Fat Chance (23 page)

It was a precious time of celebration for us and for our boy—who was surrounded by so many people who adored him with the purest form of love.

The last time I had seen Emily was when Jaxon was three days old. I was a bundle of nerves on that day, wondering if she would really let him go. Would she keep her commitment? Would she let me see him, touch him, love him as my own?

But now the tables were turned. As I entered the room with Jaxon in my arms, I noticed tears welling up in her eyes. The expression on her face told me exactly what she had been wondering. Would I really show up? Would I keep my commitment? Would I let her see Jaxon and touch him and love him as though he were hers?

In the hospital room all those months ago she had been the one to say, “Isn’t he beautiful and perfect and strong? Hold him—you’ll see what I mean.” But now it was my turn to extend the same tenderness that I had been shown. “Isn’t he beautiful?” I said to her amid the banners and
balloons. “Isn’t he perfect and strong? Here, you hold him—you’ll see exactly what I mean.”

For a moment in time I was able to return the gift that had so graciously been given to me. And something about that experience felt very, very right.

J
axon has changed the Hadden home in a thousand ways since his arrival. The other night Mike asked me, “What are all of the good things that have come from adopting Jaxon?” I thought about it for a second and said with a smile, “Hmm … do they have to be
good
? I mean, let’s be honest … babies are
tough
!”

And it’s true—babies
are
tough. In the past year I have enjoyed no more than two decent nights’ sleep. I have vacuumed up more Cheerios than should be allowable by law. I have scrounged pennies from underneath couch cushions to fund his hundred-dollar-a-week formula habit. I have felt a perpetual pulling on my leg. I have organized kitchen cabinets at least six times a day. I have wiped tiny fingerprints from every conceivable surface in our home. I have had to secure the dog-food dish so that one especially curious human doesn’t dine on Puppy Chow each night. I have forsaken my beloved Kelly Clarkson CD in favor of one more round of “Wheels on the Bus.” I have increased my laundry duty by five loads a week. I have never finished a conversation. I have changed sixteen thousand dirty diapers. And I have not sat down even
once
.

But even in spite of that list—which is
far
from complete, as you know if you have kids—I wouldn’t trade Jaxon for the world. Because of him I awaken every morning to a bright and cheery smile. Because of him Noah has a brother to share life with. Because of him I hear the two best syllables in the English language no fewer than two hundred times a day—“
Ma-maaa!
” Because of him I know that God still answers prayers.

As a parent I thought a lot about what I hoped to teach Jaxon during his first year of life. In that timeframe he would learn to talk and to walk and to sing and to dance. He would learn the names of his family members and the location of his toes. He would learn of God’s love, even if he doesn’t yet fully know all that it means.

What I
didn’t
think much about was what Jaxon would teach me. On a rainy afternoon shortly after his first birthday I wrote a blog post for my
publisher titled, “All I Needed to Know about Life I Learned from My One-Year-Old.” Here’s essentially what I said:

“I’m realizing as my son Jaxon turns one that all I really need to know I am learning from him. Things like:

• It’s okay to cry when you don’t feel good.
  

• You need to eat—and eat
  often
  —in order to be healthy.
  

• Getting a good night’s sleep can make the difference between a good day and a bad day.
  

• There’s something wonderful about being held by somebody you love when you are feeling cranky.
  

• Before you can ever learn to walk, you have to fall down a few times. (Okay,
  many
  times.)
  

• When you take the time to notice them, even tiny, seemingly insignificant things can be amazing.
  

• A belly laugh really
  is
  contagious.
  

• Even the worst day can be turned around with a sweet smile.
  

• Everything that
  looks
  good doesn’t necessarily
  taste
  good. Like red crayons.
  

• The squeaky wheel usually does get the oil.
  

• And, perhaps the most significant one of all:
  Nothing
  compares to unconditional love.”
  ¹⁷
  

The post generated rave reviews for one and only one reason, I’m sure: Being reminded of the simple things in life often elicits the most generous helpings of gratitude.

M
ike and I had always said that if we had another son we’d name him Elijah. We loved that name, and we loved the character in Scripture. But when things on the adoption-front heated up, my darling husband received another prompting from God, who probably has come to realize that if he delivers the messages to me, I’ll forget to write them down.

Mike said, “This child is not ‘Elijah.’ He is someone entirely different, a baby we never
dreamed
we’d have.”

And with that, we were back to square one.

All soon-to-be parents probably go through the same dilemma when choosing a name for their child. Countless
dozens
of perfectly fine names get ruled out, all because the kid who picked his nose in your third-grade class was named Jeremiah. Or Ethan. Or Doug.

We had chosen Noah’s name because its origin points to the word
peace
, and so we knew that whatever name we selected for this new little one would have to have significant meaning. At one point, Mike came across the name Jackson, but its meaning was no more profound than, “Jack’s son.” Um, no.

Then he found the alternate spelling, and the entire baby-naming universe shifted before our eyes. “Jaxon with an
x
…” Mike read from the book of names one morning. “When spelled that way, it means ‘God has been gracious.’”

Bingo. Jaxon it would be.

In the Bible when God changed the spelling of a person’s name, it was to establish for that person a new identity. More than anything else Jaxon would bring to our lives, we wanted him to know that he brought the Haddens a bold reminder that God has been gracious, that he is gracious, and that he will be gracious for all the rest of our days.

It’s hard to imagine what God thinks and feels when he looks at the four of us today, but I like to think that as he gazes down from heaven he is proud. I think he’s proud that Mike and I waited for each other and stepped into marriage pure and blameless and more than a little excited to become one. I think he’s proud that from that day forward we devoted ourselves to him and chose to do whatever he called us to do, even when we didn’t exactly understand why. I think he’s proud that we strive to prove through our lives that God’s ways are
always
better than our own.

As a young girl, I dreamed about growing up, getting married and having two-point-five kids who were very close in age—a boy, a girl and whatever God wanted for the half. I never would have signed up for two boys, and certainly not two who are seven years apart and as different as night and day. But as I think about God’s thoughts toward me now, I like to picture him saying, “Yes. This is how I intended it to be all along.
This
is the story I wanted to tell.”