Cedar N' Steel

It’s been a while, I know. We’ve been so busy finalizing the sale of our house, traveling for golf, and finally getting started with the adoption process in addition to the day-to-day routine of life. We’ve also done some traveling outside of golf, spending a week in Phoenix visiting with family before Michael’s brother was deployed to South Korea, supporting Michael’s junior tournament in Tucson, and spending time with family and friends in various parts of the country. I’ve had many visitors to Saint Simons as well. Apparently people are more likely to come see us in our tiny beach town than in Birmingham. Who knew…

I spent PGA Championship weekend in Fort Worth, TX on a mission trip with my sister-in-law serving and ministering to refugees from all over the world. This blog isn’t about the trip itself, which was life-changing, but about comments one woman who served with us made about me after the trip. I knew no one going into the weekend except my sister, but God squelched my introvert self all weekend and by the end, they were hugging me, exchanging contact information, and inviting me to future mission trips.

We debriefed Sunday morning, putting each of us in a “hot seat” within our circle and recapping specific things we loved about that person we’d seen during the trip. One woman made an observation about me that sums up our entire infertility journey. Here was a woman I’d never met before that Thursday, who didn’t see us go through valley after valley of disappointment, who hadn’t witnessed any part of our saga. But her words spoke to my soul… “You are so content with where you are in your life.”

It’s something I prayed for all throughout our struggles to conceive. I prayed for God to take away our desires to have a child, for God to change our situation, for God to show me what I was doing wrong, and finally for God to make me content. If only she knew how God breathed those words into her to say to me. If only she knew how long it had taken for her observation to be true. If only she knew what I’d suffered to learn that lesson. Oh honey, if only you knew what I went through to get here!

The first thing I did when our mission trip started was stand up in front of 25 people and give my testimony. I hate public speaking and I’ve never given my testimony like that…ever. But when our leader asked for volunteers to share their testimony to the group, my hand went up and I volunteered first. I honestly have no idea what I was thinking, except that no one knew me and I needed them to. I’m usually one of those people who sinks down in my chair and hopes someone else gets called on, but God had other plans and I found myself publicly sharing my life-story and how I came to love and serve the Lord.


In the first few sentences, I told them I cannot have biological children. I told them our long arduous path to that point. I wanted them to see that I was open and honest about my situation, unafraid of my lot in life, joyful about our adoption plans, willing to share any and all details, and content with the season Michael and I are in right now. That’s the word…content. It means “satisfied with what one is or has; not wanting more or anything else.” Another dictionary includes “willing” in the definition.

Contentment came not because God answered our prayers and not because we were satisfied that we turned over every stone to have a biological child. Contentment came from acceptance of our infertility, faith in His goodness and love for us despite not getting what we wanted, declaration of our love for Him no matter our circumstances, and then prayers of trust in His plan. All we did was surrender to Him, faith without sight, and He changed our hearts. Acceptance, faith, love, prayers, trust, surrender. All we can do in tough situations…and wait. Easier said than done though. Let me tell you how it started…

At some point in the last year, I declared in the tiny recesses of my own mind, so softly I hardly believed I uttered it, that I didn’t need a biological child to be happy. I didn’t need God to give me what I wanted to be happy. I didn’t even need Him to answer my prayers. All I needed was to know I had HIM. I didn’t believe my own words at the time, didn’t feel them, but I repeated them over and over to myself anyway. As time went on, this declaration became a daily mantra which turned into confident belief. Suddenly biological children became less and less important, and faith in God no matter my circumstances grew until head knowledge became heart knowledge.

That’s where my contentment comes from…my faith. It’s supreme confidence that God know what He’s doing whether I understand or not. It rests not on circumstances (which change daily), but on what the Bible says about who God is and the fact that I have personal access to Him. Faith allows me to trust God without sight, without experience, without understanding. Non-believers will think I’m crazy, ignorant, stupid, naive, blind to real life, etc, but I don’t really care what people think of my faith because I’m not trying to please anyone but God. All I care about is that HE is well pleased.

And even if I never in my lifetime see the fruition of my faith, I know it’s securing me a place in His kingdom and that’s what I really hope for. I can’t take anything I have on Earth to Heaven, not my possessions, not my family and friends, and not my children. And so, my purpose on Earth changes from what pleases me to what pleases God. If He needs me to parent children, He will send them to me. If He needs me to write a book, He will give me the words and desire and lead me in that direction. Whatever He needs me for, He will bring together the people and circumstances to make that happen. Contentment is letting Him lead the way and being willing for whatever He needs.

He didn’t give us a biological baby, but He gave us contentment. He gave us peace. He gave us joy. He gave us strength. He humbled us. He taught us what it means that He is sufficient for all our needs. He showed us our lives have great purpose for His kingdom. He prepared us for the amazing journey ahead. He brought us out of our misery and into exultation. And now He needs us to walk into the fog, holding His hand for guidance. There are so many unknowns, so many uncontrollables with adoption, but we know it’s God’s plan, He’s made it extremely clear, and so we move confidently forward.

For our family, IVF and Adoption have been night and day. I know IVF works for people, I’ve heard countless stories of its success, always praying my own story would one day add to the ranks. However that wasn’t our experience. Our IVF journey was utter darkness, a never-ending starless night. Shame, guilt, sorrow, anger, resignation, exhaustion, fear. No progress, no joy, cosmic silence.

Our adoption experience, even before finding our child, has been resplendent. Light, fresh air, a peaceful lake under the rising sun, GOD EVERYWHERE. Where IVF preyed on our insecurities, giving the enemy access to whisper his lies, adoption has felt like being cloaked in God’s armor, confident in His power and plan. It’s like our decision to adopt was the ultimate “Screw you, Satan,” the final vanquishing blow to the Screwtape’s scheme. Only by jumping off the IVF tracks and catching the train towards adoption did God bring acceptance, deep joy, and contentment.

Where IVF isolated us, adoption has brought us community. Where IVF fell squarely on our shoulders, countless others have joined our adoption story. We’ve shared with everyone we meet that we are adopting, even perfect strangers who ask whether we have kids. Everyone asks where we are in the process, what kind of child we are waiting for, how it all works. The excitement is palpable all around us. Some are watching to see how the process goes for us before they start their own adoption plans. We’re setting the stage for something big, I can feel it.

Where IVF turned people in the other direction, adoption brings them closer. Some have gotten us in touch with people they know who’ve adopted. Some have written letters of recommendation for us. We’ve had to ask for help from police officers, doctors and nurses, insurance providers, even our accountant. We’ve told them all we are adopting and everyone has gone above and beyond to help us. Adoption is fellowship.

Our IVF story feels a million miles away, part of our past that has no impact over the direction of our future. Most importantly, it’s part of our faith story, part of our testimony we will share with others to show them what God has done for us. Without infertility, without IVF, we wouldn’t be who we are today. We wouldn’t be walking this road towards adoption. We wouldn’t have the faith God could only grow through suffering. I hope someday I can look at our children and appreciate what it took to find them. I’ll remember that God created the day to follow the night, and whoever they are will be exactly who we’ve waited for all along.

1 Samuel 1:27, Genesis 1:5, 1 Thessalonians 5:5,8