Waiting is hard.
Having the patience to endure these days, weeks, and months that pass between now and when we receive the phone call.
It sometimes feels like an insurmountable task.
Little did we know that there would be something even harder than the wait.
It has taken me a long time to come to grips with writing this all down. Maybe it's a matter of pride, maybe it's that the pain is still fresh and raw, and the emotions still high.
However, I write with the hopes that one day it will feel less painful, and our experience will offer some sense of comfort to another.
My family had just finished an incredible family vacation in Zion National Park and we were making the long drive home feeling refreshed and thankful for the time together and abundant amount of sunshine. Shortly before Provo, Utah we received a phone call from our adoption agency - which was completely unexpected. You can imagine our hearts reaction to what has been a long awaited phone conversation.
We were told that they had a little girl they would like to match with us! She had just turned five and recently entered the care center. For some reason, I felt the need to protect M. and we chose to not speak too much about it in front of him, which limited the car conversations so I just began praying for the situation and the little girl.
I would be lying if I said that I felt complete peace about the situation - but I couldn't really put my thumb on what was causing a sense of unrest. My mind was filled with thoughts of whether or not this was right, could I love her the way she deserves to be loved? I prayed endlessly that God would bring peace, wisdom, and a sense of family when we read through her intake information.
Shortly after passing the Wyoming border the email arrived containing all of her information. As I read through the documents, certain things started standing out that raised concern for me. My heart began to sink and I grew more and more anxious. When I finally opened the photos, I knew instantly that she was older than five.
Up to this point I hadn't verbalized any of these thoughts or concerns to Micah, I simply handed him my phone showing him the pictures. His response echoed my concerns.
The drive back to Laramie felt like an eternity and I couldn't look at M. without crying. His heart has longed have a sibling for so long and I couldn't make my heart feel at peace with this particular child. I also felt such a strong need to honor and protect M. and his place in our family. I knew that it would be hard for him to suddenly have a "little" sister that towered above him. As much as it didn't feel right, how could we say no to a child in need of a home?
Micah and I stayed up well past midnight trying to reason through the situation and pleading to God to speak to us, bring us a sense of peace and confirm our decision. Then morning came and with it was no sense of peace, but even more anxiety.
Once again, Micah and I stayed up well past our usual time wrestling with our decision. We couldn't find the enthusiasm or peace that we anticipated being there. As shameful as it feels to say no, it wasn't until we finally decided to let her go, that we both felt we could breath a little deeper and found peace again.
We want nothing more than to grow our family and realize that with the privileges that we have been granted we can provide a home for those in need. However, we also felt that we need to honor our little M. and the fact that he is the "1st born" in our family.
Our decision did bring a sense of peace, but with it also came a range of additional emotions: sadness, grief, shamefulness, embarrassment, failure, doubt, etc. Will this cause us to wait longer? What does this say about us as parents, as people? What if we don't feel peace with the next referral? What if, what if, what if?!? Out of nowhere - even weeks later - I am gripped with such a sense of extreme sadness for this situation and for this little girl. I am praying that we have not prevented her from the opportunity to weave her story together with another family.
We want to believe that this is another chance for us to practice hope and trust, but honestly speaking we are a little whole lot scared and sad.
