Worlds Collide: Two Stories of Adoption
Written 11.17.2008 by Keri D.
This week's events have been quite the pendulum. Swinging so easily from one extreme to the other. Not giving care or thought to its method yet somehow forcing time on earth to slide forward. And when the hour strikes, oh the sound...
This summer, a friend of mine had her routine sonogram done. Is it a boy? Nope. Is it a girl? Yes...two of them! These precious twins were conjoined at the chest, sharing a tiny beating heart. Doctors explored options, but because their heart was missing some major ventricles, hope apart from a miracle was not offered. On Tuesday night, at 32 weeks, Melody Joy and Madison Hope were born breathing. An hour later, their breathing ceased and their purpose had been served.
Saturday, I attended a reception held by some other friends of mine. Why? They had just adopted three little girls and were throwing a part in their honor.
As I walked into that room full of decorations and pictures, my heart felt as though it would burst. These three girls: Angel, Mary and Zulu had been adopted, taken into, chosen! I can't and honestly don't want to try to imagine what these girls have seen, heard and felt in their short lives. They weren't wanted. They were either given up or taken away. Yet now, they are wanted. Now they have a Mom who will put a band-aid on their skinned knee and blow so it doesn't sting. They have a Daddy who wil
l let them dance on his feet. They have brothers who will hug and love on them. They are wanted. Not only are they wanted, but a party is thrown to celebrate just how wanted they are! Their new parents invited all their friends and secured a reception room. They bought a whole bunch of food and had a huge cake decorated. They set up tables and put together slideshows. All of this was done to celebrate adoption. To celebrate that what once was lost has now been found. That what once was ignored has now been treasured. Three lives that have a distorted, or even absent, view of "family" are adopted into family.
C'mon y'all, please tell me this sounds familiar! Isn't this the very thing that Jesus has done for us? What the father did for the prodigal son? Don't we have pasts that have left us broken and ignored? Don't we have something deep in our souls that was born wicked and unwanted? The scriptures say that as we lie in a pool of our own blood, unwanted, rebellious and forgotten...He died so that we could be adopted (Keri's paraphrase). He orchestrated a plan so great, he arranged the details, he planned a celebration. Why?
Because He wants us.
Read that again. Let it marinate your mind.
He.
Wants.
You.
Maybe you're a goody-two-shoe. It's ok, I won't judge you. Maybe you've never experienced the sting of dirt in your eyes or the taste of mud in your mouth.
I, however, am much in need of redemption. I am wicked at my core and the fact that there is a man, a Creator, that not only wants me, but is celebrating my adoption?
The pendulum of my soul strikes that fateful hour.
Today I watched as a two foot long white box was lowered into the ground. Bare voices sang the soul stirring lyrics of "It Is Well" as a plain-like man clad in dirty jeans, a ball-cap and workers gloves shoveled dirt over what we knew of two babies. That's really it, isn't it? We live. We breathe. And eventually, whether it be an hour later or 80 years later, our breathing will cease and dirt will be shoveled over our hollow bodies.
I can't help but imagine the dwellers of Heaven preparing the same sort of feast for the adoption of Madison and Melody into their family. A party to celebrate their arrival home. A celebration for two purposes well served. Jesus comes to the middle of the room and whistles, grabbing everyone's attention. Beaming with a Daddy's pride he introduces the newest members of the heavenly realm. His creations. His daughters: Melody and Madison. Finally home. I bet it seemed like forever to Him.
Joy.
Sorrow.
Earth.
Heaven.
Each is in our DNA. Each makes up our being.
And the pendulum swings...
You know, the funny thing is that there is this marriage that happens between grief and beauty. As I have grieved, and as I've watched M&M's parent's grieve, it is evident we cannot do so without at the very same time being overwhelmed with the tenderness of Jesus. I should be questioning, I know. I should be asking, "why?!". Yet every tear has come hand in hand with a sense of rest. Like Vanessa (mom) said today, "God did not make a mistake when he created Melody and Madison".
There is this aspect of what I believe that may be hard to understand. It seems like it would make life more complicating or painful, yet it has done just the opposite.
I trust the sovereignty of Christ. I trust that He is good, that He has promised me eventual joy, and I choose to give myself to His Way. I have chosen this because I have tasted otherwise, and I believe my soul was created to be loved by Him.
I think there is a false sense of Christianity in America that implies coming to Jesus is all about us. If we obey Him, we will be blessed. We follow him because He makes us feel better. If we want heaven, we better submit. I. Me. My.
The problem I have with this is...well...the Bible. Time and time again things do not end the way they were expected to. (Joseph, Job, John the Baptist, Jesus...) At the same time, we are promised that it's worth it. I have chosen to believe it's worth it. Things have been a little easier since I made this choice. Not easier in the sense that things are less painful or grueling, but easier in the sense that I know its not in vain. Easier in that I don't have to question why, I can just trust that the why has an answer. Whether I ever know the answer or not, its not about me. I know it will be answered. If I am serving Christ so that He can keep my life from tragedy than really all I am concerned about is myself. My feelings. Idolatry, anyone?
Life happens. Tragedy strikes. Things end badly, sometimes. It doesn't hurt any less or break our hearts any softer, but He is enough. He sustains us. That, my friends, is the difference. He. Is. Enough. In the midst of groaning. In the midst of tears streaming down our face. He sustains us.
I have never buried my child. I have never watched my spouse go through surgery. I have not had parents neglect me. There are circumstances and emotions in which hope cannot be assured to me. I simply haven't been there.
But I've seen parents bury their child. I've watched a man await his wife's groggy awake from surgery. I've seen a dear friend lose the lady closest to him. Vicariously, I hope. He has been enough for them. He will be enough for me. He has sustained them. He will sustain me.
There is a line of a song written by some friends of mine: "It's a long, straight uphill climb where all the grief and pleasure intertwine. Let's drink it down like a bottle of perfect wine."
Something about grief stirs my soul to worship Jesus. There is a place so deep that only He can communicate with. Maybe that's why He created it. Grief, that is. Maybe we must grieve in order to be comforted. And, maybe His comfort is so satisfying that the grief is worth it.
So, the clock let
s out a ring as if to celebrate the two extremes of emotion and I can't help but be so grateful for adoption. Earthly. Heavenly. Me. You. Melody. Madison. Angel, Mary, Zulu. We are all wanted, right?
Thank you, Jesus.
(Many of these thoughts were sparked from a sermon by Matt Chandler called "Hope in Real Life". Check it out on the podcast)
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