Frozen: An Update

We haven't gotten pictures or updates on our youngest boy in about six weeks.  Last week we learned that the reason for this was because he had been moved out of foster care and back to the orphanage.  This was so that some important local court documents and paperwork could be completed in the city where he came from.  (Both boys are actually from the same part of the country, Awassa.)  We found out those documents had been finally completed (MOWA letters), and we were ecstatic.  I had thought we'd have a court date any day now!  But I quickly found out that there had been a change in the Ethiopian court system (one of many along our way) that now requires the biological family's court date to be COMPLETED before scheduling the court date for the adoptive family.  Our boys also come from a part of the country whose local courts move notoriously slow.  This means at least another month, two months, or more, of waiting just for a court date.  With the two trips that we have to make and the time that must pass between the two trips, I began to realize that it is looking less and less likely that we'll be able to bring our babies home before the youngest's first birthday.  (This is a child who was three months old at the time of our referral.)  And you could say that I did not take this news well.  Just.  So.  Tired.  Of waiting.

We had an ice storm the day after I got this update on our case.  All around, our world was covered in a hard, frozen, but frankly, beautiful layer of ice.  It happened to be April 9, the five month anniversary of our referrals.  So through icy cold weather, I ventured out to see a friend of mine.  Not just any friend, but one of the wisest, most intuitive people I know.  Someone who has been a mentor to me through these rough waters of the past few years.  I poured my heart out to her.  Through my tears I shared how frustrated I was at this process.  How it feels like we get delays at every turn.  How I didn't understand why this keeps happening.  How heartbroken I was to be still waiting to see their faces.  How I want to get these kids to a home where they can be loved, where I know that they are safe.   She listened quietly as I sobbed my way through my own personal pity party.  

When I came to the end of it, she smiled.  "How appropriate that I see you today," she said as she began to gesture out the window.  "You are just like this weather, aren't you?  You're so ready to blossom, but you're frozen."  

She encouraged me put myself into motion.  "Don't wallow."  She said.  "You need to move, so that you can thaw out.  Be in motion."  

(Yes, she is my own personal Yoda.  ...with better syntax.)  :)

So I came home, grabbed my camera and headed outside to snap a few pictures so that I could remember this day when I was given the gift of my emotions perfectly mirrored in the weather, and of the poetry and wisdom that is my friend, Kali.  

Immediately, I set about the work of being in motion.  I became overwhelmed with the need to create.  So I started with art.  I made this simple little painting for the boys' room:

Then I finished up these small rag quilts to take and leave with the boys in Ethiopia on our first trip.  They are small and soft with lots of fun texture.  Very tactile.  The fun thing is that I've made dozens of these for baby showers over the years.  I finally got to make them for my own babies!

Then I made two of these little quilts for the boys' beds here at home.   Look mom, I can applique!

Then I found this old burlap Ethiopian coffee sack on ebay.  (Amazing what you'll find when you search for "Ethiopia".)  Here's what it looked like before.  

I cut it apart and turned it into this cute little pillow.  Appropriate, right?  

And as I put myself furiously into motion, Kali was right.  I began to thaw.  Peace and healing began to settle over me once again.  We will wait.  We will wait longer.  As long as it takes for our beautiful boys to make their way home, we'll be here waiting.