Laughter

God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea and rides upon the storm.

Our family started the evening of July 15 with plans to attend a graduation party and a birthday dinner. God had other plans. When we pulled up to the party of a sweet girl from our church, we noticed Elias’s adoption lawyer walking into the house. Jokingly, I said to my husband, “If he offers us a baby, let’s say yes.” Although this comment may seem kind of crazy, it didn’t come out of nowhere. Despite the adoption-related twists and turns of the past two and a half years, Ross and I had engaged in several conversations over the past few weeks about the future of our family. We came to an agreement in the end that we had the financial ability and the desire to do just one more adoption with Glenn, coming full circle. Of course, we were thinking this would all happen a few years down the road when we had all our ducks in a row and our other kids out of diapers. When we walked in the house and said hello to Glenn, we reminisced about the last time Glenn had seen Elias on his adoption day. Then Glenn looked at both of us and said very casually, “You know, I have a birth mother due in two weeks if you’re interested. I’m showing her different options for adoptive families on Wednesday.” Ross and I laughed. And then we paused. And then Ross said, “Well, we’d have to think about it. We’ll let you know.”

Deep in unfathomable mines of never failing skill;
He treasures up His bright designs and works His sovereign will.

On the way home from the graduation party, Ross and I talked it out. We eased into the oh-so familiar territory of making such a life-altering decision. How could we do it? Are we ready for this? Are we crazy to even be entertaining thoughts of another baby? Yet something about this situation nudged us to not say “no.” We continued to talk about it all the way up until our babysitter came to watch the kids so we could leave for a birthday dinner. We were silent on the way over, but once we pulled into the parking lot, Ross said, “I’m just going to give Glenn a call to ask a few more questions about the situation.” He picked up the cell phone, and as we sat with the car turned on to keep the air conditioning flowing in and blocking the muggy Charleston air, he called and got a hold of Glenn right away. It was a brief conversation, and it ended with Ross saying, “Ok, well, we will pray about it and let you know.”

We walked into the restaurant to our group of friends and began to enjoy conversation. An hour later, Ross checked his phone and he had three calls from Glenn and a voicemail. He went outside without announcing where he was going. I was turned to face the other ladies at the table, so I didn’t even notice he had left. All of a sudden, he came back and said, “Can you come outside please?” We walked out and he said, “That was Glenn. The baby he told us about is coming tonight, and the mother wants Glenn to choose the family. Glenn wants to choose us, and we have to make a decision right now.” We laughed, and then we paused, and then we said “yes” to each other at the same time. Apparently, not long after Glenn had gotten off the phone with us, the birth mother called and said she was in labor. She didn’t have time to look at potential families, and a decision needed to be made right then and there. So on a humid, warm night standing on the sidewalk off of Coleman Boulevard, we said yes to this baby.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take; the clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercies and shall break in blessings on your head.

Saturday night was a long night of tossing and turning as we waited for an update. Ross and I always laugh with each of our babies because we know what’s about to come with an infant in the house, so you’d think we’d enjoy our last uninterrupted night of sleep. At one point in the dark, I asked Ross, “Are you scared?” He said, “Yes.” “Do you think we’re making the wrong decision?” I asked. “No,” he said, “just because it’s scary doesn’t mean it’s the wrong decision.” We continued to toss and turn and pray. Eventually I got up at 4 in the morning and started to walk the dark streets of my neighborhood. These early morning walks have been a habit many times for me in the past two and a half years. Before the arrival of each baby into our home, I walked in silence and waited and prayed. Finally light came on July 16, and with it the sweet news: “It’s a boy. He’s healthy. All looks good. Come meet him today.”

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, but trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face.

The road of adoption is always risky. The potential of getting your heart ripped out of your chest by a birth mother changing her mind or a baby leaving your arms because of a contestation is real. Yet this time, the addition of another son just feels like a big grin from God. A smiling face. A laughing love-offering from the God who likes to give good gifts to his children. This sweet, olive-skinned boy sleeping next to me as I write this is named Isaac, meaning laughter, because we’re laughing at God’s plans for us which are far beyond anything we could ever ask or imagine (Ephesians 3:20).

His purposes will ripen fast, unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste, but sweet will be the flower.

When we were waiting in our hospital room for the papers to be signed, Glenn, Ross and I had the opportunity to share about some of the bittersweet moments of our lives, the losses we’ve all experienced which are common to any and all people living in a world marred by sin. Ross and I still miss our child who left us. She’ll never be far from our hearts and our prayers. Yet, the human heart has the capacity to both grieve and laugh, to let go and receive. There is a time for everything and a purpose for everything under heaven (Ecclesiastes 3).

Blind unbelief is sure to err and scan His work in vain;
God is His own interpreter, and He will make it plain.

As I write this part of our family’s story, my heart is burdened for those in the time of loss and letting go of dreams, babies, expectations, and ideas of what they thought life would look like. The times when laughter does not come easily and tears seem to constantly flow. To you, I say, “You’re not alone.” Although this chapter of our story is a sweet one, it comes after a very bitter one. I don’t know why God works the way that He does, but I do know this: He never stops working. When it seems like He’s sitting back and taking a break, when you think He’s not hearing your prayers or cries, He’s there. God is actively putting together every detail of your life to show forth His glorious love and kindness, even when it comes through pain and heartache. I pray for you today, that you would know His love and believe in the depths of your soul that He’s not forgotten you, that though sorrow may last for the night, joy comes in the morning (Psalm 30:5).

*A big thank you goes to William Cowper who wrote the hymn “God moves in a mysterious way.” These words have been a balm to my soul for many years.