I’m walking through the valley. My vantage point is disadvantageous but I walk in faith.
And I ponder. Is faith passive? Is it something I say to chalk-off my inability to cope with the unknown? Is it something I do when I have no plan and I feel stuck?
Our liminal space. It’s bare. A dry land. We are true and present though we ache for little sister. But we rejoice in the presence of big sister J. The walk of faith is such a collision of realities.
“Wait upon the Lord.” When confronted with the reality of the law, with the fact that we can’t even see little sister, or know where she is or how she is doing. We only have the promise of the law, that the moment this little girl is declared adoptable, she can be reunited with her sister, and us.
Why is God taking His time? What is the purpose of this wait? Am I supposed to be doing something? I am indeed action oriented but with time and age I’m not as reactive. I ponder more and thus I rarely have to redo something now.
I think often of the people who are in charge of my daughter’s file. Of the people that put food on her table, that change her diaper, that cover her at night. I pray, I pray with such intensity that God moves their heart. That he moves things against nature, even against their natural habits, if necessary. Like in the book of Esther, when the king couldn’t sleep and he asked for a certain Book to be brought to him. I pray that God harasses with His Spirit the state employees to move along the books and files and reports. I pray for kind hands to tenderly care for my daughter in the mean time. Am I crazy? Who cares! I believe God can move mountains, through faith. So I believe. I believe that he won’t delay one minute his plan to reunite us. I pray that I can see clearly what I am supposed to learn, to do, to rest, to create, to love and to speak in the mean time.
Meanwhile I am a parent in need of grace. So much grace. And my eldest daughter is the first to offer it generously. She is quick to forgive, she is quick to show gratitude, she is quick to love. I honestly don’t know who teaches who. We hold hands and at times I hold her steady, but other times she leads the way with such poise.
She is my little sheep, the one that is home, the one that has incredible intuition. She knows what she is entitled to. She is entitled to love, to comfort. She has the right to play and to express herself, to learn everything. She unapologetically asks for peace and for kindness. And every time we tell her she will have to share something with her sister (the little one we long for, our little lost for now sheep) she says with such confidence that I believe her (and I believe she knows what she agrees to) that she will share with her sister.
So there is this little girl. Almost two years old. We’ve known of her for almost a year. We’ve prayed for her for over a year. She is so close and yet so far. She is mine, much like an expectant mother with a child forming in her womb. She is a gift I’ve been told about. But she is just not delivered yet.
I rejoice in her existence, I anticipate our reunion. I pray for her safety, for her heart and mind, I pray that she knows deep down that she is desired, longed for.
Meanwhile time unfolds. Jackie is perfect in every way. She is stubborn and outspoken. She is feisty and she is attentive. And we delight in her. God put adoption on our heart again and we let it take root. We go where He calls. And there is such comfort in that.