The thing about it being a year later is...

*Negative griping and moaning ahead*

So it's officially been one full year since we began our adoption journey/process/rollercoaster/whatever. To be completely honest we just never thought we'd still be waiting one year later. And of course we NEVER thought we'd have four matches and no baby in just one year time. Someone said to us a while back, "Well at least you keep getting picked! That means your profile book is really good and you're likable!" I don't really know which is worse- going an entire year without being matched, or going an entire year with four matches that didn't work out. It's pretty depressing either way.

Unfortunately with the one year anniversary of our beginning comes expensive renewals. Our homestudy, for instance, needs to be renewed (for the ridiculous cost of $900, more than half of what it cost to do the initial homestudy). Our social worker paid us a visit last week because she'd told us over the phone that the renewal needed to take place within 1 year of the time we started the process. (We started the homestudy in May '10 and finished Aug '10.) However when she arrived she told us we didn't need to sign off on anything until this fall... making her visit completely pointless because she'll just have to come back out in a few months and re-do her review. I spent HOURS preparing our house for her walk-through, just as I had done a year ago. I baby-proofed everything (again) and re-purchased the endless list of items we needed for our "disaster kit," thinking she could just check it off and I wouldn't need to worry about it again until after we had a baby. The homestudy itself is difficult enough, and while the renewal is far less extensive than the initial homestudy, it's still hard to endure. I really struggle welcoming a complete stranger into my home (who is the same age as me and has no children of her own) to determine whether or not we are capable of being good parents, based on a checklist and a million personal questions that would otherwise be none of her business. Most parents don't need to jump through any hoops or get approved by anyone in order to have their child. The entire thing is so invasive and aggravating. This young social worker holds all the power for those few hours- whatever she writes on her paper will determine whether or not we're allowed to adopt. I had tons of anxiety about it, and I'll admit my attitude was already terrible by the time she arrived. I just hated that we had to do it all over again because in 1 year and 4 matches we still had no baby.

Along with renewing our homestudy, our agency continues to ask us for more copies of our profile books. We gave them 20 when we began the process last year, and in the last 2 months we've had to give them 16 more. They're sending them out like crazy, which is good I suppose, but it's very expensive for us to keep making more. (22 color-copied pages + a 12 sleeve presentation folder= abt. $15 per book) Not to mention that sitting down to assemble them all and then drive 30 minutes to the agency office is a tedious and horribly depressing task.

Finally, we need to renew our CPR certification (thankfully our first aid and water safety are good for another year) this summer, and I have yet to find a Red Cross course that's both cost and time efficient.

Most 1 year anniversaries are celebrated... this one, not so much.

Hope deferred... for the fourth time

Yesterday afternoon we received a phone call from Little Angel Adoptions informing us that there was a young couple in Los Angeles who just gave birth to a baby girl on May 1st. They were still in the hospital and wanted to give the baby up for adoption. Deb (the coordinator at our agency) was already there and had shown them several profile books. She said they picked us as their first choice and they wanted to speak with us, so she put them on the phone. Zach & I had a good talk with them and were able to ask and answer a lot of questions. Jacob & Jocelyn were just 20 years old and had kept the entire pregnancy and delivery from both sides of their families. We, of course, didn't like the sound of that, but we also knew better than to encourage them to tell their families anything at that point.

The baby was staying in the hospital for the rest of the week, but the parents were being discharged that night. They really wanted to meet us before signing any paperwork to relinquish their rights, so we agreed we'd drive to LA that night and meet them and the baby the next morning. Even while packing and gathering up all the baby things we'd need for the trip home (a 6-7 hour drive), neither of us felt too excited. We knew better than to get all worked up and happy over something that may turn out to be just another dead end. We kept our emotions at bay and just mechanically went through our list of things to do before leaving. I just hoped we wouldn't have a chance to hold this baby if it wasn't going to work out. We knew it would be at least two days after our arrival until the relinquishment papers were signed, so there was still time for things to wrong.

So with our suitcases packed with at least a week's worth of necessities and the carseat in tow, we headed for the gas station to fill up the tank before hitting the freeway for an all night road trip. While Zach was pumping gas, I called Jacob (the birth father) to let him know we were on our way and to make plans for our meeting the next morning. His response was tearful and apologetic as he explained that Jocelyn's family had somehow found out everything and they stormed into the hospital demanding she keep the baby. Jocelyn was very emotional and confused, and she was being discharged from the hospital to return home with her family. Jacob was still very committed to handing the baby over for adoption, convinced he and Jocelyn were not capable of raising a child together, but without Jocelyn's consent there was nothing he could do. I simply told him that if things changed to call us and we'd remain available. I tried to encourage him and assure him we were okay, thanking him anyway for the opportunity. We know it's a very confusing and emotional decision, and keeping your own families in the dark can only work against you.

So we called Deb immediately and gave her the update. She was upset and dumbfounded. We simply turned the car around, ate dinner out, then came home and unpacked our suitcases. While facing this disappointment and loss for a fourth time is certainly depressing, it seems our hearts have just become numb to the sensation. I don't feel emotional in any way, good or bad. I simply feel detached from the whole experience, disillusioned and pessimistic, in need of convincing that someday the situation will ever end in our favor.

I am grateful that yet again the Lord has spared us from holding a child we could not come home with. I am grateful we weren't halfway to LA before we got the phone call and had to turn around. I grateful we won't miss spending Mother's Day weekend with our moms, (even though bringing home a daughter on Mother's Day would've been pretty incredible). And I am grateful for our marriage, which is worth more to us than any child.

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life." -Prov. 13:12

He will shine the light

God's love song to us, right we are.

Shine The Light lyrics
Songwriters: Bush, Kristian; Nettles, Jennifer

When you walk into the edge of those dark and lonely woods
And when I ask "How was your day?"
And you answer, "Not so good"
And when nothing seems to be working out quite the way it should,

I will shine the light

And when the skies up above you fill with gray and stormy clouds
And there's not a single face you know in the maddening crowd
When you know that you will make your way
But you just can't see how,

I will shine the light

I will shine the light, I will shine the light
I will hold you in my arms
Until everything's alright, I will shine the light

And when your worries, they won't let you sleep and rob you of your days
And you've looked in all directions but you still can't find your way
Oh, when you just need someone to remind you that it's all gonna be okay,

I will shine the light

I will shine the light, I will shine the light
When you're staring down your demons, weighing in your darkest night,

I will shine the light

Sometimes we jump into the great unknown
Sorrows, we all will have to walk alone
But waiting there in the end is a heart that calls you a friend
That's me, clapping the loudest, welcoming you home

So when your heart is heavy like a stone from carrying its load
And you look into the mirror and see someone you don't know
Oh, when the shadows are closing in on you like a hand around your throat
I will shine the light, I will shine the light

When you've given into your fears
When you've lost your will to fight
Let me know what I can do
Let me try to make it right

And I will shine the light, I will shine the light

In the fiery furnace

" 'I live between the two statements in the book of Job,' explained my friend. 'On the one hand I want to curse God and die. On the other, though he slay me yet will I trust him.' She sighed. 'It's like one hand makes a fist and shakes it at God, and the other hand, which is open, pleads to him for help.' She inhabits inexplicable spiritual ironies: The God who allows us to suffer is the only One who can deeply comfort us. The Lord who dumps us into the furnace is the only One who can pluck us from the fire. The Provider who falls interminably silent constantly hovers over us. At times the physical evidence says we can't depend on God, but we can't afford not to trust him, either.

Some pain cuts so deep that books, Bible verses, gratitude lists, well-meaning words, and other comforts don't penetrate. They sound silly and simplistic. We can only stand in the fire and wait for the angel." -Judith Couchman, The Shadow of His Hand

This passage from Judith Couchman's book could not have more clearly described where we are. Walking with God is a challenging and sometimes painful journey. He does not promise us an easier life when we choose to follow Him, rather He tells us to prepare for trials and persecution, promising to give us the strength and faith we need to endure them. When we're placed in the fire it's easy to be so consumed by our pain that we forget to look for God in the midst of the flames. Zach and I have done just that, and we realize just how dangerous it is for both us and the people who follow us. When we stop praying, stop looking for Him, we leave ourselves unguarded and we become consumed by the flames. We simply can't afford not to trust Him. It's taking an immense amount of courage and faith for us to reach out from the fire and take the hand of the same God who placed us there to begin with, but we're just grateful He's offering us His hand at all. I am grateful we serve a God who does not hold our silence against us- I know He understands our pain and our anger toward Him, and He loves us through it. He is with us in the fire.

We may never understand the Lord's purpose in allowing us to suffer the losses we have, and we are learning to accept that. Following Him doesn't mean we need to know His plan, it means we just need to believe He has one. Though He has been silent in response to our prayers for a child, He has provided and blessed us in so many other areas that we haven't even prayed for. We can't hold this one "unanswered" prayer against Him when He is so clearly holding us up in every other area of our lives. Besides, we believe and trust that someday He'll respond to our requests for a child with a resounding "YES!"

"As sure as ever God puts his children in the furnace, he will be in the furnace with them."

-Charles Spurgeon

Why we stay silent

I broke my silence with God briefly in the early morning hours Saturday morning. While laying on the bathroom floor in a cold sweat, experiencing intense abdominal pain, I simply prayed, "Ok Lord, You've got my attention." After spending hours in the ER enduring painful and invasive exams it was determined a cyst on my left ovary had burst. Luckily it caused no permanent damage to my fertility and no surgery was needed. Upon returning home after 4am, we collapsed into bed and together we simply prayed, "Lord thanks for protecting Anne." It was hard, but we felt we should thank Him just in case He actually had anything to do with it.

While talking last night I think we came to the conclusion that Zach's silence toward God is based more on anger and frustration. Mine is based on self-preservation. It sounds dumb because who really needs protection from God? But I've developed the mindset that if I don't ask Him, He can't say 'no.' I think that's why I've stopped praying. I'm so tired of being disappointed with the outcome. Maybe if I stop asking Him for a baby, it won't hurt as much when He doesn't give one to me day after day. Secretly I'm hoping that if I stop praying to be a mother, just maybe I'll stop wanting it so much. Just maybe I can forget about it and not go to bed every night feeling the loss and disappointment all over again.

We read another chapter in "The Shadow of His Hand" last night. It included John 15:5 from The Message. "If you make yourselves at home with me and my words are at home in you, you can be sure that whatever you ask will be listened to and acted upon." This reminded me of other verses that say, "The prayers of a righteous man are powerful and effective," or "The prayer offered in faith will make the sick man well." It sounds like such a simple formula. Faith + righteousness= answered prayer To which I ask, 'So if my prayers aren't answered, does that mean I am lacking in faith or righteousness?' It can't be that black and white. Over the last two years since we've started trying to have family, I have prayed every kind of prayer. I've prayed with total and complete faith, believing in my heart of hearts God was going to act. I've prayed in a state of surrender, giving it over to the Lord and letting go of my own will. I've prayed with petition, begging and pleading repeatedly until I just couldn't ask anymore. After it all I still remained childless. And the kicker for me is that God knows how it feels to lose a child. He gets it. He understands the heartache, and yet He allows us to go through it, not just once, but multiple times. Zach and I have said before that we wouldn't wish this kind of pain on our worst enemy. It's hard to understand why God "wishes" it on us.

God, the beloved enemy

If I didn't know God could take the silent treatment and love us anyway, I'd be ashamed to admit this- Zach & I haven't exactly spoken to Him in nearly 2 weeks. Hearing people say, "We're praying for you guys" has lost it's meaning. When we join others in prayer, our minds wander. We simply don't believe prayer works. Haven't we all been there before? I'm not worried for us. I know in my heart we will break the silent treatment between us and God someday, probably soon (He can be a little hard to ignore). It's sort of like that old saying people have about men or women, "You can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em."

Zach is struggling with anger and bitterness. It's not fair having children seems to come so easily to others and not to us. It's not fair we prayed for nothing more than for a child, trusting it to the Lord, and we've been denied three times. It's not fair Chrystal's mother was released from jail for the exact 24 hours needed to ruin our lives. It's just not fair.

I feel I simply have nothing to say to God. I'm at a loss for words. Sure I have questions (like, "How will you disappoint me next?") and I don't understand His ways, but that's nothing new. I know if I open my Bible or let the words of a worship song touch my heart, I won't be ready to accept it. I'm not ready to hear anything God has to say to me yet. "For a prescribed or even infinite time, we're scriptless, and that's all right. We can stop, call a time out, breathe. Nobody else knows our prescribed path anyway, except for the One who created everything. If we can't hear him right now, he'll wait-and speak when our ears open." Judith Couchman, "The Shadow of His Hand"

And so it seems appropriate to refer to God as the beloved enemy.

"God, the beloved enemy. Our enemy because, before giving us everything, before giving us life, he demands our lives- our selves, our will, our treasure." -Frederick Buechner, "The Magnificent Defeat"

God has demanded we give Him our will, our treasure three times now, and I just don't know how to reconcile that with a God who loves us and wants what's best.

And that's the end of Round 3

We realize the word is definitely out, but figured we'd update the blog with the details. First we'd like to say thank you to all who spent last Monday night on their knees in prayer for us. It was a difficult night in our house and unfortunately the news on Tuesday morning was not good. Chrystal decided to abide by her mother's wishes and keep the baby. Jen (at Little Angel Adoptions) said there was still a chance CPS (Child Protective Services) could get involved and decide the situation was not best for the baby, but we shouldn't hold out hope for that.

We sat in bed, shocked and dumbfounded. Six days later we still can't believe this happened again. How much more can we possibly take? It feels like some kind of sick joke. We cried it out for as long as we could and then we abruptly decided to leave town. We simply couldn't stand the thought of sitting in our big empty house, filled with things to welcome baby, and absorbing the reality of it all. We immediately booked a flight to Disneyland and made hurried arrangements for our hotel, dog-sitting, etc. We threw things into a suitcase and hopped in the car- 2 hours later we were on a plane.

The next three days were spent fighting back tears, screaming and laughing on rides, and long talks over theme park treats. After that we stayed at Anne's parents' house for a night and went to Opening Weekend for the Oakland A's, a tradition we've had for years. It seemed the longer we stayed away from home, the easier it was to pretend nothing had happened. Even though it doesn't make sense, we actually felt by leaving town we'd put physical distance between ourselves and the pain, like it couldn't get to us if we weren't home. We dreaded coming back.

Our friend and faithful dog-sitter, Stefanie, was wonderfully thoughtful while we were away; we came home to find all the baby items we'd left out had been stowed out of sight. In their place were funny post-it notes, Starbucks giftcards, and a table full of candy ready to be consumed for a night in front of the tv. We were beyond grateful.

Now that we're home we are beginning the long and painful process of acceptance and grief. Unfortunately, it is a process we know all too well. We are extremely appreciative of all the cards, emails, text messages and voicemails we have received over the last week. In time we will respond back to each of you individually, but until then please know we have read and heard every word, and we are thankful for you.