What is the image you carry in your heart?
The expectation you unknowingly allow to take root?
Is it the newborn baby, fresh from the hospital, whose mother has made an adoption plan for her son or daughter's life?
Is it the chocolate Ugandan boy, walking the red dirt road?
Is it the young adolescent girl in China, chalking the days off until she knows she is on her own in the streets?
Or maybe the child with special needs, confined to a crib, in Eastern Europe because there seems to be no other space for him in this world?
I've seen each of these children enter my life through a precious friend or family who has walked the challenging path of adoption, and through each family I have discovered new dimensions of my Savior.
But, could we tear down the walls of our expectations?
Could we dare to dream even bigger?
It is God who calls, and God who appoints our journeys.
But what if when we spoke of adoption...
Some of us dreamed of a relationship beyond a name or legal document.
And our hearts began to stir at the thought of adopting a mother who has never been mothered.
Believing in a parent who has never known more than survival.
Walking with a young father who has never had someone to walk with him, to tell him he has what it takes to be a man.
What if our family wrapped around that family that has just been reunified, adopted them, became humbled by their courage and learned the lessons the Father has for us to discover through them...boldly approaching the throne of Grace with confidence for them.
Or could our hearts dare to picture that teen in our home who never wants to be adopted, but longs to know there is a place called home that her roots can finally sink deeply into.
Or commit to walk life with the 18-year-old emancipated from the system, with no place to go, no resources to use, and no compass to navigate life.
Is there room in our adoption dreams to include these faces within the streets of our cities?
No, they will never claim our name.
And, they require us to re-adjust life to include mess and flexibility, not on our terms or for our pride.
Their pictures may never be on our Christmas card.
But they are each begging for someone to hope in them for the first time.
They are listening for someone to say their story is not finished.
They are aching to hear the whisper of redemption.
Are we courageous enough to dream?
Looking Unto Jesus,