What You {Don't} Say

It's a couple hours past my bedtime, and I'm wide awake. Finally got out of bed so my tossing and turning wouldn't bug the man of the house. This after a solid 30 minutes of tears and convo and prayer with him a few hours earlier. This after being reminded (yet again) that my guy is the best.

Adoption is hard. HARD. And we're not even really in the all out battle of it yet. Can I be honest with you all? I feel let down. Discouraged.

I thought people would be excited. I thought (maybe rather ignorantly) that we wouldn't have the silly/stupid/hard/Lord, give me grace to answer kind of questions or flippant reactions. I didn't think we would be dealing with racism and prejudices. I really didn't. I expected one or two hesitant yet happy reactions and that the rest would be ecstatic for us and for children who are fatherless (read that and really let it sink it) that are about to receive a home.

Can I be honest? I told Nick in tears tonight that I don't even want to talk about it anymore. I don't want to tell anymore people. I don't want to think about breaking it to a newer church body and people we are just forming relationships with. I don't want to think about conversations that are going to happen with the people who have already shown less than enthusiasm at our big news. I don't want to go to such and such gathering and be subjected to more less than gracious questions or comments. Maybe this will pass. I'm praying it does.

But if I'm being completely honest, let me tell you something else. Not only do less than kind questions or comments sting, but so does what you don't say. Sometimes more than the unkind words.

People who I know would be the first to hug us, congratulate us, like our announcement on Facebook, send us a text and so on to be excited along with us if we were pregnant are silent. That silence is deafening. And insulting. More than I can tell you. These are the people who would be the first to want to keep up with you during your pregnancy, to help you out on a rough day, offer a word of encouragement here and there, bring a meal post delivery, comment on all your pregnancy bump and then baby pictures. Yet they say nothing now. They seem to become chameleon-like and blend into the surroundings. 

It hurts. I know I sound like I'm not happy with how anyone is reacting. Like when people do talk they say the wrong things, and when they don't speak I wish they would make their presence known. I don't want the reactions or lack thereof to steal my joy. Yet it is. I can count on less than 5 fingers the people I have talked with face to face who seem genuinely over the moon happy for us. One of them is my husband.

Somewhere out there is a boy or girl or both that already has a piece of my heart. And that piece is growing more each and every day. I can't see them, touch them, talk with them, or even know what is going in their lives. They aren't growing and developing in my womb, but they are growing in my heart at a rapid pace. A heart that feels like it isn't even at home in my body anymore.

The fact is God already knows who these children are. He knows He is going to allow us to raise them. They are His, but we will be His instruments. We'll get to make some awesome memories, laugh and cry, hurt and heal, hug and fight, and hopefully make disciples for Him. Through it all we will be a family.

Cry and laugh alongside us. Pray for us. Rejoice with us.