My friend, Michelle, is writing a beautiful “yes” legacy with her life. Watching her family’s story unfold has been inspiring. I asked Michelle to tell a bit of their journey and I am thrilled to share her words with you. I pray your soul is encouraged as you read of God’s faithfulness to my friend.
What does living with “at-risk” faith look like to you? I’m honored to share our story of what that looks like for our family.
My name is Michelle and I am married to my high school sweetheart (cliche, I know). I feel very blessed to be able to say that we have been married for 15 years. We have six kids: 3 girls and 3 boys.
Our journey to walking with faith started five years ago. We were your typical American family: Craftsman style home, golden lab, and three little girls. We had toys to use on the weekends and lived life very comfortably. Then we read a book called “Crazy Love” by Francis Chan. This book changed our lives. Read More
We all love a good “up from the ashes” story. Rooting for the underdog is just plain fun. Watching the “come-back kid” drop the mic is thrilling.
Simone Biles does not deserve to be cast as a character in our fairy tales.
As the parent of a kid from a hard place, I get the desire to see a “cinderella story” emerge. I also understand that desire is mostly gross and incredibly unfair. My child doesn’t owe me or society anything. He doesn’t need to prove himself to anyone. He is not responsible for changing the statistics or topping the charts. He certainly doesn’t need to “come out on top” in order to validate some weird made up idea of what it means to have a “successful adoption” story.
We must be careful with our definition of “success.” In fact, let’s just nix the word altogether. Let’s replace it with words like “kind” and “compassionate” and “thoughtful.” Let’s let those labels define our kids’ stories.
If you think I’m making this up, just look at a few of this week’s headlines regarding Simone Biles: Read More
I’m just going to jump right in. This was a hard post to write and I’m sure, for many, it will be hard to read. I don’t have all the right words and phrases and I know there will be many posts this week that are much more eloquent and thoughtful than mine but I can not stay silent. It has been an ugly week in social media land and it will continue to get worse. So read this post, or don’t. But please, read something.
I was ignorant and had unknown racist tendencies until beginning the adoption process. It wasn’t until I began to really listen to the comments people were making towards our adoption of a child of color that I began to wake up. Read More
I am so grateful for the opportunity to share our adoption story on www.ChristenSpratt.com. Please read and share. God is good and life is hard. Reading stories of His faithfulness is good for our souls.
My adoption dream began around age seven after accidentally finding a picture in one of my mom’s Women’s Health books of a screaming lady with a baby coming out of her “lady parts.” I was traumatized and asked my mom what my options were. Sure I wanted to have kids someday but, dear Lord, not like that. She humored me and, after putting the book on a higher shelf, talked to me about adoption. A seed was planted in my little-girl-heart that day.
Fast forward about 20 years. I’m married to my high school sweet-heart with two young kiddos who entered this world just like that Women’s Health book said they would. My husband had finished school and was working as a Prosthetist, building legs and arms for amputees. We were settling into life nicely.
It was only a 3 minute conversation. Short and sweet and, I hoped, age appropriate. We had referenced the topic before but this was the first time I could tell she was starting to understand.
Grace. God’s crazy, perfect, necessary grace.
Jane, my “full of personality” four-year-old, had just simmered down from a moment of less than appropriate behavior and the resulting consequences of her poor choice. Being the animated child she is, the conversation to follow went something like this:
Jane: “Oh Mother, do you even love me when I choose to do the bad things?” Let me pause for a moment to assure you this is a true conversation. When feeling like the situation needs an extra sparkle of drama, my four year old refers to me as “mother.” Yup. Read More