You know that saying, “If we knew then what we know now?”
Thank God in February of last year we did not know what we know now.
If someone had sat us down and told us, “In March, they’re going to change the rules and you’ll have to make two trips to Ethiopia, and that means that you’ll have to meet her and then leave her. And this process is going to take at least twice as long and cost more than you think it will. Oh, and you know how you’re losing your hearing in that left ear? That’s a brain tumor, but you’ll find out about that next year.”
If we had known… we would have stopped.
But God doesn’t give the details when He has a plan for you. And I thank Him for that.
So here we are, having made it through this far. Still waiting. Part of me wants to cry and stomp my feet and say “this isn’t what we signed up for!” Especially toward the end of the week. So many weeks have gone by without any referrals given to anyone. We haven’t moved up the unofficial list since March.
But deep down I know that as the adoptive parent, I am on the receiving end of this deal. Before we receive our referral, there are a few things we know will have already happened to our daughter. She will have been born (and we will have missed that). One or both of her parents will have passed away. She will have moved from her family, to an orphanage, to the transition home.
That is a lot of trauma and turmoil for someone under 9 months old.
We know that her parents are in such a situation that they aren’t able to raise her as their own. What could that situation be? Do they have AIDS, but no medication? Or are they starving? What are their days like? Are they missing her right now?
I look at my life, and here I sit with a computer, air-conditioning, a television and a roof over my head. What right do I have to be upset that this hasn't gone according to plan? All I have to do is wait to be blessed with a daughter.
The tragedy isn’t mine. It is theirs. If there were something I could do to stop it from happening, I would. If I knew who they were and I could somehow support them and take care of them I would. But how?
All I can do is take this child and do my best with her. Try to take on her tragedy as if it were my own and fix what I can. Teach her about her country and her first family. Raise her to respect and honor them. And maybe someday, together, we can make a difference for someone else.
But for now… we will wait. Being patient is the least we can do.
Thank God in February of last year we did not know what we know now.
If someone had sat us down and told us, “In March, they’re going to change the rules and you’ll have to make two trips to Ethiopia, and that means that you’ll have to meet her and then leave her. And this process is going to take at least twice as long and cost more than you think it will. Oh, and you know how you’re losing your hearing in that left ear? That’s a brain tumor, but you’ll find out about that next year.”
If we had known… we would have stopped.
But God doesn’t give the details when He has a plan for you. And I thank Him for that.
So here we are, having made it through this far. Still waiting. Part of me wants to cry and stomp my feet and say “this isn’t what we signed up for!” Especially toward the end of the week. So many weeks have gone by without any referrals given to anyone. We haven’t moved up the unofficial list since March.
But deep down I know that as the adoptive parent, I am on the receiving end of this deal. Before we receive our referral, there are a few things we know will have already happened to our daughter. She will have been born (and we will have missed that). One or both of her parents will have passed away. She will have moved from her family, to an orphanage, to the transition home.
That is a lot of trauma and turmoil for someone under 9 months old.
We know that her parents are in such a situation that they aren’t able to raise her as their own. What could that situation be? Do they have AIDS, but no medication? Or are they starving? What are their days like? Are they missing her right now?
I look at my life, and here I sit with a computer, air-conditioning, a television and a roof over my head. What right do I have to be upset that this hasn't gone according to plan? All I have to do is wait to be blessed with a daughter.
The tragedy isn’t mine. It is theirs. If there were something I could do to stop it from happening, I would. If I knew who they were and I could somehow support them and take care of them I would. But how?
All I can do is take this child and do my best with her. Try to take on her tragedy as if it were my own and fix what I can. Teach her about her country and her first family. Raise her to respect and honor them. And maybe someday, together, we can make a difference for someone else.
But for now… we will wait. Being patient is the least we can do.
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