My little Princess,

Tonight is our final class! Though we have learned so many valuable things, we are so excited to be done and ready to move to the next step. We’re hoping they will schedule our home study soon, and complete it quickly. We are so eager to learn more about you and bring you home. We want to know your favorite color so we can decorate your room soon. So many of our family and friends are excited and can’t wait to meet you. We have people at church praying for you, some who don’t even know us yet. Some even want to buy you welcome gifts, and have asked if we know your size.

This past weekend was the 4th of July. We barbequed at your aunt’s house. We had family from out of state visiting. I kept thinking how exciting it will be when we can introduce you to them, when you can play with your brothers and cousins. I long for next year when we can all sit together and watch in awe as the fireworks light up the sky.

The boys are so eager for you to come home. I love how they think of you already as a part of the family…even before they’ve met you. They ask questions about you. They include you in everything: talking about school, trips, church, pictures, toys, games, prayers. A few times we’ve bought them something, and they ask “which one is for Jenna?”

As I think about how close the day is approaching, I wonder how God is stirring your heart to get you ready to come home. Our hearts have been through many ups and downs during this long process. But we have pushed through and now are so close to the finish. We all just have to hang on a little longer, and continue to pray. Hang in there Princess. You’ll be home soon.

Love,

Mommy

Jenna,

Only three more classes to go! The weeks don’t seem to count down quickly enough, though we are learning alot. We had your brother’s birthday party this past weekend. We wish you could have been here to share it with us. We all got to be rock stars and decorated t-shirts. We tried to make a rock video. I wonder if you would be as camera shy as the rest of the kids ended up being.

We got our home inspection done this week. Our house is officially safe enough for kids. It’s also mommy-proofed, because to put stuff out of children’s reach, it’s now also out of my reach.

I got to see another family’s adoption finalized this morning. I kept thinking of you, and how that will hopefully be us soon. We are trying to wait patiently, though we are eager to bring you home.

Take care. I’m praying for you every day.

Love,

Mommy

Jenna,

This weekend, I’m going to work on putting together a picture book for you. The boys are going to write notes, and make flowers for you.

Last night in class, we discussed grief and loss. As I put myself in your shoes, my heart just broke for you. What you may have been through. How many times, and in how many ways, your heart has been broken. How it all has made you feel. I just wanted to hold you last night, rock you, sing over you, and tell you I love you.

I’m a bit scared, though. I’m worried that I may never get the chance. I’m worried that you may never get to call me mommy. I’m worried that if it all doesn’t work out, you may never know how much we love you, have prayed for you, and waited for you. You may never even know about us. You may never get to read this letter.

Some people hurt me when I was a little girl. The Big People are concerned that if you were hurt the same kind of way I was, that it may be too hard for us to be a family. I don’t think it would be as hard as they are worried it might be. Sure, I know it will be difficult. I know it won’t be easy by any means. If you have been hurt like I was, I know that it’s really confusing, scary, and just feels icky, and you have no idea what to do or say. You don’t know whether to scream, cry, pretend, or what.

But I know how to listen. How to be patient. How to be gentle. tender. safe. accepting. loving.

I’m not sure what will happen. But this I do know: Our Abba, our Daddy, is in control. He is with us. He always has been. Even through the really sad and really bad times. Even when we feel that no one else is around. He is there. I hope you can experience Him. I hope you can know His love.

You have been growing in my heart for several months now. I pray that I will get to hold you soon. To bring you home.

My deepest prayer, my strongest desire, is that even though you are not here now, that you will feel the amazing love for you that is in my heart. That you will know how much you are wanted. That you will know how much you are cared for. That you will know how special you are. That you will know you are a Princess.

I love you,

Mommy

As many of you know, we are in the process of adopting a little girl.

Well, maybe not so little…She’s 12.

We saw her picture months ago, and were captivated. I’ve been praying over her, preparing for her, and thinking about her all these months. I’ve wondered what might have put her into the system. How long she’s been in the system. How many homes she’s lived in. How many schools she’s had to learn in. How many friends she’s left behind. What connection to her past she still has. How much she wants to have.

…In come the warnings: “don’t get too attached…anything can happen.”

Pbpbpbpt!!! I’ve spent my whole life not getting too excited or too attached, because I got tired of the disappointment. God told me a couple of years ago, that I was going to have to take risks. So I did.

From that first night, I have loved this little girl like she is my own. Even though I only know a handful of facts about her. Even though I have never met her, but have only seen her picture. I have no idea what she will be like. How long it may take to adjust. Who she will grow up to be. Or even if I will ever get to hold her…I still love her. Like a mother loves her unborn child, without knowing, seeing, or touching, I love this little girl. She is my little girl.

I really felt the Holy Spirit tell me the first time I saw her picture, “This is My little girl, and I want you to love her”.

Now, it’s social workers’ jobs to prepare people for worst-case-scenario. These children have had their hearts broken countless times, in unimaginable ways, and I’m sure the social workers carry that and feel that too. They have to be protective…of the children, of themselves, of us.

At our interview, they mentioned the possible obstacles that could come up in this process. I’ve been well aware of the things that might happen. I know the kinds of things this little girl might have to deal with. I have a vivid imagination. I also have experience with some of these things. I’m aware of some of the things she might do to cope. I don’t expect it to be a cake walk. I only expect to love her anyway. With the love of Christ.

Yet, last night after our foster/adoption licencing class, I hit a speed bump. That’s an understatement. The class content was heart-breaking enough, focusing on grief and loss, and imagining what kinds of loss these kids experience, and how they’ve coped and survived.

After class, I was asking our social worker a question regarding the home studies. In our conversation, one of those obstacles presented itself again as a possibility, maybe even probability. They want to be cautious about potential triggers, both for me and for her. He wasn’t certain, but she and I may share something in our experiences that causes them to pause. To hesitate. To reconsider.

He assured me, that they will find a match for us…My heart dropped. The thought of losing this little girl. Tonight of all nights? Inside, I started scrambling, stirring, grasping.

I was up most of the night, praying, wrestling with feelings, naming them, imagining how I might work through various possibilities, preparing my case.

A battle is raging…
I named anger…at the perpetrators who took so much from me so long ago, who even now, threaten to take something even more precious
I named frustration…because I feel helpless–it’s ultimately not my decision
I named fear…of losing, of the unknown, of them erring too far on the side of caution
I named intimidation…because part of me is worried about not being heard, being misunderstood, labeled, or under-estimated
I named shame…for trying to make me feel like it’s because of who I am or what I’ve experienced

I fought them by…
Surrendering…to Christ, His sovereignty, His goodness, His will.

My Abba is bigger than any doubt, any obstacle, any rule, any pre-conceived notions, any reservations, any stigmas, any labels, any opinions…He is BIGGER…He is STRONGER.

He has a plan. He gave me this girl. Even if for just a season. Even if I may never hold her. Even if I may never meet her. She has been conceived in my heart, and will continue to grow there. 

My heart is in His hands.

God is using this to teach me so much
about love
about belonging
about trusting
about surrendering
about accepting
about fighting
about adoption
about loss
about being vulnerable

Please pray for us on this challenging journey of faith…I’m off to write another letter…