Seasons

With the arrival of March we hit some milestones in our adoption journey.

March 12th marked 6 months since we lost the referral for "A".

March 14th was "A"'s 2nd birthday. We have no idea where she is, but we have turned her over to God knowing that only He can provide for and protect her.

March 19th marked 6 months since we resubmitted our dossier to Bulgaria.

The truth? I fully expected us to have received another referral by now, but we haven't. As a sat stewing and praying and whining about all of this the other day, I had a thought which I think holds a lot of value. Things will not be the same a year from now.

And they won't. I believe that.

This past six months has been an interesting season of life for us. I won't say bad because it hasn't all been bad. Although, heaven knows, it's had its moments. But it has been a season of growing and learning and stretching in ways that are sometimes (often) uncomfortable.

The thing about seasons is that don't last forever, and as one leaves and the other enters, I'm almost always ready for it. As we move into spring, my favorite season with its crazy unpredictable weather, I'm reminded that in rain and storms new life is born. If plants only have sunshine, they'll eventually wither and die. Sunshine is necessary in healthy doses, but rain, in particular thunderstorm rain, fertilizes and adds nitrogen to the soil.

I can't help but think that God knew what He was doing when He set it up this way. Storms can be exhausting. They can be destructive. They can be devastating. But they can also be enriching. And after the storm passes, we often find that those things which we thought were destroyed come back even stronger than before.

I'm learning to trust God each and every moment. I want a referral now, but I'm learning to trust Him, not only for a referral, but for a daughter who is meant to live with us . . . for a little girl meant to be part of our family.

This journey isn't easy, and this part, the waiting part, is only the beginning of what is a lifelong journey. I'm eager to see what lies ahead.

       Everything Has Its Time

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 NKJV

To everything there is a season,

A time for every purpose under heaven:

A time to be born,

    And a time to die;

A time to plant,

    And a time to pluck what is planted;

 

A time to kill,

    And a time to heal;

A time to break down,

    And a time to build up;

 

A time to weep,

    And a time to laugh;

A time to mourn,

    And a time to dance;

 

A time to cast away stones,

    And a time to gather stones;

A time to embrace,

    And a time to refrain from embracing;

 

A time to gain,

    And a time to lose;

A time to keep,

    And a time to throw away;

 

A time to tear,

    And a time to sew;

A time to keep silence,

    And a time to speak;

 

A time to love,

    And a time to hate;

A time of war,

    And a time of peace.

Mixed Emotions

It seems that this blog has started to serve as a sort of adoption therapy for me . . . a place where I work out and through all the feelings that go along with the wait and the process. Having said that, I think it's important to understand that yes, I do experience frustration, longing, discouragement, and so on, but the truth is I also experience love, joy, happiness, peace, and contentment in my everyday life. This blog, as with any blog, only shows one small part of my life.

Most adoptive parents will tell you that adoption involves lots of conflicting emotions and feelings. You feel both fear and hopefulness . . . frustration and happiness . . . joy and complete inadequacy. . . sometimes all within 30 seconds. All parents experience these feelings, but I've found, that in adoption they are greatly amplified.

Here's the thing. I don't go 10 minutes without thinking about this child I don't know. She is ever present in my thoughts and prayers. I wake up thinking about her, and I dream about her when I'm sleeping. To me she is as much a part of our life as Andrew is, and because of that, my desire to meet her and bring her home is at times overwhelming.

But . . .

I also love my life. I love my husband and son beyond anything I ever imagined. I live and play and work and laugh and enjoy the blessings we've been given. Unless you've lived this process, it's hard to understand how both intense joy and happiness can exist alongside and in concert with intense longing. When I smile and laugh and talk to you about all the things going on, it's not fake. It's not a show I'm putting on for your sake. I really am smiling and laughing and enjoying my time with you, but always, in my mind somewhere there are thoughts of this adoption. It never leaves, but it also doesn't stop me from living and being happy.

I set out to explain what it feels like to live this process . . . to explain the emotions involved in it all. I'm not sure I did that. It seems like I may have served only to confuse most of you more. But given the complexity of these emotions, and the difficulty in putting them into words, I did my best.

Enjoy your weekend!

In the Wait

Last summer when we received our first referral, I wasn't expecting it. I had just told a family member that I expected to wait at least six more months. So when we got the call, I was shocked. I was thrilled, but I was definitely shocked.

I'm not going to rehash the whole long, miserable story, but for those who haven't followed our story, a month, to the day, after meeting the little girl who we thought would be our daughter, we lost the referral. It was horrible. We grieved, and we mourned, and we picked up the pieces and pressed ahead.

Fast forward to now. Am I still grieving? No, I can honestly say that I'm not. I still have moments of wondering about the "why" behind it all. I still pray daily for little A ... for her health, safety, and provision. But I'm not sad and angry and hopeless about the adoption anymore. I can't pinpoint when I stopped being sad. It wasn't as if one day I was sad, and the next I wasn't. It was more of a gradual lessening of my sadness until one day I realized that my happy moments far outweighed my sad ones, and hope had begun to grow inside of me once again. If you've ever found yourself hopeless, for any reason, you know what a tragedy hopelessness is. Life without hope is hard. Thankfully, it didn't last long for me, and I've grown to appreciate the blessing that it is to hope for a daughter.

But  . . .

Sometimes hope can become impatience if your not careful. And that is where I find myself on many days. Hopeful, but also very impatient. I feel like the little child who thinks if she just stomps a little harder and screams a little louder she'll get her way. And y'all, I have had some foot stomping moments. When I wasn't expecting a referral, the wait was much easier, but now that we are actively waiting to hear something, it is frustrating.

I want a referral.

I want to travel to Bulgaria.

I want to meet a little girl, and hold her hand.

I want to wrestle with all the uncertainties and joys and fears and beautiful moments and tragedies that come in the package we call adoption.

I want a daughter.

I want it all.

So I find myself in this strange place of waiting, and not knowing quite how to do it with grace. Not knowing how to be content with my situation. Not knowing how exactly to embrace the here and now and not wish the days away.

I pray a lot. I read my Bible. I ask God to forgive my impatience. And along the way He sends me reminders that He is with me. He remembers us. He hasn't forgotten. I'm so thankful that He's so gracious with me. I know He loves me.

I don't know how to end this. I don't have an answer to it all. I don't have a big revelation of how to get through something like this. The only answer I have is to continually go back to God. If I have to release this to Him 150 times a day then that's what I'll do, and I'll keep moving forward. It's the only way to go.