Follow the Becker family's adoption journey to China.
"Blessed are those whose strength is in you, whose hearts are set on pilgrimage." Psalm 84:5
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Saturday, September 21, 2013
Mercy! I cannot compartmentalize forever!
Mercy. Today I spoke with a friend who told me how she would be interested in adopting as well but she knew herself too well and was afraid the wait would be too emotional for her. I explained that I have good days and bad days. Life is rushing by so quickly. I told her how I remembered back in February when we thought we were choosing the other little girl, Qingge, I was sitting in a playgroup. Friends of mine were chatting and discussing sales at Target and nail salons, nothing I hadn't cheerfully discussed before. But I had just heard about the particularly horrible circumstances of Qingge's abandonment and everyone's chatter seemed too much for me. I almost stood up and left the room. It was then I first really learned to compartmentalize it all. Men seem to be fantastic at it. I've often been jealous how well Doug or my boss are able to focus on a task at hand so well despite a stressful day, because as studies have shown, men actually tend to be more skilled at putting aside a disturbing emotion and dealing with it later (or never!) This skill can be good or bad!
So, the majority of the time I'm pretty good at compartmentalizing everything: I can get things done, focus on my family here and my ministries and my jobs and my endless to-do list. But tonight, I did something I actually avoid doing. I was working on our support letter and this picture of Katie was zoomed in across my whole laptop screen.
I stared at her face, her little button nose and sweet mouth and perfect, folded ears-- (they are PERFECT to me) and I started to very quietly cry. I didn't want to bother Doug and I didn't feel like talking about it at the moment. But Doug was sitting two feet away and leaned over to see what was on my screen. He teared up too, and whispered, "We're coming for you soon!" April/ May cannot come soon enough. He went off to bed and I cried in our quiet home for another hour. I'm a mess. And that's just how it is.
BUT I'm grateful. It's midnight here and in Hebei, China it's noon. I can't see what she's up to, maybe she's sitting down for a lunch of noodles. But I CERTAINLY know WHO can see her. One of my absolute favorite names for God is from Genesis 16:13. Pregnant Hagar had fled into the wilderness, after continually being mistreated by Sarai. The Lord spoke to her and heard her cries. She exclaims, "You are the God who sees me." THE GOD WHO SEES ME!
The Lord has always seen me. Every moment, through every struggle, He's seen me, even when I couldn't see or hear Him. Since I started following Him, He's never left me or forsaken me once. I believe that He sees Katie too. He was there the moment she was born on January 1, 2010. When there was undoubtedly a gasp in the delivery room when they saw her ears: He was there.
He never left her while she waited, wrapped in that red quilt on March 9, 2010. It was a Tuesday. I was at work a world away in Chicago, in the trenches of infertility, on our last round of Clomid, oblivious that I was going to get pregnant with Cara 11 days later. Six thousand, nine-hundred, and fifty miles away, Katie was wrapped in that quilt outside a village for perhaps many hours until someone found her. I KNOW HE saw her, and His angels guarded her that whole time. That's how I can trust that He sees her now, eating her lunch, just as He sees me crying in my living room. He's the God Who Sees. And that's enough for me tonight. Jesus, be with my baby.