Memorial Box Monday: She's the one

Memorial Box Monday started at "A Place Called Simplicity." A friend of mine introduced me to it last week, and I love it! love it! love it!!! Memorial Box Monday provides an opportunity to remember all the good things God has done. Huge, gigantic things and little things that might seem insignificant. God's word is clear: "Cast every care on Me, for I care for you." (1 Peter 5:7).


I first felt the pull to adopt in October, 2003. Our church was holding a women's conference and at some point during the day, this thought just popped in my head. We need to add a little one to our family. A girl. A Chinese girl. It left me feeling -- well -- crazy! I argued with my thoughts... telling this rogue all the reasons why we DON'T need to add a little one to our family.


We had several friends who'd been to China to bring their daughters home. We'd even lent our luggage to the cause, both happy to let the suitcases go and confident we never would. Our parenting "philosophy" had always been divide and conquer! We never intended to be outnumbered. We never wanted an odd number of kids... someone always gets left out. We had reached such a nice, peaceful place.


The thought stayed with me. I reasoned the thought away for months. "It's a midlife crisis." "It's the hormones talking." "You just feel this way because the boys are more self-sufficient and you want to be needed again." No matter what, though, the idea grew and grew.


I vividly remember watching an NFL playoff game with my husband. He sat on the couch. I snuggled in a blanket, curled up in our burgundy recliner next to him. My head screamed, "Tell him. Tell him. Tell him." As the football game continued, the internal dialogue grew quite loud. "This is a midlife crisis. I will NOT tell him." I didn't say a word.


A week later, in church I finally could take it no more. Our pastor had preached a sermon about reaching out to the needy and less fortunate. He was talking about world missions -- and shared the starfish story. The voice in my head was screaming. I shut my eyes tight. As he spoke of starfish, I saw row upon row of sweet Chinese faces, lined up in cribs, looking up with soulful eyes. It was so clear, I could ignore it no longer.


The congregation stood to sing the response song. I tugged on my husband's sleeve and said, "We have to talk."


"Now?" he asked, clearly perplexed.


"Yes, now. And you're not allowed to laugh at me!"


We sat right then, the congregation singing all around us. I told him bluntly we needed to adopt a baby from China. 


Stunned (I've never asked what he thought I would say, but I know it wasn't this), he laughed and he cried. I cried -- relief, I think, that I finally got it out. People around us had no idea what was going on, but offered words of encouragement. One sweet man said, "Whatever is going on, God will help you get through it. Your marriage can survive." I guess we made a scene. 


Rob did not say yes... yet. (Obviously, he eventually did... and we stepped out on an amazing faith journey... but that's a different story.)


Fast forward one year. We received THE call from our caseworker -- adoptive parents know the anticipation. All the paperwork, the interviews, the checks written, the money scrimped. It all comes down to this one day... the day we receive our referral. In China, the referrals come from the Chinese government. We have the option to accept or reject the child they match us to. Some of my adoptive friends have shared that they anguish over the decision whether to accept the child "matched." They wonder if they would ever know. We never considered that. We KNEW that our daughter would be whoever came in that referral.


The papers came. Instantly, I was in the car, headed to my husband's office. I wanted him to meet her at the same time I did. We opened the envelope and pulled out her picture. Instant love. After crying over that picture, swallowed up in her big, wondering eyes and wishing we could kiss those sweet cheeks, we read the brief report that accompanied it. Qiu Li Xien, our Ellie, lived in an orphanage. In.An.Orphanage. Just like the vision I'd had in church. In China, a significant number of orphans come from foster care, raised with families until they are adopted. Not so many come from the orphanage (at least not back then).


The next thing I noticed was her birth date. Ellie was born in June of 2004. You know what? That's nine months after October 2003. When my little girl was first being knitted together in her birth mother's womb, God was knitting her together in my heart -- no matter how much I resisted.


Dearest Ellie, I pray you will never doubt God's plan for you. I pray you will always know that He wanted us to be your parents. But if you ever doubt, I hope knowing this -- the dates that so perfectly line up, the vision He gave me that matched your situation, and more than anything, the love we have for you -- will help you get past those doubts and rejoice in the life you have. We love you!


So, into my Memorial Box goes this picture, reminding me of God's plan!

Sweet girls, lined up in rows... just like God showed me.