Dear readers, the time has finally come! It is with a mixture of excitement, relief, and trepidation that I share the news that we will be flying to Rwanda in just three days!
Some of you may be scratching your heads and wondering how this happened. Just a few weeks ago I was bemoaning our long wait and my poor response to it. Let me assure you, this news is not as sudden as it seems (at least to us), we simply didn't feel comfortable saying anything until our trip was certain.
No, we have not received our referral. Yes, we're traveling without it. (Our non-objection letter did finally pop up in our spam folder last week!) Unfortunately, I cannot share all the details surrounding this decision, but I do want to emphasize one very important point: Our situation is unique. The Ministry is clear on this point - families are not to show up on their doorstep without a referral. However, because of our unusual case, we have their consent to do just that, and we are hopeful that we will be meeting our precious little mystery boy or girl sometime next week!
I want to repeat this, because it's important: MIGEPROF knows we're coming. We're not breaking any rules or trying to force anyone's hand. We hesitated to share our news here partly because we were concerned someone might assume that our decision to travel without a referral means that they should, too. Please, if you're still waiting, I know it's excruciating, but please don't travel without MIGEPROF's consent or invitation because of us.
May 18 will mark the 2-year anniversary of when we began this adoption journey. Back then, we didn't expect to celebrate even our 1-year anniversary without a new child in our home! I'm thankful that God conceals the future, because I'm not sure I would have had the courage to begin this journey if I'd known how long it would take or how hard it would be. There are still many unknowns ahead of us, but we are praising Him for bringing us this far and trusting His faithfulness in the weeks, months, and lifetime to come!
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
waiting poorly
I haven’t written lately, not because I don’t have anything to say, but because I don’t know how to say it and because, even if I did, I cannot or should not say it on a public forum.
For those of you who are wondering: no, we haven’t heard anything from Rwanda. Tomorrow will be our 16-month DTR anniversary. Next month will be two years since we started the journey. I don’t think I need to say anything else about that. You get it.
I went for a walk tonight to fight off the demons. My heart was laden with a burden that’s grown so familiar I can no longer remember what it feels like to be free of it. I plugged myself into my ipod, hoping the combination of exercise and worship music would generate a chemical miracle and somehow erase the strain of what has already been a very long week of waiting.
As I walked, I prayed. Mostly I prayed for forgiveness. I thought about all the women who have suffered a lifetime of infertility, all the failed adoptions and broken dreams. I thought of people in Japan who have lost their loved ones, their homes, their neighborhoods, and so much more. I thought of death row inmates who would do anything to erase the sins of their past and have a second chance, but instead are facing a future that can be counted in the number of breaths they have left. I thought of all the things I could have to complain about and don’t. My burden should seem so insignificant compared to these things. Truly, what right have I to feel such frustration and despair? I’m merely waiting, and such a relatively short wait at that.
Yet my Seussian side tells me that pain is pain, no matter how small. Would it be right to scoff at my friend’s devastation over her first miscarriage if I had already experienced three of them? Does the God of the universe, who sees the most vile, despicable acts of humanity, fail to have compassion on the newly grieving widow simply because He knows the devastation of those who have lived through genocide and lost everyone they love? Is suffering a competition?
These are the jumbled thoughts playing out in my head tonight. I want to wait well, to have perspective, to take advantage of this opportunity to grow through my trials. I’ve gotta say…I feel like an absolute failure. I have not waited well. There have been seasons of surrender, certainly, but overall I’ve been whiny, self-absorbed, impatient, easily discouraged, and inconsistent in prayer. I’ve been a worrier, not a warrior. I’m so so so tired of me me me. Hence my prayers for forgiveness. And my fresh appreciation for the fact that adoption is about grace - in this case grace shown to an undeserving mother who is most definitely "the weak leading the strong." (I don’t think it would be a stretch to say that my kids have it together better than I do right now.)
As I was walking tonight, I watched the trees with their beautiful blossoming buds. When I finished pondering the havoc those lovely blooms would soon wreak on my sinuses, I observed how the branches appeared to be reaching to heaven, pointing to God for the world to see. Always pointing up, no matter the season. Blooming or barren, those trees are about their Maker.
I want to be a tree.
For those of you who are wondering: no, we haven’t heard anything from Rwanda. Tomorrow will be our 16-month DTR anniversary. Next month will be two years since we started the journey. I don’t think I need to say anything else about that. You get it.
I went for a walk tonight to fight off the demons. My heart was laden with a burden that’s grown so familiar I can no longer remember what it feels like to be free of it. I plugged myself into my ipod, hoping the combination of exercise and worship music would generate a chemical miracle and somehow erase the strain of what has already been a very long week of waiting.
As I walked, I prayed. Mostly I prayed for forgiveness. I thought about all the women who have suffered a lifetime of infertility, all the failed adoptions and broken dreams. I thought of people in Japan who have lost their loved ones, their homes, their neighborhoods, and so much more. I thought of death row inmates who would do anything to erase the sins of their past and have a second chance, but instead are facing a future that can be counted in the number of breaths they have left. I thought of all the things I could have to complain about and don’t. My burden should seem so insignificant compared to these things. Truly, what right have I to feel such frustration and despair? I’m merely waiting, and such a relatively short wait at that.
Yet my Seussian side tells me that pain is pain, no matter how small. Would it be right to scoff at my friend’s devastation over her first miscarriage if I had already experienced three of them? Does the God of the universe, who sees the most vile, despicable acts of humanity, fail to have compassion on the newly grieving widow simply because He knows the devastation of those who have lived through genocide and lost everyone they love? Is suffering a competition?
These are the jumbled thoughts playing out in my head tonight. I want to wait well, to have perspective, to take advantage of this opportunity to grow through my trials. I’ve gotta say…I feel like an absolute failure. I have not waited well. There have been seasons of surrender, certainly, but overall I’ve been whiny, self-absorbed, impatient, easily discouraged, and inconsistent in prayer. I’ve been a worrier, not a warrior. I’m so so so tired of me me me. Hence my prayers for forgiveness. And my fresh appreciation for the fact that adoption is about grace - in this case grace shown to an undeserving mother who is most definitely "the weak leading the strong." (I don’t think it would be a stretch to say that my kids have it together better than I do right now.)
As I was walking tonight, I watched the trees with their beautiful blossoming buds. When I finished pondering the havoc those lovely blooms would soon wreak on my sinuses, I observed how the branches appeared to be reaching to heaven, pointing to God for the world to see. Always pointing up, no matter the season. Blooming or barren, those trees are about their Maker.
I want to be a tree.
That's all.
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