catching up

Yes, it has been much too long.

We have moved to our new home, and are enjoying the extra space it provides. The kids love the pool too. We are truly blessed.


We celebrated K's birthday with a surprise party. I was just pleased that we managed to pull it off, three days after moving in. Very fun.


The kids finished up their last day at their old school yesterday, and start at their new school next Wednesday. As I picked them up yesterday, I was blessed to see how loved they are by their teachers. There were plenty of hugs to go around, and their teachers looked so sad to see them go.

We have just a few more weeks before we get to meet Lucy. Excited. Daunted. And everything in between.

praise party

"a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance" Ecclesiastes 3:4

It has been a somber couple of days. We just came back from the wake of a member of our church family a little while ago. He was such a kind, generous person, so quick to remind us that God is a God of beauty. I will miss him.

As much as I know that he is with Jesus now and that we will see him again, it was still heartbreaking to see our friend's mother mourn. I will not quickly forget the words she said to me when I hugged her. She spoke words from a heart freshly broken. And I mourned with her.

I knew I needed a lift yesterday evening, so with the kids home, I turned the TV off, turned up some kids worship on the iPod, and instructed them to pull out their playsilks. They were, thankfully, game for a praise party. As the praise songs played, I watched all three of them dance, leap and bounce without inhibition. I listened to Joshua trying to keep up with the words of some worship songs. I took mental notes as they told me which praise songs they liked better. The kids had a great time, but it was more than just a great time for me. They reminded me to hope, to hope because we have Jesus Christ.

mommy time

Every time he has a couple of minutes alone with me, J says, "I have some mommy time, right, Mom?"

It's a great reminder to me to be intentional about my time with him, especially when the younger kids make louder and more insistent demands on me than he does.

So amidst the craziness of managing three kids this weekend, I sneaked out with J yesterday afternoon while the younger two were napping. I had to run a mundane errand for the new house anyway, and thought that I might as well redeem the time by having J along.

We were walking hand in hand at one point, no noisy cars to block out my voice so I reminded him of how special he is, how wonderful God made him, and how much I love him even though I may be busy amd occupied with the younger two.

I was glad for it, that mini-date with my son.

lucy

Now the LORD God had formed out of the ground all the beasts of the field and all the birds of the air. He brought them to the man to see what he would name them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that was its name. So the man gave names to all the livestock, the birds of the air and all the beasts of the field.
Genesis 2:19-20

There is something powerful and life-affirming in giving a name.

In one of the blogs that I read religiously, the writer tells of being in an orphanage in India. She sees a tiny newborn baby and asks the nun what the baby's name is. She is then told the baby doesn't have a name. The Lord takes some of them so quickly that they aren't given names.

There is something heartbreaking about that.

When this all started, I wrote that I couldn't see God's light in the midst of everything that was happening. I wrote that I knew in my head that it was there, but I couldn't see it, I couldn't feel it. It was too dark.

I wrote those words straight from my heart.

In the days since then, I have walked down paths I never thought I would. The worst part was having to contemplate the idea of possibly burying a child.

In the days since then, I have had to examine my faith, what I believe in. I have found that I cannot do this - do life - on my own strength. I simply am not strong enough.

In the days since then, I have come out on the other side. We have gotten the miracle that we asked for, the same miracle that we were afraid to believe in.

We are not out of the woods yet. I think that every expectant mother never feels completely safe about her pregnancy until the baby is born and in her arms. And even then...

But at least there is this for now: there is light.

If it had been a boy, his name would have been Luke, which means bringer of light.

Because it's a girl, her name will be Lucy, which means light.

To always remind us of how God showed us His light, when we thought we could see nothing at all.

Sunday

Gratitude
-Nichole Nordeman

Send some rain, would You send some rain?
Cause the earth is dry and needs to drink again
And the sun is high and we are sinking in the shade
Would You send a cloud, thunder long and loud?
Let the sky grow black and send some mercy down
Surely You can see that we are thirsty and afraid
But maybe not, not today
Maybe You'll provide in other ways
And if that's the case...

We'll give thanks to you
With gratitude
For lessons learned in how to thirst for You
How to bless the very sun that warms our face
If You never send us rain

Daily bread, give us daily bread
Bless our bodies, keep our children fed
Fill our cups, then fill them up again tonight
Wrap us up and warm us through
Tucked away beneath our sturdy roofs
Let us slumber safe from danger's view this time
Or maybe not, not today
Maybe You'll provide in other ways
And if that's the case...

We'll give thanks to You
With gratitude
A lesson learned to hunger after You
That a starry sky offers a better view if no roof is overhead
And if we never taste that bread

Oh, the differences that often are between
Everything we want and what we really need

So grant us peace, Jesus, grant us peace
Move our hearts to hear a single beat
Between alibis and enemies tonight
Or maybe not, not today
Peace might be another world away
And if that's the case...

We'll give thanks to You
With gratitude
For lessons learned in how to trust in You
That we are blessed beyond what we could ever dream
In abundance or in need
And if You never grant us peace

But Jesus, would you please...

miracle

K and I were talking about miracles a few days ago. At one point he asked me outright if I believed in them, in miracles.

I thought about it a moment, and said, "Not as much as I should".

Now, I have no trouble believing in the miracles in the Bible. I believe Jesus turned water into wine. I believe by just touching Jesus' cloak, a woman could stop bleeding after twelve years. I believe a little girl, thought to be dead, could awaken when Jesus called out to her.

But what is it about miracles to me, for me that I find hard to believe?

Maybe it's because in all my years of school, I've been taught to prize logic and rationality. Maybe it's because in the only job I've had, I had to produce logical, rationally thought out analytical papers as a matter of course.

Is that a poor excuse?

The call finally came from my doctor's clinic yesterday morning.

The baby is normal. No Downs, no Edwards.

I called Keith and our parents straightaway. But then I didn't tell anyone else.

A part of me, the doubting part of me, was unsure. After all, we had been handed an almost certain dire prognosis a little more than a month ago. Could it really be? Could God really have worked a miracle for me, for my child?

I confess I called the clinic up again in the afternoon. Yes, I felt a little silly, but I wanted to hear the words again. The nurse must have thought I was wasting her time. But she told me what I needed to hear again anyway. I hung up the phone, just thankful that she hadn't made a mistake.

I am relieved, grateful, thankful, filled with awe. For the family and friends who have prayed for us and over us. For the people who waited as anxiously as we did for the test results.

Most of all, I am thankful and grateful to our God, who worked a miracle for us.

Ask me again if I believe in miracles.

Oh, and it's a she.

the quickening

I first felt the baby move a couple of weeks ago, around week 15, the earliest of all my pregnancies. Still too small to make a big obvious push, but I've felt some movement off and on since then - a little nudge, a small whoosh, a bit of a patter. So small that sometimes I wondered if it really was the baby, or whether it was just my own digestion going.

I am pretty sure about today's movement though. It's the strongest one I've felt so far. Emma used to move in the same way. The best way I can describe it is, it's as if the baby put an arm or a leg up against the wall of my womb and pushed and slid that limb in one direction.

It's always been my favourite part of being pregnant, feeling the baby move inside. Josh used to have regular hiccups - it always amused me to see my tummy do a little jerk, and with a regular rhythm! Later in my pregnancy with her, Emma used to push a little foot so far out that she'd create a lump big enough for me to tickle.

I am just thankful for now that I feel any movement at all.

***
In the past month, I have felt disappointed with God, even angry with Him, in a way that I have never felt before. Even as I write this now, I feel a little scared to acknowledge these feelings. Am I being irreverent, not giving God the awe that I know He is due? A few days into us first hearing the news about this child, a close friend reminded me that it was okay to feel anger and disappointment. God is big enough to handle it, she said. God knows how we feel anyway.

Then those fierce initial emotions subsided a little, and I started to feel a peace that I still cannot explain. Looking back on the past few weeks now, I can also say that I was extremely humbled to be shown love by our friends and family, here and across the world, who cared enough to write to us, be still with us, and pray for us. It is how we felt the arms of Jesus around us, bearing us up.

The quickening that I feel in me, that movement, has come to symbolise in a way my relationship with God in the past month. I started out wondering where God was in all of this, not understanding why things were happening the way they were. A month on, I am here. Certain of this.

I love Him.

No longer on cruise control. I feel a real, deep love for Him, even with all that has happened. Maybe because of all that has happened.

Because faced with the alternative, I have come to realise that I cannot do this, cannot walk through these days, without God. I cannot walk without hope.

I love Him. It was His love for us that kept Him on that cross.

Of course I still want this child to be healthy. I want God to bring a miracle to light, to defy the odds that have been handed to us. We still ask for this every day.

But more important for now, I love Him. Even before we know the outcome of the amniocentesis.

redemption

Almost a month ago, I received the phone call that turned life upside down for me. After telling me the screening results, the nurse told me that she was scheduling me for an amniocentesis in April. I would have to wait about a month for it to be safe enough to proceed on this test. I really was in no position to do any questioning at the time; I wasn't even sure that I would be taking the amniocentesis. So I let it be. I let her schedule it. Because it was the path of least resistance.

After that conversation, we did some research and talked to some friends. It turned out that there's another test that can be done earlier, called CVS - it basically involves taking a sample from the placenta instead of the amniotic fluid. K wondered if we should ask about this test instead, get the waiting and wondering over and done with.

I didn't want to take it. Maybe I was afraid to get the results. I wanted to wait.

***
Last week, I suddenly realised that it would be Easter this weekend. I had known it was coming, but it only just sank in exactly when.

We've told the kids the Easter story in past years. It always gets a bit hard around the part where Jesus dies. Josh gets distressed, and we have to work hard to stress that the story doesn't end there. Three days later, Jesus rises again. Sometimes the distress over the hard part of the story drowns out the good parts.

The amniocentesis is scheduled for two days after Easter.

Two days after we celebrate God's redemption and His restoration.

That means the world to me now.

Because it reminds me that whatever the test results are, that God will redeem it. God will restore.

Whatever the result.

listening to the Voice of Truth

We must have heard this song a hundred times over the past year. It played on the radio a lot when we were in Claremont. Nice song, catchy tune, catchy chorus.

I heard it again in the car yesterday. I was driving the kids to meet K for dinner. Maybe it was because I had just put up yesterday's post - but the words in the song sounded different this time. They sounded like words that I would have said.

There's a line in the song that reads "I stop and listen to the sound of Jesus singing over me."

I cannot always hear it, that singing. There are moments in my day when I don't hear it, and if I allow myself the chance, I can almost forget that it's there. If I allow it, it gets drowned out by all the other voices that are so easy to give in to.

But it is there. I know that. I believe that.

And I choose that too.

Voice of Truth - Casting Crowns

Oh, what I would do to have
the kind of faith it takes
To climb out of this boat I'm in
Onto the crashing waves
To step out of my comfort zone
Into the realm of the unknown
Where Jesus is,
And he's holding out his hand

But the waves are calling out my name
and they laugh at me
Reminding me of all the times
I've tried before and failed
The waves they keep on telling me
time and time again
"Boy, you'll never win,
you'll never win."

But the voice of truth tells me a different story
the voice of truth says "do not be afraid!"
and the voice of truth says "this is for my glory"
Out of all the voices calling out to me
I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth

Oh, what I would do
to have the kind of strength it takes
To stand before a giant
with just a sling and a stone
Surrounded by the sound
of a thousand warriors
shaking in their armor
Wishing they'd have had the strength to stand

But the giant's calling out
my name and he laughs at me
Reminding me of all the times
I've tried before and failed
The giant keeps on telling me
time and time again
"Boy you'll never win,
you'll never win."

But the voice of truth tells me a different story
the voice of truth says "do not be afraid!"
and the voice of truth says "this is for my glory"
Out of all the voices calling out to me
I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth

But the stone was just the right size
to put the giant on the ground
and the waves they don't seem so high
from on top of them looking down
I will soar with the wings of eagles
when I stop and listen to the sound of Jesus
singing over me

But the voice of truth tells me a different story
The voice of truth says "do not be afraid"
And the voice of truth says "this is for my glory"
Out of all the voices calling out to me (calling out to me)
I will choose to listen and believe (I will choose to listen and believe)
I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth

sweet surrender

I have not been able to get this conversation out of my head.

For a short while after service on Sunday, one of the ladies in church sat down with me. I admire and respect her greatly; she's always seemed to model to me what a godly Christian woman should be like. She mainly wanted to ask how I was doing with all that has been going on with the baby. She herself has lost two children, so she spoke to me from a place of having walked through the darkest valleys.

The thing that I keep running over in my head was when she reminded me of how much God must love us, that He turned away from His son to let him die on the cross for us. In our humanness, it is so difficult and painful to be separated from our children. I have not even seen this baby, not even carried him or her in my arms, and already, everything within me wants to rebel against giving him up. Everything within me wants to cling on to him.

God didn't flinch from it. This perfect child that He had, who had done no wrong, who had not frustrated him, who had not tired him out, was suffering and in pain. And God didn't flinch from it. Because He loved us. Because He loved me.

Yet another thing that has been extremely humbling for me.

It has been a slow process of surrender. It is less than two weeks to the amniocentesis. I am starting to get nervous about the needle, among other things.

But I am also slowly surrendering it all to God. To the One who loves me. To the One who loves this child more than I ever could. My human nature is weak, and so the process of surrender has not been easy. But I choose it.

I choose it.

Because "in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose" (Rom 8:28).

Because whether this baby is born healthy against all the odds, whether this baby is born with special needs, or whether this baby is going home to Jesus sooner than I would wish, God works for good.

And I choose that.

submission

We have been so blessed to have prayers lifted up for us and words of encouragement said to us. I am immensely grateful for them.

As I am immensely grateful for the people who have given voice to them.

In the past few weeks, I have been told that God will take care of us. I have been told that God will deliver us. I have been told that God will bless us.

The thing is I do not doubt any of these.

I have faith that God will take care of us, that He will deliver us, that He will bless us.

That is who God is.

And yet.

There is a line in a Casting Crowns song that we discovered recently (and that we love) that talks about the difference between "the God we want" and "the God who is".

The reality is that God could take care of us, could deliver us, could bless us by letting us have a child who has Downs or Edwards.

If that is God's plan for us, then ultimately that care, that deliverance, that blessing will come. I know this in my head, even though I cannot see it now.

And because I cannot see it now, it is simply not what I want. It is not what I would choose. It is not how I want God to be. This is my biggest struggle right now. To reconcile the outcome that I want, with the outcome that God chooses to give. The nub of it all is submission.

I am struggling to submit my heart's wants, desires, dreams to what God has planned for me, for us. I am struggling to trade my dreams for His. To not be caught in the middle.

fighting back

The attack came a few hours just after I put up the last post on the blog.

It is hard to explain it now what happened. It simply felt like I was overtaken by despair, so soon after I had felt hope again.

Sometimes the enemy whispers lies in our ears that are so loud, so persistent, that the truth is drowned out, and it becomes hard to hear anything else. I struggled to cling to what I know to be true. In that moment though, I felt like I was fighting a losing battle, and my heart was deep in despair.

That night, I fell asleep in tears, whispering to God, "I am not strong enough for this. Please let this cup be taken from me."

The next day I woke up still heavily weighed down. But a new morning brought new mercies. My mercy that morning was a simple one: a realization that I could not fight this alone. My arms were wearied from being held up. So I asked a couple of close friends to pray for me. I knew K was praying already.

It helped.

Hard to explain how. But the battle we fight is a spiritual one, one we cannot see with our human eyes. And I draw comfort from knowing that God knows my struggle, and He hears my plea for help.

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.
Ephesians 6:12

hope

In the first few days after we got our risk assessment, I could not sing. I tried, but my heart was too full - so full of worry, so full of fear, that the words could not come out of my mouth. Almost every song I heard brought tears to my eyes, as I mourned for my fourth child, the child I was told would almost certainly have a chromosomal disorder, and possibly one that would take his life.

I heard such strong words from my doctor, and my heart lost hope.

I do not know why things should be any different now, almost two weeks on. But they are.

I can sing again.

I can sing songs of worship to my God. I can sing songs that speak of loss. I can sing songs that remind me to trust in God. And I can sing songs that look forward to us being reunited with those we have lost.

In the days that have passed, I have regrouped. Little things have come back to my mind, things that were obscured by my initial emotions. Things that have given me reason to hope again.

We have heard from many friends, here and across the world. I have been humbled by the love they have shown to us, as they lift up prayers for our family, for our youngest baby. Through their words of encouragement and love, they have helped to hold up my arms, when I was too weak to do it on my own. They have helped me to hope again.

Then, a friend helped me to remember that as I was having the ultrasound, I had noticed the technician wearing a cross around her neck. I didn't give it much thought then, but now, I think God was showing me that He was there. He was with us, even before we knew how much we needed Him to be there.

K also reminded me of a video we watched a few weeks ago. It's part of the NOOMA series, by Rob Bell. The particular episode we watched is called Rain, and in it, Rob Bell talks about how he was hiking with his baby son in a backpack in the woods when it started to rain. It rained hard, and the baby was scared. Throughout the storm, as his young son cried and screamed in fear, Rob held him close, whispering in his son's ear over and over again, "It's ok, it's going to be alright. I know the way home."

Sometimes the rain pelts down so hard and the thunder cracks so loudly and we are so seized up in fear, that we don't even realise that God is carrying us, that He is holding us close, that He is whispering in our ear, "It's ok, it's going to be alright. I know the way home."

He knows the way home.

And so I can sing again.

swinging

It has been almost a week since we got our risk assessment. It has felt like much longer.

It has been an exhausting time, but I think I am finally starting to feel some peace again. I swing from one end to the other several times each day, but at least there is peace at one end. I cannot explain it, the peace, except to say that it must be the result of many prayers lifted up on our behalf. Then at the other end is fear and worry, which grip my heart when I try to comprehend the enormity of having a child with special needs, or of having a child who will not live long, if at all.

My mind knows this: my God is good, my God is faithful, my God is loving, my God wants to bless. This past weekend my heart did not know these things. But inexplicably, I think my heart is finally starting to catch up with my head. It is not a smooth linear process. I take a few steps forward, only to fall behind again, but I am thankful that there is any movement at all.

I was convinced yesterday evening, just felt so sure in my heart, that this baby would have Trisomy 18. Then this morning, I felt sure that God would work a miracle, and that the baby would be born healthy. I cannot hear clearly, because my heart is beating so loudly. I am too afraid to ask for a miracle, because I don't know if I am strong enough for that prayer to go unanswered. But then I wonder if I just have too little faith.

So I swing back and forth. I want to get off the swing, to put my feet on the ground, to feel steady again. I want to grasp the hand of Jesus. But I am still swinging, even though the arc feels like it is getting smaller and I am getting closer to the ground. The tears shed with us, the words of encouragement we have received, the words of Scripture said to us, the prayers prayed over us: these are the weights that slow the swing down.

I am more grateful for them than I can say.

broken

We are living in the dark. It is all very, very surreal. And I keep waiting to wake up.

Combined with my blood test results, our risk assessment shows that our youngest child is at very, very high risk for a chromosomal disorder. My doctor told us that these are the highest numbers that she has seen yet: our baby almost certainly has either Downs or Edward's Syndrome. 95% of babies with Edwards (it is also known as Trisomy 18) will die in utero. On average, babies who are born alive will live for 5 to 15 days.

I have cried many tears and I have many angry conversations with God. There is so much that I do not understand. We were not even looking to get pregnant, and then to get this diagnosis... And I do not even know what to pray for. Do I audaciously pray for a miracle, for the baby, against all the odds, to be born healthy? Do I ask that the baby has just Downs, only it is not "just" Downs, it is a lifetime of struggling with health and developmental issues? Do I ask that the baby has Trisomy 18, so that baby will go home to Jesus, even if that means we bear the loss?

We are walking through such dark, dark days.

We have an amniocentesis scheduled for next month. We will probably go for it, mainly because if it is Trisomy 18, we will want to move to KK hospital: their neonatal intensive care unit is probably best equipped to deal with what we have to deal with.

Now K and I are living our days in suspension. We cannot stop to mourn fully because we have three other kids who need us. Yet we are so heavily burdened with grief for our fourth child, that nothing, no moment in our day, feels normal at all.

We are going through the motions because we know we have to. Yesterday we went to church, and shared our grief. I hadn't even wanted to be there, because everything felt so fresh, so sharp. Afterwards though, I knew it was the right thing for us. The ladies who put their arms around me, who said no words but who cried along with me - they brought me the most comfort in the past three days. The burden and the pain and the grief are all still there, but I felt comforted that they bore my sorrow for me too.

I have felt so far from God throughout all this. It has been so dark, that I have found it hard to see His light, even though I know in my head that it must be there. It was only late yesterday night as I lay in bed waiting for sleep to come, that I realised something. Those ladies who put their arms around me, who cried tears of sorrow with me, those ladies were the arms of Jesus. It doesn't make everything right, but that time in church brought the realisation that Jesus, through the body is Christ, bears my sorrow with me.

Maybe there is just a little bit of light in this darkness.

Sunday

this looks familiar

The kids are finally in bed, and I am at the end of what has turned to be a long, eventful day.

We had our Down's screening this morning. The doctor has to figure in a few factors before she can give us our risk assessment. One of the factors is measuring the space between the folds at the back of baby's neck through an ultrasound. We didn't do so well here. The ultrasound technician said it was thicker than normal. When I spoke to my doctor, she did the measurement again for me, and said that it was just on the borderline.

I really don't want to be here again.

We have to wait for my blood test results before we know more. That should come back in a few days. For now, we wait.

We have spent much of the day in prayer. For a healthy child. For the overall risk assessment to come back as low.

Otherwise the baby seems to be growing well. We got to watch the baby move on the computer screen for quite a while today. The ultrasound technician took longer than expected because baby was on its tummy, and didn't want to turn. There was jiggling involved, and physical turning on my part, to get baby in the right position. But we got to see the spine, the beating heart, the legs, arms, and fingers. It was awesome. Baby looks so cute already. So small, and already so much in my heart.

Rationally I know that the screening is just that, a screening - it cannot definitely tell us if we have a Down's Syndrome baby. And even with a high risk assessment, we're pretty sure that we will not go for more invasive testing. We will pray for a healthy child, and believe God for a healthy child, but we will also ask for the grace, strength and wisdom to parent a special-needs child, if that is what God has given to us. It is not the road I would have chosen, but whatever the result, I remind myself that God is in control.

K worked on this Sunday's worship last night, and chose this song to teach to our church this week. These lines resonated with us today, and we heard God:

I have a Maker
He formed my heart
Before even time began
My life was in his hands

I have a Father
He calls me His own
He'll never leave me
No matter where I go

He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And He hears me when I call
- Tommy Walker, He Knows My Name

We thank God that He knows us, that He formed us, that He hears us.

a leap, and someone to hold my hand

Today I took a leap in church. And took one big step out of my comfort zone.

And who am I, that God was mindful of me? Once again, I am amazed by how He knew my anxieties, my discomfort. And so He sent a wise woman, someone I respect greatly, barely ten minutes after I took that leap, to confirm that it was the right step, to give me welcome advice, and to gently prod me along. It was a conversation that God truly directed; both of us started out not even knowing how He would guide our words. But guide He did, and I know I was blessed for it.

Who am I, that God was mindful of me?

new life

There is something miraculous in seeing a heart beat, when just a few weeks ago, there was none.

A few weeks ago, we found out that we are expecting. Our. Fourth. Child.

It took us a couple of weeks to just get over the shock. And while we were excited and thankful for the blessing, this time round it was also tinged with some apprehension. Four kids running rings around me. And then, there was the CMV to worry about.

We had our first doctor's appointment today. I am just about 8 weeks along now, and baby number 4 is due around the last week of September. We watched the little heart beat on the ultrasound, steadily, regularly. There is nothing quite like seeing it for the first time. I was in awe of it. (We have already promised the older kids that they'll get to come with me to the doctor in a few months' time, so they get to see the baby on the "doctor's machine". Josh said, kind of like an x-ray, right, Mom?)

Last year, around the time that we felt called to adoption, one thing that held me back initially was thinking that I would not be pregnant again. We had assumed that we would conceive our third child biologically. And I thought, if I had known that my second pregnancy would be my last, I would have treasured it more, savored it more. But God's call to us to adopt was so clear, that we felt we had to obey. So I gave that up, a little sadly.

Now here we are. Being given more than we asked for. Blessed beyond what we imagined for ourselves.

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.
Ephesians 3:20-21

happy dance

Our lawyers called yesterday. Our adoption order has been pre-approved. Ahead of our court date this Friday.

So even though we still have to wait a bit, for our lawyers to get the paperwork and to make a date to get Noah's birth certificate, WE ARE DONE.

=)