Jeff and I are leaving on our missions trip to London tomorrow. We're so excited! The suitcase is packed, we checked in early (online) and all we have to do is go to church tomorrow morning. Please pray that we would enjoy a safe flight, as well as safety the entire time we are there. Also, the two other members of our team are leaving behind their three children. It's hard for them to be away from their kids for so long, so please pray for their peace of mind.
In regarnds to our adoption...sigh. New to report. We're still waiting for our background checks and criminal history reports to come back. We've recieved word that the whole system slowed down for some reason so we have no idea how much longer it will be. We sent everything in at the end of March, so hopefully it will be soon. We're also wrestling with the VA and with the county (my employer) to fork over the other two pieces of paperwork we need to make the homestudy complete. We're praying this doesn't have to drag on much longer.
I'll post an update when we get back. See you all in ten days!
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Dreams
Last night I had a dream that I had two adopted daughters, about six months apart in age, both about three years old. One had strawberry blond hair and was an easy, happy child. The other had brown eyes and blond hair and looked like me when I was little. She was happy too, but more intense. More like me.
We were at church on Sunday morning, waiting for service to begin. The sanctuary was full and my daughters were running around, saying hi to everyone. I admonished them to be good and they laughed but they slowed down. Everyone was smiling at them, saying hello back in response. Standing next to me was my good friend Lorie and we were talking about how much infertility had changed the course of our lives and how beautiful our children were.
Suddenly, my dark-eyed daughter ran up to me, laughing. I bent down to hug her and said: "I'm so glad that I am infertile because if I wasn't, I'd never have gotten to meet the amazing person you are." She smiled at me, eyes sparkling, and ran off into the crowd again. I couldn't immediately spot her but I wasn't worried. She was safe among people who loved us and I knew she'd find me again.
I woke up smiling, feeling at peace. My daughter is on her way. I feel like I'm finally climbing out of the deep pit of infertility and despair.
We were at church on Sunday morning, waiting for service to begin. The sanctuary was full and my daughters were running around, saying hi to everyone. I admonished them to be good and they laughed but they slowed down. Everyone was smiling at them, saying hello back in response. Standing next to me was my good friend Lorie and we were talking about how much infertility had changed the course of our lives and how beautiful our children were.
Suddenly, my dark-eyed daughter ran up to me, laughing. I bent down to hug her and said: "I'm so glad that I am infertile because if I wasn't, I'd never have gotten to meet the amazing person you are." She smiled at me, eyes sparkling, and ran off into the crowd again. I couldn't immediately spot her but I wasn't worried. She was safe among people who loved us and I knew she'd find me again.
I woke up smiling, feeling at peace. My daughter is on her way. I feel like I'm finally climbing out of the deep pit of infertility and despair.
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