Triggers

Over the weekend, a student at my school was involved in an accident. Wonderful paramedics were able to restart his heart, but it was later discovered that his brain was no longer alive. Today, his brave parents made the decision to take him off of life support.

This afternoon, our principal and counselor gathered the school staff to share the news. Teachers cried together and mourned a precious life cut short.

As the reality of the news set in, I began to cry uncontrollably.

I grieve with the parents whose arms are empty and hearts are broken. I grieve with the brothers and sisters; they must feel like a part of them is missing. I grieve with the friends and teachers who look at an empty chair and remember the tiny boy who should be there.

As I sat there sniffling, holding my breath to avoid drawing attention, I thought, "this must be what a trigger is."

In thinking about this little boy, I could only see my little girl. I closed my eyes to hide tears, and Wren's sweet smile danced in my memory.

All my heartbreak and sadness and emptiness came flooding back.

No parent should lose their child. Hearts are not made to be broken like that.

Trying to find the words to explain is futile. Words don't exist for that pain.



Tonight my thoughts and prayers are with the family of a child who now dances with Jesus, with Wren.

Love deep and love hard. This world is full of broken hearts and broken people.

Love,
Elizabeth

Waiting | Reece's Rainbow

The title basically says it all.

I am waiting.

My dossier is in Eastern Europe. They are translating and getting it ready to be submitted.

Soon, it will be officially submitted and then approved by an adoption committee.

Once it is approved, I receive travel dates!  This feels so real. I am going to see my son!

I don't like the waiting. I'm not good at it, I have a million and one unnecessary questions, and I am fighting the urge to spend every dollar I have on cute little boy things.

I'm sure this will be one of those things that teaches you or helps you grow. I'm sure I'll see that looking back.

But right now I am praying to travel before the end of March, but realistically it may be April.

I am still working towards my fundraising goal of $1,000 by St. Patrick's Day.

This mama is waiting for her son. My son is waiting for his mama.

Love,
Elizabeth

Look at baby Nels! Isn't he just the cutest?!

This is an old picture from Reece's Rainbow.

Luckier Than a Four Leaf Clover! | Reece's Rainbow

Just in time for St. Patrick's Day, you have a chance to get a fun, lucky t-shirt, and help bring my son home!

I have been immensely blessed financially during this adoption journey. I have received donations, grants, and surprise funds to cover almost all of the costs (about $25,000!).

But I need to raise just a few thousand more.

I have set a goal to raise $1,000 by St. Patrick's Day!

Can you help me get there?

Check out these fun shirts I designed. If you feel led, please buy and share! Two weeks only.

Let's do this!

Love,
Elizabeth

Au revoir, dossier! | Reece's Rainbow

Isn't that just the fanciest title!

In case you aren't up with the adoption lingo, the dossier is a bunch of paperwork with all kinds of personal information about you and your plans for adoption. Background checks, financial information, medical clearances - everything you might want to know about a potential parent!

Well, as of Friday, February 12, the last bit of my dossier was out of my hands and on its way around the world, making a few stops first.

And I have some pretty fancy feelings to send with it.

Excitement.

Joy.

Relief.

A hint of sadness.

And now I wait to travel for the first trip. (The country where my little guy lives requires two trips. One to meet him and one to pick him up!)

Waiting is by far the hardest part of adoption.

I am praying to meet my guy before the end of March, although that is a lofty prayer.

One day soon I will get to hold him and tickle him and tell him how very loved he is.

Love,
Elizabeth

My Journey to You | Reece's Rainbow

I always knew I wanted to adopt.

I started seriously looking into that process a few years ago. That's how I stumbled upon Reece's Rainbow. I would stare for hours at face after face and wish so hard that every face soon would see her mama.

I hurt for those forgotten ones.

But special needs adoption wasn't for me.

I adored *those* families who could ransom broken and discarded children. I knew they were seeking after God's own heart.

But special needs adoption wasn't for me.

I witnessed beautiful stories of children finding mamas and papas and brothers and sisters. They changed almost instantly.

That's what happens when you have hope.

But, still, special needs adoption wasn't for me.

Even as I cried tears of pain and joy with families I only knew through a screen, I didn't understand. I started looking into adoption planning for a little girl. A little girl with no special needs, and no older than two.

But then, special needs adoption smacked me in the face. I saw my child. I saw Wren and I was changed. She wasn't just some kid around the world. She was mine. I felt her deep in my soul.

She changed me.



One day, a few weeks before Wren passed away, I noticed on Reece's Rainbow a little boy I had never seen before. Something about him caught my eye. He lives in Wren's country. He has Down syndrome, just like Wren.

In some deep down way, I felt connected to him, too.

For a brief minute I though about adding him to my adoption. But Wren's needs were too intense and I only have two bedrooms and, even if it was possible, I couldn't delay things for Wren.

So I thought, sweet boy, if you are still waiting in a year or so, I'll come back for you. (But please don't let him still be waiting in a year!)



It was like I somehow caught a little glimpse of what the future held.

Things didn't work out the way I thought they would, but now, my sweet son, I'm coming for you.

Your sister paved the way. And now, my son, your mama is coming.

You have waited nine years. But still, you giggle. You learned to walk last year. I could tell how proud that makes you in the way your eyes shine.

You trust your nannies. You grab their hands and look up into their faces expectantly.

I can't wait until the day you grab my hand like that. I promise I will be there to hold you steady.



I started this journey hoping for a young, typical little girl. And now a nine year old boy with Down syndrome holds my heart.

It's funny these stories God writes.

Beauty From Ashes | Reece's Rainbow

When Wren went to Jesus, my heart shattered. It felt like it could never hold love, because the love would just run out of all the brokenness.

But at the same time, I knew in my bones this was not the end.



My Wren died because someone saw an imperfect child, unworthy of love or care. As much as it hurts to type those words, they were her truth. And not only Wren's truth.

Thousands and thousands of children all over the world live with this as their truth. Unworthy. Unlovable. Unteachable. Unwanted.

This is their truth every day, every moment. As they just exist. Breathing, but not living.

But, my friends, this truth is not God's truth.

And it is not my truth.

Thousands of perfect, worthy children wait for a mama to speak their truth into existence. Their truth of love and joy and worth and value.

Wren taught me this. And now, because of Wren, I get to share these truths with a precious soul - Wren's big brother. Not by blood, but by love, a tiny girl and a precious boy become sister and brother. Sister in heaven, brother waiting around the world.

Oh, I cannot wait to introduce you to him.

Turns out my shattered heart can hold love after all. It holds a fierce and bold love for my daughter and my son.

Love,
Elizabeth

Eight Weeks

Wren died eight weeks ago.

I have had eight weeks to process her death and try to make some sense of it. Eight weeks to think of the loneliness. Eight weeks to miss my daughter.

I am angry. I am sad. I grieve and I mourn and I am comforted by the vision of her dancing and laughing with Jesus.

Eight weeks ago, she was made whole and my heart shattered.

In the midst of my pain, light shines through. I have learned more about hope and love than ever before.

My sweet friend and mentor, Lauren, recently walked the halls of the orphanage where Wren lived and died. She was there to rescue her daughter who was barely living - nine pounds at seven years old.

In the midst of gaining a precious daughter, Lauren took the time to search out my daughter and honor her short, beautiful life.

Each time I try to put my gratitude and feelings into words, they fail me.

So here are hers.

Wren's life mattered.