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!!

The two hours I thought I was a mom.

Just wanted to post a little update to keep y’all in the loop. All facts, no feelings.   ;)

We are still waiting for a birth mother to request a meeting with us. We have been contacted by our agency about two situations that were outside of our “criteria,” but neither of them worked out. So we continue to wait and attempt to prepare.

Last week was a bit of a roller coaster. We received a phone call on Tuesday afternoon that a birth mom had chosen us for her 3-month-old, and that we should be prepared to pick up our child on Thursday or Friday…..! Holy. Cow. We were thrilled. Terrified, but thrilled. (Whoops – those are feelings…) And then two hours later, our case worker called back to tell us that birth mom had changed her mind……. I could write a ton about our feelings here, but I honestly don’t want to re-hash it. I’m just grateful it was only two hours and not two months. Needless to say, the disappointment was zero fun. 

Silver lining: those two hours were a sincere wake-up call for me. I was ping-ponging around our house making ten different lists, gathering all kinds of advice and recommendations. From furniture to childcare to maternity plans, I was frantically trying to figure out how on earth we could be parents in a matter of days. And now that we’ve been given a little more time, I’m making every effort to get it together. We are fully confident in the Lord’s provision. We know our baby will have everything that he or she needs. But in those two hurried hours, I fully felt the effects of the need to nest.

That means we are in full-on nursery mode, people.

While decorating a space is one of my favorite things on the planet, nurseries just haven’t ever been my “thing.” But over the past few days, I’ve been up to my eyeballs in baby bedding, rugs, poufs… I mean, how fun are poufs? Baby or no baby, I’m a fan of the pouf. And all the while, I see this as one more way that the Lord has changed, softened, prepared my heart for the arrival of our child. I'm excited about getting a room together - because it just means we're one day closer.

Anyways… that’s where we are. We’ll keep you posted for sure. But in the mean time, I’m drooling over this guy.

:)

The post about infertility.

There’s a song we sing at church sometimes, and the bridge goes like this:

Every step, every breath, you are there

Every tear, every cry, every prayer

In my hurt, at my worst, when my world falls down

Not for a moment will you forsake me.

And it is rare that I make through the second line of that bridge without melting into tears.

Infertility sucks. It just does. And I’ve sat down to write this entry a dozen times only to find myself too ashamed or fearful to hit “publish.” I cringe to think of offending or appearing ungrateful. I hate to maximize or minimize the pain. But it’s a real, honest struggle that I (we) have endured and will most likely endure until glory.

I didn’t understand it before. We’re not promised a spouse or a car or a home or a job. Why does anyone believe she is promised a child? When I found out that our church had support groups for people impacted by infertility, I thought, “That just seems wasteful. You don’t see support groups for single people who desperately want to get married….” Color me judge-y.

I never was the girl that always wanted to be a mom. I played with dolls as a child, but I far preferred putting on “concerts” or gallivanting in backyard forts over caring for cabbage patches. And I could play Barbie all day long, but she and Ken drove a red corvette, not a minivan. Even as an adult, as a wife, I dreamed about sculpting our home into a well-decorated nest, but I didn’t really think about the hatchlings. And still, I have always been told I will make a great Mama Bird.

The pains I have felt from infertility have nothing to do with the shattering of my biggest dreams. They are small, but real losses that just make me really sad. Seeing my husband’s eyes in the smile of my son. Rejoicing over a little, pink plus-sign and the thrill of breaking the news. Feeling a future ballerina practice pirouettes in my belly. Trading war stories of swollen ankles and c-sections and the sisterhood of surviving delivery. None of these things did I really even want – until I knew they would never happen for me. It’s isolating and disappointing. And even if no one happens to announce a new pregnancy for a while, there’s always that monthly reminder that’s decidedly more painful than it used to be.

I don’t say these things to garner your pity. That just makes me feel more alone. I say these things because they are part of my story. It is the reality of what we’re going through. The loss of something I was never promised may seem trivial to some – it did to me. But “empty arms are a heavy burden.” The loss is real. The pain is real.

Now. With all of that said. Through tears and through wincing, I can whole-heartedly say that the pain, the loss, the burden – are worth it. Because the words to that song above are true. Not only has He not forsaken me – He has been “nearer” to me than I have ever known. He has reminded me that the blessings of a child are not a reward for doing everything right – that the lack of a child is not punishment for doing something wrong. He has surgically exposed and removed things like jealousy, entitlement, pride from my heart. He has bonded me to my husband with tighter and sturdier binds. He has brought forth support from men and women who have stood in our shoes. He has surrounded us with community who may not fully know, but fully love and care. And in the worst and darkest moment of the whole ordeal, when it physically felt like the ground fell out from underneath – He instantly caught me. Wrapped His arms around me, cradled my head, and whispered, “I’ve got you... I know… I’m here.”

Reader, I say all of these things to praise my Father - to tell you just how great He is. He turns mourning into dancing, weeping into laughing, pain into joy. He never leaves, never forsakes. His love is steadfast – it never fails. His mercies never come to an end. He is patient and kind, and he cares for us….

He is a loving Father, and He is always, always good.  

Fundraising: complete.

Care for a good gushing session? Okay. You’ve come to the right place!

There are literally (and I mean that) at least a thousand things I could say I’m thankful for right at this very moment. Never before, outside of salvation, have David and I been the recipients of such overwhelming kindness and generosity. And there were so many amazing, lifelong-memory moments that happened over this weekend… I’m kind of reeling. A few times we have looked at each other and said, “Did that really happen….?” And even more, there were all of these sweet and simple moments that, in and of themselves, on any other weekend, would bring about so much joy. The combination simply has my heart swelling.

I won’t give you a list for fear of making you nauseated, but let me just celebrate one big thing right quick: We have exceeded our fundraising goal!!! We’re done. Done, I tell you! And now, we continue to wait for that phone call – that email that will change our lives forever. (Give me a break, I’m feeling dramatic…. J)

To all of you who gave ---- Thank you. To those of you who gave anonymously ---- THANK YOU SO MUCH!! I wish we could send you a thank you note or hug your neck or something, but we trust that the Lord will bless all of you richly.

Now for a few quick facts: Our YouCaring site will remain on the blog through the end of the year in case you’d still like to give. It doesn’t allow us to manually update the total to include donations by check or cash, so it’s not really accurate. But any additional donations we receive will go into savings for potential Baby Smith #2. (Eeeek!)

Our good, good Father is gracious and faithful. He is great and greatly to be praised. He is a generous provider, lavishing good gifts on His children. And I am, by no stretch of the imagination, talking about money right now. Praise His name. Like, for real.

On Advent and adoption.

It’s late on a Sunday afternoon. The weekend chores are finished. The fire is crackling and glowing. The Christmas tree is lit. And I’ve spent the last 120 minutes curled up on the couch, watching a Christmas movie while brownies for one of the four parties on our schedule this week are cooling in the kitchen and filling our house with the sweet reminder that the season is upon us. Typically, the holidays are a little stressful. But for me, this weekend feels like the first time I’ve taken a real, long, deep breath.

Almost unanimously within our circles, the past few months have been hectic and busy. I’ve found it really difficult to fully process things because it’s literally been one thing after another. So much has happened, and yet, for us in the Smith house, things aren’t really that much different. We are waiting. Like we have been for about two months now. And I praise the Lord that we’ve been so busy – otherwise the waiting might have driven me a little crazy.

The next step for us in the adoption process is getting that phone call or email: “A birth mother would like to meet with you.” And I’ll be completely honest; the thought of that phone call makes my stomach drop. To think that some brave woman is choosing to give her child life and has requested to meet us in consideration of parenting that child….. It’s just so intense to me. And humbling and scary and exciting all at once….

It feels so incredibly appropriate that during this Advent season, we wait. With the hope of a child. With the possibility that this Christmas will be our last as a family of two. With all of the warmth and joy and sparkle that come with the holiday season. Knowing that our hope is only a small shadow. That the eager longing we feel for this child is nothing compared to our desperation for Christ – both in His birth and in His return.   

We believe that He is good. We trust His timing and know that it’s perfect. And so, with hope, we wait.