LEARNING TO BE STILL

What incredibly array of emotions the process of adoption is! Without even knowing yet who it is that the Lord has for us, Brad and I have had a myriad of thoughts, feelings, and prayers both bombard us and come out of us on a daily basis.

Some days feel very accomplished - like the day we found out our home study was completed or each time we drop another finished piece of paperwork in the mail.

Some days feel very humbling - like this past Saturday when friends and strangers alike stopped by our yard sale and bought/donated $341 toward our adoption or when we're notified that someone new has given to our fundraising page.

Some days feel enlightening - like when the Lord speaks so clearly to us during this process as He did to Brad and to me when we first began thinking about adopting.

And some days are discouraging -  like when we experience missed expectations of how long a particular part of the adoption will take or how much pieces of it will cost.  Or, even more so, when we see faces of children we know we can't adopt and don't know who will.

I have to be honest.  My heart has been heavy for more of this process than I had anticipated so far.

The reality of adoption is that there really are children that need homes, families, nourishment, help, and love.

And I know that sounds silly because of course that's true but I feel like there was a disconnect for me with that before we started this process for ourselves.

It's something you know but realize you didn't really know.

I explained to Brad that, when I see something sad or hard or unfortunate on one of the shows we watch on tv, I might be sad for the character - the portrayal might even bring me to tears - but I know that ultimately, it's not real.  And whatever has happened to that character didn't really happen to the person playing that character.

But the children we're looking at are real.

And I don't say that to be dramatic.  Really, I don't.

It's just something I'm having to unpack... the reality of it.

Their stories are real.  Their needs are real.  And for the one we end up bringing home, there will be too many more still needing one.

We've been considering a child. And the words associated with this whole process make me sick.

"Considering".

Children shouldn't be a consideration. Someone's life shouldn't be a consideration.

But the reality is, Brad and I really do have to 'consider' a child.  We have two biological children.  We live in a relatively remote place. What kind of special needs can we realistically provide for considering our current family and our current home and our current location? These are all things we have to responsibly think about and I know that realistically considering all those things is the wise thing to do but I hate it all at the same time.

I am excited - really I am! - to provide a child with a home... but I also know that by saying yes to one, means all the others get a no.

And that is just a hard thought to sit with.

The thoughts I'm thinking are not new. Everyone that's gone through the adoption process has had to come to terms with this reality.

And I've been praying.
And pondering.
And wondering.
And hoping.
And thinking.

"The Lord will fight for you, you need only to be still." Exodus 14:14

Moses says this to the Israelites as they stare hopelessly at the uncrossable sea in front of them. If you haven't read the account of the Israelite's crossing the Red Sea in the Bible you can find it in Exodus 14. It's incredible. The account of Moses's entire life is even more fascinating starting in Exodus 1. Five stars for sure but back to what we were talking about...

"The Lord will fight for you, you need only to be still." Exodus 14:14

Moses says this to the Israelites that are hopelessly trapped between an uncrossable sea and the hoofbeats of the entire Egyptian army that are getting louder and louder behind them. They are so hopeless that they fearfully ask Moses if he brought them out there to die.

Moses reminds them who their God is and tells them to "be still" - literally translated as 'to be silent' in Hebrew.

The angel of the Lord goes behind the Israelites as a cloud so thick that it brings darkness to the side of the Egyptians and light to the side of the Israelites.

And then the sea splits.

Vs. 21 tells us that the Lord drove the sea back with a strong east wind all night allowing the Israelites to cross the bottom of the sea on dry ground with a wall of water on their left and on their right.

It's the single-most, well-known rescue mission in all the world (aside from Christ's death on the cross, of course).

I think it's funny that God tells them to be still. It's not like there was much they could do anyway what with the impassible sea and all. Which makes me think that maybe God wasn't addressing them physically - He was addressing them emotionally and spiritually.

The Israelites minds were frantic, scared, running, flippant; fueled by fear, anxiety, worry, and doubt. I don't blame them - trust me - I'm not casting judgment here, I'm admitting to being in the same position!

But it's in that mindset that God calls them to be still, to be silent.

And He calls them to do that within a promise: The Lord will fight for you, you need only to be still.

Essentially, God is saying:

"My job is to fight.
Your job is to trust."

And we can't trust when our minds aren't still.

My emotions have been anything but still lately, just ask Brad.

But, as I process the reality of adoption alongside God's sovereignty, this verse brings me a lot of comfort and is helping me to lay down some of my questions, doubts, and sadness.

Because I know how the Lord has fought for me in the past. I watched Him do it for me, I've watched Him do it for others, and I've read about how He has done it in His word.

My God is faithful.

And I have to trust that He not only fights for me and my first world problems of fear, worry, and doubt, but for every single orphan my eyes see and all the others my eyes don't.

And that's where it ends.

Trust.  Period.

Stillness.  Period.

I'm doing my best to take each day one at a time, the same way that the Israelites had to take each step across that parted sea just one at a time. And I'm reminding myself to be still. The needs of the orphans, it's too big for me. The Lord will fight, I need only to be still and to wait patiently for that sea to part.

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Need a little Exodus 14:14 reminder? Feel free to save the little wallpaper I made up there to your phone. It's the perfect size and it's perfectly free.