Labor

I am overflowing.  With excitement, anticipation, joy, anxiety, adrenaline.  Sometimes tears.  My body simply cannot contain the emotion that I am feeling.

I sometimes have to sit by myself--door closed at the office or in front of our icons at home, quietly breathing "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God.  Have mercy on me... a sinner."  Over and over again, just to get my heart rate back down to normal.  Just to quiet my soul and feel the presence of God's Love.  I know He is here with me.  I know He has a plan and will give me strength to accept it.  But I have to remind myself of that sometimes... sometimes when the my heart feels like it will burst at what it is experiencing.

To think that in one week, we could welcome into our home, for good, Our Little Girl.  To imagine going to sleep with her at night and waking up with her in the morning, content to be lying in bed with us, gazing at her in wonder-full Love.  My heart cannot sustain the anticipation.

I have heard that at the end of pregnancy, many mothers begin to feel claustrophobic, that they simply can't wait to push that baby out, and hold him "on the outside."  After nine months of growing the child, she desperately wants to meet him, face to face. To show him to her husband and family and friends.  To see the smiles on their faces when he opens his eyes and looks up at them.  Her labor in giving birth to him is her gift to the world--"Look what I can show you now," she says exhausted but beaming with joy, "See and know what I have known for so many months inside me."

My labor has been long. At least three months long.  From the moment we first heard of Our Little Girl's birth, and that her mother wanted us as parents, I have been in prayerful labor to bring her home.  Home to her birth mother's arms permanently, or home to us, as we have hoped for so long.

When we met her for the first time, seeing her sweet face, she was the most beautiful baby we had ever held.  Beautiful because the in-the-flesh reality of a Child Who Might Be Yours is incomparably more beautiful than Anyone Else's Baby.  More beautiful than we could have imagined when she smiles at us or lights up when we come through the door and say "HI, Sweetie!!"

Every time I see her, I long to show her to the world, to share the joy and hope that her face reflects.  I can feel her in my heart and soul daily.  I cannot separate her from my being.  I know her, deep inside me, and I want to hold her "on the outside" where family and friends and even complete strangers can see the baby in my arms and know the Sweetness and Love that she has brought to us.

I cannot bear to think of not having her home with us next week.  My already taxed heart cannot take the additional strain of contemplating such a loss.

Therefore, I choose to live in hope, and I pray for patience.  There will be time for sorrow later if we cannot be her parents; and there will be much sorrow if that is the case.

But now, right now--today and tomorrow and the next day and the days after that--are days of hope.  Hope through gritted teeth! Through tears and anxiety and breathless excitement.  Hope in the Promises of God and a firm commitment to trusting in Him.  Hope that, at the end of all our labors, we can rest contentedly with our Sweet Girl in our arms.

I do believe.