Not Forgotten

Once there was a little bunny who wanted to run away.

So he said to his mother, “I am running away.”

If you run away,” said his mother, “I will run after you.

For you are my little bunny.” *

Not too long ago, I was pushing the two youngest in the triple stroller, and Abs was lollygagging behind us. In the distance, I could see a car headed our way, so I hollered at her to catch up and stand by us while we wait for the car to go by.

Well, in the process, her shoe came off and that is when she panicked. Her instinct was to run back for her shoe, and then I could see on her face that she thought she was going to get hit by the car. The car was actually a good ways off, but Abs completely melted.

I held her shaking little body in my arms while she wailed, and I told her she was safe. I told her I would have jumped in front of that car long before it ever could have touched her. I told her I would always do everything in my power to keep her safe.

We tell our kids all about the lengths we would go to keep them safe, and we mean it. And if they were lost, we tell them we would never give up looking for them, and we mean it. We want our kids to know in their soul that no matter where they are, we will always get to them.

“If you become a fish in a trout stream,” said his mother,

“I will become a fisherman and I will fish for you.”

Two days ago, I visited one of my best friends at her house. They are at the tail end of an international adoption with China and have been matched with a child. They're just waiting on the paperwork to be processed so they can go get him.

In other words, they have a son on the other side of the earth that they cannot get to.

My friend has three grainy pictures of her son, given to her from the caretakers at the orphanage. She has them all framed throughout the house, alongside beautiful portraits of her other children.

It's one thing to be in the process of adopting a child. But now it's a he and he has a name and a face and a birthday next month that won't be celebrated together with his family and the literal ocean separating their family weighs so heavy and seeps into every little thought.

Like family portraits. It just feels weird. We were talking about this very thing the other day because how do you take family portraits with the kids you have here while still acknowledging the son you have worlds away?

“If you become a rock on the mountain high above me,”

said his mother, “I will be a mountain climber,

and I will climb to where you are.”

I remember feeling the same tension when Caleb and I were at Disney World with Abby Bette last year. We were contacted by Joshua's adoption attorney while we were driving down to Orlando. We spent the next three days dissecting our budget, trying to figure out how we could possibly swing it. The numbers most definitely did not add up, but we both knew in our hearts that we wanted him.

Each night of our trip, I just laid awake, thinking about the fact that we were on a family vacation, and I had a son clinging to life in a tiny hospital bed, all alone. It didn't seem fair, didn't seem right. I should be with him, not here.

“If you become a crocus in a hidden garden,”

said his mother, “I will be a gardener. And I will find you.”

I'm sure my friend lies awake at night thinking about her little boy in China. Does he have a best friend? Does he like books and playing outside? Is he shy? Is he a picky eater? Did he get enough to eat today? Does he have a favorite color? Does he feel loved? Or does he feel forgotten?

As she tucks her children into bed each night, I know her heart rips a little bit more that across the world, her boy closes his eyes to sleep by himself, alone. She's not there and she can't get to him.

It's how I felt for just those few nights before getting Joshua. When you know your child is out there but you can't get to them... it is a raw pain in your gut, it eats you from the inside out.

As parents, we all would do anything to rescue our children if need be. Ain't no mountain high enough, right?

As adoptive parents, you almost have to shield yourself from letting your mind go to those dark places.

 It is very easy to feel very small.

“If you go flying on a flying trapeze,” said his mother,

“I will be a tightrope walker,

and I will walk across the air to you.”

So we pray. We pray and we wait. We remember that although we feel small, God is big. We feel powerless, so we reflect on His sovereignty. His Word tells us that He is a father to the fatherless; He upholds orphans. He sees each one. He hears each midnight cry. He knows each one by name. He loves each one dearly.

The Great Rescuer comes to us, where we are. All of us, in need of a Savior, He comes to you. He sees you and He hears your midnight cries. You are not alone. You are not forgotten, beloved.

“I will become your mother and catch you in my arms and hug you.”

Somewhere in China, a little boy has no idea how his life is about to change. He is about to sleep on a bunk bed in the same room as his older brother. They will probably giggle too loudly at night and get shushed by the little diva across the hall who will be his little sister (younger by one month, twinsies!!). His yard has a trampoline and a swing-set. His Mama will cook his favorite foods and bandage his knee scrapes. His Dad will teach him sports and tell him about a God that saves.

He will laugh and sing and dance and get into trouble sometimes and remind us all that our God delights in us and has not forgotten about us.

“I will not leave you as orphans. I will come to you.” John 14:18

*The Runaway Bunny, by Margaret Wise Brown