A month ago today, we boarded the plane that would take us on the last leg of our journey from Uganda to Tulsa.
Zion and I were tired but so, so excited to be almost home.
And in my arms was a daughter. Our Selah.
There is so much of her story still to tell. So much still to process.
Last June, Nate and I weren’t sure if we would ever adopt from Uganda. We were looking at waiting kids in every country we could think of and researching special needs. A year later, we have a five year old son and a one year old daughter. We are making school decisions and doing our first night time feedings. We are tending to two broken hearts and uncovering the ugliness in our own.
We have tried to live like the promises of God are true. We believe that they are. The path of faith has lead us here- to this longed for son and this dearest of daughters.
Selah’s adoption was very different from Zion’s. His took over three years. About five months in to the process the second time around, Selah was in our arms.
We gained two children in less than seven months. That’s fast by any standards. We are still finding our way, trying to listen for the voice of God, to press in towards loving His people, and to apply the truths we know in this new place He has for us.
The Gospel has been sweeter than ever before. And, oh, how we love our daughter.
In just a month she has started to walk and learned to snap, give high fives, and blow kisses. She has stolen her Daddy’s heart and made us all laugh a thousand times. She loves music, jewelry, getting dressed, playing with balls, laughing with Zion, doing somersaults with Daddy, and singing “God Makes Messy Things Beautiful.” She knows the answer to the first catechism question, and she can say all of our names.
There will be many more things to say as we try to record Selah’s story, reflect on adoption and families, and remember the things God is doing in our hearts. For now though, I just wanted to acknowledge this milestone.
There were many moments in her short adoption when it seemed like we might never bring home a daughter. As I write, she is sleeping in my bed next to her brother.
And if she cries, I will pick her up, and I will hold her, and I will whisper truth to her again.
You are not alone. Mommy is here. I’m not leaving you. You’re staying with me.
And the Gospel triumphs again and again in the face of brokenness, as my heart learns to love and the fatherless are gathered in to families.
I will never leave You or forsake You, He says. And we learn how to walk through adoption in our family as we live life together in His.