Ian and I began our journey to adopt a little boy from China back in January of 2016. We had no idea when we took that step of faith what the coming year would hold for us. Had we known, I'm sure we would have drawn back. I'm so glad we didn't. 

It would be no understatement to say that this year has been the hardest year of our lives. The normal challenges of beginning a new life in another state far from friends and family were compounded by a sudden health crisis for me. Debilitating lower back, pelvic and gastrointestinal pain appeared seemingly out of nowhere last winter and burdened me almost daily with constant pain, nausea, weakness, fatigue and discomfort, at times making just picking up Serenna or eating adequately difficult. We saw a slew of doctors, endured months of physical therapy, spent ridiculous sums of money on supplements and medications, prayed fervently for healing, and saw little improvement that didn't evaporate with the next flare up of what was becoming chronic pain. The doctors were mystified. Further, struggles for Ian on the job front and a host of other misfortunes beset us in a litany that began to resemble, on a much smaller scale, the sufferings of Job in the Bible.

The longer my health struggles continued, and the more the finances we desperately needed to save for our adoption expenses were drained, the more fearful we became that we had made a terrible mistake with the adoption. What if we couldn't afford it in the end? Worse, what if my condition did not improve and I was unable to adequately take care of two young children in far-away Texas with no family close by? By some miracle -- by what we can clearly see now as the grace of God -- we forged ahead with the adoption process in the teeth of our fears, clinging to the hope that breakthrough was just around the corner, that this was merely a test of our resolve. For whatever reason, God wouldn't let us quit, though at times we felt sure we would have to, felt convinced that any sane person in our position would already have done so.

Fifteen months later (late April 2017), we were still seeking answers regarding my health issues and still seeking God's wisdom regarding job direction for Ian. Having recently also dealt with a horrifying and costly bug infestation in our apartment, Ian and I were admittedly wallowing in discouragement and self-pity, once again contemplating pulling out of the adoption, when we got the phone call from our adoption agency. "We have your match," the agency director informed us.

Cue simultaneous jaw drop. Now?

We may have been impatient to learn of our son's identity when this adoption journey first started, but for months we'd been quite content to wait, because waiting meant more time for us to better pull our lives together and save more money, more time for the changes within us and in our circumstances that we'd been banking on to occur. God's funny about timing, we've discovered. He rarely seems to think it's a good time when you're telling him, adamantly, "God, this needs to happen now!" When, however, you get to the point where you could  care less when the thing you've been waiting for happens -- or when you wise up enough to realize that, apart from His help and equipping, you can't possibly handle what you want -- that's when He drops it in your lap.

When the shock and panic of the news of our match subsided, peace settled in our hearts that God's timing is indeed perfect. We would love to have already exited the valley of this health trial that we've been in for so long. We'd love for Ian to have better paying jobs and to be able to spend more time at home. We'd love to maybe hit the jackpot -- the literal one. We'd love to know what all this struggle and heartache has been about. Maybe, at some point, we'll have more insight than we do now. But we're sure of this: there is a little boy on the other side of the world waiting for us to bring him home. God will give us strength for that, and we will have to trust him for the rest as well, and it's good that we should have to do so. God really does know best. 

We don't know a heck of a lot about our Desmond. We have his Chinese name, which, as if often the case with names of orphans in China, is made up of the word for the year of his birth and a random common surname. We know that he has cleft lip and palate, and that his initial surgeries were done at a facility sponsored by our adoption agency, giving us hope that the surgeries were done well and he was well-cared for. Thanks to the tests included in his medical file, we know that his heart looks strong and that he appears otherwise healthy. We know that he likes to listen to music and dance and that he's a good eater. There is much to learn when we visit China in August or September to retrieve him, and there is much that we will be unable to fill in, and not for lack of effort. We are anxious to meet him, to begin the work of knowing and loving him, and are curious about what this next phase of Murphy family life will look like. 

Please pray for us as we continue to fundraise to offset the cost of the adoption and travel to China, as well as legal and medical costs upon our return. We've received several grants and donations from generous friends and family, for which we're supremely grateful. Thank you for your prayers, your encouragement, and for sharing in our excitement at this new chapter in our lives. We couldn't have gotten this far without you.