Reading · Ruth's Story Bytes

"These twins will never walk, talk, or feed themselves."

That was the pronouncement of the first pediatrician who saw my boys in the NICU.

More than a year after that prognosis, I first met the little boys who would become my sons through adoption.

I heard a lot of facts before I had the opportunity to gaze into their chocolate-brown eyes that melted my heart.

My heart broke several weeks later when I heard one of them sobbing inconsolably after surgery. I entered the room and watched the nurse trying everything she could to comfort him.

As soon as she placed him in my arms, he stopped crying.

Somehow, he already knew that I was his mom and he was at home in my arms.

"These twins" are now twenty-five years old.

They learned to walk at twenty-seven months of age.
They spoke their first words at the age of four.
They ate independently at the age of two.

"These twins" have achieved many developmental milestones, but there are many more they may never achieve. The medical labels they've received include developmental disabilities and autism spectrum disorder.

Doctors can make informed predictions. However, God is the only One who knows the whole story.

Those early predictions still come to mind from time to time, not because I dwell on them, but because God keeps reminding me that He is still writing my boys' story.

Twenty-five years later, our story continues to surprise me.

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On Canada Day this year (July 1st), I walked downstairs and stopped in my tracks.

Tiny yellow pieces of sponge covered the floor.

They were in the entryway.
Across the living room.
Even the kitchen.

The night before, one of my twins had ripped open the parcel containing his long-awaited ventriloquist dummy.

I gazed at the sponge, remembering how his eyes shone as I watched him carrying on an animated conversation with Tommy.

When I asked what happened, he explained he was trying to put controls into Tommy’s tummy. His explanation made perfect sense to him. Tommy needed controls, so he was solving the problem the only way he knew how.

Looking at Tommy lying on the floor surrounded by yellow sponge, I smiled. The little boy who had once been told he would never speak was now creating stories and conversations of his own.

We often assume we know how someone’s story will end because we’ve only read the first chapter. God never makes that mistake.

He sees the chapters we haven’t lived yet.
He knows the growth we can’t yet imagine.
He specializes in writing hope into places that once seemed hopeless.

In our lives, and in our writing, we are often tempted to believe the first diagnosis:

The first rejection.
The first failure.
The first chapter.

But God is still writing.

Your story matters.

Not because it's perfect.
Not because it's dramatic.
It matters because someone else needs to hear how God met you in the middle of it.

Looking back, I realize the doctor wasn't writing my sons' future. He was describing one moment in time.

I chose my boys before they could walk, talk, or feed themselves. God's love doesn't wait for us to achieve milestones before He calls us His own.

Twenty-five years after someone questioned whether my son would ever speak, I watched my son give Tommy a voice. What a beautiful reminder that God has a way of writing endings we could never imagine when we only know the beginning.

As you reflect on your own story, I’m curious:

What part of your story are you becoming more willing to share?

Please share in the comments!

God is Still Writing Our Story

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