You know, if I owned a journal, this would probably not be going up here. But, I am fresh out of private places to write (aside from easily lost scraps of paper and post-it notes), so instead you all get to hear my heart.
I think it was last year at Christmas time as Ray and I perused the Reece's Rainbow Angel Tree gallery for a child to sponsor that we decided we would one day adopt a child with Down Syndrome from overseas. There is just no question. We know it is something we want to do.
Our feeling at the time was that we should wait until certain other things come to pass in our lives: finish having babies, buy a house, build a career, make more money.
When I think about it, the list is the same as it was before we got pregnant with Charlie. We had a bunch of criteria we felt we needed to meet before starting a family. Well, thank goodness for surprises or who knows how long we would have waited. I mean, who can say when all this will come to pass. Who can say if it will come. Really, how much money are a brilliant musician and his day-dreamy wife ever going to make? Somehow, I think not very much. We're fine with that most of the time. But I digress.
Thing is, I feel pregnant. I feel pregnant with the idea that our family could expand by one. One messy haired, stout little boy with Down Syndrome and clever smile.
I'm nesting. Every move I make just lately is with the idea in mind that we will take the leap to adopt. I keep thinking about making space in our new house. How will we arrange. What kind of sleeping situation could we rig up in the boys room to make space for one more little fellow. Seriously, I'm like a little girl playing house.
Where is this coming from? I mean, where is the voice of reason? If you knew our current situation, you would probably agree with me: we are in no place to take such a huge financial leap of a cliff. Not to mention, we've got our hands full with two small boys. Are we ready to go from being evenly matched to out-numbered?
But I can't help but look at all the beautiful faces on the Reece's Rainbow web site and think: compared to an orphan, we are rich. Rich materially, emotionally, we have stability, we have love in Christ. We have everything we could ever need to affect a child's life for eternity.
I keep day dreaming of a herd of little boys paling around in the front yard. Three little boys having peanut butter and jelly at the kitchen table. Three boys pushing little wooden trains down the tracks in the living room. I keep day dreaming of bunk beds in the children's room, and three dirty little pairs of shoes by the front door.
In many ways (and I mean, everyday something new) I feel God confirming to me that it is his will for us to adopt. Heck, any Christian knows that God calls us to minister to the widow and the orphan. Beyond that, I feel in a very personal way that he is nudging me toward family expansion. (And, I don't mean pregnancy. I need a serious break from that!)
But in all honesty, I'm struggling.
I feel like Jacob wrestling with God. Can't he see my frustrations, my questions, my reasoning. The time can't possibly be right. Can it? I want it to be. Will be provide?
In some ways I feel like "Why would God place such an overwhelming desire in our hearts, but not provide the means? We are willing servants, God, but you've not provided a way to act."
In some ways I feel like He is releasing us to go forward, but I am too scared to take the first step without some sort of obvious deposit. I want God to prove His intentions. Where is my faith?!
I am inspired by the many people whom I've met through on-line who are taking the step to pursue adoption. Most of these folks sound like ordinary people like us. Not rich in possessions, but rich in faith, rich in Christ. It hurts my heart to feel like I am being left behind. I want to be there now.
In the mean time, I continue to pray. God is working in his own way in Raymond, too. Raymond is the reasonable one of the two of us. I'm the dreamer and the one who makes things infinitely more complicated than they need to be. But how can I remain collected when all these beautiful little boys and girls have no family, and my arms ache to hold them.
Maybe I can try a cardboard sign campaign to raise the money. It will read:
HAVE LOVING FAMILY, NEED ORPHAN
Well, Merry Christmas, All.
God bless you tonight.