Mexican vacation. Or, Mable's birth story.

I just wanted the beach. The ocean, the sand, the sun… For nearly two years, I’d been saying that I just wanted the beach. And this time a month ago, some friends and I decided it was going to happen. We were going to go to Mexico. We were going to go to the beach.

On Tuesday, July 6th, we were standing at my desk, considering flights and perusing the fun options at our chosen resort when my phone rang. And I saw that it was my caseworker, and I knew exactly what it meant. I excused myself to take the call, and the anxiety in my heart swelled when my suspicions were confirmed: Another birth mother had chosen David and me for her baby. Most prospective parents would rejoice at the honor, but the phone call came faster than we expected. And we were (and are) still mourning Ruby.

So I gathered the details, hung up the phone, and burst into tears. I was terrified of going through the hospital again. I was sad at how numb and unexcited I felt. And honestly, I was annoyed that this meant I wasn’t going to Mexico. It was clear to me that my heart was a little hard, and I needed to ask the Lord for help and support. Good thing for me – I work at a church.

David and I met our birth mother on Saturday, July 11^th. She was around 38 weeks, so things would have to happen quickly. We all agreed that we wanted to move forward, hesitant and guarded though David and I were, and a c-section was scheduled for Tuesday, July 21^st. I went back and forth between panic and denial, but for the most part, I just focused on my to-do list, taking each day at a time. I had carefully planned a timeline of events to make sure everything got done. But the short notice meant that some things would be done last minute.

So on Monday, July 20^th, when my caseworker called to say that birth mom was in labor… I only mildly freaked out. Our bags weren’t packed, the house wasn’t clean, and I had a mound of work at my desk.  David was out in Fort Worth at the Fire Academy, and the hospital was an hour and half from our house. Nothing was going as planned, but we just had to make it work. I rushed home, threw things together, and jumped in the car. Here we went again.

************

“Hi, I’m an adoptive mother, and I believe our birth mom is in a c-section right now. I’m supposed to ask for Alex?” The receptionist listened to me explain our situation, and a warm grin slowly stretched across her face. “You’re right. The baby has been delivered, and birth mom is still in the O.R. We can’t let you back until your caseworker and husband are here, so you’ll have to take a seat in the waiting area.” I was confused at her response. This was not grinning kind of news. I told her thank you and started to turn around when she stopped me. “I’m sorry. I just wanted you to know. I’m an adoptive mother too. My child is 35 years old, and I just think it’s wonderful what you are doing… Can I give you a hug?”

And I knew in that moment that this hospital experience was going to be very, very different.

About an hour or so later, our caseworker arrived and greased a few wheels. She took me back to our birth mother’s room where we waited for David. But before he arrived, they brought her in. Our baby girl, they brought her into the room. With little notice or fanfare, they wheeled her in and placed her in my arms. I wish I could tell you that the moment was magical. That all of the worry and doubt and fear and anxiety disappeared in her sweet, beautiful face. And let’s just be honest, she really does have a beautiful face. But I wasn’t ready to give my heart away. I wanted to love her with reckless abandon, but I just couldn’t do it. Not just yet.

After David arrived, and we spent a few hours with her, they told us about Reba’s Ranch House. Y’all… Reba’s Ranch House is awesome. Established by Ms. Reba McEntire herself, it exists for out of town visitors of hospital patients. Since there weren’t enough rooms for us to stay with the baby, we spent the night in a room nicer than some hotels we’ve visited. I cannot emphasize enough what a gift this was. Good sleep meant I was able to enjoy my time with baby girl in the nursery and David was able to function during the day.

[Note: David is finishing up the academy now, but they are very strict about absences. For every hour he missed, David had to write a one-page paper on the subject he missed. That meant he was absent for much of the hospital experience, which is kind of a bummer. But we know it will be worth it in the long-run.]

[Additional note: props to the L&D nursing staff at Texoma Medical Center. Amazingly helpful, sweet and supportive.]

Over the next day and a half, it became harder and harder to resist her smile. (Yes, I know it’s probably gas, but you know what I mean…) And more and more, I became anxious about birth mother’s decision. “God, if this is not our baby, why are you letting me bond with her…? I can’t go through this again…” Almost hourly (if not more) I had to submit my fears to him and ask for his help. To remind myself that he is sovereign and good and trustworthy. And that his steadfast love never ceases.

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The final hours were the hardest. Our caseworker had prepared us for any outcome. She had had birth mothers change their minds at the last second, and I knew all too well that it was a possibility. My parents, who had come to wait with me, stepped out to grab a bite for lunch, knowing that we would have a long drive ahead regardless of the outcome. So I sat in silence and breathed in the Lord’s peace.

The door to our little room opened, and my heart skipped a beat. But I exhaled when I saw that it was just the doctor and nurse coming for a quick checkup. “Are you ready to take this baby home?” she asked. “Well… I’m still waiting to hear that birth mom has signed paperwork….” “Oh they’re done. I just saw our social worker wrapping everything up.”

Wait, what….?? It was done? She’s ours…….?? I get to take her home……….???

Tears and more tears and apologies for the tears and then more tears after that…. I just. couldn’t. believe it.

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The next few hours were nuts, and the weeks to follow are a blur. Between the loss of Ruby, David’s absence at the hospital and the sleep deprivation known to any new parent, we are still kinda pinching ourselves. There are times I forget that she’s here. Until she softly sighs in her sleep ---- or screams at the top her lungs. We know that she is ours, but it’s not completely final. We are blessed to know more fully the “already, but not yet.”

One thing that makes it more real – giving her a name. I won’t go into how we picked it, but her name means “loveable.”  And I like the traditional spelling of Mabel, but I love the reminder that He is able. He is able to mend a wounded heart. He is able to fortify the weak – to make brave the fearful. He is able redeem even the most dark and broken of circumstances. And he is able to make real even the most impossible of dreams.

If things had gone my way a month ago, I would be golden brown right now (okay, probably kinda orange with a whole lot of freckles.) I would have spent the last few days with friends, laughing and lounging and loving the beach. Instead, I’m sitting on my couch on my eighth wedding anniversary - exhausted and pastey and happy as can be. My husband is studying, the dogs are at rest, and my daughter – my daughter….. is sleeping soundly in the corner.

For your prayers, thank you. For your texts and notes and calls and meals, thank you. For reading this darn blog all the way to the end, thank you.

Bless the Lord, oh my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name.

Here we go again...

Guys, I’ve tried to write something articulate and moving with a little dash of humor, but I just don’t have the brain power. Here are the facts.

On Tuesday of last week, our caseworker called to tell us that another birth mother has chosen us. We met her and her two children on Saturday morning, and we are moving forward with the adoption. Birth mom will have a scheduled c-section next Tuesday morning. Which means that one week from today, we are back in the hospital. The baby is a girl, and she is part Anglo/part Japanese.

I can tell you that we are having a hard time feeling excited. We are still mourning Ruby, and we know the reality of leaving a baby behind. The thought of going through it again makes me a little sick to my stomach. But the fact is: this is where the Lord is leading, so this is where we are going. One foot in front of the other – trying desperately to fix our eyes on Jesus. ‘Cause focusing on anything else right now is proving to be difficult. I know we’ve asked you to pray a lot, but we could use a few more if you’ve got ‘em.

Love y'all.

Melancholy.

It started raining the week Ruby was born. And until a few days ago, it hadn't really stopped. Though the storms in my heart have not been quite as relentless, I’ve shed my share of tears. Those few days with her in the hospital were some of the most thrilling and stressful moments I've ever experienced. Watching her birth, caring for her, wondering over her fate – and then leaving without her... I don't say this flippantly - it was mildly traumatic. With most trauma, though, there tends to be withdrawal. Some recoiling for self-preservation's sake. Our only memories of her are surrounded with such apprehension that, more often than we should, we avoid her altogether. More than storms, there has been a fog.

It's been almost four weeks. People ask how we're doing, and I never know what I'm going to say. It really depends on the moment. I fight to live life uncontrolled by emotions, but typically, I tend to lose, and most days look something like this:

·      At 9:00am, I might say, "It’s fine... I don't really want to talk about it." (This is mostly because I probably haven’t had any coffee, and I don’t really want to talk about anything in life at all period.)

·      9:15. I blubber some kind of response like, "Let me tell you every detail so I can verbally process my feelings and make you so super uncomfortable that both of us wish you had never asked..."

·      At 9:30, I might genuinely be able to praise the Lord for saving this baby's life and for letting me watch her arrive. Have you ever witnessed a birth? It is unbelievable. (Note: coffee has usually kicked in at this point.)

·      And by 10:00, I probably have some kind of canned response that saves us all a little awkwardness. “We’re doing okay,” I say with a smile and head tilt. “Just waiting and trusting the Lord.”

Really, that’s where I tend to land the most. We really can’t do anything but trust Him. Even when we push Him away in anger or disappointment, He is near. Even when we try to ignore Him and distract ourselves with comforts and pleasures, He is near. When we cry out to Him in confusion and frustration, He is near. And when we run to Him with open arms – our only hope, He is near. I keep saying it, and it never stops being true – He is faithful.

But my heart is weary. Yes, it’s only been four weeks since Ruby’s birth, but it’s been five years since we started pursuing a family. Meeting that baby girl finally felt like the end of our waiting, but we were wrong. In moments of weakness, I just want to throw my hands up and say, “Forget it! We just won’t have kids.” And be done with it… But I think of Jacob waiting seven years for Rachel. I think of the Israelites wandering in the wilderness before Canaan. I think of Job who had everything – and had everything taken away. I think of Hannah…. The Lord gives and takes away, and He is blessed. What is meant for evil against us, God means for good. He works all things together for those who love Him. And I’ll admit it takes a lot of preaching these things to myself to remember that these days.

In one week, we will find out if Ruby’s birth father has registered paternity. If he has not, he will have essentially forfeited his parental rights. At that point, our agency will give birth mother the decision to place Ruby with us or to rear a seventh child as a single mom. The timeline after that isn’t clear, but we feel nothing short of uneasy. We are praying that God would bring Ruby home to us under peaceful circumstances. We are asking Him for endurance in the waiting and faithfulness where we are prone to wander. More than anything, though, we need more of Him. Would you join us in praying?

Unfortunate news.

Friends, it is with a heavy heart, that I bring sad news. Sweet Ruby made her arrival on Thursday night at 6:39pm. And though we had the joy of caring for her over the following 48 hours, she went home with birth mother yesterday evening. We are crushed. Not destroyed, but crushed. I wanted to share the facts so that you know how to pray.

Ruby’s birth father entered the picture on Thursday evening, and he and his mother have now both expressed interest in keeping Ruby. Though neither of them currently have any official rights, birth father could still register paternity within the next 29 days and eventually obtain those rights. If birth mother had signed relinquishment paperwork yesterday, and birth father obtained rights, Ruby would go to him. Birth mom does not want this to happen. She felt as though her only option was to take Ruby home and parent - hoping that birth father does nothing and forfeits his rights. There is a small chance that, after that time period has passed, birth mother will still choose to place Ruby with us. While this may seem hopeful, she has not explicitly stated that this is her plan. We also can’t help but imagine that her attachment to Ruby will grow with time, and she will choose to parent permanently.  

Regardless, we have been through intense stress and experienced a loss. We trust the Lord, and we have experienced His nearness in this. We know that He is good, that He sustains, and that He is making us more like Him. Praise Him for that. This doesn't make it any less disappointing. Please pray for us. We feel the grief in a very real way, but we cannot fully mourn. Please pray for birth mom. She is scared about trying to raise another child and discouraged that things did not go as planned. And please pray for Ruby. For His nearness, protection, and salvation.

Just a little bit longer.

Well, friends… It appears as though our Ruby is a true Smith. She’s probably going to be a little bit late... Every time my phone makes a noise of any kind, I jump. Any time a phone within ten feet of me makes a noise of any kind, I jump. Almost hourly, if not more than that, someone asks, “Any word?” And then almost immediately, they ask if I’m tired of hearing that question. I must be wearing the monotony on my face. And (cue Usher) this is my confession: I am a little weary of the questions.

There are a million different reasons why, but the biggest is this: I don’t want to give you disappointing news. I want to be able to give details and build the excitement and share in the celebration. But the Lord has made us to wait a bit longer, and for that, I’m honestly grateful. We’ve crossed off b-list and c-list priority to-dos. We’ve been able to attend events we had planned on missing. We’ve been able to spend a lot of time as husband and wife before we become mom and dad. And that is invaluable.

The second is this: I haven’t arrived at “excited” yet. (I mean, don't get me wrong. Have you seen tiny baby girl clothes?) But my list of concerns run the spectrum of “How am I gonna fix her hair?” to “What if we don’t get to keep her?” And to be honest, I think I’m still a little bit in denial. I know the other side of delivery means a world of change – and could mean a world of heartache. And we’re willing to take that risk because it’s rich and deep and beautiful, and it means obedience to our King. But the gravity and complexity of the situation is a little too much for me at times. So I’m putting one foot in front of the other, taking each moment as it comes. And trusting that I will be excited when I see that sweet and squishy little face.

Ruby will be here soon, which is kind of unreal. I'm sure we'll make some sort of announcement on social media, but, unless sleep deprivation induces uncanny inspiration, it may be radio silence over here for a while. Let me just say thank you for your patience with me and my awkward responses to your questions. And thank you for asking – please don’t stop! It’s a reminder that we are loved, cared for, and supported. Which is, again – invaluable. 

Also – just as a side note: There’s another big change happening in the Smith house. Over two years ago, my husband began the process of becoming a firefighter. On Monday, he will start with the City of Irving, and we are thrilled! The Lord has heard our prayers and He has said, “Yes!” But did you catch that? David starts a brand new job. On Monday…. Pray for us, y’all. J

Moving Forward.

It’s been radio silence over here because there hasn’t been much to say. Since our last update, I’ve mostly been prepping the nursery and waiting – some days with more patience than others. I regret not posting during the past month or so. The waiting has been harder than I anticipated, but it has pushed me further into the Lord. You know – it’s kinda like when your Memaw hugs you too tightly. So uncomfortable and sometimes painful, and even a little bit scary, but you don’t doubt for a second that you’re loved. That’s what the waiting has been like. Sorta.

I regret not posting because there is so much to be said for the waiting. Endurance, wrestling, asking, asking again, wondering… And all of that came to a halt for us on Tuesday of last week.

Jen, my co-worker and dear friend who I absolutely adore, stood at my desk, asking me a question about coffee for an event, when I got the call. I looked at my phone, looked at her, and froze. Without words, she knew it was that call. She calmly took a breath, looked at me, and said, “Just take the call.” And I immediately burst into tears. The fears and frustrations of the past six months (well, really, the past five years) swept over me, and I crumbled. “I can’t… I’m too scared.” I silenced my phone and let it go to voicemail while Jen set down her creamer baskets, knelt down beside me, and began to pray.

That night, after I called our caseworker back, we went to home group and spilled the beans: a birth mother had chosen us and wanted to meet. And as I expressed all of my hopes and concerns, the women of our group were so quick to remind me of the Lord’s faithfulness. To encourage me to trust Him enough to be excited. To trust Him enough to move forward – knowing that He could just as easily take this baby away as He could place it in our home. Praise the Lord for home groups.

Friday morning, David and I took separate cars to Fort Worth so he could go straight to work afterwards. I wasn’t nervous. Not as I got dressed, not as I brushed my teeth, not as I gassed up the 4Runner, not as I belted out worship songs while navigating DFW like a champ. (This is uncommon for me. I get lost everywhere I go. Even with the GPS on my phone.) Not until we walked up to the front door of Old South Pancake did my stomach drop and my heart begin to pound. Breathing deeply, I slipped my hand into David’s as we followed our caseworker into a quieter booth at the back of the crowded restaurant.

Do I hug her? Do I shake her hand….? Do I sit down beside her, or is that too awkward? Will there be long silences? Can I keep myself from crying? Is this really happening? Is this reeeeally happening…? For the record, I chose the handshake; David gave the hug, and the five of us stumbled around from topic to topic over greasy home cooking. The whole conversation was so surreal. I don’t want to try and describe it, for I know I wouldn’t do it justice. But I will say it was humbling and surreal.

After what seemed like fifteen minutes and 10 million questions, we walked outside, took a commemorative photo, and parted ways. David and I sat for a few minutes together in my car and tried to process, but again, it was pretty surreal. For the rest of the day, I cried zero tears about the whole thing - I really believe I was in shock. I had lunch with sweet friends who came over to help with the nursery. I called my mom and oldest friend on the phone to give them the news. I told the story over and over to countless women at the conference I attended that evening. And not one single tear.

Until Saturday morning. I sat in the very back of the balcony by myself when the music started. Five hundred women of all different ethnicities and socioeconomic backgrounds stood together, singing, “There is power in the name of Jesus to break every chain….” And for a million different reasons, I broke. He can break chains, y’all. And if He can break chains, if He can move mountains, if He can conquer death…. surely He can walk me through this adoption process. Why would I even begin to doubt, worry, fear? When He can break chains….?

After little to no contact since our meeting on Friday, David and I went to church and then to brunch on Sunday morning. It finally began to settle in that he and I were, Lord willing, finally about to grow our family.  He let me verbally process to my heart’s content while letting me sneak bites of the huevos rancheros benny he ordered – two signs of true love. And then I went home to spend the rest of the day in the nursery. I have some serious nesting to do, people.

So it’s kind of all happening. In a lot of ways, it still doesn’t feel real, but we’re moving forward for sure. We are consistently asked three main questions, and it’s just about all the detail we’ll share for now. Nothing has been signed, and nothing is final. So until things are a bit more concrete, we’ll give you this:

• Our birth mother is due at the end of April (as in 3-4 weeks!)
• The baby is full African American
• It’s a little girl – and we wanna name her Ruby. J

Would you pray for us? Would you pray that the Lord guides our steps and that we would hear from Him clearly. Would you pray for our birth mother and her family? And would you please pray for the sweet baby girl that we hope to call ours someday soon? We trust Him with all of these things, and we thank you so much for your support.

Love y’all!!