So, I feel silly writing this because I am not officially even in the adoption process at this moment, but I still have “adoption brain.” This little boy consumes me, my little M, who still lives in Ethiopia, who I hope one day to adopt. Anyone in the adoption world knows that as you move through the process you become a news junkie. Every little piece of information provides a little high, a little hope, and the longer I go between hits, the more desperate I feel. I’ve waited on little M since October of 2009, and my last bit of news was on April 13th. That particular bit of news gave me hope that I might have more news within a week or so. It’s been almost a month, so I am way overdue for my fix. I don’t want to behave like a junkie, so I don’t email my adoption consultant incessantly or leave hundreds of messages on her phone, but I check my email constantly, desperate to receive a message, a “no news yet but we’re still working on it,” a note to let me know that my little M hasn’t been forgotten. With no news, I become increasingly hopeless, withdrawn. I leave dirty dishes on my counters, don’t bother cleaning the floor under my toddlers’ chairs, nap when I should be swiffering or reading or planning some sort of super-mom creative activity for my kids. I read other adoption blogs, hoping that another family’s news might somehow cause our own case to move forward. I am unmotivated, lazy, and overwhelmed with wondering how my oldest child is doing, potentially at the expense of my younger two children. I’m crazy to want M home now. If he were here now, we’d have two 2-year-olds and a 20-month-old, so much more than I think that I can handle, but still, I want him home. I want to rock him and kiss him. I want to feed him milk and chicken and bananas and strawberries instead of the rice and water he eats now. I want to introduce his sister and his brother and see them wrestle and play. I want him to ride a tricycle in my back yard and slide down our big slide into the grass. I want him to have a family.
So again, this comes to trust. Do I trust God to take care of my child when I cannot. Do I trust him to work out the details of this boy’s homecoming even when I have no news. Can I stay sober and wait with confident expectation for God to bring my little boy home?