I spotted some people we knew. Not really knew, but had enjoyed a few superficial conversations with. Subjects came up easily – and laughter flowed without hesitation.
She said – “Well, we can’t have kids, so we’re adopting.” I thought “Whoa that was bold, for people she barely knows.” A bunch of almost strangers sat around the hot tub with our feet soaking. The only things we had in common were our spiritual foundations for life and oh yea, we were youth pastors wives. So actually we had quiet a bit in common.
A year later after her jacuzzi announment, (2014) she and her husband sat under an umbrella with an infant. Their dream had come true. Her name was Madi. She was pink, wearing an oversized pink hat, with a pink onesi, sucking in her little pink fist.
And I didn’t go over.
I’m pretty sure I was supposed to. I’m pretty sure I was supposed to goo and gush, to ask questions, to congratulate. But instead I just said something lame – like “Oh it’s this your daughter?” They answered that they just solidified the adoption, as in a few days ago. I responded with an observation on how convenient it was that the adoption occurred on their way to this conference. Then I walked away.
Ignorant idiot.
I see now how stupid it was. How stupid I was. It’s embarrassing. I don’t love babies. I gush over a puppies and chipmunks, but a baby? Ehh. It’s just not natural for me. And because of the guilt that follows my insincere excitement I typically avoid them all together.
Then there was the real reason. I ran from any opportunity to talk about adoption even though I craved information. I didn’t want to come across a gossip, although I did want to know every detail. Specifically the ones that dealt with the pain of the process. Save the fluff, I wanted to hear the gore. I shunned every opportunity to feel convicted about that fact that we weren’t adopting. I wasn’t being obedient to this calling – and I didn’t want to be reminded of it.
So I casually avoided them all weekend and dodged eye contact.
But this year, this year I couldn’t wait to find her. Her eyes spoke what she later confirmed – we had to get together to talk. Because we had a lot to say. We wanted to revel in the joy of the worlds best kept secret. Adoption.
So now, because I’m changed, I can’t wait. Now, because I’m changed I want to hear all about that little infant and who she’s growing up to be. Now, because my opinion on adoption has changed, I can’t wait to hear all the moments of joy, the details of ache, the choice of perseverance, and the faithfulness of the Lord along the way.
I can’t wait.
Because no one understands my frustration and feels my joy like an adoptive mom. There is no better wisdom then that which comes from a momma who walked these steps before me.
I’m not afraid anymore. I’m uber happy, because hearing her daughter’s story is almost like I’m hearing ours. She’s well loved, crazily adored, and very much prayed for even though we’ve never held her.
We are kindred spirits even if it’s only because we adore a child we’ve never borne.