It’s been more than three weeks since I last heard a peep from my church on my request to publicly dedicate Hope. I mean nothing. Not a quick email, phone call, nothing.
The last email I got thanked me for letting them know that National Adoption Awareness Month was coming up and they are praying for me and Hope.
The silence is actually deafening. It hurts my ears and my heart. I wish the Holy Homeboy had built me for patience, but I discovered many years ago that he simply did not wire me that way.
I finally sent an email withdrawing my request. I’m sure that somewhere the Holy Homeboy is disappointed in all of us, but I couldn’t take anymore, so I just pulled back. I’m strong, but this was the place where I drew strength. and it all dried up.
You can’t be strong if you’re thirsty. #ABMism
Each day the silence and the rejection it implied became more painful; each day it revealed to me how we were viewed by our church—as some kind of anomaly. Each day it told me that we don’t fit, even if on the surface it looks like we do. Each day it affirmed to me about how our church’s mission maybe didn’t really mean me and Hope should be there. Each day it just took something from me…it actually stole a part of my heart from me, right after it stomped on it.
I am protective of Hope. I know I will have to tell her that this isn’t happening. I think I’ll wait until she asks though. She will, and I will deal with it then. I don’t think she needs to know the truth. She’s lost so much already. I can’t bear the thought of losing a church too. We’ll probably still worship there for a while; she enjoys it so very much. But I don’t see myself there anymore. The thought of going just feels…empty.
I hope that I will forgive as the Holy Homeboy does. And that I will find some grace to cope; adoption requires so grace and some days I don’t feel built for that either.