Well-meaning friends would remind us that “our baby was out there” and “all this pain will be worth it when you see your family” and I knew, somewhere in my heart that was true, but I just struggled to believe it.
And then, as our family walked the brick streets of St. Augustine, we got the call. I’ve never packed our suitcases so fast in my life, and suddenly the fear of disruption and heartache and rejection didn’t matter. What mattered was this baby. This time. We got home, got our affairs in order, and kept asking each other “is this it? Is this our baby? Is it really happening this time?”
And of course, in true 2020 fashion, Covid gave us a few more hurdles to jump through and we couldn’t go get our baby at the hospital. Instead, our attorney’s picked him up from the hospital and brought one of our biggest blessings LITERALLY to our doorstep. He was here, he was beautiful, and he was ours.
Emotions ran high as we held our baby in our living room, waiting out the ICPC in the comfort of our own home. Our next step, after the initial shock wore off, was to tell our extended family. We hadn’t even told them we were trying to adopt again because we just didn’t want to put them through more heartbreak. Once he was in our arms, we made those calls to tell the people we loved that our son was here and that God was faithful.
Those well-meaning friends were right: The devastating moments in the hospital lobby, the long, sad car rides, the sleepless nights spent wondering “what if”, were all worth it. The wait was worth it. The struggle changed me as a person, it changed our marriage, it changed our faith, it changed our family.
If you’re heartbroken or unsure or worried or defeated, this is your sign to keep working. Keep pushing. Keep hoping. Keep believing. Your baby is out there.
