“How do you feel?” Words that have been asked by my sweet friends and family, along with the simply curious, about my reaction toward our adoption status. About 6 weeks ago, as many of you know, we matched to a little girl. She has special needs and an amazing story to go with all of her cute self which can be found if you click here. My Robby wrote such an amazingly articulate and complete post on our decision and matching process that I didn’t find the need to add anything. And my answer to that question of “how I felt” was just…good. The relief of having a face attach to my dreams of our little girl, the answered questions her story instantly provided to my wonder and just the mere fact that something finally happened after a long long time of nothing. All of this made me feel good. So, so good. Immediately after matching, we found out that a lot of our paperwork needed to be updated. So the last month plus has been filled with running around, getting signatures, blood work, background checks, notary stamps, paying fees, blah blah blah. But even that didn’t make me feel bad. I had done this once, I could do it again. After a few hiccups we finally got all the papers in, or so I thought. We still are waiting on one paper to complete the process. O-N-E. The paperwork will then go to India and begin being approved and then finally sent to court. But it can’t to a dad-gum thing until that piece of paper is sent to us. And this particular paper is one where you call the 1800 number and deal with the hellacious millions of choices you have to listen to just to press 0 and then frickin pound (little testy- I know- sorry). Today when I called-again-they told me that it would be faxed tomorrow-again-and I had some choice words. You know, as “choice” as a girl who has terrible comebacks and loves Jesus can be. But for me, I was mad. I was shaking by the end of the call because being stern is not my best attribute but at this point if they don’t give me that paper I will call tomorrow, jump through the phone and start rollin some heads (breathe Jess).
So, if anyone were to ask me how I feel right now about our adoption, it’s frustrated. But I’m not just exasperated by the paper fiasco (although if you can’t tell I’m a little on edge about it). But I thought this was done. Like all the aching and “please pray for us” and “I’m so fragile and needy” and “this is all I can think/talk/pray about”- I thought I was on solid ground. The ground where I have steady footing and can hack it on my own. The ground where I don’t cry every other day just because I’m so overwhelmed by the good/bad/ugly parts of adoption and orphan care. I found myself slapping my cheeks in the mirror reciting “pull yourself together Jessica!” Which I don’t recommend because you may cry harder. Yet it was at this moment that I had a thought. A thought that will change my mind, my heart and how I treat others-hopefully forever…I never want my compassion to run out. Obviously most of us have our heart strings legitimately tugged over injustice and things of that nature. But I want my compassion to reach into my daily life. I want it to stretch past my comfort, through my annoyance and over my convenience. Maybe it’s just me, but I realized my compassion had a limit. People speaking about the same issue constantly, or someone asking of my help too much/often. Maybe it was someone confessing a problem that I didn’t feel like was that big of a deal. Whatever the case was, I gave what I thought the “good” person would give. And then moved on (boy that is so ugly when you put it into words!) But now being on the side of my “issue” that has lasted over 2 years and STILL crying out for help and in need of the shoulders, hands and feet of others- I never want to have a cap on my concern over another persons pain and hardship. Ever. Again.
Now, how do I feel? Moved. Moved to feel what I feel and hope for people whose wells of compassion won’t run out on me. Moved that I serve a God whose compassion is constant no matter what. And moved to make it my life’s goal to be a safe haven of endless acceptance and love to all others fighting this hard battle of life, whatever their specific battle might be.
In conclusion- to all you worriers out there- I am not in a state of depression or in a low place. I have MUCH to be overjoyed about. My brother just got married to a precious woman, we just returned from an amazing trip to Austin, and we actually are buying a house (that is a whole post in itself). And if that wasn’t enough, my little Megsie is turning into the most tender and funny little girl I know. My life is still good. Great even. I just don’t want people to live with the “instagram life” perception of me. All of that is true (the cute posts and fun activities) but it isn’t the whole story. There’s just a little rust on my cookie-cutter life. I personally think it tastes better that way.
Little heavy. I’ll write about how much I like pizza in my next post.