A Grand Adventure

In glancing over my most recent posts I find myself a tad unemotional. And perhaps so have you. Maybe I'm being hard on myself. This whole process has taken me through the wringer emotionally and sometimes (okay, maybe a lot of the time) I hold it in. Smiles, tears, anger. I hold it in, tight like it's the last few cents to my name. And it a way it is -- bits myself and I can't afford to lose anymore. 

And it could be that I process everything internally for a good few days before I write about the feel of it. So there is a lag time, which is probably for the better, as I like to use kind words and share joy rather than raw frustration and anger. 

But here's a little more of myself.

I spend a bit of my time each day in the bedroom set up especially for a specific child in mind. I can't believe we've gotten to this point! And I touch the toys, run my fingers over the pages of the books chosen with care over, what seems like, a lifetime, and squeeze the stuffed animals. And I smile a smile I wish I could capture on film. Yes, film. Real, touch with your hands, film. Because this is suddenly becoming real. These toys will be loved. These books will be read. This bed will be slept in. There will be little toes and little hands and wide eyes ready for adventure. My heart jumps!! I can almost smell it. Dreams cracking into reality. 

And I cry. Tears so full. Because some days the wait is just too much to bear. I wonder if we'll ever get there. Some days the emptiness of this room, these arms, weighs too heavy. I work, hard, to count the joy. And maybe each day is made both easier and harder because we know the little one for whom we wait and prepare. She is out there, right now, playing eating smiling laughing crying. And I smile at the thought of her and my heart breaks a little more for the ache and waiting. Yes, that smile with raw joy and sorrow. 

I find it easier to talk about her with family as if the possibility is way off. The pages of the mental calendar are stretched to great distances in my mind. Because if it's far off, and if IF it doesn't happen, it was never within my grasp in the first place. Less loss felt? Maybe not logical, certainly not less loss at all. But this is how I cope. This is how I live both present, and emotionally contained. Because one cannot run errands and bawl without looking like a mad woman. And nothing gets done so well with tears and snot in the way. So I cope. And more than cope. I hunt for joy, count joy, share joy, and hopefully grow a little bit here and there.

If there was only one thing infertility has taught me it is this: There comes a time in any experience with grief and loss that one must get back to the living -- living, real people. living a life. the simple daily tasks of living. How? I have no idea. It doesn't hurt less but we've got to keep moving, simply because...we must. And however you can is good enough for the now. So I'm not too hard on myself for seeming detached or matter of fact. But I do understand it might seem weird to others.  Grace. shovel grace on me. I have learned to heave grace on others -- the hard and heavy, and fluffy light. The hurting, the angry, the misunderstanding, the ill-informed. Just pile on the grace. 

And now to. . .

. : The GRAND ADVENTURE : .

Something magical is happening pretty soon. And when I'm alone and speak it out loud, without the holding it together, without the coping, without restraint or care for the tears, I dance. 

The good man and I are going to visit our little girl!!

In a few weeks we travel to her hometown and will meet her, get to know her, play with her, hold her, hear her laughter, and see her beautiful face!! We can hardly contain our joy and excitement. We are not sure how the visits will go, how much time we will have, or what's going to happen at all. But we are going! And that's all that matters, that's all I can think about. And God help us when we come home. 

We could really use your prayers. We are preparing for a long trip and have virtually no idea what will happen. We're hoping and praying to meet the foster parents, to visit with the social workers and have at least one unsupervised visit. We could use your prayers as we head down and as we come back home again leaving to continue the wait. 

Thank you for your continued support and prayers as we make our way through this adoption journey. We are grateful to have such a wonderful community around us, our village, who love adoption as much as we do. 

We are hoping that our travel costs will be reimbursed. We think it's best to go for at least one visit, but financially, we hope we aren't stretched. We have complete faith that God will provide for this little family spread out so far. But if you do think of us and feel called to help, or if you have been looking for our fundraising website and noticed it completed, I started a new fundraiser. Go to the link listed to the right. And again, as always, we appreciate every bit. Pennies and more. And prayer.  Yes, prayer is always accepted, treasured, and the best.