A Miracle Lost

"Two months, three days and twenty-one hours." That was my answer when a friend asked how long it's been. How long it's been since our life was actually together. How long it's been since grief hadn't permeated every hour of the day. How long it's been since I last felt like me.

A miraculous event set us on this journey. A letter bringing the situation to our attention. After some weeks of praying, the miracles were here. Two of them. Sweet, beautiful babies in need of a place to live and some "normal." The simple fact they'd been located and were now with us was a miracle in itself. But, the opportunity to teach these children about God's love and plan for them? It was too much for words. For weeks I wept with joy throughout the day. Having them with us was a tangible reminder of God's mercy for them and His grace toward us. 

As months became years, they "became" ours. -- in our hearts, to our other children and their children, to our friends and neighbors. Sunday dinners, holidays, school spirit and tuck-ins. It was all so vibrant and normal. The encouragement of many uplifted us and love surrounded us. We planned and lived our lives as though it would never end. The agency that employed us repeatedly asked our thoughts on adoption. We never wavered -- Yes! We were told it was imminent.

And then it wasn't. "Prepare the children to leave," I was told days before. There had to be some sort of mistake. On a sunny day, just after lunch, with only a few of us present we said our goodbyes. I would never pretend to know the grief of a parent who has lost a child, but if this is a glimpse, you have my undying sympathy. The first days passed with us awaiting the phone call: "There's been a terrible error. The children will be returning at..." The following week, reality had begun to set. We spent golden sunlit days of Autumn mired in the same despondency as the gloomy ones. Finding toys and crumbs and fingerprints -- all painful reminders of where life had been just days before... And then, not finding them at all. The weeks after that were filled with hours of my inner voice telling me it's time to get past this. "You have other children who need you. Christmas is coming, a celebration of the greatest Gift to mankind. Get with the program! Find the positives in all of this. This is only the life you had before -- stop being so ungrateful!" On and on my warlike optimism droned. And, as life moved forward, so did it's details as well. The appointment with the pediatrician that needed to be cancelled. The mailing list at the children's library that I still haven't brought myself to cancel. The letter terminating our contract with the agency. The bus driver who unknowingly teased me about getting some "free time" without them. The Christmas gifts I'd purchased ahead of time. Every good thing in life seemed to mock my emptiness.

And worse than all of this was my relationship with my Savior. It wasn't the same. It hadn't been the same. I clung to the hem of His garment hour after hour because I knew I had to, but I longed for the days when I would want to again.

Are They Convinced?

The scene closes as the doctor hangs his head. He has said those words no one wants to hear, "We've done all we can do." In this context, those words seem to harbinger hopelessness and even, death. "There are no other weapons, no other techniques at my disposal. I know of no other solutions, and these seem woefully inadequate."

In John 17, Jesus is in the Upper Room with the men He has served and taught for the last three years. He has washed their feet, excused His betrayer, and in this chapter, He prays. He prays His friends would know God through His testimony, and they would remember everything He has taught them, walking in His instruction. He prays they would continue to be sanctified, and He prays for us (!), those who would believe in Jesus because of the word of the disciples. Verse 23 talks about the oneness our relationship with Jesus establishes, our adoption:

"I in them, and You in Me; that they may be made perfect in one, and that the world may know that You have sent Me, and have loved them as You have loved Me."

"That the world may know."  Not that the world might be mildly intrigued by what they see. Not that the world might accept our testimony as an option. But, that the world may know. How can we be held accountable for what others believe or choose not to believe? 

Ezekiel 3:16-21, warns the prophet that if the people are headed for condemnation and he does nothing to warn them, he is responsible. Imagine someone preparing to step into oncoming traffic. They are on their phones, distracted. Are you not going to cry out or reach to pull them back?  You wouldn't merely whisper or turn away in horror until you had done all you could do to ensure their safety. If you grab hold of their coat and they shrug it off and lean into their peril, it's on them. What else could you have done? You did all you could. 

While the words of a TV doctor might reek of helplessness, in the case of Christian witness, giving our all, being brought to a point where we have done everything we could do -- no matter the choices of those to whom we have ministered -- is victory! God's words never return to Him void, without result. And though our intent may be the salvation of others (it's God's intent also), the victory just may be ours. We may experience all it means to obey the Great Commission and to be poured out for the sake of the Gospel. To speak where ears will not listen, to serve where help is unwanted, to love where love is disdained. But, all for Jesus.

If the world is to know, we have to be willing to do all we can. We have to boldly give it our best -- repeatedly -- as though they will know, as though they will choose Jesus with the same zeal of the Disciples who gave it their all, that we might know.