Harts in Durham

It was almost exactly three years ago that I sat with my best friend in my dining room folding little girls’ clothes. Timidly, I spoke her name out loud. The name I had uttered so many times before. Silently in prayers pleading with God to give her a family, quietly when asking my hurting friend if she’d heard anything more about her. But I had never said her name in a conversation so heavy with meaning for me personally.

Right now, I can’t believe that this same little girl is lying asleep on my bedroom floor next to her little sister. Curled up in a sleeping bag that her daddy bought for her because hardly stops talking about “when we all go camping.” In the moments when I pause to think about her and her sister all I can come up with is–how can it be??

On that day two years ago after a long discussion about the whys and the why nots, I had pretty much talked myself out of the very idea. She would not be my daughter—could not. There were too many impossible hurdles to overcome. I wasn’t sure why I felt so burdened for her. Certainly, it wasn’t the first time I had prayed for a family for this precious child.

But still….something was different. God seemed to be calling us to action.

This story has been a long time in the works. Maybe even longer than any of us realize. I have been hesitant to share the details of our adoption story. For so long everything just felt so raw. Like opening a not-yet-healed wound. Although, that’s a poor analogy because there has been so much joy. But the heartache that is so entwined with every adoption has hung like a shadow over me at times. As we near the anniversary of our time in Uganda once again, I’m filled with nostalgia. Everywhere I look I remember this time three years ago. How we were so prepared for our daughter. And then God knocked us off our feet again. This year I’m able to look beyond the pain to see how God brought us all together at just the right time. And in a way only He could.

Here is our story…