Once a month, I get together with a few special women that God has placed in my life through adoption. On Monday, one of these women is going to pick up her daughter from the same country/city where our sweet boy currently resides. I cannot tell you how thrilled I am for my friend, to be able to bring her little girl home. For months we have laughed, cried and prayed together. The bond that our little group has formed cannot be explained, but it is strong. Please keep her in your prayers as they begin to adjust to their new family of 4!
Even though she needs to be filling her suitcase with plenty of clean clothes, snacks and other essentials, my friend has generously offered to leave space in her suitcase for a care package for our little guy.
So, this past week, I have been running around gathering items to put in his care package. I was shopping at a children’s store on Sunday, flipping through the racks, and it hit me. The clothes that I buy for our son in Africa, the clothes I am touching right now, are going to touch his skin. He is real! This adoption is real! I was so overcome with the joy of shopping for my son (not legally yet) that I was surprised by the next feeling that came. Sadness. While tears of joy filled my eyes, they became mixed with tears of grief. He’s going to be wearing these 3-6 month clothes, but I’ll never see him wearing them. I’m not going to be the one getting up with him in the middle of the night. I’m not going to rock him to sleep tonight. I’m not going to make his bottles and change his diapers for quite some time.
You see, this is the nature of adoption. It’s bitter sweet. As a parent, you are so grateful to call this child your own, and they get to call you mommy and daddy, but that gift comes with a wound. This isn’t the way it was supposed to be. Children aren’t supposed to be abandoned or given up. It’s not the way it was meant to be. Yes, adoption is beautiful, but it’s also messy. I know from so many dear friends who’ve walked this road, that we’re only beginning to experience the mixture of joy and pain.
But for now, I’m just grateful that our little guy gets to enjoy a new rattle, a book, bibs, lotion, a photo book of his mommy, daddy, sisters and brother, and an audio book read by me and Roger. For now it’s enough to make me very grateful for a care package that was sent with all the love in the world, and hope and pray for the day when I’ll get to sing him lullabies, listen to him coo and call him my own.