For all those times I wonder if I have any nurturing, maternal, or uniquely feminine drive in me there are equally as many times — recently — where I find myself doing odd, very unlike-Sara, type things. Just yesterday I had a random (but quickly passing) thought that I might even get into scrap-booking. AGH!
I think I might have to call this burgeoning behavior creeping up within me nesting.
Thinking and praying through this adoption has slowly weaned me off of being obsessively introspective, so much so that I didn’t put this new behavior under a microscope until just this week. I think it was that for the first time in years my “To Be Filed” folder was empty. (I know, for some of you, even the fact that I have a folder that serves as a purgatory for waiting papers before they’re filed seems odd in itself.)
However, in this there is still the looming sense that I am waiting, uncertain, unsure of what’s next and where and when it’s going to happen. With a real pregnancy there is a timeline that, give or take a month or two, provides some sort of framework for a woman’s available time to nest. With any adoption the timeline is fuzzy. Adding our move to Missouri into the mix just means more potential chaos.
A real estate agent just came through our house and so the reminder that all these details are hanging in suspension is fresh. Then, as she leaves, here’s what I hear one of the singers from the International House of Prayer singing over the webstream:
Prayer sounds so romantic, but at times feels so barren … in the waiting, it can feel so unbearable. God, I know you’re good. I know you are … but …why …why am I here for the thousandth time. Prayer is all I’ve got…
For all those times I wish I had some amazing talent like songwriting (or, really, dancing … I’ll be honest, I can barely watch an ESPN team-cheer dance competition without picturing myself front and center), I am so appreciative that someone like Misty Edwards can put into words where I am.
If I go for too long in my day without re-aligning my mind, my heart, and my thinking with how God sees it and what He may be saying, I’m lost. I guess this post is feeling a lot like a dripping faucet given that many of my posts are lamenting the waiting period that God has us in.
Why are we here God? Drip. What are we doing God? Drip. Drip. What if we get all of our hopes wrapped up into what we think you’ve promised only to find it taken away, God? Drip. Drip. Drip. Will you be there to guide us? Can we trust you? And again, are you really who you say you are? Drip …
So, maybe I’m just typing this as a forewarning to Nate that — unlike most other woman who are expecting — my nesting has the potential to go on forever and ever, seeing as how we really don’t have a determined end point.
Though as I sit here soaking in the words of this woman half way across the country who, herself is waiting before God and wondering while she waits if the waiting will be worth it, while all-the-while knowing deep down that it’s producing in her something good … I don’t mind that this “pregnancy” is so unpredictable.
Now, as I finish, she’s singing:
You make all things beautiful … just in time. It’s just a matter of time.
