Adoption Update: A Detour Through Ethiopia

I'm not sure how to start this post. It's one of those posts that as "prospective adoptive parents", you never want to write. (I hate that term, by the way - are you any less "real" parents than a pregnant couple? You wouldn't refer to a pregnant women as a "prospective mom" would you?)

Yesterday, Ethiopia denied our case.

We cannot appeal.

Our son is not in Ethiopia.

As I write those words tears swell up in my eyes. How could we have been so sure and been so wrong? I do not know. Sometimes when I ponder that question I become frightened by it.

I do know that one day it will all make sense, that God is faithful and that we are being obedient to His calling on our lives. But oh how frightening that can be some days. Trusting in faith can feel both scary and secure.

I'm thankful that William has been a rock during this difficult day and a half. When I called him to tell him the news, I explained that our agency suggested we consider the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) program. Without hesitation he said "Call the Congo Lady." (there is a program director for each country, so the Congo program director is, in our house, "the Congo Lady") His conviction over our direction is so strong that the 2 1/2 year $10,000 detour through Ethiopia didn't phase him a bit. I however, wondered around the house aimlessly in my pajamas all afternoon.

My mind has raced with thoughts. I've emailed practically everyone I know in the adoption world to get their advice and feedback. I've googled. I've called. I've questioned. I've prayed, but not nearly enough.

I've thought about the fact that cancer exists because we live in a sinful fallen world. And orphans exist because we live in a sinful fallen world. And these two symptoms of sin are colliding in our world in such a perplexing way.

My heart breaks for the children in Ethiopia, who will wait on the streets or in orphanages for longer - possibly forever - because cancer survivors or parents with heart conditions or a history of depression or kidney problems, are deemed unfit to parent them.

It makes me angry.

And then I remember that nothing comes into my life that has not passed through the hands of my Father in heaven. And that He loves the children in Ethiopia far more than I ever could. And it drives me to my knees.

So, as William advised, I called the Congo Lady. She gave me the basic lowdown on the DRC program. In some ways, it sounds very similar to the way the Ethiopia program did 4 years ago when we picked it. They have fairly reasonable restrictions and none of them have to do with being a cancer survivor. Last night I stayed up way to late reading about the DRC, agencies that have programs in that country, reading blogs of people who have/are adopting from there... Today I called the Congo lady back and drilled her pretty good. Since I've been in this international adoption world for a while now and my emotions are a little, shall we say, raw right now, I asked her the hard questions and then I questioned her answers. She passed the drilling.

I still can't believe that after this long I am researching agencies and countries. But. Here. We. Are.

At this point, we are 90% sure that we will transfer to the DRC program. Once we decide, I will do a post on the program and the differences between it and Ethiopia. There are many.

One of my hesitations, is that I feel a little guilty about switching countries so quickly. And that before yesterday I knew practically NOTHING about the DRC. I knew nothing about the country, the kids, where they come from and why, what they have experienced, their culture, their language and religion - I didn't even know the capital. Sure I can learn, but I feel almost like we are using them, and their poverty and third world situation, to get a kid. And while we love our son already, wherever he is, I feel guilty about moving on so quickly. About not spending more time grieving over the loss of Ethiopia in our lives.

I've even wondered, and a few people have likened our experience to having a miscarriage, did we have a son in Ethiopia 3 years ago or 2 years ago or 1 year ago? Did we? I'm not sure that's a healthy path for my mind to take and I don't want to make light of what experiencing a miscarriage must feel like. But I feel a loss and feel the need to grieve it. Whether there was ever a living breathing Ethiopian boy meant for us I will never know.