I wrote this post on Thursday September 29th.
We received our referral the next morning.
I hadn't slept all week.....
__________________________________________
Every night, I fall asleep with expectations for the next day that can only be equalled with the palpable childhood joy of Christmas Eve. I fall asleep thinking of what could happen the next day.
At any moment of any day (including today!), my phone could ring, and within 2 minutes of that call, I could be looking at an emailed picture of my child's face. It's an experience that normally happens in the delivery room.
Every time the phone rings, my chest bottoms out like I have been shot out of a cannon.
About noon everyday since we began the waiting, I light a candle on my mantle. It helps as 5 o'clock draws nearer.
At the end of the business day, I know the call is not coming.
Another day has passed, and the sleigh has passed over the house.
We haven't been waiting long at all, but there is something odd about this first period of waiting. Right now, we are waiting for our child to "land". They are out there, somewhere, in a famine-filled third-country. My prayer is that they are already in "the system", or that they are still safe within someone's arms or tummy.
I don't like to think about the in-betweens. There are other scenarios that my mind protectively does not allow me to fully process.
Once we get that picture, we know that our child is being fed and recieving medical care. We also know that someone who loved that child has died or had their heart broken in the process.
(I was stunned to find out that most of Africa is not afforded the priveledge of medical care. Africa contains 10% of our world's people and carries 60% percent of our world's HIV. -Red Letters)
No medical care. Just AIDS.
So knowing that our child has landed in an orphanage is a comfort to us, because they are more likely to receive medical care there. Isn't that odd? The sentence I just typed is a tragedy, and it brings this Mommy comfort. Welcome to adoptionland.
After 5pm, my faith flickers, and a slight panic sets in. Night is falling. Where are these kids, all of these kids, going to sleep? Is my child one of them?
The truth is, Christmas Eve hope is available to all Christians, every single night. Because tomorrow, you may see your Savior's face. Tomorrow could be the day that the trumpets blast, and the day that this hijacked planet sees its Redemption Day.
We received our referral the next morning.
I hadn't slept all week.....
__________________________________________
Every night, I fall asleep with expectations for the next day that can only be equalled with the palpable childhood joy of Christmas Eve. I fall asleep thinking of what could happen the next day.
At any moment of any day (including today!), my phone could ring, and within 2 minutes of that call, I could be looking at an emailed picture of my child's face. It's an experience that normally happens in the delivery room.
Every time the phone rings, my chest bottoms out like I have been shot out of a cannon.
About noon everyday since we began the waiting, I light a candle on my mantle. It helps as 5 o'clock draws nearer.
At the end of the business day, I know the call is not coming.
Another day has passed, and the sleigh has passed over the house.
We haven't been waiting long at all, but there is something odd about this first period of waiting. Right now, we are waiting for our child to "land". They are out there, somewhere, in a famine-filled third-country. My prayer is that they are already in "the system", or that they are still safe within someone's arms or tummy.
I don't like to think about the in-betweens. There are other scenarios that my mind protectively does not allow me to fully process.
Once we get that picture, we know that our child is being fed and recieving medical care. We also know that someone who loved that child has died or had their heart broken in the process.
(I was stunned to find out that most of Africa is not afforded the priveledge of medical care. Africa contains 10% of our world's people and carries 60% percent of our world's HIV. -Red Letters)
No medical care. Just AIDS.
So knowing that our child has landed in an orphanage is a comfort to us, because they are more likely to receive medical care there. Isn't that odd? The sentence I just typed is a tragedy, and it brings this Mommy comfort. Welcome to adoptionland.
After 5pm, my faith flickers, and a slight panic sets in. Night is falling. Where are these kids, all of these kids, going to sleep? Is my child one of them?
Addis Ababa, Ethiopia:
I pray.
Tomorrow is a new day.
Tomorrow could be the day that a child, even my child, finds refuge..
The truth is, Christmas Eve hope is available to all Christians, every single night. Because tomorrow, you may see your Savior's face. Tomorrow could be the day that the trumpets blast, and the day that this hijacked planet sees its Redemption Day.
For the believing,
Every day is Christmas Eve.
Every day is Christmas Eve.
“Live as though Christ died yesterday,
rose from the grave today,
and is coming back tomorrow.”
-T. Epp
Missy
Missy
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