The Red Thread: A Very Important Monday

The following Monday was an important day.  I knew that the sweet little girl I would have done anything for had a family. I was sad for me and excited for her.  I connected with the mom on Facebook and found out that she and her family recently moved out of the state.  But what are the odds that just a few months ago they were living just a few miles from us?  I was so happy for all of them.  She was going to a good home.

That same Monday, I made plans.  I felt in my gut that I needed to wait for a match.  It would have been easier for me to find a waiting child and pursue him or her, but everything in me just knew that I needed to wait.  That idea terrified me.

On this important Monday, I was at my kids' co-op, just like I am every Monday where they take classes a good part of the day. While the instructors taught the lessons, I sat at a table in the gym area and pondered on the events of the last week.  After some thought, I decided that since this little girl was going to have a wonderful forever family, it was safe for me to change my medical needs checklist back to our former decisions.

It was one thing to see the kids on the waiting child page and pursue them.  I was in control this way. But to be matched and be faced with having to say yes or no?  To hold a child's fate in my hands and make the decision to take on a significant special need or return that file to the agency?  Could I do that?

Even if it was for all the right reasons, that idea terrified me.  Those files are not just a bunch of papers.  Those files represent children.  Where that file goes, determines his or her future.  That file is filled with abandonment, longing, despair, suffering, dreams, and hope.  Would I find myself in the position where I had to take all of that and give it back?  When there is no interest for a child, those files eventually get passed on to other agencies.  From what I saw on the Waiting Child page, sometimes those files get lost.  There are so many children with so many needs.  Fear of being responsible for one of these children's fate settled in and before I knew it, I was scheming.

I had it all worked out.  On Tuesday, (because I hate making "business" calls on my cell phone),  I would call our agency just to let them know that if for some crazy reason this little girl wasn't adopted, they could put us down as a back up.  I didn't even know if the agency was allowed to do that, but I figured I'd offer.  So I made a mental note to wait until Tuesday to call, and then I would change our medical needs checklist back to the way we had it before I fell in love with this little girl. In fact, I decided that I was going to specifically add that we could not take an older child in a wheel chair.   

Yes, I was trying to control everything.  I was trying to avoid the discomfort of maybe saying no to a child I might not feel capable of taking care of.  For this little girl, I was willing to take on the care required to meet her needs but I was not prepared to say yes to just anybody.  I did not know if I'd feel the same kind of connection.  I decided that stating that we could not take an older child in a wheel chair was the best way to avoid this uncomfortable situation.

So, in a little twist of fate and a big practical joke played on me by a very humorous God who refuses to let me mess things up, I got a couple of phone calls.  

First, it was Nathanuel who called to tell me that the adoption agency had just called the house.  I didn't think much of it since we'd turned in so much paperwork.  But then he clarified, "No, Mom.  She was calling from the Colorado office."

"Okay, I'll call when I get home."  I decided.  Why is the Colorado office calling me?

As I pulled into the driveway, my cell phone rang again.  It was a woman from the agency I'd never talked to.  It was a woman from the agency in Colorado.  What she said next put me in a state of shock.  On the outside, I was cool.  But on the inside, I was really freaking out. 

"We have a match..."

I tried to process.

"What?"  I asked even though I heard her very clearly.  "Already?"  My voice was shaky.  Okay, I wasn't even cool on the outside.

This dear woman could sense my emotional state.  She spoke very softly, as if she didn't want to scare me away.  

This important Monday was February 16th - my sister-in-law's birthday.  Would fate hand me my child on a day that was already so easy to remember?  

With shaking hands, I asked her to call my home.  I wanted to make sure I heard everything clearly.

With a better connection and a few seconds to process that this was really happening, I listened as she explained that the child was a boy.  He was 9 years old.  He had cerebral palsy.  She told me that he was in the process of being adopted by another family, but the family had to back out.

I almost couldn't breath.  I thought I had time before this call was going to happen.

She explained that this boy was going to be adopted, and now, right now...he's not being adopted.

Now they are asking me to adopt him.

What if I have to say no to that?

As all these thoughts raced through my head, this sweet lady assured me this family's decision had nothing to do with the boy, but they couldn't proceed for personal reasons.  She told me they were heart-broken.  

"I'll send you the file."  She said.  "Would you mind just letting me know within the next 24 hours if you intend on reviewing it?"

I felt like a baby bird getting kicked out of the nest.  I had no choice but to start flapping my wings...to speak, to operate, to act.  So I agreed to stay in touch.

Then, at 4:12 p.m.,  I texted my husband with shaking hands,  

"CCAI just called.  They are already wanting to match us with a child.  Sending us the file now.  A boy.  9 years old.  Has cerebral palsy  Please be praying."

It was less than a month since we submitted our application.  I told myself from the beginning of our adoption to be patient...that we were going to have to wait for this phone call for months...a year...maybe even a year and a half!  Not less than a month!

It was less than a month since I completed the medical needs checklist.  They made it sound like we had to hurry up and get in line like we were rushing towards a ride at Disney World on a very busy summer day.  We had to secure our spot.  Only it looks like I somehow scored a Fast Pass.  I didn't have to wait as long.  How did this happen so soon? 

As I waited for the file to arrive in my inbox, thoughts raced through my head...

How severe was his special need?

What have I gotten myself into?

What if we can't do this?

What is he going to look like?

I still need to get groceries!

Yes.  Groceries!  I need something to do while I wait!  I hopped back in the car and headed for Publix.  After parking, I checked my email. 

Nothing.

So I hurriedly grabbed my groceries and got out of there (as if that would speed up the email I was expecting).  I felt nervous, like I going on a blind date and waiting for the guy to pick me up.  

The quick shopping trip worked.  I was sitting in the car, ready to head home when the email arrived. 

I forwarded it to Scott, then took a quick glance.   

The first picture I settled on was this sweet face:

I wanted to cry as a mixture of emotions swirled inside me.  There was excitement and fear, wonder and shock, emotions that I could not even explain.  It was that feeling you get when you are being handed your newborn baby for the very first time and not having a clue what to do with him.  Only this baby was nine and he lives half-way around the world.  Still, I had no clue what I was doing.  So I just looked at him.

My thoughts wandered to his physical features.

"Well..." I thought.  "It's good to see that he is being well fed."

Then, with tears fighting to spill out of my eyes (because that's what I do when I'm scared), I noticed a feature that suddenly had me chuckling, (almost laughing hysterically - at least on the inside).  He has a big head like Scott!  Hmmmm...he kind of looks like a Chinese Scott.

After that, I had to get home.  I had to see more on a bigger screen.  My phone just would not do.

Scott called as I was trying to make my way through the parking lot.  I very rarely talk while driving, but I was a mess and needed to hear his voice.  My hands still shook.  I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  I was kind of doing both.  I am sure I sounded insane to him.  He was calm.  Of course he was.

I told him that I didn't spend much time reading the file, but the report clearly stated that he had cerebral palsy and that he hoped to walk one day.  He stayed calm and agreed to pray about it.  

There it was.  The very situation I was trying to control.  The very words I would have entered on the checklist, "We can not take an older child in a wheel chair," were never even entered.  I was ushered through the fast pass lane and before I knew it, my seat belt had been fastened and I was on the ride of my life.

"WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! (can't take an older child in a wheelchair!")

Here came that still, small voice again...

"Why?"

"We need time." I argued.  "We need time to make adjustments.  We could do that for a younger kid...say, like...two.  We could adjust as he or she grew.  But nine?  We would have to do it now."

I was trying to think logically.  

"What's a few years?  Do you really need more time?  Your house is mostly one story anyway.  You have two walk in showers.  You can make it work."

"Yes, God.  You are right.  I'm coming up with excuses again."  

The rest of the afternoon, I continued to process the irony.  Our afternoon was hectic with Scott taking Pacey to baseball practice and me at home with the rest of the kids...but I could not tend to all my normal afternoon duties.  I was too distracted.  It was torture.  My husband wasn't even home to talk to and it was an important day!

I grabbed my phone and texted him.  I asked him if he realized what I was going to do the next day.  Then I said, "It's not an accident that we got this kid's file today."

He responded with a very calm-looking smiley emoji.  Sometimes I want to shake my cool, calm, faith-filled husband.  

In my heart I knew this was not a coincidence.  God was bringing this boy to me before I shut the door on him.  How close I came to that!

It was like He was saying, "Oh, You have plans on Tuesday?  That's fine.  Monday works better for me anyway!"

It was very clear to me on this very important Monday that I was not in control of my adoption story. There was a red thread and God was leading it right to my timid heart.  It was time to take a step of faith, and seriously review this boy's file.