A baby...maybe

Deep in the woods of my South Carolina home was a murky pond. As a boy, I spent many dawns and dusks crouching on the bank watching for my bob to suddenly run and submerge.

You learn a lot about patience from fishing. You can't see what's going on below the surface, you wonder if maybe the worm came off during the cast leaving just a string and a hook--not very enticing to the fish. Sometimes something would play with the bob; bump it, move it around, but never commit to the hook. This could go on for a while; sometimes it was a turtle, other times it was a fish too small to swallow the hook. But occasionally, after waiting and watching the dancing bob for what seemed like hours, a nice size fish would snatch it and run.

For six weeks we've been waiting and watching as the birthmom I mentioned earlier, considers us. The baby is now 6 weeks old, the birthmother has terminated her rights to the child, and the child waits in foster care for the agency and the birthmom to pick an adoptive family. For weeks we've been told that we're "very strong contenders but it will be a day or two before she decides", only to wait a day or two and find that no decision has been made.

Nothing more to do but trust God's timing and ask him to incline the birthmother to choose us. Meanwhile we'll patiently crouch by the phone, hoping that one of the calls will be the one we've been waiting for.