Carrying Stones

It's official. We're committed. Baby number four is on the way home, and he is waiting for us over in China. Yes, I said he. We were so sure the next one was a girl, but surprise--he's not!

Truth be told, we knew back in March that this was our baby. But our entire China adoption efforts have been an uphill battle, and the financial end of things just wasn't working out the way it needed to, and it was just too scary to commit to follow through on bringing this little guy home.

We waited for a miracle, or at least a sign. Some glimmer that the uphill battle would end, and the rest of the road to this little one would be an easy one.

The big ol' miracle we were waiting for never came. It had been almost three months since we first found out about him. I think we were maybe secretly hoping that another family would come forward and then we could be sad but relieved because obviously we were wrong and he wasn't meant for us, and then we could move on. But at three months we knew we needed to make a decision.

So we prayed and fasted and went to the temple. And we realized that this was our baby, pure and simple. That's it. No blinding flash of inspiration telling us how this was all going to work out financially or how to adjust our bedroom situation to add one boy in with three girls, or melting away our concerns about meeting the needs of FOUR very little children. Just that he's ours, so get cracking on the paperwork and get him home!

A few days ago I found a Chinese proverb that I think I will frame and put in every room of our house: "If you want to move mountains you've got to start carrying stones." (How appropriate that it's a CHINESE proverb, huh?).

As we've built our family we've seen mountains moved. We know the Lord's hand is involved in bringing these babies home--no doubt about it. We've seen little teeny pebbles move out of the way and big old mountain ranges stand aside. For almost a year now we've been struggling to carry stones, to do everything we could and exercise all our faith that the Lord would make up the difference. We've already seen so very many miracles. It seems that every small leap of faith we take is rewarded a hundred-fold.

For some reason I think I expected that we'd reach a point where our part was done and we could sit back and watch the Lord do the rest of the work. Hmm....that doesn't work too well when my girls decide they've done enough cleaning in the front room and Mommy can just finish up. On the other hand, I love my girls. I know they are only 3 and 2, and so I gladly, happily do much more for them that they cannot do for themselves yet--washing their clothes, preparing their meals, cleaning up after them, bathing them. And I keep reminding them that they CAN do it as I try to teach them, step by step, how to do what I do.

The paradox of two promises is at work here. Just as Mercie is learning to walk and I can't do it for her no matter how I may want to, Heavenly Father knows perhaps that we can do more than we think we can. He knows, but we must learn that we can do it, too. Yet just as I will always come running when Mercie reaches the end of her rope, when she takes one too many tumbles, and can't try again--well, there's a time to be carried. One of my favorite poets, Carol Lynn Pearson, expressed it this way:

Time for the Gulls

It's time, Father
For the gulls, I think.

My arms shake
From flailing my field.
I sink
Broken as the little stalks
Beneath their devouring burden.

I yield it all to you
Who alone can touch all things.
It's time, Father
For the gulls.

I will be still
And listen for their wings.

(Picture Window: Carol Lynn Pearson Collection, Gold Leaf Press, 1996).

So--we're having a boy! A miracle boy (in more ways than one) who is just meant to be part of our family.

We're praying for mountains to move, to get this little guy home. In the meantime, we're singing happy songs and carrying stones.