The First Yes

When I said yes, I didn't think it would be like this. I didn't know what to except...but I certainly didn't expect for my heart to be turned upside down so quickly. I didn't expect to make big decisions from the beginning and I certainly didn't expect that I would have to be decide to say yes repeatedly. It's never been more apparent to me that saying yes is entirely different than taking action on a yes. I knew what yes meant, but I didn't really know. 

A simple yes can hold so much weight that it's scary. And with a simple yes big decisions are made. I am beginning to feel the winds of change stir in and all around me...and I can either choose to try and hold on tightly and keep myself fixated where I'm at...or I can let the wind carry me wherever it pleases.

See, I liked where I was. I felt comfortable in that spot. It was an easy spot. A spot that was clear...so it really should not be a surprise to me that the wind picked up.

It shouldn't surprise me that in that spot I had the most clarity--in that spot I said yes certainly. Because in that spot--the calm before the storm...or perhaps, the calm after a storm--you can see a little bit of the bigger picture...and you can say yes, and mean yes with assurance. Because when the wind picks up things get cloudy...and sometimes reflecting on that spot where yes was certainty is the only thing that keeps you moving forward...amongst doubt, confusion, fear--that first yes was the start and that was right...so this is right...and you trust in that first yes, even when it doesn't make sense.


We first said yes to adoption in February. There was once a tug on our hearts to adopt a long time ago, and we felt that tug again at the beginning of the year. I will never forget the clarity Andy and I both had that moment we looked at each other...and almost as if we were sharing the news of a baby conceived...we knew with certainty what we were suppose to do.

So we said yes.

Yes to the unknown, yes to a journey we had no clue where it would take us. Yes to a journey which would take intricate detail. Yes to a journey which could lead to a dead end.

And, yes to a journey which could lead to a legacy.

But with a yes you need action...or its empty. And I struggled with being stuck at that start. Desiring to prepare for the journey ahead but knowing I didn't know how. Trying to chart a course but not knowing the coordinates. Sometimes preparation is necessary--but sometimes spontaneity is required. Sometimes the necessary thing isn't planning...but instead, just going. Trusting and stepping forward. It's my nature to be organized and plan...I like order, I like to know what's going to happen or have a good idea what to expect...so I really shouldn't be surprised that this journey is a journey that requires me to let go of all of that. That I can't move forward without letting go of what's holding me back.

So I said yes, again, I will keep saying yes until the door is shut or the finish is crossed.

And this, right here, is saying yes. Sharing. Because I realized that part of my silence was the tight grasp I had on my nature of preparation and that sharing meant for me to let go. And so I trust. Now. I step. I share.

It's funny. We mailed off our application today to officially start the process and here I am able to finally write these words. I had a post I started a week ago...and another one a couple weeks before that, all are left unfinished. Writers block. Abandoned with confusion and loss.

Yet, today I said yes again. I acted. I moved forward...and I wrote.

Funny how that works.

A Big Deal

"I can't do it!!!" 

A phrase I'm sure you've heard if you have kids. Even if you don't have kids and have babysat once or twice...you've probably heard it too.

It's a whining phrase I hear a lot from my daughter, and if I'm honest I've somehow managed to become insensitive to it. It's has become more taxing to my ears and a source of annoyance rather than an opportunity to understand, teach and show love to my child.

My daughter wants to do the monkey bars on our playground outside...SO badly, but she gets frustrated instantly when she can't do it. She is a smart and determined little girl, but she pretty much thinks things should just come easily and instantly because she wants it.

Sound familiar?

She has been practicing and practicing and gets so excited when she makes it across with little help--but when she comes crashing down it is the end of the world. Well, to her.

It is quite the emotional reaction...let me tell you. You would definitely think the world was ending if you witnessed it.

I have a difficult time having patience with such drama. The intense emotional overreaction. It's because I've put a block up every time that phrase comes up: "I can't do it!!!" See, it's plain to me because I see the big picture--that she has to keep doing it over and over again to build muscle, get the coordination and gain confidence. I know she CAN do it...she just has to stop fussing about it and keep trying. But to her--when she falls, she believes she won't ever be able to. Making it across alone seems entirely unattainable--and that's all she sees.

This is just the monkey bars. To me it's simple, but to her this isn't just some silly little play structure--it's something she desires, yearns for, it's a big mountain for her to climb in her little life. It's not just the monkey bars to her, it's a big deal. 

As I was trying to help my daughter conquer the monkey bars and she fell and let out a gigantic whine...again. I wanted to heave a huge sigh and scold her for her intense reaction. Sometimes hearing those noises that escape from a frustrated child can grate on your nerves...and they were definitely grating mine. But thankfully in that instant God convicted me of my heart.

I saw myself in her reaction. I've been there...I've done that...maybe not about monkey bars, but about other mountains I've had to climb in my life. See, monkey bars are a big deal to a five year old who only knows a small part of life. I only know a small part of life too--when I really think about it, so my mountains--even if they really aren't that big, are a big deal to me too. So when my daughter burst out irrationally because she was consumed with the feeling of failure and frustration--I recognized myself. How many times have I thrown an adult-temper-tantrum because I couldn't do something? How many times have I whined because I couldn't have something I wanted? How many times have I believe life just isn't fair as I've watched other people swing from wrung to wrung and I can't make it past the first one? How many times have I blamed everyone else for not helping me when I am not even helping myself?

In that instant I saw how God is towards me...and how I should be towards my child and her irrationality. Thankfully the dreadful parent-sigh didn't escaped my lips and the desire to let it out vanished, instead I was filled with understanding for my daughter's outcry and had compassion for how intensely she felt. I bent down and gathered her in my arms and let her cry.

"It's hard, isn't it, honey?"

She nodded with another cry and sank into my arms.

"It's so frustrating to slip when you're trying so hard..."

She nodded again--her whining stopping.

I looked her in the eye. "You CAN do it, honey. Sometimes you will fall and that's okay. That's part of learning how to do it."

She looked at me with wide-eyes and sniffled away her tears. I understood her and believed in her, and she knew that, and that's all she needed. It's amazing how a heart can feel so greatly with such little words.

The thing is...my daughter knows how to do the monkey bars. She physically can do it. She has the strength, the coordination...I barely have to touch her to in order for her to make it across to the other side. But my sweet, cautious, girl doesn't quite have the confidence to do it alone. That is still a characteristic that is being built as she practices and falls, over and over again. She doesn't understand that's what's happening--that she is being refined to be more confident in her ability...she just knows she wants to be able to do it. But I understand, I can see the big picture. And as her mother I can choose to empower her, treat her intense feelings with respect, and lovingly guide her steps as she struggles to climb this mountain in her life.

Or I can stand there and sigh because I'm overwhelmed with my own feelings, and scold her for her for her reaction--which isn't only opening up the door for shame to invade her heart but to crush it, and destroy the confidence that she is working so hard to achieve.

Whether she knows that is what's going on or not.

So maybe it is just the monkey bars, but it IS a big deal. It's a big mountain.