Remaining Faithful

Hello! I’m so glad you happened this way. My name is Jamie Read. My husband and I live right here in Knox county with our two young kids: Lucas and Eliana. I am the current board secretary at Starting Point and am a big fan of this ministry for so many reasons.

Fun fact: I love to sign my name “Jamie Joy”. Rest assured, it isn’t because I’m not a fan of my last name. Believe me, I’ve thanked my husband on numerous occasions for not having a long, confusing last name! (Though, of course, I would have married him either way. Probably.) No, I love to sign my middle name because of my story.

My mother was a few months pregnant with me when she lost her father suddenly. It was the next morning, as she sat grieving with my grandmother, I kicked for the first time. A few months later, my father lost his grandmother a few weeks before her 90th birthday. So on the exact day my parents got engaged a few years prior and the first birthday my great-grandmother spent in heaven, I was born; not only the first grandchild on my daddy’s side, but a girl in a family who’d had only boys.

Every time I was told those stories as a child, they always ended with some version of the statement: You brought joy in the midst of sorrow. Did you know the opposite of joy is sorrow, misery and despair? The moment those words landed on my computer screen, not too long ago, something resonated in me.

In the last two years, sorrow, misery and despair have knocked on the door of my heart at seemingly every turn. The enemy has fought to keep me locked in that prison, shamed by our seemingly unfulfilled dream and calling. The calling to adopt a child.

It was over thirteen years ago now but I well remember the moment. In the bucket seats of my future husband’s little red sports car we made our plan. As we passed the local K Mart plaza with Burger King set right there on the corner, we decided how we wanted to build our family: Have two. Adopt two. All of which is easy to say in theory when you’re seventeen and nineteen licking an ice cream cone dreaming of the future. Harder to execute when the day arrives.

Our son came along after an undiagnosed and untreated prenatal depression. I wish I'd known about Starting Point then. My story may have been different.

Even though those months were long and hard and pushed us nearly to our breaking point, it was in that season, a seed was planted. Three years and ten days later our daughter was born and according to our plan, adoption was the next step. But it wasn’t until she turned two that we felt ​called ​ to adopt. One look at the options available and we knew which route to pursue: Private Infant Adoption. We knew we wanted to be open arms to a mother who felt her options were limited because in my prenatal depression, I’d felt ​my ​ options were limited.

We moved to a bigger house to accommodate our soon-to-grow family, signed all the necessary paperwork, set up the crib and waited. Now the way this works is that we create a profile book - our smiling faces shining through every page with words crafted specifically to introduce our little family. The book is then presented among others to mothers who are considering the possibility of making an adoption plan. So we’re given every case that falls in line with the criteria we’ve set, we agree or disagree to allow our book to be shown and then we wait to see who she picks.

Our tenth case was a turning point. This child had already been diagnosed with considerable health concerns including an issue with the kidneys due to a malformed spine. All of which came with more questions than answers but one thing was almost certain: he or she would probably never walk. Initially, this was the first situation we’d been presented that my husband and I were quick to write off as impossible. But as the deadline to give our response approached, I felt the Lord’s nudging.

As we discussed what saying yes would require of us, my husband said these words: “This child could have an amazing story and if God wants us to be a part of it, then I don’t want to miss it.” So with shaky fingers, full of questions and doubts and fears, I typed out our response and hit send. The email was simple. It just said, “Yes.”

Friends, standing up for life isn’t easy. It will require sacrifices, challenges we won’t see coming and it will be hard. But we’ve been called to it. You and I as we claim the blood of Jesus, belong to a God who doesn’t ostracize the outcast. He sweeps His arms wide to include the marginalized. He upholds the downcast. And He calls us to do the same.

The word “Called” in scripture can often be translated as an “invitation”. See you and I are invited on a journey to join our Heavenly Father in standing for life. And we’re invited to know His heart as we follow that call.

Along this journey of adoption our family has had to overcome some incredible struggles we never anticipated. Because let me be very clear: The enemy isn’t a fan of life. But our God is.

Christ came so that we could have life and have it to the full. So, in keeping step with the Spirit, we’ve said yes at times it would have been far more comfortable to say no. Because if the God of the Universe wants to write an amazing story here with our lives, we don’t want to miss it.

If my numbers are right, our most recent case was our twenty third. Everything about this one felt different. This baby girl’s due arrival felt providencial and my husband and I felt the Lord’s hand moving in a way we hadn’t sensed before. We began to believe this child could be the one, our one. We circled our home in prayer both physically and spiritually in an act of faith. We bought baby stuff, dug out of storage things we’d need to bring her home and we washed sheets. Then we got the email announcing another no. Our twenty-third “No, you’re not the right family for this child.”

And I was devastated.

Do you remember the antithesis of joy? Sorrow. Misery. Despair. They felt like bad roommates who’d charged in and wouldn’t leave. They choked the oxygen from the air and squeezed the tears from my eyes. I wrestled with self-doubt and questioned our call.

When I was asked to share at the banquet, there was one question that haunted me then and kept resurfacing now: What could I share that would make any difference? I so wish I had a story of triumph to share. A story of hope and victory to take to the stage. One that pointed to where I was from the other side where the grass is greener. But I don’t. What I have is a story wrought with heartache and whispers of failure and not-good-enoughs. One of which I’m still walking - and at times drowning - in the middle ground. When I voiced my concerns, Diana and Madison were both quick to encourage with these words: “We aren’t called to success. We are called to faithfulness.”

Faithfulness.

Even through the chaos of falsehoods my new friends Sorrow, Misery and Despair shouted, the word “faithfulness” kept echoing deep in my soul. God never called me to my definition of success in this thing we call adoption. He’d called for my yes to join ​Him ​ on the journey. To take my stand for life. To be faithful to ​that ​ call. And to leave the results up to Him.

I asked my kids at one point, “What should mama tell the people at the banquet about our story?” My son, seven at the time, was quick to speak. I expected some words of wisdom but instead he shared,“Mama, you need to talk about how good pizza is!” I chuckled at his goofiness, but then I started thinking.

This year our family started a new Friday night tradition. We make homemade  sourdough pizza and then watch a family movie together. My son was right, it is good,  but I also realized two things. First, our little tradition requires patience. Patience to  wait until the starter is ready. Patience as we wait on the dough’s readiness to be  spread thin. Patience as it bakes. But secondly, it requires faithfulness to see it to  completion. If we stopped halfway through, we’d have a sticky mess on our hands. But  if we are faithful to the task, the end result is even more than delicious. It’s life giving.

Friends, our story is far from over. It isn’t wrapped up with a nice pretty bow like I wish. But, if I’m honest, it won’t ever be. The moment we bring home our child a brand new chapter will start that is really only a continuation of the last. What will we do with it? How will we move forward with all the intricate uncertainties of adoption? With patience and faithfulness. Patience as we wait on the Father to do His part and faithful to Him who invited us.

You and I ​belong ​ to the Author of Life and as such, we also ​belong ​ to His mission. This mission isn’t unique to my family or even Starting Point. This is God’s mission. And it’s He who calls us; He who is inviting ​you ​ .

I don’t just sign my name Jamie Joy because of the story of how I got it. I also sign it that way, because I know joy is the covering God has placed over me and despite life’s circumstances that are hard and unjust, joy is what He’s calling me to. And whether you know it or not, your name has a story. Because if you belong to God’s family, then He’s placed His covering over you too and He’s calling you to rise up to what He’s already named you.

I had the privilege of sitting in a room with a group of Starting Point clients a month ago. They shared all kinds of amazing things about Starting Point, but one comment has stuck out in my mind: This particular mom, a long-time client, said, “Starting Point is more than a pro-birth organization. They are pro-life. They show it in everything they do.”

Your calling, your invitation, will look different than mine. I’m not here to tell you to adopt. I’m not here to tell you to start a Friday night, homemade pizza and movie tradition. I’m here to encourage you to answer your call, your invitation, to rise up to your name and take your stand for life whatever that looks like. Because friend, you ​belong ​ here, on ​this ​ journey defending life, just as much as I do.

God isn’t looking for your success ratings or for what you can do for Him. He’s waiting, with his hand outstretched, for your faithful yes.