Read part 1 of this story here.
Our heart for adoption was fueled by a calling. Way before we even got married. It spans back to my childhood when I knew I wanted to adopt. A year and a half after we lost Noel, our daughter, we pursued our calling.
We excitedly went through the process with an agency in Tulsa, OK. After much prayer and reflection, we felt at peace with our decision. We were picked unexpectedly quickly and were thrown into a whirlwind of classes, books, legal papers, etc.
I remember receiving the phone call that we were chosen. We were driving to Grimaldi’s to celebrate my 27th birthday. That phone call was the best birthday present.
That summer, 2015, we spent up in Tulsa, OK with the agency and our birth mom. She was due beginning of September. So we only had about three or so months until our baby was born.
The day finally came and she was here. And boy was she perfect. From every single hair on her head, and let me tell you it was a lot, to her perfect little baby toes. I loved her the moment I saw her.
I loved her as my own. Now I was finally able to parent on this side of heaven. We changed diapers, had late night and early morning feedings, and called her ours. Her healthy cry was music to my ears, and her round cheeks were the perfect size to kiss. I never knew how quickly you could fall in love with someone who has never heard your heartbeat from the inside.
Six days after we took her “home,” our birth mom changed her mind. With tear-stained cheeks, we said our goodbyes and drove back home to Texas, empty arms again.
I vividly remember one conversation with our birth mom. I told her that at any point in time if she ever changed her mind, it’s okay. Because I know what it’s like to have to give a baby back and to live without a piece of your heart.
We were never mad at her.
Feelings of disappointment, discouragement, and doubt filled our minds.
- Did we hear wrong from God?
- Why? Why are we left with aching arms again?
- How could you allow this to happen, God? You knew the final outcome.
My heart was so severely shattered. It felt like it would never be repaired from back to back to back losses. (Our daughter dies, we find out we are infertile, and then we experience a failed adoption.)
One day after sobbing on my white, not-so-white anymore (thank you black mascara) pillow, I cried out to the Lord. I told him how disappointed I was, how he let me down, how I felt forgotten and forsaken. I cried until my head was pounding and my loud sobs turned into quiet whimpers. He very tenderly told me that he knew all of this. He just needed me to be vulnerable with him and to come to him wholeheartedly, so we could move forward, together. But how?
