The Day I Met My Daughter and Her Birth Mom.
Today I met my daughter and her birth mom. Technically my baby girl is still baking in the oven but we are now officially introduced. She heard my voice as I said her name for the first time. There are no words to describe the feelings of joy and hope that come with the promise of new life. But before I tell you about the best day, let’s rewind to the worst day.
Thanksgiving Day 2020.
I was on a beach trip with my best girlfriend when I woke up to an unexpected call. The voice on the line told me the relationship I was in was over, a relationship I had truly believed was my future. In seconds, the family I always wanted was gone, the promise of motherhood revoked, the three children I had grown to love erased from my life, and all my dreams shattered.
Flashback to just one year earlier in 2019, when, in the early morning hours, I woke up to a similar call to hear the news that my Partner had unexpectedly passed away in the night. No chance to say goodbye. No closure. A future gone; my hopes and dreams left in ashes.
So it was here in the dark, lonely place of shock and grief that I found myself yet again. I couldn’t believe my ears. The unexpected call ripped open a wound that was still fresh. My body began to activate the standard trauma responses all over again. Shivvers, nausea, shortness of breath. The room began spinning and there was no stopping this tilt-a-whirl carnival ride. No emergency exit or backup parachute, just a steady descent into the darkness. Anger, sadness, fear, all swirled around in a hurricane of emotions. There was nothing I could do to save the relationship, no opportunity to say goodbye yet again, and I was sent headfirst back into the grief cycle I had worked so hard to move through just a short time ago.
I spent the morning screaming into the pillow, numbing the pain with shot after shot of tequila, and perfecting the dead man’s float in the ocean. Something about floating lifeless in the water seemed to accurately reflect my physical and emotional state. Exhausted. Lifeless. Hopeless.
I wish I could tell you that I snapped out of it. That this SuperWoman sucked it up, jumped back into action and went back to saving the world. But that’s not the truth. I’m not Superhuman. I barely felt human at all. The only evidence of my humanity was the stabbing pain deep in my chest reminding me that in fact, I was still alive.
I spent the next few weeks canceling all the holiday plans I had made for what I thought would be our first Christmas together. Somewhere between taking down the kids’ paintings off the refrigerator door and returning holiday gifts, I fell into a dark depression. I found myself with zero energy to get out of bed, nightmares reliving the rejection and loss, and taking anti-depressants (pills I hadn’t taken since my eating disorder in high school). I couldn’t understand why God brought me out of the depths of grief only a short time before, to escort me back to the Valley of Despair once again.
I was reminded of the Israelites, who were enslaved to the Egyptians for 430 years. Talk about a never-ending Valley of Despair! Then, after 430 years in bondage, in Exodus 6:6, God made a God-sized promise to deliver them from their yoke of slavery and redeem their future. I replaced the word “Egyptians” with my own burden [grief] and the verse spoke new hope to me.
“I am the LORD, and I will bring you out from under the burdens of [grief], and I will deliver you, and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm.”
I looked down at my own outstretched arm and the verse tattoo on my wrist — a present to myself on my 30th birthday. Jeremiah 29:11 “For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
The last seven words of the verse gave me pause “…plans to give you HOPE and a FUTURE. The door had slammed shut on the future I had fought so hard to hold on to and now God was calling me, not to build another future, but let go and cling to hope, the hope that lives in the space between me asking and God delivering
As the days and weeks rolled on (and with lots of therapy and wise counsel), I slowly began the hard work of exchanging the hurt for hope. It was a hard trade-off. I mean REALLY hard. It meant I had to open the fist that so tightly gripped the feelings of anger, resentment, and bitterness — and release them — leaving my hand open for the “future and hope” that God had planned for my life. I’m not sure who said it, but one of my favorite quotes that I taped to my bathroom mirror was this…
“Everything you blame you are stuck with. Bless it. Wish it well. Wish it its own freedom. And it won’t come back to you. If you don’t, the negative energy will be drawn back to you because it’s always looking for resolution.”
As I made the daily choice to release the hurt, the pain, the people, and myself, and “wish it well,” a new hope began to re-emerge. One that I always had but never thought was possible.
The hope of adoption.
I had always wanted to adopt (see the previous post) but planned to adopt in the context of a marriage. Now God was revealing to me that my plan was not HIS plan. As I put down my own paintbrush, God began to paint a new picture over my childlike drawing. It was different than my paint-by-number, it was a beautiful one-of-kind masterpiece by the Master Artist who crafted the Universe. Adoption began to feel more realistic as God brought friends, encouragers, and connectors into my life. Every step along the adoption journey was a true miracle — the timing, the match, the birth mom. The Master Artist was painting a beautiful picture of redemption. I can’t make it up, because God already made it happen.
Today, Thanksgiving 2021.
Exactly one year from my worst day, I am having my BEST day — the day I met my future, my daughter. Instead of death, there is life. A new life. What better representation of what we all have in Christ if we accept his free offering, the promise of a new life.
And how fitting, that God would make our introduction happen at the beach — the same Atlantic Ocean where I floated, lifeless, hopeless, just one year earlier. No tequila shots, but you better believe that I did go for a swim. And just as I ran into the water, God picked up his paintbrush and painted the most beautiful baby pink sunset I’ve ever seen. This time, I’m not the focus of the picture, God is. And that’s just how it should be.
You may be reading this and today is your worst day. Maybe you are going through your own Valley of Despair. Maybe you’ve been camped out here for one year, two years, or 430 years like the Israelites. Here’s the good news. God has a plan for you. It’s a good plan. His plan is full of life and hope.
It might mean you have to let go of the future you’ve held on to. It might mean you have to release someone, including yourself, and forgive. It might mean you have to give up something or move something out of the way. But one thing I do know is that you’ll have to let go of what or who you’re holding on to. And when you let go, God won’t send you away empty-handed. He gently lays these two precious words in your hands that you can cling to for eternity— HOPE and a FUTURE.
