Thursday, February 7, 2013


Two days ago we had an inevitable meeting with our adoption agency. Inevitable in that we spent months praying that this was not the meeting we were going to have. Inevitable in that the lady we met with seemed to have already reached the same conclusion we had, but just wasn't interested in making the first move. This meeting marked the end of our adoption process for our daughter.

We got an email several months ago that should have told us to just give up, run for the hills, stop hoping. Yet, we decided to not make any hasty decisions, to pray before leaping, to let our tempers settle. We waited. And prayed. And knew in our hearts that it was time to walk away. The hanging on of hope was just crushing our hearts. We are broken, and angry, and becoming more so every day. Our daughter has slipped through our hands and we are looking into the abyss hoping we can reach her and pull her back. It is time to stop grasping at the whistling wind of false hope.

Finality lingers in my empty hands.

I keep finding myself standing somewhere, staring into nothing. I'm emptying the dishwasher, then just stop, like someone hit pause on my life, and then eventually I blink and have to look around to remind myself what I was doing. I have no idea how long I stand frozen in time, I'm just lost for a time, then I come back to reality.

There is a depth of loss in my heart that is inexpressible. Sometimes it is just a still pool within me that I avoid looking at because seeing the aching of my soul reflected in it is too much to bear. Sometimes it is tsunami waves covering me with no hope of making the surface before I drown.

I know that my anchor is the hope, the truth, that God is faithful. I know that just as I feel the depths covering me over that he brings me once again to the surface with his breath of life. I know that as my heart starts to harden to stone, he warms it with the light of his truth to get it moving again. I know that my standing before him doesn't change, even when I'm broken on the floor crying.

Questions sit in corners, waiting to be addressed. We stare each other down and agree to let things rest for now. I can't think about the future, I'm having a hard enough time remembering to shower, or eat, or kiss my husband.

Oh my sweet husband. The strongest, kindest man I've ever known, weeping in my arms. As much as my heart aches, it aches so much more because his heart aches. If I could, I would bear the weight of grief for both of us, just so I would never have to clear tears from his perfect face again. I know I couldn't make it through this alone, but I also know I couldn't do this with anyone else. My heart is so intertwined with his that words don't even need to be said. I see the tears quiver on the edge of his eyelashes and I know it all.

And then I am reminded that God loves me infinitely more than all of that. And he is near, indwellingly near, to my broken heart. And that is enough.


  1. Oh, friend. I don't have any words. I've been praying so much for you two. For you three. I am so, so, so sorry for this heartbreak, this grief. I don't understand it, and I can't take it away.

    I can just love you from afar and continue to pray and hope with you--FOR you when you can't hope yourself--that God has something amazing for you up ahead and around the bend.

    Hugs, hugs, hugs!!

  2. I have only tears and prayers for you my friend. My heart aches for you.

  3. I am sitting here asking God, "What do I say? What do I pray?" I know sometimes it is best just to be quiet with you but also blogs cry for a response. So since I can't sit quietly with you and give you huge hugs and cry with you at the moment. (Though I have been crying for you.) Please know that I do love you and am so willing to sit and listen or cry or talk, whatever you may need. Keep running to Jesus little sister. He totally understands how you feel. Love you and your precious man!