This post probably won't be interesting for those looking for an exciting update. I don't have one. I don't have anything to report, as a matter of fact. We've been waiting 15 weeks and counting for ARC approval - a process that, according to India's guidelines, is supposed to take five days for SN cases. They may want to rethink that number, or maybe just get on the ball. Yeah, that would be fantastic.
At this point, on this night, my heart hurts so much that I simply have no words for it, only groanings. There is no platitude, or even solid Scripture that can take away the aching. To those who constantly feel the need to make sure that I haven't lost faith, or somehow forgotten that "his timing is perfect," or "God is in control," never fear: My faith is secure. But let's just say that from this moment on, that is to be understood, and we can all admit with absolutely no hint of guilt that waiting to bring your child home from the other side of the world STINKS. It HURTS like hell; it is hell. It's utter and complete separation from one that we love more than words can express. It's trying to process the confusion of adoring and fighting like crazy for a child we've never met, yet still not quite feeling attached to her like we do to N because... well... we've never met, and it all seems so surreal after nearly two years of this madness. To quote one of my favorite movies, "I feel as though my skin is the only thing keeping me from going everywhere at once."
I don't understand why this has to take so long. I do know that I am bone tired of this rigamarole. I am confident that the Lord is orchestrating something so very beautiful. But in the meantime, I am thankful beyond measure for those of you who have been willing to let me cry on your shoulder guilt-free, who have wrapped me in your arms and wept freely with me, and who have stood with me through the dark night when there is no sign of the morning. What a gift you have given me in allowing me the freedom to enter into suffering without hiding the pain, in suffering with me. Even in suffering, there is reason to give thanks. So to each of my compassionate ones, up to your knees in mud in our trenches, thank you for hearing my heart, and speaking my language.
