Surprise! Here’s a Cookie

“And they were bringing children to Him so that He would touch them; but the disciples rebuked them. But when Jesus saw this, He was indignant and said to them, “Allow the children to come to Me; do not forbid them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.” (Mark 10:13-14)

I spent a solid week writing and rewriting and re-rewriting the big announcement adoption post: Surprise, World, We’re Adopting Two Girls With Fetal Alcohol Syndrome From A Distant and Unstable Country at War With Russia and There’s No Guarantee and It’s a Lot of Money but Don’t Worry because It’s All Good and God Will Take Care of Us!  Actually, the title was: Six is Greater than Four, a nod to my former math camp days.  

Yes. I went to math camp. But before I could post this oh-so-worked-over-post on social media, my husband and I needed to tell two very important people about this decision: our boys, Will and Michael. How do you tell a six year old and a four year old that you are about to blow the top off of their perfectly comfortable, action figure loving, ninja fighting life?  

With cookies. That was Marc’s idea, anyways. I think Operation Revelation went something like this: Every time we mention the words “adoption” and/or “sisters,” we’re going to give the boys a cookie. That way they’ll always equate the idea with something pleasing and good. And if they become so accustomed to the idea, when it actually happens, they won’t be traumatized, and hopefully we will avoid an astronomical therapy bill when the boys are in their early twenties. But maybe we should start saving up for insulin.  

And so, one Saturday, we sat them down and showed them a video of children suffering in an orphanage, tied up and drugged up and shut up in a dirty, dingy facility. We told them about how God didn’t want us to sit by and do nothing. And then we sent them on a fun and crazy pirate-themed scavenger hunt, which I am sure felt a bit odd after just watching the depressing orphan video. At the end of the scavenger hunt they found a treasure box with cookies and an important announcement. Will read it out loud in between bites of Oreo. “Surprise!  You’re getting sisters!” 

That giant sentence was followed by a small pause, during which parents stared intently and somewhat fearfully at boys who were munching on cream-filled, chocolate flavored wafers. Then we heard, “Cool! Can we go outside and ride bikes now?”  

And with that, the boys were off. Marc and I were not quite sure how to react to their reaction. We had expected…I don’t know. More. We had braced ourselves for tears, or questions, or worries about not being the only children or about not having enough money or about not wanting to share their toys or their space or their parents.  

But the boys were good. Seriously good. They had heard our reasoning, and were in total agreement with us: that God didn’t want us to sit by and do nothing. They were absolutely on board with opening their home and their hearts to two little girls they had never met. And the details? They weren’t concerned. They trusted their parents, and they trusted God. Details were above their pay grade. And that was just fine.  

As the months of waiting wore on, the boys grew nothing but warmer to the idea of having Leily and Lilly in our home. They pooled their money and purchased Christmas gifts for their sisters, even though the girls weren’t home yet: little baby dolls with pink and purple outfits and baby bottles. They happily hung the “Sister” ornaments on our Christmas tree and talked about how they couldn’t wait until next Christmas, when the girls would be here and could do it themselves. And Will spent hours drawing pictures of Star Wars scenes and ocean opulence to sell at his school’s Christmas craft fair. He signed each one “Will the Artist” and went with me to the Dollar Tree to pick out frames. 

So much for the plan. Don’t get me wrong; the boys totally enjoyed the cookies. And they may have even taken advantage of our strategy once they caught on to the fact that bringing up their someday siblings meant sugar filled satisfaction. But I think Operation Revelation was actually unnecessary.  

These were children, after all. And the ability of children to embrace change and maintain rock solid faith in the face of the unknown is apparently unprecedented. They hadn’t become adults yet, adverse to all uncertainty, fearful and hesitant whenever God’s potential plans aren’t easily financed and attained. They hadn’t become hardened realists who are consumed with bottom lines and budgets and the guilt of feeling called to jump but unable to leap because of self-imposed burdens and barriers.  

Wow. I spent my childhood wanting to be an adult, and now I find that my main spiritual goal as an adult is to be more like my children. Funny, isn’t it?  

I find my issue to be that of focus. The older I get, the more I hone in on my problems and the less I laser my lenses in on the Sultan of Solutions. I allow all of the details to become distractions that keep my eyes from the long view and allow fear to rear its ugly head, making me doubt God’s call and His incredible promise of provision. So I take a detour. Or I abandon God’s path altogether, taking a safer and less dangerous path of my own making. But you know what’s wrong with my path? It’s less satisfying. Less sanctifying. And eventually it will lead me on a journey that serves only my own selfish desire for comfort and safety.  

That’s not what God wants. And, in the end, it’s not what I want either. But in order to follow in the footsteps of the Almighty, I must learn to trust Him with the details, just like our boys trusted us. I must accept that details are above my pay grade. I must learn to take delight in the sweet, succulent presence of my Savior, found only when I choose to take the difficult path of obedience instead of the comfortable path of ease. That’s where miracles happen, where faith is fed, and where God’s glory lights up the sky brighter than fireworks on the fourth of July.  

How about you, friend? Are you standing at a crossroad? Is God asking you to choose between comfortable and crazy? Is He calling you to lay down predictability in exchange for His purpose? If so, I urge you to refocus your gaze not on what could happen along the way, but on what God promises for you at the end. Take the leap, my friend. And then treat yourself to a cookie. 

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