Heaven is a Thing

Troy turned one a few weeks ago.

Any baby's first birthday is something special. You're transported back to the day they were born, the day you finally got to meet the little person you'd been longing to hold for months, and who you now can't imagine life without. Family gathers to celebrate not only a year in a child's life, which is in itself cause to party, but really they are there to celebrate that this child exists. First birthdays are a big deal, and Troy's was no exception.

Maybe this is just me, or maybe this is another aspect of adoption that I'm figuring out as I go, but for me, those "birthday thoughts" of remembering where we were last year has naturally led to thoughts of how we got there at all. It goes back a lot farther than the typical memory of that first ultrasound or positive pregnancy test, or even the day you and your spouse decided to "start trying".

The decision to adopt is the decision to dive into uncharted territory, to knowingly and willingly bare your deepest hopes and fears and become vulnerable in ways that are still tender a year after your baby is safely home with you, and the decision to adopt a baby with special needs is all that and more.

My baby is the baby that people are terrified of. When people get the news that their baby has a "high risk" to be like mine, they lock themselves in the bathroom and sob. If the tests come back negative, they heave a huge sigh of relief and celebrate. If the tests come back positive, they (not always, but way too often) receive a sympathy hug and the number for the nearest Planned Parenthood, and are comforted with the words that "you can try again; there will be other babies"...because their baby is like mine. Mothers-to-be everywhere tenderly pat their rounded bellies and say that "they don't care if it's a boy or a girl, as long as it's a healthy baby".

Those words: "as long as it's a healthy baby" haunt me. I have seen things I cant un-see, and I know things I can't un-know. What sounds like the reasonable wish for a baby to be born happy and healthy has a dark flip-side, because sometimes the baby isn't healthy, and what then?

We honestly struggled with the decision to say yes to adopting a baby who we knew would have Down Syndrome, and the long list of things associated with that diagnoses that could go wrong. Many times I'd just be going about my business, folding the laundry or standing at the sink washing dishes, and suddenly the fear would creep in. What if we were making a terrible decision? What if adopting a baby with special needs leads to daily struggles that leave us broken? What about our bio kids? Were we risking their childhood?

Those fears were heavy. Those fears came very close to convincing us to say "no" when we were presented with the decision to say yes or no to a baby boy who had spots on his ultrasound indicating a possible heart defect, possible duodenal atresia, and possible hydrocephalus. When I think of how close we came to saying no, I feel a little sick, but also incredibly thankful that we were saved from making such a terrible mistake.

Looking back, I can see that God started laying the foundation to save us from making that mistake years ago, in many different ways that I am still realizing as I go. One such way was that He put us both in a church where we grew up hearing week after week from our beloved Pastor John that all the pleasure this world has to offer is nothing, it is worthless, it will all pass away, and the only hope is to put your hope in Jesus and the promise He gives us of an eternity with Him after everything on this earth is long gone. This man didn't just say these words, he lived them, and the distinction there was obvious. That is how I grew up hearing the gospel. He didn't just preach truth to be right; he preached truth to lead us to a hope in Christ. He did it with his whole heart, and by God's grace his words found purchase.

Every time the fear would creep in, I could say with confidence, "Heaven is a thing." It doesn't sound that deep, but it became my mantra. We could be headed for dark times. We could be voluntarily signing up for loss and heartbreak. This could all go down in flames, but HEAVEN IS A THING, and heaven is forever. We can risk rocking the boat of our cozy little existence on this earth when we compare how the value of that temporary comfort pales when compared to the solid hope we have in Jesus Christ and the promise of salvation we have in Him.

So we said yes. I can't say that the fear entirely went away, because that's just part of living in a fallen world, but I can say that having that solid hope in heaven as our forever home, no matter what lay ahead in this life, gave us the confidence to say yes.

Pastor John died years before we were even seriously talking about adoption. I miss him deeply, and I long to be able to run up to him and hold up my baby and say "See? See? I was listening!! I understand! This is my son, my beautiful, beautiful son, and God used you to bring him to me!"

It actually physically hurts sometimes, like a knife in my chest, that I can't do that. But do you know what? Someday, I will. Because heaven is a thing.