6 Months

Six months ago we were in Africa. Six months ago (on Saturday) we arrived home from Rwanda and introduced Carington to Aiden, Noah and her many grandparents. Six months ago our family finally became complete. In many ways it feels like she has always been here. Her presence in our home is so natural.... like she was meant to be here.... like this was God ordained and orchestrated. And it was!

Yet, as natural as it seems, we still have those moments. Those moments where we stand in awe and utter shock that she is actually here. Those moments where we remember the pain, the longing, the helplessness that throws you headlong into the arms of the only one that could truly be there for her, her maker.

How many times have we said as we have traveled to places we go every summer, "Last year when we came here she was 6 months old and weighed 8 pounds". How many times have we said, "remember how last summer we listened to those conference calls from our agency that always indicted a longer wait, remember how depressed we would be." How many times we have remembered the pain of her absence, the void.

Some do not understand this. They wonder how you can feel such pain over a child that is still faceless. Something amazing happens when you make the decision to adopt. You go from dreaming of the possibility to a sudden shocking realization... "I have a child on the other side of the world. I don't know who she is but God does. She is mine and I can't take care of her. Only God can." You feel very much pregnant, yet you can't have checkups to be sure your baby is OK. You can't hear her heartbeat or feel her kick, yet you love her no less. It is a huge lesson in trusting God and depending on Him to be your child's comforter.

Sometimes you feel angry that no one understands your grief, no one considers you to be expecting. You want others to understand your pain. But no one can truly understand unless they are adopting to. Just ask any family that is still waiting. The pain is very real and ever present, brimming just under the surface of smiles and common courtesies. The heart is always ready to burst and does often, just not always at times that it is seen by others.

Yet, I believe fully that this pain is a blessing. It is hard, REALLY hard, to see it at the time. But all of this pain is part of what endears you to a child that did not grow in your womb. All of this heartache is what makes you fiercely protective of a child that you have not even met. The longing seals the fact that this child, faceless though she may be, is your child. YOUR child. Truly 100% yours. She may not look like yours, but the motherly instincts and the love in your heart scream otherwise.

To those still waiting, I mourn with you. I may not have waited as long as some of you, but I grieve everyday for you. Why? Because I have seen the faces of many of your children. I know how precious they are. I know the depth of your sorrow. I know the longing in your soul to reach out and tell your child that she will never be alone again. I also know what your pain is worth. I know that joy truly does come in the morning. And best of all, we now have some small insight into what our heavenly Father is going through for us. Praise be to God for believing that I am worth the pain.