As I write my story, I become overwhelmed, and my thoughts scatter like blistered water drops on a hot skillet. I try to reel them in, but they skitter to and fro, until finally they "poof" away into nether regions. And so I try gain to bring some order into my thoughts, into what the Lord compels me to write - to breathe life into my writings and to give them a will to go on. I am reminded of the movie "You've Got Mail" where Tom Hanks paces and paces, looking at, yet trying to avoid his computer - knowing he must yield sooner to later to accomplish what needed to be done. And so I pace. You have caught me, today, in the middle of pacing. My thoughts are on adoption. Some specific adoptions. The knee-jerk surprise of learning that I seemed unable to perfect the poor parenting I received, but would in fact fall far short. These are hideously painful memories, which the Lord makes me bring to Him, so that He might heal me. Were it not for the Lord in my life, I would never be in this place, right now. And looking back, I can see where He has been there; I can see where He has sent his angels to keep guard over me.

I can also see where I have been determined and persistent to plow ahead through the drifts of garbage... holding my breath, keeping my eyes closed and hanging on for dear life. God has been to patient with me, I see that now. I have ridden long and hard on His permissive love. But the time comes when one must move from the permission into the perfect love, and that requires willingness and obedience. These days when thoughts can be like Tinkerbell dust, coming and going, sparkling and flitting... my mind reaches out to take hold of them, but they are gone. Will they ever return? It makes no difference. God requires me to show up and be willing, and to allow myself to be led.

 Why write this now? Because for me to be able to move forward, it seems I must learn to exhale when it comes to adoption. As an adopted girl, experiencing so much heartache, you would think that last thing I would be was a failure when it came to adopting. You would think. But no, I was in fact brought to such a breaking point over adoptions that I am surprised how lovingly the Lord brought me to a place of healing.  This morning I am thinking of this, and so this is where I am led, to put it out there.  When I was 28 years old, my husband and I I adopted two sisters (Cathy and Cheryl). I gave them back to California after four months. Heartbroken and totally adrift, I ran as fast as I could back up to Oregon. You will read all about this later. Today I am remembering how God was so gracious, even when I didn't know it, to use me to bring the perfect home to these beautiful girls. The second adoption was never completed. Here, briefly, is that story, which I first posted to my Facebook page "Dancing In The Rain". Her name is Emily Faye...

Several years ago we were set to adopt a little baby girl(as yet unborn).  We named her Emily Faye. Sadly, we received a call one day, and the father of thee unborn girl forbid the mother to have the baby and adopt her out... he told her to have a abortion or he would leave her. To emphasize his sincerity, he beat the woman up. She had the abortion. I held her after as she cried her heart out; she said she never wanted to see me again - she couldn't bear the pain and shame. All we had left of our little girl was an imagination memory of what she would have looked like. A lively little girl with bouncing red curls and blue eyes.

I think about Cathy, Cheryl and Emily so many days; they are never far from my heart and my thoughts. I believe Emily is waiting in heaven for us. She would be 29 years old, if she had lived. Cathy and Cheryl will be in their 40's now, and hopefully living rich and wonderful lives. Like Emily, I hope to see them someday in the Kingdom. It brings a smile when I think of them, because Cathy and Cheryl would have looked like my husband, with dark hair and blue eyes. Emily would be like my Welsh family side, red hair and blue eyes. Funny, isn't it, how mothers look for the family traits, and although these girls are no longer mine, I can still dream. Can't I?

1 Thessalonians 2:7 "..but we were gentle among you, like a mother caring for her little children."