third son of mine. This year you turn 12. A decade plus two for you. It does not seem possible that the little guy who entered our lives in 2000 could possibly be the young man who enters the kitchen each morning. You had boundless energy then, and you still do today.
You came into our lives like a whirling wind of change. For almost three years, your dad and I had tried unsuccessfully to build our family through adoption. Pregnancy was not an option for us at that time because of tragedy that had gone before (James). All of our efforts at adoption thus far had been tinged with various levels of sadness as well, and we had become resigned to the idea that God would bring no more children to our family. It would be me, Dad and Chess.
Honestly, I was hurt and resentful about this. The picture God was painting for my family did not match with mine.
I called an adoption friend of ours that week and poured out my heart to her. I was sitting in the green striped lawn chair, watching Chess ride his big wheel. We cried on the phone together, and she reminded me to remember how God had more than once answered the hopes of our hearts in miraculous ways.
She encouraged me to call an agency in Florida. I was more than reluctant, knowing that our last several ventures had all ready dipped into savings. Even the "minimal" application fee she quoted seemed like the price of an island. I told her I would think about it and we hung up.
The next day I found myself dialing the number. It was a Monday morning. Maybe I thought it was a fresh start type of morning. But after talking on the phone with the very nice lady, I found myself even more discouraged at all the labor of adoption. I ended the conversation with her only agreeing to consider their application, without a promise to mail it back.
Life progressed all week as usual. Friday morning while sweeping up Chess' breakfast from the kitchen floor, the phone rang. Very nice adoption lady was on the phone. My first thought was that this was the follow up pressure call to get on their waiting list. I was ready with a quick no, but she kept talking about you, your situation, your need for a family and then she ended with, "So, would you be interested in a 26 month old boy?"
Huh? 26 months, 26 months, all ability to do a little bit of math flew right out of my head as I tried to picture that in years and development and did she say, "26 months!" Finally, I could only muster a response that I had to call Husband and would call her back.
While dialing your Dad, I was sure he would dismiss the idea as impossible and that would be that. I could finish cleaning the floor. Catching him at work, he listened to my rambling story and said, "I think we are interested. Find out what they need from us."
Couldn't anyone understand that I was trying to maintain a spirit of hurt and resentment here? Hope and promise were treasures reserved for other people. I was sure of that. Hurt and resentment were a great part of your life as well. Hope and promise were not truths you trusted in either. You and I were about to walk a path of restoration, and neither one of us had any idea how hard, or how rewarding it would become.
To be continued...