My Little Girl Got Baptised Yesterday

My little girl got baptized yesterday. I am praying that her decision to do that will be one that will influence her life for the rest of her days on earth and into eternity.

I'm so grateful for those who have influenced her little life for Jesus--family, friends, church servants, camp counselors.

Oh, how I prayed for her when I realized she was coming. I was so afraid for her. I never intended on being her mom--I was excited to be her grandma!

Then if became evident that we or someone else would need to raise her. I fearfully held her in my open hands to the Lord. I knew it would mean a completely different life for us than we had planned, but I couldn't bear the thought of not having her with us.

Oh, how I need your light, Lord. I want to live a people of the light. I denounce the anger and rage, the passive aggressive way I often react. Please forgive me, Lord.

Raise this little girl up into the person you dreamed of when you created her. Work in her life and in her heart. Fill the holes there where people are missing. Heal her little abandoned heart. Amen.

Who Would've Thought

Who would've thought that at the age of 53, my living room would still look like this four days after Christmas. I always thought that by this age, I would have a beautiful Victorian Christmas tree or something with matching gifts placed neatly and strategically beneath it--more for asthetics than actual gifts.

But, here we are, raising our little munchkin. Celebrating Jesus' birthday like we years ago the first time around. And, even though the mess bugs me, I couldn't even consider the alternative.

Maybe I'll have a Victorian Christmas tree in heaven.

Forever Family

“Forever Family.” That’s a phrase I’ve seen frequently as I’ve been reading and gaining as much understanding about adoption as I can. Our adoption was finalized 30 days ago and we have, indeed, become a forever family--in more ways than I originally imagined.


In adopting our little “Punky,” we have pledged to be here for her through thick and thin, “as long as we both shall live.” At our adoption hearing, the judge asked my husband to leave the room while he asked me some questions. Then I had to leave the room while he asked my husband the same questions. I don’t remember the exact words he used, but the “jist” of it was, “Do you know what you’re getting into? Have you counted the cost? The long-range cost?”

If you would read any of my blog posts from a couple of years ago, you’d know I could answer a resounding YES! to that question. I’ve wrestled with God over this issue. I’ve even wrestled with myself over it. My emotions have swung from one extreme to the other. I’ve begged God for this adoption to be final, quickly and easily (picture God smiling and shaking His head over that one!) I’ve also begged Him to provide someone else—someone younger, more grounded and better equipped to raise this little girl. I’ve thought and journaled about all that I will lose if I commit the rest of my life to raising her (I will be an old woman by the time she’s an adult.) I’ve wept over the fear of being hurt again. Our parental hearts have been broken, devastated. What if we get hurt again?

After all that wrestling, journaling, weeping and praying, God impressed upon me that I have so much more to gain than I could ever lose, and that we are His choice as the ones to parent this precious little life. It’s been a joyful, yet sobering realization. The weight of this honor is heavy, but one that we can and must bear.

But our Forever Family means even more than that. Not only have we adopted our little one, she has adopted us. If you talk to her about Grandma and Grandpa, you had better not be referring to my husband and me! Despite my referring to myself as “Mamaw,” she began calling me “Mommy” very shortly after she came to live with us. And even though we referred to my husband as “Papaw,” within a few months, she began calling him “Daddy.” At first, it was uncomfortable, but now it feels so natural, it’s hard to imagine being Mamaw and Papaw again.

Not only have we and our little girl adopted each other, the same thing has happened with our extended family and friends. As I stated earlier, you had better not refer to us as Grandma & Grandpa, because our punkin’s grandma and grandpa (my husband’s parents) are her favorite people in the world! She also has lots of little cousins, aunts and uncles who have become incredibly attached to her. She fits so naturally into our family—she’s the youngest cousin, but only by 10 days!

Then there’s our church. We had a celebration last weekend and (even though it’s against the rules to run in God’s house,) it was an amazing joy to see her and her cousins and friends racing up and down the halls of our church. It was hard to maintain our composure as we saw three fourths of the congregation stand up to show their connection to and support of us. What a confidence boost for us to know that we are not alone in this endeavor. Our pastor did a beautiful job of acknowledging the difficult aspects of this adoption as well as the incredibly joyous ones, but more about that later.

I have more I want to share about our celebration weekend and I’m sure it will appear in this blog, but for now, there is laundry to be done, thank you notes to be written and a little munchkin to chase—naptime is over!

Trusting My Unswerving Hope

I have not written a blog in a very long time. The holidays are tough for us (and many people), and when you throw in something as huge and emotional as the adoption of a grandchild, it’s hard to capture enough coherent thoughts to make enough sense for a blog. But today, I’m going to give it a shot…


On December 21, our adoption was finally final. It was the day we for which had waited and worked for over two years. We had endured the probing questions of our social work for our home study. We had child-proofed our home. We had attended the required class. We had had our well tested. We had had a fire inspection and a safety inspection. We filled out what seemed like endless paperwork—twice—once for our state and once for our granddaughter’s state. We had had two FBI/BCI background checks. We had physicals to make sure we ere healthy enough to parent a young child. We had secured five references. I had made ten 2,000 mile trips out West, my husband had made five. We had been to court hearings, supervised visits with our little girl and finally graduated to unsupervised visits. We brought her home for two weeks, then took her back. Two weeks later we went to pick her up for good. The process was exhausting—and we didn’t even have any opposition. (I can’t imagine what people go through in bitter custody battles.)

I thought I would wake up on December 21, feeling exuberant, filled with nothing but pure, unadulterated joy. I did have joy—this was the day for which I had pleaded with God—but I also had so many other emotions raging in my soul. I was an emotional basket case, but I wasn’t ready to admit that yet.As I endeavored to go through my day, emotions securely stuffed, I began to realize I couldn’t do it. Some of those emotions began to leak out.

The first emotion I was able to admit was the grief… Grief that we have been denied the privilege of being our little girl’s grandparents--where we would go and visit every few months, be together as a family every Christmas, and maybe even have her come and stay with us for summer vacations… Grief that her parents still struggle with addiction and mental illness--that, despite their intelligence and creativity, they are not yet living as happy, healthy contributors to society… Grief that our little girl’s auntie, her namesake, is not here to enjoy her little niece.

Later, I realized another powerful emotion that was not as securely stuffed as I thought--fear. We’ve been down this parenting road before and we had thought we were doing a pretty good job, but now, 25 years into our parenting journey, we have one child entrapped in addiction and the other is deceased. Will we fail again? What could we be thinking… could our hearts survive the sting of failure and the pain of loss again? What could God be thinking… isn’t there someone younger and better equipped to do this job than us? What could the authorities be thinking… they put us through this rigorous process and they say we passed--do they really know what they’re doing?

This is where trust comes in… and hope. Trust that God truly is in control and that He knows what He’s doing. Hope in His promises that He knows the future he has for us and our little girl and her biological parents, that they are plans for good and not for evil, plans to give us a future and hope--unswerving hope!!

I made it through December 21. And once I did, I was ready to celebrate! And we did just that this past weekend. More about that later... when I am able to capture all the thoughts and emotions that are swirling. Until then, I will trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly and love extravagantly!

Hope in Who I am, Whose I am and Where I am Going

"Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands and that he had come from God and was going to God, rose from supper and laid aside his garments, took a towel and girded himself..." John 13:3 (NKJV)

Jesus was able to humble himself and serve his disciples, and ultimately face the cross, only because he knew that his Father had given all things into his hands and that he had come from God and was going to God. If I am secure in the knowledge of who I am and whose I am, and where I am going, I can do whatever God calls me to do.

Before I even finished writing that last sentence very early this morning, my two-year-old came tiptoeing into my room. There is a message in that. Parenting a two-year-old is a challenge--especially for a 48-year-old who has been an empty-nester for 5 years. But that is what God has called us to do. We have had a divine interruption in our "early retirement" years. The house can no longer be just the way we want it--it must be childproof. My schedule is no longer my own--it has to revolve around nap times, bed time and potty training. This is not a temporary interruption. I will spend the rest of my life raising this little girl.

For now, she is the one God has called me to serve. I can only serve her well if I truly believe God has all things in His hands, that I have come from God and that I am going to God. I can only serve her well if I am secure in my identity in Christ. Without that, I am a lost, floundering soul seeking only self-protection and self preservation. It is impossible to serve anyone when my main goal is to preserve my comfort zone and protect my heart in order to keep it from being broken--again.

Never have I needed to be more secure in my identity in God--to know that God has everything in control. This world is a scary place and I need to know that God has my future and my little girl's future in his control.

Never have I needed to be more secure in knowledge of where I have come from. I need to know that I came from God and that he has a purpose and a plan for the rest of my life. I need to know that we are in the middle of his perfect will.

Never have I needed to believe more strongly in the truth that I have a place in eternity. With that truth in sight, I can endure whatever God calls me to do while I'm here on earth. No matter how long that is, it is minuscule compared to eternity.

I just want to sit in the middle of this lesson for a few minutes and make sure I really get it. I can give up "my life" on earth (what I want to do--my comfort zone) because...

1. God has everything in control
2. He created me with a purpose and for a reason
3. I can look forward to spending eternity pain and frustration-free with Him

That is my unswerving hope today!

The Identity Crisis Continues

We had an excellent sermon this weekend on transformation. One of the things that struck me was, "The enemy of transformation is self-centeredness."

I have been in such a state of self-protection. That could also be described as self absorption or self preservation or, I hate to admit, self-centeredness. I realize that has been an issue of mine all my life, but even more so now. In five years, I've gone from being a working mom, to being a displaced stay at home mom of a teenager, to a 43-year-old emptynester, and now to a 48-year-old mommy of a toddler. Like many of you, life just keeps changing and taking unexpected turns. And with that many massive changes in such a short time, I've gone from wearing my heart on my sleeve to a self-constructed prison of isolation and back again.

In the past month I've gone from complete independence to having to be home for potty training, nap times and for our 8:00 p.m. bedtime routine every night. My morning devotional time is not the same because of the beautiful, blurry-eyed face that appears in my room, usually just as I'm getting started. Every time my laptop, my Bible or my dog is on my lap, my toddler wants to be be there too. Just since I started typing this blog, I've had to get up to refill her cereal bowl twice--once because she ate it all, and once because she spilled it all. We've been out in the garage playing and in the house playing. I can hardly finish a complete thought without interruption. As many of you know, that's the way it is when you are in charge of a toddler.

So, as the middle aged mom of a toddler, who am I and where do I fit?! I don't fit with the other young mommies at church. The women my age have grown children or older teens. My job has changed because I can't do it all with a toddler in tow. I work for my church and for a while, poured my heart and soul into my job because it was all I had. Now I want to pour my heart and soul into my little girl. Since I'm scaling back my job, my "church identity" is ambiguous. I don't know where I fit in my job and I don't know where I fit in my church. Even my position in women's ministry is a blur because my mind is a blur.

As I sat by my friend in church this weekend, listening to this sermon about transformation and self-centeredness, I felt like a glass dome had been lowered down over me that I just couldn't break out of it. It's hard to be real with people when can't be real with myself because I don't know who I am or where I fit. So I asked God, "How do I get out of this glass dome? I'm tired of walking around with my guts hanging out all the time, but I can't stay in isolation either! How do I find the happy medium?!" And I heard him say, "Tuck your guts back in and reach out to someone else!" Wow, what an epiphany. I enjoyed reaching out and talking to people I don't talk to very often after service--not my usual set of friends, but a few people on the fringe. Maybe God's on to something here. I think I'll try that more often!

The transition/identity crisis/transformation continues...