I asked, and God said no.
Today I spent the morning with my baby.
I kissed his sweet face about a million times, I held his hand not wanting to let go, I helped dress him in his favorite Power Ranger shirt, comfy pants and special cape from his “Aunt Doolie.” I told him how very, very, very, very, VERY much I loved him. I cried some, smiled over memories more, and prayed a lot.
Sometimes in prayer, God says yes and we get our heart’s desire. Sometimes in prayer, He tells us to patiently wait on Him.
Sometimes in prayer, God tells us no.
I’m not sure if I’ve ever gotten a no before. I’ve had a million prayers unanswered, but just figured they’d floated off into the great unknown. Maybe He was busy that day. Maybe there were a lot more important prayers going up. Maybe I’m asking too much and He’s not going to repeat Himself and say no every single time.
But today, as I sat holding my baby’s hand for the very last time, and daring to pray for the most extreme of all miracles, God said no.
As crazy as it may sound, it’s impossible to deny that little voice in the back of your head that says “It could still happen. He could still come back. My baby will be the miracle God uses to reach the masses.” Unless you’ve lost a child, you can not fathom the depths your mind will go to convince you there is still hope.
Being a Christian makes it worse. Because the God I love, and the God that I know loves me and loves Tanner, has the ability to bring him back. He is the great physician, the great healer. Even when the rational brain knows your baby is gone forever, there is still that hint on the edge of the sparkle from the sliver of belief that your baby will get the miracle you’ve begged for.
Sometimes the hoping, the waiting, the standing at the window watching, the anticipation of a call that may never come…. sometimes that is the hardest part.
Today, God made it clear.
There will not be a miracle for my Tanner.
There will not be a miracle for Tanner because Tanner *was* the miracle.
In that moment, I was able to close the door on the hope for my plan and accept that Tanner — all of this — was God’s plan.
A part of Tanner’s adoption story came up today in talking with my mom, as she asked about his biological siblings. And there, in that moment, we realized that it was Tanner’s heart that brought him to me all along.
Tanner is Laotian Cambodian and was born to two immigrants in Long Beach, CA. He was the youngest of seven children to all have been removed from their mother. His social worker shared with me the rarity of finding Cambodian children in the foster care system as it is a very tight community that takes care of their own. Sure enough, each of his six older siblings had been taken in by relatives. But when it came to Tanner, his medical needs were too burdensome for extended family to take on and they let him go.
If not for his heart, I would have never had the chance to be his mom.
Tanner and every aspect of his life was a miracle.
All the little wheels God put into motion to open my heart to him: a miracle.
Every step that led him to be my son: a miracle.
The opportunity to experience pure unconditional love: a miracle.
The joy he brought to hundreds, if not thousands of people in his short life: a miracle.
The way he taught me that I could love to depths I never dreamed possible: a miracle.
Every single “mom” from his precious lips, grin from his sweet face, and hold of his soft hand: a miracle.
I got my miracle. His name is Tanner.
