I have a lot of feelings sitting right on the surface these days. Yesterday, for the first time during this season, I said out loud that I’m angry at God. When expectations don’t line up with our reality, it can feel really hard and I would imagine we’re all feeling at least a little bit of that these days. I felt the shame & guilt rise immediately after I uttered the words. Not because I thought the friend standing in front of me hearing them would judge me or because I think God can’t handle me being mad at Him {in fact, He’s probably quite accustomed to my big feelings by now}, but because I know there are so many people hurting right now in ways that feel bigger than ours. But I also know that I need to get it out. I need others to bear witness to my pain, my grief, my despair so that I can move through it.
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We began this new adoption journey almost a year ago and if you recall, I laid out a few stipulations because I needed something that resembled control for this process after years of grief & loss. I needed this to be on my terms. If God had the audacity to ask me to enter this world again, then He could at least comply with my demands. One of those stipulations I laid out was that our kids had to travel with us. Colombia requires both parents spend time in-country & I was not willing to leave our American kids for the length of time required. {And if I’m absolutely honest, I never thought J would agree to spend the extra money to have them join us.} Well, J did agree and we started making plans. We worked our {not so} little tushies off to jump through all of the paperwork hoops so that we could travel this summer because that was what, in our minds, would best for both our American kids and our Colombian kids. We had it all planned out perfectly. And then a pandemic happened.
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Our expectations suddenly were no where close to our reality and that felt {still does} hard and confusing, at best. We realized that traveling in the summer was most likely not happening as Colombia continued to extend their travel ban. I won’t lie. I felt {still do} defeated. The imaginary paper that I constructed our perfectly laid out plans on began to crumble. Each piece just dissolving into thin air. I have had to remind myself over & over again that God has not stopped caring for me & my little tribe because it has felt eerily familiar to all the reasons I had for not wanting to adopt again this time last year. So we started adjusting to what it would mean to pull 4 kids out of school for almost 2 months. We began talking to their teachers. We began talking with them. And soon, we had a new, carefully constructed plan that, though it wasn’t ideal, still met my demands.
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Soon, those new plans began to unravel more quickly than the previous ones. Now here we are with fresh heartache as we have learned that our American kids will not be able to travel with us at all. Here we are grieving, once again, how our expectations are not lining up with our reality & this one feels especially painful. Didn’t God hear me when I said I wouldn’t travel without my kids? Doesn’t he know that transition is especially hard for some of our kids? Our kids have been looking forward to this trip & having to let them down feels impossibly hard. Doesn’t God know all they have had to give up already? Due to travel already being delayed, it’s likely that we will miss some birthdays. Doesn’t God care about my kids feeling hurt & alone? We are now scrambling to figure out caretakers for our American kids while we’re gone. We are having to make contingencies for our contingencies. We are having to hold things like, what if our kids contract COVID while we’re in another country or what if their caretakers do or how will our kids’ trauma spill out on their family while we’re gone? We’re having to make impossibly difficult decisions about which parent stays in Colombia the whole time & which parent comes home after the required time. And every option feels less than adequate. We are having to make sure our affairs are in order in case we don’t come back. My brain is on overdrive every second of every minute. And so I’m pretty mad at God right now. You can’t ask me to do this again. I told you my ground rules and you ripped them up. This just isn’t fair. You’ve crossed the line.
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It all just feels too hard, and, if I’m honest, I’m fighting regret & doubt. The voices of despair & heartbreak threaten to overshadow the Voice of truth & Hope. And so, I have to force myself to remember. I don’t think it was a coincidence that God gave me an overwhelming amount of confirmations all those months ago. He knew I would be right here. Doubting. Regretting. Questioning. Hurting. Crying hot, angry tears. He knew I would need more than one anchor to snap me out of the lies and back to the truth & hope. The truth is, I know that God is present in every detail even though He feels very distant from it all right now. So here we are. Grieving the loss of our expectations and carefully designed plans. But we do not grieve as those without hope. We are a people who were designed to hold both the pain of suffering & loss and the joy of the triumph over death, over all the sad things. So here we are, walking that tension once again.
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If you think about it, would you pray for us? Pray for our hearts as we navigate loss again. Pray for our kids’ hearts as they navigate loss again. And pray that all the moving pieces we now have to navigate fall into place at just the right moment and in just the right way. If I’m absolutely honest, I’ve run out of words and my legs feel wobbly. So if you think about it, we need you to help us stand once again, to remind us that Jesus has made & is making all the sad things come untrue.