I went to the coast with my mom and my sister last weekend. I'm not sure what it is, but for me, there is nothing on earth like the ocean. I could walk along the sand with my toes in the icy water for hours and hours. We didn't spend hours doing that, but we did walk.
Along the way I spied a tiny little girl squatted on the edge of the sand, just where the next wave would kiss her toes. She was that wonderful age where freedom is best defined by your ability to wear a bathing suit all day long. Her tan skin was covered in a pink two piece and in goosebumps as she shivered from the wind and the chilly water. But still, she hunched down with her little bucket poised for the next wave, hopeful for shells or sand crabs.
She shivered, but she stayed. She waited for the waves to fill her bucket up.
I have no idea if she got her shells, we passed her by without stopping to wait. I hope so though.
One of the very best things about being a child is that nobody tells you these things, these squatting on the sand waiting for shells moments, are a waste of time or a silly way to spend an afternoon. Nobody asks what you are doing. We all know, because we've all been children and we've done the same thing. And the truth is, it's the very best way to spend an afternoon and we're just so glad that children are still doing it!
Can I just tell you that seeing that sweet little girl on the beach that day made me miss my little girl desperately? Yes, miss her. I don't even know her. I have no idea what she looks like, and right now she's not even mine! But I miss her all the same.
I have these 4 sweet little boys and they have those moments. They have afternoons filled with nothing but filling their buckets. I hope that somewhere in Ethiopia, my sweet girl is having these moments of her own.
It's hard to think about the whys of her becoming a member of our family. I know something hard will have happened., something I don't want her to ever have to go through. But she will. And time will pass and her hurt will grow, and then she'll come home to us.
And when she comes home, there will a whole chunk of her life that we won't know about. We'll know the basics, health and family history. But we won't know if she ever stood at the edge of the water, waiting for her bucket to fill, while her mother looked on, enjoying the sight of her baby girl living in the fun of childhood. We won't know if she ran around without a care in the world, ever.
I'm torn. I want desperately for her to have known those moments, because it means she knew love. But I hate the loss she will feel when whatever hard thing happens, happens. That's my baby girl. I don't want her to hurt. Ever.
My heart feels raw. It feels exposed. I feel compelled to file and refile papers in our adoption binders, research constantly, and make my incessant lists. Because it means I'm doing something. This is a process that is entirely up to God's timing. There is nothing we can do to rush it along. And frankly, it's hard to know that. I haven't had to wait on Him a lot in my life. I didn't have to wait for my husband, I didn't wait for our boys, but this precious daughter of ours.... we are waiting. He is providing each next step, each next dollar, each green light. And we are waiting.
But when the waiting is over, when she's here and in our arms, I know that I know that I know...
I'm taking her to the beach.
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