All the waiting. The paperwork. The worry. The imagining of what he will look like, or what it will feel like to hold her. The doubting: “Are we doing the right thing?” The nerves. The obsessive email checking. It all culminates in one event—The Day. Adoption Day.
You’ve rehearsed this moment in your head over and over. Will you reach for her or let her come to you? Should you and your spouse embrace him at the same time, or will that be too much? You’ve played out every possible scenario. You’ve changed your outfit 56 times. Your stomach is in knots. You want time to hurry up and slow down, all at the same time. You’re ready. What if you’re not ready?
The moment finally arrives. Perhaps you received a middle-of-the-night phone call, and you’re at the hospital about to hold her newborn warmth in your arms. Maybe you received travel approval just days before, and you’re sitting in a Civil Affairs Building in an unfamiliar land. Maybe you’re pacing the halls of your house, listening for the social worker’s car, and you hope your new son likes his room you redecorated 12 times to get it just right. “What if he doesn’t even like trucks? I should have gone with a sports theme!”
Then, when your heart can’t possibly take another moment’s delay, there he is. There she is.
Quiet—listen now, do you hear it? Peel back the curtain into the heavenly realm, and you just might hear a faint din of celebration. As an adoptive Father Himself, God must be delighted in that moment, the moment, when an orphan is placed in his parents’ arms for the first time and is transformed into a son . . . when a little girl whose future was so uncertain is at last a daughter. Walls of nationality and background and baggage are torn down. A new story has been written; a family is made whole.
At the moment of adoption, a supernatural transformation occurs in the tender hearts of parent and child, even if they don’t feel it immediately. Sometimes the connection is instantaneous for all parties—and what a relief that is!—but not always. My Lucy? She cried. She leaned as far away from us as she could possibly get. We looked funny, sounded funny, and we were too close for comfort for a child who had spent most of her young life in isolation.
No, feelings of affection on either side are not always immediate. Do you know what? It doesn’t matter. Not one bit. The fact is, no matter how that first meeting goes, at the moment of adoption, you are standing on blessed ground.
It is one thing to dream about adoption; it’s another thing entirely to stare lovingly into a stranger’s wary eyes and gently declare, “Yes, I will be your mother. Would you please allow me the privilege of being your mother?” Only God could orchestrate such a moment, and it is simply magnificent.
Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland. —Isaiah 43:18–19
God is in the business of making things new. He specializes in making beauty from ashes and reclaiming the years that brokenness has stolen. He loves to forge a trail of safety when the terrain feels wild and treacherous. On Adoption Day—The Day—He makes a way once again, and He rejoices.
Excerpt from 30 Days of Hope for Adoptive Parents