(enter Fear)

Sometimes I am so perfectly assured of the rightness of my desire to adopt, that I could practically levitate myself overseas by sheer force of will. Dossiers and paperwork? I spit on you. Homestudy? I sneeze in your face. Financial considerations? Your mother smells of elderberries.

Then, I get all second-guessy on myself and I think of all the things that could go wrong -- really wrong -- during or as a result of an adoption. I get a tight little panicky feeling around my throat and am secretly glad that my husband just isn't quite on the same page with me right now.



I'm hanging on to the balance beam for all I'm worth. But I don't think this is how we're called to live. I don't think this is how I'm called to live. I think there has to be a point where I step out and do the scary, good thing without any assurance that it's going to end well.

And what if it doesn't end well? It will still be a good thing. And the power of God will not be compromised. And I will have let go of the balance beam to the glory of God.