I’ve avoided writing this post for about six months.

(There’s a lot of these in my draft folder, so – bare with me these next few weeks as I work out the tension of my words.)

A year ago, Russ and I completed a budget sheet for our adoption home study. Since then, we’ve been approved, I quit my job, we were matched with a birth mom, my novel released and the birth mom chose to keep her baby.

Today, I sent off the last bit of retirement I accumulated since we’ve been married to the adoption agency. With it, we completed a new budget sheet – one with just Russ’ income.

On paper, it looks bleak. On paper, it kind of makes me wonder what the hell we’re doing anyway – adopting a child. But then I’m reminded of when we first began when His provision left me breathless or a few months ago when He reminded me He finishes what He starts and I know we’ll be okay.

It’s been like this from the beginning – this thought of who are we fooling. Us? Handle an infant? Us? Figure out what it means to live by faith?

A few months ago, a sweet friend sent me a message with a check.

Let the church be the church she said. Ask for help – people will respond.

And I laughed because this whole self-reliance thing? I’ve got it on lock. So when God told me to quit my job, and when He asked me to pursue writing, and when my novel released, and when Russ’ raise was about a percentage of what his boss asked for on his behalf….

it all leaves me a little anxious and at the same time, expectant.

Here’s the thing: we know God has called us to adopt. We know I needed to quit my job – that sacrificing a few extra hundred dollars a month was worth me staying home when our baby got here.

We don’t know how we’ll get the rest of the payments.

You see, with a typical birth, most families fall under the protection of insurance. Even if you don’t, the monthly payments usually won’t send you in the red.

Adoption isn’t covered. 

And for us, a couple who can’t pay off huge chunks of cash at a time, the monthly payments are the only option – even if this means our process will be prolonged once we’re placed.

Every month, we send in 955 dollars.

Every month, we’ve been able to meet this. Lately, it’s been in large part to my retirement + some incredible friends who consistently give.

It’s hard for me to say this because I know there will be people who won’t understand. I know there are family members who won’t understand. You don’t see pregnant women posting on facebook or twitter or their blogs, asking for money before the birth.

But this is more than a pregnancy, and this is more than us asking for money. This is us begging for support.

From the beginning, we knew this would need to be a community effort. Countless people told us: don’t let money stand in the way of you adopting! And we believed them. We fundraised, we sold coffee, we tried to piece together a puzzle…

…and people responded. They donated. They provided online showers. They bought coffee. Combine this support with our extra income and the payments weren’t that big a deal.

So where are we now?

Right now, we owe 8500 dollars. Right now, there’s no way we can make the 955 a month payment.

Will you pray for us? I know some may wonder why we don’t see this as God closing a door. We think God is bigger than this. We know His heart for the orphan – how it echoes His heart for us - and we believe in His calling on our lives.

If you want to donate, there’s a badge on the right sidebar that says “JOIN US || donate”.

If you want to purchase my novel, which would help as well, you can find it on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Rhizome.

We are also still selling coffee and still piecing together our adoption puzzle.

And of course, above all, your prayers will move mountains. 

We love you guys.

God only allows pain if He’s allowing something new to be born – Ann Voskamp

I haven’t written here lately because honestly, things are difficult.

When I first saw the picture of our birth mom, something settled deep within my chest. It was a feeling of rightness – a feeling that yes - this moment, this second – was all predetermined.

And then we met her, and my heart leaned toward hers and I grew quiet because goodness. She’s Devonte’s age. She could have been any one of my students these past few years. Yet her story is her story and I didn’t know how to act, didn’t know how to love, didn’t know how to properly thank her for this gift.

We exchanged phone numbers and both spoke to our social worker after lunch. The confidence was good. Everyone was happy. With ten weeks to go, Russ and I started planning and soon ten turned to nine and then eight…

…and now we’re at five and a half weeks.

Five and a half weeks – at least according to the due date. It could be sooner or later or…never.

I can’t imagine what it’s like to be pregnant and know that the baby you feel kicking your ribs will grow up in someone else’s home. I can’t. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t understand why our birth mom wavers. And while the reasons are few – they each hold their own insurmountable weight and I feel this inherent need to protect her. To pull her close and whisper I understand.

How do you give the Answer to one who doesn’t know the question?

The other day, our social worker called and asked for some information to update our home study just in case. She mentioned the possibility of a conference call between our birth mom and a supervisor because there were some questions she had – questions we’ve already answered but she’s still unsure about because she’s reaching – for anything, really. I remained calm throughout the phone call, but once we hung up and I glanced toward the empty closet which will soon be a mini-nursery, I broke.

I emailed friends, asking them to pray because God-Almighty I was feeling vulnerable and scared and a little like this baby was slipping through my fingers. And within seconds one responded with He is faithful to finish and another texted this will be about faith, Braveheart. 

And I know they’re right. All of them.

But it’s hard. I never knew this whole control thing was an issue to me and it is – it so is. I’m sensing His presence – feeling the need to let go and fall into a deeper place of trust. And of course, I wonder if He’ll catch me in the way I think is best.

I’ve mentioned before that my biggest prayer throughout this entire process has been that God would be known and people would look at our situation and see Him. Not by our strength but His – right? And now, in the middle of a countdown where I feel the earth shake beneath me because this may definitely not work out in the end, I wonder if that prayer was too dangerous. Too risky. I kind of want to pull it back, say just kidding and move along with another more comfortable route.

But I know that’s just my fear talking.

If you pray, would you pray for our birth mom? Not that she would be convinced or manipulated, but that she would feel love and acceptance and a peace that makes no sense in the middle of this situation. Pray we would know how to hold her heart and love her the way she needs to be loved. Pray for the baby, that God would protect her and whisper Truth even now – even in the womb.

And pray for us – pray for His glory, pray for finances, pray for peace even now.

I keep the receipts in my center drawer.

Right next to my old journals and a wooden box my sister brought back from Haiti, they pile on top of each other. I don’t open the drawer often – only when I have another slip of paper to add to the collection. They mock me in a way. With the drawer closed, I forget they’re waiting. I can wash the onesies, organize the swaddling blankets and form a plan for what our room will look like in eight and a half weeks without the whispers of those papers hitting my heart.

What if? they ask.

I don’t have an answer outside of a shrug and welly eyes.

So when our social worker called yesterday to check on us (we’re fine) and see if we’ve spoken to the birth mom (we have), I wasn’t expecting the phrase she’s mentioned every single time we’ve spoken before. 

“You know, Elora – just keep in the back of your mind that this may not work out, there’s always that small chance she decides to keep this baby.”

And then glory how my heart twists. It’s all a mess in there :: my fears having a parade complete with the rhythm of my heart’s pounding. This is something we don’t talk about often, you know. It’s something we don’t like to entertain. Because it’s true :: what if? 

There’s so many layers to this question – so many emotions between strangers. To some, it seems foreign. “Wait. Wait. A mother keeping her baby will cause you devastation? This seems backwards.”

Trust me. I know. I know. 

Do you know how many twisted prayers I’ve thrown up heaven’s way these past few years? Do you understand what this does to someone’s heart? The please let her choose us….does mean someone will lose. 

Someone – maybe us, maybe her – will be without.

Those receipts were the first thing I thought of when my social worker began reminding me of the risks. Tucked away safely, they symbolize so much fear. Trepidation. Expectation.

And I’ve realized lately the theology I thought was becoming more centered still leans a little off-kilter. Here’s my secret :: sometimes, I fear God will take this all away simply because I want it. 

So those receipts – the small reminder spoken by someone in the middle – the hesitation to pick colors and nest and prepare and do everything a mother does when she finds out she’s expecting - it’s all an acceptance of something that hasn’t even happened yet. Vindication. Manipulation.

Hear me. I’m not saying if this doesn’t work out and if our birth mom decides to keep the baby I will immediately jump to this conclusion and belief that God did it out of some misaligned punishment. I know He is good and faithful and loves His children. I know this. I know He can give good gifts and believe this well for friends going through similar situations.

But when it comes to me – I struggle with the belief hitting me square in the chest.

When I began this blog, I set out to write about the process as honestly as possible. In so many ways - so many ways - the beauty of adoption captures me and my soul and brings me to the Throne every time. And in so many ways, I cringe at my views of God being laid bare for me to see. But I want to put these thoughts together – an altar of sorts. I want to look back and shake my head and wonder, really? I was there? And now I’m here? 

Because if there’s one thing that’s followed us these past two years it’s this :: we cannot do this alone. Alone, we’re lost. Alone, it just won’t happen. Not with our fears and doubt and lack of faith and resources.

From the very beginning, I’ve prayed that this would happen and people would know it was God who did it. And can I say something? Can I whisper a truth in your ear?

The fact that I’m here – writing these words and not curled up in bed with fear is God. There is no emotional protection here. None. Those receipts may be a safety blanket, but it doesn’t keep out the cold truth that in eight weeks we may have a baby.

And in eight weeks we may be back to square one.

Either way, I cling to the truth that God knows how it will all turn out – He knows our baby. He sees her. Loves her. Protects her. He’s sinking deep in her chest the truth that her birth mom is one of the bravest women we know and that there are two people who will love her unconditionally – no pretense. No manipulation.

And when she comes, I’ll throw those receipts away with joy.