got'cha day (soLs)

{Ever since February, I've been planning to write about this topic. It's been swirling around my mind, but it takes time to capture the words, make them behave, and fill up the page. So this post is a few days later than I expected, but I'm learning to put my timeline away and wait for the words to sort out and leave their marks on the page.}

Got'cha Day is celebrated on March 14 in our house. It's the day we "got" Hannah and Stephanie. March 14, four years ago, was the day our daughters came home. They were 4 and 6.

I learned how sometimes families are built quickly. In July of the previous year, Andy and I felt compelled to get our foster license. It seemed like a strange thing to do, but we felt it was a path we were supposed to walk. We sat through training, filled out paperwork, and learned the public system for caring for children without responsible parents had many issues. As our training ended, we weren't sure why we journeyed down this path. Scenarios spun through my mind: Perhaps it's so I have more compassion, more understanding for children who have to live within this system. Perhaps it's so we'll be content with having one child. Perhaps it's so we can provide respite care for foster families who need vacations. Perhaps it's so we can provide a home for a 17 or 18 year old who needs a temporary placement. Perhaps it's so we can be on a waiting list for a safe haven baby.

At the same time Andy and I were praying for orphans around the world. We wanted to be part of giving hope and love to children who were missing parents.

By the time Sam turned 2, in January 2008, we were content being parents to one child. We prayed that the extra space in our home would be used and that we would be open to the possibilities.

At the beginning of March we received a call we never expected. It was a call to adopt two girls, ages four and six. Two? Girls? One has already started kindergarten? We couldn't even form coherent thoughts. We could only stutter questions. No, this was not what we planned.

The thing is, all the reasons we would say, "No," started with "I don't want..." It didn't feel right to say, "No." (That's not the same thing as saying it felt right to say, "Yes.") So we decided to walk through the door. We were confident the door would close before actually adopting children. We'd been down that path. We finally accepted that Sam would be our only child.

"This is crazy," was the most common phrase Andy and I uttered over the next 10 days.

The doors kept opening. It never felt right to say, "No." People questioned our decision-making abilities. People uttered, "They're crazy." People wanted us to stop and think.

There's not much to think about when all of the reasons to say, "No," start with I.

Rich Mullins' song, "Hold Me Jesus" played on the radio every time I was in the car over the next ten days. The first lines begin: Sometimes my life just don't make sense at all/The mountains seem so big and my faith seems so small/Hold me Jesus, 'cause I'm shaking like a leaf.

I made more than 60 phone calls to the Department of Child Services in the next ten days. (Returning phone calls was not their strength, and so you have to call and leave messages, then call back until you've reached "the right person.") We met with DCS in person more than 5 times. We met Hannah and Stephanie twice. We attended both of their schools. We met with teachers, administrators, and counselors.

Hebrews 11, the chapter outlining the heroes of faith, stirred in my mind. I read it multiple times a day in those ten days. I realized these heroes of faith were all crazy. Noah built a boat and had never seen rain. Sarah expected to get pregnant and she was an old woman. People walked through the Red Sea as it parted and towered over them, threatening to crash back down. They were crazy. Hebrews 11:1, "Faith is being sure of what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see," wrapped around my heart.

The Department of Child Services wanted to stretch the transition of the girls into our home into a 4 -6 week ordeal. We refused. We were fighting on behalf of orphans we never even met. We knew they were going to be ours before we even met them. We knew they would have things to overcome that were beyond the fault of theirs or ours, and we were fighting for them, just as parents all over the world do for the best interest of their own children.

Those orphans we were praying for were suddenly not so far away. We realized the response expected to our prayers about orphans was to move two home with us -- into their real home. James 2:17 stung my ears, "Faith, by itself, if not accompanied by action, is dead."

On March 14, ten days after that first phone call asking us to adopt two older children, our daughters were home.

Got'cha, Hannah and Stephanie. We're never going to let go. Never. We see now, what we couldn't then -- how right this is. We see how you were made for us. We see how very good God builds families.

I like to think that just maybe, God is smiling at our realization and is thinking, Got'cha Ruth and Andy. I'm never letting go.

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