a fine line

There’s a fine line between joy and despair, laughter and tears, the truth and a lie, life and even death.

We should’ve seen it coming—we already knew we were on very thin ice. Especially after our agency was shut down by the U.S. State Department in December, but, still, we had hope.

Looking back now, that shutting down was the beginning of the end, the end of the possibility that we’d ever bring Ludomira home.  It was confirmed last Monday night that her adoption into our family is not going to happen.

My head always tells me in situations like these that there are many, many people in the world worse off.  I tell myself that it’s not so bad and that I have no reason to cry. But my body ignores my brain and does it’s own thing.  Eyes spilling over at the most inopportune times, a mind that can’t focus for anything, legs that feel like they’re walking underwater, and my usual stamina nowhere to be found.

I can’t deny it’s a painful blow. It hurts to breath. You can’t prepare for a year, your heart and your mind and home, for a child you’re ready to love for the rest of your life and then have it all taken away without being unscathed.

Craig and I and the boys have experienced enough loss to have a few protective calluses, but telling Marina was terrible.  She’d been praying earnestly and passionately, every single day, with her family, teachers, youth group leaders, and friends—so hard to see her heart broken and hear her anguished cries that God ignored her prayers.

I should be furious with the ones truly responsible, the ones responsible for the misconduct that caused our agency to be shut down. I don’t have the strength for anger though—too sad to be angry. However, every person’s decision to not follow rules and to break laws always affects others, and in this case our family along with three hundred other families were affected. Three hundred or more children that were set to go to loving homes and now, very likely, may not.

At risk of sounding dramatic, the course of hundreds of peoples lives and generations to come have been altered because of the poor decisions of just a few.  But this is just how it goes.

We were only INCHES from leaving the U.S. to be with Luda and to bringing her back. After months last summer of medical tests, fingerprints, interviews, parenting classes, home studies, and mountains of paperwork, we spent the fall just waiting and waiting. Certainly we’ll have her home by Thanksgiving, we thought. Definitely by Christmas, we were told. Then the phone call on December 18th, thinking it was the call to go, but no, our adoption agency forced to lock up it’s doors and no information for us whatsoever … and our hearts crashed to our toes.

Such a fine line between dreams fulfilled and dreams shattered.

It feels like a death, but it’s not a death because Luda’s life will go on, just not with us.  She will stay in her country and be adopted by a family there. We’re so thankful that this family came around at just the right time and pray that it’s a great situation for her, but we’ll never know. Well, we won’t know for a very long time.

I believe that someday God will let our paths cross again. We were absolutely positive since we first learned about Luda that she was meant for our family. That God was calling us to her. I’m not sure what this all means and why it had to end like this, but God does.  He sees the big picture we’re not privy to yet, and He always knows what’s best.

God is good, and we will not stop trusting Him.

If anything, I pray that when Rina and Luda are adults the two of them can talk, Skype, or write letters, and maybe they can have a special friendship in their adults lives. I’ve envisioned many times in this last year, the two of them as middle-aged women and laughing and talking at a wedding. Somehow and some way, years and years from now, I can imagine that scene playing out.

Even though our opportunity to parent Luda has been taken away, we’ll always feel like she’s “ours” and we’ll pray for her until the day we die.  Her visa to come to the U.S., the one we’d just applied for, said “Ludomira Emma Prather.”  A beautiful name for a delightful, precious girl.

There’s a narrow but unyielding thread between loss and love. Even though we lost you, Luda, this family will always love you.

Psalm 34 : 18  “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”