I woke up one Saturday morning with no idea my life was about to change. It seemed like a normal day- a crying baby ready to be fed, the sun peaking through her nursery window, a sleepy momma half awake as we both settled in for a day just like any other. Only moments later, Jeff would walk through the nursery door, lay himself down on the floor and say, "Lindsay's pregnant."
Three months later, on yet another Saturday morning, this little bundle of joy entered our lives. Carrying her out of the hospital the following day, my heart felt incredibly torn. Her birthparents were grieving while we were filled with unspeakable joy. How could that be? It just seemed wrong.
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| Getting ready to leave the hospital |
The thought of her sweet life only entered our world a few months prior and almost immediately everything changed. There was no extensive planning or understanding of how our family dynamics would be altered, nor did any of that matter to us. We saw a God-sized opportunity and we jumped at it. He would have to fit every piece of the puzzle together to make it work and He did just that.
Her fingers and toes were so tiny. It was as if I hadn't been in a hospital room almost exactly one year before saying the same thing about our oldest daughter. It all seemed new again. The awe and wonder were overwhelming.
We would take this baby girl home and only hours later our house would be filled with family and friends to celebrate her "big" sister's first birthday. It seems only fitting now the theme was "where the wild things are" because that was quickly becoming my life with these two wonderfully crazy girls. But this party was one of the handful of memories that replayed in my head as we moved out of that house a year ago.
I made my final walk through of our first home. The furniture was gone. Floors and counters were bare. Tomorrow someone else would move into this space and make their own memories, but as I turned to take one final glance, I stared at an empty space in the living room where the couch once sat and a scene replayed in my mind. I saw Reese's first birthday party and on the couch sat Kinley's birthmother holding the baby she had given birth to only 24 hours before. Tears began to run down my cheeks. This moment is forever burned into my memory. A mother's love encapsulated in one image. She didn't run in the opposite direction. She didn't give this baby up for adoption as a way to escape. She was going to love this baby girl. She was going to fight for this baby girl. And this tiny baby was going to grow up to be a mighty warrior for God, not in spite of her story, but because of it.
I knew in that moment I would never be able to understand her pain or her courage, but I didn't have to. The best way I could honor this mother and her sacrifice was to raise her baby up to become a mighty woman of God.
At the dawn of creation God knew Kinley by name, a name that at its core means mighty warrior. No coincidence there. He destined her story and her calling. He knew her purpose.
When we allow God to write our stories, we don't have to worry about living a life of perfection. He only needs our willingness and our obedience. He needs those who will choose to live a life of faith. He wants people who have trained their ears to hear His Voice and will trust Him when He tells them to leap.
Her fingers and toes were so tiny. It was as if I hadn't been in a hospital room almost exactly one year before saying the same thing about our oldest daughter. It all seemed new again. The awe and wonder were overwhelming.
We would take this baby girl home and only hours later our house would be filled with family and friends to celebrate her "big" sister's first birthday. It seems only fitting now the theme was "where the wild things are" because that was quickly becoming my life with these two wonderfully crazy girls. But this party was one of the handful of memories that replayed in my head as we moved out of that house a year ago.
I made my final walk through of our first home. The furniture was gone. Floors and counters were bare. Tomorrow someone else would move into this space and make their own memories, but as I turned to take one final glance, I stared at an empty space in the living room where the couch once sat and a scene replayed in my mind. I saw Reese's first birthday party and on the couch sat Kinley's birthmother holding the baby she had given birth to only 24 hours before. Tears began to run down my cheeks. This moment is forever burned into my memory. A mother's love encapsulated in one image. She didn't run in the opposite direction. She didn't give this baby up for adoption as a way to escape. She was going to love this baby girl. She was going to fight for this baby girl. And this tiny baby was going to grow up to be a mighty warrior for God, not in spite of her story, but because of it.
I knew in that moment I would never be able to understand her pain or her courage, but I didn't have to. The best way I could honor this mother and her sacrifice was to raise her baby up to become a mighty woman of God.
At the dawn of creation God knew Kinley by name, a name that at its core means mighty warrior. No coincidence there. He destined her story and her calling. He knew her purpose.
When we allow God to write our stories, we don't have to worry about living a life of perfection. He only needs our willingness and our obedience. He needs those who will choose to live a life of faith. He wants people who have trained their ears to hear His Voice and will trust Him when He tells them to leap.
