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Emily Stimpson Chapman

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Adoption

Rachel, Hannah, and Me: Our Great Anxiety and Frustration

The Power of a Name

Called to Adopt, Part 1: Discerning Adoption

Called to Adopt, Part 2: Picking a Path

Called to Adopt, Part 3: It Costs What???

Waiting, Hoping, and Praying

Approaching Our Journey’s End: The Complicated Joy and Tragic Gift of Adoption

Join Us in Praying the St. Anne Novena

The Very Best Kind of Hard

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I’m not going to watch Succession. As I told peo I’m not going to watch Succession. As I told people last week, I spend enough time contemplating the world’s darkness as part of my day job, so one episode of the HBO cult hit was enough for me. Nevertheless, I am fascinated by the show, which just concluded after four phenomenally depressing seasons.⁣ ⁣ For those who haven’t seen it or (like me) won’t see it, Succession tells the tale of the Roy siblings, all richer than Croesus, warring amongst themselves about who will inherit control of their father’s media empire. Not a one of the siblings is likeable. Each is detestable in their own way. And as they plot and scheme for power, their hard hearts grow harder, perhaps beyond the point of redemption.⁣ ⁣ In the show’s finale, the siblings’ fight for control becomes a literal one, with a brawl breaking out in a corporate conference room. Faced with losing everything—the company and each other—one brother cries out, “It’s all f-ing nothing, man. We’re nothing.”⁣ ⁣ That’s nihilism, which is the preferred philosophy of most prestige TV these days. But it’s also like a scene from the Last Judgement. It’s the cry of the damned, of those who reject Christ definitively and see their houses of straw, built on the shifting sand of the world, burned to nothing in the end.⁣ ⁣ (𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘚𝘱𝘦 𝘚𝘢𝘭𝘷𝘪 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘚𝘶𝘣𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘐𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘰).
I’m glad we didn’t wait. We could have. With i I’m glad we didn’t wait. We could have. With infertility, there’s always one more cycle, one more surgery, one more alternative treatment to try. There’s always hope that next month, all the supplements or hormones will finally do what they’re supposed to do and a baby will come. So the temptation is to wait—to put off looking into adoption for another year or two or ten.⁣ ⁣ But we moved forward quickly. After only 18 months of trying and failing to conceive. We didn’t give up hope of getting pregnant when we began the adoption process. We just held it more loosely. We gave up trying to control how we would become parents and opened another doorway through which a baby could come. Because that is what we had decided mattered most to us. Being parents. Not being pregnant.⁣ ⁣ We didn’t have the money. Our house wasn’t home study ready. There were a hundred reasons why we could have put off moving forward. But we didn’t put it off. We opened the door and God moved. He moved so quickly. Within 6 weeks of us deciding this was a path we needed to start down, we were chosen to be Toby’s parents. If we had waited any longer, he wouldn’t have been ours. Which means Ellie wouldn’t have been ours either. And probably Becket, too.⁣ ⁣ At 48 and 54, I doubt more adoptions are in our future. Which is sad. I would have liked at least one more baby. At the same time, it seems a wild miracle that we have three. It has all been the greatest gift. They are the greatest gifts. And I wouldn’t trade a one of them for a dozen pregnancies. I don’t feel like I have missed out on a thing.⁣ ⁣ This isn’t me telling you to go where you don’t want to go or to rush forward without prayer and discernment. But if you are dreaming of babies or more babies and keep thinking adoption might be a “someday” option, consider opening that window sooner rather than later. Give God room to work. See what He does, in your lives and in your hearts.⁣ ⁣ Babies might not come quickly. They might not come at all. But they also might come tumbling into your lives at lightening speed, filling your home with noise and beauty and sippy cups, and, in the process, saving your heart from a lifetime of “what ifs?”
If you want to hope, you cannot do it alone. If th If you want to hope, you cannot do it alone. If there is any common thread in Pope Benedict’s practical tips for hope, it’s that. Hope is not a one man show. It’s a community effort.⁣ ⁣ First, we have to talk to God. We also have to listen to Him. We have to engage in a real conversation about who He is and who we are, about where we struggle and about the life to which He is calling us.⁣ ⁣ When we find ourselves without the words to pray—when grief, exhaustion, confusion, and doubt overwhelm us—we need to rely on the words of others. We need to pray the prayer Jesus taught us, and we need to pray the prayers of the saints, the Church, and Jesus’ mother.⁣ ⁣ When we feel we can’t go on, that God is asking too much of us or that our present trials are too much to bear, we need to look to those who also have faced the seemingly impossible and held fast: our faithful friends, both those in this world and the next. Not only do we need to draw inspiration from their witness, but we need to call on them for their prayers. Those who have stared into the bleakest and blackest of this world and did not despair, will never say no to those pleas for help.⁣ ⁣ And when all else fails, we need to go to Calvary. In our hearts, we need to kneel at the wounded feet of Christ, bow our heads, and rest with Him there, joining our pain to His in a perpetual act of love.⁣ ⁣ That’s how hope endures. That’s also how it grows. We can’t enlarge our hearts on our own. We have to let God and His angels and saints do it for us. As they do, we’ll find the impossible somehow becomes possible. With help, we can hang on. With help, we can hope.⁣ ⁣ We’ll also find, because of the help of others that we can be a help to others, praying with and for them, suffering with and for them. When we don’t walk alone, hope spreads. It shoots its roots out, creating a network of compassion from which all of us can draw support and strength.⁣ ⁣ That’s the Communion of Saints. That’s the Body of Christ. And for all of us struggling to hope, it’s always there. Always.
First day of Preschool ——> Last Day of Prescho First day of Preschool ——> Last Day of Preschool. Where did my baby go? 😭😭😭
“How are you going to manage?” ⁣ ⁣ That wa “How are you going to manage?” ⁣ ⁣ That was everyone’s question for me in the months leading up to Ellie’s birth. And my answer was always the same: “I have no idea.” ⁣ ⁣ I truly didn’t. I was struggling already with a two-year-old and very challenging newborn. Adding a third to the mix when that newborn would only be 8 months old seemed like lunacy. I couldn’t even think about it that much. I just had to trust that God would give me another pair of arms. ⁣ ⁣ He didn’t quite do that, but He did give me, in Ellie, one of the easiest, most peaceful newborns to ever have been born. And although, even with an easy baby, those first months were insane and the months that followed, overwhelming, it has been the most amazing gift to have two babies so close in age—a truly greater gift than than I knew to imagine or ask for. Nothing is ever quite as tidy as I’d like it to be anymore and our monthly diaper bill continues to be ridiculous, but the joy Becket and Ellie have in each other (and the joy the pair of them bring to us) is worth every ounce of crazy—past, present, and future. ⁣ ⁣ Three years ago, if given the choice, I never would have chosen the timing of their arrival. I would have wanted something more sensible, more reasonable, more normal. Now, looking back, I would never choose it any differently. I’m so glad God called the shots in that decision, not me. He truly does know what He is about. Even when we don’t.
In this month’ essay for full susbcribers, I tal In this month’ essay for full susbcribers, I talk about the liturgy, both old and new. Because I am crazy. And because I couldn’t get one simple phrase out of my head: “God is big.” Link to the essay and audio version in Stories today. Link to my newsletter in my Insta bio always.
It’s not wrong to hope for the goods of this lif It’s not wrong to hope for the goods of this life. It’s actually good to hope for love and marriage. It’s good to hope for babies. It’s good to hope for health, healing, long life, meaningful work, money to pay our bills, and a home to call our own.⁣ ⁣ All of those things are good in themselves. They’re also goods that point beyond themselves. Each is a sign pointing us towards Heaven. We were made for love. We were made for fruitfulness. We were made for wholeness, eternity, abundance, and an everlasting home. To want the shadows of those gifts in this world is just human.⁣ ⁣ The danger comes when we place our hope only in the shadows. For, if our eyes are solely fixed on the goods of this world, we will be disappointed. They can never be enough. They can help point us towards the life for which we long. But they can’t be that life. We will always find ourselves longing for more.⁣ ⁣ There is another danger, too. So many times, I’ve heard people say they once hoped in Christ, but have lost that hope. They prayed and weren’t answered. They begged for something and didn’t get it. How, they ask, can they hope in a God who is indifferent to their pleas?⁣ ⁣ When we find ourselves in this position, though, we need to consider what we’re been asking for. Was it Him? Was it grace? Or was it one of the goods of this life? Were we treating God like a genie, expecting Him to grant our every wish? Did we see Him as merely as a delivery service for love, health, and prosperity? Was our hope truly in Him or was it still firmly fixed in the things of this world, and He was just our means to securing those ends?⁣ ⁣ God is not a genie. He is our Creator and Savior, who came to rescue us from sin and death. To hope in Him is to hope in that rescue. It’s to believe in His promises of love, redemption, and eternal joy. It’s to trust that nothing in this world, no matter how good it may be, compares to Him, and that no sorrow in this world, no matter how horrible it may feel, compares to the joy He has in store for us. That’s the hope He wants to give us—a hope that will never diminish and can’t be disappointed. But He’ll only give us that hope if we want it.⁣ ⁣ So, do you want it?
The backyard swing set has arrived!! ⁣ ⁣ That’s it. No deep thought. Just want this picture of my babies on this day forever on my feed.
Do your kids really eat that? Whenever I post a pi Do your kids really eat that? Whenever I post a picture of a dish I’ve made for dinner, someone (usually many someones) inevitably asks that. ⁣ ⁣ Sometimes the answer is yes. Sometimes the answer is no. Sometimes the answer is one of them ate all of it, one ate some of it, and one wouldn’t touch it. ⁣ ⁣ But that’s okay. Because I don’t make Curried CousCous with Sausage or Risotto with Bacon and Sage for them. At least, I don’t make it for toddler them. ⁣ ⁣ I make it for Chris. I make it for my kids’ someday selves, the selves who will have grown up exposed to a world of flavors, and who, even if they have their favorites, will hopefully receive graciously what they’re served. But mostly, I make it for me. I cook dinner for me.⁣ ⁣ Breakfast and lunch are my kids’ meals. Those are catered to them. But dinner is for me. I cook what I love to cook. I cook what I love to eat. I cook to experiment with flavors and play around with old favorites and find new dishes to serve to family and friends. I cook because if I have to be in the kitchen, I might as well be making food I love.⁣ ⁣ The same can be said for the dinner hour. Dinner with a four-year-old and two two-year-olds is crazy. We’re teaching so much, and they’re learning so much, and so often it’s the hardest hour of the day. But saying, “Get back in your seat” 500 times is easier when you can take bites of Spaghetti Carbonara in between.⁣ ⁣ People always ask me what I do for self-care, and my answer, usually, is “Not much.” I’m at the stage in life where my idea of self-care is just doing whatever will help me not have a nervous breakdown. But I think cooking good food that I love does qualify as self care. At the very least, it’s keeping nervous breakdowns at dinner time at bay. Which is an excellent thing.⁣ ⁣ So, if you too are struggling at the dinner hour with toddlers, maybe try planning the menu with you, not them in mind. It’s not a trip to the spa. But it can make all the difference in your sanity for a night. And who knows: your kids might surprise you and like what you make. If little eaters are anything, it’s unpredictable.
Two conversations. The first, on Wednesday, betwee Two conversations. The first, on Wednesday, between Toby and me. ⁣ ⁣ Toby: “Mama, will our house be our home in Heaven?”⁣ ⁣ Me: “If there is something in this house that you need to be happy in Heaven, it will be there.”⁣ ⁣ Toby: “I don’t want any other home in Heaven. Only ours.”⁣ ⁣ The second, last night, again between Toby and me.⁣ ⁣ Toby: “Mama, I have the coolest bedroom in all the world.”⁣ ⁣ Me: “Yes, Toby, you have a really wonderful bedroom.”⁣ ⁣ Toby: “It’s even better than yours.”⁣ ⁣ Friends, my son does not have the coolest bedroom in the world. It’s mostly a mess that I can never attend to. And this house has felt like a perpetual disaster to me of late. For every room I tidy, the little ones destroy three more. Things are breaking left and right, and nothing in it feels like it’s working for a family with three small children so close in age. ⁣ ⁣ But Toby doesn’t see the mess. He doesn’t see the laundry piled up in the dining room, the dishes in the sink, the boxes in the living room, and the toys scattered everywhere the eye can see. He just sees his home. He sees the place where the people he loves most live and where he feels most loved. He sees all the building and reading and dancing and eating and laughing and cuddling that goes on in these rooms. And so he can’t imagine being happy apart from this place. He can’t imagine Heaven being any better than our home. ⁣ ⁣ So, that’s your Saturday reminder and mine not to worry about the laundry and the legos and the lack of designer everything in your house. Your kids don’t see it. They don’t care. They just see you. That’s what matters. That’s what makes your house a home.
Yesterday, as I got ready for the day, I listened Yesterday, as I got ready for the day, I listened to Bari Weiss’ conversation with Sam Altman, the CEO of Open AI and developer of ChatGPT. The newest version of the AI App has elated some and terrified others, with AI supporters predicting a coming utopia and AI detractors predicting the end of all things. Altman was more circumspect, concluding that while AI will solve some problems for humanity, it will also cause new ones.⁣ ⁣ I tend to skepticism about AI. Every time someone waxes poetic about its possibilities, I think, “Didn’t you watch Battlestar Gallactica?” But I appreciated Altman’s circumspection just the same. It echoes Benedict’s thoughts in today’s reading from Spe Salvi. Science, technology, and politics solve some problems, but cause others. What we call progress makes some parts of life easier and some harder. The world somehow manages to become more just and more unjust all at the same time. But very rarely does what the world calls progress change the condition of human hearts.⁣ ⁣ The deepest struggles, the most profound yearnings, the grief we carry—that stays the same from age to age. Or grows worse. Yet we soldier on, looking for the next piece of technology, politician, or home organization tool which we hope will take all the hurt away.⁣ ⁣ Which, of course, is the problem. If the state of the human heart is worse today than it was a century ago or a millennium ago, it’s because we’ve placed our hope in the wrong gods. We keep looking to the things of the world to solve problems of the soul. But it doesn’t work that way.⁣ ⁣ In the beginning, our souls broke first. They lost the life of God that was meant to keep them alive and full of joy. Then, from there, everything else broke, our bodies and our world. The breaking of the world was from the inside out. And that’s how the healing of this world will have to happen, too. From the inside out. Souls first. Then lives. Then families, communities, and entire cultures.⁣ ⁣ Only God can bring that healing, though. Until we look to Him and not ourselves, we’ll just keep breaking the world more. For this side of heaven, “man remains man.” And we can’t save ourselves. No matter how smart we are.
Yesterday, in the midst of all the toddler wrangli Yesterday, in the midst of all the toddler wrangling and wrestling, I heard our pastor describe repentance as “a joyful word.” And I thought, “Yes, yes it is.”⁣ ⁣ The world would have you think repentance is a mournful word, one bedecked in sackcloth and ashes. But it’s not. It’s a word soaked in hope and light and ringing with the songs of angels, whole choruses of them, harmonizing across the heavens because one lost sheep came home.⁣ ⁣ If repentance only meant sitting and staring at our sin, weeping at the darkness holding us captive, it would be a sorrowful word indeed. But that’s not repentance. That’s guilt. For it to be repentance, there has to be a turning. And that turning is away from darkness and towards the light, towards the One who has loved us even while we sat in darkness.⁣ ⁣ Repentance isn’t a stationary word. It’s a word full of movement, beautiful, joyful movement that always ends in Christ’s loving arms. It’s also a word full of certainty. Christ’s welcome is never in question. There is no potential cliffhanger: Will He or won’t He welcome us? Will He or won’t He forgive us? Will He or won’t He love us. There’s no will or won’t about any of it. He will welcome us. He will forgive us. He will love us. Again and again and again. No matter what we’ve done. No matter how long we’ve sat in darkness. No matter how many times we’ve turned towards Him before, then turned away, and then turned back again.⁣ ⁣ Oceans of mercy and love—that’s what’s waiting for us when we repent. Little sins, big sins, it doesn’t matter; the same oceans await. Also, there are no “I told you so’s” in those oceans. He’s not waiting for us to return so He can condemn us or shame us or win a point. He’s waiting for us because He loves us. He thought us into being. And He wants to welcome us home, into His arms, where we belong.⁣ ⁣ So don’t delay. Don’t hesitate. Stumble joyfully back towards the light. Nothing scary awaits you. Only Him. Only love. Only joy.
Why, in an encyclical about hope, does Benedict be Why, in an encyclical about hope, does Benedict begin by talking about faith? Because without faith, you cannot have hope. If we are a people without hope, it’s because we are first a people without faith.⁣ ⁣ So, what is faith?⁣ ⁣ It’s a grace, freely given by God to man, that helps us believe in the truths He has revealed. It’s also a relationship, an adherence not simply to truths, but to God Himself. It’s a human act, in which we submit our intellect and will to God, who deepens our understanding through grace. And it is, as Benedict explains, the beginning of eternal life.⁣ ⁣ That’s the definition most people don’t know. Faith isn’t just about the life we hope to possess. It’s the life we already possess. It’s the truths we already perceive, however dimly. It’s the relationship with God we already enjoy, however distantly. It’s the wisdom and understanding we already have, however imperfectly.⁣ ⁣ That life—the truths, the relationship, the understanding—is a life of freedom. It’s not constrained by health, limited by age, controlled by fear, or dependent upon material goods. The one who has faith can lose all that the world values, and still have hope, because she still possesses the substance of that for which she hopes. Not the fullness of it. But the beginnings of it. And that makes all the difference. It sustains us as we walk through this valley of tears, reminding us that what we hope for is real.⁣ ⁣ In this world, however, all life can be lost. No body can live without nourishment. Nor can faith. It has to be fed. It has to seek its nourishment from the source, from God—in the sacraments, in prayer, in study, and in virtuous acts. That’s not us earning faith; it’s us going to God and asking Him to feed our faith. It’s also us saying yes to the grace God wants to give.⁣ ⁣ Grace isn’t magic. It doesn’t instantly erase our doubts and fears. We will carry some struggles and wounds with us from our journey’s beginning to our journey’s end. But if we avail ourselves of the grace God wants to give, faith will grow. And as it does, hope will grow too.
For all those asking how Mass is going with a four For all those asking how Mass is going with a four-year-old and two two-year-olds, here is your answer. In 10 slides.
We are a people without hope.⁣ ⁣ We are a peop We are a people without hope.⁣ ⁣ We are a people so fearful of each other that old men shoot young men who ring their doorbells.⁣ ⁣ We are a people so ashamed and insecure that young people would rather give away their bodies in the dark than have a conversation in the light.⁣ ⁣ We are a people so obsessed with the goods of this life that we put profit before persons without thought.⁣ ⁣ We are a people so full of rage that we tear across highways and through towns, wildly reckless with our lives and the lives of others.⁣ ⁣ We are a people so lost that we deny the reality of our own bodies.⁣ ⁣ We are a people so blind to our dignity that we enslave ourselves to addiction: to drugs, alcohol, shopping, and abusing ourselves while staring at violent and depraved pictures of our fellow image bearers.⁣ ⁣ We are a people so despairing of the present that we can’t smile at strangers on the street.⁣ ⁣ We are a people so despairing of the future that we consider the killing of innocent children in the womb a choice, not a nightmare.⁣ ⁣ This, as a people, is who we are. We have no hope. We see nothing beyond this grief-stricken world. No guiding goodness. No loving truth. No fixed meaning. And we are dying. Or already dead.⁣ ⁣ But this is why Jesus came. He didn’t just come to give hope to the people of Ancient Rome. He came to give hope to the people of Pittsburgh, Chicago, and San Francisco in 2023. He saw this moment. He saw it all. So, He bared His back and let the whip fall. He carried His cross. He hung there. He died there. Then, He rose. And He promised all who abided in Him would rise, too.⁣ ⁣ In living and dying and rising, Jesus gave us a reason to not be afraid or ashamed, to not be obsessed, full of rage, lost, blind, and despairing. He gave us a reason to hope: Himself, the One who saves us from sin and death.⁣ ⁣ For those of us who believe, that changes everything. At least, it’s supposed to change everything. Sometimes we forget what we’ve been given. Sometimes we forget His promise. Over the next six weeks, though, as we read Pope Benedict XVI’s encyclical Spe Salvi (“Saved in Hope”), both here and on Substack, we’ll remember together. I hope you join us.
Dying to myself and sharing this answer from yeste Dying to myself and sharing this answer from yesterday’s Q&A, for everyone who has asked me to make it shareable. I don’t have the time or energy to argue with people in comments about this. Every conversation about modest dress requires context, nuance, and charity. And that is hard online. But Chris and I are going to try to find the time to record an audio conversation about this sometime soon. We’ll distribute it through my Substack newsletter. (Link in bio, friends. 😉) In the meantime, here you go. Argue amongst yourselves.
Yesterday, Chris and I split up for Mass. The kids Yesterday, Chris and I split up for Mass. The kids had stayed up hours past their bedtime on Saturday, and neither Chris nor I wanted to face the consequences of that Sunday morning. So, I went to the 9:30 Mass at one parish, then Christ went to the 11:00 at another.⁣ ⁣ The parish I went to is housed in an old trolley barn that was turned into a church decades ago. The results of that transformation are what you would expect.⁣ ⁣ Yet once you get past the atrocious architecture, there is beauty in that odd makeshift church. Great beauty even. The tabernacle glows bright in the center. Beautiful old statues of Mary and Joseph flank the altar. And an antique wooded crucifix hangs above it all.⁣ ⁣ For all the ugliness of the building, Jesus was there and honored well. The Faith was there. And that made the old trolley barn vastly lovelier than the more technically beautiful churches I’ve visited, where the tabernacle can’t be found, where sanctuaries have been stripped of their statues, and where Jesus has been taken off the cross.⁣ ⁣ Where Christ abides and the faith still lives, there is beauty. Faith transforms. That’s true of spaces. And it’s true of people.⁣ ⁣ I like to look as nice as the next woman. I think putting myself together well is a way of honoring the body God has given me and helping people to see the dignity I have as the image of God. But pretty clothes and lipstick will not make me beautiful. Not truly so. That job is Christ’s alone.⁣ ⁣ Very few of the most beautiful people I’ve known could be cover models. But they all could be saints. That’s what they all have in common. Christ abided in them. He was at home in them, nestled in, all comfortable like, not going anywhere. The difference was palpable, visible, real. Just like the parish I attended yesterday.⁣ ⁣ Remember that. Remember also that age strips away what our culture calls beauty, revealing what lies beneath. All that’s hidden will be revealed, always in the next life, usually in this life. So take care of your body. Honor it. Treasure it. But never worship it. Never give it your heart. Give that only to Christ. And even if you don’t see how beautiful you are, others will. He will.
The master list for which no one is clamoring. But The master list for which no one is clamoring. But it’s my birthday, so I’m giving it to you anyhow. Today’s newsletter for full subscribers is in their inboxes and linked here in stories.
This is the last of my paywalled essays I am unloc This is the last of my paywalled essays I am unlocking this week. It’s an older one, but still a favorite. Read (or listen to) the full essay, through the links in Stories (or my newsletter link in my bio).
Continuing to celebrate my birthday week by slowly Continuing to celebrate my birthday week by slowly unlocking some of my favorite “full subscriber only” essays on Substack. They will stay unlocked through this Sunday, and then go back behind a paywall. If you want to read last month’s essay on where some presentations of the theology of the body contributed to an unhealthy purity culture mentality (and screwed up people’s understanding of what a good sex life looks like), you can find the link to both the written and audio versions in my Stories. You can also click through the link to my newsletter in my bio.
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