I jumped in the minivan the other morning to run some errands. When I turned to buckle my seatbelt, I saw it sitting there in front of me— my son’s hair sponge. He brought it in the car that morning so he could finish fixing his hair before I dropped him off at school and then abandoned it. I knew tomorrow morning he’d be in a panic, trying to remember where he’d left it, so I picked it up.
For some reason, seeing it there in that quiet moment alone in the car got me emotional.
I could have missed this.
The life I planned for myself did not include a hair sponge. It was infertility that set me on a path towards adoption. It was not particularly noble, it was just the human desire to be a mother. At the time, it all felt so random and haphazard. A paperwork delay here, a lost referral there, all of it adding up to a process that felt entirely too long, too complicated and not at all how I would have preferred it. But as I look back at it, it feels like a long train of dominoes that had to fall at precisely the right moment to create the beautiful picture that is this life.
I would not change a thing.
For years I asked God for the greatest good my finite imagination could create. I wanted a child from my body. God seemed so very silent. And I’m so very thankful. What I would have missed if God had given me what I asked for. . . I can’t bear to think about it.
And then for years I asked God to give me a child– ANY CHILD– and to do it quickly. God didn’t respond to my desperation with anything less than the life he meant for me and the children he intended me to parent– through group home work, foster care, adoption and biology. The wait was agonizing, but I would do it all over again if it meant these kids entered my family.
I’ve told so many waiting women this truth. Women who are waiting for a pregnancy that is not appearing the way they planned. Women waiting for answers from infertility tests that are invasive and degrading. Women waiting in the homestudy process as it seems like you are the only one who feels the time pressure when each day ticks by with an empty crib. Women who are waiting for that call from the agency, that email with a photo, or the surprise arrival of a temporary child who needs you. The wait is agonizing. But there’s no way around it.
At the time I would have given ANYTHING for the process to hurry up. I wanted nothing more than to be a mother and each day without a child in my arms felt endless and painful. Each delay in the process felt specifically designed to frustrate and disappoint me as agencies took longer than expected to put documentation together, or the government decided they needed an additional form, or the court process did exactly what the court process always seems to do– it was slower than anyone could ever prepare us for.
Now I see. Each delay in the process was specifically designed so that we would be in the right place at the right time for the child we were meant to parent. I would not have wanted that paperwork completed one day earlier. I would not have wanted that approval to get done any faster if it meant I missed this life.
I know it’s easy for me to say these things as I’m well past the waiting phase. Just like childbirth, waiting is painful in the moment, but it’s impossible to bring that pain back to mind once the wait is over. Now I just see the beauty that came from the wait. I see a forgotten hair sponge on my front seat. I see the smile of my son when I hand it to him later. I see the unique life we’ve created because we used our wait to love and invest in kids who needed us, however they came to us.
I will never minimize how hard the process is, but I will also never stop being thankful for the perspective that process gave me. My kids were worth the wait. I would do it all over again for a chance at the beauty God created through the journey. And I’m so thankful I didn’t get my way. I got something better.