Hello God? Hello World? This is Kylie.

Wow, four kids is keeping me b.u.s.y. Just when I think I'm hitting a stride, stomach bugs, flu and lice hit! In a house of 6 people it rarely stops at 1 person too!

I can hardly believe we have been home 3 months as of yesterday. We only met them 4 months ago tomorrow. Sometimes it feels like we have been home 9 months or a year. It feels like this has always been our family.  And sometimes my time in Congo is so fresh I can still smell the burning trash in the air, remember the ache I felt there, and see the peoples worn down faces in my mind as they asked for money or food. At 3 months home and 4 months together I honestly did not think we would have come as far as we have. Tantrums are down to a minumum. Sharing is getting better. English is the primary language spoken between us now! I am understanding my kids and they are understanding me. Yet every now and then we go back. Just the other night I had Maran and Levi on my own for dinner while the other two were in gymnastics. Levi started to cry about something and Maran grabbed a bib and showed me how to tie it around her back. She said "my other one mommy put Levi on back when Levi cries."

There it was.

Her first memory she had recalled and shared to me in English without prompting. I got so excited and engaged the dialogue for a while. As we kept talking about it her head got lower and lower. I asked if her other mommy was kind, If she slept in a bed, who slept with her, if she lived in a house. Answers were sporadic and then she asked to see a picture of her in Africa. I pulled out my ipad and showed her the orphanage, the kids there, the food they were eating, the mamas that worked there. I asked, did you like it here? "no, not that one house, this one house. Me this one house, this one mommy". Silence for the rest of the evening. Reminder after reminder of the grief she has experienced and suffering she has seen and walked through. John held her that evening after coming home and told her "I will always be your daddy, mommy will always be your mommy, you will be in our family forever". Comfort, but not healing. 

Parenting 4 is non stop. Teaching lessons that have been missed is non stop. English. Sharing. Date nights with the older kids. Time with my husband. Diaper changes. Snack time. Laundry. Dinner. Car line at two schools. It is keeping me busy. I have not made the time I should to carve out for me and God to sit and talk and look through his word like I used to. I am giving myself grace in this season but I miss it. I am finding new ways to connect with God through this busy season. It has still been a sweet place and he has not let me fall away. It is a hard place many days, but a sweet place. 

It has also been a beautiful thing for us to see the lessons they did learn, the quirks they have, the things I think their mother must have done well. They both will not walk by an open drawer or cabinet without closing it. Maran always wants to sweep up a mess and she is very thorough. Maran is so diligent about saying "Thank you mommy!" whenever I do the littlest of things. Levi loves to be held close, sleeps best when strapped on back or chest, and gives lots of kisses. Maran cares for Levi still as if she was his mama. Picks him up when he cries, tells me to feed him if she thinks he is hungry. Maran loves to be tickled, throw into the air, jump, play outside, be a kid. I think about the other kids her age in charge of taking care of their siblings, deprived of a childhood of carefree play or laughter. Living in conditions that constantly keep them sick. 

I came across this video on Facebook and it is exactly my prayer for DRC.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HUjCNpr-C10

So life will one day feel normal again, I know it. I will be able to grocery shop, finish laundry, and cook more than 2 days a week again. I will be able to spend more time with friends, play dates, and time away from the kids. But for now we are still in the trenches most days. And I am so thankful for this refining time, this restoration that is slowly coming over our kids, our family. I found two pages in Reese's prayer journal this week that reminds me of the beauty God is making in our family.

"God plees sav all of the orfins"

"God did a mirucle in giving us Levi and Maran"

The rescue

Jesus didn't die for my comfort. 

This has been a year and a half long journey that I thought I was getting to a place of understanding and then I feel right back in a place of getting slapped over the head with that lesson as if it was new again.

We have officially been home 7 weeks. It has been a great time. God has blown my mind with how well it has gone in some areas and how hard it has been in others.

The month in Congo was so difficult and taxing, physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. I was so reliant on the Lord minute by minute each day. Those were hard hours, minutes, days, weeks. A lot of times, I just kept thinking "once I get home this will be easier", "once I'm at least in the comforts of home, I will deal with this even better". I remember one specific afternoon I was pacing the halls with my daughter strapped in the carrier on my chest and she was hitting and biting in a rage. I remember pacing and praying and leaning hard onto the Lord and singing to him as I tried to comfort her. I remember God filling me up in those moments that I thought I could not go on. It was disgustingly desperate but it was beautiful.

Now after being home and going right back into "mom mode" and do-it myself. I have lost a little of that desperate dependence that I had on Him for every little thing in Congo. It's back to packing lunches, cleaning house, and car line. 

You see, my time in Congo, some would say was the "rescue" of my children. I would disagree. Quite the opposite.

It was my rescue.

God used my 4 weeks in Congo to show me the depth of my sin, the depravity of my heart, and the depth he had to go to adopt me.  Growing up a "good kid" in a Christian home, I somehow bypassed the rebellious "drinking sex drugs and partying" phase some go through. I grew in my relationship with the Lord all through my life (far from good or perfect, and definitely lots of mistakes along the way). But it was easy for me in the dark corners of my heart to think I was a pretty good person and had done life well. It is hard to understand the weight and glory of the cross when I could not see that I was the one who should've been on it. I was taken to a place in Congo where I saw the depth of my sin, the darkness of my heart, the way Satan could get into my thoughts so quickly.  Each minute I was praying thoughts away, leaning into Him, claiming his truth over my life, and amazed at how God would rescue me. God walked me through those 4 weeks my own orphan rescue of how he took me from a pit and called me daughter.

I was talking with Reese tonight about obedience. And how just because we obey doesn't mean we will be "blessed" or rewarded. Sure blessings may come, but we obey God's word in all ways because it is what God asks, not because it will be better on the other side. This is where I am tonight. Coming to the realization that Jesus does not need to reward any obedience with immediate comfort or happiness. I am saying yes to God each day because he is worthy of my yes, not because I deserve some sort of happiness or pat on the back. I think that kind of thinking is the start of a dangerous path. Paths I have seen many go down in marriage. The point of our lives is not happiness. We think just because we have followed God and obeyed most of his commands, we deserve happiness and that should be God's aim. So if people don't find it in their marriage, they go outside of it, because surely God wants us to be happy, right?

Jesus' aim is not our happiness, nor our comfort, it is our worship and his glory. 

One recurring adjustment thing we have been going through since being home is sharing. Granted with two 4 year olds in the house, one with total survivor mentality, sharing is of course going to be an issue. But what I have noticed is at the root of it, Maran distrusts my provision. Satan whispers to her that I am withholding my best from her.  So she wants more, or different, or when she gets the thing she wants, she now wants something someone else has because surely it is better. It plays out time and time again each day. Wheeler picks up a toy, Maran wants it. She has to wait her turn for it. He shares it, and moves on to another toy. She gets the toy she originally wanted and now sees the next toy he has moved on to and looks to me to get it for her. It is a cycle and it repeats over and over again. It is a distrust in our provision. She believes we are withholding from her and she will miss out on the next best thing. There is no contentment without trust.

As is the original lie Satan told us. 'God isn't providing everything, his is withholding his best from us'. So contentment and trust went out the window in exchange for a lie and a satisfaction that could never be quenched. Maran is surrounded materially by more than she ever has been, and yet she still distrusts provision. Same for us and God. He provides all we need, and we still think he is holding out on our happiness. So we try and get it ourselves and quench only what he can with temporary comfort that ends up empty. 

Being in Congo was somewhat easier than being here in the sense of leaning my full weight into Him for strength and joy. I find myself tonight empty and exhausted. Trying to get back to that place of dependence where He would fill me up when I would fail and fall again.

Last week at church the message was on worship. God whispered so many truths back into my heart. At the heart of worship is always a war. There is one who wants our worship to fall to things that will not measure up or sustain. "God is the only one who can bear up under the weight of our affections." So true. Our pastor has been saying a lot lately a reflection of 2 Sam 24:24:

I cannot give to God that which cost me nothing. 

It comes to mind so frequently these past few weeks. It is so true. My obedience, my surrender, my worship is not an offering if it is easy and costs me nothing. It would be easy to serve others when it is convenient for me, or tithe what is comfortable and doesn't throw off my spending. Mothering 4 children for the last 7 weeks has pushed me to places I have not been before. It has stretched me and shown me the depth of my selfishness in new ways. But  this is my offering. It is extremely costly. It is extravagantly rewarding. So tonight I lay it on the altar before God and give to him which is costing me.  I surrender my comfort and my happiness. I trade it in for joy complete and strength poured out from an Almighty God. 

Home is where your heart is...

On the way to the airport our last day in Congo we stopped along the way and I snapped as many pictures and videos as I could as I tried to soak in our last day there, the sights, sounds and smells. I tried to drink in the culture, see the people differently, and etch in my memory the home of my children.   The beauty. The tragedy. The hope. The desparation. The strength and the plight of these people. 

I think you can travel to a place and see the sights and way of life there and think... How do people do this? I could never. I can't believe. This is so sad. The conditions. Yes... those thoughts come and go. But then I see the pride some have in their country. The dreams they have for progress. The desire to pull themselves up. The realization that you are alive another day and that is a good thing. This is their life in DRC. The juxtaposition of city and rural, rich and poor, beauty and filth. It all just captivated me as I scanned the skyline of the city and looked back how the river made its way, bringing life and change. I was in awe of this country. Of the people. Of their strength. 

 I don't know how to tell our kids the story of where they are from. God is writing that in my heart and preparing me. I have no idea how I will tell our kids bits and pieces of their story at different ages until at the right time we tell them the full story of redemption.  With all of its twists and turns, despicable things and amazing miracles. Their story is their story and not mine to share. But it is a story of hope and of restoration. And for that I am so honored to carry it for them.

 Maran was unusually quiet that morning. I am not sure if it finally soaked in that something was changing as the suitcases loaded in the car and goodbyes were said. She looked proud at moments as she waved to the workers there telling them Today was the day. Today we get on the plane. She told them goodbye. Goodbye to the workers that would taunt her when she was hungry, that would tell her I would do mean things to her. The people that would laugh at her when she cried. Not all of them, but some. She smiled as she carried her backpack and walked out of that place, but yet she did it with a cautious silence too. In the car she was sullen and looked down. We made a stop and she would not let me take her picture, she wouldnt laugh or smile, she only wanted to be held. It was like she knew something big was coming but had no idea what the future held. Unsure whether to be devastated or happy.

I remember the flurry of emotions and thoughts as we boarded the plane in Kinshasa, leaving DRC after 4 weeks. I remember walking Maran and Levi on the plane (you board outside) and Maran's face as we walked up to this giant foreign object she had never seen. I remember my heart starting to hurt as we neared the plane because we only had a few more steps on the soil of Congo.  I remember her wide eyes as we walked the stairs and stepped inside. I could see the excitement on her face after a hard and confusing day for her. We had packed our suitcases and left all we knew for the last 4 weeks. 28 days before that she had left all she ever knew, crying as she drove away from the orphanage. Now, here we were about to fly away from the home she has known for 4 years. My heart started to ache for their mother as I sat into my seat and thought about what she was doing and if she only knew that her children were leaving their country that very moment.What would she think? Would she be so thankful they were leaving? Sad? Missing them terribly? I have no idea. I felt guilt sweep over me, here I am taking them from their country. God assured my heart, they are not done with Congo and Congo is not done with them. As we taxied to take off, I tried to hold back the tears of all of the emotions I was having. My heart was heavy yet I looked at the excitement of the little girl next to me. Her eyes glistened as she looked out the window shouting "Avion! Avion" as she watched other airplanes go before us. I wish I could explain to her what was happening and share in her joy and in the pain.

We will return to Congo one day. I will be excited to show the kids where there home is. Their country. Their people. But also they have a new home, a new country, and new people. Their lives are a beautiful story that God is writing. I do not know where it will lead, but I am so grateful to be a part of the journey.

Two Less

Last night as I was laying in bed I just kept thinking about the 147+million orphans going to sleep that night like many I saw in DRC. Alone, on the streets, in an orphanage, tucked next to another and another all sharing the same mattress or mat.  I think about Maran and Levi sleeping on 3 mattresses between 17 children. I think about the woman who offered me her son in Kinshasa and motioned as if "What about him too? Take him?".

Every night, every hour, Maran wakes up, calling out "mama? papa?" as if the dream is over and we have now disappeared and she is on her own again.  It is a bleak reminder of the trust that needs to be built, but also a good reminder that she knows she was created to be loved and cared for.
Life here is a beautiful chaos. Going from two to four kids is a challenge especially when you throw in driving two to 2 different schools at 2 different times, gymnastics, doctors appointments, attachment, adjusting to food, time zones, etc.  Since adding Maran and Levi to the family, I don't look at them as used-to-be orphans all the time or continually see them as where they came from.  They are our kids and have quirks and preferences just like Reese and Wheeler.  But there are sometimes just gentle reminders that they are survivors, as I see Maran shovel in her food or turn on survival mode if someone takes her toy.  They have lived through much.
We made it to church this week and as I stood there holding Maran as we sang "Your great name" I just wept as we sang "All the weak find their strength at the sound of your great name, hungry souls receive grace at the sound of your great name, the fatherless find their rest at the sound of your great name." And as she rested there on my shoulder I just cried over her.  I was thinking about the loss of her father, and now the gaining of a father who lavishes love and affection on her and points her to an even greater Father who loves her with a perfect love.  A love she may have never seen through the circumstances she was in.
One afternoon in DRC we were surrounded by some teenage boys on the street wanting us to buy the tissues or trinkets they had.  They became agitated and started making threatening gestures and faces at us as the half-rolled window protected us just enough.  At first I felt fear, then anger. But then, God whispered in my heart... That could have been Levi.  These kids are survivors.  They are a product of their environment. They are smart. They have learned what they need to do in order to see another day.
One of the toughest nights was in the hospital in Kinshasa with Levi. He had a fever non stop for 36 hours and you could tell his stomach was in a lot of pain.  As I laid over him in the hot operating room, I watched as needles stuck out of his arms and the nurse would collect the droplets as they appeared with an open test tube.  I had to leave the room as I began to pass out.  My mind was racing and I know my thoughts contributed to the nauseousness that overtook me. The night before, a friend staying at the same convent as us had taken her son to that same room, held him on that same bed, and watched another baby die in her mother's arms right next to her.  They wrapped the child in a sheet, taped it closed and sent the mother away.
Death is a way of life there.  It doesn't seem to be feared as much as it is here. People seem emotionless as they endure such hardships. It was all hard to process. But I just kept thinking, where would these two kids be if the Lord had not stirred us to action? Would Maran be that 14 year old mom, tucking her child in for another night on the streets? Would Levi be the teenage boy going from car to car hassling people for money for the water in a plastic bag he was trying to sell?
These pictures tell a beautiful story to me.  The first one you can almost see the hopelessness, emptiness, effects of hunger, desperation. And oh how the Lord turns our mourning into joy. With love and protection, comes trust and freedom and joy. The Lord has designed us for relationships, for family. His perfect plan was to have a mother and a father who love each other and care for their children and raise them in a home that points them to Him.  The effects of the breaking of this plan are so hard to see. How our sin and choice can damage the perfect creation God intended.
I guess sometimes I wonder what about everyone else? The story has been rewritten for these two, but what about the others? I can't let my mind go there often. But I am so grateful to have these two as a part of our family.  I am thankful God has pursued them and me with a fierce love. I am so grateful God defends the fatherless and gives them rest in his name. I am thankful there are at least two less.

Beautiful things...

You make beautiful things out of dust.....

I have attempted many times to sit down and tell my story thus far. It hasnt felt right yet. Either due to sheer exhaustion or the fact I have no idea to process all I have seen and been through emotionally and physically here. I want to be sensitive to my childrens stories as well as the country they came from. I hope they feel pride when they are told of the country they come from and I dont want to portray it negatively.  A friend said it right at dinner tonight. If you just tell about the desperation and not the beauty and hope, you do it injustice. I have met many amazing people and had many great moments, undeserved moments.  I have also had moments that have stretched me beyond comfort, beyond ability, or beyond anything I can dig into my self and find.  I have felt a hurt in my heart like none before and felt joy in small victories that I normally overlook and take for granted.  When my daughter Reese hugs me, or asks me for a snack, or tells me she wants to play, I shrug it off as normal, as usual, as deserved.  To have to earn that and work hard and pray incessantly for those moments is a different heart journey.

I am finding it hard to put into words the moment when we met the kids. That will most likely have to be another post for another day. I think people fantasize about this moment and I had tried to strip all expectation from it and rightfully so.  For us it is joyous, for these kids, it is traumatic.  They have been taken from all they know, and put into someones arms that has loved them for months, connected sweetly to their picture, yet they have no idea who we are, what we are doing with them, or if they will be better or worse off than before. Another friend said it best too, "They dont even know if they can trust you for their breakfast, let alone their lives".  Rightfully so they were both hesitant, slightly fearful. Levi warmed up to us in a matter of 20 minutes. He was laughing and cooing and jabbering on and on into the very late hours of the night as we just looked at him and at each other and were so in awe of what God had done. Maran on the other hand did not speak for hours. She kept her head down, her gaze lowered. She was cautious and it was obvious she was grieving. Yet it connected me to her in a way I had not anticipated. I felt compassion in a way unlike any other, and was filled with the hope of restoration and for God to make something beautiful, just as he did when he formed her in her mother's womb.

The first week was honestly a blur of emotions and a flurry of non-progressive legal activity. It would seem at times that everything that could go wrong paperwork wise would, yet then would soon turn around with a way only God could redeem or orchestrate.  There were high highs and low lows.  I would say that parenting wise it was the closest to suffering John and I have experienced.  Not suffering because we didnt love the kids or they were a burden or bother. But to watch a child grieve is suffering. To watch a child soothe themselves in ways they most likely did because there was no one there to put them to sleep gently or feed them when they were hungry is suffering.  To see the effects of pain, abandonment and neglect is suffering. But yet it is the path Christ walked.  It draws us to his side there at the garden and lets us in on the tiniest peek of what it was like to watch as our penalty and suffering was being poured on himself because we are his children. It is also extremely painful as I saw me in her.  I was that orphan. And still at times I have the same trust issues she has with The Lord.  He puts out a feast before me and I still doubt his provision in the next moment. He says he is there to comfort me, yet I try and self soothe in the emptiest of ways. He offers his hand and I turn away and do it myself. I was her. I still am her at times. To watch this interchange between parent and child was so gut wrenching and dredges up the deepest parts of you and forces you to stare it in the face. It is a continual flesh and spirit battle. It is a dependence I have never known.

I remember holding Maran and pacing the room as I tried to get her to sleep, and as she cried, a cry with no tears, just a repetitive low noise, I sang along with these words.

"I will not fear the war,  I will not fear the storm, my help is on the way. My help is on the way.  Oh my God, he will not delay, my refuge and strength always, I will not fear, his promise is true, his love will come through, always. I lift my eyes up, my help comes from The Lord" Kristian Stanfill- Always.

I remember crying it out from my soul and just weeping over this child in prayer. I prayed over so many aspects of her life, known and unknown, beautiful and hard, full of hope and full of sadness. I listened as John cried over our son singing the same words, calling on The Lord for healing, strength and restoration of their hearts. It is a moment that will be etched into my mind forever. It was one of the closest moments Ive felt to both Jesus and John simultaneously. Our hearts were synced over a common cry in a way like never before. Later that night we just laid hands on our children and prayed over them. It was a beautiful mess.

Again, I feel like my heart is scattered in a million places and to try and communicate it is most likely an even bigger mess! 

I have officially been in Congo for 10 days. With probably 10 to 14 to go. Who knows. I am leaning into Gods timing for this trip. I think originally I wanted to rush through my time here and just get back to the comforts of home. But I am trying to put my weight on him and rest in the fact that he knows how long I should be here, how long I need with the kids before I take them into a totally new environment. It will give us time to continue to develop trust before I stick them on an airplane and away from what they know. 

God is in the business of restoring. He is doing a glorious work here. He is making beautiful things out of this African dust.

This is the day

This is the Day

The day is here.  The bags are packed.  The arrangements have been made.
Yesterday as we sat in church I was so amazed at the journey we have been on over the last year and a half. The Lord has taught me so much about myself, his heart, and the life he has called us to to live.  I've been stripped of myself, shown the depth of my depravity, and surprised by how God has filled the places where he has emptied me.  Yesterday as we sang "You're great name" I just kept resting in the fact that He's got this.  I have never felt such peace. I know it is from the prayers that so many of you are praying.  The only feeling I can remotely and ignorantly compare it to is walking into battle with confidence of victory.  I know it is going to be tough and I know we will all come out with bumps, bruises and scars.  But I know there will be victory in the end.
With me being such a planner and worrier by nature, this feeling is totally foreign to me.  I've said with my mouth before that I trust him or I know his plan is better than mine, but I feel like I'm believing it in a new way for the first time.  A time when it is actually costly and demands more weight than I naturally give it.  Our pastor says there is a difference than believing your parachute will hold you while you are in the plane, and actually jumping and throwing your full weight into that belief.  Faith is dead without action.  I feel like that is the place he has sweetly brought me to.  We have jumped and are totally, amazingly, and surprisingly resting in his provision and plan.  I was talking with my dearest friend last night on the phone and she asked if there was anything I had fear about.  For the first time I had a hard time coming up with anything.  I told her, strangely, I had even thought through going to jail and I couldn't even get worked up about that if I tried.
It is sad that its actually a strange feeling to be in such a place of surrender, rest, and trust for the first time in my life, but I am so thankful he has brought me here.
One thing I hope you take away from my journey is that this is not the story of our children's "rescue".  This is the story of your rescue, this is the story of mine.  I think the reason so many people have enjoyed watching and coming alongside our journey is that is a more real portrayal of our redemption in Christ. I pray you see all the twist and turns, trials and challenge, grieving and joy as the journey of you finding Christ.  I pray you see yourself as the orphan, sitting unknowingly in a place that you thought life would be, until you are called out, bought with a price, fought for, planned for, pursued at all costs and brought into a family that you could have never "earned" or chosen on your own. This journey has reminded me of the identity I once had.  It has reminded me of my utter helplessness and dependence on my father. It has reminded me of the price he paid to take my place, set me free instead of himself. It reminds me that this world is not my home. It is just a dim shadow of the goodness that is in heaven. And the place he has given me at the table that I never could have earned or deserved a seat at. I pray you see Jesus through this journey, and if you have never met him before in such an intimate way, my biggest prayer is that you find him here. Today. This day. The day of your rescue.
Russell Moore writes in his book Adopted For Life the following passage about picking his boys up from their Russian orphanage::

We nodded our thanks to the orphanage personnel and walked out into the sunlight, to the terror of the two boys.

They’d never seen the sun, and they’d never felt the wind. They had never heard the sound of a car door slamming or felt like they were being carried along a road at 100 miles an hour. I noticed that they were shaking and reaching back to the orphanage in the distance. Suddenly it wasn’t a stranger asking, “Are they brothers?” They seemed to be asking it, nonverbally but emphatically, about themselves.

I whispered to Sergei, now Timothy, “That place is a pit! If only you knew what’s waiting for you—a home with a mommy and a daddy who love you, grandparents and great-grandparents and cousins and playmates and McDonald’s Happy Meals!”

But all they knew was the orphanage. It was squalid, but they had no other reference point. It was home.

We knew the boys had acclimated to our home, that they trusted us, when they stopped hiding food in their high chairs. They knew there would be another meal coming, and they wouldn’t have to fight for the scraps. This was the new normal.
_____________________________________________________________
This is such a good reminder.  Number one for me as a mom of these two. Maran especially, she has probably never ridden in a car, seen an airplane, been to a grocery store. Who knows.  This will be a traumatic and confusing transition for her. She will have much to grieve.  I can't imagine what she will be thinking or feeling and we will be sensitive to that and not expect anything in terms of adjustment and connection. I have prayed much for it, but expect little.
But it is also a reminder of our own lives, we live here on earth like this is it, we have arrived, live it to the fullest because its over when we die.  But we were made for more. We were made with heaven in our hearts.  I know God is holding us close and saying "This place is a pit compared to living in my home, if you only knew what's waiting for you!"

As I sit on this plane headed to DC, before we cross the ocean that separates me from my daughter and son, I am stilled in his presence and content for the journey he has set before us. I am so honored and privileged to be a part of this story, His story, my small story.  We are not in this place because we are good people, we are here because we made a decision to say yes to God, no matter what he asked or called us to.
Within 36 hours, we will be holding our son and daughter.

The only thing I kept thinking as I worshipped him yesterday was,
"Alright God, here comes the first part of the battle, I'm ready, I know you are. Lets' do it.  You got this."

Psalm 2: 6-7 The Lord says, "You are my son; today I have begotten you. Ask and I will make the nations your inheritance, the ends of the earth your possession."

Happy 4th Birthday Maran Grace!

Oh my sweet Maran. I have so much to tell you.  Your birthday makes me excited for the things Jesus has made new in your life. This birthday also makes me grieve for many reasons. The first being that I am not with you. I am not waking you up with pancakes or a present. That I am not hugging you and kissing your sweet cheeks on your big day. That I will not tuck you in on your last night tonight as a 3 year old and tell you about the journey God has for you as a big 4 year old. I grieve that I do not know much about your first 3 years of life. That I do not know the exact day you were brought into this world or who brought you in other than God. I grieve the experiences you've been through and that you have seen and felt such brokenness in 4 short years.

But, I know the one who turns grief into joy. We were reading in our storybook Bible tonight about the rescuer who makes messy things beautiful. I cannot wait to tell you about Him.

God has given you a new name sweet girl. A name that is an eternal reminder of his coming, his nearness, and the perspective he wants us to live in. Maran'atha means the Lord comes, or the Lord is coming, or come Lord. These three short words helped the scales to fall off of my eyes, for the veil to be torn that was keeping me from living the life abundant. Not the life abundant with stuff or comfort, but the life God called me to. God used so many things, including you, Maran Grace, to pull me out of a trap I was headed into and to give me new eyes to see my walk with Jesus. 

One thing I always want to show you is that Jesus is always better. Better than stuff, better than people's approval, better than the flawed love I can ever give you. The Lord has come for you Maran, and he called to you and told you he would not leave you orphaned. He will come to you. And he has. And he will come back for you again. 

 I do not try to replace or fill your birth mother's shoes. I do not know her story and all I know is I thank God for her. I pray she raised you with love and tenderness. I pray she started to point you to Him. 

I will always be here for you, to answer hard questions, to wipe your tears if someone hurts your feelings, and to walk you through the trauma you have endured in your short years here. I know life will not be rosy just because you are now in a family, our family. I know you will have trials to face that I have not walked through.  But I know your identity is not wrapped up in what color of skin your mom has, or where you were born. Those are facets of who you are but that is not your core. Your core is Jesus who leveled the grounds of any race, income level, background or title. Jesus' love is not based on our DNA structure or original last name. He will adopt you into his family regardless of these. You are his child no matter what, as you are mine.

My love for you is unbounded. I do not know if you will kick and scream at me when you meet me, I don't know if you will let me hold you when you are sad or trust that I will feed or care for you. But we will walk this journey together.  Someone once told me "God will never give you more than you can handle". I think the opposite. God has called me to a situation out of my control, outside of what I can handle or plan for or master on my own. Being your mother, and Levi's, Reese's and Wheeler's is the greatest adventure of my life and I will most definitely do a lot of things wrong! It is more than I alone can handle to point 4 little lives to Jesus and show them His ways. But, I am not alone, nor are you. We have access to the King, we get to tap into the power of the one who raises the dead, heals the sick, and sets the lonely in families. Praise Jesus for that.

May your name also ever be a reminder of the Grace God has shown me. The depth of my depravity met the extravagance of his love in the most beautiful collision of Grace the world has ever known. May that Grace push me to the urgency of his message. May your life point people to that Grace. May you ever be an example of the Grace God has shown little me and little you. We serve a mountain mover, a miracle worker, a restorer of the broken. 

I also can't wait to tell you about the man who's birthday you share. Drew Michael Miller, A friend who always pointed me to struggle with the hard questions in life, not avoid them. At the end of our conversations, he would always push me to ask myself, "Who will you serve, people or God", "Is life really worth living for something so small", "The life with God is not safe" and "God has chosen you from before his creation to adopt you as sons and daughters". This man, who walked boldly into death because he knew confidently who he was walking towards. A man who longed for heaven, for a new body, and to sit at his maker's throne and sing praises to him. A man who prayed your very name, Come quickly Lord.  Yes that is why your birthday is his birthday, September 17th. 

I pray God comforts you and fills you with his joy complete on your 4th birthday. 

Until I get to hold you in my arms,

Your mommy