Wrangler Dani

A couple of years ago I did a lot of thinking about hope. I obsessed over what hope was, whether it was mere optimism or wish-come-true, or if it was something more soulful, something broader and more profound. After many months, I decided that hope is not about circumstance. Real hope does not depend on getting the job or the house or making it to the gas station on fumes. We use the word “hope” in those circumstances, but it really doesn’t belong. What we need is something more like “wish” or “fearful expectation”, something that speaks to the desires we want but can survive without.

Hope is bigger than any wish; even wishes which are more like prayers, wishes for family and home, wholeness and health, children and laughter. Hope is a state of being, embodied in the love of God, a state that defies circumstance and faces hardship without being lost. Hope keeps us going, gives us grace, makes even the most difficult choices easier to bear.

I see the Three Sisters Mountains daily, and I often think of their names: Faith, Hope and Charity. You can’t have one without having all three – they feed into one another, inextricably tied together.

I’ve been thinking about hope and calling because we are adopting again. If you are finding out here for the first time, don’t feel bad, I’ve hardly told anyone – a subconscious choice but a choice nonetheless. I often hold things close because I worry about looking silly when they don’t pan out like I wanted them to. Optimism is a liability, a potential cosmic joke in the making. There are no guarantees, but there never have been. We entered into adoption with as much fear and trembling the first time (almost seven years ago, can you believe it?) as we do now with adoption three.

We’re wiser now, we have a few crazy stories under our belts and a few what-not-to-dos. We have two kids we’re crazy about, which has prompted a few people we’ve told to wonder aloud if we have totally lost our minds; why else would we risk again?

They might not be wrong. If so, we’ve lost our minds for hope.

Because hope is not wishing for another child in our family, another baby to love (as much as we yearn for that). Hope is not about a larger bank account or a more stable future. Hope is not in our stuff or our home or the size of our cars. Hope, for our family, is the redemption story of Creation and our role to play in it. Because adoption is born, literally, out of loss and brokenness. It was never God’s plan for mothers and fathers to make the heart-wrenching choice to let another family parent their child. It was never in God’s plan that poverty and addiction and homelessness and abuse and sexual violence create awful circumstances, circumstances that no child deserves.

But here is hope on its feet – hope that will not be dismayed by the evil of the world. Hope looks out at suffering and unfairness and despair and rolls up its sleeves. Hope tells a story bigger than any one of us, hope believes in light that always finds a way in. Hope is often seen as dangerous: a weakness or a liability. Don’t get your hopes up, we say. We’re hoping against hope, we whisper in desperation. But what if hope is bigger than despair, braver than mere toughness, deeper than desire? What if hope is a way of life, a calling.

So, even though we know that for a lot of our beloved friends and family, this feels like a long shot, we’re asking for you to hope with us. We would love your wisdom and encouragement as we start again on this adoption expedition. (I refuse to invoke the poor, abused word “journey”). We feel strongly this is our calling, this is the tangible hope we can offer to our corner of the world. We’re so excited for the future, and we covet your prayers if you are the praying type.

We’re using the same agency we used for Isaiah and have had nothing but great interactions with them. We are not using CAC this time for financial reasons (if anyone is considering adoption we recommend CAC HIGHLY, especially for a first-time adoption, it’s nothing at all against them, it’s just what’s right for us at this time). This is not unforeseen territory but it is unknown, and I admit that as I consider making this piece public I am anxious, uncertain, looking to hope like the mountains which never crumble or fail, which remain no matter how dense the clouds or deep the snow.

Thank you for walking hope out with us, for daring to believe with us that hope is indeed bigger than any hardship or setback. Hope is not in a thing, or a circumstance or an outcome, but in a God who saves even those who feel forgotten.