The Long Road

I remember when we decided to embark on this "trip." I think I knew it was coming for about a year before, but until Matt and I decided together, I didn't believe it until we finally took the plunge and made our down payment. As we packed and readied for the ride, our agents told us what to do to get ready. There was a lot of paperwork: background checks, financial statements, preference checklists, medical clearances, and personal and family questionnaires to fill out.

We asked THE question that everybody asks, "What's the average waiting time?" The answer, "Well, it really is all in the Lord's time. He's the one in control, buuuut lately the average wait time is two years. However, some families have waited as long as seven years." No problem, our trip wouldn't take that long. We could hold out for two, but seven? Eek! That wasn't going to be us. No way. Either way, though, we were told to pack our bags with patience, faith, hope, and love.

• Patience? Check; like I said, we were only going to be waiting a short time.
• Faith? Check; we knew we had NO idea what we were getting into and we had lots of faith.
• Hope? Check; we had that in abundance and were ready to share it with everyone. Hope was the whole reason we decided to travel this route: hope that we would fill in the missing gaps.
• Love? Check.

After fives months of preparation, we headed to our waiting spot with our bags packed. I think at that time we had them mostly filled with hope and faith. As we look up and down the side of the road, this is the view I have:

(Photo by Matt)

I see a lot of hitchhikers, some like us, others very different. To be honest, I wasn't paying much attention to any of them. I was focused on one thing: our journey. I focused on the road and the cars coming. One was bound to stop for us very soon. I just knew it (I told you, my hope was busting out the seams of my bag). I just stood right next to the edge of the road with my little sign that said, "Are you looking for us? We're looking for you!" I tried to look inviting - not scary like a homeless hitchhiker.

Very soon, instead of just waiting for a car to stop, I started looking at the cars as they drove by. At first it seemed like the expectant mothers were driving the cars. They'd cruise along, slowing down sometimes, and other times speeding right past. Finally, they'd stop, pick up a family and keep going. Once in a while, the driver would pick up two families, but we all knew that one would have to get out of the car sooner or later. There's just not room for two families in one car.

Once our "agent" took us aside and told us of a special car with special circumstances and asked if we would be interested in that journey. No, we'd been down that road before and it was too treacherous and scary, and we knew it.

The road was never quiet, but it seemed that there were more and more waiting travelers showing up on the sides of the road that than there were cars to pick them up. I started to get worried. My hope was running thin. After months of waiting and waiting, I was tired of standing and jutting my thumb out. No cars ever stopped or even slowed down to look at us. What was wrong with us? The other travelers around us were always picked up and then another family would take their place on the side of the road.

Although we knew a very minimal amount about this journey, we were mostly amazed at the the numbers of people who started showing up around us to share their experiences with this kind of trip and tell us all about the people they knew who journeyed this path. We also had others asking for our information to pass along. That was the most exciting part. If our information was passed along, then we knew we wouldn't be standing around waiting for a long time. We'd give our information freely, but then word would slowly trickle back that we hadn't been chosen. With each referral, my hope seemed to replenish a little more; but with each "rejection," I would lose a little more hope.

After two years, I was beat, but expectant. We made it to the "average" waiting time. Why were we still waiting by the side of the road? Matt was upset; I was clinging to one thin strand of hope. Most of my hope was replaced with discouragement. Finally, finally I looked around at the other couples. What were they doing that we weren't? What did they have that we didn't? I looked down to the battered, cardboard sign I was holding. I finally found a mirror and looked at it. I was covered with dust, my sign was crumbling in my hands, my clothes were tattered, and I was sunburned from sitting around too long. I wouldn't want to pick me up either. Scary!

I got all cleaned up and started making new signs. I plastered our signs everywhere; handed out our cards to everyone I knew. I created a blog (everybody reads blogs these days), a Facebook group, and sent emails. "Pick us, pick us! We're wonderful, we promise. We'll be good to you." My hope was restored, but I didn't realize how thin my patience was. When a car would stop to check us out, I was crushed lower and lower with each rejection.

Suddenly, I couldn't do this alone. I realized that the other travelers weren't my competition, they were my support. I found a social network specifically for our journey. I reunited with a best friend from high school who was also on this journey, and she'd been on this journey for the same length that I had been. We comforted and encouraged each other. Sometimes, we even gave advice. We talked regularly, cried together, and renewed the other's faith.

Faith. Yes, I didn't realize in the beginning just how much faith I'd need. I thought I had faith in the beginning, but three years later, Faith is all that I seem to have left in my bag. Faith replenishes hope and patience. Faith is my water -- the essential element in the journey. Even in this desert, it's renewable and sustainable as long as I drop to my knees and ask for it. It was through renewing that faith that I remembered Him. That's when I noticed it. The next car that drove by was different. No, not different, but my eyes were opened to something I hadn't seen before. The expectant mother wasn't driving the car, He was. She only had to ask him to slow down or ask if these were the parents she was supposed to pick up. He was in control. He knew where to take her and what to do. Unfortunately, there were times when the car would come to a screeching halt and the family in the car had to get out. That was heart-wrenching to watch. Families that were expecting to be done with their journey had to walk back, beaten, and start again.

And then I listened. I listened to what she was saying to me. She rolled down her window and said, "There's nothing wrong with you. Just wait for it: the right time, the right place with the right person. It will be RIGHT, but you have to wait. Be patient." Then I started networking to learn more about her. She was amazing to me. I wanted to understand better. I needed to see things from her eyes. I'd been looking into the sun too long, and I was blind to anything else but my own journey. I saw what it was like for her when she felt stranded in her own desert because the family she had chosen dumped her out of the car. My heart broke again and again for her every time I watched that happen. I couldn't understand why a family that waited so long to be blessed threw the source to the curb. I don't think I ever will, either. As I read about this journey from her perspective, I found love. True, Christlike love. Charity.

Since then, I've quit trying to jump in front of cars to get their attention. I've quit wailing and moaning and complaining (okay, I'm not perfect, but I'm trying to be better). I found peace. I gathered all of the faith I could and made a comfortable cushion to sit on. I have my big sign and my advertisements around, and now I just need to wait for the right person at the right time to find us, the right family. I know it now. It will come in HIS time, and I can wait.

End note: Yesterday my best adoption friend was finally chosen. When she called me, I shrieked with her, congratulated her, told her she deserved it, and I truly believe she does. Her son is finally coming home to her. I can not lie, though. I cried myself to sleep last night. Her joy magnifies my pain, my longing. She has what I do not. Time to bite off a part of that faith cushion and chew for a while.