Unwrapping.

How do I tell you everything and nothing at the same time? 

This story is one of sadness, grief, victory, joy, heartache, and surprise. It contains an intricacy that no one saw coming. I want to tell every detail. The details are where God shines. But for the first time the story to be told isn’t one that I own. Ultimately our story lies within the tricky boundaries of respect and privacy that could take years to unfold. The details of how he became our boy, our son, our Sam, aren’t mine to tell—they are his. 

I’ve given away parts of my heart with ease over the years. I have no plans to change that. When I recorded my audiobook, my wonderful sound engineer, stood from his desk to ask me something I hadn’t even considered.

“Is it weird to know that strangers know more about you than you will ever know about them?” 

It is a little weird, but I love this weird. I hope in all my sharings, honesty, and public untanglings of my heart—other humans, especially women, feel they aren’t alone. I’ve spent a long time feeling alone and I will forever stand on the edge of transparency holding out my hand for women to clutch mine.

Over the last week, my gasps of anxiety have turned into exhales of praise. I can hardly recognize the feeling of peaceful surrender after several seasons of white-knuckling my way to motherhood. I held on in desperate grasps, never knowing when life would buck me back to square one. 

Please try again later. Your submission request for motherhood has been denied. Again. 

People have asked me…Well mostly men remark when they hear my story, that I must have really wanted motherhood. I’ve chased it, fought for it, and stretched myself to join the ranks of Mama’s.  And if you were to ask me now, why I wanted to be a mother so badly—I have no thoughtful answer to give you. None at all. Perhaps some callings have no explanation, no explanation that I can put words to at least. 

We are coming down from what I call the “fight or flight high.” Never knowing if like all the times before, a child would be within our grasps and then fall through our fingers once more. I’m not certain if this is a real thing, but it feels real to me. This combination of love, fear, exhaustion, PTSD, and post-partum-adoption blues is heavy on me today. Like wearing a fur coat in July. I can finally relax and enjoy every corner of being a mom, whereas I couldn’t do that before, but the anxiety hangover of getting here is taking its toll on me.  

But this time was different. This time wasn’t my way, but His. If I’m being honest, for so long I’ve questioned why we were placed on this journey. Why us, God? For once, why couldn’t I just be handed my babies and allowed to go home. But then I remember that driving, unexplainable force pushing me towards what I thought was only motherhood—but no. It was so much more. 

This journey, the fight, the driving unexplainable force was leading me not to just motherhood, but to him. I wasn’t fighting to just be a mom. I was fighting to be Sam’s mom. 

I just didn’t know it at the time. 

About three years ago, I began to have dreams of Kyle and I standing in a court room with a baby boy. These dreams were silent and blurry. I would watch us from behind looking on ourselves as we stood before a judge—our family and friends watching on. 

I would wake up angry and shove down the visions my mind would try to replay as I poured my coffee. But the next night it would always be the same. 

A judge in a black robe, my husband in his wedding suit, me (about 2 dress sizes smaller than I actually am), and a small boy with reddish light brown hair. These dreams enraged me. I’m not going to court for my baby. I will be in a hospital like everyone else. They will come from my bones. There will be no need for court. I do not want that. 

God, are you listening? 

I do not want that. 

I’ve mentioned several times before that I held a great fear of adoption. 

How could I love a child that I didn’t conceive and give birth to? How will I recognize myself in a stranger’s face? Will I feel connected to them if I can’t see my husband or myself in their existence or in the curves of their face? 

God pressed further and further into my heart, and finally one day I heard, 

“What if, when you looked at a child you saw Me, instead of yourself?” Okay, I can do that. 

And as it turns out, that is better than seeing my own reflection day after day. The Lord has answered my prayers for motherhood, and He blessed me with a gift of a son—but this is so not how I saw this going. 

My first season of motherhood was cloudy with the presence of the foster care system, social workers, court dates, and a baby who desperately needed routine and stability. 

But still, motherhood came to me, like I knew she would. 

Our first nap at home, really home.

And what a gift this has been. 

I’m not sure if you feel the same way, but I have found that the best gifts in life, leave you breathless. They unfold in front of you in the most natural way, like the gifts have always been there all along, just waiting for you to find them. I feel that way now with our boy. 

My heart has known his for a lifetime, I just didn’t meet him right away. I fell in love with my husband, another amazing gift, almost immediately. But I wouldn’t let him know that for about six months. 

Gifts from God, gifts in life—are best delivered in His timing. Like the most beautiful spring after the harshest winter, you look up one day and know that spring has been waiting to flirt with you for months, but it just wasn’t her time. 

 Our boy is 2. He is incredibly funny, stubborn, observant, smart, and I am certain his giggles must be what heaven sound like. He has big brown eyes and the sweetest pink lips. 

The best gift that has ever been given to me. 

I’m finally a ranking member of the Mama Club that I’ve so desperately wanted to belong to, still for unexplained reasons. I’ve been facing infertility for five years now. I was gifted a beautiful baby boy nine months ago. I swore my gifts would never come, but suddenly or not-so-suddenly, they are here. He is here, and now I can’t remember much of our life before him. 

I don’t’ like waiting, I never have. I’m an instant gratification kind of girl and I rarely like surprises. But there is no way I could have planned or even wished for this. This gift of my boy, this gift of God’s way and timing. The gift to share it with you. 

The gift of life is that it can change in an instant, the curse of life is that it can change in an instant. 

If you are waiting for your gift, for the season of unwrappings, the season of harvest, your spring, or just feel like you don’t fit where you are, hold on. The good days, the days wished and prayed for, the days of better than you could’ve imagined, the days of unwrapping life’s most delicate and precious gifts, they are getting here as fast as they can. I promise.