As I watched the activity of our church’s construction site for hours the other day, lulled by the gentle hum of the bulldozer and soothed by the rhythmic rumble of the upturned concrete, I noticed the metaphor for this season of our life.
You’ve probably experienced the phenomenon of watching the construction of a new restaurant. As you drive by on your way to work or glance over on your way home from church, you ooh and ahh over each bit of progress that is made.
“Oooh, they’re clearing the land! I wonder what will be built here.”
“Wow! It’s huge! This could be it, the biggest Taco Bell we’ve ever seen!”
“Sad. Unless Taco Bell changed their color scheme, this is going to be something else.”
“This place looks finished! Why isn’t it open?!”
The last phase resonates with me in a major way. You know the phase to which I’m referring, the inevitable phase when a building looks complete from the outside, but nothing seems to be happening. Surely, they should be hoisting a neon sign into the air any day now, someone in a costume should be spinning a giant arrow to entice us to eat there, and a line should be wrapping around the building to taste the new cuisine. Surely.
Or so it seems.
In reality, there is still much to be finished on the inside, unseen to passersby. There is painting and decorating, stocking and tasting, hiring and training. Many important things need to take place before the restaurant is ready to open its doors to customers.
That’s our current stage in the adoption process. We feel like everything is finished and ready to go (well, aside from, you know, $15,000 or so …). We’re approved and waiting, and it feels like we’ve been approved and waiting forever. It feels like forever, and it feels like nothing is happening.
We have to remind ourselves that isn’t true. God is at work in ways we can’t see right now. He’s orchestrating all of the details to place our baby(ies) in our arms. He’s working in the life of our birth parents. There is a definite possibility our future children haven’t even been conceived yet. (We don’t like to think about that!)
He’s also working in our hearts. He’s teaching us to lean into Him as we wait. He’s using the struggle to refine us and make us more like Jesus. While I can’t wait for the gift of becoming a mother, I have to remind myself that waiting is also a very good gift. Waiting to become a mother will change me in a way that becoming a mother instantly wouldn’t have.
While I can’t wait to be a mother, CAN’T WAIT to hold a squishy baby in my arms and sniff that sweet baby’s hair and feel that baby’s cheek next to mine, I also really want to know Jesus better. I want to know His comfort and peace in a way like I haven’t before. I want to desire Him above all things, even being a mommy.
Those things are happening as I wait, as I stare upon the seemingly finished construction and cry out for God to swing open the doors. Today, I’m thankful the doors are closed and the Master Builder is still working.