Year End Introspection

People seem to be posting great works of introspection this week in response to the coming new year. Jim talks about how sometimes God is the God of the uncertain. Julie discusses how pessimism and depression are a part of her life that she simply deals with rather than medicating away. And there are others, seemingly everywhere you look.

I have such a post percolating in my brain, but I think I'm going to spare you and simply list a few bullet points because I'd love your continued prayers, despite not going into at length.

• If she doesn't go into labor on her own, the birthmother who chose us will be induced on Friday in the early hours. Having never been pregnant, I can't imagine what she's going through, but I do know that she's asked some questions that have caused me to worry that she's rethinking her decision. Please pray that she would remember the reasons she made an adoption plan before her hormones were raging and that she'd be surrounded by supportive doctors and nurses rather than those with their own agendas.
• I am trying to rest in the knowledge that this is in God's hands. It's not going well. I don't know why my brain won't let me remember that His hands are so much more capable than mine could ever dream of being - but it won't. The hardest thing for me about infertility and adoption has been the loss of control. This continues to be my stumbling block. I want to line up all the pieces and let them sit in organized bliss, but every time I concoct some semblance of predictable order, a whirlwind of chaos sweeps through, reminding me that this is not mine to control. I do firmly believe in the sovereignty of God and I understand that His plan is perfect and mine is flawed and yet I yearn for even the illusion of control, because believing and trusting seem to be separated by a vast chasm of anxiety.
• In the face of this, there are plans that must be made. Hotel rooms to reserve and a nursery to put together. I'm fighting to make myself step out in faith and go ahead and put the clouds and airplanes on the wall in the belief that this baby will come home with us. But in the back of my mind a little voice niggles and whispers that once those are up, the room can no longer pretend to be anything other than a nursery and if it sits empty it's going to be hard. Very, very hard.
  
• On top of this, there are several people who I love dearly who are also walking through infertility who are hurting because of this baby. And that hurts me more than I can possibly express because I know where they are and I've walked those dark hallways and I know the pain that someone else's joy can bring. Yet now I understand why you still have to embrace joy when it's offered and struggle to find a middle ground that somehow manages to offer compassion for the hurt that your joy brings. It's tricky. And quite possibly impossible.

So much for not going at length, but this is in fact shorter than the whole thing I wrote out this weekend.