Everything about adoption is beautiful, but there are many elements of it that aren't pretty. Aren't easy. Aren't exciting and fun.
I'm certainly no runner, but I know that adoption is sprinting during a marathon. The cadence changes pace from frantic rushing to slow and steady, but the finish line always seems like it is on the far horizon.
For the past two months, we have been back in the trenches now that our home study is updated and complete. It's a painstaking, laborious process, one that we've been through now three times, that can be imposing, frustrating, and exposing. It is a necessary, critical step in adoption that requires precision and exactness in reporting measures. Our home is inspected. Our finances are inspected. Our lives are inspected and dissected and scrutinized until everything is bare and exposed.
After the home study comes the first round of waiting. Waiting for the paperwork to be completed (it's a 12 page report; it takes a while.) Then the waiting during revisions and corrections. Then finally the waiting for approval.
This is our threshold right now. We are approved and ready.
And now our search begins.
For what child will we be the right parents? For what child will we be able to fill in gaps and holes and wounds that have remained for so many reasons. We are looking to adopt through the foster care system this time, and my heart breaks and the tears flow with every dossier we view. Children who yearn for a mama and daddy. Children who have been left behind. Children who are crying out, through so many means in so many voices, to be loved and cherished and adored.
Because we have a toddler, there are precautions we must take to ensure her safety and well-being as our first priority. But that doesn't mean that having to turn the page because we are not a good fit doesn't break my heart every.single.time.
The little boy that we pursued but were told couldn't live in a home with other children.
The young girl that has a history of reenacting the violence that was heaped upon her.
The two little ones that long for a mom and dad but have to be the youngest in the home.
The ones that can only have families from their state or from their native tribe or with extensive medical
training to deal with medically fragile health issues.
But...and this is a huge conjunction added to our story...but we will not let our journey end here. We refuse to let these obstacles bring our story to its final chapter. We know that there is a child out there that needs us as parents and that we need to love.
Right now there is a little girl waiting for me to braid her hair, even if it's messy and crooked and falls out in the car. There is a little boy waiting for Kory to teach him to throw a lateral and to play the bass. There is an empty space next to us in our church seats waiting to hold a little voice singing loudly and off-tune, an empty chair at our table waiting to hold crumbs and stray peas that have rolled off the table, an empty room in our home waiting to hold the echoes of good-night prayers and whispers of I love you's.
We won't stop until your here with us. We promise, baby. Mama and Dada promise.
I'm certainly no runner, but I know that adoption is sprinting during a marathon. The cadence changes pace from frantic rushing to slow and steady, but the finish line always seems like it is on the far horizon.
For the past two months, we have been back in the trenches now that our home study is updated and complete. It's a painstaking, laborious process, one that we've been through now three times, that can be imposing, frustrating, and exposing. It is a necessary, critical step in adoption that requires precision and exactness in reporting measures. Our home is inspected. Our finances are inspected. Our lives are inspected and dissected and scrutinized until everything is bare and exposed.
After the home study comes the first round of waiting. Waiting for the paperwork to be completed (it's a 12 page report; it takes a while.) Then the waiting during revisions and corrections. Then finally the waiting for approval.
This is our threshold right now. We are approved and ready.
And now our search begins.
For what child will we be the right parents? For what child will we be able to fill in gaps and holes and wounds that have remained for so many reasons. We are looking to adopt through the foster care system this time, and my heart breaks and the tears flow with every dossier we view. Children who yearn for a mama and daddy. Children who have been left behind. Children who are crying out, through so many means in so many voices, to be loved and cherished and adored.
Because we have a toddler, there are precautions we must take to ensure her safety and well-being as our first priority. But that doesn't mean that having to turn the page because we are not a good fit doesn't break my heart every.single.time.
The little boy that we pursued but were told couldn't live in a home with other children.
The young girl that has a history of reenacting the violence that was heaped upon her.
The two little ones that long for a mom and dad but have to be the youngest in the home.
The ones that can only have families from their state or from their native tribe or with extensive medical
training to deal with medically fragile health issues.
But...and this is a huge conjunction added to our story...but we will not let our journey end here. We refuse to let these obstacles bring our story to its final chapter. We know that there is a child out there that needs us as parents and that we need to love.
Right now there is a little girl waiting for me to braid her hair, even if it's messy and crooked and falls out in the car. There is a little boy waiting for Kory to teach him to throw a lateral and to play the bass. There is an empty space next to us in our church seats waiting to hold a little voice singing loudly and off-tune, an empty chair at our table waiting to hold crumbs and stray peas that have rolled off the table, an empty room in our home waiting to hold the echoes of good-night prayers and whispers of I love you's.
We won't stop until your here with us. We promise, baby. Mama and Dada promise.
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