New Year ready to be written on with new habits and new heart-cries, and a candle with a cypress scent. She didn’t know my behind-closed-doors habits, but He did.

The moleskin journal has found its new place tucked inside my Bible and toted around under my arm and the candle is a staple in our home these days.

Sometimes He speaks in gifts.

(And friends with birthdays in the wings, don’t be surprised if you find this same package at your doorstep. When it’s good, why re-invent?)

Favorite Writing Music

At least once a week I settle in to a corner booth in a coffee shop, plug in my headphones, and I exhale. I write. I need just enough noise to inspire but not distract. When I don’t have my pandora set to classical-strings, I have Isaac Meyer’s Acoustic Rhythms on repeat.

And when I feel like I want to continue the conversation that’s going on under my roof with my littles, I play the composer we’ve chosen for the season. If you’re like me and can’t embrace a work of art without knowing the story behind it, Patrick Kavanaugh’s Spiritual Lives of the Great Composers tells the story in brief, palatable excerpts. Just my style.

Favorite Parenting Charge

While I’m sure these declarations have been on Ann Voskamp’s site for years, I only just discovered them. They now have a home on my bathroom mirror, reminding me of my role in their story. I’ve stolen another’s words as my own personal Mommy-treatise.

Favorite Books

This year we are celebrating the launch of a dear friend’s work that has been years in the making. And, friends, he may just inspire the next William Wilberforce. Freedom is found in these pages which expose injustice while unearthing beauty. A Walk Across the Sun gripped me. The story had to be told.

And a summary of Corban’s words from the book’s launch party in New York City highlights why there had to be a story: Most people I’ve met have a fairly thin understanding of trafficking. They’ve heard of it, but tend not to know all that much. They haven’t absorbed it. But a novel actually requires you to sit down and live with a story for six hours, eight hours, ten hours, however long it takes to finish the book and in so doing it embeds itself in you in a different way. 

Just a few states away, another friend told another story. A Good and Perfect Gift is a memoir about Amy Julia Becker’s pregnancy and early years with her daughter who has Down’s Syndrome. It didn’t let me go, even after I finished it.  She told the raw truth about her wrestlings over an experience with motherhood that wasn’t “just so,” and the beauty that emerges when you receive what He has for you in the unorthodox. Her story argued for LIFE in a way that was new to me.

Favorite StoryTellers

If I could tell a story on film I would. But since I can’t, I will glean from those who can. The following women have captured pieces of our story on camera this year and I have a healthy jealousy for the way they paint beauty.

Lucy O Photography

Mandie Joy Photography

Katie LePage Photography

+++

My world is full of favorites. I have more, of course. I’ll save those for another rainy day in an effort to curb my Tourets-like release of all-that-I-love at just the wrong time .

But I was desperate. And as was true for most of my life in those years, when you are desperate to get out of a certain state of heart or mind many pre-conceived notions crumble. (For me, time has revealed that most of them needed to.)

As the clock ticked behind our transfer of information, mostly mine to her, I settled into my need. My heart was catatonic; I needed help. It was obvious. Just before the hands hit the hour of my release, she asked a question which I haven’t forgotten now for a decade:

“What percentage of you do you think your husband knows?”

She moved from taking down history like a clinician right to the jugular, though I wasn’t wise enough to catch it.

“Oh, probably 80%” I said matter-of-factly. We’d been married for 4 months.

She tipped her hand for the first time in an hour. “I might suggest otherwise. I’d suggest probably  … 1 %.”

Presumptuous, I thought, for a woman whose face I’d seen for the first time 50 minutes earlier. I wasn’t sure I liked her.

She responded to my look I couldn’t conceal by saying “there are vast frontiers of your heart yet to be explored.”

Time was up and I was out the door. Little did I know, that day was the beginning of a beautiful thing called counsel and a relationship with someone who would eventually take me to the feet of the Counselor to find it for myself.

And now I stand at 2012′s starting line with two years under my belt of making big asks of God and big declarations back to Him. Both years, He has responded. With a history like that, how can I not turn the page of this year with another?

God sent this precious woman to help put a new name on my twenties. What I thought would be the years of looking out and making my mark on what I saw were, in fact, the years of looking in and finding what He’d created. The frontiers of hearts were opened to me for the finding– His, Nate’s and my own. And her words were true, they were vast.

They are vast.

As I’ve been asking Him what this year is about, that day in her office hangs in my mind. Faith ventured into discovery then because of my weakness. Where I saw weakness as something to conquer, He made it a doorway. It’s the currency of His kingdom.

I backed into something beautiful.

And now, a decade later, I hear a soft invitation from a God who isn’t the distant, directive, results-oriented boss I once thought Him to be, but from a strong, always-beckoning Father. Come sit on my lap. Write My Word on your heart and let my instruction be your drink. 

I wrestle with dozens of things during any given day. I am pulled away from considering her little heart voids by the noise of the dryer, only seconds before the soup comes to a boil — and somewhere in there I remember this morning’s internal conflict, yet unresolved.

Endless questions waiting on a God-Man. One who intervenes. Engages. When I expect Him to toss decrees down from a high mountain, He scoots near to me. He whispers so that I might come close to hear. He moves in, not away. He counsels from right beside me. He liberates.

And this year I also want to move in: to His Word, and to His whisper. I want sit on His lap in the quiet morning hours and not leave that place when my day gets loud. I want to know the side of Him that grabs my hand and says: every single day I have something for you, every hour has opportunity for My fingerprint. I want a travel guide with whom I can explore these vast frontiers: of Him, of Nate, of them, of me.

I want to wrap His Word around my fingertips and hear His whisper in even a thunderstorm.

I don’t want to leave His lap.

In 2012 I want to know Him as explorer, discoverer. I want to know Him as counselor. I want to know His namesake.

For unto us a Child is born, Unto us a Son is given; And the government will be upon His shoulder. And His name will be called Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Isaiah 9:6

(Each Monday, the column of adoration to the right-side of my blog moves front-and-center, here, and I invite others who are doing the same — stretching their heart to lift God’s Word up and back to Him, despite every obstacle the day presents – to add their link below in the comments section. You can link people back here from your post by grabbing the code on the right side of my blog. If you don’t have a blog but are, yourself, a lover of words and of God and of God’s word, feel free to add an adoration of your own in the comment section. Whether there is one of us or one hundred — and even if the words are written “merely” on our hearts — we will give Him the praise He’s due.)

You are my hiding place; You shall preserve me from trouble; You shall surround me with songs of deliverance. Psalm 32:7**

When the world beckons me to be known, understood, I hear 

Your call from a back alley. “Hide,” You say. “Tuck away. I know just the place.”

And I breathe relief.

I lose myself and I find You, and in finding You, I find who I really am. This is safety. I am exposed, and yet fully loved. Hidden in all that is love. Understood by my Maker, I am whole. 

That same old song, playing on repeat over my days, speaks defeat. Loss. But in the alcove You have made for me, under the shadow of all that is You, is the Orchestra of ages. It surrounds little me with love’s triumphant anthem.

I can hide now, even now. I can hear Your whispers now, even now. I can soak in perfect preservation from my flesh and from the world and from all the forces working to unravel, even now.

I worship You, God that I hide inside. I love You, Creator of safety. I adore You, Deliverer. 

**For a context to this little space on my blog, read: Why I Adore. You can easily subscribe to these devotional meditations as they are delivered, by using this feed: http://www.EveryBitterThingisSweet.com/posts/chai/feed or by entering your email address in the second box on the right-hand side… (scroll up a bit).

“May I give them a taste?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said and they let out little squeals. They weren’t burdened like I was.

There are days when I get allured by a lie which cloaks itself different enough from the last that I get hooked. Today was one of them. Their heart issues were surfacing and I was sinking.When my focus shifts for even just an hour — a minute, sometimes — the undercurrent pulls me in to forgetting who He is and formulating the whole of our relationship around what I’m not.

She sliced and passed pears to little children who made a memorial of that morning. The rest of the grocery trip was filled

with exclamations about the “nice woman who blessed us” but the biggest voice came minutes later, into my spirit.

There’s always a gift. I am always working good.

Those silly little pears and their giver are my fodder for adoration this first Monday of the New Year.

Even our worst moments can be won.

(Each Monday, the column of adoration to the right-side of my blog moves front-and-center, here, and I invite others who are doing the same — stretching their heart to lift God’s Word up and back to Him, despite every obstacle the day presents – to add their link below in the comments section. You can link people back here from your post by grabbing the code on the right side of my blog. If you don’t have a blog but are, yourself, a lover of words and of God and of God’s word, feel free to add an adoration of your own in the comment section. Whether there is one of us or one hundred — and even if the words are written “merely” on our hearts — we will give Him the praise He’s due.)

Blessed be the Lord who daily loads us with benefits. Psalm 68:19**

You flood me with Yourself. I declare a drought and You say, “open your eyes to see Me.” There is always good that You are working.

You offer me perspective in exchange for my weak glance and even my lowest moments can witness glory. Today, You say, is the day of the Lord. And when a hundred accusations lead me to believe I’m not worthy to partake, You say “put on Me” and I drink bounty.

Your benefits are unending, God, for even me. No circumstance is too big for Your touch. You don’t just heal but You advance. You take what is loss and You fill in the gaps and then You call out and call up. 

I can have You, even now — especially now. Today is my day because it was Your day first and it’s pregnant with gifts just from You. It’s expectant with the gift of You. 

Jesus, limitless Jesus, I worship You. 

The world, and my flesh, make a case for my lack, but You say all life is found in You. I come close to this rebuttal, I ask just to see, and I’m engulfed by the truth of this word. 

All strength and beauty and fortitude and depth and understanding and wisdom are found in You. You are everything and I am nothing, but You remind me that I am heiress. 

I cannot know abundance apart from You and I cannot truly know You and not live out of that abundance. You are rich and Your person offers me all I could ever want and more. 

Jesus, limitless Jesus, I praise You for your mark on my doldrums. I praise You for Your in-breaking Spirit. I worship You for the great benefit of having, knowing, living, and loving You. 

**For a context to this little space on my blog, read: Why I Adore. You can easily subscribe to these devotional meditations as they are delivered, by using this feed: http://www.EveryBitterThingisSweet.com/posts/chai/feed or by entering your email address in the second box on the right-hand side… (scroll up a bit).

I asked for a closer look and He released a yes over both the big and the small of my life.

With two days away from a natural page-break, I am preparing for another ask for this, another year.

And this one is only gaining momentum as I look back on what the past 360-something days have held.

2011 was my Year to Learn the Lines on His Face. I wanted familiarity with this God-Man. I wanted to grow in the knowledge and understanding of His ways, to move from the curb to the front porch or maybe even the foyer. I wanted to scooch close.

And, wouldn’t you know, that was exactly what this year was about.

We “met” two girls half-way around the world and put on love like it was an outfit change.

We stepped into what’s often categorized as a “feeling” before it was a feeling and He awakened our hearts to feel.

He created love and we fell deeper into Him in the meantime.

We got on a plane to get them, all because of a whisper, but packed for months.

He was close enough to direct but left room for mystery, so that we’d keep coming to back to Him.

He made family out of strangers. Or, rather, He introduced us to the family He’d known would be ours since the beginning of time, who were strangers but for a moment.

He knew what fit us better than we did (yes, adopting outside of the birth order can be a good thing, when it’s His thing).

He showed Himself as author.

And He brought them home.

The second-half of 2011 witnessed us fumble into becoming a family of six, and me into becoming a mother of four, and God delighting in what He made.

Friends, the lines on His face are … beautiful.

2011 revealed some of my worst, because sidling up next to His glory only exposes the vast oceans between my flesh and His deity — but the verdict always gets to be His verdict. And His story is always about beauty. Every time.

He overshadowed me, just like He did my children and my husband. We’re waving a banner of this new story we’ve inherited, not earned.

I got a little closer to His face. And I’ve fallen in love with what I’ve seen.

I came hungry and left wanting even more.

Cheers to the God, unending.

*A few of these photos (the best ones!) are compliments of Lucy O Photography and Mandie Joy. 

As my mind lingered on her and all her years of ashes which seemed to be surfacing just around her first-ever birthday, His Word jumped off the page and into my spirit.

Beauty is a birthday party was His phrase.

And I knew my plans had been foiled.

This mama, schedule, full and to-do list, never-ending, was going to be de-railing yet another well thought-through strategy. This was not the year for birthday parties. We’d spent the past four monthshunkering down as a family. They were learning to make friends out of siblings, not making family

out of friends — as is the necessity in orphanage life. We would be about quiet and intimate, a celebrating of the person, and from those who mattered most.

But He knew what her heart needed.

So we planned a surprise party for Lily who, only months earlier, first learned what a surprise was.

This was an interesting proposition on behalf of a child who is still shedding her shy skin and whose closest acquaintances are only those few adults who have frequented our post-adoption incubation period.

But He was the master of ceremonies, so of course it came together seamlessly.

And after a day of being celebrated, she came home to a rejoicing that I’m sure was more boisterous in heaven than even our four walls heard.

A royal birthday party for the child whose stature now communicates “chosen” louder than it ever spoke “orphan.”

Our guests came bearing gifts of words on quilt squares, pieces that made up one resounding message.

They sang the age-old song and made it new for her.

They prayed into her year ahead.

They midwifed this child and her mother, who both were coming forth into new resolution.

And my friends, she received. She became sponge and years of hardness melted away as her heart became young clay, fresh for molding (and re-molding).

That night, she turned a corner.

We turned a corner.

For me, the greatest hurdle in each of our adoptions has not been the thing itself, but the fear behind it. It seems like with each one, we’ve taken a deeper step into the unknown. With each child to which we’ve said yes, the risk has been progressively higher, the cost-assessed much greater. Their fault-lines, longer.

And I have had a fear of brokenness. Odd for a girl who’s known it well, but not strange when you consider that our greatest fears often tend to rest like a blanket over the place which holds our greatest calling — and His greatest glory.

To walk in the intimacy with Him that my heart craves, I need to walk through and over this impasse.

The goal, though, is not to conquer fear. Fear, won, is not an end in itself.

The end is a down-reaching love forged into me and unto this Man. A daily, growing love. A vibrant, infectious love with the God-Man who wants to clasp hands with me, pour balm over my deepest aches, and call me forth, confident in His love for me.

Last Friday night, Lily had a brush with this love. It was as if He said to her you’ve lived like you were overlooked, but I have been storing up moments to celebrate you.

My child came alive. Areas of her heart went from broken to more-than-unbroken. And then some. He accelerated her. She advanced.

(And so did her mommy.)

God wants to not only fill in the pot-holes of years lost, but build her up to be a pillar of His strength. He doesn’t just erase. He takes barren wasteland and turns it into the garden of Versailles.

And I have the privilege — because walking through and over fears is full of His spoiling — of raising one who is remarkable under my roof. The very thing I once feared most, this older child with fortified wounds, has become the playground where I have met God.

Her brokenness is His catalyst.

My fear was an invitation.

Her siblings watched in awe. They, too, received.

And He let me host the party.

Photos compliments of Eliza Joy at My Road to Emmaus.