Even writing that title has caused me to pause in momentary disbelief.
I want to tell you a story. Our story. Your story.
I want you to know how desperately you were wanted and prayed for, so that when you get so low in this life that you can’t imagine going on - you will fight a little harder knowing that you were never a mistake or a screw up. In fact, even before you were born you were loved beyond measure.
Thirteen years ago when we started our family we were given two boys and an angel baby. They have been incredible gifts that we cherish, but deep down I always knew that we would have a “Shepherd girl”. I thought you’d join us from the foster care system. We certified to prepare for your arrival. But all we ever did was wait.
In that long season I stopped feeling sorry for myself. I stopped thinking I knew what was best or planning exactly how you would join us. We were gifted almost a decade in youth ministry where I soaked up every nurturing mother-daughter connection in the most genuine of ways. I even wrote about my “500 Daughters” because truly I cared for them as my own. I still care for them. Every single one. There’s even a small handful I claim as my own and would give my last name to make it official.
But they all had mothers. Their own mothers. Homes they would go to for holidays, and ours… still felt empty.
We fostered two little girls… for a day.
Then more silence.
We started praying more intentionally as a family for our one day little girl. The one we knew would fill “sissy’s room” that had been set up for you since the beginning.
And a few years later we were placed with another little girl. This time, for a month.
That too ended in reunification. On the same day as my brother’s second death anniversary no less. It was a dark time.
Your brothers started praying more specifically. They prayed that you would be kept safe through whatever you were going through. That you would feel loved. That you would come home. To our home.
And then we got pregnant.
That is a whole other story of dangling at death’s doorstep. I felt like I couldn’t breathe for months. Like I would miss your life before it even started. But then I remembered the basket that was brought the day I started getting sick (before we knew we were pregnant, a few days before we were told we were miscarrying) that was full of baby clothes and love notes from a friend.
That basket was like a beacon calling out in the quiet of night as I felt my body trying to reject what I knew God was giving us.
Then there were those prayers. The ones your brothers prayed every night for 2 years. The ones that got really specific about your safety and coming home. They just kept praying and I realized all along that each prayer was meant for you. Before we ever knew why we would need them, or that we would need them, they were being spoken into the atmosphere.
And then there was the due date. The one that comes up on the screen each time we would get an ultrasound (which is a lot of times when you are having complications). The one that could have been a trigger for pain and confusion and doubt… but instead was a way for God to remind me that He was in control. That He still is.
May 26th. That is when you’ll be ready. Give or take a week or two of course.
May 26th.
The day my brother died.
The day our foster daughter left us.
This year that date would mean something different to me and to our family.
It wouldn’t only signify loss or broken dreams. It would tell of the day that God did a miracle by bringing us through not just to the other side, but to a whole and healthy completion of something we have longed for. Something we have prayed desperately for.
You.
And while the journey to get here may have been dark and hard, I would do it all over again to know you. I feel like I have been waiting my whole life for this. To meet you face to face.
So spread your wings big, baby girl. Do whatever it is that God sets before you, with your whole heart. You have your own cheering squad behind you that will still claim you when you fall on your face. We won’t care how muddy you get.
Life is messy. And most days the road is hard.
And when you feel at your lowest I pray you remember the story of how God brought you to us. May it forever remind you that every day you are one day closer to victory. Every day you are one day closer to your answered prayers. Every day you leave one more heartache behind and are one day closer to immeasurable joy.
One day closer.
Keep going.
Psalm 139:13-18 “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. How precious to me are your thoughts, God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand— when I awake, I am still with you.”