Wrestling, Part Deux

Irony: You pray about adopting a little person for literally years and when your husband finally comes around, gets so on-board with the idea that he is looking for a local instructor so he can learn Chinese to communicate with his new son, and you suddenly fall prey to a huge, paralyzing case of the I-Can'ts.

Oh yes. I did.  Please understand, God, that I don't like being this way. I hate this over-developed Fight-or-Flight response that I seem to have, the one that makes it almost impossible to sleep at night, the one that is giving me both heartburn and diarrhea (TMI? sorry.) The one that makes me feel like I can't quite breathe right and may break into a bout of hyperventilation at any moment. The one that has driven me to the treadmill every day for the last 9 days in a desperate attempt to simply exercise myself into some kind of Zen.

God, you know my heart is in the right place. I so want to do this, but ACTUALLY DOING IT is looming very huge right now. I can't even explain why I am suddenly wracked with fear.  Here, though, are some of the highlights:

Conflict.  I cringe in the face of conflict. Loud voices and unhappy people make me want to curl up in a ball. This is not my invariable response, but it is in my repertoire. God, I am most afraid of how our children will react.  I am most afraid of how our son will react since he is most likely the one getting a roommate and he can have an explosive temper and he is the one most like me -- not at all down with change. He is often deeply suspicious of anything different or new. As am I.

Change. Oh Lord, I fear change. If I sit down and lay it out I can sort of see how it would be overcomeable, but change of this magnitude frightens me. I can't form a picture in my head of how it will all be, once the ship has sailed. How will our family dynamic be altered? And you know, Lord, that this is not just an adoption thing. I went through this every time I discovered I was pregnant and every time I brought home a new baby. And some of those changes were cataclysmic. How I envied people who just gave birth and went right back to their normal lives with barely a hiccup. Why did/does it always have to be like an F5 tornado for me?  I am afraid of this blowing-apart of our family and the corresponding era of reconstruction which can (and has) taken upwards of a year to complete. I am afraid of being in flux for so long, of that devastating disequilibrium.

Conspicuousness. We are going to look different, this I know. Mostly I am okay with this, but I am having bizarre flashbacks to high school where I simultaneously and somewhat desperately wanted both the spotlight and complete invisibility. I am fearful of how I will handle the looks, the inevitable questions, the possibly-not-intentionally-rude comments.  I am somewhat fearful of how I will handle a child who has (as yet) no history with us. Those nights when I tell my children about their baby years will not include him -- I don't know anything about how he liked his first taste of baby food, or what silly things he might have done in the middle of a store, or how potty training went for him. What will I say? How can I help him be all right with that vacuum?

Lord, last night I felt you were talking to me through Ephesians. You spoke of reconciliation, of creating one heavenly family in the church, of breaking down walls that separate people. I so much want to move forward here, God. I want to be obedient. I want to be joyfully obedient. I badly need your peace, and with your peace, some courage. And joy too, Father, would not come amiss, but I will settle for peace and courage and be content to wait for joy.

And then there's this: "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go." Joshua 1:9

I do not want to suffer from depraved indifference. There's a little boy -- a baby, really -- in China who needs us. He needs a mama and a daddy. He needs people to pray for him, to bring him to Jesus, to train him up in the way he should go. Who will go, if not us? Lord I am claiming Joshua 1:9: be with us here. Be obviously with us here, because your servant is weak and small and fearful. Because I think you have designed this whole thing to underscore the fact that I cannot do this life alone, though I certainly act sometimes like I can. Well now, I totally can't and I am falling at your feet every day, every hour, to tell you I need courage, I need peace. I need you.

Amen.