I'm the analyst and the doer. I measure. I critique. I contemplate. I graph and plot and then decide. When problems arise, I contrive a plan and go about fixing the problem. Adoption isn't cooperating with me!
By this point, we expected to have a court date. Each day I expect a call. Each day comes. Each day passes. Still no court date. Adoption may not cooperate with my plan, but God's commitment to see my trust in Him expanded, my belief in His perfect timing and my reliance on Him is proving successful. I suppose then, this plan of His is again part of our plan.
When reading the other day, something occurred to me. I realized the specifics of "which" I was actually waiting. I'm waiting to begin our life long journey with our newest son. I'm not waiting on life, just for a very important part of our life to join the ranks and fill a hallow spot. And when I recognized what we are waiting to begin, I also realized the specifics on which our son waits.
We are waiting for the sweet firsts: first hug, first kiss, first touch, first glance, first moment of realizing he's ours, first change of clothes and diapers, first bath, first feeding, first moment of teaching and guiding, first milestones, and first "mama" and "dada". These firsts hallmark the beginning and belonging. These first say, "WE know you. We did these together... WE." I grieve because I long for "we".
Our son and his caregivers are also waiting. Their waiting couldn't be any more opposite ours. They are waiting for the last goodbye, the last hug, the last kiss, the last outfit and diaper change, the last feeding, the last milestones, the last "goo-goo gaa-gaa", the last teaching, last baths, last snuggles, the last time to visit an orphanage to hold the child you loved enough to give new opportunity, the last moment of hope of restoration of a complete family, the last look in the eyes you've grown to know, to leave the known culture, environment, and society. They wait for departure similar to death. There's no return, no more WE. Their wait is painful, too. Their wait doesn't promise tomorrow. I grieve because my promise of what is to come is the promise of their pain.
My heart aches for rushing the Lord's timing. I'm sorry I didn't consider your side of waiting. Hug one more time. Kiss once more. Hold this child. Know who he is, and teach him. Visit the child whom you've given life and given so sacrificially to us. We will wait. Lord, work in your perfect time. But, strengthen me as I wait.