Beauty Woven Into Brokenness

Yesterday I did something scary...pretty much one of the most terrifying things that I have ever done. Buy me a ticket to jump out of a plane and I'll do it tomorrow.  Ask me to bungee jump off of a bridge...no big deal.  Spill my soul to you all online even when it's raw and messy...done.  Tell my story of infertility and hope to my entire church congregation, not just once, but twice in one day?  Um, well...what if I simply forgot to exit the freeway and drove to San Francisco instead?  Yet I didn't do that, even though I wanted to keep driving.  Yesterday was the first Sunday in advent, a day to celebrate the hope that we have because of the birth of Christ and I was asked to share my story of hope.  So, I stood...and I cried...and my hands shook with such force during the first service that my husband had to hold my paper.  Somehow, I made it through and here is what I said.

For the majority of my life I have proclaimed that God was capable of the miraculous…but it was only recently that I came to believe that He was capable of the miraculous in me.  See, I had allowed myself to believe the lie that miracles were intended for everyone…just not me.   Believing that lie sent me to a place filled with fear that I had never intended to go, a place far removed from the awe and hope in any circumstance that God can impress on our hearts when we give Him our lives. 
God has a purpose for every moment that we spend on this earth…no matter how short or how long.  When I meet Him face to face I won’t greet Him with anger at how he messed up my life…I will fall down at His feet in worship and adoration.  Eternity is just a breath away and I want to meet Him with scrapes and bruises knowing that I did everything that I could to glorify Him.  I read something on Ann Voskamp’s blog the other day that perfectly communicated what I wanted to say today.  “Life is a furnace and the faithful live by the Shadrach-prayer of only 4 words: “Even if He doesn’t.”  This world doesn’t have anything that can burn down the faith of a heart on fire for God.”   The God of the universe sent His son to redeem mankind…therefore there is no miracle that He can’t perform in us when we truly surrender our lives to Him.  There is always hope…and the fact that God sustains our hope even after our heart has been bruised and battered is a miracle.

*The Giving Keys necklace pictured above was given to me by a dear friend at a time when I needed courage and I wore it yesterday.  If you have a friend who is hurting because her future doesn't look the way that she had hoped, consider encouraging her with one.  They carry important messages and provide jobs for the homeless in Los Angeles.  I don't make any money off of this...I just really love the company mission and message.  www.thegivingkeys.com 

If I close my eyes I can still see it clearly...a cozy kitchen with light filtering in through the windows...two dogs, one large and one small and fluffy...a cozy couch...my grandfather's chair...a freshly constructed nail painting station...these are the images that I remember.  My sister claims that I remember more about my early childhood than most people, and perhaps that is true.  Yet, what I remember seems to be more snapshots and feelings than anything else, but these moments and these feelings shape everything for me. 

I love to paint my nails...it is a time of calm filled with the possibly brought by a new shade and a new look, and I distinctly remember where that love originated.  Trips to Grandma and Grandpa Gorman's house meant that I would be pampered to the fullest.  Breakfast brought orange juice and hot chocolate, days were spent playing with their dogs and sitting with my grandfather in his comfy chair, and nights brought manicures with more shades of pink than a little girl could dare to dream of before being tucked into bed by my grandmother.  We would talk about Jesus and I would fall asleep with her prayers still on my ears.  I was loved.  I was safe.  I had beautiful nails.  

My grandmother became a widow earlier than she would have ever dreamed and it was at my grandfather's memorial that I learned about the true power of redemption. I had experienced a dream the night before the memorial that was more than a dream...it was an impression in my soul and I knew that my grandfather was in heaven and it was okay.  Somewhere in between the snapshots of brightly colored life savers from my uncle, listening to George Michael's "Father Figure," in the car, and borrowing my cousin's emerald ring to go with my bright blue dress, I told my grandmother about my dream.   She explained to me that love could heal anyone and that the love that surpasses understanding was the reason that I had that dream.  My grandfather was with his Savior.  I was too little to understand at the time, but I knew that this was big.  This was love in its fullness.  Love overcomes everything.  
Over the next several years, my grandmother spent some time living with us, and living close to us before she left California, and one message always rang true.  This place is not our home and we need to be ready for that.  Heaven was too big and complex and far away for me to fully grasp this concept at the time, but she knew that this was a message that needed to be told.  We spent time visiting friends of hers who just needed company, and helped out neighbors with tasks around their homes.  There are snapshots of watering plants, delivering meals, and house sitting in order to care for dogs.  As I grew older and fell madly in love with my Savior, I suddenly felt the magnitude of this message.  We were created to love, and to serve, and to do so no matter what position we find ourselves in, and no matter how hard the future may be.  Heaven is coming too fast and I want to meet my Savior with scars and scratches because I gave everything for Him.  This was what my grandmother wanted me to comprehend.  Heaven is right around the corner and we need to love with every resource available to us.  

I cherish each snapshot of the memories that we shared...shopping to find the perfect outfit when she visited my husband and me in Napa, seeing her dancing the night away at my wedding, cards sent when I was in college and didn't think that the loneliness would ever go away, her prayers for the little boy that we hope will one day find his way into our family from Ethiopia...her life was not easy, but she never stopped loving and she never stopped praying.  

As an adult, I realized that the orange juice was really pineapple orange, and the hot chocolate was really coffee mocha...but my grandmother loved with whatever resources she had.  There was something about those painted nails that made me feel ready to change the world.  May I walk through the rest of my life here on earth in that spirit...always giving...always reaching out.  May I do a better job loving the widow, and the orphan, and the poor, and the oppressed...because heaven is just a breath away.  

I'm not sure when or how roses became connected with the celebration of the women who have been blessed with children...but each year...without fail...they are everywhere.  Restaurants hand them out to women who are being rewarded for the 364 days of homemade meals with a champagne brunch.  Churches give them to children to deliver to their mothers as they sit in pews on this Sunday holiday. Several years ago I was handed a rose and a glass of bubbly as I shopped in Napa Style prior to a reservation at Botega.  I felt like such a fraud as I was already a couple of years into our quest to become parents...but boy did I need that glass of bubbly with all of the families surrounding me on that afternoon in Yountville.

And then, I stopped attending church on Mother's Day.  It was just too much and I didn't trust myself to sit there without bitterness and resentment towards all of the mothers who were surrounded by homemade Sunday school pictures and those STUPID ROSES.  So precious with their intent...yet even without thorns, the pain in my heart from the absence of my own rose was more than I could handle.  It felt as though I was invisible, forgotten,  and not worthy of that same blessing.

But you know what?  A miracle has happened.

Most of the time we only hear about the visible miracles...the things that astound us and increase our faith.  The child who was born deaf and can now hear, the adult with chronic pain that has disappeared, the family who was about to lose their home and wins the lottery, the barren woman who is now pregnant.  But what about the invisible miracles?

How do I tell the world that I have been healed?  How do I communicate that I feel more alive than ever before?  If there was a baby growing in my belly then the world with instantly be cognizant of the miracle...or if we were to step off of a plane with our little boy in our arms, it would be unmistakable.  Part of the miracle that has occurred within me over the last year is that finally, for the first time, I am okay with whatever future has been predestined for me.  I still hope and pray that it will include a family...but I'm okay if it doesn't.

What if my barrenness is the hunger that I needed to fight to make sure that other families around the world stay together instead of being ripped apart because of poverty and illness? What if my barrenness helps me to support and encourage other women who are facing the same pain?  What if my barrenness keeps me focused on my Savior as the only source of hope for all of my time here on earth?  All of these things are nothing short of miracles...

I won't stop fighting to complete our adoption...but I will trust in my Savior if He blesses us with a family and I will trust in my Savior if He blesses us as a family of two for our time here on earth.

This year...I will be at church on Mother's Day.  This year...the roses will remind me of the miracle that has occurred within me.  

As of today, we have been waiting 1 year...8 months...3 weeks...and 3 days to be matched with a child.  We officially started our paperwork 2 years...7 months...3 weeks...and 5 days ago.  So.very.long!

What does this have to do with free wine?  Read on...

My heart has been longing to do something to make a difference during this wait.  However, my toungue has been full of my usual excuses.   I have sat around and wallowed in my misery rather than step out in faith and try one small thing that could change the world.  This past summer Jen Hatmaker and several other Christian authors whom I greatly admire, traveled to Rwanda with the Noonday Collection.  Check our her blog about this titled, "Women Hold Up Half the Sky." Noonday is a company that sells jewelry and accessories created by artisans from around the world.  They are a member of the Fair Trade Federation.  It was started by a mother who wanted to raise money to adopt a child from Rwanda and it has grown into a company that uses trunk shows hosted by Noonday ambassadors around the United States.  The ambassadors are women who desire to provide a pathway out of poverty for the vulnerable.  I have been to, hosted, and purchased from a trunk show and I have seen the heart that the ambassadors and this company have for the vulnerable around the globe.

As I read through the stories of that team who traveled to Rwanda and have thought about the amazing example of Katie Davis and Amazima Ministries and what she was able to do for women in Uganda by teaching them how to make paper bead necklaces, I felt that tugging on my heart.  Karen, go and be part of that story.  But, I am super socially awkward and I would be too scared to actually book parties.  Karen, go and be part of that story.  I don't really have time, even though I watch more television than any English teacher should.  Karen, go and be part of that story.  I am really tired of sitting at home feeling useless.  Karen, go and be part of that story.  I am going to stir your heart to something else and this will be one of the ways that I provide.  

And then God did what He always does when we step out in faith...He made me bold.  This stirring in my heart was also occurring in my husband...no, he is not going to quit the wine industry and sell jewelry... and it is going to affect our adoption as well.

We aren't ready to share all of the details yet...you can guess, but we won't tell...hehe...but we have reason to believe that the end of our wait will be sooner than the projected timeline of another 5-7 years.  We have to make some changes to our dossier...this is the only hint that I am going to give you, but I promise that we will share more info soon!  The changes requires some update fees and paperwork.  Once we receive our referral...we don't know exactly how long this will be, but we hope sooner than later...we need to be ready with the following fairly quickly.  It will cost $8,000 upon referral...then about $5,000 for our 1st Trip...and another $6,000 for trip #2 to bring our child home.  Here is a more specific breakdown if you are interested. We have already paid all of the fees through dossier submission.   Ethiopia AWAA Fees

We are going to apply for every grant that we possibly can once our home study update is complete and put aside every penny that we possibly can...but we will also need a little help.  First, please pray for us as we make some big decisions as we update our home study.  Secondly, since we are going to need another $20,000 to bring our child home, we need people to partner with us financially.  We are so grateful for those of you who supported us both financially and through prayer during our paper chase and dossier submission.  We were able to raise $5,000 and save $9,000 to pay the dossier submission fee almost two years ago even though when we started that seemed like an impossible amount.  We have faith that God will once again provide the funds that we need and we can't wait to be amazed at His provision.  So...here is where that stirring in my heart comes in...

I have decided to partner with the Noonday Collection, not only because my heart longs to help alleviate poverty with entrepreneurship, but also to earn the money that we need to update our home study and then prepare for a referral and travel.  Noonday Collection's mission is to create economic opportunity for the vulnerable.  They partner with artisans in the developing world, empowering them to grow sustainable businesses.  By creating a marketplace for their goods, Noonday creates dignified jobs at living wages.  This allows artisans to earn more to support their families.

So then, what can you do?  Would you be willing to invite over some of your friends (I'll bring the wine) and host a Noonday Trunk Show?  When you host a trunk show you can earn free accessories, create opportunity for the vulnerable, and help bring our child home from Ethiopia as all profits that I make from my trunk shows will go directly towards our adoption costs.  With the holidays right around the corner, this is a great opportunity to shop with purpose for family, friends, teachers, etc.

Here are the steps:

1. Let me know that you want to host and we can set a date.  We can also do an online show if you do not live in California.  I am willing to travel to central and southern California if the dates work.

2. Choose your guests and invite them via email, Facebook, or any other method that you prefer.

3. I will bring the accessories and displays...and the wine...yes, here is where the free wine comes in...and all you have to do is provide some snacks.

4. We will enjoy a relaxed atmosphere filled with the stories of the Noonday Artisans, and we will try on the accessories!

If you want to check out the products, go to www.karensmith.noondaycollection.com.   If you don't want to host a show, please consider ordering online through my link.  But...shows are really fun...and come on people...free wine!!

I don't want to be this person...you know, the person who chooses to talk about the one cloud in the brilliantly blue and clear sky.  The person who always has a reason to discount the miracle of the silver lining.  I don't want to be this person.  But words hurt...

I am sure that the lengths to which I have made people feel as though they need to tip-toe around my heart is exhausting.  You see...I keep expecting deliverance.  A complete and total end to the pain that I am feeling.  So, when a nurse innocently remarks that they see that I have been struggling with infertility and that they are sure that I will get pregnant eventually or an acquaintance remarks how lucky I am that I don't have to stay up all night with a crying baby, I am shocked when it hurts.  I believe in the grace which I have been freely given, but I want it on my terms.  I want delivering grace and not sustaining grace.

I stumbled upon this blog several months back and it expresses the game of tug-of-war in my soul that seems to be never ending.

When God Does the Miracle We Didn't Ask For- Click on this link and savor.every.word.  It describes my broken and battered heart perfectly and it flows with truth.

"With every heartache I wanted a Red Sea miracle. A miracle that would astonish the world, reward me for my faithfulness, make my life glorious. I didn’t want manna... At first, I rejected it as insufficient. I wanted deliverance. Not sustenance. I wanted the pain to stop, not to be held up through the pain. I was just like the children of Israel who rejoiced at God’s delivering grace in the parting of the Red Sea, but complained bitterly at his sustaining grace in the provision of manna." -Vaneetha Rendall

 I see it, I feel the weight of it, and I have been fighting against it.  I'm sorry that I have become the person that can't seem to let unintentionally hurtful words and situations go...but I'm trying.  Please be patient...and call me on my crap...yes, I just said crap.

"But God knew better. Each day he continued to put manna before me. At first, I grumbled. It seemed like second best. It wasn’t the feast I envisioned. It was bland and monotonous. But after a while, I began to taste the manna, embrace it, and savor its sweetness. This manna, this sustaining grace, is what upheld me. It revived me when I was weak. It drove me to my knees. And unlike delivering grace, which once received, inadvertently moved me to greater independence from God, sustaining grace kept me tethered to him. I needed it every day. Like manna, it was new every morning." -Vaneetha Rendall

The woman who wrote this blog has experienced greater loss than mine, and greater pain than mine.  And yet, somehow, God has revealed to her the beauty of His manna.  She is limping toward the sustaining grace that keeps her close to her Savior.  

I want to be "that" person and I pray that, that is the miracle that He accomplishes in me, even when it isn't the miracle that I ask for...

Yesterday, I completed my first 5K...but before I get to that story, I need to deal with the ghosts of another race...a race that I didn't run.

Last fall, Michael signed us both up for a Color Run.  Although I have been running off and on for the past 3 years, I had yet to participate in a 5K.  Whenever I got close to feeling ready, I allowed something to get in the way of my weekly runs and my endurance suffered. The fear of not being able to run the entire race overshadowed the progress that I had made.  This was my chance to finally follow through on my goal and finish a race and it was something that my hubby and I were going to do together...and then, Michael got hurt...

A few days before the run, Michael suffered an injury on his foot which made it impossible for him to run as it was healing.  Knowing that he was not going to be by my side left me frozen in fear at the thought of running alone...still, I decided that I was going to step out of my comfort zone and do it anyway. 

The morning of the race I awoke with a positive attitude.  When we arrived at the race site, Michael had to drop me off and go and grab some money to pay for parking.  While I waited, fear crept in.  I watched the other families arriving with envy.  I snapped photos for families from our church and then watched as they walked toward the starting line together.  There was no one there for me to take pictures with...and not only was I alone, but there was no reason for me to believe that I would ever be able to run a race like this with a family of my own.  All that I could see around me was evidence of the family that I so desperately wanted, but that for reasons not yet revealed is not in God's plan for us at this time.  When Michael finally arrived moments before the race was to start, I begged him to take me home as quickly as possible.  Once in the car I finally gave in to the tears that had been forming.  This might have been the race that God had given me to run, but it was not the race that I had planned for myself and I wanted no part of it. 

Hours later, Facebook was filled with reminders of my failure as families celebrated their run...
I had failed to run the race...
I had failed to become pregnant...
I had failed to successfully complete an adoption...
I had failed to give Michael a family...
I had failed to make our parents, grandparents and our siblings an aunt and an uncle...

So...literally and metaphorically...I stopped running altogether...

A couple of months ago as I reached what felt like my lowest low, I penned this blog...Surrender Part I.   I knew at that point that I could either give in to the depression and despair and allow it to swallow me whole or I could slowly allow God to pick up the pieces that were shattered and slowly begin the work of allowing Him to put them back together.  In the midst of all of this pain, he pointed me toward the following words and my surrender was the beginning of my literal and metaphorical race to reclaim the joy and hope that had been there all along.

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.” Hebrews 12:1

I started slowly about 5 weeks ago, almost playfully running through small run/walk intervals.  And then due to a series of silly posts on Facebook about how running was starting to creep into my dreams, we ended up registering for a 5K in Napa.  Almost as soon as we did, I was filled with fervor, and a little panic, about training so that I would be ready to run this race.  As I literally began to run again, my soul started to follow.  There is something restorative about becoming lost in one's own thoughts while running.  When I would become plagued by a side cramp and wanted to throw in the towel for good, I would keep going one prayerful step at a time.  When a coyote would greet me (yes this happened) and cause me to want to stick to the safety of a treadmill for the remainder of my days, I would keep going one prayerful step at a time.  When the intervals increased and the road seemed too long, I would keep going one prayerful step at a time.  The literal journey was restoring my heart.  This time spent meditating on the truths and love of MY Savior was restoring my soul.  

As soon as a started running yesterday, I was plagued with side cramps.  Each step seemed to take an eternity.  The wind was strong and felt as though it was determined to blow all of us over before we reached the finish line.  Then suddenly, I thought that I could see the finish line approaching.   I increased my speed and rejoiced that I had made it without walking a single step...but then, the course turned AWAY from the finish.  I could no longer make out how far until the race would come to an end and there were no miles markers to give me some sense of how many miles remained.  "Okay, Karen...what are you going to do even though you can't see the finish line?  Will you stop, or will you keep running even when you don't know how far or how long or what the course is going to look like? Will you run, even though it hurts and trust that I am going to get you to the end?"  This dialogue with my Savior carried me through to the finish line.  I knew that I couldn't stop on this literal run because I can no longer keep stopping the race that has been planned for me just because this isn't the race that I would plan for myself.  

Finally, I turned around a corner and the finish line was in sight.  There was only one more lap around the track remaining.  As I entered to track, two of my friends were there to cheer me on and they ran with me a short distance.  Then, around the next bend there were two more friends waving and cheering.  Finally, I crossed the finish line and as I struggled to regain a normal breathing pattern there was this sense that my life would no longer be normal and that everything was going to be okay because if it.  My first 5K might be over, but I have just barely started to run and somehow I am starting to embrace the fact that I can't see the finish line.  I'm still scared, but I'm going to keep running because I am no longer content to watch the race from the sidelines.