For those of you who are wondering: no, we haven’t heard anything from Rwanda. Tomorrow will be our 16-month DTR anniversary. Next month will be two years since we started the journey. I don’t think I need to say anything else about that. You get it.
I went for a walk tonight to fight off the demons. My heart was laden with a burden that’s grown so familiar I can no longer remember what it feels like to be free of it. I plugged myself into my ipod, hoping the combination of exercise and worship music would generate a chemical miracle and somehow erase the strain of what has already been a very long week of waiting.
As I walked, I prayed. Mostly I prayed for forgiveness. I thought about all the women who have suffered a lifetime of infertility, all the failed adoptions and broken dreams. I thought of people in Japan who have lost their loved ones, their homes, their neighborhoods, and so much more. I thought of death row inmates who would do anything to erase the sins of their past and have a second chance, but instead are facing a future that can be counted in the number of breaths they have left. I thought of all the things I could have to complain about and don’t. My burden should seem so insignificant compared to these things. Truly, what right have I to feel such frustration and despair? I’m merely waiting, and such a relatively short wait at that.
Yet my Seussian side tells me that pain is pain, no matter how small. Would it be right to scoff at my friend’s devastation over her first miscarriage if I had already experienced three of them? Does the God of the universe, who sees the most vile, despicable acts of humanity, fail to have compassion on the newly grieving widow simply because He knows the devastation of those who have lived through genocide and lost everyone they love? Is suffering a competition?
These are the jumbled thoughts playing out in my head tonight. I want to wait well, to have perspective, to take advantage of this opportunity to grow through my trials. I’ve gotta say…I feel like an absolute failure. I have not waited well. There have been seasons of surrender, certainly, but overall I’ve been whiny, self-absorbed, impatient, easily discouraged, and inconsistent in prayer. I’ve been a worrier, not a warrior. I’m so so so tired of me me me. Hence my prayers for forgiveness. And my fresh appreciation for the fact that adoption is about grace – in this case grace shown to an undeserving mother who is most definitely “the weak leading the strong.” (I don’t think it would be a stretch to say that my kids have it together better than I do right now.)
As I was walking tonight, I watched the trees with their beautiful blossoming buds. When I finished pondering the havoc those lovely blooms would soon wreak on my sinuses, I observed how the branches appeared to be reaching to heaven, pointing to God for the world to see. Always pointing up, no matter the season. Blooming or barren, those trees are about their Maker.
I want to be a tree.