Revving and Relenting

The Lord is the portion of my inheritance and my cup; You support my lot. The measuring lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; Indeed, my inheritance is beautiful to me. I will bless the Lord who has advised me; Indeed, my mind instructs me in the night. I have set the Lord continually before me; Because He is at my right hand, I will not be shaken. (Psalm 16:5-8)

So many times I naively believe that once I get the engine revving, it’s all downhill from there. But turning the key in the engine is often, while crucial, only the easy part. On this race to adopting my girls, I didn’t even make it 24 hours before facing my first hurdle: my husband.  

Remember how I told you that Marc and I travel at different speeds? Well, there I was, flying down a one lane road, going 100 miles an hour, when all of a sudden I rounded a sharp corner and found myself staring at the bumper of my husband’s joy rider, traveling at an exceedingly slower and safer pace. While he had smiled brightly at the note I’d left him on the back door the day of my big revelation (I had written out a list entitled 10-reasons-why-we-need-to-adopt-Nadia-and-Nancy and taped it to the glass pane), which he hung on the refrigerator instead of tossing in the trash, he was far from being ready to sign any committal paperwork. Ugh.  

I could hear the Holy Spirit urging me to pump my breaks, but I didn’t listen. Instead, I decided to give my husband a gentle nudge. With my bumper. And, you know, this funny thing happened, when I began to push. He began to push back. The more determined I was to speed him up, the more determined he was to slow down.  

Friction. The great F word in marriage.

So there we sat, both of us spinning our tires, metaphorical dust clouding the air between us. It got ugly. And messy. And hard to communicate. And still I closed my ears to the Holy Spirit’s prompting.

See, on the one lane road of marriage, cars need to go single file.  And the Bible clearly states whose ride goes first – not because one person is more important than another, but because God is a God of order, and so He graciously outlined a plan for times such as these. And guess what? The one in the lead? It’s not me.  

Sometimes, I struggle to accept that.

I struggle like an inmate pounds and pounds and pounds on the bars of his cell, as if the cacophony of his protest will magically open the locked cell. But the only thing opening the inmate’s door is the key in the warden’s pocket. And in my case, the key to my husband’s heart was in the pocket of my almighty God, yet I kept using my voice to rattle my husband’s nerves.  

When things between my husband and I finally reached a boiling point, I realized that if I didn’t surrender these precious girls and their future to God, I was going to end up in solitary confinement. And Ukraine didn’t allow single parent adoptions.

So, reluctantly, I let them go.

And I did it again the next morning. And the next afternoon. And about fifty more times that first week.  

Like Abraham on the mountain with his son Isaac (Genesis 22), I reminded God of His promise and then opened my hands in submission. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But once I was done wasting my days trying to control the uncontrollable, I found myself with much more time on my hands – time to love my husband, to love my boys, to help my friends raise money for their adoption, and to spend precious moments with God in prayer. 

And my husband? Well, it just so happened that without all my racket, he could actually hear the voice of the Holy Spirit himself…and four months later, I got a Mother’s Day card signed by four beautiful children, two in absentia. It was my husband’s sweet way of telling me that he was finally up to speed, ready to lead me up the adoption mountain.

We pressed the “commit” button on the computer together after praying and submitting our journey to the Lord, and the rest, as they say, is history.  

You know, I watch my girls demonstrate this trust filled, godly submission everyday. 

They live in bodies that some would consider prisons: legs that wobble under the weight of their slender frames, hands and fingers that fumble and bumble when gripping utensils like spoons and crayons, eyes that won’t agree on where to focus, and mouths that are connected to a brain that knows exactly what to say but can’t figure out how to say it. 

God allowed them to be made this way.

And they willingly and even joyfully acknowledge that God is, in fact, their Creator. 

But instead of fussing or complaining at God for allowing their limitations, instead of crying out in anger or wallowing in depression over life altering circumstances that are out of their control, they accept their station with gracious humility and thrive in the place he has put them. In their pain, they have learned to become expert comforters. In their rejection, they have learned the warm, welcoming art of acceptance. In their physical struggles, they have mastered the dance of encouragement and praise for the small accomplishments of others – things most people overlook and ignore. Because to them, it’s all a big deal.  

This acceptance? This artful way of loving? This abandonment of self and adoration of others?

It could not be possible without their submission to God, their acceptance of His hard but good plan for them. Some would say it’s because they don’t know any better, but I say it’s because they know best. They understand and accept far more easily than me that God is good. God does love them. God is in control. No matter what.  

Friend, I pray today, whatever prison you find yourself in, whatever roadblock is in your way, that you choose to accept it. You choose to submit to the Holy Maker’s plan. And you learn to rejoice in the place He has put you, traveling at the pace that He has ordained. Stop waiting to have joy and learn to find it right where you are. You might just find that this is actually right where you need to be.

In case you missed it, here’s Becky’s last post Mind Maps and Diluted Desires.

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