Steps

Since we made the decision to adopt, I've been keeping a diary of just thoughts and venting along the process with the idea that eventually I would share that. Since our news is now public, I thought I'd slowly start posting these. Many of these are from months ago already when we were trying to come to grips with what we believed we were being called to. This first one is from very early on in the process:

Reading the World Vision magazine has new meaning. Each step of the adoption process, I find myself struggling with a new aspect of it. First came the realization that, as much as we like to think we are above the past, there is still a price on humanity. How much is a child’s life worth? Not the intrinsic value, but a true, monetary price tag. Would I pay 10,000 to save a child? 20,000? 50,000? Can a child truly have a price tag? And the answer, as hard as it is to come to grips with is, yes. Each step has a price tag that hurts.  For the price of a luxury car, I can bring home a child. For half the price of a house, ransom one child. One. In Russia alone, there are 600,000. The zeroes after that are staggering. What can taking one child from that truly accomplish? For every one that is taken out, how many are left? For me, the price of a car hurts. For others, it may be impossible. How it will be provided is still unknown. But what it will provide is clearly and tangibly evident. It will provide a chance. A chance to not be a statistic. A chance to know the love of a family. The protection of a father. The care of a mother. The loyalty of a sibling. A chance to go to church. A chance to be introduced to Jesus. Can we really put a price on that? Can we really say no when all it takes is a step of humility, of saying that no life is more or less valuable? Of saying that I could let my standard of living suffer a little to give someone who has nothing, everything?

Today it was the picture of a little girl that reduced me to tears. The truth is, somewhere in Russia, my daughter is probably already born. When my boys were born we did everything we could to give them the best possible start for their future. We read to them. We played with them. I nursed them. If they cried, we were there. If they were hurt, we were there. If they were sick, there was medical attention when needed and love and cuddling when it wasn’t needed. They had the softest clothes, a warm bed, a stuffed animal to snuggle with. We made sure their new little teeth were brushed, they were clean and their skin taken care of. She will have none of that. There will be no one to answer her cries. There will be no one devoted to giving her the best possible care and start in life. Somewhere, she will have no one to pick her up if she is sad, or make her laugh just to see a new smile. She will not have anyone rejoice over her first words, or each new facet of her personality. Somewhere, she has nothing. And I can’t even know where. I can’t even know her face. I think that this will prove itself to be the best growth of prayer I will experience. I literally have no control. I can not do the best I can. ALL I can do is pray. Pray for protection of her mind, soul and body. Pray for comfort when she needs it. Pray for compassion from those who may give it. Pray for her parents, whoever and wherever they may be. That they may be comforted in knowing giving her life is a gift. That they may one day know Christ. That they will know that their daughter is being given a second chance to have a life they could not give her. That their sacrifice to keep this life is amazingly valuable to our family. All I have right now is really all I could give. What is more important than placing our trust solely in the hands of God? Of knowing that He who fashioned every little minute detail of her body, her brain and soul, is more than sufficient to cover the lack she now faces. He sees. He sees the injustice. He sees the mountain of paperwork that I can not move on my own. He sees all the roads converging on that one where we step on the plane in Russia and she steps off an American citizen. He’s been faithful before, and He will be faithful to complete what He has called us to do.