I no doubt looked ridiculous -- beating the door facing with an empty juice bottle on it's way to the recycling bin.
Yelling and screaming at no one in particular and taking all my anger and hurt and impatience out on a wall and a juice bottle.
I beat and yelled and beat some more and then I broke down laughing.
Laughing at the picture I must have made and how ridiculous I must look fighting a door facing with a plastic bottle.
Believe it or not, it was all induced by a rather wonderful email - a rather wonderful email saying my dossier would be submitted to the South African Central Authority in a matter of days. This, the last big hurdle, the last major stepping stone to Hannah* home forever.
Over the next several weeks, the Central Authority will decide whether to approve or deny me as a parent for Hannah. If, and Lord willing when, we gain approval, we'll get a court date and make plans to travel sometime towards the end of the summer.
This is all wonderful and exciting and prayer-filled news, and I should have been doing my little dance of joy - you know the one where I jump up and down, prancing in my heels - but instead I was beating a juice bottle against the door facing.
Because the estimated travel date was pushed back another month.
Another month of waiting.
Another month for my heart to break with longing and frustration and aching for my child home forever. Another month of her life I've missed. Another month for her to pray and long and patiently wait for her new family.
Ridiculous I know. What's one more month? But I felt one more month impact me like a freight train and obliterate all the joy of the good news encompassed in that email. I needed to beat something and scream and yell so I could get to the joy. So I could laugh and rejoice and thank God for the blessing.
And it helped - it really did.
It helped the laugh escape. It pushed it to the surface, releasing all the tension of the waiting. The last fifteen months of waiting.
I laughed at my ridiculousness and remembered friends and acquaintances who waited three, four, even five years. I remembered those trying and waiting to adopt from Haiti and Russia. I remembered how blessed I am in fifteen months.
Lord willing, in just a few short months, I will board a plane to Johannesburg and disembark to a future and a life prayed over and dreamed of and filled up with a precious girl - a girl I will call daughter from then into forever. The impossible made possible. The unbelievable made believable. The future made present.
It almost makes 15 months seem a breath and another month a blink - the rapid eye movement of passing time.
It almost seems possible, believable, present.
It almost...it almost is.
Since writing the above, we've received word that my dossier has indeed been submitted to the South African Central Authority. We've also been informed that there is a chance the process could move faster, erasing part or all of that extra month.
Pity the poor juice bottle sacrificed to my hasty angst.
*Hannah is a pseudonym. In order to protect her identity until she is fully and legally mine, I use "Hannah" in all online activity regarding my someday daughter and her adoption.