A few weeks ago, I started having stress dreams again. It takes me a while to recognize that that's what they are, but at some point the light bulb goes on and I realize, "oh, I'm afraid."
This round, the dreams were about losing Ezra (sometimes physically, sometimes to CPS, always with the threat looming but never fully realized. When the light bulb goes on, that's when I realize how hard our adoption process has been. My subconscious is scared, like a rabbit in the deep dark woods or something. In some ways, this adoption has felt like several miscarriages; there have been several paths we were sure would lead to our child being home with us, only to have the door close and the path cut off.
I have dealt with those losses individually, but I guess not with the point of view of the future. But I cannot deny that a small part of me is terrified (sobbing, crazy-eyed frantic) about us losing H. That she will be an example to our community and the world of a child who isn't "chosen" (even though she is), who doesn't have the dream come true, who is left on her own. What if our story is one of "we wanted her and weren't allowed"? What if that's the testimony, that things need to change, that children are often run over by governments and powers-that-be?
I can't. I don't know if I can handle it. So God invites me to walk in the garden with him, and my breaking heart is comforted on his shoulder. We probably won't know for months. I need his strength and his hope, because I have none of my own.