During the weeks leading up to Elijah's birth I was terrified the adoption would fall through, for good reason (and another and another).  I wanted to make something for the baby but was anxious to start, in case we lost him.

I needed something easy, something that I wouldn't have to think about or which could potentially add more frusration to my already distressed heart. So I knit this Super Easy Baby Blanket.

 I worked on it while we watched movies or drove in the car. I worked on it at the kids' lessons, deflecting questions about who it was for with white lies such as, "My brother-in-law and his wife are having a baby boy soon" (this was true, and it was my back-up plan to give the blanket to them if our hearts were broken again, but it was not an actual answer to the question). We hardly told anyone about Elijah until after we brought him home in an attempt to pretend it wasn't happening, so we wouldn't get our hopes up.

This blanket was my way to have hope without actually acknowledging how desperately we wanted this child to be ours. After all we'd been through, we were past the point of articulating our hopes and fears.  All we could do was wait. Each stitch represents a prayer for this little one who took so long to join our family, and is worth every tear we shed.

I finished knitting and cast off the blanket in the hospital room while Elijah's birthmother was in the early stages of labor. We were there with her, talking and laughing and dreaming of the boy we'd soon meet.

 As we did so our lives were knit together.  We will be forever indebted to that beautiful, strong young woman.  And this blanket, though very simple, will serve as a reminder of a time when our countless prayers were answered.

 After a particularly rough day last fall (The short version: Ethan was throwing a HUGE fit in the middle of the Natural History Museum.  I told him that if he didn't calm down, we'd have to leave.  He didn't calm down, so we left.  He was extremely upset and was trying to punch/kick/scream as much as possible on the way out, so Jason picked him up and carried him in a way that would keep them both from getting hurt.  We knew that if we could just get him outside, we could help him calm down.  Most of the parents we passed on the way out of the museum gave us tiny "I-feel-your-pain" smiles.  We were calm, if a little embarrassed. After we got to the car, we had Ethan sit on the curb and were beginning to help him regain control when a lady screamed across the parking lot, "Do you want me to call the authorities?"  She proceeds to lecture us, belittle us, call us bad parents, threaten to call the police, etc. This went on for several minutes, during which Ethan was distracted and stopped crying and the lady was convinced that it was her calming influence which had helped him so greatly.  Jason was finally able to make her leave by repeating, "You need to go. Go now" several times. We moved on, helped Ethan and left.  I cried all the way home. That was actually not very short; I apologize.) my sweet friend and I went out for hot cocoa and a little venting time.

The server must have been very in tune (or maybe my red puffy eyes gave her a clue), because when our cocoa arrived, mine was adorned with a heart.

Later that same week (in the midst of the turmoil of waiting for Elijah's birth), the kids and I were working on a wet-felting project with that same dear friend and her children.  In the sudsy water appeared this perfect heart:

Call it luck or fate or whatever you'd like, but it seems to me that hidden hearts tend to pop up in places when they are most needed.  I've seen them in the sidewalk, on days when I'm discouraged.  I've seen them in the clouds.  There is one on the door to my bedroom, reminding me of the love within the walls of this home.

This hidden heart is like a love note from God.  It's like He included that tiny detail on Elijah's skin just for me.  He's saying, "It may not have seemed like I was listening to your prayers. But behind the scenes, in ways you can't comprehend, I was arranging things perfectly for you.  He is worth the wait, don't you think?"

I absolutely do.

Have you seen any hidden hearts in your life lately?

As we are drawing closer to finalizing Elijah's adoption (just 22 days now!) my mind has been flooded with memories of the other times in my life when I've felt so lucky.

We didn't know it at the time, but having a biological child should not have been able to happen for us. Logically and medically speaking, that is. Knowing what we know now --after years of doctor visits, treatments, waiting, praying, hoping and disappointments-- sometimes I look at Ellie and my mind is blown by the fact that she's here.

I am still making my way through the emotions surrounding Elijah's adoption.  It's a long story; and frankly, it's not one I'm interested in hashing out right now.  Jason and I are doing our best to overcome the bitterness, the anger and the frustrated helplessness we felt during this process.  The very condensed version is that after all we'd been through with our failed adoption, we were matched with Elijah's birthmom.  We hit it off right away.  She is amazing and strong and beautiful.

Our prayers were answered the day we brought Elijah home from the hospital.  We thought we were finally done with the turmoil. We promptly fell head over heels for this sweet, dimpled, laid-back baby boy. Less than 2 months later, we learned that the adoption agency we'd gone through had been closed down by the state.  Some of their practices were questionable, apparently.  And after futher inquiry the state closed them down.

 We felt swindled and bitter.  We thought we might lose this boy we'd dreamed of and worked for and fallen in love with.  After a time we were lucky to learn that our adoption had been handled properly; everything was above-board and in place.   It was heartbreaking to hear of other families who were not so lucky.  Not only did they lose the chance to adopt, but many of them lost the thousands and thousands (and thousands) of dollars they had paid in adoption fees. Just gone.

If Elijah wasn't placed with us when he was, we would have lost our entire adoption fund (we'd paid the fees before our previous adoption failed and they were being rolled over).  When I think about how close we came to being in that situation I can hardly catch my breath.

"Don't you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying.  There is help and happiness ahead. Some blessings come soon, some come late, and some don't come until heaven... It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come."   --Jeffrey R. Holland

I can't count how many times I have relied on these words and this video to help me through hard days.
If you are in the midst of waiting, I encourage you to look for the little things lining up just so.  I promise you will see countless ways in which you have been blessed.

{this moment} ~ A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

Dear Elijah,

Baby boy, I want to remember every detail of this week.  After so many difficulties in getting you here, after setbacks and heartbreaks and disappointments, we are finally done.  You are officially ours!  It feels like you've been with us all along now; funny how that works.  It's hard to imagine our lives without your huge grin, your deep dimples and your happy screeching.

Your adoption was finalized on Tuesday.  Our attorney and caseworker have been working hard to make sure everything was just right.  So there would be no question where you are meant to be.  I was slightly nervous as we sat down in the courtroom.  It reminded me of being in court on so many other (not so happy) occasions to learn what would happen with our foster babies.

But this time was also different: the feeling in the courtroom was light, the bailiff was joking around, our Kindlespire family was sitting in the gallery. We were not worried about losing you; we knew the outcome already.  The judge came in and we got right to work.  Questions and formalities were addressed.  You screeched happily through it all, and the judge caught my eye and smiled slightly. First the caseworker, and then Daddy was questioned.

After a few easy questions, the attorney asked Daddy an important one, "Over the time Elijah has been in your home, have you been able to form a bond with him?  Can you explain it?"  Daddy paused as he thought about how best to answer the question.  He smiled and tears filled his eyes.  He said, "I love this boy.  It was a long road to bring him here, but it has all been worth it.  He may not look like me, but he's mine.  He's my son."

I was asked the same questions and when my turn came I answered, through my tears," I love him.  Like Jason said, it's been a long, difficult road.  I'm just so grateful that he's finally here."

The judge smiled and said he felt like our home was the best place for you to be. A few papers were signed and that was that.  We paused for a few photos with the judge, attorney, caseworker and family.  The judge held you and commented on what a beautiful baby you are.  You pulled on his facial hair and we all laughed.

 Saturday was beautiful.  Our extended family and dear friends gathered at the Logan Temple.  You were sealed to us, or as Ellie called it "stuck to us like glue", for eternity. You looked dapper in a darling white outfit, complete with vest and tie, sewn for you by Grandma Hillman.  You screeched and talked through the whole ceremony. For a short time you were mesmerized by the lovely chandelier.    I can still see your handsome little face glowing with light as you threw your head back and gazed up in wonder.  A moment that will live in my heart forever.

How grateful I am to know that no matter what happens in the future you are always and forever ours!   I can't explain the feeling of comfort and peace this week has given me. I feel like the last four years of praying, waiting, hoping and disappointments have all led up to this.

My boy, you are loved. Not only did Daddy and I pray for you to join our family, but  so did many others: your siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends and people you haven't even met yet. I am certain that prayers are heard and that God has a plan for our lives.  You are living, breathing, screeching proof.

I love you,
Mommy

ps--A funny side note: despite the 13 years of marriage under our belts, Daddy and I were mistaken for a couple on their wedding day several times at the temple. 🙂