A wise adoptive momma friend told me a couple years ago that the pain of infertility didn't end for her until her 2 little Ethiopian princesses came home. I didn't believer her, but it was TOTALLY true!

Even since our kids have come home, I've still experienced motherhood grief. The most recent sting was like a punch to the gut. A dear friend had her baby girl 7 weeks ago. The "Diaz 4" were among the first at the hospital to welcome sweet baby Harper into the world.

Several weeks later I saw Liz and Harper at our staff meeting. The scene was classic newborn: Harper got cranky. Liz instinctively scooped up her infant and snuggled her into her chest where her itty-bitty baby cuddled for the next 30 minutes.

As I watched this beautiful scene out of the corner of my eye, my heart and eyes unexpectedly welled. I instantly felt this intense loss of not being able to do that for Judah and Addise. I wondered if their biological mothers had nurtured them like that. I longed to have known them from those teensy-tiny days where they weighed less than 10 pounds. I felt the pang of not being able to bond with them from those first days of life. The first picture I have of Judah is 1 month after his 2nd birthday. I simply wished that I have been a part of their story from Day 1.

This is one of the odd things of adoption. Judah and Addise are 100% my children, and yet there is so much a part of their story that I do not know. It feels like I've birthed them, but there's a gap in knowing them. Adoption is the encapsulation of everything as it should be [redemption, love, reconciliation, healing] and everything as it wasn't meant to be [loss, poverty, death].

So while there is already tremendous healing through becoming J&A's momma, it's not yet complete. Such is the Kingdom on Earth...