I wrote this letter on April 24th, the night before we found out “more information” on our kiddos.
I don’t yet know your name or your background or your quirks. I don’t know if you run funny or if you sing well or if you’ll like to dip your pizza into ranch dressing. I don’t know what makes you laugh or what makes you scared or what your favorite color is. I don’t know if you like animals or if you sleep on your side or if you get up early or stay up late. I don’t know how many teeth you have or what your best friend’s name is or if you’re right or left handed. I don’t know if you can kick a ball well or what time of day you were born or what words you sweetly mispronounce.
Most parents would know these things about their 5 and 8 year old children.
But we’re not most families.
We’re a special family, and we’re going to have special challenges. Daddy and I have never had any kids before, and we’re going to learn as we go along. We’re scared. But mostly we are excited.
You’ve never left Ethiopia, and you’re going to have a lot to learn. You’re going to learn English and how to work an iPod and what American football is. You’re going to start celebrating your birthday and have the chance to go to college and experience snow on Christmas. You’re going to learn that Mizzou Tigers are superior to silly jayhawks and you’re going to sleep in the pop-up camper and you’ll probably dance to the Black Eyed Peas.
But it is not going to be easy. For every good thing in store for you, there are a lot of bad things that we’re going to help you work through. You’re going to miss your friends at the orphanage . You’re going to wonder what happened to your biological mother. You’re going to test us and lash out at us because you are not used to having stable, trustworthy adults in your lives. You’re going to leave a beautiful and familiar country to come to a strange place halfway around the world with people you don’t really know at all.
Right now, April 24th 2011, you don’t know that we’re thinking about you. You don’t know that we even exist. You don’t know that all of our friends and family are giving us items to sell so that we can come get you. You don’t know that we’ve been brainstorming about how we can make our little townhouse work for a family of four. You don’t know that we’re researching your future school, doctors, and even therapists, just in case. But we are.
It’s not fair that we had to come together this way. It’s not fair that we couldn’t hear your first words or see your first steps or change your stinky diapers. But life is not fair. God works in mysterious ways. Our lives will be judged by how we handled the unexpected parts of our life journey.
Daddy and I have only seen one picture and read one paragraph about each of you. That’s all we know right now. We’re going to find out more next week, and we are so excited to learn more and start the process of bringing you home. We’ll never know many things about your early years. But we do know that we already love you.
Mommy and Daddy