When you decide to love and care for children who you know will never belong to you, you assume it will come with a significant amount of pain. During the months leading up to Eli & Ellie’s adoption, Rachel and I spent a lot of time discussing and anticipating the pain it would bring us. There were many times when I did something simple for them – gave Eli his meds or tucked Ellie’s blankie under her arm just the way she likes it – and I would just cry knowing that my chances to do those things for them were limited. I expected the pain. What I didn’t really expect was the indescribable joy and deeper understanding of my Jesus that would come out of the whole process.
Every few days, I get a picture or email or text from one of Lily, Eli, Ellie, or Ali Rose’s mamas. Sometimes it’s just a small detail. Sometimes it’s an insight into that child’s day that gives me something to pray. Sometimes it’s a photo like this:
photo by Mandy Gallagher
She’s wearing a dress that I set aside for her when she was just a few months old. Back then, I had no idea what her future held. I wondered if one day I would get on an airplane, leaving her behind in Uganda. I wondered if I would live in Uganda forever just so that I could take care of her. I wondered if God had a family for her. I wondered if she would survive.
This picture speaks volumes to me of God’s faithfulness to me and to Ellie.
Those are her daddy’s strong arms waiting to catch her and she shows no sign of fear.
When I look at Ellie and think about the details of her miracle-story, I feel like a little girl being thrown up in the air by my heavenly Daddy. I know his strong arms are there to catch me, but not only me. He’s there to catch the things I drop. He’s there to catch my details, my children, my husband, my family, my friends…and yours.
Resting in that knowledge, may our faces show no sign of fear.