As you know, I've been feeling rather deflated about the whole adoption process. And after my last conversation with the social worker, had decided that I was just going to go to that corner over there and eat worms. I was pouting and my bottom lip had gotten a splinter from where it had been dragging across our hardwood floors.
So I did the only thing I could think to do- I started praying. I prayed that God would give me patience, that he would give me endurance. I prayed that he would show me that I was on the right path, making the right choices. And why was he testing me this way? I know with all my heart that I am intended to learn patience because never once has this been about me not wanting to adopt. There is no question as to my commitment and desire to throw myself under the bus that is the foster/adopt system.
And then I got mad because, well that's what impatient persons tend to do and I said something like, "Okay God, if this doesn't happen by the end of the year then THAT'S IT, WE'RE DONE WITH THE ADOPTION!!" And do you know what God did? He laughed in my face. And then he patted me on the head and said, "do you know what pretty girls are???? QUIET GIRLS".
While I was browsing through adoption voices, I happened upon a link and I clicked on it. It took me to a website for a woman named Elna Baker; a devout Mormon and hysterical creature who did a story video about rejection. The overall message, the caboose at the end of her funny train, was that "if you try to force fate and try to make God do what you say, you will be REJECTED!"
That last line hit me line a freight train. It was exactly what I needed to hear and while I wasn't happy about it, I sat down and decided to let go (as much as possible) of the idea that thinking and worrying and willing things to happen wasn't a huge waste of time.
And then do you know what God did? He smiled and placed his thumb on his nose and wiggled his fingers at me because TWO DAYS LATER we got it...the call. I had been at Bear's pre-school and when I got home and walked into the kitchen I noticed that Howie's eyes were the size of dinner plates. "I called you on your cell phone", he said in a monotone fashion. "Sorry, I forgot it." "We got a call." "Okay". *eyes looking side to side* "A call, Licha." "Yes", I said still confused. "From DCF."
And wow, the build up to that moment was like slowly ascending a steep hill on a roller coaster. Click, click, click, click, click. And the moment itself was like reaching the peak and being slammed down at a 90 degree angle while your insides tumble inside you like clothes in a huge laundromat dryer.
Our social worker had called but left a message because I was gone and Howie was in the shower. They found a match for us, a sibling group and she wanted to see if we were interested. She would call back at noon. It was 9am and we were going to have to wait three excruciating hours. That was bad enough but then she didn't call at noon. And didn't call by 3 so I called her and she wasn't there.
It wasn't until the next morning that we finally made contact. When I saw CT STATE on the caller ID I got butterflies in my stomach. Kind of like when you've met someone really hot and given them your number and hope and wait and dream of them calling. But at the moment when the call finally arrives, you want to play it off like you're cool, like you HAVEN'T gone to sleep with the phone in your bra cup for the last three weeks.
"Yeah, hi Jenn. What's up". As if I didn't already know. She went right into it. Details were flying past me, faster than I could absorb them. Within the first few minutes my stomach sank because I knew that this probably wouldn't be a good match for us. It was a sibling group of 2 boys, ages 3 and 5, both with a host of special needs. Strike one. Plus, their medical issues would necessitate several days of extended travel per week. Strike Two. And their parents were actually very involved, see the kids daily so the legal risk was exponentially high. Strike three. Perhaps this would be a good match for a couple with no children but adding these would mean FIVE KIDS...and I only have so many hairs left that have not either gone gray or fallen out with the three I have. And I really want to keep my hair.
I still asked a ton of questions so that we could make an accurate decision and our social worker, sweet lady, tried as much as she legally could to tell us that this wasn't the right match for us but that she has to call us about every case. I just wanted to be sure because honestly, if I had to write my kids down on paper and be brutally honest about them, they would look like a train wreck. Seriously...a bossy, mildy ADD girl who will eat through the drywall to get to the food in the pantry, a boy with P.D.D (nos) which nobody will understand so all they will see is "AUTISM", and a little girl who is sweet as can be but can turn on you at any second and morph into the spawn of Satan. So... I want to take careful consideration with these boys, because it's only fair.
We've decided that it wasn't the right fit for us or our family. And you would think that I would be disappointed and sad but I'm not. Instead, I feel invigorated...hopeful. I feel like things are happening and our study isn't sitting at the bottle of a file cabinet in the back corner of a dim lit storage room, in the basement of a half-condemned building.
I'm starting to learn that patience really is a virtue and while still nothing has happened, it feels like everything has happened.