Revisiting Sovereignty

MBray is applying for a scholarship that requires the applicant to write an essay explaining why they have chosen their college major. I love her words. I love her heart. But there is also the pang of how completely we were deceived by her father. Here's the essay:

               College was never something I looked forward to. I believe learning is important and enjoy it if it’s a subject I see a need to learn about, but I did not know what I wanted to do with my life. Growing up, my ideas for the future ranged from veterinarian to chef to actress, all of which would have been fine professions, but not ones for which I felt passion. Much like my desire to learn things for a purpose, I want my life to have a purpose as well. I knew I wanted to uplift and encourage others, but I did not know how to turn that into my life’s endeavor. I was lost. What this essay will describe is how I found my purpose and passion, which in turn has compelled and excited me to further my education.

                This story begins when I was fifteen on a Sunday morning. My father and I had spent most of the night at the ER. Fortunately, it turned out to be nothing at all serious, but that didn’t change the fact that we were exhausted. One thing you should know about my father is that he was always looking for ways to get out of going to church. Whether he needed to plow through a larger than normal sports section in the paper or we all needed to watch this classic movie, at least once a month there was a less than viable excuse for not going. You can imagine my surprise then when my parents knocked on my bedroom door the next morning to tell me they were both headed off to church. When they got back, they were giddy. The sermon that morning had been on adoption and during that sermon both of them had felt called to act on it. In my mind, it was a no brainer. I always believed we had a wonderful family and we had plenty to go around. Why shouldn’t we offer our house and family to someone who needed them? Everyone was in agreement and so the process began.

We wanted to adopt from the U.S., someone younger than my brother who was ten at the time, and possibly a sibling group. That is very easy to say, but so much harder to do. My parents participated in all the classes, signed all the forms, completed all the home inspections, and basically played the game. A year passed and we still had not even gained an approval, much less a child. Our papers were lost numerous times. People retired or wouldn’t call back. Everything that could go wrong did. But somehow, about fifteen months in, we finally were approved. Excited that we might finally welcome a child into our home, the next few weeks after that were spent waiting for a call, placing inquiries about children on state and national adoption websites. Nothing happened.

I was sixteen now. There was a dinner for foster and adopting families in our area, hosted by the Department of Human Resources. Hoping to get noticed, my parents decided to go. The adults were going to dinner, while the children would stay at the DHR offices, cared for by the staff there. I knew it was necessary, but was hardly enthused. It’s hard to be when you’re left behind in a place you have never been with people you do not know. In the end, my brother and I confined ourselves to a corner, with our sticker name tags, nervously nibbling on cold pizza. As I stood uncomfortably, glancing out the window at the greying sky, wishing I could be anywhere else, I suddenly heard, “Look M., she has the same name!” I turned to see a little girl, about eight with long blonde hair pointing straight at my face. She was motioning to a tiny girl one sitting across from her. I looked down at my name tag confusedly. Yes, I was M. Apparently, the little wisp the blonde was talking to was also. The blonde girl, whose name was T., began a conversation and I eagerly responded. We played games with the salt and pepper shakers and talked about our love of cookies, like you do.

When the social workers shooed us away from the cookies to the playground, I tagged along after T. and M.. It was on that playground I began to know my namesake a bit better. She was pale to the point of sickly, with chopped off brown hair and unnaturally large eyes. It was plain she had not been well taken care of, yet she had a sweet, unmistakable joy emanating from her that both surprised and endeared me to her. Despite T.’s repeated insistence that she must “take care” of her sister, by this time she had entrusted M. completely to me. My evening could not have gotten better as I bused her to the kitchen and to the bathroom, her soft hand fitting so naturally into mine. I could see she acted younger than she was, though there seemed to be no mental issues. Along with the other factors, I began to realize these must be children placed in the foster system, possibly very recently. My mom had talked about the kids we might adopt and all the issues they may have. She bought scores of books on the subject. But now it was not just a theory. It was right in front of me and it was tragic—yet beautiful at the same time. How could something so brokenhearted be so kind and gentle? The question itself gave me hope. If they could bless others in such a way when they were hurt, imagine how they would blossom if they experienced healing.

It was the end of the night and all the children were sitting watching Alvin and the Chipmunks: Chipwrecked. I was sitting in the middle of T. and my brother. M. was trying to get a blanket from another child and generally being her friendly self, which annoyed T. as “their mother had told them never to talk to strangers.” I was just beginning to wonder why I was not considered a stranger, when T. decided to forcibly pick up M. and bring her across the room. Unfortunately, M. was far too big for this maneuver and T. dropped M. M.’s crying did not last long. T.’s tears were far worse. She blubbered about how she was letting her mother down—the mother I later found out she had been taken away from. I wanted to help her, but I felt confused and awkward. I could not imagine the responsibility and pain this girl must be dealing with every moment. She was not only coping with the estrangement from her mother, but must help her sister navigate living in an unfamiliar place with strange people. As one of the adults comforted her, my heart ached for her in a way I had never experienced before and I wished I knew how to help.

It took me hardly 24 hours to decide that this was where the Lord was calling me. I had always enjoyed being with kids, trying to figure out what made them tick, but I could use that interest for something greater. I was passionate about helping children be their best, both mentally and emotionally. Our dreams of adoption eventually fell through. I was never able to connect with T. or M. again, but that night God used them to allow me to see what I wanted to do with my life. I began working with children in any way I could, mostly through church activities, with the aim of gaining more knowledge about how children think and how I can better serve their needs. Through these activities I have gained not only experience, but friendships and assurance that this is what God wants me to do. When I attend Auburn University in the fall, I will be pursuing a degree in Human Development and Family Studies with the intent of going on to pursue a Master’s Degree in School Psychology. People find this rather funny since I’ve been homeschooled my entire life, but also think it will give me a unique perspective. Children excite me because of their innocence and potential. I see in them endless possibilities. I hope that in serving them I can be a nurturing and positive influence that will encourage them to be the person God created them to be.

As I've been rehashing how we got where we are, why life didn't turn out in ways I think would have been better, I am led to one conclusion...God's sovereignty. It's the only thing I can cling to about my ex and about other things in my life too. The quarter of a century of being deceived, the doors I wish were open but are not, the dreams unrealized. I keep breathing, I keep taking another step, I keep moving forward, not only because I must, but also because of my faith. The Lord has had this all along, for what purposes I am unsure of. I am banking on the promise, all things work together for good. Give me unshakable confidence in it, Lord!