Letting go

At the same time, I also began to devour books. Pursuing Viviana and Juan David’s adoption filled me with incredible joy and passion. I missed that joy. I craved it. I begged God every day to give it back to me. I read every book on joy I could get my hands on. In the mornings, I dug into Bible studies, learning Scripture after Scripture on the topic. I couldn’t read enough books about grief and healing, hoping to gain some kind of headway on the stages that came with grief.

Little by little, God repaired my heart. He had to break me completely in order to mold me into the person He created me to be. My screaming matches subsided, and our relationship grew civil again. The intimacy didn’t even come close to what it had once been, but deep down, I knew I could still trust Him.

I knew and believed our experience had purpose. It could not have been for nothing. God didn’t write the last page of our story yet. Meeting those children began something grander than I could imagine, something that could never come to life had we not crossed paths with them. I clung to that. I had to.

Julian wrote me another sweet e-mail in March, three months since I had contact with any of them.

“My brother and sister miss you. They think of you a lot.” Knowing they were okay helped me through this emotional drought, and I often wondered what I would have done if God didn’t connect us with that precious brother right before it all fell through. Without him, I would have never known anything more about them.

Several months eventually passed by without any more word from Julian. Viviana’s eighth birthday came in April of 2010, which meant Julian’s seventeenth birthday also passed four days earlier. I couldn’t send a gift or even a card since the orphanage officially cut off all my ties to them. They wanted the kids to let go of us in order to properly attach to the next family found for them. So, I sent my little princess a bouquet of prayers and kisses, and I asked others to send up a prayer for her, as well, to add to the beautiful bouquet.

I remembered thinking only a year earlier that she’d never spend another birthday without a mother because we’d complete her adoption before then. Unfortunately, she did celebrate her special day again without even the prospect of a mother in her life. As far as I knew, they hadn't matched another family to the kids yet.

When May approached and Julian didn’t send another e-mail, I accepted in my heart that our communication ceased. God gave him to us to keep us informed enough about the kids to make it through those rough months. Now I needed to allow God to heal me so we could move on. As long as I knew more about them, I couldn’t find closure to my grief. I thanked God a million times for that boy. Sending me a few simple e-mails did more for me than he ever knew. Yet now I let him go, too.

Letting go -- if it's meant to be yours, it will come back to you.

After sending a total of ten messages over a five-month period, Julian stopped writing to me. All three siblings now officially disappeared from our lives. I still dared to wonder if God might allow me to see them again someday. Would our paths ever cross again? Would we ever see our purpose for the role we’d played in their lives? Could a chance actually exist to someday meet Julian in person to thank him for what he did for us?