When Stephen and I first started trying to get pregnant, I kept a journal. Yes, a handwritten journal—you know, something that can’t be read by anyone and everyone. In that moleskin notebook, I wrote out my prayers, thoughts, fears and excitement. I wrote about what I imagined the baby would look like, what traits of mine or Stephen’s the baby would have, and whether the baby would have Stephen’s blonde hair or my dark brown hair.
After months of keeping that journal, I grew restless and frustrated. I was writing about this child who didn’t even exist. I thought to myself, “Girl, you are absolutely crazy. It would be one thing if you were actually pregnant and carrying this child, but you are acting as if you can write this baby into existence.”
And so I quit. I tucked the journal away and didn’t look at it again. To be honest, I don’t even know where it is anymore. I may have thrown it away.
Before I quit writing, however, I ordered a different journal from Shutterfly. I wanted to write letters to my child—letters filled with prayers, hopes, dreams, etc. So, obviously, I wanted a nice notebook. The spine says “Dear Baby Hamby” and the front says “You are my greatest adventure.” I think, somewhere deep in my mind, I believed I would use it one day soon.
It was delivered to the house right around the time that I decided to quit writing that journal. I tucked that special-ordered journal in a drawer in our guest room, and I didn’t look back.
Fast forward 16 months to February 2017.
We had just made the decision that we were going to be moving forward with adoption. We signed up for an informational meeting, and we let our parents, grandparents and siblings in on our plans. As we were sitting at the dinner table one night, I told Stephen that I wanted to make a dedicated effort to write letters to our child. I told Stephen that one day, I want to give our child a journal full of Mom’s prayers and thoughts. I want him (or her!) to know that my love for him began the day that God opened my heart toward adoption. I want him to know that God did a mighty work in my heart. I want him to know that before we ever finished the home study, before we were ever matched with a birth mother, before we even knew anything about him—we loved him.
Stephen got up from the table, walked to the guest room, and pulled out the special-ordered journal from months ago and said “here.”
Isn’t God amazing? I thought that journal would stay tucked away and never looked at again, but the Lord is so gracious. The words on the front—“You are my greatest adventure.”—describe adoption perfectly. What an adventure.
I won’t share much about the words written in that journal, because they’re private and not meant to be shared. But recently, I was referring to Scripture when writing out a prayer. I referenced Psalm 139:13—“you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.” I praised God for the woman who will one day (if not already) carry the child who will be placed in my arms. I’ll forever be grateful to her. But then I continued writing, praising God for not only knitting that child together in his birth mother’s womb, but for knitting that child together in my heart. The Lord is so gracious, and I praise Him daily for giving me the ability to love a child I haven’t met yet so deeply.