We are not adopting. Not now, anyway.
Turns out that the state doesn't actually care that Snuggs' tumor is benign. We've been "invited to reapply" after a year with a clear diagnosis. Best case scenario we can get a "clear diagnosis" in February of 2015. Then, if we maintain that through February of 2016, we can start all over again. That means that we could conceivably be eligible to receive a child sometime around January 2017.
In January 2017, Cricket will be almost six, and Buttercup will be a new four. They are currently 3 and a half and almost 2. I have no idea what that will be like or what our family situation will look like at that point. A lot can change in that kind of time, especially with young kids.
We are not hearing this as a "no," but rather as a "wait." Although, we have agreed that we have no timeline in mind right now, and no idea what our process will look like when the time comes.
What we know is this:
God doesn't just "unset" a fire in your heart. We still ache daily for the adoption we were praying so heavily over. We still have hearts wide open for "the baby God has for is that we don't know yet."
It still hurts. Conversations about the adoption and the changes the tumor brought still cause tension, tears, and strife.
As such, we've decided that the door isn't closed, but we just aren't going to knock on it until we feel called to do so, again.
The only "explanation" I can come up with is that the entire process was an exercise in obedience. God said, "Hey you, love orphans. Go now, and do it." And we looked at each other with wide, terrified eyes, and we obeyed. People thought we were crazy for even considering adoption. Our wild Buttercup meant that I hadn't slept more than 3 hours in about a year when we "made the decision." But, like I said, God doesn't "unset" a fire in the heart.
I mean, if we are being real, the whole process started because I was trying to find a way to grow a love for the homeless in our community, and guide my husband to so the same. I was going in ready to stir in the soup kitchen, and came out ready to file adoption paperwork. That's pretty crazy, really. But we felt called, and we obeyed.
Also, in the name of full disclosure, let me tell you that I am working to resolve some serious bitterness in my heart about this whole mess. In a sentence, it is this: "He wears Kevlar every day because he could be shot at any given second, and they won't let us love a baby because he has a benign tumor."
It makes me mad. It doesn't seem right, just, or good. I hate it. I hate a system that says that this health "problem" (which, for the record, his health has been vastly improved by finding and treating it) is spelled t.u.m.o.r. and that raises a red flag in a state system, and that red flag puts up a two year pause, and that two year pause means that some little one is not receiving the love that we were so ready to give.
And, in the name of full disclosure, "I'm working on it," means that I'm praying for God to soften my heart towards a mess of injustices, because a hard heart won't do anyone any good.
That is all. Man, it sucks.