Monday, May 10, 2010

The hardest job you'll ever love

A year ago, we had been approved by the Rwandan ministry and we just waiting for the phone call for our referrals. During that time, I knew by than that my children were alive and waiting. I would sit in our rocking chair, praying and crying that they weren't in my arms. I prayed every day that there was someone to kiss their ouchies, rock them every day and tell them about God's love for them. I physically ached that they weren't with me.
This year, Etienne and Ezekiel's birth moms are on my heart. I wonder if they are saying the same prayer for their little boys that I said last year. I wish that I could hug each of these women and promise them that I would give my life for E and Z, just as I would my biological children. I wish that I could hear what it was like the night my little boys were born, did they come out with their eyes wide open, or was Etienne slow to awaken like he is now? I will never be able to tell them this, but they will always be in my heart. Since having Etienne and Ezekiel, my ideas of their birth families have evolved. I treasure who they are and the amazing love it took to place their boys in the arms of a stranger. What faith it took to know that God was ultimately holding their children when they no longer could.


  1. Your comments reflect an amazing God who is working through a loving, surrendered mom. May His blessing continue to rest on your family, Kara, and reach the hearts of those birth moms as only He can.

  2. Your posts have always made me emotional in some way or another. I can always see your face in my mind as you type and I know when your voice is about to crack. I love you so much. Thanks for being my baby-mama. There's no one better suited for that job.

  3. this post really hit home with me. we are in the process of adopting a little girl from rwanda and i can't explain to anyone the hurt i feel for her. the physical pain i feel because she's not in my arms and i can't hold her or comfort her. thank you for making me feel like i'm not alone.