The Waiting Game

Tonight we were sitting on the couch and Ty said, "Hey...Mama. I just tootied on your leg...I'm sneaky."

"Oh, good grief, Ty. What is with you and your daddy? Lord help me! I'm surrounded by boys."

I roll my eyes and tease and feign disgust at some of their actions, but the truth is...I love living with boys. I love mothering a son. For the past week I haven't thought much beyond mothering two sons...

Sigh. No news.

I have been praying and hoping and dreaming for little boy, wondering if he's safe...warm...and feeling loved. It is extremely difficult to stay neutral in the matter when your life is run by explosions of passion that make it impossible not to dive in deep.

My time sitting on the start-up agency's board, however, gave me an important perspective to this process and respect for the people who drive it. I heard multiple case workers refer to prospective adoptive parents as "high maintenance" because we tend to only see our case, opposed to the worker's twenty others. Those words have echoed through my thoughts this week. I haven't called since the call.

If our case worker had news, she would pass it on. Pestering her for updates each day will only waste precious time needed by other children and/or families. The waiting, however, is horrific. I just want to know.

I want to know if little boy's case worker has had time to read our file, yet...I want to know what the process looks like from here if we are matched...I, of course, want to know when we would get to meet him...and when he'd get to come home...

His case is laced with sadness that makes it difficult to restrain from beating on every door in the county until we find him. Ben is playing it very "cool" and taking each day in stride, remaining cautious. Not me. I threw all reservations to the wind and fully connected with little boy on paper. I've read and re-read his case six times and counting.

A mother's heart doesn't need a picture or touch or relationship to care deeply.

I am, however, daily handing over a specific portion of my hell-bound flesh to the Lord. It's the part that automatically connects my compassion for little boy to God's will. I recognize the danger in walking that line and have seen enough to know that my feelings are completely unreliable and lead me astray time and time again. Just because I felt an instant connection to little boy doesn't mean that another mother didn't feel the same connection. Just because I read little boy's file and feel like his mother doesn't mean that God's redemption won't play out differently.

I've never done this before. I've never been handed a heartbreaking story and then been asked the question..."Will you choose this one?" I might feel this way every time. I don't know.

Because of this unknown, I'm choosing to trust the One made known.

The waiting isn't easy, but the trusting is.

God is faithful.

All the time. In every way.