It’s no coincidence that earlier today I queued up YouTube to play The Dead Milkmen’s “Life is Sh*t” off their “Beelzebubba” album.

At that point, life honestly was sh*t.

We’ve been trying to adopt, it seems, forever. I have few memories these days of those glorious days when we weren’t trying to jump over the next adoption hurdle. It has, honestly, been a part of our lives for over seven years. Our son, who is nearly 5, is adopted. And we’ve been pursuing an adoption for well over two years for our third child.

But there have been many more hurdles this time. Our agency went defunct last year, so we had to start over. We had some money issues, but resolved enough of them to proceed. Then came the glorious match in November, and the heartbreaking loss of match at the end of December. It was not a happy new year.

Then on Friday of last week, we were matched again, with an overdue birth mom, and the praises rang throughout the land. The weekend was a whirlwind of packing and travel planning. And waiting.

And then this morning, Tuesday, we heard the word we didn’t think was possible: Birth mom decided to parent.

There are a few ways to take this.

• Optimist: “Third time’s a charm, hopefully!”
• Pessimist: “I think I’ll listen to the Dead Milkmen’s ‘Life is Sh*t'”

I opted for the pessimistic route. Well, that was after crying, shouting at God in my car all the way home from work, embracing my wife tighter than I have in a long time, and crying my eyes out on her shoulder (and she on mine). And crying again when talking to our kids.

Why am I telling you this? Well, first of all, writing is therapeutic, as is honest confession. Second of all, life can be sh*t. God doesn’t say he’s going to save us from all the crap in this life and things will be rosy, and all will be well (cf. Job, Naomi, David, Abraham & Sarah, Peter, Paul, Mary, etc., etc.). We’re not isolated from the effect and circumstance of sin just because we mumbled some magic phrase when we were kids (or adults). No matter what Joel Osteen, Creflo Dollar, or Joyce Meyer tell you.

No, there is crap in our lives. But it is part of our lives (cf. Gen 1–3). And it shows us how good God really is. Through his son Jesus, he willingly came down into this sh*t-fest we call life and lived it with us. He said he would let his perfect life (somehow, in the midst of all us feces-flingers, he stayed above the fray) cover ours too, so that God would see us as God sees him: perfect, righteous, and unstained.

Even though we’ve all been wallowing in the slough of despond for awhile. Even though, try as we may, we can’t scrub it off.

This is the life we live. There is crap, and we can’t get rid of it. We shouldn’t be surprised by it, or when crap spews all over us at the most inopportune times in our lives (like when we’re trying to adopt!). But we should praise God that Jesus Christ, our mediator, stands in our place, so God doesn’t see (or smell) the manure we roll around in.

And when it’s time for Jesus to come get us; when we don’t need faith and hope any more because his love for us will be fully realized (cf. 1Co 13), we will be removed from this cesspool of life, and restored to him.

Let him come soon.