It was so different, and yet had interesting similarities, to having a biological child. You dream of seeing their face. You wonder what they will look like. And then they "arrive."
There she was right in my hands. Preciousness. I stared at the picture, tracing my finger over every inch of her face, her hair, her plump, sweet arms, her adorable fingers, her pierced ears. I kissed her lips and nuzzled my cheek against hers. I cried and smiled and treasured and held that first picture. I carried her with me wherever I went, even if she was just a piece of Kodak paper with imprinted ink from my HP Officejet.
I ached to make her smile. I ached to hold her. I wanted to jump on a jet plane and race to her. I had no idea how long it would be until I could actually do so. And I naively thought it would happen oh-so-much sooner than it really did.
She was 7 months old in this first picture.
And Jesus sweetly reminded my longing, hurting, aching, I NEED MY BABY heart that He Himself was there with her. He would watch over and protect and care for her until she was in our care. I even asked Him to whisper English in her ear and make her giggle.
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