Friday, October 26, 2007

Sounds of Waiting

This was written by a friend of mine. I liked it so much I asked her if I could post it here. Christina, if you're reading - you're a woman of great strength. Sending prayers as you wait.

Sounds of Waiting
Christina Mohs

The woman smiles at the uneven banjo twangs of the green frogs in the small pond off the patio. She shifts her legs to prop them up on the bottom rung of the outdoor patio table. The balmy evening breeze slowly rotates the open umbrella above and it click-click-clicks as it picks up speed. In the darkened outskirts of the lawn, the chain link fence rattles as a spooked rabbit dives under the safety of the neighbors' shed.

Through the open kitchen window, she can hear her husband on the phone. He draws out his Os, the Minnesota accent; he must be speaking to someone in his family. She hears only bits and pieces as he paces the length of the phone cord and back. "No word... could take a few more months... hard to wait."

A sudden siren ascends in volume several streets over. From inside the house, the dog scrambles to his feet, nails scratching the hardwood, to take up his throaty howl at the passing ambulance.

The breeze picks up again, rustling the dwarf cattail grasses around the pond. The woman glances at the empty swing as it creaks back and forth, back and forth.


Twelve hours away, it is a new day. A child wakes up slowly, drifting toward consciousness in the grey light as a truck outside shifts its gears and honks its horn in the thick, still air. The windows are open, and already an unbroken line of children's clothing dries over the sixth floor balcony ledge around the courtyard.

The baby reaches for the metal rungs of the crib to pull herself to her knees. The bamboo mat on which she sleeps slips and scratches against the plywood bottom of the crib. From this new position, her dark brown eyes scan the room with its peeling paint and dingy white walls. In a few hours, the babies will wander the playroom in misshapen and dented walkers, now and then jostling into each other like bumper cars, plastic wheels clattering on the floor. Some of the babies will sit still and sway from their walker seats to the tinny music from the small radio atop the counter.

But it is now still early and not all of the caretakers have arrived. A baby two rows over is crying. The sandals of one of the aunties smack on the tile floor of the hall as she approaches the room.

"Bee-eh ku, bao bao." Don't cry, baby. There are 47 babies in this room. One wail could wake them all. The auntie swiftly leaves the crib room with the fussy one. Her footfalls echo, slap-slap, slap-slap, down the hall to the feeding room.

The child lies down again. Her head has become flattened in the back from the hard surface of the crib bottom. Above her, a moth performs aerobatics in wide sweeping circles. She points a small finger at it before it flies away. The baby bends her knees, pushes her bottom off the mat, kicks both her legs straight, and allows her backside to thump back down again. She does this often. Thud. Thud. It will soothe her while she waits. Thud.


A dark-haired woman, briefcase in hand, arrives at the China Center of Adoptions government building in Beijing. Her low heels click quickly on the polished tile. In her cubicle, she flips a switch and the processing unit of her computer whirs to life.

With a sigh, she heaves the stack of color-coded files from the cart onto her desk and opens the orange one from the top. She fingers the passport photos of a blond man and woman. In their application letter, translated several months ago, they make their promises, as all adoptive parents are required to do. They say they hope to take their future daughter to museums, to the zoo. They like science, nature, spending time outdoors.

From her computer screen, several sets of dark brown eyes peer back at her. She takes her job of matching these children to their new parents very seriously. She reads the descriptions of the babies, looking perhaps for a sign, for inspiration. With the eraser of her pencil, she tap, tap, taps the orange folder.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

Libby Free Day!!!

Not a day free of Libby, but the day that Libby is free of risk from the heartworm treatments. I think we'll celebrate this weekend by taking her to the dog park.
Not much to report on the adoption front. We are waiting to hear when our agency receives its next list of waiting children. Then we'll wait to hear if they match us with a child on that list. They said that since we are open to a boy, it could happen (there are many more requests for girls than boys). I'm trying not to get my hopes up so I'm not disappointed.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Blessed to be a blessing

GraceFlock has been blessed to be a blessing (stole that from Lans - I love that phrase). We leave tomorrow for Tennessee. Lans and Gary will be leading a workshop on developing a contemporary worship service in a Lutheran church. The band will be in concert Friday night and leading a worship service on Saturday. Pray for us on the road.
BTW, if you want to hear some of GraceFlock's music, you can listen and download from iTunes. 10% of CD proceeds will go to Hurricane Katrina relief efforts in Biloxi, MS and to the Lutheran Disaster Response. The balance of proceeds will go to congregational outreach for Christ Our Shepherd Lutheran Church.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

14 Months Since LID

Today marks 14 months since we were logged in. And it's hockey season. One of those things makes me happy. Can you guess which?

Friday, October 05, 2007

What does this stork look like?

Referrals are here. The stork has flown, but it's difficult to see the stork clearly. The CCAA in China sent referrals out moments before closing the office for a week's holiday. Without posting the cutoff date. It appears that referrals cover November 30 or December 1, 2005. Congratulations to all the parents who received that precious call this week.

That leaves only 252 log-in days until they get to us. We are more and more confident that we will be matched with a waiting child long before China would get to us.

Monday, October 01, 2007

Monday Meditations

Matthew 10:29 -31 What's the price of a pet canary? Some loose change, right? And God cares what happens to it even more than you do. He pays even greater attention to you, down to the last detail—even numbering the hairs on your head! So don't be intimidated by all this bully talk. You're worth more than a million canaries. ~The Message

"My God is so big, so strong and so mighty, there's nothing my God cannot do!" Remember that song? Usually we use that song to illustrate the awesome power of God. He can move mountains and fell huge armies. But so often I forget that he can also solve the mundane problems in my life. And he cares about the smallest details of my life - even the number of hairs on my head. On Saturday we asked God to help with housebreaking of Libby. We had suffered a setback since she began heartworm treatment. By Sunday we had already seen improvement.

  1. Friends, Irene and Brian, who were recently deployed. Pray for all service men and women stationed around the world.
  2. Families hoping to be included in this next batch of referrals.
  3. First Fridays, version 2.0, beginning this Friday at North Metro Church.


  1. Libby seems to be doing well with her heartworm treatment. She is also making progress on housebreaking.
  2. The wonderful friends we have met along this journey. We love you all!