On Learning It’s Ok

My poor husband. He is married to a slob. There are nicer ways of putting that, but they are less true. I’ve always been a messy person, and it’s not something that appears to be getting better with time. I am a total, complete disaster when it comes to housekeeping (and several other things, but that’s a different post). I have tried checklists and personal rewards, I have paid cleaners, I have solicited family members to help, I have made.up.my.mind that I will be a new person time and time again. But yet there is mess.

When you walk into my home, there are things everywhere. Empty bottles, ukeleles, play doh crumbles, shoes, socks, pajamas, toys, paint brushes, books, you name it. I have spent many tears over my inability to “keep it together” and the feeling that I am failing. Any time someone walks through our door, we are apologizing about the mess. And do you know what? I’m tired of apologizing.

I am learning that it’s ok. It’s ok that there are toys by the front door, because it took me 5 years of praying for children to get to toys on the floor. It’s ok that there are ukeleles and play doh bits on my dining room table and paintbrushes in my sink, because this home is full of life and art and music and I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s ok that there are books spread across the couch because that means our curious little minds and growing and learning and quality time together is happening. It’s ok that I haven’t washed a bottle in over 24 hours because I have spent many of those hours holding this sweet baby and giving him the food he needs to grow grow grow. It’s ok. Our home is a complete disaster zone, and it’s ok.

So the next time you come to my house, and you worry that a tropical storm may have just come through, I will not be apologizing for my mess. This is a happy, inviting home and I am proud of that.

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Our Miracle Boy

Most of you have seen our video, introducing our newly official son, Dalton. Our adoption day was Friday, and we spent the weekend celebrating big.

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We wanted to show off his handsome face and let you oooh and ahhh over those blue eyes like we do. But what we couldn’t fit in the video was the miraculous entwining of Dalton’s story and ours. God’s hand moved mightily through our lives, and I don’t believe the details are small coincidences.

The first miracle of our meeting was announced during the first home visit after Dalton was placed with us. Our support-worker said, “he never should have come to you. They made a mistake.”

On the day Dalton was to be moved, the DCS employee making the call mixed something up, and called us by mistake. She was supposed to have called a waiting family, pre-selected as an adoptive home. She was supposed to call someone else. But she called us. And we said yes. Thank God for her mistake.

I also discovered, reading through old journals, that on the day Dalton was born, I had a dream that woke me in tears about our baby. We had adopted a newborn baby and it felt so real, my heart ached for weeks afterward. I believe God was telling me I was a mother. I only needed to wait.

But my favorite detail of our miracle boy’s story is this: on the day Dalton went into state custody the first time, we signed up for our first foster care classes.

It was our first step toward each other. Both of us stepping out into the unknown at the same time. Our stories took time, both stories moved through pain and fear. But God knew. The stirring in our hearts was big and planned from the start.

As Dalton so beautifully explained a few nights ago before bed, “I was in your heart and God told you, ‘be patient’ and you were waiting for your Dalty and God told you, ‘wait for that Dalty!’ and then I was here!”

Thank you, Lord. My son is here.

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