a court date and an emotion

I’ve used up my fair share of grace over this winter.
I’ve wrapped it around me like a warm blanket, thanking God for its abundance, asking for forgiveness for how much I need it, praising Him for giving it so freely, knowing I will need it again tomorrow.

The last five weeks haven’t gone like we wanted them to … how I wanted them to.  A steady stream of disheartening news and estimated travel dates passed by, and I’ve been left broken and confused … trying to act normal.  Like a part of my heart isn’t living in Africa, growing up in front of me through pictures and updates, going to bed every night without a Mommy and Daddy.  And there is also the ever increasing awareness that this seemingly impossible wait is going to be nothing compared to the wait after we meet her and leave her there and wait to be able to return to get her.  The days have gone by slowly like a clock ticking away moments lost with her and after weeks of overwhelming sadness; I found myself numb.

And then the court date we had been waiting for came.

But I didn’t react the way I was suppose to:  I didn’t jump and squeal, I didn’t post it on Facebook, I didn’t want to write a blog, I didn’t call or text all my friends.  In fact, I talked to as few people as possible.

Because I felt stuck feeling an emotion I wasn’t supposed to feel.  Not the emotion people would want to see or hear from me.  And the emotion hit me with such overwhelming force (a storm that had been brewing for weeks … or maybe it was more than two years in the making) that I didn’t know what to do with it; I couldn’t even identify it at first.

I stomped my feet and pounded my fist on the bathroom counter.  I lay on my bed sobbing and begging God to give us a just a few weeks earlier, a few days earlier.  Anything sooner. 
Not April 1. 

We had lost another month.

I felt cheated.
I realized IT was anger.  I was furious. 

What happened to the end of January, then to February — and why oh why did March get skipped over completely? And the questions keep pouring out of me.

Between my tears and bursts of anger, I’ve spent the last few days pleading for gratitude and for peace and a changed perspective.  I wish I could say it was fast in coming; it’s not.  But I press on reciting the Truths I know, rehearsing my thankfulness even when I don’t feel like it, expressing my feelings to a Savior that restores me through His understanding, feeling the warm blanket of His grace … knowing that healing and growth take time.  The roots are there already.  But they need both the sunshine and the rain to grow up out of the dirt.

Beautiful things sprout up in the spring. 

And that’s when we’ll meet Aida.