It started raining the week Ruby was born. And until a few days
ago, it hadn't really stopped. Though the storms in my heart have not been
quite as relentless, I’ve shed my share of tears. Those few days with her in
the hospital were some of the most thrilling and stressful moments I've ever
experienced. Watching her birth, caring for her, wondering over her fate – and
then leaving without her... I don't say this flippantly - it was mildly
traumatic. With most trauma, though, there tends to be withdrawal. Some recoiling
for self-preservation's sake. Our only memories of her are surrounded with such
apprehension that, more often than we should, we avoid her altogether. More
than storms, there has been a fog.
It's been almost four weeks. People ask how we're doing, and I
never know what I'm going to say. It really depends on the moment. I fight to
live life uncontrolled by emotions, but typically, I tend to lose, and most
days look something like this:
· At 9:00am, I might say,
"It’s fine... I don't really want to talk about it." (This is mostly
because I probably haven’t had any coffee, and I don’t really want to talk
about anything in life at all period.)
· 9:15. I blubber some kind of
response like, "Let me tell you every detail so I can verbally process my
feelings and make you so super uncomfortable that both of us wish you had never
asked..."
· At 9:30, I might genuinely be
able to praise the Lord for saving this baby's life and for letting me watch her
arrive. Have you ever witnessed a birth? It is unbelievable. (Note:
coffee has usually kicked in at this point.)
· And by 10:00, I probably have
some kind of canned response that saves us all a little awkwardness. “We’re
doing okay,” I say with a smile and head tilt. “Just waiting and trusting the
Lord.”
Really, that’s where I tend to land the most. We really can’t do anything but trust Him. Even
when we push Him away in anger or disappointment, He is near. Even when we try
to ignore Him and distract ourselves with comforts and pleasures, He is near.
When we cry out to Him in confusion and frustration, He is near. And when we
run to Him with open arms – our only hope, He is near. I keep saying it, and it
never stops being true – He is faithful.
But my heart is weary. Yes, it’s only been four weeks since Ruby’s
birth, but it’s been five years since we started pursuing a family. Meeting
that baby girl finally felt like the
end of our waiting, but we were wrong. In moments of weakness, I just want to
throw my hands up and say, “Forget it! We just won’t have kids.” And be done
with it… But I think of Jacob waiting seven years for Rachel. I think of the
Israelites wandering in the wilderness before Canaan. I think of Job who had
everything – and had everything taken away. I think of Hannah…. The Lord gives
and takes away, and He is blessed. What is meant for evil
against us, God means for good. He works all things together for those who love
Him. And I’ll admit it takes a lot of preaching these things to myself to
remember that these days.
In one week, we will find out if Ruby’s birth father has
registered paternity. If he has not, he will have essentially forfeited his
parental rights. At that point, our agency will give birth mother the decision to
place Ruby with us or to rear a seventh child as a single mom. The timeline
after that isn’t clear, but we feel nothing short of uneasy. We are praying
that God would bring Ruby home to us under peaceful circumstances. We are
asking Him for endurance in the waiting and faithfulness where we are prone to
wander. More than anything, though, we need more of Him. Would you join us in
praying?