being broken is not always bad. being comfortable is not always good.

It took five and a half months to bring Zoe home.

It took five and a half months after that for me to go see my doctor for antidepressants.

I thrive on stability. I thrive on predictability. I thrive on plans.

I’ve admitted before that my emotions were shattered after Robbie’s seizure. I haven’t admitted on the blog, though, that my mood wasn’t stable before then.

I held it together – sort of – outside of our house, but I was snapping at Lee like never before, retreating to our bedroom to lie in bed whenever I could, and not enjoying time with friends or family. Life was a struggle.

As I share this, I want to be clear about three things:

• Zoe is not and was not the problem. She is the blessing. We don’t regret any of the steps along the way to bringing her home and making her a part of our family.
• Adoption is still beautiful. We still plan to adopt again. As we advocate for orphans and start the process to bring another child into our family, we must admit that the beauty of adoption is rife with hard places too.
• God is sufficient. He is and was sufficient in our struggles, through His Word, His presence, and His working in the lives of others… including, we’ve come to realize, His work through doctors to address depression and anxiety from a medical perspective.

I’ve dealt with depression and anxiety before. I’ve come out on the other side each time, by God’s grace. Usually, medication isn’t necessary. It might not have been this time if not for Robbie's seizure. The day before that awful night, I remember letting out a relieved sigh, as if exhaling all the stress of the previous months, and thinking, "I see the light at the end of this tunnel, and it doesn't seem too far away."

Then, the seizure.

While I knew we'd eventually get to that elusive finish line, I realized we would all be bruised and bloody by the time we got there unless something changed.

Just as I do not lack faith in God’s healing when I inject myself once a week with medicine to treat rheumatoid arthritis, it’s not a faith crisis to me to take two little blue pills to help regulate a chemical imbalance in my brain. Together, Lee and I prayed about both pharmaceutical approaches before filling the prescriptions, and we continue to do so.

(For the record, Lee has noted that he likes me on medication. He’s joking when he says that, but I’m not joking when I admit that I almost ruined our marriage last year with my inability to seek help.)

I’m myself again, and it feels like I’ve reconnected with a long-lost friend. Once the meds kicked in, I realized how far gone I had been and how much of myself had gotten lost in dark places. All of my relationships – with God, with Lee, with the kids, even with strangers – are healthier and better now. For the first time in a long time, I want to spend time with people. I want to have friends over to the house. I want to go on dates with my husband and playdates with my kids.

In other words, medication has made an amazing difference for me. For the entire family.

Why bother sharing this now?

Well, I didn’t plan to. Then when our friend Whitney from The Archibald Project came to town for our six-month follow-up documentary, I realized that people need to know the hard parts of adoption. The struggle is as much as part of the process as the victories.

Adoption didn’t make me depressed. Adoption didn’t make cracks in our marriage. No, those things were brewing already.

And, of course, adoption didn’t bring about the other life transitions of our move, Jocelyn’s start of school, and Robbie’s epilepsy. All those circumstances just merged to make the perfect storm for us.

That storm hasn't been all bad, either. Its lightning has exposed – in needed ways – the dark and broken places in our lives, as the God who orchestrated the tempest drew us to Him and refined us through it.  

We don’t want to glorify adoption. As I’ve written before, adoption is beautiful, but adoption is also bittersweet, and adoption involves brokenness.

After all, when God adopted me, He knew it would be messy.

We want to be real, as we declare that the culture of Christianity in our country does not always match up with the character of Christ in the Bible. Being broken is not bad, when God breaks us. Being comfortable is not good, when we're comfortable in the things that won't last. Medication can be a godsend, when our hope rests in Him and not it.

The past year has involved more brokenness and discomfort and, yes, medication for our family than any other year.

And?

We are grateful for that.