Day 3

No news. I checked my email at 6 AM. 6:30 AM. 7 AM and now, at 8:30 AM. I think I better accept the fact that it's not coming today. It's 6:30 PM Rwanda time and most likely, the office is empty.

I feel frustrated but am determined to have a good attitude about this. A friend sent me an email yesterday about her own life and one line she said stuck out to me: "Here's the real scoop- God is either in control or He's not." It's true. And since I believe that He is who He says He is and can do what He says He can do, I have to accept that He is in control. He has a plan for Jubilee and all along He's had the time mapped out and chosen when we would see our precious baby girl. Today I'm going to cling to that.

Day 2

The countdown has begun. Yesterday I was told I could expect a referral within two weeks. Because of the time difference with AK, when I wake the business day in Rwanda has just ended. So every morning I will check my email and post an update.

Day 2- No news. But a lot of very sweet words of encouragement from other adoptive families. You guys are great. I'm feeling so blessed to be surrounded with many people rooting us on.

My friends, adoption is redemption. It's costly, exhausting, expensive, and outrageous. Buying back lives costs so much. When God set out to redeem us, it killed Him. -Derek Loux

Open Fire

I am standing at the starting line waiting for the gun to shoot. I have actively prepared 1 1/2 years for this moment. I have done the drills, put in months of hard work and determination. I was destined to run this race my whole life. I am standing, toes punching the line, muscles tense, mind and heart focused. Every nerve in my body is buzzing, waiting for the gun to open fire.

I have never in my life felt so much like this. Ever. Not my wedding. Not when I went into labor with my first. Or my second. I had more control over those events, but this referral: this invisible, looming, intangible referral- oh for words.

This morning two AWAA families received referrals from Rwanda. I naturally broke into sweat and began punching my send-receive button every 45 seconds. I am with this group. I have to be. Not long after, I received an email from our Power of Attorney. She said that my referral was ready, has been ready, and that it was up to the ministry when to send it. It could be tomorrow. It could be up to two weeks, but to be watching.

I am beside myself. I am happy. I’m thrilled. I’m disappointed. I’m impatient. I’m delighted for others. I’m jealous. On the outside I am changing diapers, running errands, playing with the kids. But inches deeper, under the surface of my tasks and routine, I am a woman gone mad. If my heart could stuff in another emotion it would surely burst.

Amidst the entourage of emotion, I feel peace. I feel gratitude. My little baby girl is so close to coming home. She is so close to being unveiled. I will see her face. Her fingers. Her hair. Her eyes. In a few days, I will know who she is. My joy abounds.

Parking Lots

I have recently been blessed with many new friends that I have never known and may never meet in person. These strangers have become such a sweet part of my life. We have a common bond, or maybe it's better said- an uncommon bond: Rwanda Adoption. We are at all different stages on the process, we live across the United States and even the throughout the world beyond. We have become our own little culture of parents that wait, hope and believe together as we walk through this crazy adoption adventure.

One such friend is named Allie Brannon. Allie and I share a lot of similarities. We are stay-at-home moms, have two boys and are waiting for baby girls. A few days ago I got an unexpected gift from her in the mail. It was such a sweet surprise.

A hammered metal charm to add to the necklace Wayne gave me for Valentines Day. Etched on the face is the name of my someday daughter, Jubilee. It was uncanny how perfect the timing was. I was having quite the internal war, faltering badly in my trust of God about His timing and very mysterious ways. I was reminded, looking at the necklace in my palm, that God loves me, He's concerned, and He knows my baby's name. Sitting in the Post Office parking lot, tears were brimming my eyes as I threaded the pendant on the chain. Gideon echoed my sentiments from the backseat, "Mommy, now your necklace really pretty!" It's beautiful.
I feel so blessed to have people that have never known me love me and be so kind. Allie's gesture made me think about the kind of person I want to be. Tender and thoughtful in my concern for other people. I want to reach people where they are: in stress, in sadness, in good times, in bad, in the post office parking lots of their lives.

Dream

I had the most beautiful dream. I was in Rwanda. I met my baby. She was sitting up, looking around the room when I first saw her. Little brown arms, little brown fingers. Her shirt was light purple and I remember my first thought was how beautiful her skin was, her lips and cheeks pink hued and luminescent. In my dream I didn't know if it was because I was totally biased already or if she really was so beautiful, but I was shocked at how completely breathtaking she was. We stood a long time cheek to cheek, trying to get the feel of each other. She was heavy in my arms. I didn't want to put her down. Ever.

I woke. The darkness in my room instantly became darker. It was a dream. It wasn't her soft skin pressing my face, it was my old, lumpy pillow. Sighing, I pushed the covers back, padded quietly down the hall and went to find my computer. Maybe today would be the day. Maybe that sweet little face would be waiting in my in-box. So, as I have done every morning for the last 5 months, I tentatively opened my account and scanned the sender list. Amazon.com special. Botox Add. Facebook Comment. Nothing. Empty. Oh, to have words to describe this feeling.

I don't know what the future holds or when the last chapter of this journey will open and unfold. My little girl may be nothing like the girl in my dreams, I know that. She may be crying when I first meet her. Maybe her skin won't glow or her lips look like candy hearts. But I love her, whoever she is. I don't understand why this all is taking so very long. But I am going to wait. And I am going to trust that God will complete the work He started.

Greatest Escape

This Saturday morning I wake early while everyone still sleeps, pull my clothes on in darkness and drive through the falling snow. I need a few hours to be just me. Not mother. Not wife. The love I have for my sons is indescribable. They are everything to me. What I have to give I want to give, but it still wears me. There is constant need, constant expectation. And as a wife, even one loved by her husband, there is still so much expectation. There is so much holding back and effort that goes into loving and not hurting. With your family you bite your tongue, you work to perform your tasks well, you cater to their needs, you mend, you soothe, you entertain, you give, you lead, you direct, you provide, you protect.

I just want to be Hanna. I just want to be daughter of the only person in the Universe who doesn‘t have a list of expectations and needs from me. I don’t know where I am heading but I turn my music as loud as it goes (because there are no children complaining about the song choice or the volume) and I listen:

Don’t need a thing.
My good shepherd brings me all
you are all that I need

You let me catch my breath
Even in the valley of death
You are all that I need

All I need to be complete
is your love
Your blood, it covers me

Goodness and mercy are following me
You’re all that I need
You make a home for me where pastures are green as far as I see
You’re all that I need

I end up at a coffee shop 30 miles away where I sit with my mug of strong coffee and write this. I look at the people that surround me, wonder if they have Him, the greatest escape, to run to in weariness. I am so thankful that no matter what my titles are here on earth, no matter what I give or take or do or say, no matter how my days are spent, I am first a daughter loved by God. He’s all I need.

I swallow the last drink of coffee, step outside and breath deep the scent of trees and snow. It’s time to return, a governess to her country.

Praise

for your body,
the body
of my daughter’s
mother, praise for

hands pressed against
the stretched canvas
of skin, praise any song
clung to your lips,

the echo of your voice
wrapped round the deep
seed of your body,
which she dimly heard

through the salty swell,
a small stone tumbled smooth,
tonal waves turning her
in the tide of your breath.

praise for the blood
of your body and beat of blood
and the crimson
vein of nourishment,

for your DNA, the code
I will spend my life observing
in the twist of curl,
in the well of her eyes, praise

for beginnings,
the life she will unfold and wear,
your eyes looking forward,
your hand falling at her side.