Living in Hope

HOPE

Hope is the knowledge that we are being changed for the better as we trust in God's promises (Romans 8:28). It is the conviction that no matter the circumstances, God's plans for our lives are "for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope" (Jeremiah 29:11b NLT). These things are truth, not just something that *may* happen. It is these things I trust in.

Sweet little Hope has been with us for 22 days now. Days where all of us are being changed for the better. She is, perhaps, the sweetest baby ever born. She steals hearts, this little one. And everyone who meets her instantly falls for her.

Our time in China was miraculous, just as her life thus far has been. She smiled when we met her at the airport. Yes, smiled. People have asked if she somehow recognized me and that I was back for her. I don't know the answer to this, but believe her little heart was prepared for our reunification. She was and is tiny, being the size of a 3-4 month old. The reality of how sick she is is visibly apparent in her eyes and body, and yet, she continues to smile and defy the odds. Her features are so beautifully delicate and I spent hours just staring at her in amazement that she is alive and in my arms again. That she is my baby daughter.

The miraculous nature of her story is truly unfathomable, and I am just beginning to try to process it all. I still am in awe that her story involves me and know that it is only because of God's plan for her that she is still here. There is no explanation to how she endured and survived the past 11 months when she was given a 1 month at life timeframe from a number of doctors. Even a doctor from here in the US took a look at her labs and gave her a month or so to live. This, back in January. Sweet Hope is a fighter and has one of the strongest wills to live that I have ever seen. Another miracle is her ability to have a family at all. See, she was considered "unadoptable" due to her prognosis. I would ask her orphanage about her adoption papers and was met with no answer. No answer is the way of saying no. It wasn't until my oldest daughter begged me to ask the orphanage if they would prepare her papers for us. For adoption into our family specifically. I explained to her that I would, but that she would need to be prepared because the orphanage would likely say no. Yet, the orphanage said yes. Unadoptable became adoptable, and she would not suffer or be alone in her pain ever again. Another hurdle was finding agency support. There are very few single parents who have been able to adopt 5 children from China. Upon approach to my agency, I received this response "I am not a religious person but I do hear a calling from the heaven. Yes, we will help you". Miracles. There are no other explanations.

There is something both profound and inspiring when opening one's heart to a child who is so sick. I am somewhat of a planner by nature. Plans were made for both the near and distant future. I am learning to let go of the plans, or perhaps hold onto them very loosely now. Life can change in an instant, and what I really have is the here and now. There are so many gifts in the here and now, and how foolish I have been for missing them as I planned away the lives of myself and my daughters. Having little Hope in my life is teaching me to slow down and to remain in the present. To find the beauty and mercies in each and every moment. To cherish the times of each day along with the people given to me. And to try to remember that His hope and trust have brought us this far and will carry us through.

Choosing Hope

There are some things in life which just defy all human understanding or logic. Things which are truly unexplainable and impossible. Miracles, really. Right now, as I sit in Logan airport ready to depart for China, I realize that I have become part of something that is beyond my understanding. It is likely beyond many others' understanding.
This was not expected. At all. And to say that I am terrified would be an understatement. If I think about this too long, right now, the panic can become consuming. Because it is scary. Saying yes to a dying child who needs a mother is very scary.
I literally had to stop writing, because I was freaking myself out thinking of just how enormous this all is. Because it is huge and unfathomable to myself and likely most other people. But it isn’t huge to God. So now I am settled on the plane and realizing I have had it all wrong. Again. My perspective of fear and panic derived from thinking about the big picture and the impossibility of what is happening. Instead, I realized while sitting here next to my second and forth daughter, that I am to seize this moment and recognize it as a gift. And oh what a gift it is. I am heading back to the place where part of my heart always is. I am heading to the place where my daughters were born, and where my littlest dying daughter is waiting for me. This time not as an orphanage volunteer, but as her mother. I am heading back to the place where very special friends live, and where my Meimei lives. I am getting another chance to be back there, and to breathe in all of the amazing opportunities that I will be given. I will be able to soak in the beauty of holding a tiny baby again. I will be able to study her sweet face, and smell her baby breath. I will be able to be present on the first anniversary of Meimei’s son’ s death so that she does not need to go thought this day alone. I will be able to be in fellowship with my dear friends and share life with them. These things are not scary at all. They are life giving and energizing. I need to remember that each day, each moment, is a gift. Remembering that is still hard for me but I will try.
The fact that I am on this plane, in this place right now, is completely against all human rationale. It makes no sense that a baby who was given only 1 month to live is still alive 11 months later. It is incomprehensible that I have been granted permission to be her mother. The orphanage would not complete her paperwork for anyone else. Why me? I still do not know. But that really doesn’t matter. What matters is that I have a choice to respond. I can decide to look at this and think “no way it’s too hard”, “how could I possibly do it”, and/or “ I am too terrified to take the leap, fearing the what ifs”. Or I can choose hope. I can choose to say yes and try to live presently in each moment. I can choose to be assured that there is still beauty and mercy in this broken world. I can choose hope that only comes from knowing Him. I can choose to remind myself that this story has greater purposes than I can ever begin to understand. I choose hope.