Weathering the Storms

"In every high and stormy gale,
my anchor holds within the veil."
~ Edward Mote

This past week was a very stormy one for both of my families. While my birth family was dealing with not one, but two hurricanes that pounded the beautiful island of Bermuda, by Canadian family was struggling through health issues with my adoptive mom which included also not one, but two ER visits.  I am beat, weathered, frustrated, exhausted and weary. In the storms of life that attack us physically and emotionally, we often come out feeling battered and rendered helpless. We do what we can in preparation, or in wise advice, but really much of the outcome is out of our control, and often the results are not what we would have chosen for ourselves or for our loved ones. This week was a spiritual reminder though that when I am weak He is strong. When I don't feel like facing the challenges of a new day, He provides new mercies every morning. When I feel broken, He makes me whole. Despite what comes my way, whether physical or emotional, my soul still belongs to the One who protects and provides. There is no storm that can ever separate me from His love and care.

Ahead of Schedule, but Right on Time

I don't think you can go through a life experience such as this one, searching for and finding your birth mom, and not become reflective. This has been a journey with much processing for me, and not only processing the immediate, but also looking back to the past and coming to the comforting realization that God was there all along, weaving His little surprises and timing everything just right.

In our home, it was considered somewhat of a rite of passage for us as adopted kids, to be able to discover our original birth names. This usually happened at about the age of 16, when my parents felt we were mature enough to handle the information. It was a time that I looked forward to with great anticipation. I wasn't so much incomplete without that piece of information, but of course you grow up curious as to what your original name was. Would it suit me? Would I like it? Do I know anybody else with that last name?

When I was about 12, my dad ushered me into his home office. Thinking I had done something wrong, I was a little apprehensive, but there he was, with a piece of paper on his desk, and a smirk on his face. "Do you want to know your real name?" "Really? I don't have to wait until I'm 16?" I don't recall anymore if it was the actual adoption papers, but I suppose it was, as that was probably the only official document they had in their possession that bore our original names. What I do remember is that I was quite excited to find this information out, especially years ahead of the anticipated time.

It wasn't until years later, and especially in these past few months of deep reflection, that I really appreciated the importance of discovering my birth name ahead of schedule, not because of the satisfaction to me personally, but because of the bigger picture that God was painting. It was a special moment that I shared with my Dad, and one that would not have happened with him if he had insisted on me waiting until I was 16.

You see, my dear father passed away from cancer when I was 15. I believe with all my heart that God knows the number of our days and in His amazing wisdom and grace He blessed me with that wonderful opportunity to enjoy that unique rite of passage with my Dad. It will forever remain a treasured memory and a reminder of God's perfect timing.