Kids. Waiting. Waiting Kids.

There is this sad and yet really beautiful thing called

The Waiting Children Page.

You can probably find many of them online if you look hard enough and know the right passwords. 

For months I was looking. Not obsessively. Sheesh. Like I'm one of those nut jobs. <Tongue in cheek.> 

There was this one site that would send me all the waiting children that matched our profile. All these little African chubby-cheekers would pop into my inbox. "This is not a referral." But I would follow the link to gaze at the newest waiting child. Bummer. All the kids were with other agencies and so they were out of my reach.

So I finally unsubscribed because it was too dang hard. And pointless.

And then last week we got a phone call from our agency. Not the good kind of call but the bad news kind.

"We have nothing on the horizon for you. Would you be interested in our Ethiopian program? There are many kids with the special need that you are interested in."

Ethiopia? Hmm. Let's see...

No.

Uganda has cemented itself in our hearts.

After my big ole rant/rave/bawl/doubt fest, my Sweet calmly said "hey, what about those waiting kids that you love to look at."

Away to the computer they flew like a flash.
Tore open the laptop and threw up the page.
And what to their wondering eyes should appear but 1/2 a dozen kids just waiting for their mommies and daddies to come get them and bring them home and love on them. Just waiting! And they don't care if their mommies can't write poetry.

So the calm above-mentioned Sweet called those agencies and got info on those kids and info on their agencies.

And ever since we have been praying our hearts out, waiting for God to let us know which chubby-cheeker(s) is ours.

Maybe it's nothing. Maybe none of those kids will become ours. But maybe they will. It's worth asking God about. So we be asking.