The Muddle in the Middle

I have a confession to make. And I apologize in advance to all my reading and writing friends who thought you knew me and will now be forced to rethink whether to admit that you've ever once asked me for editing advice.

When I read, I sometimes jump ahead to the end.

I know. I said I was sorry. I can't help it. It's a sickness.

I don't read much. A page or two at most. Just enough to make sure that the characters I've grown to know and love survive to the end. If they all get killed off, why waste the emotional energy to keep reading through all the turmoil? I just want to know that the good guy wins and the bad guy gets his. Once I've got that sorted out, then I can settle in and enjoy the ride.

So, that may explain why just now, stuck as we are in the no-there-is-still-no-news-yes-I-know-it-has-been-a-long-time MIDDLE of this adoption process I have been contemplating taking something just a wee bit stronger than Tylenol PM to get me through the night. Can a sister get a hook up? Seriously.

I so desperately want to skip ahead to the end of the story. I want to know that we will survive this journey. I want to know that Pacman* will survive this journey. My heart is literally breaking for this little boy. Abandoned. Vulnerable. Desperately needing to belong, to be loved. How long must he wait? He needs a family. We need a little boy. Seems a relatively easy plot line, right?

In novel writing, middles are notoriously difficult. They must link the call to adventure in the beginning to the resolution at the end. Middles contain all those tests and trials that are meant to build character. I love reading a good middle - the more suspense the better. (So long as I know it all turns out okay at the end.) I'm always encouraging my writing students to add more difficulties, more problems, more tension. In story, conflict equals excitement. In real life, not so much fun.

Not only are we stuck in the middle, we are stuck in a SLOW middle. I'd be getting bored if it weren't so desperately heartbreaking. Just when I think I can't slog through another day of waiting, guess what? Another day of waiting. "Pace of story too slow." "Needs some action." I was hoping for a hi-lo adventure. Instead I fear we've landed in a Victorian epic. A long, drawn out treatise with lots of sighs and a fair amount of whining (mine).

The middle is hard. Hard, hard, tear-my-hair-out hard.

But I will believe - even when I'm crying and whining and asking "are we there YET?" and "how much longer?" - that God has this story well in hand. He's the author. He knows this struggle through the middle, and he's right here with us. He knows about the bureaucratic red tape and the unanswered emails and the months-long delays. And what's more, He's right there in the middle with Pacman. In the quiet loneliness of nighttime at the orphanage, He is there. When Pacman watches others meet their forever families while he is left behind, God is there. When Pacman wonders if he will ever again be loved or belong, God is there. "I will never leave you nor forsake you."

Yes, God knows our middle, but even better,  God knows how it resolves. He's even given us a sneak peek at the end - "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted" (Matt 5:4); "I will not leave you as orphans, I will come to you" (John 14:18); "He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away" (Rev. 21:4).

The middle is hard. The end is joy-filled. The middle is slow. The end is perfectly timed. The middle is filled with turmoil. The end is redeemed.

* Not his real name. Although it is catchy.

Random Thoughts about Patience

So, waiting stinks. Of all the fruits of the Spirit, patience is, I think, the least appealing. Everybody likes love, joy, peace. Those are the apples, strawberries, oranges of Galatians 5:22-23. Yum. Patiences is like a ... a key lime. Sour and unappetizing on its own. A key lime only masquerades as a fruit. In reality it needs sugar and cream cheese to be palatable.

Or tequila.

Ambrose Bierce defined patience as: A minor form of despair, disguised as a virtue. Patience is the medicine of the righteous life. You know it's good for you, but like fish oil it tastes terrible and gives you the burps.

I am well practiced at counseling others to be patient. I'm good at it, even. I have the Scriptures and the stories to emphasize the truth that "those who wait on the Lord will find new strength" (Isaiah 40:13). I believe in the theory of patience, just not the actuality of it. There's a word for that, for someone who can talk the talk but can't walk the walk. A self-righteous liar liar with a big mouth, and also probably grossly obese. Oh, yeah - hypocrite.

So, yesterday I was thinking I need to practice my patience muscle. Because I want to believe, and I want to act like I believe, that God has control of every detail of this adoption, including the timing. That God is using this time of waiting to work mightily in P's heart and mind; in my heart and mind. That one day this waiting will bear GOOD fruit (apples, strawberries and oranges.) That He KNOWS about the obstructionistic government bureacrats who are currently mucking things up and He has them well in hand. (I'm also wanting to believe that if these bureacrats don't get their act together soon, then lightning is going to fly. 'Nough said.)

Unfortunately, practicing the patience muscle is about as much fun as running laps. It's boring, it's sweaty, and it gives me a stitch in my side. So yesterday I decided I might as well start running again. (I've run approximately four times since quitting the mini-marathon training last February. What was I saying about walking the walk?) My new goal is to run every day regularly until we travel. That'll teach me, won't it? If I'm in emotional agony with the waiting, I might as well be in physical agony, too. And besides, running is GOOD for me. (And it takes care of the hippo part of hypocrite.) I LIKE the way I feel when I'm running regularly. Not DURING the actual running part, of course, but later, when I'm finished and realize I don't have to run again for 24 hours.

That's Plan A. Plan B - key limes and tequila.

Paperwork Purgatory

I refreshed my email at least five dozen times between 5 pm and 10 pm last night. Our home study social worker said she'd email the first draft of our homestudy this week. I'm trying not to be impatient, but this home study has been two months in the making (from gathering paperwork through interviews and now waiting for the write up), and until we receive the final copy, we're stuck in limbo.

I knew the waiting would prove a difficult part of the adoption journey, but I didn't realize until yesterday just how little control I have over the waiting process. At least when we were gathering documents for the home study and the dossier I felt like I was doing something - I had a plan and a purpose and a checklist. Now the plan is to wait - wait for the homestudy, wait for USCIS, wait for the agency to submit our dossier, wait for the Lesotho government, wait for our son.

It is a moment-by-moment prayer to give all timing and control to God. We commited our adoption journey to him before we even began our initial application - this little boy was His son before he will be ours, and God's plans are perfect. So we wait. And  I refresh the email on more time...

Colossians 1:12 - So that you may have great endurance and patience and joyfully giving thanks to the Father who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints.