We have a BOY!!!

Let me first begin by shouting out from the roof tops:

We have a BOY!!!

Jonah Beaux Roesler

Born:  November 17, 2016

Weight:  7 pounds 6 ounces

Length:  19 inches

Our family is so grateful and excited to meet our newest Roesler.  He is perfect and is already loved and adored by his siblings.  We feel so very blessed to be chosen to be Jonah's forever family!

I usually blog our journey and share the process with our friends and family.  And, while that still may come, right now, we feel raw...private...protective of this sacred process.  

Maybe this lack of transparency is a result of fatigue...fatigue from two amazing, successful fundraisers where we were so very blessed to have such a supportive faith family.  Our local McAlister's told me it was the most successful fundraiser they have ever hosted.  That is clearly a sign of God's incredible provision through His people.  We are so blessed and loved.  It is both humbling and energizing.  Such a blessing needs time to process and digest.  It shouldn't be taken lightly.

Maybe, it is a result of our family being fragmented.  While we were able to bring Hannah, Jayden, Elijah and AJ with us on this journey to Louisiana, Emma and Isaac stayed home.  Brian and the kids returned home over the weekend leaving Jonah and I to wait for ICPC to be processed and the okay to travel be granted.  Our family unit hasn't had time to digest and share and process all that has happened in the past weeks.  We don't work well when we aren't together.  It is both the blessing and the curse of a big family.

Maybe, it is the rawness we feel post-election...this new and uncertain time in our nation as we cautiously move forward as a transracial family.  The ache that comes in witnessing blatant acts of racism and hatred.  The fear...the concern...the worry...how will others accept, love and stand-in-the-gap for our family?

Maybe, it is having Brian return home with a sick AJ and having to have the strain of both the adoption and AJ hospitalized.  The feeling of being divided and trying to meet the needs of all of our children, yet helpless to be present everywhere a mother or father needs to be.

Or, maybe...just maybe, it is the transformations that are taking place in our hearts.  This adoption wasn't pursued...it pursued us.  We had to make the deliberate choice to stop "our agenda" and "our plans" and just say "yes."  Since we said "yes" in June, there has been this relentless and continual pounding on our hearts to open up to God's agenda....instead of "me and mine" it has become "ours."  Instead of what I need/want, it has been about meeting the needs of those who stand before me.  

This new place...of unconditional service...leaves us feeling vulnerable, emotional and raw.  Brian captures this fragile state with his own words from his stay in the hospital last night:

It has only been three days since we got to meet our newest child. It has been a challenging few days for everyone in our family, but we know it is only little effort with a huge benefit.  This evening, I had to bring AJ into Urgent Care.  He has been having some respiratory distress and has not responded to the treatments we normally do at home.  So, we find ourselves in the Pediatric ICU.  He it taking oxygen and albuterol through a tube in his nose, and steroids and fluid through his IV.  Our other kids have stepped up to take care of Eli and everything that needs to be done at home. 

AJ was restless, but I finally got him to sleep and was able to lay him back in the bed and arrange all the cords and tubes without waking him up.  I brushed my teeth and sat down for the first time in several hours.  I watched through our open door as a mother, who had obviously been crying, passed the staff desk and tell them she was going out into the hallway to make a phone call. Things were quiet now, except for the humming of little machines pumping in fluid and oxygen.  I yawned and thought that maybe I would be able to get some sleep. I closed my eyes and said a little prayer, thanking God for the addition of Jonah, and asking that his hospital stay be quick, cause I have lots to do.  

Just as I was drifting near sleep, the silence was broken. Bells, alarms, whistles, chimes, all at once.  Not in our room, but in the room next door.  A staff member quickly moved from the desk and entered the room next door.  Everything changed when I heard him say "call the code."  I'm no medical professional, but I know what that means.  All at once, the staff went into a flurry of activity.  Clearly each person knew their role and like a well rehearsed cast, everyone took their places.  One nurse came in with the mother from the hallway in tow.  One by one team members came in from other areas of the hospital with various carts and devices. The noise level grew.  Every once in a while I heard a word or phrase that kept me updated with what was going on.  

"They already gave epinephrine." 

"Get another line in." 

"Bring the cart."  

Then,  I'm sure I saw him first. The untrained eye might of thought he was just another dad, but I knew better. The chaplain. Like a quiet apparition, he appeared in the room. Clearly being able to read the scene, he seemed to flow through the rest of the staff unnoticed, positioned himself where he knew he needed to be and waited for his cue.  The noise and hustle seemed to last for hours though I know it was only 20 minutes or so.  So much to happen in a short time. Then through all of that noise cut the words "I'm going to call it." Silence, silence, silence, no voices, no alarms, silence....forever, or just seconds.  And, then a mothers cry, "Oh God, no!" 

Then action begins again. Chaplain, it's your turn. Staff rush to close the doors on rooms like ours.  But it is no use, a mothers grief can not be silenced, or even muffled.  The staff is back in motion, everyone doing their part.  Their faces display, not grief, but determination.  I have seen this look before.  I have held this look on my own face before.  Someone has died, and it is tragic, but I still have a job to do. There are still others who need my attention.  I think for a moment that I can do this now too.  After all, my own son is in front of me and needs my attention.  "Oh God no!"  Now I understand my job in this...don't worry staff, I will cry the tears that you can not.

Tears for this mother I do not know... tears for this child I can not know..tears of thankfulness and guilt in knowing my child is still with me.  It has not been many times in my life that I have found myself with tears flowing like this.

Hours or minutes have past, I'm not really sure.  It is now 3 in the morning. I have no tears left as I see the mother leaving on the arms of friends. I can't close my eyes for fear of losing sight of my son.  As long as I can see him, I can keep him. So, I will pray with my eyes open. Prayers for healing, and understanding. Prayers of thankfulness, and absolution. Prayers that no one will ever have to hear me cry, "Oh God, no!"

See, Friends?  We are simply raw....and the journey continues.  Tomorrow, our birth mom signs away her parental rights.  It is a self-sacrificing, heart-wrenching decision that has brought her hours and days of tears.  My heart weeps with hers.  Wednesday, I will sit with her and have lunch.  Words seem inadequate....actions so lacking to show her my love...God's love for her.  

Yet, here we are.  Encouraged and standing on the shoulders of those who have gone before to show us the way, those who walk alongside of us to help carry the load and those that pray us forward knowing that we cannot do this calling alone.

Thank you, God.