standing on grace

Truth: I have been a bit of an emotional and exhausted mess this week.  At some point mid-week, I felt my tears on the verge of exploding from my eyes with no warning (what? I’m the only one who ever has that feeling?), and I was a bit startled.  I didn’t really have a particularly rough week.  I didn’t feel sad.   And goodness knows- I was getting plenty of sleep.  I slept for over ten hours one night this week!  And felt tired the next morning!  (And NO I am not pregnant.  Just cuz I knew you’d ask.)  I just couldn’t put my finger on the source of my state of craziness and it frustrated me.  However, through some free psychoanalysis by my sage-old-hubby, he… well, he pointed out the obvious.

Two and a half years of the adoption process have really begun to wear on me.

{Sidenote: I feel massively guilty acknowledging these feelings since I know so, so many other people who continue to face waits of unknown periods of time.  While I stare at the face of our precious  little Congolese girl, others are longing for a glimmer of hope in their adoptions.  I don’t want to come off as a spoiled brat.  I’m just being raw here… }

Y’all, I never anticipated this portion of our wait to be so difficult.  All day long, my mind sprints to those unknowns in our process… of which there are many.  Has our lawyer been working on our case this week?  Are we in the 30 day waiting period yet?  When will we hear from the director of Elizabeth’s orphanage?  Is she healthy?  Do the children have food today?  When will we travel? Many days, I am completely overwhelmed by the thought that our adoption is seemingly completely in the hands of strangers.  Until, of course, I remember Who is in control.  But it’s a constant battle to keep my eyes on the One who controls it all rather than the details I long to control myself.

When I hear that a baby at Elizabeth’s orphanage has died and another has been very ill in the past few weeks, my heart sinks and I worry that Elizabeth is next.  When I read about the rebels in the eastern DRC, I fear for the orphanage’s safety.  When my facilitator doesn’t hear from the orphanage director in weeks, I, well, freak the heck out and send frantic emails that probably make me sound like a crazed lunatic.  No, really.

It’s a spiritual battle, guys, this whole worry/anxiety/control thing.  A battle that seems to creep into my life more than I would like to admit.  And some days, it takes every ounce of my faith to keep my eyes on Jesus rather than our circumstances.  (And some days, it means an 8 o’clock bedtime.)

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m emotionally weary and could use prayers.  Prayers that I would be able to wait well.  That I would not put my hope and trust in the details of the process and that I could find rest.  Prayers against anxiety and worry. 

One of my all-time favorite songs from way-back-when (or, um, 1995) is Caedmon’s Call’s “Shifting Sand”…

“My faith is like shifting sand
Changed by every wave
My faith is like shifting sand
So I stand on grace.”

Grace.  Sweet, sweet grace.  That’s what I’m standing on these days because I am totally feeling the sentiments of this song.

The tears haven’t come today.  This is a good sign… I guess.  But if you see me in the near future, there are no guarantees… you might just want to have a tissue handy for this “I don’t even really know why in the heck I’m crying” girl.