Update

First of all, if you are reading this now, thank you. Thank you for taking the time to read it and to pray for us. Most of you have followed our journey from the beginning. And now that we have to go "private" you chose to keep following us. And we are grateful. As I entered each email address in our "approved list of readers" it brought me joy to know that we have this amazing group of people that care enough about this crazy road we have been on to keep up with us. It humbles me and reminds me that we are not alone.

So, speaking of crazy roads....


The last time I blogged was the beginning of July. We had still not heard about court approval at that point. But were hoping to have heard by mid August or so.

Friday morning I heard that there was still no new news on the court approval, but we did receive new pictures of Josiah. And measurements! (which were all in the metric system...so of course being a dumb American, I had to google how to convert these foreign numbers). He weighs 22 pounds and is 30 inches long. And he is adorable. They shaved his head, which makes me sad because those tight little curls are adorable, but I'm sure the less hair the better in an orphanage filled with lots of tight little curls.

He was dressed in girls clothes again. Shabby worn out ones. Which I'm sure he could care less about. But, how badly I want to put him in an Aggie t-shirt and vans, just like his brothers.

But here is the hardest part for me. The bittersweet part, I guess you could say. In every picture he was completely attached to his care-giver. I have never seen her face, but I can tell that it is the same woman that has had him since he was 7 months old. He held tight to her hand in one picture. Grabbed her leg in another. And she looked as equally as loving to him. Why is this hard for me, you ask? Aren't you happy he is being loved on, you say? Yes. I am so grateful that he has a hand to hold and a chest to snuggle up to. And yes, part of me is just jealous that it's not mine. It is a good sign that he can attach, because Reactive Attachment Disorder is a reality for a huge percentage of adopted kids. But, the reality is each day he spends there, the harder it will be on him to leave...even if the ultimate outcome is a family and a home.

And here's the worst part of all: his time there is now indefinite.

Friday morning we got pictures. And Friday night we got a different kind of email.

The Congo's DGM (which is the government agency that issues exit letters for the child to leave the country) has shut down.

There was some rumors of internationally (not specifically American) adopted children being abused once in their new country. And there were also rumors of disrupted adoptions once in country (which basically means a family got home with their newly adopted child and for one reason or another the family didn't feel like it was working out, and so offered that child up for adoption again.) Clearly, both of these things, if true, warrant some worries from the DRC. They are bothersome to say the least.

But, ugh, the reality of what this means for families like us,  children like Josiah (who are yes, being loved on to the best of their ability, but nothing can replace the love and nurture of a family setting), or children with disabilities or illness wasting away in an area that cannot give adequate medical care is just overwhelmingly heartbreaking.

We have been given very little additional information. Except that this could take up to 12 months. TWELVE MONTHS. {And we are not naive to the fact that this could mean the country closing down indefinitely. It's happened in other places, DRC is not immune to it.}

Mitch and I were not together when we got this news. You would have thought that by the time we met up later that night we would have processed it and could talk about it. But, we just couldn't. My brain just couldn't compute it all. I am, by nature, an introvert. But when it's just me and Mitch, I am definitely the talker. I like to work out every. single. detail. Out loud (poor Mitch). I work it over and then analyze it and then re-analyze it and then summarize it and draw conclusions. He sits and listens to it all. Bless him. But, this time, I didn't. I just sat there and cried.

The one thing I did say was "I'm done. I just don't think I can do it anymore."

Now, don't get me wrong, I already love Josiah. We pray for him daily. I'm saving hand-me-downs from his brothers for him. His picture hangs in our house. We talk about him all the time. But, at that moment, selfishly, I just couldn't think about having to endure this battle anymore.

We had two miscarriages before we had Sam. We weren't really trying to get pregnant, but weren't really being proactive to NOT be. The first one happened in May of 2007. The second in October of 2007. I was done. No more excitement and then loss. No more disappointment and sadness. We made the decision and went to the doctor to make that final. But, guess who came along less than a year (9 months to be exact) later? Samuel Joseph.

So, what do I know about being done? I know what sadness and grief feel like. And I definitely know that I do not like those feelings. But, my God, the God of second chances, the God who likes to take people who think they are "done" (Abraham and Sarah, Joseph, and Moses to name a few...) and create new beginnings with them, knows more than I do (I suppose).

I still don't think I have a grasp on what all this means. A clarification email came this morning that assures us that this is only the "exit letter department".  Court and Embassy visa appointments will still happen. So basically, he will be ours, but we will not be able to bring him home until the DGM opens back up.

I don't feel as hopeless as I did on Friday night and Saturday (I may have survived on candy corn alone for those 24 hours. hashtagemotionaleater). But, I will not lie and say that I have no worries or fears about what this means for us and Josiah. Plain and simple: it sucks. (sorry mom..she really hates that word).

But I have hope that God will take my "I'm done" and do something with it. We aren't sure what that will mean for us and for Josiah. We are obviously hoping it means he will come home to us sooner than all would guess. But, in the mean time, he will continue to be a part of our lives and his seat is still waiting for him.