Leaning In

Being at home is really hard. I think it's because time moves a little slower at home, which gives me too much mental space to feel the hurt. And there is "that room" all ready for a baby ... freshly washed crib sheets, a closet organized with blankets and clothes, and that damn car seat.

So I've been out and about, for my own sanity above anything else. Needless trips to Costco, to the mall, more than one trip to church (I admit it - I totally abused the free childcare) ... turns out, all of that has been helpful in passing the time, but not much else.

I had no more errands to run, so I headed to the gym this morning. Not because I actually care about working out right now; I barely have the energy to make it through the day. But I needed to do something, and that was really my only good option.

I dropped Phoenix off at childcare, settled into a comfortable pace on the treadmill, and decided to lean in. From the moment we started the adoption process, I have felt the call of God to really lean into everything that would come my way. As I blogged in April, "It would be easy for me to have tunnel vision, to focus on the parenting task at hand, and to protect my heart from getting burned along the way. But I feel like God has been asking me to lean into the emotion of this season, and to actively hope." Well, as much as I want to fight it, I know God is asking me to keep leaning in. Process my grief in His arms instead of ignoring it or running away.

The thought of starting from square one again makes me want to throw up - I currently hate adoption. Strong words, I know. At this point, I would hands-down choose a horrible pregnancy, traumatic birth, and long NICU stay again. As difficult as that season in my life was, at least things were happening and God was obviously near. I wasn't sitting around, waiting for a child that I haven't met yet but I still seem to miss. I want to run away from this whole thing, letting it be just a horrible memory instead of my incessant reality.

But, again, I felt the prompt of God to lean in. I took a deep breath, and made my heart available to Him.

All of the oh-so-kind and empathetic words of my friends and family have been helpful, but I needed to hear something healing. So I listened to the Bible as I walked, and this familiar verse stood out like a beacon:

"Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we boast in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us." (Romans 5:1-5)

Sometimes this verse gets turned into one of those well-intentioned platitudes that Christians throw around, but it struck me so differently today. The end goal of suffering is hope. Not really sure how I missed that before, but I realized that this loss of Sloane is my greatest lesson in hope during this season, because it is my greatest moment of suffering (to date, at least).

I now have these twin passengers, longing and loss. The weight of longing was burdensome indeed, but my hope-muscles have gotten stronger while carrying it for many, many months. Thankfully, we have had many people help us carry our loss in the last few days; childcare, meals, flowers, chocolate, prayer and notes have truly helped to lighten the load. But life goes on, and soon the grief will be just ours to carry. And I am trusting God that He will supernaturally gift us the perseverance that will lead to greater character, which will in turn produce greater hope. 

And I don't, for one moment, doubt the love of God. I don't claim to understand His love, or the way that it manifests itself. But I undeniably felt his presence this morning, and it was overwhelmingly tender and loving. So much so that I ended up crying on the treadmill, which was probably so weird for everyone at LA Fitness.

One of the songs that played at our wedding (How He Loves, by David Crowder) came up on my Pandora station. I normally associate the song with a season of great joy, walking into a forever love with my Josh. So, though it was strange to hear in a moment of deep sadness, it was the perfect reminder that God has been oh-so-loving in orchestrating our family. And He is loving still.