Michael and I have been married for six years. Before that, we dated for eight months and were engaged for four. Early in our relationship, when things started to feel more serious, we would take my paddleboard out on Lake Washington and dream aloud about our future together. During one of those quiet, hopeful moments, the topic of adoption came up. I don’t remember who said it first, only that the other immediately responded, “Me too.” In that instant, I felt God weaving our hearts and plans together—this dream of adoption was part of our future.
What I didn’t know at the time was how difficult it would be for us to have biological children. Early in our marriage, we conceived unexpectedly—but that pregnancy ended in a loss. It was later in the pregnancy, and I needed surgery afterward. I had never experienced miscarriage before, and the grief hit me like a storm. I couldn’t stop crying, and some long-time friends didn’t understand my sorrow, urging me to move on faster than I was ready. That misunderstanding left me feeling even more isolated during a season when I already felt profoundly alone.
Despite the pain, my desire to become pregnant again grew stronger, in a way I struggle to put into words. Yet, no matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t conceive. Years passed, and finally, doctors gave us an “unexplained” diagnosis—essentially, a shrug: “We don’t know why this is happening.” The uncertainty consumed me. I tend to like answers, and the lack of one left me anxious and doubting myself. What if I was doing something wrong? Why couldn’t I do the thing women are “meant” to do? It was an ache that never fully left me.
As time went on, it felt like God had forgotten us. Friends and family moved forward into parenthood while we remained childless. We had dreamed of starting a new family legacy, of raising children in a home where the past’s brokenness could be redeemed. Instead, we wrestled with loss, longing, and disappointment.
We eventually sought fertility treatments, but those brought two more heartbreaking losses—pregnancies that should have been viable. The treatments themselves were exhausting: injections, appointments, physical discomfort, and the emotional rollercoaster that accompanied them. After the third loss, we made a difficult decision: it was time to return to the dream we had first spoken about on Lake Washington—adoption.
Before diving back into adoption, we took a year to pause, reconnect, and cherish the life and blessings God had already given us. We shifted our focus from what we lacked to what we had. That year was transformative. Our marriage grew stronger, individually and together. We built deeper friendships and became richer in community. We learned to savor life even amidst waiting and uncertainty.
Adoption, we quickly learned, was far from easy. Beyond mountains of paperwork, there were unknowns, risks, and long periods of waiting. Each “you weren’t chosen” moment stung with quiet rejection. Doubts crept in, and sometimes it felt like our dream of becoming parents might never come true.
And then, suddenly, the email arrived. THE email—the one letting us know an expectant mother had chosen our family profile. I can still feel the joy that flooded us in that moment. We weren’t just another name in a system; we were seen. We were chosen.
We began talking to her, and though our conversations were sporadic, they felt promising. She joked about sleepless nights and shared parts of her life, and our connection grew. We flew to Jacksonville, Florida to meet her before her due date, ready to take the next step. But life, as it often does, threw challenges our way. Tragedies struck her family—her father passed, and then her son was shot. Our hearts broke for her, and our community prayed fervently.
Finally, the day came when we were to meet her in person—but at the last minute, we learned she had already delivered her baby a month earlier, an intentional attempt to deceive. In that moment, I imagined despair, but instead, I felt an overwhelming peace. Amid the devastation, one phrase pressed on my heart: “GOD ISN’T FINISHED.” We returned home empty-handed but with faith renewed, sharing our story and trusting God’s timing.
Weeks of waiting followed, a season that tested and strengthened our faith. Then, a month later, it happened. THE email again. This time, our hearts were more guarded, but our peace was deeper. Our connection with the expectant mother—whom we now call Mama M—was instantaneous and profound. The moment our caseworker asked if she had questions for us, she looked at us and said, “I know that they’re the ones.” Tears filled my eyes, hers as well. This was the beauty of adoption—it was love, trust, and faith in action.
We flew to Utah to share a meal with Mama M, her daughter, and her mother before labor. A simple dinner became a memory etched in our hearts forever. The next day, due to COVID-19 restrictions, we feared we wouldn’t meet our baby until after Mama M’s hospital discharge. But God made a way. We were given a private room and the joy of holding our daughter as snow fell outside. Days later, Mama M signed the consent for adoption, entrusting her child to us. We named her Malina Anna Mays, born on 2/2/21. She was perfect—our long-awaited miracle.
Three months later, a double blessing arrived. Through the same agency, a baby boy was born in Florida, whose birth mother, Mama N, sought a family with a story like ours. She chose us. We named him Fynn. Our church rallied, providing the $20,000 we needed to bring him home. Every piece fell into place, a tangible sign of God’s hand in our lives.
Today, our hands are full with two young children, but our hearts are overflowing. Malina and Fynn hold hands, share kisses, and light up our lives with laughter and love. After five years, three miscarriages, three surgeries, two failed fertility treatments, and one disrupted adoption, we now hold two beautiful children in our arms.
Looking back, every moment of waiting, pain, and uncertainty was part of God’s plan. He hadn’t forgotten us—He was preparing us for the blessings we now cherish. If our story encourages one person to trust, hold on, and believe, then sharing it is worth every word. God is faithful, even in the waiting, and He is always enough.
