Lighting Candles

{I know my blog looks funny, totally apologize, tried to fix something & change it up and it didn't work.}

Each week, we have walked to the side of the church to light a candle for our daughter during our response time.

We have made this walk for almost a year. And each time, it has been something that has felt joyful and full of anticipation.

Until last week. 

We lit an extra candle last week. For the child that we couldn't say "yes" to, in addition to our daughter's candles and two others. And, someday, maybe when I can edit a post without rambling sentences, I'll start writing more again on that. But, honestly, I'd feel defensive and wordy. And then I'd just be sad and emotional and caught up in the heaviness. And then there is the layer of one of other candles, of the child we are sponsoring with the same name that we plan to name our daughter, but that we have been told we can not adopt. And then the feelings that come with the wait, and the shift in time line, that we anticipated, but never wanted to accept. But, I don't know if that's the story that we tell. We promised to be honest about our journey, and yet, I don't know if the details are helpful to others or not. And are details as important as the outcome of the journey, of the story, of who the story is about? I'm not sure. And I'm not a professional blogger, so I'm still sort of a journaling blogger with my own somewhat self-absorbed view.

Yet, I know we are supposed to tell our story. So, if you'll forgive me for the half pieces, and the fact that I can barely get all of this together right now, I hope you'll be encouraged and see more Jesus. 

So, in the midst of some amazing miracles and work this month; in the midst of getting to stand on top of the mountain;  in the midst of some really amazingly fun and slightly intense ministry work; in the midst of getting to witness God's word change lives more dramatically than I have witnessed in a long time (up close); as we rejoiced and were overwhelmed by so much joy, I also grieved.

And the theme continues, joy and suffering. {Stick around my facebook page, and you'll see it.}

And as I ugly cried right there in our church last week, with my hand stretched high above my head in the most desperate reach I might have ever posed, I know that never once is our daughter walking this alone. 

Never once. And God is faithful.

And I will white-knuckle that truth over and over when it gets too thick and the air seems to stop. I will hold onto the gospel until I can breath again. 

The problem with my constant self-analyzing and hyper-perception is that half the time I am fully aware of how ridiculous I am. I knew that God gave us a new season of ministry. And I knew it was a start and finish for this much intensity. I knew that it would last intensely for 2 months. And I knew we could do it, for this season. We had cleared our plates most of the summer and spring; and we were ready. And I knew I'd be tired when it was over. And I am. And it's not quite over.

Yet, I was quietly wishing every day, that I'd have to drop everything to rush around for paperwork because we had just met our daughter on paper. And when we had to keep going, twice in the last month, because we knew it wasn't the right file, I kept busy. I kept going. I had a good cry or two and appeared to have moved on. I am not sure who I am anymore, because quick good cries are not my style.

And even last weekend, in the middle of my first really hard cry {there were two}, God spoke pretty clearly to me through a few friends that our file review was not wasted. And we were able to see God work together for good something hurtful in the matter of hours. Amazing. It seems that situation was never really about us {I mean, really when is it ever!?!}

And yet, at the end of the message tonight, that did not even touch on a theme about our daughter, I realized 

as I stood to head toward the candles, that I wanted to sit back down. I did not want to make that walk. It hurt. I fought back the lump in my throat immediately this time.  

I almost found myself counting the steps. Starting at my feet as I walked. I started thinking I need to bring some face powder to church. And I kept walking. And I kept praying. And Travis must have sensed it because he reached back for my hand. Then we stood silently and lit our three candles {one for our daughter, one for our Compassion child, and one for the little girl I mentioned above}. 

And as we sang, "God you are faithful....Never once...Standing on this battlefield...", I stretched my hand up once more, and it hurt to reach that hard for heaven.

But, I will walk that walk to light that candle each week, 

                                                  even though it is getting harder,

and even though I hear this is only the first wait, and the next one after we know who she is, is worse. 

And I really wish, I could write more clearly right now. It's jumbled up in all the good, and all the sadness, and all the joy, and all the present joy and all the future joy. 

And God is faithful. So, I will put each foot in front of the other and walk to that candle and trust God for our daughter, each week, and each day. And each week, I'll re-up that commitment. Until she is home...