Packing and Praying

So today, my name came up. On the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, on the continent of Africa, in an embassy in a capital city, my name - my papers - my life - our life - was placed on the desk of an official.

It's called a document drop-off, and it's an important appointment. And our papers were accepted, they were in order. Huge sigh of relief...

And still the journey continues, the path to our son. On Monday, he goes to the embassy for his visa interview. Then we wait for his visa from the U.S. government, and then we wait for his exit letter from the Congolese government. Then, we wait for him to fly home.

We packed his backpack the other night. It was like filling a shoebox for Operation Christmas Child - and yet so, so different. We bought the bag, then packed it with shoes, socks, underwear, gym pants, hooded sweatshirt (I know, odd - and yet the plane could be cool for a boy not used to air conditioning), two shorts-and-shirt sets, toothbrush, toothpaste, coloring books and stickers, crayons, play-doh, matchbox cars, an envelope with our pictures, and some colorful little cards with Scripture verses on them. He can't read them, but they were reminders to me of how God goes with him and before him.

There was a thank you card and picture for the woman who has cared for him since mid-June, the woman who took him in, found a spot for him, and helped him to smile. How exactly do you say thank you for that?

And we included a bag of lollipops, for him to share with the children he will leave behind. Some of them are leaving soon, too, and a few are leaving at the same time. But so many others are staying...

The next time we see this backpack, he will be wearing it as he walks through an airport gate.



I knelt today beside his newly made bed, and prayed for him. I prayed as I have throughout these past twelve months of waiting for him:

"Prepare him for us, and us for him."

Amen.