Tending the Hidden Spaces

I know I said I probably wouldn't be posting anything this week since our home visit is NEXT WEEK (GAH!), but I forgot to take into account the therapeutic effect writing can have on my frazzled nerves and that I can't clean for hours and hours without pause.

I refuse to get too stressed or overwhelmed about any step we take during our adoption, because I know that God is in control and that letting my head go to its crazy place will not be beneficial at all anyway. (I admit I have slipped into freak-out mode a few times, but thankfully God hasn't allowed me to stay there unchecked for long.)  With that, I've been pacing myself with a steady stream of progress taken one baby step at a time. It's probably not the fastest way of getting things done, but it has helped my own state of mind tremendously by maintaining a sense of calm. Slow and steady, slow and steady.

When faced with the prospect of having our home looked at by someone who has the power to deem us fit or unfit to proceed with adoption, a lot of formerly unnoticed imperfections start coming into view. Our house isn't huge by any means, and when you pair a small space with two furry, rapidly-shedding dogs, it's darn near impossible to ever have spotless perfection. That has been a difficult concept for me to grasp, especially when my freshly-vacuumed floor looks like it's gone weeks between cleanings within an hour or two. So.much.dog.hair! I've noticed the excessive amount of fur and slobber (thanks for that, Miss Beasley) on a daily basis, but now I'm also beginning to see random marks on the walls, cobwebs in the super high corners that I can't reach, spots on vases, dust--oh! so much dust!--on the fans and light fixtures, an especially funky smell coming from the garbage disposal, and so on. I always sort of thought I was a neat freak, but I'm beginning to realize that's far from the truth.

While I was standing on a chair and marveling at the disgusting handfuls of dust I was getting off the fan (which is always on, so I have no idea how a perpetually moving object can collect so much dust!) just in case our caseworker demands to see it turned off so she can count the dust specks, I started to think about all the bits of hidden or unnoticed filth in my own heart. This whole concept of opening up our lives to a new child--one we actually have to choose to receive instead of just having it given to us like our biological children--is rather unsettling. It has been stirring up a number of emotions and realizations that I've got many dirty and unworthy areas that need to be cleaned out and spruced up. How can I possibly be good enough to be chosen to raise a precious little one who will need extra assurance of love and acceptance thanks to a painful backstory? How could any birth mother look at us and think we are the ones she wants to give her baby to?

It's easy to make things appear better than what they are, whether it's our home or our family profile or even ourselves, but I don't want to just pretend my way through this. While I want to win the grand prize of a new baby, I don't want to cheat my way through or mislead the birthparents about who we really are just so they'll pick us. We aren't perfect. We aren't mind-bogglingly wealthy or talented. We spend too much time in front of the TV and not enough time getting gnawed on by mosquitoes in the backyard. I'm far from being one of those supermoms who always have a fun and messy craft project to do with their kids. I sometimes get annoyed when I have to stop what I'm doing to hunt for another lost toy or to referee another silly argument, and I get grumpy when they wake me up too early. I'd rather read Jane Austen than that horribly boring book they chose at the library and now want me to read six hundred times (a giant Vidalia onion in overalls, really?!). I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes and sighing when they repeat the same ninja turtles story over and over. I'm pretty darn selfish, and I don't deserve the kids we already have, let alone one that currently belongs to someone else.

I admit that I didn't include any of that in our family profile. Instead, while I'm scrubbing the baseboards and wiping down the counters, I'm asking that God will keep pointing out dirty spots in my heart that I need to let Him clean. That He will make me into exactly the mother all of our children need me to be. And I pray that next time one of my little ones ask me to read a poorly-written book to them or knock on my door at 3am to ask for a drink of water, that my first response would be gratitude for the incredible privilege I have to take care of our children. And a lot of grace, coffee, and wine to get me through the hard days. *wink*