I still weep...

It's time for me to be real about the pain of a failed adoption.  I still weep.  The definition of weep is: to express grief, sorrow, or any overpowering emotion by shedding tears.  Just when I think I'm starting to move on I find myself weeping again.  It's not as often as at first but it still occurs.  Sometimes it surprises me...like when I drove into Walmart the other day and teared up at some thought of the boys.  Sometimes it doesn't surprise me...like writing this post...

For those of you that don't know Todd and I brought these two precious babies, Chayton and Kazden, into our home on January 5.  Chayton was almost two and Kazden was about 5.5. months.  This was our drive home with them.

I think Chayton was in a bit of shock  to see all of his toys loaded up and then to be put in his car seat and taken away from the family that provided great love and care prior to the boys coming to our house.  He thankfully didn't scream and cry, but chose sleep instead.  We saw another side of Chayton on a trip a couple weeks after this and he screamed and cried for 2.5 hours...poor baby!

Much happened in the 14 weeks that they were with us.  Maybe I'll post more on that later...it's hard to say.

14 weeks ago today they left our home.  Chayton went to live with his mom and Kazden went to live at his grandma's house.

Here's a picture of them shortly before leaving our house.  You can see how much they changed in 14 weeks!

This is why I still weep.  These two precious boys were my sons.  In fact, I still think of them and refer to them as my boys.  They grew and changed so much while they were with us.  My heart breaks for our loss and for theirs as well and for so many other reasons.  They will have a tough life ahead of them.  They may not learn about Jesus and his love for them.  And while my heart breaks I pray.  I pray for their salvation.  I pray for their safety.  I pray that they will be able to attach and bond to someone.  I pray that they will come to know Jesus as their Savior.  I pray.  I pray.  I pray.  I don't quit praying for them because I love them infinitely.  I want them back more than words can express.  My life isn't the same without them.  

The pain of a failed adoption is a greater pain than I would have ever imagined possible.  It's a deep, deep loss.  It's like mourning a death.  It's a death of dreams, desires, plans, hopes etc.  It's also a death of a future for my boys.  They will have a tough life.  (I know I said it before but it bears repeating).  

I am not without hope.  My faithful God is seeing me through this.  He's with me every step of the way.  He collects my tears (Ps 56:8) and mourns when I mourn.  He sees the big picture even though I don't.  Most importantly, he watches over my boys and I believe, I have confidence, that this is true.  I don't know why God planned for this to happen.  Truly, who am I to question God?  His ways are not my ways and his thoughts are not my thoughts (Is 55:8-9).  But I know that He knows what I'm going through.  How could he not?  He gave up his own Son as well.