For Posterity

Last week was a week of struggle. I wrestled with some things that I needed to see about myself. Some ugly things that did not increase my self esteem.

My fear.

My obsessive need for security and control.

My lukewarm attitude toward God.

And of course, how connected these things are. A leads to B, which leads to C. I had to really face a crossroads: knowing these things about myself, was I going to continue on, giving God my leftovers, or was I going to step out and take a risk for God, do something that demanded a level of faith and trust that I wasn't at all sure I could handle?

Now, normally I cannot spout Bible verses, particularly when I need them, but last week God started throwing verses in my face. So many verses that I started writing them down because they were utterly relevant and I did not want to miss what God was saying to me.  Here's what they said:

"Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse that there may be food in my house. Test me in this," says the Lord Almighty, "and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that you will not have room for it." Malachi 3:10 (When was the last time you read Malachi? Right. Me too.)

"Blessed is the man

who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked

or stand in the way of sinners

or sit in the seat of mockers.

But his delight is in the law of the Lord,

and on his law he meditates day and night.

He is like a tree planted by streams of water,

which yields its fruit in season

and whose leaf does not wither.

Whatever he does prospers."  Psalm 1:1-3

"Anyone, then, who knows the good he ought to do and doesn't do it, sins." James 4:17

"I will not leave you as orphans, I will come to you." John 14:18

"Unless the Lord builds the house, they labor in vain who build it." Psalm 127

"If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him?" 1 John 3:17

"I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord. "Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11

"Nothing is impossible with God." Luke 1:37

"The Lord will restore the years the locust has eaten" Joel 2:25 (this last one seems to have been specifically designed to counter my fears about coping with a child who has suffered so much loss)

The last piece of the puzzle for me was this blog entry by Shannan Martin, which absolutely laid bare my argument about "not having peace," -- which was really code for: scared to death and looking for an out. If God doesn't speak to us through fear, then all this brouhaha churning around in my soul has only two possible sources: me and my own frail humanity, or the enemy.  Take your pick. I am certainly flawed enough to be entirely at fault, and I am certainly weak enough to be vulnerable to attack. Drat my overactive imagination...my worst-case-scenario-extrapolate-to-doomsday mentality.

My feeling now is that we need to go forward until God stops us. Tonight, Tim and I will hammer this thing out and see if we can reach some kind of consensus. I see so many ways -- opportunities -- to trust God in this: for finances, for travel, for transitions, for parenting skills, for the growth and faith of our current children...it's all just out there, out of our control. If we do this, we will have to rely on Him, because it's totally beyond our experience and expertise to do any of this. We will be living out our trust in God in a visible, tangible way. I think there could be great power in this, for us and more importantly for our kids.

Not to mention the huge difference it would make for one small boy in Chin@.

Second Chances??

Let's be extremely honest. I have not blogged in a while -- a long while -- because I have been running away from things. Blogging - writing, really -- is one way I process stuff and therefore doing it would be facing the things I have been trying to avoid. So I have spent the last 2.4 months hiding from myself, my husband, and most especially my God.

This does not work out as well as you might expect.

What, exactly, have I been hiding from, you might ask? Adoption, I would have to answer. And no one would fault you for wondering what the heck I mean by hiding from something that all my previous writing would indicate that I have yearned for for several years. Why, then, when everything seemed in train to get the proverbial ball rolling, would I suddenly flee in the opposite direction as though pursued by rabid wolves?

Indeed.

In my arrogance, I thought I could step up and do this thing. I had a very "Go Big or Go Home" mentality. But when it came down to it, when an actual child was in front of us, when the question wasn't "will you adopt," but "will you adopt him?"  I did not "go big."  And part of what I've been hiding from is the realization that I am much, much weaker than I would like to admit and that as much as I would like to blithely tell everyone to "just trust God," I appear to have a long way to go in this department.

The other part of this shindig that I've run away from is God. Hiding always seems like a good idea when you are afraid you will be asked to do what you are not sure you can do. I did not want to see or hear from God, just in case He was a little too clear on what he wanted me to do.

Then there was my husband, who finally got on the bandwagon only to find a wife who quite literally lost it. That does a little number on your confidence, let me tell you, and doesn't exactly build up the confidence destroyer, either.

It all came to a head about 2 weeks ago. I had been hiding so efficiently that my husband didn't even know what was going on. For some odd reason, I got on the photolisting page of the agency we'd been working with and discovered that the little boy we'd been considering was gone. This meant he had probably been matched with someone else.  I should have felt relieved.

Instead, I felt annihilated. All the failure, the spiritual duplicity, the ugly facets of my personality that I had been trying to hard not to see, burst wide open on me and I knew, without a doubt, that I had failed God utterly. With all the clarity of hindsight, I looked back over the whole situation and saw a child whose medical needs were negligible at best, who was as close to perfect as we could ask for, and who I had rejected out of fear and a pathological need to control things in my life.

Epic fail.

The dam burst one evening and I sobbed to my husband all the crap I'd been holding inside, the failure, the knowledge of my own weakness and fear, the smallness of my faith,  I told him I felt like I'd failed a major test -- that God had called me and I turned away, indifferent to the plight of His children, consumed with my own selfish junk, afraid to step out in faith into what was patently not my comfort zone.

For I week I lived like this, bowed down under the weight of my failure. In the midst of this, I prayed for a second chance. I knew the child we'd been considering was lost to us, but I thought maybe in a few months we might find another child that we could commit to.  I wasn't terribly hopeful -- I just hoped God wouldn't give up on us, on me.

Then, a chance peek at the photo listing again and there he was -- our boy.  Back on the list for who knows what reason. A second chance?  It sure feels like it.

But now I can't get my husband to even consider it -- and this may be where the real damage lies. My sin may have submarined everything. This I know: God doesn't need us to carry out His purposes. But what  a privilege it would be if we could be part of them.

So here I am, in limbo again.

Gut Twister

After my prayer/letter/vent yesterday, I actually felt a certain calmness overtake me. For most of the day I felt okay -- lighter and even slightly happy. I also felt a rising confidence that we could actually pull this thing off.

Then, the email.

It was short -- an update that had recently come through, just translated, and it said essentially 2 things:  1. he is not interested in studying and 2. usually a steady temperament, but occasionally tantrums to the point of "convulsions."

I got cold all over.

The first part is just confusing. I know nothing of the expectations in a Chinese kindergarten. We are talking about a 4 year old, after all, and I have no clue whether this means he can't sit for 2 hours and copy characters or he would prefer to play, or what...?  I wouldn't expect many 4 year olds to "study." But my over-thinking brain immediately began throwing up alarming possibilities: ADD? Delay? Oppositional/Defiant Disorder? Impairment? (see? I am really good at this). WHAT COULD IT MEAN? I mean, really: what a weird thing to say about a 4 year old.

The second part was frankly disturbing. The agency said the translator says the word is not the one used for seizures. So I guess that's good, but they are going to try to get some clarification on that because even the translator wasn't sure what they meant. And certainly all kids have tantrums from time to time. But again, WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?  Everything up to this point said "quiet child, shy child, good learner, sweet disposition, etc." Now this. And of course, no context to help fill in details. Has he been removed from the foster family? Are the tantrums as a result of a major transition? Are violent tantrums something new?  Is there another trigger for this behavior?

All my peace, all my courage, blown to smithereens. Because the truth is, it could mean something, or it could mean nothing. And I am VERY uncomfortable with ambiguity. I like surety, accuracy, definitive statements, verified facts. 

Not much of that here. We're operating off about 8 minutes of video and one written report dated nearly 2 years ago. And of course, the update.  That's all we have on which to base our decision. My stomach has been in a knot since yesterday evening.

The truth is, I don't know how this will play out. And I am on tenterhooks. Undertake, Lord. Your servant is weak and I can't see my hand before my face. I need you, your insight, your assurance, your guidance. I really really really can't do this alone.

Intervene, Lord Jesus. Be a light in this situation so that we know what to do.

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.

In the Balance

Reviewing some files this past week. Children's files. Actual people.  I do not know why this feels so weird, but it does. Looking at kids' histories and pictures, weighing needs and potentialities, trying to get a feel for the long term.

But these aren't used cars, they're kids. This is part of the process, no matter how you approach it. At some point, someone is going to make you nail down what you are willing to deal with. What you believe you are capable of handling. And this part, to me anyway, is ugly.

Not, let me be clear, because of the kids. The kids inspire nothing in me but compassion. A tearing, anxious compassion that wants to sweep them all into my embrace and volunteer to raise everyone, Every. Last. One.

The ugly part is what this process exposes in me. It lays bare all my pettiness, my insecurities, the things that pollute my heart. The part of me that wonders if I can handle a child with a very visible need, a need that may never be totally fixable. Club feet are ugly, but fixable to the point that you'd never know they were there. Heart conditions are often fixable, the scar hidden unless you go to the pool, where I have it on good authority that a truly wicked scar is not actually a handicap. But what about the more obvious things? Missing fingers? Limbs? A pronounced limp? I don't know.  I am trying to feel this out, imagine myself with a child like this. Imagine being even more conspicuous as a family than we would be anyway with an Asian child.

I am unsure.  Not rejecting outright, you understand, just unsure. And anxious.

It's just that I have always taken my children's physical health for granted. I have never wondered whether they would be able to play any sport they felt like trying. Never worried that others might make fun of them for the way they walk. Never contemplated the stares, the possibly rude and intrusive questions or comments that might arise. Never ever, not once, had to consider how I would help my child cope with all these things.

And now I am being called to do this. And it is hard.

And the craven, cowardly part of me wants to bury my head in the sand and say "no way, God. This...this is more than I can do. I am not actually this big of a person. Look at me, Lord!...I am very shallow and small and weak. I don't tolerate embarassment well, I mostly like people to not notice me, I have a deeply private streak in me that really resents intrusion. I am not the one for this job."

But if I'm not the one for this job, then who is?

And let me add this little tidbit: two nights ago these children invaded my dreams. And in my dream I was chasing a child. Not just any child, but one of the little boys we are considering. One who is so darling, and yet whose needs cause some anxiety (see? -- more anxiety. It's a theme). In the dream, he was walking along the sidewalk and he turned and this deep, booming voice (not my voice)  said "He's perfect." And some other part of me, the watching part, agreed -- "perfect."

Whaddaya think? Voice of God? Might be. I don't discount these things lightly.

Swamped

I am drowning in kids' activities this month. This week alone, I have 7 separate scheduled activities for my children. If you add in allergy shots and a costume fitting which positively must take place, the total rises to 9.  We have had one day -- one short, blessed evening -- with no activities. That was yesterday. Today I fully anticipate some sort of implosion around 6 pm. That will be my head, caving in from all the pressure of trying to be 3 places at once.

In the midst of all this chaos -- and let me tell you, next week is looking even hairier than this one -- we are trying to pull our heads together to get this adoption ball rolling. But there is hardly a spare minute in the day to really talk about it, so I am faced with the prospect of acting unilaterally or not acting at all.

I am finding it hard (understatement) to make these decisions by myself. The two biggies we have to deal with immediately are a) which agency? and b) which special needs?

These are not small issues.

The agency decision is tough -- it's hard to get a 'feel' for an agency over the Internet or even in phone conversation with someone. I've read surveys, haunted web groups, stalked various adopter's blogs, but I still don't feel a pull toward any particular agency. Since this is kind of fundamental to the process, we kind of need to get on it.  Tim is of no help in this area at all. His response? "You've done the research, just make a decision."

Um, what?

The second big deal is going through the list of special needs we would be willing to consider. This is just daunting. There's really no other word for it. It's one thing to look at kids and another thing to look at labels. Labels are way scarier. And while it's responsible to Google these things to get a bead on what they are, the information that throws up ranges from nerve-wracking to earth-shattering, in about equal measure. It all boils down to this: nearly every need could be no big deal or a Very Big Deal Indeed. It all depends. So confronting this list of needs is a mind blower. My knee-jerk reaction is "none of them -- they're all more than I can cope with." I think about things like how well I would deal with a lot of needles and blood and procedures. Could I handle surgeries? Is it in me to deal with something long-term -- maybe forever-long-term? I just don't know.

This is where the rubber meets the road. Because living for Christ means I have to die to me. And my secret identity? -- is Much Afraid. Much Afraid doesn't think she can do anything. She has a very narrow range of what she feels she can handle and she is so busy burying her head in the sand that she can't see her savior's hand held out to her, beckoning her into the wider world (or rather, she is pretending not to see it). All Much Afraid ever wanted was to be married, to be a mom, to have a house and a little garden. She would have these things and live happily ever after, the end. But then Jesus started messing with her heart. He was so subtle about it -- a news story way back in the early '90s about abandoned babies in China; a flyer in a church bulletin about adoption in 2000; a little difficulty getting pregnant with #1 -- just enough to make adopting a definite option; a Steven Curtis Chapman concert in 2005; a giant billboard right on the way to preschool where she had to see it every single day for 8 months; sobering statistics that floated in from who-knows-where about children alone, in need of families; a little boy's face on a waiting child list a few years ago; the desperate need for families for boys just because they're boys. And now she's here, unable to turn away from the reality that is the orphan crisis, knowing that this is the path to take, but shaking in her shoes nonetheless.

The thing is, Much Afraid is still fearful. She is mostly fearful of making a mistake, especially as she begins this whole process. What if I choose the wrong agency? What if we say yes to a  need that's more than we can handle? What if we are referred a child and we don't like him? (don't judge -- just keepin' it real). What if ....what if...what if. What if God doesn't show up? What if He drops the ball on this one and we are left hanging out to dry?

Let's let God work, my husband says. Let's do this and let him bless us in ways we would never see if we didn't step out in faith.  Let's go, and let him undertake.

What this means, really, is take a step. Letting go, right now, means taking a step forward. Don't sit still, don't hide, don't choke, don't throw it into reverse.  Go forward. The hand is held out to you. Take it.

Just take it.

Getting My Head Straight

Trying, really trying, to sort through the stuff in my head regarding adoption.

We have prayed and prayed, we have asked God for the big arrow, the This Way Please sign, the DO THIS NOW pop-up, but nothing is there.

But nothing is NOT there, if you know what I mean.

A friend of my husband's said, "Just go until God stops you. If it's wrong, God will let you know."

This was interesting to me, in the same way that people landing in a spaceship in my front yard would be interesting. Normally, I do not operate like this. My mother instilled in us this principle: When in doubt, DON'T.  And I have lived by it for pretty much ever.

This morning, the thought occurred to me: what if we're not hearing anything definitive from God because He has already spoken? What if God is tapping his fingers on some heavenly table, saying to himself: "When are they going to get it?"  I know I do this with my kids all the time: I say it and it rolls off them like water off a duck's back. Ten minutes later they ask me the same question again and I roll my eyes and say "Hello?" 

Maybe God is waiting for us to get a clue. Maybe this whole thing is such a gigantic yes, that there's really no need for Him to roll out the red carpet and send us an engraved invitation to get our butts in gear.

Check this:

 ³¹ “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. ³² All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. ³³ He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.
³⁴ “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. ³⁵ For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, ³⁶ I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’
³⁷ “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? ³⁸ When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? ³⁹ When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’
⁴⁰ “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’
⁴¹ “Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. ⁴² For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, ⁴³ I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’
⁴⁴ “They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’
⁴⁵ “He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’
⁴⁶ “Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.” -- Matthew 25: 31-46

And this:

²² Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says. ²³ Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror ²⁴ and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. ²⁵ But whoever looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues in it—not forgetting what they have heard, but doing it—they will be blessed in what they do. ²⁶ Those who consider themselves religious and yet do not keep a tight rein on their tongues deceive themselves, and their religion is worthless. ²⁷ Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.   -- James 1:22-27

So maybe the blinding clarity has already been provided. Who is supposed to help the orphan crisis?

We are.

There is absolutely no dodging this.  We are the answer. We are the workers. We are the ones called to do something. And that something is not to sit in front of our TVs  watching  Dancing With the Stars. It's to engage with this problem. Engage with it. Not observe it. Not bemoan it. Not shake our heads about it and turn away with a sigh because it is just so big that what can we do? I'll tell you what we can't do. We can't do nothing.

And I don't think our convenience is an excuse. Jesus didn't say, "You fed me when you had extra money," or "you clothed me when you needed to get rid of all the crap in your basement." He didn't say "Fund your 401K first, then see how things look," or "Do what the Bible says as long as it doesn't interfere with your vacation plans."

Would another child be inconvenient? Heck yes; but keep in mind that the three I have are inconvenient on a daily basis. And this troubles them not at all -- they take it as their God-given right  to have needs and demands that totally interrupt my needs and demands.  And they feel not the tiniest iota of guilt when they a) wake us up too early, b) vomit on the furniture (or car upholstery, or carpeting, or whatever), c) have to be taken to Target at 8:30 p.m (right in the middle of Person of Interest) because they forgot about a project requiring a large piece of posterboard, some Model Magic, and a box of toothpicks.  Believe me, I know from inconvenient.

My biggest fear here is being a role-model. I am very, very leery of this because I know what an epic failure I am at most things. I am purely incapable of keeping my house clean, of being consistent with discipline, of remembering to fill out school paperwork. I get tight when I have to check the online banking statement because WHAT IS MY PASSWORD AGAIN? So I am more than a little fearful of having other people watch me parent an adopted kid and think to themselves -- "wow, she sucks at this!" On the other hand, maybe someone watching would think "If she can do it, I certainly can." I cannot abide scrutiny. Maybe I should just get a sign that says, "Let's Agree I'm No Good at This and Move On." I do not want to be the poster family for international adoption. What if I can't represent?

These are the thoughts that I think may be what James means when he says "keep oneself  from being polluted by the world." These are the things that chip away at my resolve, that wake me up at night. The nasty little thoughts that sneak up on you and simmer away in your head -- "You aren't good enough, you haven't got the mojo for this, you will be forever different, it will ruin your family, God will not provide..." and on and on it goes.

My sister once said, "service requires sacrifice." And this strikes me as very true -- if we only do what is convenient and safe, how are we different than anyone else? "Even the pagans..." Really, the money here is the smallest part of the sacrifice: the real sacrifice is time, and love, and support, and all the things you invest in your kids for the rest of your life because they are yours and you are theirs, you are family. Selah.

Engage with it. Engage. When you engage, you step in. You enter the mess. You connect. You cannot observe and connect at the same time. Observation implies -- demands, even -- a degree of distance. I think we are being called to close the gap. What if we were in the thick of the fight? How would that change us? How will it change the battle when we attach an actual human being to the problem? A person we can touch and smell and invite in and promise to love?

Now I have to go breathe into a paper bag because I have made myself lightheaded.

Sometimes I Don't Want What I Want...

My husband came home for lunch yesterday and we had a lovely hour where we could talk without having to listen for short people torturing each other in the other room. Nobody had to push back from the conversation saying, "Those kids are gonna fry!" No one put her head in her hands and said "Please tell me we are not raising axe murderers. Or republicans."

It was so quiet, we were almost nervous.

After we got the small talk out of the way ("Hey, I lost the dog for 20 minutes today!") we sat down to discuss the whole adoption thing. I have to say, that compared to my expectations of this conversation, it came off a lot better than I had hoped. And let me be clear here, I wasn't hoping for much. In fact, I was dreading whatever answer my husband came up with, because a 'yes' would be profoundly scary and a 'no' would feel like an epic fail.

Instead, my husband started talking about something they discussed in his bible study this week -- namely, whether you're going to choose to live the Christ-life, or the Self-life. Without getting overly complicated, it boils down to this: are we going to choose to depend on God for what we need, or are we going to depend on ourselves? Will we choose a path that allows us to see His blessings, or will we choose a path  that allows us to pat ourselves on the back for being so forward-thinking that we planned for every eventuality thankyouverymuch.  Because when we're busy taking care of all our needs, God is prevented from blessing us the way He wants to. But if we step out in faith, not really knowing how we're going to pull this off, we've set the stage for God to show up big time. And that raises a second point: Do we believe that He will, indeed, show up? Do we believe that He is master of the details, in charge of the outcomes, already ahead of us with whatever we need to accomplish His purposes? How much, really, do we trust Him?

Tim's take on it was this: God already knows what decision we'll make. The decision does not, in fact, affect whether we're saved, but it may represent a choice of either Him or Self.  No matter what we choose, He has already made provision for everything we need. We can continue to live the Self life and we will still go to heaven, but the ultimate goal of the Christ life is to kill the Self life -- KILL IT DEAD. So if we say no, are we saying no because we don't trust God enough, because ultimately we don't believe He can come through in the clinch? Because while he might provide us with the funds to do this thing up front, the long term stuff is beyond Him? This isn't really a case of putting your money where your mouth is, but more of a case of laying your life on the line. Adopting a child is forever and ever, world without end, amen. This is not a one-and-done deal, but rather a relationship that is going to be there for the rest of our lives, both with that child and with the One who may be sending us on this journey.

So, my Spiritual Leader says (and let me just say here that I am forever saying "you need to be the Spiritual Leader" so then when he actually leads I'm all "What? That's how you're leading? Are you sure that's right? Do you reeeeaaaalllllyy know what you're doing? Do it this way...") we need to pray that God makes it clear that this is what he wants. We need to Gideon this thing.  I am not sure how this is to be accomplished, but that's Tim's take on it. And honestly, it would be nice to get some Go-Do-This-Or-Be-Watching-For-The-Lightning-Bolt confirmation.

Can I just say that I have trust issues? I am a huge committment-phobe on many many levels, most of them completely shallow (like furniture -- I can barely bring myself to buy furniture because the prospect of making a decision is very daunting and I do not roll with mistakes well at all. At. All. So instead, I live with half-furnished and even empty rooms, or I live with furniture I hate -- furniture I am actually plotting to kill -- for literally years because making a decision is just too much committment on my part. Life would be great if I could just date my furniture instead of marrying it.). I wasn't always like this, but as I've gotten older, I am frequently overwhelmed with the "if only" complex and its sister, the "what if" complex. As in, "if only we hadn't bought this house, our old neighbors wouldn't have died" (This actually happened, and I still think the two are related. And I am still occasionally blindsided by a lot of guilt about it.) or "what if we buy the car and then something happens to the house and we don't have the money to fix it because we spent it all on the car?"  So this kind of thinking totally paralyzes me like a woodchuck in the middle of the road with a semi bearing down on it. I cannot move for fear of making some sort of unfixable mistake, for fear of being the cause of great misery. Instead, I become the author of great indecision. The Mighty Waffle, as it were.

This whole prospect of laying it on God is completely alien to me. And I have been a Christ follower since I was 12, so quite a long time; I thought I knew how to lay things on Him. But this feels different, like I'm approaching a new level, a different level that I've never quite been to before. Maybe all these years I've been at level C, and God wants me to move up to level B.  Problem is, I want to scope out Level B first so I can see what's up. Then maybe just ease into the whole Level B experience a little bit at a time, like getting into a really cold pool. I am not a plunger, I'm a toes-feet-ankles-calves, etc. girl.

Tim says not to get mired down in details until we make a decision. This is not the time to even entertain thoughts about how we'll tell our families, how we'll put all these kids through college (Lottery!), how we'd even approach the whole adoption process -- this is just the time to ask ourselves which life we're going to live and find a way to "lay out a fleece" so we can see what God wants. Once we know what He wants, He'll have to step up and smooth the way for all the rest of it.

My spiritual leader is leading. I am in awe, and I am a little scared.

Back the Truck Up

My dad called today to say he was buying plane tickets for us.

For us? I said. For where?

Hawaii.

Um, I thought we hadn't settled on a date for Hawaii...had we?

Well, apparently everyone else had. Now, ordinarily when someone gives you an all-expense paid trip to Hawaii, you gulp dramatically and say, "I'll race you to the airport!" But I am feeling...not quite like that.

I am struggling to lay my finger on how I feel. And let me say right off the bat that this has nothing to do with my parents' generosity and everything to do with my (and my husband's) general approach to life.

See, I am a reactor. I roll along, having a hard time with decisions, until something happens and I react. I spent many years being dragged into things against my will until I learned the power and the beauty of the word "No." And while that has been very freeing, I still often roll along without really deciding in advance where I want to go. Sometimes I am waiting for God to tip His hand, sometimes I am attempting to avoid going off half-cocked (or fully cocked, whatever) before I really know what I'm doing, sometimes I am waiting for my husband to make a decision. This last bit is where I get into trouble.

My hubby is a roller, too. He sometimes waits for me to decide and then events overtake us and we have to react -- react, instead of proact. We are being acted upon, rather than stepping out boldly and decisively, knowing what it is we're aiming for.

So the Hawaii thing overtook us in the midst of waiting -- in this case, waiting for God's will to become crystal clear regarding adoption. Like, engraved-invitation-clear. Or neon-sign-clear. Or walk-this-way-clear, thankyouverymuch Arrowsmith.

The problem is, if we go to Hawaii for 10 days as planned, my hubby will have used up most of his vacation for the year. You know -- the year in which we would possibly, maybe be travelling for an adoption. The year in which two weeks of vacation might be critical. Or not. Remember -- we're still waiting on the not-sure-what-to-do train.

I am tired of being flattened by my life. And even more tired that the good things can flatten me almost as effectively as the bad.

Still Short

So I crunched all the numbers and even if I add in what I think my hub's bonus will be this year, we would still come up about 5000 short of being able to complete an adoption. Is this a deal breaker? I'm not sure.

I have, in the past, gotten the odd freelance assignment that brought in 5 grand in one throw, so it's not out of the realm of possibility that I could get one or more projects that would make up the difference needed.

Also, by some smallish miracle, we appear to be about 400 ahead this month, so perhaps with a little focused belt-tightening over the next year, we could just stash that much away.

Or we could just trust God to provide, somehow, through any and all of these means and any other brilliant tricks He might have up His sleeve.

I'm kind of in the "trust God" camp, because all of it is a big "if" and none of it would be in my actual control anyway.

I am so tired of watching children's files get returned because no family could be found for them.

The Problem Is

We are getting closer to saying the big "Yes" to adoption.

This is not actually the problem.

The problem is, as I look at children, I find myself feeling a kind of low-level distress because the idea of choosing a child, of saying "yes, you," means that I will in turn be saying "Sorry, not you" so someone else. Someone who just as desperately needs a home, a family, a chance.

This is hard.

How can I say, "you I can parent, but you I can't"? What in the world qualifies me to make a decision like that? Nothing, that's what, other than my own very narrow, human view of what I think I can "handle," keeping in mind that I am frequently wrong in this area.

Some things were easy. Deciding to go with a boy instead of a girl was easy. Many, many more girls will be adopted before anyone so much as looks at a boy. Plus, we already have two girls and my son needs some help diluting the Barbie vibe around here.

Deciding on china was easy. I've had a "thing" for china for, like, ever. But I will admit that I can get behind orphans from almost anywhere and if I weren't pretty certain I can only manage one more kid, I'd be like Angelina Jolie, with a ramshackle, multi-colored bus full of kids (or was that the Partridge Family? I forget).

But deciding between two or three kids, weighing their particular merits (say wha?) just feels wrong because they all have exactly the same need and who am I to exclude anyone for whatever trivial reason?

Hard.

(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.

Still

Have you ever wrestled with a problem. I mean really wrestled?

That's where I'm at. I am wrestling: twisting and turning, struggling to keep my shoulders off the mat, contorted into positions where it's hard to breathe, searching for that last ounce of grit from whatever place it lives inside me so I can flip this problem on its can, put both hands in the air and yell "YEAH!"

But that's the victory and I am not at the victory. Yet.

It feels like things are moving. All the hollowness I've felt for months, the conviction that it's not enough to acknowledge a problem, to say sincerely "That's a terrible thing," to shake our heads and turn away sorrowfully, all of that finally seems to be communicating itself to my husband. And not because I sat down with him and said, "look, this is all crap..."

Though I would certainly like to.

Yesterday we saw a clip from a sermon by Francis Chan and it was electrifying. Why? Because it's exactly what we seem to do in the church, and particularly it's what Tim and I have done in our family.




It opened my husband's eyes. He's not all the way there yet, but I think we're going down the right path.

Jen Hatmaker, I Love You

Day three of the Big Why.

Went to bed last night still churned up, still asking God "why?" and reminding myself, "God is GOOD. He is FOR you." This became significantly harder after the five year old came in at 11:30 (precisely 4 minutes after I had fallen asleep) and announced she had wet her bed (well, of course she did. Her sheets were freshly washed and she'd just had a bath. It was kismet). But I did it. I slept and only clenched my jaw a little bit.

One of the really hard things to swallow was this thought: "What if he's right?" Because what comes with that rightness is the sneaking suspicion that I am not really the mom for this job, that our mojo as parents is so very fragile that this kind of event would sink it beyond recovery, that it might be a mistake of epic proportions, the kind you never really come back from. That we have done a really spectacular job of screwing up the kids we have and should never, under any circumstances, be unleashed on someone with no genetic obligation to us.

So I was letting all this junk swirl around in my noggin, depressing little thoughts bubbling up here and there, and I sat down at the computer to read a blog or two and came across this post which made me feel so much better. In fact, it made me feel so much better, that I firmly believe it was not an accident that I stumbled on it today.

Here's is what I'm holding onto right now: I am covered with GRACE. I can't ever be perfect. No matter how much I hold that as my standard, I will never, ever hit it. But between my best effort and the righteousness of God is GRACE. It fills that gap in a way I could never hope to do myself. Grace completes what I cannot complete. Whatever my husband says about our pathetic parenting skills, my secret weapon is GRACE.

Breakfast of champions? Grace.

Two Days...

and I am still aching. We had the big adoption talk, and the DH says "I just don't think so" and I am upset.

And if you know me, you will know that the italics indicate massive understatement.

I am feeling lost and drifting and without rudder. I am feeling frustrated and out of synch with my husband, and hurt, because being out of synch is kind of painful, like a pebble in your shoe painful. I have been mad at God these past two days, too. Because WHY God would you lay this on my heart and bring me to a point of submission and then let my husband bring it all to a screeching halt like some kind of cosmic speedbump?

I have tried to push it out of my mind. Tried to sublimate it in business. Tried to sleep it away, sing it away, read it away. But it is not going away.

Then today, I found this (From Jen Hatmaker's blog -- but Blogger won't let me link it):

God doesn't promise us a clean middle part of the story. He never said we wouldn't encounter antagonists and drama and surprise twists and heartbreak. We weren't assured a G-rated plot where good feelings are peddled and no one dies or leaves or fails or waits. God promised things like healing and restoration and redemption. Which implies there will be injuries and broken relationships and losses. When he speaks of beauty from ashes, he seems to know there will be actual ashes to resurrect beauty from.

If you are confused right now, if your story isn't going the way you thought, or if you're tangled up in the messy middle where hope is deferred, dear reader, it could just be that God isn't done yet. Your story is not finished. Every hero and heroine must wade through the conflict to get to the end, and you can trust God because he is good. If you have nothing else to cling to, remember this: God is good. He loves goodness and justice. He heals and redeems. He is on the side of love and beauty. He is for you. He is never against you. You may be against you, other people may be against you, but God is not against you.

It is okay to be confused; I'm afraid that is our lot as finite creatures dealing with an infinite God. Some of God's best heroes were confused in their subplots. But I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on. Because God is good and he is for goodness.

And I am hanging onto it for all I'm worth, because it's all I can do right now.

I am still hurting. I still feel like a fraud making small talk with my husband when I really want to hit him. I still don't understand why.

But somehow I have to hang onto the fact that God is good. Even when I don't feel it, even when I don't see it, even when I almost don't believe it. God is good. God is GOOD.

No More Tiptoeing

Last night we had it out. And it was not pretty.

I think the best word for it would be frustrating.

I tried to listen, mostly. I tried to draw out of him why he seems open to adopting and then pulls back hard and retreats behind a wall of change-the-subject. I also tried to get him to pinpoint what really makes him feel like this can't work.

So he did.

I have to say, if I saw it the way he did I would never entertain the idea of adopting. In fact, just remembering what he had to say has left me feeling depressed. And let's not forget, I'm the worst-case-scenario person in the relationship. I felt like I was looking at this with a pretty realistic set of glasses.

The money is always a problem. In this particular instance, I think we probably could pull together the money to get a child home. It's the aftercare that would be problematic. Our insurance is very good (and I know this because our old insurance was very bad), but a child with a chronic medical need would increase our expenses. No question about that. Then there's that extra year of preschool, increased activities for 4 instead of 3, more food and clothing.

Time is another factor. Three kids take up a lot of time. Four would take up still more. He feels like we're just getting our mojo back now and we shouldn't wreck it by adding another child.

It's a noble thing (his words, not mine) but maybe not something we are supposed to do. Why us? Plenty of people we know have lots more money than we do and they don't adopt. True. I know lots of Christians who are good at being rich. I do not want to be one of those people. I don't want to be someone who realizes there's a problem and turns away without doing anything. And I'm not sure as Christians we have the luxury of seeing the problem and doing nothing. And I am not about being noble. In the end, it's not a noble act, it's a child. A child who has to be parented. A real child, who isn't going to send me a Hallmark card to thank me for rescuing him. Nor do I expect him to...he deserves parents just like everyone else.

If someone left a baby on our doorstep, we wouldn't hesitate to do the right thing.

Q & A

Tim and I are cautiously discussing adoption again...tiptoeing around it, actually. Or at least, I feel like I'm tiptoeing. See, I'm not really what you'd call a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of gal. I'm a planner, to the point of neurosis. So there are, understandably, some issues with adoption that I have trouble with. Like, letting an agency match me with a child.

Kind of basic, that one.

So for me, for my comfort level, I would prefer to look at kids on agency lists and find one whose face or situation "speaks" to me. In theory, I can get behind any child. In practice, I need to feel something for a child before I can commit.

So in the spirit of looking for a child that generates that spark in me, I have been looking at agency listed kids from a couple different places. About a week ago, I found a little boy with Thalassemia. Although he is darling, I initially said "no way -- blood disorders are too scary." But he kept creeping back into my thoughts. So I started researching thalassemia and it began to seem not so scary after all. In fact, it might seem almost doable. No surgery to contend with, no concerns about contagious diseases, no speech therapy (probably). Just monthly transfusions and meds for chelation and a yearly visit to a thalassemia center (there's one about 5 hours away by car). This was seeming like less of a big thing. At least to me.

So last night I casually mentioned him to my husband. Kind of like, "How would you feel about adopting a little boy with thalassemia?" We talked a little about what that was, what the treatment looked like, etc. and just as I was feeling a tad hopeful, he says "I don't think we're up to it."

"Thalassemia?" I said. "Well, maybe you're right -- but it did seem less scary than I expected and --"

"No, adoption. I'm not sure we're really up for adoption."

Huh. Really?

He mentioned that I am sometimes maxed out with the 3 we have. And this is a valid point. But it's the only point he really made --that I occasionally get overloaded with our current children. He didn't mention that I occasionally get overloaded with work, with extended-family obligations, with volunteer tasks at church...I just occasionally get overloaded. True dat.

So I thought it would be useful to give myself a little Q & A, to work through the arguments a bit and see if I'm as deluded as my husband seems to think.

Q: Don't you occasionally get maxed out with 3 kids? Won't a 4th put you over the top?

A: Yes and I don't know. I suspect that almost anything could put me over the top, depending on the day, my level of PMS, how much sleep I've gotten and so on. But consider this: when we had just 2 kids, I occasionally got maxed out. Now with 3 I sometimes get overwhelmed. I think I would almost certainly be overwhelmed with 4, but not every single day. It's a learning curve, and while the learning is happening, things might get a little hairy.

Q: What about the kids' schedules? You complain a lot about them. Won't a 4th child make that even harder?

A: Now this is a valid concern. Kids' activities make me nuts. Part of my overwhelmedness this fall has been adjusting to their increased activities, which have to be sanwiched around school and church. Also we've had weekly allergy shots, and will have until about June of next year. That's a further complicating factor. Having a child who requires a transfusion once a month (which takes the better part of a day to complete) could make things even more complicated. But, it is only one day a month, which right now is less demanding than weekly allergy shots. I'm not really sure about additional activities. That's always going to be a problem for me, no matter how many kids we have. Probably I'm going to have to let go of some expectations in that area in order to manage it without losing my marbles. This might be a good place to mention that I always feel overwhelmed in the fall when we go back to school, so if I said something along the lines of "I can't take it anymore" there is just the teensiest possibility that I might have been overreacting. Maybe.

Q: Do you think you might be minimizing the impact a 4th child might have?

A: Hmmmm. I don't know. I'm usually a worst-case-scenario person. I am very very good at imagining all the possible permutations of a situation and pinpointing the exact spot where our future becomes an untenable misery. So I have considered RAD, undiagnosed special needs, minor attachment issues, language issues, toileting issues, rearranged room situtations for existing kids, impact on finances, including insufficient health benefits, school issues related to absences for transfusions, sleep deprivation and attendant insanity, jet lag, gastrointestinal illness while in Ch*na, plane crashes, mugging prior to making orphanage donation, older children rejecting adopted child, excessive whining, increased furniture needs, feasability of 4 kids sharing bathroom with one sink, ability to get 4th child into preschool of choice, approximate increase in weekly laundry, possible need for psychological counseling due to abandonment issues...

Really I could just keep going here, but I think you get the picture. I'm pretty sure I've thought of it all at least once.

Q: Don't you worry about the money?

A: See previous answer. However, I do worry more than a little about the actual money for the adoption itself. I know we have half of what we need, and no, I am not sure how we're going to come up with the other half. Can I just say, "God will provide?"

Q: That's your answer?

A: Yep.

Q: What's your biggest fear?

A: That I'm not a good enough mother to pull this off. But also, that fear will stop me from doing something really good. That in the end I will chicken out. It is a big, scary step on almost any level you care to examine.

Q: How will you address that?

A: For the mothering part, I'm relying on grace to cover my screw ups (thank you , Jesus!). For the rest of it, I think I could do it if I knew my husband was beside me, willing to step out in faith with me on this.

Q: Seriously, one more kid?

A: I think I have it in me to raise one more. I have thought a lot about this in particular, since I am over the f-word now and not, as they say, any spring chicken. How fair would it be to take in a child when I would be 81 when this child hits 40? All I can say to that is, I'll be 80 when Maggie hits 40, so in for a penny, in for a pound. And when I'm gone, he'll have a brother and two sisters to grieve with. He'll never be alone again.

I've thought also about what it would mean to go thru preschool again, and the first day of kindergarten, and learning to ride a bike, and soccer games and little league. And really, I think it would be okay. More than okay -- kind of nice. Let the record reflect, though, that I think one more is probably my limit.


Q: What did you think of the Mentalist season premiere?

A: They totally ruined all they achieved in the brilliant season finale last year. So disappointing. Apparently they've got 12 year olds writing their scripts now, 'cause that was a total playground "psych!" moment.

Q: Totally.


A: I'd like to say, too, that normally I prefer to throw money at problems. I haven't ever had a big desire to go to Haiti or Africa, but I feel for the people there and am happy to contribute to the various projects our church has sponsored for those countries -- mosquito nets, goats, cement floors, wells, education initiatives, eye exams, etc. I like knowing I helped build a well in Haiti that is providing clean water to some people I will probably never meet, but who needed it very badly. But for some reason, this time money doesn't seem to cut it. I feel like I may need to extend myself in a different way, to risk a lot more than the energy required to write a check. And that scares me, too.


Q: What does this all mean?

A: I'm not really sure. I just don't want to do it alone.

In Which I am Seriously Hitting the Wall

So frustrated this week.

Kids' activities have me reeling. I need an algorithm to keep their schedules straight. Sheer volume of papers they bring home from school is probably the main reason we are losing the rainforest. I am so stressed, I can't keep it together emotionally. By that, I mean that I am yelling a lot.

Massively over-committed on the work front -- two off-site assignments, a workshop and Sunday School teaching have me feeling panicky and not a little short of breath.

Very very frustrated by the lack of purpose we seem to have. I don't think God put me on this earth to make sure my kids get to gymnastics and football practices. I accept that I am here to make sure they get their allergy shots and make it to the dentist. Tuesdays in particular make me feel like there has to be more to life than this.

And I know that there is, but I am losing sight of it in the midst of all the havoc. I know that I am a person who needs a lot of empty. I need big chunks of unscheduled time or I start to feel fractured.

Fractured, you know, is another word for broken. I'm broken right now.

We were exploring the idea of adopting and right now I feel assailed by messages saying, "yes, you need to do this," and other messages saying "you can't do it -- look at you, you're crumbling as it is." Which one is right? Neither Tim nor I is usually willing to grab the bull by the horns, to take a stand. We both want the other one to shoulder the responsibility, and therefore the blame, for major decisions. This is what happens when no one wants to be the grown up.

I feel positively pummeled.

God, where are you in all of this? 'Cause I gotta say, I'm feeling rather lonely and adrift. Is that my fault? Probably. I can't seem to pray lately. My mind shuts down - totally on purpose - and I can't tell You what I want to. That I want to adopt but I'm scared. That I need Tim to be fully participatory in this or I can't do it. That a nice, extremely bright, neon sign saying "Walk This Way" would really help me right now. That I am tired of driving our spiritual life. That I am afraid my skills as a mom, which are sorely lacking sometimes, are seriously failing the kids I have, let alone any other kid we may take on. That I am lousy at flying blind. That I can't see the forest for the trees -- the bigger picture almost always eludes me, and when I do catch a glimpse of it it's usually a worst-case scenario. That I so desperately need your grace, and I just can't seem to feel it right now. That I am badly in need of a redeemer -- to redeem all my mistakes as a parent, as a wife, as a human being. That I have felt like I am in limbo for about 4 months now, just hanging in and hanging on, but with no sense of any greater purpose or direction.

And if we adopt, what then? What if I still feel this way -- rudderless and blown all over by our schedule? What if we don't adopt and I keep feeling this way? 'Cause it really stinks, this feeling.

"God, you are my God, and I will ever praise you. I will seek you in the morning, I will learn to walk in your ways. Step by step you lead me, and I will follow you all of my days."

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Amen.

The Answer to the Question, Part Deux

"All things work together for the good of those that love God." Romans 8:28

Out of bad, good can come.

We can see it as good, even while we grieve the bad thing that made it possible. It doesn't diminish the grief, but it does offer a glimmer of hope.

I am still grieving a little boy I didn't really know. Does that sound silly? I know I felt a bit dumb, shedding tears for a child that was never really mine. That I'd never held, or spoken to, or even seen in 3 dimensions.

But at the same time I have been dealing with my sadness, I have continued to be assaulted on all sides by adoption. I can't watch tv without adoption stories creeping into the screenplays. I can't go to church without hearing a message about stepping out in faith, trusting God totally, following even when it doesn't seem to make a ton on sense. Adoption themes have cropped up in more scenarios than I can count. They just don't stop, and I think just maybe God is trying to get my attention a bit.

What astonishes me is that my husband, who has been with me in many of these scenarios, doesn't also see the adoption thread running through everything. However, we sat down last night and I was finally able to unburden myself to him, to really share what's been on my heart, what's been waking me up at night for the last 6 weeks or so. To explain to him how everywhere I turn I feel like I'm seeing big signposts that seem to point toward adoption.

But I also told him I can't do this on my own. This is too big, affects too many people, for me to drag everyone into it on my say so. We have to be a unified front here. We both have to believe that this is God's will for us. Unilateral action here is a recipe for disaster. So, if we're going to be a team, said he, then we need to find out more information. Can you (meaning me) see if there's an informational meeting we can go to, or a person we can meet with that can lay all this out for us so we can get a sense of whether we can proceed?

Well, yes I can.

It doesn't mean we'll adopt. But it means were going to approach it as a team. I feel so much more relaxed going toward this together than I did alone. I don't know where we'll end up, but at least we'll end up there as a couple.

I Know the Answer to this Question

Why, God? Seriously, why?

For weeks I have been gathering information on a little boy in China. I have been persistently nudging my husband, sharing my heart with him, patiently pointing out that we do, in fact, have the finances to proceed.

I knew that child's file inside and out. I felt like he was a perfect fit for our family. But I could. not. get. my. husband. to. move.

He wasn't saying no, precisely, just not really saying yes.

And now my little guy is no longer on this list. I think -- I am almost sure -- he has been matched with someone else.

I am MAD at my husband for dragging his feet. For being the eternal stick in the mud. I was ready to fly to China tomorrow, but he just couldn't be bothered to wrap his head around it long enough to really consider the possibilities.

And now my boy is gone. And I am sad.

Really, really sad.

And, yes, the answer to the question is that it just wasn't meant to be. It wasn't God's plan.

But I am still sad.