Weekends are the hardest

Weekends are the hardest and last weekend was probably the hardest yet. My birthday was Saturday and I believed for some time that if my sons weren’t home yet, I would at least be with them Ethiopia. As time neared and I realized that that too wasn’t possible, I had hoped that I would know my Embassy date. Many people even told me how poetic and wonderful it would be to have that given to me as a birthday gift. It didn’t happen. I tried to make the most of my birthday but honestly the only thing I want is to be with my kids. No present or delicious dinner or special outing could change that. I was reading the second book in the Hunger Games this weekend. In it there is a shield around the arena that throws back everything that hits it. This is how I’ve felt recently about my prayers. I’ve been praying for so long to bring my sons home and I still feel like it is so far away. I know I’m not alone in these prayers. In the midst of this I have found myself battling moments of doubt. That doesn’t stop me from praying. Yesterday at church Brian discussed moments of crying out to God being stretched out face down on the ground. After a very long day, I found myself face down on my bedroom floor last night begging God to bring my sons home.

I did receive a new picture of Mulatu on Friday. Apparently a family that was at the transition house had taken it. He looked so cute in one of the shirts I had taken for him back in May. It brought to mind a song that Aaron Ivey sung about his son while waiting to bring him home from Haiti.

“Another photograph to wrestle in my head…these thoughts of you like bullets to my soul, We’ve got to find a way to get you home….Lightyears away I hope you know there is somebody searching for the way to get you here"

I'm trying to hang in there and remember that I'm not traveling this journey alone. It is a new month and with that comes new hope.