I don't think about myself as a very emotional person, but I cried this morning, for good reason.
You've probably heard that Russia, has chosen to close its doors to American families looking to adopt Russian orphans. The US wrote a ban on Russia, refusing the help or work with Russians who have violated human rights. Russia, in an effort to look tough, decided that Americans could no longer adopt their children, because in some rare and hopefully extreme cases, Americans were abusing their new children or even sending them back. This Russian ban on adoption, separated from personal experience, is heartwrenching.
I've never adopted anyone. My parents, however, have gone through the process of domestic adoption, and it is work, both before and after you get your children. I don't know what it's like as a parent to wait for your child whom you've never met.
But I can imagine...
You have been praying for years concerning adoption, and you finally know that God has directed you as a couple to look in Russia. The two of you fill out the paperwork, pay lots of money, fill out more paperwork, pay more fees, pay for passports, write e-mails, and pray, pray, pray. Your church family prays, too, and while you are happy that they care so much, it gets tedious having to say every week, "No, not yet!" "No, we haven't heard anything." "We are hoping to get a name soon." "Thank you for praying, yes, we're sure that we're doing everything we can."
The day that God has appointed from eternity finally comes: You are matched with a child, a little boy with blue eyes and light brown hair! He looks kinda thin, but he's smiling; maybe he knows that you are waiting for him. You now have a face and a name to add to all those longing prayers.
After mountains of more paperwork, your social worker finally lets you know the date that you can fly out. You and your spouse hurriedly arrange time off, buy tickets, ask a church kid to housesit for you, find someone to take you to the airport. You try not to think about how you hate flying, how there is so much left to do, how your little boy will react when you see him, how you will react when you see your little boy, how you've only been to Hawaii before and isn't Russia really cold? The two of you go to Target, picking out the perfect green and brown plaid shirt for your little Russian boy, wondering if you should get the shirt in the next biggest size, because you really couldn't tell from the picture how big he is. You talk together of all the fun things you are going to do as a new family, and you thank God for bringing this to pass.
And then, you hear rumblings that Russia might cut off all your adoption hope in one swift decision. You pray more fervently, wish the days would go by more quickly, distract yourself in a million ways so that you won't have to contemplate the possibility of
never
seeing
your
little boy.
His picture hangs on your fridge and lives in your wallet as a reminder to hope and to pray.
And then the news: The ban has been enacted; your little boy is stuck, thousands of miles away, a seeming eternity from your hopes, dreams, hugs, kisses, love.
What do you do? What do you do?
The only comfort, is that God knows. God is for you, even when you don't understand.
And God wins, even if we won't be able to see it. He cares for the orphans.
In the midst of intense pain,
God is our only great, undiminishable, everlasting hope.
-----------------------------
Pray for the waiting orphans. Pray for the waiting families. Pray for Vladimir Putin.
You've probably heard that Russia, has chosen to close its doors to American families looking to adopt Russian orphans. The US wrote a ban on Russia, refusing the help or work with Russians who have violated human rights. Russia, in an effort to look tough, decided that Americans could no longer adopt their children, because in some rare and hopefully extreme cases, Americans were abusing their new children or even sending them back. This Russian ban on adoption, separated from personal experience, is heartwrenching.
I've never adopted anyone. My parents, however, have gone through the process of domestic adoption, and it is work, both before and after you get your children. I don't know what it's like as a parent to wait for your child whom you've never met.
But I can imagine...
You have been praying for years concerning adoption, and you finally know that God has directed you as a couple to look in Russia. The two of you fill out the paperwork, pay lots of money, fill out more paperwork, pay more fees, pay for passports, write e-mails, and pray, pray, pray. Your church family prays, too, and while you are happy that they care so much, it gets tedious having to say every week, "No, not yet!" "No, we haven't heard anything." "We are hoping to get a name soon." "Thank you for praying, yes, we're sure that we're doing everything we can."
The day that God has appointed from eternity finally comes: You are matched with a child, a little boy with blue eyes and light brown hair! He looks kinda thin, but he's smiling; maybe he knows that you are waiting for him. You now have a face and a name to add to all those longing prayers.
After mountains of more paperwork, your social worker finally lets you know the date that you can fly out. You and your spouse hurriedly arrange time off, buy tickets, ask a church kid to housesit for you, find someone to take you to the airport. You try not to think about how you hate flying, how there is so much left to do, how your little boy will react when you see him, how you will react when you see your little boy, how you've only been to Hawaii before and isn't Russia really cold? The two of you go to Target, picking out the perfect green and brown plaid shirt for your little Russian boy, wondering if you should get the shirt in the next biggest size, because you really couldn't tell from the picture how big he is. You talk together of all the fun things you are going to do as a new family, and you thank God for bringing this to pass.
And then, you hear rumblings that Russia might cut off all your adoption hope in one swift decision. You pray more fervently, wish the days would go by more quickly, distract yourself in a million ways so that you won't have to contemplate the possibility of
never
seeing
your
little boy.
His picture hangs on your fridge and lives in your wallet as a reminder to hope and to pray.
And then the news: The ban has been enacted; your little boy is stuck, thousands of miles away, a seeming eternity from your hopes, dreams, hugs, kisses, love.
What do you do? What do you do?
The only comfort, is that God knows. God is for you, even when you don't understand.
And God wins, even if we won't be able to see it. He cares for the orphans.
"Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good!
Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him!
The LORD is near to the brokenhearted
and saves the crushed in spirit."
:: Psalm 34:8, 18
In the midst of intense pain,
God is our only great, undiminishable, everlasting hope.
-----------------------------
Pray for the waiting orphans. Pray for the waiting families. Pray for Vladimir Putin.
1 comment:
Beautifully put, Jennica. My heart aches for those wanting to adopt and all the children who will never now have a chance at having a family. But like you said, God is in control, and He loves them even more than we do!
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