Introduction

My heart beat out of my chest as the Chinese nanny rounded the corner, cradling an infant in layers upon layers of clothing. “Lian Yonghui!” a voice announced. "is name—her orphanage name but no longer her name—danced in my ears, declaring that the moment had !nally arrived. "ere she was—our Lucy Mei, our “beautiful light.”

You could say this is where our story began, this day we became a family of six instead of !ve and jumped head!rst into a deep well of endless joy and challenges we could never have anticipated. Yet, this life-changing event was more like a climactic chapter in an even greater story. "e narrative truly began months, even years, before when God began orchestrating events and desires that eventually led us to a chilly day in a government o$ce in southern China when time stood still. When hope became reality.

But the account didn’t end there. Many chapters ensued, documenting rejection, grief, and loss, baby steps, hints of trust, a%ection denied, and a%ection received. We celebrated attachment as our hearts sang, “I would lay my life down for you!” We felt despair as we had to admit, “"is is harder than I ever imagined.” Our adoption story details siblings cheering their sister on as she learned to eat, stand, walk, and speak. It shares how those same brothers and sister sometimes struggle with sharing their space, hearts, and parents.

And the story continues. Countless chapters have yet to be written.

You could say the adoption journey is a long, winding road. Sometimes the scenery is breathtaking and you think, “"ere is no place I would rather be.” You take o% your shoes and worship because the transformations that take place within your heart, your child, and your home are simply miraculous. Yet, as is the case with most long trips, the view might sometimes be dull and monotonous, clouded with paperwork and waiting and milestones that refuse to be crossed.

"e terrain can also be unchartered, treacherous, and terrifying. You may not see another soul for miles and you wonder, “Am I the only one who feels this way?” And then the fog clears, colors splash across the sky as hope and progress emerge, and you !nd yourself in awe once again of the enormous privilege this pilgrimage actually is.

I don’t know where you are in your adoption journey. Maybe you’ve just started !lling out the paperwork. Maybe your children are now in their teens. Perhaps you are battered and bruised, cautiously pursuing adoption on the heels of a lengthy battle with infertility, and you are afraid to hope. Maybe you have a houseful of kids but feel called to make room in your home for one more. Or two. Maybe others think you’re crazy for doing so. Maybe you’re adopting domestically, or perhaps from a faraway land.

Although each circumstance would warrant its own book, adoption in general creates a unique pattern of victories and struggles that most families experience. One universal truth is this: no matter what chapter your story is on, no matter the particular bend in the road, my guess is that each one of you could use some hope . . . which is why you and I are meeting today. It’s why, hopefully, we’ll be spending the next thirty days together.

My prayer for this devotional is for you to be seen and to see. As we go to Scripture each day to tackle the issues involved in pursuing and parenting these treasures of ours, I desire for you to know you are seen—and therefore loved and understood—by our perfect adoptive Father who numbers every hair on our heads and understands even the most secret burdens in our hearts.

And I want you to see. I want you to see our God who, in His sovereignty, holds all things together so we don’t have to. I want you to see that you, your child, and your whole family are so incredibly cherished and provided for. I want you to see that we have a King who cheers us on and delights in our children. I want you to see that He owns all the resources we’ll ever need, thank goodness.

Let’s spend thirty gospel-rich days together, shall we? I am in the trenches with you. I understand you. I hurt with you. I am so proud of you. Let’s run to Jesus together and drink deeply from the abundant life He promises to give us as we live out this honored calling.