Nesting

I am loving the symbolism of what I’m finding around my house this week.  This one was found when we returned from vacation, entwined in the fibers of our front porch wreath

And this one found on the back deck in a pewter pitcher

This one trying on a new home for size

And this one who perched her home on a gutter

They are all vivid reminders of life and how it still cycles, despite the world’s grief and pain and every emotion in between.  The Indigo Girls sing, “You learn how to breath and you learn how to grieve your past.”  Luckily, for us, the breathing is coming a little bit easier these days.

My greatest hope is that it one day becomes a little easier for a 5-year-old boy, who waits a world away in Ethiopia, for a family.  We are that family.  God, it feels good to write that.  This child, who has experienced more grief than most people deal with in a lifetime, has called an orphanage “home” for the past two years, but that will soon change.  He will come home to join L, Buddy, Lou (and Isabelle) and I for the wild and crazy ride we call our life.  We can only hope that with time, he’ll love calling this family his as much as we do.

I have resisted writing about our adoption on this blog because I was fearful it would draw attention to it and people would start asking about the progress.  For awhile, we weren’t sure there was going to be any progress.  Changes in the Ethiopian adoption process put our initial wish for a baby on hold indefinitely.  We weren’t sure if we were willing to wait it out for years with our agency.  So we started tentatively looking at the “waiting child” profiles.  Once we started looking, there was no turning back.

Throughout this entire adoption journey, I’ve had this feeling as if something wasn’t right about it.  I couldn’t ever envision myself with this baby we were waiting on.  Whenever I tried, it felt fake, like I was thinking about someone else’s life.  It wasn’t fear or remorse for the chosen path–I knew we were supposed to adopt–it was just one of those can’t put your finger on it anxieties.  Now I know why I couldn’t picture him–I had it all wrong with who he was going to be.  This child feels 110% right. I am scared out of my mind as much as I am excited about meeting him, but there is no doubt in my mind this is who we were meant to adopt.

L and I have always envisioned ourselves with three children.  After L’s brother and sister in law adopted their daughter from Ethiopia, it was an epiphany for me.  We were blessed with two biological children and after seeing M come home, how could we ignore the orphans of the world any longer in our quest to grow our famly?  The simple answer is:  We couldn’t.  When Mama became sick, I thought the dream for three was over.  I couldn’t envision a life raising another child without her here.  Thankfully I started trying to believe it was the best way to keep her alive.  And now I no longer have to try–how unbelievably alive it makes me feel to finally believe and live it.  The cycle carries on.

So as the eggs hatch over the next week and the baby birds discover their new homes and mothers, I will continue to think of him. He will hatch into a new world where there is someone always in his corner–he will never again face his grief and past alone.  He will now be armed with the love and strength only a family can provide. And it’s a damn good one, if I do say so myself.  We would only be so lucky if he reflected back one day on his joining us as the springtime of his life.  The awakening.  The rebirth.  I certainly consider it my own.