God Knows Our Story - Luke & Natasha

Aug 19, 2019

"He’s got your eyes…"

"His hands look just like his Daddy’s."

"Her nose is perfect, just like her mamas."

It took me just a moment too long, to see the shut down. Standing in the back, quiet. For a boy who adores babies, this wasn’t the reaction I expected… and yet it was.

In our joy of welcoming Barlow, and reminiscing about the births of some of our other babies, I left some of my babies out. How could I?

It’s so easy to answer my babies I gave brith to "You were born right before midnight Elliyah. Daddy and I were so surprised you were a girl! You weighed 8 pounds and 14 oz and you had soft peach fuzz for hair.. "
Our Bosco doesn’t ask any questions like these

So what do we do when we can’t tell our baby the beginning of their story?

Oh my heart. I’m thankful this hurts me and I wrestle. It creates in me a desire to understand.
I would do anything to give Bosco the gift of knowing the beginning of his story. Today we don’t know it. Nothing. So we hold on to Bosco and tell him what we know is true.

We loved our boy before we even heard his name. 

We tell Bosco out of all the babies in the whole world we choose him

That first night in Congo with our boys we laid awake all night. We took in every inch of our beautiful son. His curly eyelashes, his long fingers, his beautiful brown skin. 

We praise God for the gift of Bosco.

But all our love doesn’t erase another part of his story.
One story doesn’t trump another.

And that’s hard. 

So I asked Bosco…

He told me it’s hard that only a little bit of people maybe know how big he was when he was born. Or maybe where he was born.

He said he knows there are other people that don’t know their stories too.

What he does know, he told me, is that God knows how big he was and where he was born. For some reason, he said, God doesn’t want him to know that right now. It makes him feel a bit better though that God knows because he knows God loves him.

So we keep learning how to be okay with the parts of our stories that hurt.

We remind ourselves we are not alone. We choose to be thankful and, like Bosco reminded me, find rest in a God who knows our story.