Don’t Lose Sight of Your Vision

Keep Calm

These past few weeks have been somewhat of a blur for me.  I went on a min-vacation with some friends, our school year has ended, and our summer schedule has begun.  In many ways, I’ve felt a little “blah” about most things.

Recognizing these feelings has caused me to do some introspection about my life. I’ve thought about ending this blog, disengaging from social media, and giving up on personal goals.  I’ve wondered where God is, and why in the world do I feel like He has not been listening to me, or perhaps, why I have not been listening to Him.  Oh, my.  We are vulnerable, aren’t we?

At a staff chapel this past week (yes, we have chapel at my job!), the Pastor spoke about having a vision for our lives, and  immediately, this caused my heart to stir.  He reminded us of the importance of hanging on to our visions, praying over them, giving them to God, and realizing that the Enemy wants to destroy our vision.  He also talked about spiritual warfare when it comes to our feelings of giving up what we feel God has laid on our hearts to complete in life.

Every time the Enemy is mentioned, I immediately go back to what I felt growing up knowing I would not have biological children, wondering about motherhood, and tasting the bitterness of confusion and despair.  It seems like a lifetime ago, but in reality, these feelings and thoughts were an ever-present part of most of my life.  I never believed I would ever tell anyone my inner thoughts about life, especially barrenness.  I’m not one to over-spiritualize everything, but man, I’m so glad that I happened to be in the office the day this Pastor came to share and encourage us.  It was one of those moments when you feel like the message was meant just for you.

I needed the reminder that we are engaged in a war.  This war is not a physical one.  It is a spiritual one.  There is an ever-present need for continual prayer for our children, our spouses (if married), our communities, our nations, our neighbors who are considered the outcasts of society,and for ourselves.

Over the past few weeks, I have not felt the need to write, and in some ways, lost the desire.  I’ve wondered if I’m done speaking my history of barrenness to the world, and if it is time to close this chapter of my life.  However, the reality is that in the end it does not matter the size of an audience, nor the popularity, likes, followers, and shares that  we have.  What matters is that we wrap our lives with authenticity, humility, and the tenacity to focus with the full measure of what it is to be a believer.  I’ve also been reminded that my children deserve for me to be faithful and fully present.

The Enemy tried with great effort to make me feel as though the Lord had forgotten about me, and that He was no longer listening to my prayers.  However, my heart continually submerges into the ocean of Grace, and I know that I am not a forsaken or jilted child.

And, neither are you.

Friends, if you have lost sight of your personal dreams, feel as if the Lord has forsaken you, have hit a wall with your creative pursuits, or if you are wallowing in despair, hang on to the Weaver of dreams.

Don’t give up.

Don’t lose heart.

Your story does matter.  Don’t stop telling it.  Don’t believe for one second that your life is not a testimony.  Share your dreams, your wonderful creativity, your eye for fantastic images, and your brilliance with words.  Don’t lose sight of your vision.

What’s God going to say to my questions? I’m braced for the worst.
    I’ll climb to the lookout tower and scan the horizon.
I’ll wait to see what God says,
    how he’ll answer my complaint.

And then God answered: “Write this.
    Write what you see.
Write it out in big block letters
    so that it can be read on the run.
This vision-message is a witness
    pointing to what’s coming.
It aches for the coming—it can hardly wait!
    And it doesn’t lie.
If it seems slow in coming, wait.
    It’s on its way. It will come right on time.”

Habakkuk 2:1-2

 

 

 

He’s Never Called You Mommy, Birth Mother.

This weekend marked the eighth anniversary of the adoption of our oldest son and Mother’s Day.  Despite the joy this weekend had, you (Birth Mother) were on my mind.  He’s getting so big and growing into a young man; still yet, in my heart, and I know in yours, he will always be a blonde curly-haired and brown-eyed little boy.

photodayafter

The reality is that he has stopped calling me “Mommy”, and I don’t know when this happened.  One day, he was tugging my pants saying, “Hold you, Mommy” and the next, it became just simply, “Mom”.

It grieves me a bit to think about how fast time is flying by, how we are all so far removed in years from when he was little, and how soon…too soon…he will be grown and spreading his wings to fly into the world.  Still yet, through all of the mountains and valleys of raising a boy in this world, you are never far from my thoughts.

The painful truth that hits me square in the heart is that he has never called you “Mommy”.

I don’t know why I feel compelled to write to you every anniversary of our adoption.  I suppose it is the least I could do.  The fact that our adoption occurred right around Mother’s Day is something I rejoice in, but also feel sadness about.  My first official Mother’s Day was just days out from our adoption in 2008.  In many ways, I feel that the timing is God’s wink at me.  In other ways, the timing is so incredibly complex and full of grief.  People may not understand why, or wonder how I could think of you so often, especially on this day, but that is okay.  This is our journey – his, mine, and yours.

Honestly, if I think too much about it all, my emotions get the best of me.  On the one hand, my heart leaps with love at the thought of being his mother.  On the other, it sways in sadness that you are not.  If you did not choose life, if an intervention had not happened, and if difficult decisions were not made, then I would not be here, typing this out, and listening to him laughing at a video in his bedroom.

This, Birth Mother, is the place where sadness and joy sit next to each other; one touching the other, one never too far from the other. 

I want you to know that he is a wonderful little human.  He is kind, athletic, artistic, and enjoys all sorts of people and places.  He does not seem to know a stranger and has no expectations of the types of friends he makes.  I love that about him.  He holds no judgment about other people.  He doesn’t care what skin color a person has, or what interests a person has, he just meets people where they are at.  This is a lesson for us all and makes my heart swell with pride.

He is eager to enjoy time with others, loves to goof off, and is a loyal person.  He is a good big brother, loves animals, and is always thinking of grand ideas that are (sometimes) okay to explore.

Birth Mother, you were so incredibly kind to us even though we had your son.  You could have chosen not to be.  You could have decided that we were your enemy and that I was anything but his Mother.  Instead, you referred to me as his “Mamma”.

Thank you…from the deepest and most vulnerable part of my soul, thank you.

I suppose you will always be in my thoughts, and in my heart on every adoption anniversary and Mother’s Day.  He may not call me “Mommy” anymore, but know that…

In my heart, we are both his “Mommy”.