Baptism wrecks me.  Plain and simple.  The water, the symbolism, the remembering my own, the whole thing.  I start crying when I see Rod in his black t-shirt and know what’s coming.  Don’t stop until we’re on our way home listening to kids fighting in the back about who gets the bucket seats.  I woke up this morning tired, as I have the last few mornings.  This adoption stuff is hard and it’s been weighing.  And I would have advocated for a stay home morning, but there have been too many of those since moving to our little condo.  Guilt brought me to church this morning, but Father was waiting for me at the door.  And even though it was a combined service in the gym, which means Lucy finagled an invitation to big church, which means we had to climb to the tip top of the bleachers and sit under the vent that sucks all Rods words straight up and out, which means that my back hurt before we even settled in for the teaching and I swear we’ll skip out the next time there’s a combined service. Even so, Father was waiting at the door, so I knew it’d be good.
All Lucy’s colored pencils fell under the bleachers, one by one.  Peter had the hand held microscope he got in his stocking and was using it to inspect every change in texture within our family space, including Barbie’s butt, for the love…, Grant had my pen and I lost my place in the Bible.  I think I heard about two words of the teaching, but they were sweet manna, literally.  And then at the end there was the big tub and I knew I was never going to make it without doing the ugly cry.
Because if I’ve learned one thing through this adoption process it’s this: everyone deserves to be pursued.  Relentlessly pursued.  This sprint we’ve been doing to our girl, this breathless race of paperwork and dashed hopes and grainy pictures of her so far away, this race has reminded me that every step I take toward her is nothing compared to the steps Father has taken to me.  Seriously nothing.  And if you teach your children nothing about God,  then please teach them this: that the Father of the Universe is pursuing them.  Relentlessly pursuing.  If your children are grown and have fallen away, then you get it more than I do.  You would do anything to bring them back, and you are only flesh and blood.
I have said over and over during the past four months, “I need to be able to sit with her someday and tell her I did everything I could to get her home as soon as I could.”  It’s what drove me to call USCIS everyday for more than 20 consecutive days.  It’s what drove me to pay a ridiculous amount of money to have our 797 approval Same Day Aired tomorrow.  It’ll drive me to leave the Smalls on New Years Eve and spend my day in line, pleading with the Chinese Consulate workers for mercy and their authorization.  So that our dossier can be sent to China on Friday.  So that our 6-8 month count down to travel can begin.  So that China can see how badly we are aching to have our girl.  I will hold her on that day and I will whisper in her ear that mama loves her and I came as soon as I could.
Father does the same.  Relentlessly pursues far beyond the bounds of sanity and reason and when you finally surrender (which sounds awful but is really wonderful), he’ll set you in his arms and whisper to you that Papa loves you.  He’ll give you supernatural insight to see all the times he’s been running after you, even though you were headed away.  Always away.  Because eventually “away” runs out and you will always look behind you and find Father in pursuit and you will know that he’s been there all along.  If you haven’t already, look behind you and see your Father in pursuit.  It’s the most beautiful sight there is, I promise.
This is me being real.  Coveting your prayers that doors would fly open so that our papers can be authenticated and our dossier can go off on Friday.  Determined to check the church bag better next time to ensure it includes neither microscope or any Barbs.  Sheesh.

2 Replies to “pursue.”

  1. Megan, one of your best blogs. You so eloquently write what my heart knows….how thankful I am that when I turned my back and ran my Gracious God pursued me and pulled me close so that I could hear the Spirit whisper welcome home. lu, creekside


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