At this very moment, we are boarding a plane to Ethiopia (the wonders of post-dating!). It's quite surreal to think that the anticipation of the past year is culminating right now. Soon we will be with them. Soon we will meet them. I've had a mixture of questions & emotions stirring around inside. What will the boys be like? Will they even like me at all? Will the judge approve us as their parents? Will the MoWA letter that we desperately need be in the judge's hands?
As I've juggled all of this in my mind, I have to admit that it seems that my nervousness is outweighing my excitement. I think the reason is that meeting these little ones will bring this whole adoption thing to a new level. They won't just be pictures anymore but real people. Tiny, breathing, walking (maybe), crying (most likely), interacting people. We'll connect in a new, deeper way, and that frightens me a bit. There is still a chance that our adoption will not be finalized and fail. A small chance but a chance nonetheless. To connect and then to lose them would truly be devastating, but I still want to extend myself in love and care for these little ones while we're with them this week.
The Lord was kind to remind me of John 14:1 this morning: "Do not let your heart be troubled; believe in me." So we leave for Africa today with thankful hearts, trusting in what our good Father has ahead for us, whatever it may be.
As I've been spending some extra time these days pouring over each picture we've received the past few months, I realized I had written down some thoughts about our little guy that I hadn't shared yet.
My Son's Scars
I’ve studied every last feature, time and time again:
your inquisitive eyes,
the folds of your skin,
your gummy smile,
the angles of your chin.
All perfect, delicate, dear
to this mother who is not near.
But what I just can’t escape
are the scratches on your tiny face.
Difficult to notice but nevertheless there,
Faint in mark, strong in reminder
Beneath the curls of your goose-down hair
Etched on your face, etched on my heart
The silent voice of a betrayer
Who heralds the news of a past so grim
An unspoken memoir on your baby skin
Who asks questions that come with no easy reply
Swirling queries in my mind I cannot deny
How did your scars come to be?
Were you hurt? Did you cry?
The woman who carried you…who is she?
Does she still think of her little boy?
What will I tell you when you come to ask me?
What I do know, my son, is that I will replace
These relics of sadness with kisses on your face
What was once chafed, raw, and rasped
Will bloom into a new childhood grasped
There will be all the right marks for a little boy:
Dirt from the sandbox, mosquito bites
Your only tears are over a coveted toy
Doggy drool from Beans’ pink tongue
Wrinkles & dimples when you squeal with joy
Traces of chocolate or an ice cream treat
When the sun melts it faster than you can eat
Scabs and scuffs from when you fall down
Or paint on your face to make you a clown
Growing, growing, your face is changing
What was once fuzz is now a beard
That dreaded first zit from the hormones blazing
Lipstick marks from your bride’s first kiss
How fast it all goes…no short of amazing
Your face tells your story, from baby, boy, to man
All of it a reflection of His perfect plan
Remember, my son, that all the marks life leaves
Are a reminder that to Him we ought cleave.