The last few weeks have been a swirl of money. We keep watching the costs rising and feeling stressed about getting to the end.
But the last few days I have been inundated with images and stories from the other side… the cost of saying no.
I don’t think adoption is too expensive. In a world of disposable, replaceable commodities… where people drive $25,000 cars that they replace regularly and drink $5 coffee, you cannot convince me that the cost of bringing a child into your family is too steep. I do, however, know that it is expensive. I get it. We’ve lived it for years.
Once you see, though, you cannot un-see. And money stops mattering. What starts as a kind of selfish holding on to your savings becomes just checking to see if you have exactly enough to cover the next check, because a human life isn’t a commodity who’s worth can be haggled down and negotiated.
In an international adoption group I am in online, someone this morning posted a picture of their child’s grave. They did all of this work that we are now doing, and were set to fly out to their child’s country and their little guy couldn’t hold on anymore. Instead of flying to meet their baby, they flew to visit his grave.
This has seeped so deeply into my soul, and I feel so sad that I ever saw this as optional. We started the adoption journey starry-eyed and full of excitement. Four years is a long time and it reveals a lot. My heart is on a revolving loop of despair that we cannot bring them all home… every orphan in the world. And relief that we can bring one home.