It's been so invigorating in recent weeks to begin this adoption journey. To rekindle the passion for adoption and remember it's the Lord's calling for our family. To dream of welcoming another child into our home.
We love adoption!
If you asked me if I even WANT to get pregnant, I'd scrunch up my nose and give you a huge, resounding NO. For whatever reason, pregnancy's not for me. (I must be sensitive here because I know that's not the case for my other infertile friends, so please realize I only speak for myself.)
I remember as a schoolgirl, my friends would crowd around and they'd say, "I want to have 3 kids!" "Well, I want to have 5 kids!"
And then they'd look at me and say, "How many kids do YOU want to have, Amy?"
Never being the "kid" type, I'd look at them, shrug my shoulders, and my answer was always, "Well, I guess I want to have kids, but I don't really want to actually have the kids." (I was terrified of the whole labor & delivery part. Still am.)
But I look back at that and wonder, Was that the Lord's calling of adoption upon me even way back then? Is that the Lord "giving us the desires of our heart"?
Sure, I went through the years of infertility treatments, and oh, I'd rather not bring back those memories right now. It is more than anyone can bear, both physically and emotionally. I'd never considered adoption until then, but looking back, I can see that it was the road of infertility that God used to help me see the beauty of adoption!
Adoption has always been God's Plan A for our family, not Plan B. Adoption is our family's story. It's all of our stories, for those of us who are believers. It's a more beautiful picture of the Gospel: that God takes those who weren't His and brings them into His family and calls them His children.
But I'm also more convinced than ever that there are lasting scars upon me from infertility. My sister, who fought infertility herself, once said, "Once an infertile woman, always an infertile woman." Meaning, once you've felt that pain, you don't forget it. It comes back at various seasons of life, and the wounds reopen.
Even after you've resolved your infertility,
even when you know you're called to adopt,
and even when you don't long to be pregnant!
In the midst of this MARATHON of paperwork for adoption, here I am panting from the long haul, yet I'm still trucking forward, ever so slow. Just a little bit longer, just a little bit longer, I tell myself as my muscles are killing me and I'm fighting the mental game. Keep going, Amy. You can do this. My hope is that at the end of this marathon, there's a baby out there waiting to join our family. One that we have tried for SO LONG to find and love.
And then I hear a pregnancy announcement (it was a total surprise to the young couple, of course!) and I watch other gals younger than me carrying their newly wrapped bundles of love around church. My heart suddenly stings within my chest and I fight back the tears.
That's not YOUR story, Amy. Stop looking at their stories and remember YOUR story is different. For whatever reason, He doesn't want you to have that story.
But it's so EASY for them! They have no idea! Why must I struggle to run this exhausting marathon, and they come careening by me to the finish line first??? And to top it off, it was just an accident?!?? I'm working so, SO hard at this. How is that not supposed to hurt? We've been married for almost 13 years and we'd make a great family for a baby, God! (As if God is obligated to do what I say.)
It's so dangerous for our hearts to compare, isn't it?
Nevertheless, the wounds are there. And sometimes, like now, they hurt.
I'm not sad that I can't have my own child biologically. I'm just grieving the fact that I have no control over it. I know NOTHING about planning the spacing of my children and have not been given that option in this life. I don't know what my family will look like or if a total stranger will like me enough to place their own flesh and blood in my arms. I'll admit it. I'm insecure. And scared.
And a little bitter, if I'm being honest.
Though now I feel the sting of pain, yet I will trust Him.