...bringing hannah home

Here I am, writing back and forth to the wonderful folks at Reeces Rainbow, trying to figure out how to bring Hannah home.  I'm getting mostly bad news.  But for some reason, I feel more hope than I have ever felt since I saw Hannah for the very first time.

Back up to Christmas Eve.  Sitting in our bedroom, looking at pictures of waiting children on All God's Children's website, I stumble across a little guy named Jackson with Down Syndrome.  He is adorable.  Just sick amounts of cute.  And in reading his file, he is mentioned as "a favorite among the caretakers". Well that would just be perfect for our family.  Yes he has Hep B.  Yes he has Down Syndrome.  But I have weak ankles and he needs a family.  So, I ooh and ahhh over him for the rest of that day; going back to his bio, looking at his picture over and over again.  But then, for some reason, I scrolled down.  There were dozens of sweet children aching for love, dozens of beautiful faces peering back at me, but all at once, there was this pair of unbelievable black eyes looking into mine.  And my heart stopped.  Hannah.

Here's what never to do:
#1. Never look at baby bunnies with your children on youtube (because you and your bunny hungry offspring will set up a sneak attack on your husband, doing your best to convince him that a bunny IS thee perfect pet.  Then you will be left to console the broken-hearted children when daddy grumbles out an unequivocal "No!")
#2. Never look at orphaned children unless you've talked to your husband first (because you will fall in love with one of them, and your whole world will begin revolving around praying for, pleading for, vying for this child.  Nevermind, that this child lives half way across the world.  Nevermind, that your family doesn't meet a bunch of the stringent requirements that her home country imposes on perspective adoptive couples.  Nevermind that the adoption process makes you want to curl into the fetal position and then stay there for a few days)

So, I do what any star-crossed mommy would do.  I emailed her agency and asked for more information about her.

To paraphrase the email I got back, "You're too poor to adopt her."

DOOR #1 slams shut in my face.

At this point, I'm kind of relieved, like, "Okay, well that was clearly just a crazy little tangent I went on.  Definitely hormones mixed with sleeplessness, and stress and probably a high tide or something.  But we don't even qualify.  So, I guess this is goodbye, Hannah."  Tears, tears, tears.

But then I think about it some more and pull myself up by my pathetically un-Christ-like boot straps and think, "Well just because we can't adopt her, doesn't mean God led me to her by accident.  Maybe He just really wants me to pray for her!  For her health, for her development, for every day necessities to be provided for her, for her to find her Forever Family, and for them to turn the heat up because forcryingoutloud she's wearing a winter jacket indoors!"

I readily agree to do this on her behalf, and from that day since, I have stared at her sweet little face (which may or may not be printed and stuck to the mirror in our bedroom right next to the family picture Peter gave me for mother's day of him and our two darling children, Lily and Liam)  I spend hours looking at her face...memorizing it's lines and creases.  Memorizing it's baby-esque simplicity and it's old-soul-like complexity.  Children in orphanages have been through more in their short lives than most people live in an entire lifetime here on earth and it shows in their eyes.  Their eyes have volumes and volumes to tell us.  Every day since that day I have prayed for her.  And here's the thing...instead of being more and more sure that another family is going to adopt her...I feel more and more certain that God is going to do a miracle, and that Hannah will be our daughter.

But the rubber meets the road with this thought that rolls around in my head and heart almost as much as my thoughts of her running with Lily and Liam in our back yard, or going on walks in the stroller, or learning to ride her first bicycle.  The thought that pervades my every waking moment is, even if she never wakes up in the sunny green room she would share with Lily in our home.  Even if she is never ours to love and cherish...I am going to hold that girl in Heaven someday.  Because I pray above all things, for her to come to know the Christ who loves her with a wondrous and fierce sort of love.  Please, Lord.  Ransom her from hell and into a family with Jesus at its center.