As I sit in this quiet hotel room on the other side of the globe, I'm in awe of God's provision for our family in this beautifully painful adoption journey. The trek here was long and laborious. All three of my boys are sleeping away and my hands are raw from doing my first load of bathtub laundry. There have been moments along the way that have taught...have restored. There is an undeniable underlying truth in this glorious Plan B that God is truly the Redeeming God...never a replacing God but very much a Redeeming One.
My precious firstborn has a heart of gold. His wisdom goes far beyond his 9 1/2 years. He has witnessed hard things and lives hard things. He is a typical firstborn...likes to know what to expect and how exactly to expect it...control could easily be his middle name. And this process completely goes against anything he can comprehend. The paperwork part. The waiting. The journey. The complete unknown. And that's just the tip of the iceberg for him.
He also has some pretty deep subconscious thoughts when it comes to packing up for a long trip to get his baby sister. We didn't realize until just earlier this week how strong those triggers are for him. He didn't know either.
What began as a barely noticeable hand tension exercise he's started turned into a full blown panic attack somewhere over the Pacific last night. My baby couldn't put into words everything that he was feeling. Motion sickness? Perhaps a little but we'd already taken 2 flights before this set in. He'd just begin to cry out of nowhere. He said he couldn't breathe. He awoke from a quick nap vomiting. He would cry again. He'd pinch his fingers so hard that his fingertips would turn white. It was his throat...and then his belly...and then just tears all over again. Finally, he let the dam break and admitted his fear. He didn't know exactly of what accept that it was a fear far too big for him to grasp. Nothing he could control. Nothing he had any concept of how to handle in his innocent life.
He wanted his first sister. He was afraid of losing another. He wanted to go home.
Oh, dear...how many times, Lord, have I just wanted to run away? from the hurt? from the risk of hurting again? from doing Your will so that the enemy would flee?
I know my sweet boy's pain all too well. It's just even harder to witness when it's attacking your own flesh and blood.
15 long hours. 15 hours where he barely slept and I'm fairly confident Scott and I didn't at all. 15 hours of begging God to shorten our flight. Of praying scripture over my son. Of whispering truth in his ear as Satan would attack.
This journey is not from ourselves. It's a command from His Word and a calling so dear to His glorious heart that He laid it on ours.
Wyatt has calmed a bit since we landed. He's eaten a tiny bit and slept a lot. I know I'm breaking every jet lag rule out there but he desperately needed rest. We'll just be the crazy Americans first in line for breakfast in the morning.
We have a little clearer picture of what the next two weeks hold on a daily basis now. Have an amazing guide here provided through our agency...and wouldn't you know that she has already met our sweet girl! She was so excited that we'd received new photos since she last saw Andie-Grace and mentioned on how her hair has grown. She was the very one who assisted another precious family a few months back to visit her orphanage when they adopted their daughter from there (and this orphanage is not big by any standards). I like knowing the plan and my like-minded son does, too.
Please continue to pray over our family...and especially him tonight. We have been called to walk on the waters wherever He leads...and, as scary and unknown as it may seem at times, our faith truly is made stronger...and lives are restored...and the Redeeming One wins.