Adoption

I’m Watching

Today is the first day in a long time that I was able to really sit and focus, to quiet my mind, stare at my children’s sweet faces, remember that I am a mommy and that I love it. Our days have been full of packing, shopping and event planning all week, and I have missed the kids.

Our fundraiser event was wonderful. The people who helped us were selfless and generous. I cannot thank them all enough. God is showing us how powerful our support is, and that we are not alone, buoyed up by this foundation of His faithful children. We raised almost $3000, bringing our total funds raised to $31,000, which is just astounding.

We are expecting news that the program will reopen anytime. It will look different when it reopens, and we are certainly mourning that loss, but we still intend to pursue it, with faith that we are being obedient to a calling.

We had a slow and quiet morning. We talked about what it means to be an introvert, how thankful and amazed we are about the money we have raised for this adoption, why the first day of swim lessons is always a little scary, and why mosquito bites itch. We smelled sprinkler water on warm pavement. I gave back scratches, poured milk into plastic cups, and combed through messy morning hair with my fingers.

We treasure this time at Oma and Opa’s house every summer. The days are long and bright. And we have time to look at each other and smile.

During swim lessons I sat on a metal bench and watched my children brave their own fears. Parents were chatting behind me. Making phone calls. Standing with both hands resting on the handles of empty strollers while they caught up with friends.

I watched the kids. Watched each one slip into the water like a knife and then break the surface with a gasp. They fought the urge to pinch their noses as they practiced new skills, glowing with pride when their teachers praised them. They want to do well. They want someone to see that they are trying. They will ask me later, “Did you SEE, Mommy? Were you watching?” I want to say that I was watching; that I was there and I didn’t miss it.

A tiny girl appeared beside my bench. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail. All that hair made her look even smaller. Delicate. She stepped up on the bottom rail of the fence, pulled herself up and wedged her face in between the bars to watch her sister having a swim lesson below. I had a strong urge to hold her. To pick her up and tell her how sweet she was. I felt love for this stranger’s baby.

I was sitting with my feet resting on the bottom bar of that same fence. My lap was empty. Suddenly that felt so unfair that my breathe caught and my eyes filled with tears.

Where is the baby that belongs in my arms? I miss that baby. I have enough love for that baby. I want that child to know that someone IS watching. Someone sees them. I want to give that child a home and a lap to climb into.

I am longing for you, Baby. We all are. Please, Lord, loosen this knot in my heart and give this longing a purpose. Send us a baby.

My name is Pam Ogden, and I’m a wife, mom, homeschool teacher, blogger, and an author. I am passionate about my faith, family and adoption. My blog is the story of our previous and current adoption, and how our family is growing physically and spiritually.

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