So how did I get here?.....

To be honest I’d always grown up expecting to have my own kids. I never knew any other way. I thought I’d marry young and start a family in my early 20’s. But sometimes life doesn’t work the way you expect. By 32, I found myself well educated in both books and life, had built a career and left it all behind to live in Africa. So many wonderful unexpected things had come my way but not the one thing I’d truly longed for, - a family. After a while it began to stress me out! Year after year, still single and no children. All you hear about in the media is increasing rates of infertility, or struggles to get pregnant after 30! I have several friends who have gone through IVF treatments and I’d think to myself, “Oh that is definitely not for me!” I had seriously considered adoption, (after all I was living in Africa) but each time I prayed about it, I heard a resounding “NO.” He wasn’t even open for discussion. So I returned to the USA with no baby. More years went by and the stress piled on, and it felt like the opportunities were slipping away. There finally came a day that I was fed up. Me and God had to have it out. I felt like Jacob “wrestling” with God, and not letting go until I had some answers. That was a long tearful night but I remember throwing at Him “You’ve given me wonderful things and wonderful opportunities. You’ve given me all of these things, but I’ve never asked you for these. College and NC and Africa were all good, but why do you refuse to give me the one thing that I actually want? No answer. Not that day, and not for a very long time. But one night I woke up from a dream. It wasn’t just a dream. It was a dream, you know? And I can’t even remember what the dream was, but I remember waking up and understanding the meaning of the dream was that my children would not be my own. Ok. To be honest I wasn’t exactly thrilled, - but at least I had an answer. I could calm the flip down and not stress about my fertile years anymore. I took this to mean that I’d end up with a guy who already had kids and I’d be the stepmom. Ummm. Not my first choice. I’d get to spend my weekend with some other woman’s kids. They’d like me but love her. I’d always be second best. I’d been given the child consolation prize. More years went by. I’d accepted my fate. The biological part didn’t bother me, oh heavens no. I fall in love with other people’s kids all the time. But I didn’t want to be a part time mom. I wanted to be a real mom. A 24 hours a day mom. A mom who reads bedtime stories every night, and cleans up puke and teaches kids how to ride bikes and convinces kids there are no monsters under the bed. A mom who tries and tries all of the parenting tips she reads online before she snaps and loses her s@%! and screams, “I don’t care who started it, I’m ending it!!!” or “Do you see? Do you see? That’s why we can’t have anything nice!” And then there was a day. One day in April. I was praying about whatever, but my mind began to think about this topic again, - my kids would not be my own And I heard in my spirit as clear as day, “When God gives us something, it…is…good.” I sat numb thinking about that. It…is...good. I was not being punished. I was not given second hand children. I was not handed a consolation prize. It is good. It is good that I will raise children that are not my own. It is good that I not have my own biological children. For whatever purpose, yet to be seen, this was part of my journey. Part of my plan. Part of who I was created to be. In that moment, I had an epiphany. My mind began to race with all of those thoughts long forgotten. The times I used to beg my parents to adopt another child. The plethora of time in teaching, or in Africa when I’d look at the pitiful life of some of my kids and long “I wish I could just take them home with me.” The fear I had of childbirth. The indifference I had with babies. The times I’d encountered those who had been adopted and left thinking “that’s awesome!” My secret desire to be a house-mom of a Wototo Village in Africa. The desire to have 6, 20, 50, 100 kids. For the first time, the idea of having kids that were not my own made me…happy. It has made me happy every day since. And for those of you who know our story, 3 months later I stood in the buffet line at a wedding, talking to some random guy that I had met a few months before at church. He pulled out his phone and started showing me pictures of his family, - a very motley crew. “Yeah, my brother fosters and adopts. I want to do that someday too. I think it would be cool…” And the rest is history…..