Deep Grief

Last weekend I attended our annual church women's retreat. If was unquestionably one of the best retreats that I have ever been a part of! It was an intense and emotional weekend. God worked powerfully in many of our hearts. I had no idea what God had planned for me, but as always, His timing was perfect.

My close friend, Kristin Sellars, attended the retreat with her ten-day old baby girl, Madeline. Kristin and I have often talked about the fact that our girls may be close in age (and will hopefully be close friends). Our sense is that our daughter's birthday will most likely be in April or May of this year. Every time I saw precious baby Madeline at the retreat, I wanted to hold her. But something held me back.

On Saturday evening the women gathered for a time of worship, sharing and prayer. The tissue was placed in the center of the room and we all knew that it was time to "get real" with one another and with God. I looked over at baby Madeline and suddenly realized why I had been unable to hold her. It's very possible that someone else is holding our newborn daughter right now. She may be the same age and size as Madeline. And we are missing her early days. I have always known this, but somehow it became gravely real as I gazed upon a newborn baby girl. And I began to weep. Profoundly. I was unable to stop crying for quite some time. It was time to grieve.

As I held my head in my hands, the worship leader began to play one of my favorite songs, "He Knows My Name." This song has greatly impacted me over the years. It was inspired after the song writer spent time in an orphanage in The Philippines. The song writer encountered an orphaned boy who desperately wanted to be known and wrote this song. As I listened to the song, God sweetly whispered truth to my heart. "I know her name. I am caring for her. I love her more than you can imagine. She is going to be ok." They were sweet words spoken aptly to a desperate and grieving mother.

When I was finally able to pick myself up out of my chair, I shared my emotions with my friends. I moved to a chair in the middle of the room, and was instantly surrounded by women who were grieving with me in prayer. Some were weeping. They cried out to God for His protection over our daughter. For financial provision. For His hand of grace to be over the entire adoption process. They interceded in my deep moment of grief when I was unable to speak. The grief and loss were suddenly replaced with peace, hope and anticipation. My sisters reminded me that God is watching over our daughter during our separation. I can not describe the level of support, encouragement and empathy that I felt in the darkness of the room. It was profound. It was deep. And it was real.

I often become emotional when I think of the incredible support that we have received from our church in our adoption journey. I can't imagine what it will be like when we finally carry our baby through the doors of her church. She will have a huge "cloud of witnesses" ready to welcome and embrace her. I'm so grateful that I was able to process my grief in the safety of the retreat. And by God's grace, later that evening I was able to hold baby Madeline (when Kristin needed prayer). As I held her closely in my arms, I whispered in her ear and told her about her new friend in Korea who is coming home soon.