Not a pretty picture

With nowhere to run and no place to hide, I could not escape the pain of our new reality. I saw reminders of those kids everywhere I went. Just walking down the toy aisle at my favorite store felt like someone stabbed a knife through my heart. The sight of all those sweet, little girl toys and princess clothes killed me inside because I knew I no longer had a chance to buy them for my own little girl.

Passing any random garage sale felt like a slap in the face, reminding me how much time and effort we invested into three yard sales to raise money for the adoption. Dolls, clothes, and all of Viviana’s color preferences occupied our spare bedroom at home. David’s bunk beds held Juan David’s special blanket, while the empty bunk screamed of his absence. Clothing filled the closets in both rooms, clothes we’d either purchased or that someone donated for the kids. Their pictures covered wall after wall in our house, pictures I couldn’t ever imagine taking down. They felt so permanent the day I placed them on the walls.

I hurt deeply for David. We put life on hold for the last year and a half. No vacations. No extra spending money. Nearly every penny went towards adoption expenses in some way. He didn’t deserve to live like this. He sacrificed so much of himself, his family, and his life.

Now that the kids didn’t come home, enough was enough. He wanted to forget about everything and move on. He hated watching me cry every single day with no end in sight. He detested the sadness we now carried with us as a family. He couldn’t stand the emptiness inside.

He struggled with intense anger. He resented Colombia for not letting us appeal in person and for misinterpreting our parenting abilities by saying we didn’t have a strong bond with him. He wanted to tell them how wrong they were about his mommy and daddy. He harbored anger toward our agency for not advocating for us enough or communicating with us like they should have. He dealt with more anger yet toward the summer hosting program for bringing the kids to the States, allowing them to cross our path and change our lives forever.

He dealt with even more anger toward God. His now eight-year-old mind couldn’t process this turn of events. How could God let us proceed, so convinced of something that would never happen? David’s faith stood so strong through it all, and now it fell into a million pieces.

Mike stayed pretty quiet, actually keeping us from completely falling apart. He kept David and I from going over the edge or completely exploding from everything built up inside. His hurt showed differently. His eyes and voice expressed a sadness that hadn’t been there before.

We lost that joy of knowing our purpose. We all wanted someone to blame, but, as much as we hated to admit it, we could only point our fingers up toward Heaven. It didn’t matter who made the mistakes. God’s arm could have reached down and placed those children with us. His sovereignty could have changed everything.

If He meant for them to be with us, they would be here. A faulty agency, a poorly translated word, or a misinterpreted personality assessment couldn’t trump God’s will. He let this happen. We each wrestled on our own with God and our faith.

If I looked back now and admitted we read the signs all wrong and followed a road never meant for us to travel, then I’d have to accept as pure coincidence every little “glimpse” of God we saw along the way. How could we explain the miracles we’d witnessed with our finances or all the furniture and travel provisions? What about the heart changes, unexpected opportunities, necessary relationships, and timely friendships?

If I didn’t hear God’s voice clearly, then how would I ever know how to listen for His voice again? Our clear picture now seemed like a puzzle with pieces scattered all over the place. The pieces didn’t match or fit together anymore. Some looked destroyed or disfigured, and others went completely missing, leaving the puzzle impossible to complete.

Either I accepted God never led us down this path and therefore disregard my entire faith along the way, or I accepted that God did lead us down this very road, straight into the heartache we now lived. Neither one made a pretty picture. Neither one made sense.