A Love Letter

Dear Sweet Daughter,

I’ve decided that every year on Valentine’s Day (until you get here), I am going to write you a letter about our journey to get to you and how much we love you.

Right now it seems like there are still so many obstacles separating us.  More paperwork for one.  The best news is that we’ve completed enough forms for a social worker to come to our house and judge whether Daddy and I are good enough parents to adopt you.  Since we’ve been parents to your brother for over 5 years now, it seems like a silly thing to have to do.  But once we get approval from that social worker, we will be even closer to sending all our papers to Ethiopia!  And plus since your Daddy is a social worker too, he will know the smartest and best things to say!  This is a test we will definitely pass.

The other thing separating us is time.  About 2 ½ to 3 years still.  This is what makes me the saddest.  It is hard to explain to other people how much we miss you.  Since we haven’t even met you yet, it is strange that we miss you so badly.  But we do, sweetie!  Every time we see a baby girl, it hurts Daddy and I’s hearts so much.  Every time I see your empty room, it makes me feel empty inside too.  All of us love you so much already.  Elijah had his puzzle pin on his shirt the other day.  He pulled it really close to his mouth, gave it 2 kisses, and whispered, “I love you” to it.  Your big brother meant that message just for you.

The valentine Elijah made for you in school.

It helps us to think that your birth mother may become pregnant by the end of this year.  In 2013, your little heart could start beating!  And while I pray for you always, I pray for her as well.  For her health, protection, and support.  Because I’m sure it will be the hardest decision of her life to leave you in the care of the orphanage.  And I know that you will probably struggle with knowing that, for whatever reason, you were given to someone else to be raised.

Regarding this struggle, may I tell you about a dream I had?  It happened almost a year ago, right in the midst of Daddy and I trying to figure out how we were going to add to our family.  I dreamed about being in the middle of a plain, white room.  Daddy and I were sitting down and a man handed us our baby girl.  We looked into her (your) face and said, “Miracle.”  I don’t know if we were stating a fact or calling you by name, but that’s how I’ve come to think of you ever since.  Our Miracle, little Mira.

Because sweet one, every baby is a miracle.  No matter how you arrive in your forever family, it is a divine circumstance.  You are not a mistake.  You were never forgotten or unloved.  Mira (in Spanish) means “to see”.  I love that translation because we never want you to feel alone or unseen.  Once Daddy and I’s eyes were opened to your absence from our family, we’ve worked constantly to come to you.  We KNOW that you belong with us and Elijah.  We were amazed to recently discover that the name Mira means “Wonderful, Peace.”  What a confirmation.  You truly are our missing Peace.

We put a gift in your bedroom.  It is a small rocking chair from your great Grandma.  And while I hate that your room is so bare, that little chair helps me remember that it won’t always be an empty space.  Someday you will be here.  And then I won’t have to write you letters because I’ll just be able to whisper in your ear.  “I love you.”

 With all our hearts,
            Daddy, Mama, and Elijah

P.S. I wanted to share a picture of your puzzle’s progress.  It will be hanging in your room by the time you get home.  Each piece represents a member of our community, someone who cared enough to help you get home.

This was the puzzle at the end of December--300 pins sold and pieces in.....

...And here we are on Valentine's Day!  370 pieces spoken for, just 130 (of the original 500) left to go!