come meet your baby boy

 I have found myself telling our adoption story so many times recently. I am not sure if its because this is around the time that we matched with first expectant mom, two years ago. Maybe its because I got a fun new job as an adoption consultant. I am honestly not sure, but there is a part every single time I tell our story that I cannot help but get goosebumps and teary eyed - and I have told this story at least 15 times. 

As many of you know our first adoption was a disrupted match. It was a goose chase for a few days. I remember being confused and broke, lost and hurt. But I still felt a sense of hope for some reason. I knew that we were not done. We knew our adoption had truly failed on a Thursday and on the following Monday we got a text about a baby boy who was born at 3:01PM - he was Hispanic, a stork drop and birth mom was ready to look at profile books. I can tell this story over and over - then I get to this part. 

On Tuesday morning Lisa, our case worker, called and asked if I was near Alejandro. She had a different voice than I had heard before. I wasn't sure what it meant exactly and I was still pretty numb to the chaos that unfolded a couple days before, but remember - I said I had hope. So with the ounce of hope that I had and a smidge of wanting it to happen. I heard, 

'Come meet your baby boy.'

a small cloud was lifted. We were ready to go, but couldn't leave that day due to flights. The next morning we got to the hospital and I remember being so nervous. Like the most nervous I had ever been in my entire life. I walked through the door in the NICU and immediately it was as if time was frozen and not a single second of heartbreak mattered anymore. We knew in that moment that we walked through every second of the mess to get to Miguel. I knew that I would need to process things, I knew that would come with time. But in this moment meeting our baby boy was so bittersweet and that was something to focus on. 

Over the next couple of days, Lisa was very good about reminding me that I would still mourn the loss of baby girl. I did not know that this would happen or how this would look because honestly I felt fine. But then, one night while doing skin to skin with Miggy I remember silently weeping. Alejandro was resting on the couch and woke up to see me crying over our new baby and then I realized what happened. I was processing. I was mourning, but joyful. I was in shock but excited. I as hurt, but healing. Miguel was not a bandaid - I will forever say this. This was a process I walked through for weeks following. I was never mourning what we did not have. I was mourning the fact that this child was being placed in state custody and there was nothing I could do. I was mourning the hurt caused by an expectant mom who was so lost that she created a trail of lie and deceit. I was just mourning. 

But as I say so often, we would walk through it again because we know the outcome. 

I still think about that baby girl, we named her Marlo. I still pray for her often. 

But I would never change where we are now as a family. I trusted that God had us and I knew that our story was not over. God truly had to break me to build me up. I had to loosen my grip fully before I could be an adoptive mom because that title while a beautiful one, can be a tough one. Guys, I do not wake up every morning thinking about the fact that Miguel is my adopted son. I wake up thinking about how he is my son. However, when I see the picture we have framed in his room - the one of us and his birth mama I am reminded that we, 'share,' Miguel. She gave him life. She birthed him. She chose life for him. She chose adoption for her child and she chose us to parent her child. 

don't sweat the little stuff

 This post has been a long time coming. I quit writing awhile back because I couldn't find the time, honestly. I still wrote things in my head everyday and would sometimes write on social media platforms, but would never allow myself time to write on here. This blog has been with me since 2013, maybe. If you looked back you would find all of my secrets. I mean not really, but you would be able to tell what I was going through in each season. I tried looking back awhile ago and laughed and cried, then laughed some more. Just because the blogs I wrote then were really meaningful then, but they are still punching me in the gut now. 

A couple months ago while listening to a podcast, I heard someone say - 

 you are never as passionate as you are at the age of 22.

And nothing has ever made more sense. I have spent most of my late 20s chasing after that feeling, chasing after the girl who was on fire for things. So passionate that she was a force to be reckoned with. I have spent so much time trying to win her back. I mean she truly was fearless. She went to Africa every summer without hesitation, got baptized in the Nile river without thinking about the parasites. She traveled around the States staying in strangers homes. She truly was fearless. 

Now she is 28, a wife and a mother. She is me if you haven't picked up on that yet. & I find myself more scared now than ever before. I wonder where the fear came from, but the only thing I can trace it back to was moving to Uganda. I cannot wrap my mind around why it happened or why I am the way I am now. Its really not a fun place to be, to be scared of the craziest things. 

I can create a wild scenario in 2 mins flat. I can fall asleep on demand, its a defense mechanism I created to handle the fear.I cannot get in an elevator without my palms sweating. 

This list could go on and on. If you met me you wouldn't know I was scared of so many things - until I started making jokes about how I fall asleep on demand when I am scared or make dumb jokes to laugh off the fear while stepping into an elevator. When I am nervous I talk louder, according or my husband. Or I am scanning the area like Maggie from FBI, waiting to catch someone. 

However, I do not want to be this anymore. I do not want to live in fear. I want to feel like I did at 22, granted I know that won't really come back fully because -who are we kidding - I was single, with no bills and lived by the saying. 'why not.' But I promised myself that this year I would do something every week that scares me a little bit because that is how I get rid of this beast on my back. I do not mean skydiving. I simply mean riding in an elevator alone. Driving down the interstate in a thunderstorm. Normal everyday things that make me a tiny bit nervous. 

I think the wildest thing about all of this and that I know hard things are worth it. I know that I do things and then look back and I am shocked that I did it. I seem to be able to do the big things for some reason. I can adopt a child, I can move states, I can walk through a disrupted match. I can go months into national pandemic without a single anxious thought (I did this and I am still not sure how. Maybe it was Tiger King or TikTok, but y'all. I never panicked about Covid - I mean duh I have since, but the first panic about it was last month.) I can do all of this because I knew that Jesus was with me. Like I knew I was not walking alone. 

But man, the tiny things. I always sweat the tiny things. 

and as my dad always says, 'don't sweat the little stuff.'

So here is to my year of not sweating the little stuff. 

calling

I had a friend once who obsessed over the phase, "God's calling on my life. " I obsessed about it so much during our friendship and two years after that it made me a very anxious person. I was so scared to step outside of what God was calling me to do, that I literally didn't do anything. I just sat, literally sat on my comfort couch, this is what one of my dear friends called it. I remember the day I got rid of my comfort couch, it held too many negative memories. I sat her by the street with a note that read, "she was a good couch."  Someone picked her up within 10 mins. I cried a little bit because me getting rid of that couch was much more than just getting rid of some old, torn couch. This was monumental in my life. This meant that I had to do something. I could no longer stay on my couch watching New Girl and wishing for a better life or a better calling. I had to figure out who I was for myself.

I don't remember the exact timeline of everything. But I started back to college again, one thing you must know is that I am terrible student when it comes to college things. I dropped out fast than John Mayer dumped his girlfriends. I was in school and my parents were hosting the children's choir from Uganda. I knew it was going to be such a special time because I knew the Ugandan culture. It was a blast. It changed my life. I joined their tour. I said, "yes." I did this by myself. I did this alone. This, "yes" was the very first time that I said yes to something without asking a friend or a boyfriend. Mainly a boyfriend. I did it. The first night I cried myself to sleep because I was sleeping in a blow up mattress, in a baby nursery in a strangers home. Honestly, who wouldn't cry - but for real, I had to adjust to my, "yes." This was my first step to trying to figure out my calling. Sure, I was scared. I was scared of what people would say when they found out that I dropped out of school to join a children's choir. But, I got over that shortly after. When you have 18 kids saying, "Auntie" all day, you forget about a lot of things quickly.

Fast forward three weeks and we are in Spartanburg, South Carolina. I hated South Carolina, it was entirely too hot. It was humid and it was just hot. The kids loved the church, I loved the church. This is where I heard about a guy moving his family to Uganda. I remember exactly where I was standing when I found out. (Not knowing that this house, the exact room I was in would be my room for a season a year later.) I remember something clicking inside me. I remember thinking that I could go with them, but I didn't know them. I met them all the next day, the entire Benjamin House team. I heard about a guy who was giving up his US visa status to move and I thought that was a huge commitment. I battled with that for awhile because I knew that these people knew their calling and I still did not. I had no clue.

Weeks past and for some odd reason I kept thinking about moving to Uganda with these people I had just met. I kept freaking out about the idea, but the idea would keep coming back. I would ask Jho, one of the Ugandan chaperones, "What do you see me doing with my life? What do you think my calling is?" I would ask him literally all the time. He would bring up some scripture and tell me to get a grip, I would figure it out. It was all out of love of course.

Fast Forward a month later and I am in Knoxville, Tennessee. I took the van to a book store (it was my tour thing) and on the way back I put the windows down, I processed and I felt free in that exact moment. I remember it like it was yesterday. All of the things that defined me previously, bad relationships, "my calling," religion, all of that did not matter anymore. I was free, I was free to make a decision. I was free to try and figure out what my calling truly was. You'd think that it would have been written in the clouds, it wasn't. But, I knew that I was free to make a decision.

The next city we visited, I told a friend that I was moving to Uganda with the Benjamin House team. I felt it in my bones that I as supposed to. I called my mother, she picked up the phone crying and said, "I know what you're about to tell me and I think its wonderful, but I need a little time to process." I HAD NOT EVEN TOLD HER ABOUT BENJAMIN HOUSE. The Lord told my mama before I even could. Talk about wild?!

Tour ended. I moved to Uganda. I felt at peace, but I knew deep, deep down that it wasn't forever. It wasn't. I moved home 5 months later and left dear friends behind. I had to move home for my mental health. I wasn't scared to move home. I wasn't really scared of failure. I was still just so scared that I would never find my calling. I loved being in Uganda, I loved the children in the slum, I loved teaching the mamas English with my roommate. I loved my sweet Ugandan roommate. But I knew I did not belong there in that season.

I moved home and said I would go back to school to teach English, this was my, "new calling." I think I started the semester and it ended quickly. I finished the semester but knew that wasn't what I truly wanted to do. I missed my friend in Uganda, the one who gave up his US visa to move. I missed him deeply. I called him one day out of the blue. I had not talked to him in 3 months, every emotion came rushing to me, something clicked. I knew I loved him. I told him the week later and we were married shortly after. He moved home because the Lord allowed him to be approved for a 10 year visitors visa.

We got married. I was working as a massage therapist (I have been one since 2011, I go back to it sometimes.) I knew it wasn't my calling, but I loved my clients. I loved my co-workers and I loved my bosses. Alejandro was working at FedEx. He loves the race of the day, seeing how fast he could get done. We were getting use to being married. We loved each other so well, we still do. We were focused on being a husband and wife.


Then we started a taco truck. I love the taco truck, Alejandro knows that this is part of his calling. He knows that this will be with us as long as the Lord allows. I love the people we serve, I love the places we set up, I love the food.

Then we met our baby boy. On May 13th, we got word that a baby boy was born. On May 14th, we found out that we were chosen to be his parents. I thought there would be a magical moment where everything clicks, there wasn't. I was pretty numb because of everything that had happened 3 days before with the failed match.

However, when I met our baby boy.

It clicked.

I felt part of my calling. I felt the feeling I felt when I said, "I do." to Alejandro. I felt the feeling I felt when I said my first yes to join tour. I felt the feeling I felt when I said yes to moving to Uganda. I felt the feeling I felt when we started our food truck. Thats the thing about, "my calling" - I don't think its supposed to be this one thing for the rest of my life. I think it's simple. We are called to love God and love people. I'd like to think I do those thing pretty well. Sure, I don't know what the next 5 years hold. I don't know what the year 2020 holds, but I know this - I am called


I am called to love the Lord with my whole heart.
I am called to be a wife.
I am called to be a mother.
I am called to love others.
I am called to run a taco truck behind the scenes.
I am called to treat every human equal.
I am called to tell our story.
I am called to things bigger than myself.
I am called to trust.
I am called to not fear.

I am called to be patient.
I am called to say, yes sometimes and no others.
I am called to be a daughter.
I am called to be a sister.


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