“All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.” – Helen Keller

Right now, typing this, I am feeling so small. For quite awhile, I have been mulling over and thinking on the idea of writing a blog about my experiences with the calling(s) I feel on my life and right now I’m going through a season of “if not now, then when?” SO…here we are! I’m planning on covering several topics including teaching, fostering/adopting, and parenting within the realm of both, but I want to start with a story that is near to my heart and brings me to tears nearly every time I take time to process it. Most of you know, Ben and I recently adopted our son, Abel. I shared a very brief version of his story on the day of his adoption, but the full tapestry Jesus has woven is too overwhelming to keep to myself.

From February 2018 to June 2018 Ben and I worked on becoming licensed to foster. This had been on our hearts since long before we were married, but we always assumed it would be a calling we would pursue much later into our marriage. Despite our intentions, we clearly felt God tugging on our hearts to begin the journey and to begin it now. Once we moved out of our apartment and into a home, we were all out of excuses to offer up. It was time to act.

After spending several months fulfilling licensing requirements such as training classes, background checks, and a home study, we found ourselves fully licensed, fully excited, and fully panicked. Our phones were turned up to the loudest volume setting and we carried them with us everywhere, knowing that the next call we received could change our lives. (That’s a lot of pressure, by the way. Never have so many telemarketers been greeted with such excitement and anticipation.) Because we received our license in the summer, school was out and I had nearly nothing to occupy my time with. As the saying goes, a watched pot never boils and similarly, a stared-at phone never rings. After a couple of weeks of NOTHING, our nerves were frazzled. We could think of nothing else.

Finally, FINALLY, my phone rang. Ben and I were sitting in a movie theater (because, of course, if you want your phone to ring, do something in which your phone ringing would be an inconvenience) and I annoyed everyone there by immediately answering. We were given minimal details about a child who needed a placement and without hesitation, we agreed. We dreamed. We planned. We called our parents. Then my case manager texted me to let me know that the placement had fallen through. We felt crushed.

Fast forward to a few weeks later. Ben and I are pulling into the Wal-Mart parking lot. Another call for a placement. Another acceptance on our part. More dreams. More plans. More calls to parents. $100 spent in Wal-Mart on things we would need. Another text letting us know that the placement had fallen through.

A week later. Another Wal-Mart trip. Another call for placement. More money and dreams and plans and calls to parents. And…ANOTHER text that this dream was not ours. Y’all, after that much money and dreaming and planning and disappointment, you start to doubt that you heard God correctly. At this point, I was totally certain that this was all some heavenly episode of Prank’d and that we had collected boxes of diapers and clothes for no other reason than to take up space in our closet. I felt angry and cheated and abandoned. My husband, forever the more level-headed piece to our partnership, told me he wanted to call his mom and ask her to pray. I was totally content to throw my hissy fit and let it be, but I agreed anyway.

When she picked up, Ben poured out our collective heart to her. He shared our frustration and anger and fear. She listened. She considered. She told us she needed to pray and would call us back. We waited. We sat in our car. Ben hung his head. I cried. We grieved what we believed was our chance to foster. The phone rang. Ben answered. “Hope,” she said. “I prayed for you and God gave me the word hope. I don’t know what it means, but that’s what He told me. Maybe you’ll get a little girl! Maybe her name will be Hope.” We thanked her, not very encouraged, but too tired to do much else. Essentially, we all but gave up.

A few days later, I was sitting in our living room, not doing much of anything, when my phone rang again. My caseworker told me of a boy, two and a half, who needed a home. Not a foster home. An adoptive home. A forever home. Of course, I agreed. She told me that our names would go into a pool of families who were also interested in adopting him. My heart sank a little, knowing that the likelihood of being chosen was low. I called Ben and let him know and we prayed a little prayer together that this little boy could come and become a part of our family. Within a day (world-record speed for CPS) we got another call. A life-changing call. A call that WE HAD BEEN CHOSEN. And then…I heard his name. “Congratulations, guys!” our case manager said, “I”ll call you again later so we can schedule a time for us to drop Hopian off.” Instantly, I began to cry, as I remembered the word spoken over us. Hope. Suddenly, all my doubts and fears and fits made my cheeks burn red. I understood and am still humbled by the fact that I know NOTHING of the plan God has for me.

From the day we met Hopian, we fell in love. God paved the way for him to join our family in such a holy, sacred way. We made the choice to change our son’s name to Abel because, as God does so many times in the Bible, we wanted to give him an opportunity at a new identity. Simon became Peter. Jacob became Israel. Abram became Abraham. And our little Hopian became Abel Shepherd Bacon. We will honor his past and be totally transparent with him about how his story began, because that is a piece of his history that is valuable. We will also rejoice with him in his future and support him as he walks through life, inevitably viewing things through different lenses than we have viewed it ourselves. I pray every day that God will give me the grace to parent Abel in the way that no other mother could; that He will make me exactly the mother that our son needs.

There are so many elements of Abel’s story that I could go into detail about. I’m sure I could write a book of all the ways in which I have seen God’s hand on our lives through this process. Instead of doing that here, I’m choosing to close this story with a letter I wrote to Abel a few weeks before his adoption was finalized. Someday, he’ll be old enough to read it and process it himself. Until then, I pray that my testimony to him as his mother will translate to him what words cannot.

Abel Bacon,



From the moment we knew you were coming into our lives, Daddy and I have prayed for you. Since long before then, actually, but even more so once we could put a name and a face to this child we had so desperately hoped for. We prayed that you would be healthy. We prayed that you would flourish and grow and feel loved and welcomed in our home. We prayed that, by God’s grace, this wild system that we call foster care would bring you justice. More than all of the other prayers that we prayed, we prayed, through tears and baited breath and sleepless nights, that you would become a member of our family forever. We prayed that you would become a Bacon. In the 6 months you have been with us, we have seen God confirm for us in ways unimaginable that you are where He created you to be. With us. And now, in our hearts AND on paper, you are OURS. Our son forever.

In John 14:18, God makes us a promise. He says, “I will not leave you as orphans. I will come to you.” I have seen the truth of this promise in my own life, and now, above all other prayers, this is my prayer for you, Abel. Your time in the world without physical parents is over. You have a mommy and a daddy who love you with a love that is unconditional. But our love could never compare to the love of the One who created you. I spent so many months praying that you would be welcomed into our family, leaving behind the pain of orphanhood. Now, baby boy, I will spend the rest of my life praying and believing that you will be welcomed into the family of Christ. My hope for you, surpassing all other hopes, is that you would come to know the love of Jesus in your life in a real way and that you would surrender you heart and your life in service to Him. My ultimate job as your mother is to point you to Jesus and that is the vow I make to you now.

I cannot promise you that I will have all the answers. I cannot promise you that the way I parent you will make you happy all of the time. I cannot promise you that you will have all that you want. But Abel, I promise you that I will pray for you every single day of your life. I promise you that I will love Jesus first, Daddy second, and I will be a better mother to you because of that. I promise that nothing you could ever do will make me stop loving you. I promise that when you are with Daddy and I, until it is time for you to have a family of your own, that you will be home, as much as you can be on this side of Heaven. And lastly, I promise you that every day of my life, I will point you to the One who knit us together as a family, so that on the other side of Heaven, I will see you there, too.



Abel Shepherd Bacon, I am so blessed to be your mama. I love you with my whole heart. Forever and ever.



Love,

Mama



1/29/19



