Five Weeks

Just like that, five weeks of my life have passed. Five of the most horrific and glorious weeks I’ll ever know. Five weeks that began with what would become the end of the longest “pregnancy” ever and the beginning of the rest of our life. Five weeks that were full of new sights and sounds and smells and languages and food and people. Five weeks of bonding with, parenting and building trust with the most precious little boy I’ll ever know. Five weeks that will end with what will likely be one of the most excruciating things I’ll ever have to do in my life.
Each night here is spent snuggling with our boy until he falls asleep, happily drooling on my shoulder. The next several hours are spent fighting for rest, struggling to find peace, praying for a miracle.
My son is so bright. He understands so much of what we say to him that it’s easy to forget that, five weeks ago, he’d never heard an English word. But nothing we can say will make him understand why he will return to the orphanage, why the two people he’s come to love and trust completely will leave him. We can’t make him understand that we will come back for him.
When it became glaringly obvious that we would not be returning home with Jecoah, Brad and I decided to make the hour and a half long ride to the orphanage that has been his home since early this year. The house is clean and well taken care of, the nannies are kind and there is plenty of medicine and supplies. Our visit was both my favorite and least favorite part of our journey. I loved, loved, loved spending time with the kids there. Oh my soul, I would take every one of them home if I could. The older children especially were so excited to see me and Brad. They seemed fascinated by my whiteness and all of them wanted to touch my face and feel my hair.
Poor Jecoah was so confused. He wasn’t at all impressed to see his friends and he cried when they tried to climb into my lap. He couldn’t get in the car to leave fast enough. The orphanage, as far as orphanages go, is sufficient. We are thankful for the care he received there while he waited for us to come for him. But, we did come. We came with hugs and kisses, toys, clothes and shoes, gallons of clean drinking water and endless food. We came with pictures of sisters and grandparents, friends and Trigger. We came with promises of a home, a bed of his own, a belly that would never truly know hunger again.
Now, though, it seems that we came only with lies. The guilt is real, whether warranted or not and it is relentless. If I stay and spare him the hurt of being left, my daughters will feel that I’ve chosen their brother over them. If I go, Jecoah will experience abandonment…again.
Still, I know that God is sovereign. I know that this is ultimately for my good, for His glory. But, I am weary, so very weary.
Please pray, friends, for strength for Brad and I as we leave our son, for comfort for Jecoah while we are gone, that The Lord would see us back soon to bring him home.
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3 thoughts on “Five Weeks

  1. Pingback: It’s time to slow down - Mundane Faithfulness

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