Don’t call us, we’ll call you

January 22, 2017

The first door, Day 27

1 October

General Conference, a twice-yearly worldwide meeting of LDS church members, has certainly been harder for me to “get into” since we had Addison. She has always been a noisy, chatty girl. Now when she watches with me, the questions and conversation are more topical (“I think loving burritos is part of my divine identity.” Direct quote during a session a year or two ago.), but every bit as constant. Adding a shrieky baby to the mix, I thought was sure to decrease my enjoyment and attentiveness even further.

This is not a miraculous story about how that didn’t happen. It totally did. I was so determined to keep listening despite how chaotic the environment was that Neal said I was getting a little shouty and asked me to turn it off. And I said, “I’m going to get through this dang 20 minute talk if it takes 3 hours, so you can just go to your room!” Or something equally grumbly (me, shouty? As if!). Truly I have no memory of the vast majority of what I heard, and I have yet to make it through all 5 sessions. But I think I heard the one thing meant for me.

President Uchtdorf’s discussion of faith and story of the missionaries who knocked on every door in an apartment building before finding a family who would listen didn’t really impact me right away. But then he said this:

Will we give up after knocking on a door or two? A floor or two?

Or will we keep seeking until we have reached the fourth floor, last door?

God “rewards those who earnestly seek him,” but that reward is not usually behind the first door. So we need to keep knocking.

One month into foster parenting, I continue to feel that I can’t do this again. When we attend our adoption support meetings, there is a mom who has had 26 foster placements, and I know I’m not like her. I can’t do this with 26 different children. I fear the eventual loss of this baby that I want so desperately to be my son will be too much for me to bear. Maybe I don’t have a major depressive disorder any longer but it will come back, I think. It’s just too hard; I don’t want to do this anymore.

But if I believe the “you will be an adoptive parent!” message came from God, then this is only the first door on that journey. Going all the way to the fourth floor, last door feels impossible right now, but we must. Sometimes I tell myself that it will get easier, I’ll get used to it, but I’m not sure I’m really wired that way.

There’s always the not-so-secret hope that this first door will “work” for us, but I know how slim the chances are. So we need to keep knocking.

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