Sunday, July 29, 2012


I haven't wanted to blog. In fact the idea of it, to be honest, kind of repels me.

In the exact same way that the idea of praying or reading my bible or even going to church seems like a chore these days.

Tonight I was speaking to a friend who wants to start the process to adopt from foster care. However, this friend is also climbing out of a painful, dramatic incident in her community. She's been wounded and disillusioned.

My advice? Table the adoption till January. Give yourself time to heal, to calm down, to breathe. Because this adoption thing - even if it's smooth - is so stressful on so many levels, is so high drama, is so emotionally soul wrenching that if you dove into it right now it just might push you over the limit and into the looney bin.

It's frustrating to know what needs to be done  and want to do it and encounter roadblock after roadblock. Just Thursday, I told her, I got a frustrating email from our agency and it simply ruined my whole day. When this happens I'm angry and crabby and teary for at least a day. Every time. All day.

Plus, you invest so much in the adoption process spiritually. Adopting a child is a spiritual act. God flows through every aspect of it and shows himself so clearly and screams his presence in every detail. 

Actually, I tell her, I think the only way I'm can deal with the infuriating inactivity, the limbo, the unknowing in our adoption right now is because I have just shut down.

And because so much of my spiritual life is tied up in this adoption, that's shut down too.

I'm stuck.

I know God is sovereign. I know the timing of placing our daughter with us has been orchestrated. Heck, I've blogged about that extensively, haven't I? Like here, remember?

I know this. I knew this.

But then Christmas came, and she still wasn't here. And then in February Smockaholics came. I started this children's consignment business in October of 2009. And when I did, I thought, by the next show in the spring, I will know her sizes and be able to shop like a maniac. I said that again in February of '10. And again in September of '10. And again in February of '11. And again September of '11.

In February of 2012, I didn't look at all the beautiful little girl clothes and fantasize about what I would have bought her. I just got sad.

And mad.

And cynical.

And numb.

Smockaholics is coming up again. For the sixth time.
She's still not here.

The writing has stopped. The praying is pretty pathetic. I start a great book, like this one, but can't go more than a few chapters. I hear good sermons but they've left me by the parking lot. 

I'm not angry at God, I'm just...angry. Wounded. Disillusioned. Tired.

I want my daughter home.

So that's where I've been.

I've always been very open with y'all on this blog, and I'm being very open with y'all now.

Could you please pray for me? As you can see, I need it, rather desperately.


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