Breaking the Silence

There has been a deafening silence here on the blog since bringing Rose home.  It has been an unexpected silence.  An uncomfortable silence.  I have struggled with exactly what to say and how to say it.  Though there are so many thoughts and words and stories swirling around in my mind, I have been silenced by an inability to capture them all in a coherent, shareable way.  I have been silenced by a paralyzing fear of saying something wrong, or not saying everything in the right way.  A fear of not being able to package things in a lovely “blog worthy” manner.  A fear of not presenting Rose, and her adoption, and her transformation in some beautifully packaged narrative, like so many other adoptive families have presented theirs.  

I can’t tell you how many adoption journeys I have followed over the years, or how many “Gotcha Day” videos I have watched, in preparation and anticipation of our own journey with Rose.  They have shown both the beauty and the raw anguish of children becoming orphans no more.  They have served as guideposts, helping us to navigate the crazy road of international adoption (and in many cases that has meant providing very practical tips on how to manage the actual adoption, and the travel part of everything).  They have provided glimpses into what those first days and weeks might be like.  They have inspired, and spoken truth, and revealed God's heart for the orphan.  They have served amazing purposes. But in reading all those stories, and watching all of those videos, a sense of obligation grew within me.  A self-imposed pressure to record as much of our story as possible--in writing, photographs, and videos—and share it in some sort of beautifully packaged blog or YouTube video.  Just like so many other adoptive families have shared theirs, with such purpose and bringing such glory to God.

  

But here’s the thing.  That’s simply not the story that I am supposed to be writing here.  It's not the story that God is writing here.  That’s not His purpose for Rose’s life.  That’s not the kind of testimony He is asking me to give.  He is not asking me to share a beautiful adoption story, or create a moving adoption video.  And believe me, if He were, Rose’s story would be so very easy to share, because it is chalk full of sweet, precious, rainbows and sunshine, amazingly joyful tidbits!  Seriously.  I’m not exaggerating or sugar coating a single bit when I say that.  This girl has just blown our socks off.  Every single day we pinch ourselves making sure this is really real.  Where is the hard?  Where is the scary?  Where are all the struggles we had prepared ourselves for?  They simply aren’t here.  It still seems too good to be true.  And in some ways, that is exactly where this story begins.  

According to the Gospel of John 9:1-3, Jesus saw a man who had been blind since birth. His disciples asked Him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" "Neither this man nor his parents sinned," said Jesus, "but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him."

God is asking me to testify of His goodness.  To focus not on Rose's adoption journey, nor our family’s experience.  He is asking me to testify—to bear witness—of His power, His sovereignty, His truth, and His glory.  The difference is subtle, and yet glaring at the same time.  It would be like the authors of the Gospels writing about their own personal experiences of what Jesus said and did;  as opposed to only writing, recording, and testifying of what Jesus said and did.  The first would have been them writing their own stories, still containing the truth of God, serving a greater purpose, and bringing great glory to Him.  But the second was them writing His story.  It is in that breath that God has shown me the error of my ways.  This is not our story, it is His story.  


And God's purposes for Rose’s life are not to show the world what the love of a family can do for a child once orphaned. His purposes are to show the world what His love can do. To show the world, or anyone who has eyes to see and ears to hear, this glimpse of His nature. God’s goodness far exceeds any human notion of what it could be. It is not "too good to be true". It is good because it is true.


And it dispels any and all lies that our enemy tries to whisper into our hearts.

Here are some of the first words ever spoken to us about Rose: 

“She has significant delays, and appears to be more on the level of low functioning compared to other children with Down Syndrome her age.”  

“Rose has significant delays that could improve some with therapies, but it should be assumed that she will require intensive, life-long care.  Many children thrive and ‘catch up’ in a family setting with therapies and supports, but Rose will not be one of those children.”  

“Not many families are interested in little girls like Rose.”

Though God had already given us His love for Rose—an immediate, unshakeable love—the attempts to dissuade and deceive us began just as quickly.  Those words rang loud and clear in our ears as we wrestled our way through the adoption process.  She will not thrive.  She will not catch up.  She is on the level of low functioning, even compared to other children with Down Syndrome.  Not many families are interested in little girls like Rose.  She will not thrive.  We began questioning, doubting the truth that God had so undeniably spoken into our hearts.  The truth of His love.  The truth of who Rose is in Him.  Updates would come, with more pictures and videos of Rose, showing how empty she looked.  How she rejected the touch of her caretakers.  How she ignored the sounds of their voices, and showed no desire to relate whatsoever.  Fear crept in.  Can we really love and parent and care for a child like this?  The lies are so insidious.  God hadn’t given us our love for Rose—He had given us His love for Rose.  His perfect, unfailing, unwavering love.  This wouldn’t be a story of how we love her, or how we care for her.  It is to be a story of how He loves her, and how He cares for her every need. 

Here are some of the words that have been spoken of Rose since coming home five months ago (by doctors and therapists):

“She is one smart girl!  She’s no ‘vegetable.’” 

“God has great things planned for this girl.” 

“She is developmentally on the level of a 6-9 month-old, but don’t let that discourage you.  She is going to catch up to her peers very quickly.  Give her six months to a year and she will be right on track.” 

“Every week we have to keep setting new goals for her, and re-writing her treatment plan, because she is meeting all of her goals so quickly.”  

“Look at how she is thriving.”

"She is extremely people-motivated.” (Meaning, she is far more motivated to do things when it leads to interacting with another person, as opposed to being motivated to get a toy or food or something along those lines. She most definitely desires to relate to other people!)

God has undeniably dispelled every single lie that was spoken over Rose, and every single doubt placed in our minds.  He has revealed His awesome power, through the rapid, transformative work He is doing in her life.  We cannot take credit for how smart she is, nor all the markers she has of being very high functioning.  We can’t take credit for the sudden desire to relate to other people that has grown inside of her.  We can’t take credit for the incredible transformation that has taken place within her spirit.  Those things are not the result of an orphan coming into the love of a family.  Those are the evidence of a Power far greater than human love.  That is God saying, “Fix your eyes on Me, the Author and Perfecter of faith.”  That is the story that God is writing here.  

Yes, adoption stories are perhaps some of the greatest reflections and demonstrations of God’s love that we can get. They mirror our own adoption as sons and daughters of God. They reflect the grace and mercy that God extended when He saved us while we were yet sinners. They reflect our own struggles to trust and receive love, and our transformations as we grow in the love and salvation of Jesus Christ. Adoption stories are powerful. They are beautiful. They are reflections of God Himself. But this isn’t an adoption story.

This is a story of God revealing Himself, and asking us to simply bear witness to what we have seen. The work that He is doing in Rose's life is not a reflection. It is the real, authentic, handiwork of God. It is Him displaying His glory.

So I sit here now, extending my apologies for the silence.  The words would not come because I was trying to write the wrong story.

And also, because sometimes a picture is worth a thousand words…

The silly, goofy, crinkled smile of a little girl once scared of her own laughter.

The tight hug from a little girl who used to shun human touch.

The many faces of a little girl who used to have little more than a blank stare.  (Photographing Rose is like taking a time-lapse photographic video, her facial expressions change SO quickly!)

The JOY!

Catching up to her peers with more "age-appropriate" play.

Discovering these things called legs that God gave her.  

(With the help of her wonderful physial therapist).

These are the works of God on display, and all I can do is tell of what I have seen.  They are more beautiful and magnificent than I ever could have imagined.  While the rest of our life is filled with the hard, the scary, the struggle, Rose is a constant display of God's goodness.  What a story He is writing.

With much love, 

Ashley