When Love Indoctrinates
In order to see just how personal God got with me in Africa, I want to give you some background:
You see, when there is any serious stretch of time between visits to the beach, I can’t smell saltwater for the first time without thinking of my Dad.
He indoctrinated me to a love of the ocean.
Not one summer passed between when my feet first learned to walk and I hit my twenties that we didn’t go to the beach. Though it was just one, sometimes two weeks a year, those memories are louder than most others of my childhood. More times than I can count, since he’s died, I’ve had flashbacks to the sun setting over “just one more wave, Daddy??” as we rode a surf that was enormous to my little-tike mind but probably only came up to his waist. My dad valued family in a generation which mostly didn’t and those beach trips are a piece of my inheritance.
When we made plans to leave for Uganda on a week’s notice, the elephant in the room was the likelihood that a hasty departure may mean forfeiting the first family beach trip since my dad died. I couldn’t even talk about this possibility without crying. This was my dad’s legacy trip and, though he wouldn’t be there to participate, this tradition was golden.
We left, and I prayed the impossible to the God who, I sensed, kept saying: ask of Me what you want. And that’s advice which is especially hard for this little rule-follower, who still wrestles to wrap her mind around the God who engages, all the time. And the God who allures, at times, by treating.
Resting in the back of my mind was a dream my sweet Lily had shared with her foster mom months earlier. She dreamed that she was on the beach with her mommy and daddy. “But then I woke up,” she said. Still underneath Ugandan bedcovers, of course.
Was He whispering an early promise to me … to her?
My summer in Africa cataloged more of the “impossible” than I’d seen in my lifetime. We packed for the potential of staying six months plus and less than six weeks later we found ourselves at the embassy with the chance of making the one flight out in early August that was accessible to all of us. It was this flight — or one nearly three weeks later, after my dad’s legacy trip. We’d held onto this one until the last minute and thus missed our chance at others.
It was now or never.
So, two days before our scheduled departure we went, weak-kneed, to the embassy, praying that the girls’ visas would be ready in time. Nate, who finds a friend in any stranger, struck up a conversation with a British gentleman and his American wife waiting for an appointment, while I chewed my lip and tried to pray. We were called into our appointment and met with the news that the medical reports for Lily and Hope, necessary for our visas, had never arrived. My heart sunk.
So close to returning for the trip which I had given my little girl’s heart permission to want.
A day earlier, we’d moved our flights from “on-hold” to in-hand. In faith, we said, knowing full-well that the Father determines the ultimate outcome.
Nate commiserated with the strangers-made-friends, while I swallowed this new reality and prepared to go back to our guest home which might be home to us, now, for weeks longer. The wife of the gentleman quietly, subtly jotted Lily and Hope’s names on a piece of paper.
While Nate was waiting to pay the cashier for services not yet rendered, he casually asked his new friend what exactly he did for this NGO he’d described. The man stumbled over his words to admit what he clearly had concealed minutes earlier. “Actually, well, I’m the Head of Mission for the medical facility where your children’s reports seem to have been lost. I plan to make a phone call when I leave here,” he said.
God is so kind.
Before close of business, that very day, the reports were found by this new friend. (They had been misplaced by one of the clinic’s contractors.) And the next morning they were couriered to the US embassy so that our visas could be processed. The following break of dawn, we were checking in the bags we had packed for a potential six-month (plus) stay, back at the airport.
A week later my little girl smelled saltwater for the first time.
She found herself at the beach, just as in her dream. Her daddy taught her how to ride waves and I stifled tears as I watched her little-girl eyes sparkle with delight over that which my daddy taught me to love.
This summer, I fell hard. For the first time, and all over again. With the Father who engages in His children’s desires. He created us with hearts that beat hungrily for connection and eyes which see in color.
There are always stories to be had, friends. He is always weaving a story — of beauty. And glory. His glory. The best kind of glory. In every seeming setback, there is glory to be had. And when our hearts receive even just one touch from the Father who seeks to captivate His children, the byproduct is radiant.
It’s undeniable.
Today marks 3 months with no referrals from our adoption agency. Yet, I read this today and smiled because I know it’s true: There are always stories to be had, friends. He is always weaving a story — of beauty. And glory. His glory. The best kind of glory. In every seeming setback, there is glory to be had. And when our hearts receive even just one touch from the Father who seeks to captivate His children, the byproduct is radiant. Its undeniable.”
THANK YOU!
Cadell
Oh Cadell, I have so been in your shoes. This summer came on the heals of many, many twists and turns in both of our adoptions. It is true — there is glory to be had even when the beautifully miraculous stories haven’t surfaced and the wait is thick.
As always, I never know what to say because your words touch me so deeply and challenge me. Thank you.
Sharon,
Though we’ve never met, you have continued to leave notes of sweet encouragement here. Thank you.
Sara
I think I’m usually so distracted by the Lily-details of your posts that I fail to grasp the profound truths my heart so needs. This one hit home, though. You know I’m still hanging onto October…asking for October…expecting October. Thank you for encouraging me to expect. “… that’s advice which is especially hard for this little rule-follower, who still wrestles to wrap her mind around the God who engages, all the time. And the God who allures, at times, by treating.” Love you!
Amen to October, MJ! Six of us here are praying that daily for you and for those littles!
Sara this is so beautiful. I needed to read this today. How my heart rejoices in your story and your ability to see it with His eyes!
You are such a gift to my heart! Your words, your story, and our growing friendship!
This? THIS? This is beauty and grace and joy all rolled into one. Thanks so much for sharing the story of perfectly aligned details in God’s universe of loving care. Just remarkable. Thank you!
Sara,
This post brought tears to my eyes. The ocean is a powerful place. The smells and sounds always bring me back to my childhood memories of our family trips. Mornings were always my favorite, the dawn of a new day and new adventures. So many people didn’t have parents like ours, so many kids were left home with grandparents while they went on vacation. God blessed us with amazing parents. I am so happy Lily and Hope got to ride the waves and experience the power of the ocean. -Heather
O Sarah, you made me cry again, actually two times as I broke down again as I reread it to Tyler! I have a similar association with the beach and family from those childhood trips. So precious and priceless – and now your little ones will have the same deep, lasting connection. I’m praying that my boys get to see the ocean before their honeymoon (which was my Kansan husband’s experience)! Blessings…
You are Carolina girl, right?, of course you do! Thank you for your sweet note. I can not believe your husband didn’t see the beach until your honeymoon. Wow. Reason to make up for lost time
.
“In every seeming setback, there is glory to be had.”
Thank you for that, as I am desparately in search of that glory. Yesterday, we learned that our social worker has had our homestudy ready for 2 months, but her supervisor has yet to sign and submit it to the state! I know that God is bringing our children to us not a minute too soon, not a second too late… But I can’t say I’m not disappointed, frustrated, angry… We thought we were so close, but now we have no idea, no estimated time line… We have rumors of a sibling group, and approximate ages… And my arms ache to hold them, my heart longs to be their Mama, to get to know my sweet hubby as Daddy. Is the older one aware we are a possibility? Is the younger one crawling/babbling/growing?
I know there is a Reason for the delay, and I am clinging to the promise of glory.
Hitting my heart so hard. Thank you for writing. After years of infertility and a miscarriage, I struggle with the “ask God for what you want” part because so many years of unanswered prayers have passed. It reveals the doubt and fears of my broken heart- as I’m sure you can understand. I don’t understand why those prayers couldn’t be answered…..BUT…. God is winning my heart again and is so tender and patient in that process. We’re now in the adoption process and waiting for a birth-mom to choose us and I yet again find myself hesitating to ask for what my heart really desires for our soon-to-come child, afraid I’ll be left heartbroken again. So many lies there that are robbing me of the joy of child-like faith and boldness. I know he’s working glory for himself through this story though and constantly wooing my heart back to himself. Thank you for your words that have touched this heart.
Carrie,
I so appreciate your raw vulnerability. Praise God for this chance for you to have sweet hope …
Sara
As ever, thank you for sharing the food & blessing for my soul that your writing provides. I’m so grateful that you share these stories of Jesus’ provision and workings… His gentle fingers seem to prod reminders into the rougher parts of my heart each time I read. Man, I am grateful. Here’s to His beauty and love- through the suffering, in the waiting, and with the celebration.
Thanks, Sara