Few will read this post, and even fewer will understand it. It's ok, though, because this post really is just for me. A means to let my fingers fly and spell out the thoughts swirling within my mind and heart.
There was a time, around five years ago, when He began to nudge our hearts. "There are so many, without," He said. "You could do something about that," He said. What began as a little spark, He fanned gently into a flame. That flame fanned into a fire, until we were left with a choice: to shrink back due to the enormity and impossibility of the task, or to walk forward in obedience into the impossible dream of becoming an adoptive family. We decided to leap. We didn't want anything left on the table...we didn't want to look back and say, "We should have...why didn't we."
All the while, while living and loving and growing our family at home, I chronicled the journey, wrote love notes to our unknown child whom we knew was out there....somewhere. Then suddenly, it all stopped. We waited and watched and waited some more. Waited for the direction. Waited to see how He would cover the next fee...but He never did...because the fee never came due. Everything became a standstill. We watched others realize the fruition of their call. We hung on to our shred of hope that things would work out for us the way we'd hoped, too.
I remember the day she stopped by our home. She was picking up a box of junk to be turned into treasure to bring her own little treasures home. Our conversation turned from the mundane and polite, to the deeper things in life. I expressed my sadness and frustration over seemingly living in a stand still. Feeling a sense like we had life on-hold for something...but that something didn't appear to be anywhere in sight. Meanwhile, we felt tight...stifled...needing to grow in so many ways...so expectant. "You must find it hard to dream anymore," she said, as my eyes filled with tears at the realization of the truth of what she said. She was so correct. It was just so hard to dream anymore.
Months turned into years, and He began to move in our hearts again, though not in a way we had expected. "Because everything is standing still," He said, it's time for you to move. This time, He was calling us to m-o-v-e. Once again faced with a choice: to walk forward in obedience, or to let fear paralyze us. Once again, we knew we didn't want anything left on the table. We didn't want to look back and say, "What if we would've...really, we should have."
So here we sit, out of Ur, and away from our loved ones and places. Out of Ur, but not yet in our Promised Land, this is a difficult place to be.
Today we take down our Christmas tree. Just a tree, but this particular year it's symbolic of so much more for us. A Christmas out of Ur, and yet it felt like home with our family here with us. Time spent cherishing and celebrating, it is now time to take down the tree. It's time to move forward in obedience and with grace and with courage, even though at times we don't feel like it. We're not home here, even though this is where He called us to go. Somewhere, there's home, but we do not yet know where that is. Again, He's calling us out. Why does He think we need so much practice with this obedience? It creates an uncertain and uncomfortable feeling, yet there's hopeful expectation at the knowing that all His ways are good.
I've felt this way before, and indeed continue to feel this way with regard to our adoption process. We heard the call. We made the choice. We made the move. We experienced miracles. But we did not (yet?) reach the Promised Land. It's crazy. This crazy love which keeps us moving forward, pursuing what He has for us, believing in something we cannot see.