It was an ordinary summer day. So ordinary that I don’t recall a single detail other than the fact that it was August, so it’s safe to assume that I’d done everything possible to remain indoors where there was relief from the incessant heat and humidity that make this one season in the South seem to last forever. Though the heavy dampness rarely subsides, there is a sweet spot toward the end of the day when the sun is finally low enough that one can tolerate being outside for a brief moment without being stifled, and before the night critters (aka bats) begin cleaning up the insects hovering overhead. I detest bats in an embarrassing kind of way, so making my way out of the air-conditioning is slightly more appealing if it means in doing so I can avoid them. The dog was running the perimeter of the fence as I tended to the garden when Kel arrived home from work. Normally, he enters our house through the front door, but on this particular evening, he met us in the back yard. After a hello hug and kiss, he explained that he’d just gotten off the phone with a friend of ours, and we should go inside and talk.
As we walked to our kitchen, my mind raced with all of the possibilities that might be indicated by my husband’s cryptic prompting. Never in my wildest dreams, could have I imagined what he was about to say. As he recounted each detail of that unforgettable conversation, everything in the room around me began to go a bit fuzzy. I struggled to remain in the moment, carefully listening to each word, trying desperately to wrap my head around the reality that he was in fact saying what I thought I was hearing…
There was a boy. He’d been in the NICU and was ready to go home. But this tiny baby was in need of a family. And we just so happened to be looking to adopt…
Even now I tremble recalling the way those waves of emotion, shock, and awe felt pummeling against my soul. Could God really drop a child off on our door, stork-style? We haven’t even started the home study process yet! Even though we’d been “ready” for years, were we really ready-ready, like tomorrow? We don’t have a single practical item to our names equipping us to bring home a baby…
To say it was a long night would be an understatement. Even so, amidst a blur of so many questions and what ifs, there were two truths that remained in constant focus. Deep down, we knew that there was no way we would turn away a baby in need of parents and a loving home. And even though we were so far from our families, we had no doubt that our faith community would rally and see us through this instantaneous and shocking transition. I saw a different side of my husband that night. I had always known he’d make a great father, and without so much as a single positive pregnancy test, that night I witnessed him morph into one before my very eyes.
Agreeing to sleep on it, neither of us actually slept much that evening. Even so, the next morning we agreed to move forward with whatever steps were necessary to provide this child with a home. Within a few hours, we were given a detailed medical history, and a general overview of what would have to transpire for placement of a boy named Wyatt.
I’ve never had much appreciation for anticipation. Growing up reading, I’d oftentimes find myself mid-way through the book – when the suspense got to be unbearable – turning to the last page to see how it ended. I always went back and finished reading, and yet something about knowing how it played out helped me to “enjoy the ride” and take in the story a bit more. So I consider it to only be fair to do the same for you at this point, in case you aren’t familiar with our current status and are eagerly waiting to find out how this story ends…
Wyatt didn’t come home with us. In fact, we never even met.
Almost as quickly as the possibility came to us, it was all said and done on our end. The aforementioned email was long and thorough, full of specifics I’m not at liberty to discuss. What I will say is, my scroll to the bottom of that message provided a strong sense of reassurance that Wyatt was not meant to be ours. For the record, I’ve been paralyzed by fear more than once, and this was definitely not a fear-based resolution. Perhaps what I was feeling was a motherly intuition of sorts. A peace that this boy would be matched with others more fit to be his parents (not to mention home-study approved and prepared to take him home), and a void in the place of my Momma heart where I’d always imagined would be a sense of fight – of urgency – for my own child. Though my husband was ready and willing to open his home and his heart to this boy, I did my best to explain to him that I almost felt like we’d just be in the way of the couple who he was meant to go home with.
There are times in every marriage when as a husband and wife, your gut reactions differ. We aren’t always immediately successful at setting aside the desire to protect our individual positions, but in that moment, by the grace of God, we were able to place all of our thoughts and feelings on the table, pray for unity, and proceed as a team.
Removing our names from consideration felt like relief. And then guilt. And then this strange mixture of grief interlaced with relief. Followed by more guilt. I wondered what was wrong with me. How could I longingly sit in an empty house made for a family and not desire to give every bit of fight I had for a child that could have possibly come home with us? How could I grieve a momentary maybe and at the same time, feel relief that it wasn’t meant to be?
Upon expressing these complex emotions to a close friend with adoption experience, she helped me see the prudent and discerning good in our decision. She encouraged us to wait for the right time… for our child. And to thoughtfully protect our emotional capacity for the long and winding road that we were being called to.
In the grand scheme of things, it was less than 24 hours – a blink that hardly seems substantial when you consider the years that we’ve been walking this road. But those few moments – more specifically, a boy named Wyatt – remains forever etched into our hearts. He was always intended for a different family. And yet his life changed us in an indescribable way.
Knowing God really could send a child at any given moment gave us a sense of urgency to forge ahead into this new chapter – even though we still didn’t have all of the answers. And I learned an invaluable lesson about trusting my Momma heart. That sense of fight – of urgency – for our child would come along. Slowly but surely, and as we faithfully made our way through the many steps of identifying ours.