I've been trying to remain thankful during this season of waiting. And actually, our delayed travel has brought a few benefits. My back has had time to heal (I lifted weights today for the first time since September), and I've been able to help Peter's mom after her knee surgery, which I wouldn't have been able to do with a newly-arrived 2-year-old. And we will be able to attend our sons' boychoir concert this weekend too, which we didn't want to miss, since it may be Aaron's last one (due to his voice changing).
But I've also been trying to allow myself to feel sad. Some days are just hard, as we wait and wonder when we will hear about Kavya's passport. We are definitely having the sensation of missing someone we've never met. And I am also grieving for the millions of other children living in orphanages in India. About 8,000 of them will go home to families this year, and they all rely on the same maddeningly unpredictable process to get there.
The dates and timelines keep swirling around in my brain, too. We began Kavya's adoption when Anya was 2, received the referral when Anya was 5, and now Anya's birthday is two weeks away . . . so Kavya won't be home until Anya is 7. And it is so frustrating to know that we have legally been Kavya's parents since July 31, when the judge signed our adoption paperwork in court -- and she's still not home with us.
I'm trying to follow the model of the Psalmists, and be honest about every thought and emotion. I bring it all to my Father, good, bad, and ugly. And then after being brutally honest about my sadness, anger and frustration, I meander my way back to what I know is true: He is still good, and He is the only trustworthy thing in this world.
He sees every child that is hungry, lonely, ill, or without a family. He loves them and weeps over them more than I do. He is still good in the face of inefficiency, injustice, pain, and sadness. He loves Kavya more than I will ever be able to.
I'd be lying if I said that takes away the sadness and frustration entirely. But it does give me comfort to focus on something true and good. And during these last, long weeks of waiting, that is what I need.