This isn’t the post I wanted to write this week. I thought this would be the post where I introduced you to our daughter. It’s not.
A lot has happened in the last 7 weeks, and yet everything now remains the same. We began pursuing more information about a bright-eyed little girl with some special needs in late February. God seemed to open one door after another and we were seeking Him. Oh, how I was seeking Him! I spent every day of 6 weeks in fasting, pouring myself into His Word every spare second of the day, laying awake hours each night in prayer. I laid my hopes and dreams and fears in an adoption journal each night hoping they would become the story of us finding our next child. We wanted to jump in, say “yes” and see how God would work. We wanted to see her overcome her struggles little by little, and help her along the way. We wanted our kids to learn to love in new ways. I dreamed of drawing her into my arms and burying my face into her little neck. I prayed that God would stretch us in our faith by taking on things we weren’t open to before.
So we waited. 42 long days and nights. Waited for more information. Waited for phone calls. Waited for emails. Waited for updates. Waited for doctor appointments. Waited for God to show up and tell us “yes.” Waited to know if these pictures we held were of our daughter.
We waited for this phone call. I believed it was going to give us confirmation . I took this picture believing it was going to be in her photo album as the moment we knew. But we hung up after 2 hours on the phone with Vanderbilt with a new unknown, a “hypothetical.” A fear that wasn’t supposed to be. In place of confirmation, we felt confusion. A day later we felt God shut the door. It felt like more of a slam in the face, to be honest. I was left beating down the door. Fists clinched tight.
So began the battle between my Maker and me. I said things to Him I never imagined I could utter. It seems that with each accusation, His reply was, “I’ll give you perfect peace.”
“I don’t want perfect peace, Lord! I want to say yes, we want to be her family. Why did you place such undeniable desires in my heart and then not show up?! Why does THIS have to be part of the story?!”
I found bitterness in my heart that Easter was approaching–the time we celebrate the perfect gift—the only one thing we really need. In anger, I muttered to Andy, “I don’t want to worship Him right now. I don’t want to put on a happy face. I’m angry with Him.”
And yet, minutes and hours and days have passed and I cannot deny the perfect peace, peace that surpasses all understanding. It has settled over my grieving heart. It has brought with it hope that the family she is meant to find will hold her soon, and that I will understand it more as time passes. As I have sobbed for what seems like days on end, I realized during a phone call with my dad that I had cried my last tears (for now) for this loss. I see how it has moved Andy and I into a place we didn’t expect, and drawn us closer. I have encouragement that for over a month this little girl had a small group of women meeting every Tuesday in my living room interceding in prayer for her…..and they haven’t stopped. I know now I’m not meant to be her momma, but I have loved her like one, and I hope that in some beautiful way she felt that.
Slowly. Slowly, I am beginning to unclinch my fists.
I know now, that I can worship Him with my whole heart…..even if it’s bruised and beaten up right now. It may not be a season of thanking Him for all that is good (although I know that will return), but perhaps a season of being grateful that He is the same as yesterday. He still holds strong when we are falling apart. I can feel the power of Easter in my soul —a soul that is so in need of a Savior. I can trust that the same power that raised Jesus from the grave, is the same power that can resurrect this disfigured heart……and with resurrection comes the hope of things greater than we can imagine.
I pray that wherever you are right now, you will also feel the power of His Resurrection.