On the eve of my 40th birthday, my husband surprised me with a kid-free trip to San Diego for a few days. Our only plans were to sit by the beach and read as many books as we could. We were eager to live without an agenda for a few days.
Once we were in San Diego, I remembered the last time we were there. My husband attended a course for work, and I tagged along. That trip stands out to me, because we were in the very early stages of filling out paperwork for our domestic adoption application. I remember spending hours reviewing and editing our lengthy application as we sat by the pool on the roof of our hotel.
I wondered then if we’d ever become parents. I wondered how long it would take for us to wait to be chosen by a birthmom. I wondered how many failed adoptions we’d have to go through. I wondered how much money we’d have to spend. The process of adoption was so daunting that I secretly prayed I would get pregnant, so I wouldn’t have to go through with it.
As I laid on the shores of a beach in San Diego, nine years later, I laughed at the irony. Back then, kids seemed like a dream that may never come true. Adoption seemed like a giant wall we would never climb. Now, on the other side of it all, my husband and I couldn’t wait for some respite from our kids for a few days.
The time away gave me a chance to think about what it was like before we adopted our kids. I remember how night after night alone with my husband started to feel repetitive and lonely. We’d stay up late and sleep in only to wake feeling bored, exhausted, and longing for more.
I remember purposely leaving the house during Halloween, because I couldn’t stand the blatant reminder that we were still waiting for a family of our own. I remember running to the bathroom at work with tears streaming down my face because another coworker was pregnant, again. I remember crying every month when my period would come wondering if I’d ever have a positive pregnancy test.
What I didn’t know during that first visit to San Diego was that only ten months later, my husband and I would watch a beautiful baby boy come into this world through the sacrifice and suffering of another woman. The nurses would place him in my arms and we would walk out of the delivery room as a family of three. Seven months after his birth, that baby boy would officially become our son and carry our last name.
Three years later, in a new state, God would provide us with a baby girl through the sacrifice and suffering of a different woman. The nurses would rush her into the room where we were waiting, and we would stand in awe of this baby girl who looked so much like our son. Three months after her birth, that baby girl would officially become our daughter and carry our last name, making our family complete.
Looking back it’s easy to see the faithfulness of God in the life of my family. On this side of infertility, I can see that God had a plan all along. It was different than my plan, but it was better than any plan of my own. He knew that two little babies would need my husband and me, and we would need them. He was knitting my family together one miracle at a time, I just couldn’t see it.
If you are in the middle of a season of waiting to have kids, I want to encourage your heart today. God sees you and knows your struggle intimately. He will fulfill his promises to you in His time and in His way. I pray that you will find His peace as you wait on Him to grow your family.
“Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust also in me….I am leaving you with a gift—peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don’t be troubled or afraid.” John 14:1, 27