Monthly Archives: April 2014

Oh, the things we do for our children

The social services paperwork requires that mommy and I get physicals. And tuberculosis tests. Tuberculosis tests.

Mommy is getting her physical tomorrow – the same day you’re scheduled to get your shots. (You’ll be 11 weeks and a day.)

Daddy went to get his physical today.

The tuberculosis test requires the nurse stick the virus under my skin, and then I return in a couple of days to see if my skin reacts.

They couldn’t do the tuberculosis test today, because my skin has to be reviewed within a certain time period.

So, I have to go back Monday morning, which is ok, because the doctor also wants me to get blood tests.

The nurse will jab me in one arm and draw blood from the other arm.

Oh, the things we do for our children.

A child of God

“Who does she look like?” is a common conversation around babies as the baby gurgles and coos and squirms.

People usually study the faces of babies searching for traces of genetic clues.

“Who does she look like?”

Characteristics of eyes and noses and ears and hair pass down from generation to generation. In many ways each of us is the result of everyone who came before us. We look like all of them, and we look like ourselves.

“Who does she look like,” people may naturally ask.

Who do you look like? You look like the love of your mommy and daddy, who have waited for you for so long. You look like the culmination of two lifetimes of hopes and dreams that have come together to create a home and family for you.

You look like love and joy and happiness.

You are the image of God. You are a child of God and you look exactly like the God who created you.

Rest well, little girl, your family is waiting for you.

A child of God

A child of God

Easter photos

Before she left you last week, mommy took you to get your picture taken wearing the Easter dress we got you.
Easter 3

What a wonderful baby you are . . . you don’t cry or fuss, you just watch what’s going on around you . . . until it’s time to eat or change a diaper. And even then, you just get squirmy and fussy, you hardly ever cry.

Yawning easter
Your mommy and I received the paperwork from our state while you were getting your picture taken – it won’t be difficult for us to do our part. But no formal request has come from your state yet.

The woman taking care of you called her state representative today, trying to get your social worker to make progress.

Sunday, mommy and I joined a new church, and told all the people there all about you, and asked them to pray for you and for the family taking care of you, and for your social worker and all the social services staff.

There are a lot of good people praying for you, all around the world. And they look forward to meeting you.
Easter dress

“Welcome home.”

I went to church last night – the Maundy Thursday service. That’s when we remember the last meal Jesus shared with his disciples. Mommy and I had been in the same church Ash Wednesday, 44 days earlier.

On Ash Wednesday, I sat there thinking, “we’ll have her with us when we come back Easter.”

Last night, I was in the same pew facing the fact that you won’t be with us Easter. After 44 days of waiting, and looking forward to seeing you, and 44 days of your social worker doing nearly nothing, we still don’t have you.

I’ve had many emotional experiences at this church, and last night was really tough. All types of emotions swirled through me at the same time. Memories of past sadnesses and present loneliness because you and your mommy are so far away. I also had feelings of love and joy and optimism thinking about the time we will spend together in the future. The family we’ll be together, and the family we’ll share at this church.

All of these emotions overcame me last night because the emotions are connected, good and bad, happy and sad, all overlapping like hands and fingers interlocking in prayer. Tears of joy mixed with tears of sadness.

Maundy Thursday

Maundy Thursday

The emotions were connected just as we’re all connected by the Spirit of the Creator moving across creation. The breath of the Lord moves across creation, across the sweaty face of Jesus, across me in the church pew, and across your delicate skin as your mommy holds you.

After visiting this church off and on over the past seven years, I told the minister that mommy and I intend to join the church on Easter.

“Welcome home,” he said.

10 weeks old tomorrow

Mommy is with you right now.
She flew to you yesterday, and has been sending me photos of you constantly.

I spoke to a social worker today – she gave us a lot of optimism about how our state will handle the home inspection, background checks, and all the paperwork.

Unfortunately, she said your home state is one of the worst she works with. (she once wrote a letter to the governor, complaining about the social workers there. That’s not good.) So we have no idea when the paperwork will even leave your state.

Until it does, mommy is taking plenty of pictures of you. So if you can’t be here, at least I have pictures.


How I met your mommy

Your mommy and I met on a Christian dating website. She was the only woman I met from that site, and I was the only man she met.

We met face to face one Sunday after church.

And we’ve been together ever since.

We lived nearly two hours apart, but we saw each other every weekend after that Sunday or we saw each other during the week. Not a weekend went by that we didn’t see each other, and that went on through the weekend we got married.

And since we got married two and a half years ago, we’ve never been apart for one night. We do nearly everything together, because we’d rather be together than spend an extra moment away from each other.

That changes tomorrow.

Tomorrow, Mommy will fly to you, to spend more time with you. She’ll sleep in the same room with you, and take care of you for the rest of the week.

I’ll miss your mommy terribly, just like I miss you. Two ladies have captured my heart, and they will be together tomorrow night.

“I’m dressing your baby.”

Yesterday, mommy called the family taking care of you, and the first thing the kind woman said was,

“I’m dressing your baby.”

Mommy was relieved and pleased to hear that. We both were.

We’re really worried that the family taking care of you will love you so much that they won’t be able to let go of you, and let us take you.

Mommy was calling to check on the family, and to tell them how worried we are, but she didn’t need to say anything once she heard that –

“I’m dressing your baby.”

You’re our baby. You’re not with us right now, but you’re our baby.

What a mess – Cont’d.

I e-mailed your social worker on Tuesday and then on Wednesday she replied, asking for the birth dates and Social Security numbers of mommy and me.

This is for background checks (mommy and I have both had them in the past). And it’s information that your social worker should have requested months ago.

The social worker ignored my question concerning a time-line and me asking her when we can expect things to happen.

And then, on Thursday, she wrote another e-mail. Here it is:

Hi Mr. ——–,
I just sent a text to (the man who’s taking care of you), would you happen to have ——-’s Social Security number? I need it for a few of the ICPC forms from the packet. Thank you so much.

Your social worker, the social worker charged with keeping you safe doesn’t have your Social Security number.

We assumed it would be on a form somewhere in the social worker’s file.

It turns out, because the state took control of you the hour you were born, no one ever applied for one – you don’t have a Social Security number. Your social worker for the past nine weeks didn’t know that you don’t have a Social Security number, and was asking me for it. I’m 800 miles away.

We’re exceptionally fortunate, through the grace of God, that the family taking care of you cares enough to follow the rules and take care of you.

I wonder about all the other baby girls and boys who don’t have a good family to take care of them. Who don’t have people looking out for them, and whose social workers don’t even know who they are.

What a mess.

A strange feeling

It was wonderful visiting with you last week.

But it was also strange . . .

When grown-ups visit other grown-ups who have babies, the babies are sometimes passed around.

People take turns holding the baby and smelling the baby and playing with the baby, because babies are so much fun to hold and smell and play with.

But while I was holding you and playing with you, I would suddenly get a strange feeling of ‘this is going to be my baby. This isn’t just any baby, this one will be mine.

‘One day soon, this baby will come home with me, and she will be my baby. I’ll play with her and hold her, today, but one day I won’t give her back. I won’t just drive away. They will hand me the baby, they will hand me you, and I will take you home with me.

And then our lives together as a family will really start.