Guest Blog Posts

I wasn’t sure whether I was a loving mother when I, at times, was crippled by fear of how I was mothered. I felt so heavy-hearted during these times by the thoughts of not being loved well as a child and fearing the worst—that I could be that way to my children. It left me paralyzed, not seeing the amazing ways that God was already loving through me.

When God first told me to adopt my daughter, Ella, from an orphanage on the other side of the world in Vladivostok, Russia, I was scared out of my mind.  Every doubt I ever had about myself was whispered into my ear. I questioned whether I was a good enough mother to the children I already had, whether I was a strong enough Christian, whether I could handle making three separate trips around the globe, whether I was even nice enough. I thought adoption was for perfect, saintly people who had it all together. But God made it clear to me over and over that, yes, He really did mean me. I was the one He was sending, and He would work out the details.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. How could I have been reduced to this? Sure, I’d stepped away from the workforce for a few years to be an at-home mom, and, sure, I wasn’t a 20-something straight out of college, but I was smart! I had skills! I had a degree!

I held tight to my coffee mug as I listened intently to my new friend’s journey of loss. My heart ached for her. Like me, she was a young widow who had lost her husband to cancer. I desperately wanted to let go of my mug and hold her tight. In my season of loss, God embraced me with His love and comforting presence. He had sent people to help me through my valley of grief. As tears streamed down both our faces, I realized this was my opportunity to extend the same love and compassion that I had received from my Heavenly Father and Christian my sisters.