A baby in a crib. Still.
A girl in an institution. Still.
It’s not easy. It’s hard.
“Why God, why? Why is this wait so long. This is not ok,” I cried out at 3am, awoken in anxiety.
“I am mad at you! Make this faster,” I said, angry. “I just don’t understand.”
“Well why, then?” I demanded.
“Do you remember that prayer? Do you remember what you asked me?”
“Amy, when you prayed for me to break your heart for what broke mine, I gave you a glimpse. I gave you a tiny portion that you could handle. I allowed you into a part of my heart. And I will make good, and those two children will come home, and your heart will be full. Your wait will be over, and your joy will be complete.
But my children will still wait. Long after you leave.”
And I allowed God to let me remembered all the rest. In those two orphanages alone. All the rest. My trial will soon be over, my wait will come to fruition, but the others.
And I realized, my sadness and longing, it’s not what God is doing to me, it’s Him allowing me into his heart for a brief moment to see his. Those are all his children. He didn’t design them for that life, but for families. And once we are home, we have the joy of watching our children he gave us blossom and grow.
But, while gone, our son’s old crib will be filled with yet one more unwanted baby.
Our daughter’s bed will be taken by one more child, who, overlooked their whole life, will move from all they know in their children’s orphanage to that older child’s orphanage, the last stop before being turned out, completely alone. Their lack of love and desirability by parents tangible to them.
My temper tantrum was over.
“I’m sorry, I am just not used to this, I just don’t always know how to feel.”
“You can always come to me with how you feel.”
“Ok, well,” my heart was changed a bit, when I wasn’t looking for it to change. I was looking for God to hear out my anger, “Well, thank you for this journey God, thank you. Even for the sad parts. I am glad I prayed that prayer. I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world. I feel you teaching me how to be strong, and about who you are. And the sadness isn’t the worst thing.
There are worse things. I know, you showed me.”
And I fell asleep.