Waiting is hard. And this type of waiting is the hardest I've ever experienced. I saw it on the face of another adoptive father at church, when I asked him how things were going with their adoption. He didn't have a bright and cheerful response, step they've checked off their list of to-dos, or update on their son in China. He said, "right now it's tough." I was still basking in the afterglow of our recent accomplishment in sending out the dossier. One major mountain in my book, and although I read the exasperation on his face and tried to meet it with empathy, I wasn't there yet. I still had not come to the end of myself.
Today, I had a hard time getting out of bed. It's been a month of holding my breath and willing and wishing with all of my energy for a phone call or an email saying that we've been given the official referral and are invited to Bulgaria to meet our daughter. I'm on edge and trying to remain calm and keeping my thoughts focused is tough. The phone calls and emails do come in to check on our adoption, and miraculously a lot of the money we've needed has come in too. It is burning a hole in my bank account!
Never in my life did I imagine traveling to Bulgaria, and now it's what I think about most of the time. When I am asked where we are in our adoption, I'm able to state the facts. The fact is that right now we are waiting. What I want to share too is the emotional toll that this waiting takes on a mother (and father). Several more steps must be taken for Rose to officially become our daughter. But in my mind and heart she already is. I find myself in prayer for her all the time that she will not be afraid, give up hope, and that those that are caring for her are doing the best they can. Truth be told, I miss her in this mysterious heartbreaking way even though we have yet to meet.
But in my waiting, I'm carried by the comfort of my loving Father. I'm reminded that His timing is perfect. Not late. Not annoyingly delayed. Not completely out of my control. Perfect. Yes, I am wound up, tense, anxious, and the news cannot come soon enough. But the passage of time is less devastating knowing it's part of a bigger plan. This is what I tell myself while I'm waiting and while I carry the heavy burden right now of not knowing much of anything about my daughter, I am forced to let pieces of it go. To shed the weight of my worry, to pile it onto my graceful Savior so that I can get out of bed each day even when the answer is, "right now it's tough."
