Exactly a year ago, two little people came into our lives. They were dropped off by social workers, one carrying her beaker, the other with clothes donated by caring strangers. We knew very little about them, except that, right now, they needed a home, safety, and love.

6 months after they joined our family, we were told they had been given a Placement Order-they would be placed for adoption. And, very tentatively, we asked if the authorities would consider assessing us to be their forever family. Emotionally it felt like a huge risk. We love these little people like our own, but we know that there are lengthy processes that must be gone through before they are matched to their new family. Were we prepared to put ourselves through the assessment process, knowing that someone could say a big fat no, and then we would be asked to move children we’d considered our own on to someone else?  Would it be easier to not take the risk, and just accept they would be found a family, we would move them on, and there would be more foster children? Maybe.

Except that they had become part of our family. With their big eyes and curly hair, and calling us Mummy and Daddy, and learning very very slowly that they could trust us, whether they stayed or left, they already had pieces of our hearts. So we prayed big prayers, hoped for an obvious sign (like the fact that their names also begin with M and T, just like Megan, Maisie and Toby!), and put it out there.

Fast forward another 6 months, and here we are, we’ve been assessed to the eyeballs, talked through every piece of our lives, had medical checks, criminal records checked, finances assessed. We’ve had 3 people write long references for us, and 2 of them have been interviewed about us. A large document has been written all about us, recommending we are approved to adopt (hooray!). A bunch of social workers and their managers have sat in a matching meeting and agreed unanimously that these two should be matched to us as their forever family (whoop whoop!).

It’s not a done deal yet-we have to go through two panels, one to be approved as adopters, then one to be matched to the children. There will be about 16 people asking questions, going through the document all about us with a fine tooth comb, and making a yes or no decision. Then, after we are officially matched as their adoptive family, we will wait another 3 months before we can apply to the court for a legal adoption order. At that point their birth parents can still contest the decision. And finally, a judge can decide a yes or a no, and, hopefully, their names can change and they will legally be part of our family forever.

Exciting? Yes. Daunting? Yes. Simple? No. A happily ever after? Probably not. Because these little ones have been through horror and trauma, and no amount of love and security and reassurances can undo the hurt and the damage. Some scars will inevitably remain. We believe in a God who can do anything, and we pray that He will heal their scars, but we go into this aware that it may well be a challenging journey.

And then there was the matter of ‘unborn’. All through this process, we knew there was another little one expected. And the question was put to us-would we consider having their sibling too?

In the end, there’s no easy way to make a decision like that. Is 6 children too many? I don’t know-when I had Megan at times I felt like I couldn’t cope and was overwhelmed. And when I had two. And three. Then four. You get the idea. But then at other times-many other times, I’ve felt complete joy over the privilege of caring for all these little people. But what about ‘our three’? Is it fair on them? I don’t know. Maybe they’ll resent us bringing these little ones into our home. But maybe they’ll see that all we wanted to do was to reach out and do something for the vulnerable and hurting and broken. And maybe they’ll grow up with a mindset that we can share what we have, and sometimes that is hard, but other people have value too.

Sometimes you get to a place when there are too many pros and cons and opinions, and you get overwhelmed. And then we sat down and had a long chat and pray and chatted with various social workers, and then waited.

By Monday we still didn’t know what the plan was. We viewed a bigger house because they don’t come available often around here. We liked it, but had to wait for the landlord to decide which tenants he wanted.

Tuesday morning we heard we’d got the house. Then we had a phone call at 3:30 – baby had been born at 1 pm. Could I go to hospital and collect him please.

And so Tuesday evening, Valentine’s Day, Liam’s birthday, we found ourselves sitting cuddling a few hours old baby, wondering what his future will be, wondering what the courts will decide for him-and for us. After running around finding the car seat and baby clothes and buying nappies and sterilising bottles, here was the reality. A tiny infant, still with his umbilical cord, taken from those who had given him life but are unable to care for him, unknowingly entering a world where there are visits and paperwork and assessments and judges making decisions.

We know it’s a risk. The judge might say he can go back to his birth parents. Are we prepared for that? No. But I’ve never been prepared to say goodbye to any of the little ones we’ve loved, but when it comes to it, we can do it. Because I trust in a greater Father and a greater Judge who makes the wisest decisions and who loved each child before they came into being. If our only part in this little ones life is to look after him and keep him with his birth siblings until he moves elsewhere, then I know we’ve done all we can for him.

So if you pray, please pray for us! Pray for all the children in our home, pray for us as we care for them with a newborn and also move house. Pray that adoption panel goes ahead when it is meant to and that it and the adoption order are a smooth process. Pray that the court hearings for the newbie go smoothly and I have patience through the ups and downs of contact and social services. And pray that God gives us a car big enough for us to all travel in!

On Tuesday I took little M to gymnastics. She normally loves it – until she has to do something hard. This week didn’t go so well. In the warm up songs there was a lot of jumping, and she can’t quite get her feet off the ground. When she was going around the equipment, and walking along the beam, the beam went from wide to narrow – and she would stop, panic, and no matter how much I reassured her I was next to her, she would flop her legs and I would be carrying her along it. Then came the exercises the instructors were practising. First, hanging from the high bar. Even with Kate’s arms firmly around her, there was a look of sheer panic across her little face, and she clung onto that bar for dear life until I helped her take her hands off, and she realised no-one was going to let her fall. And finally, the other children were practising handstands. There was no way this little lady was going to trust someone to hold her upside down! By the end of the 45 minutes, she was exhausted.

When you go to children’s groups like gymnastics, it’s easy to watch the other children and the other families, and to start comparing what your little one can do with the others you see there. I don’t do that with M. I know that the other children can jump, and aren’t petrified of the beam, they trust the people helping them. But I know M’s story and they don’t. I know this little lady was just as afraid of lying on her tummy at 2 years old, and we had to practise by me lying on the floor and her lying on me so it wasn’t so scary. I know she was scared of kneeling on the floor and I had to wedge her legs between my knees to keep her up. I know she had so many meltdowns at physiotherapy that the physio started coming to our house instead, because it was a safer place to M.  I know she had to have straight splints to hold her legs straight so she could practise standing, and then we spent hours by the sofa playing with toys to get her leg muscles strong enough to hold her up. And I know that in only 6 months, she went from not being able to roll over or sit herself up, to walking along the beach. I don’t expect her to be able to do what her peers can do, and I know that what she needs more than anything is the constant reminder that I am there with her, and, in time, she’ll try it, and she’ll smile that smile when she realises she’s done it ‘all by myself!’

Then I thought about myself, and the things I can’t do. The things I’m afraid to do because I think I’ll mess up, or the things I’m convinced everyone who sees me will look down on me for. The situations where I’m afraid to speak because I’m sure I’ll say something stupid. Often I am my worst critic-I play scenarios back over in my head and wish I’d been braver or wiser or hadn’t done that thing or said those words.

The truth is that I have my own story, and, little by little, I’m learning to embrace where I’ve come from, instead of beat myself up for when I mess up. There is a lovely verse that says, ‘For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, “Fear not, O Jacob, you men of Israel! I am the one who helps you, declares the Lord; your Redeemer is the Holy One of Israel.’ When I read it I picture a parent helping their child learning to walk, holding their hand, helping them balance, catching them when they fall. Being there when they try the things they can’t quite do yet, but cheering them on and being the safe arms to catch them. God is writing my story. He knows where I’ve come from, the messes I’ve made, the places I’ve tripped up. And He also knows my successes, the things I’ve learned along the way, the times I’ve held onto Him and trusted Him to keep me safe. I don’t need to compare myself with the people around me, or to listen to the critic in my head-I don’t have to live in shame of the past of fear of the future, because I am being held by the Holy One. The Author of my story knows me, loves me, is proud of me, and saved me. And my story isn’t over yet.