God Speaks Through Legos

More than one year after my husband and I officially started the adoption process, the nest was still feeling a little empty. Not that Little Hawk ( our son ) wasn't keeping us occupied or exceeding our expectations at every wonderful and sticky messy turn, it's just that we knew in our hearts there was still an empty chair at the sticky messy table. In frustration I told God that I just wasn't getting it. I consider myself to be fairly intelligent, but in this situation God was really going to have to dumb it down for me because I was playing ostrich in the sandbox. Immediatly, my prayer was answered. God took pity on me and my stupid-written-on-my-forehead attitude and had Little Hawk explain it to me in ways and words I could (mostly) understand. It was simple, Little Hawk wouldn't leave the legs on his lego people. All of the transformers in the house soon had missing appendages, all the sticker cartoon characters were placed lovingly on paper where they all fashionably sported absent limbs. Hot Wheels became more "Hot" and less "Wheels", Memory became a game of full on chance once more than half the pieces went AWAL, and more and more the stick figures started experiencing severe problems with depth perception - sure, they were 2 dimensional to start out with but the one eye didn't help either. The brown paper packages were still tied up with string but the kittens were all missing their whiskers, and yet they were still all some of our favorite things. Then it occured to me, like a lightbulb over my head popping like so many lego men legs....well except that it was popping on instead of off. As my son sweetly sauntered about with his precious deformed treasures clutched safely in his sweaty perfect hands, I asked myself, would it be different if he wasn't so perfect? What if the lego man had both his legs but the child was the one missing something? There would still be all the imagination, all the smiles, all the wonder, and regretably still all the endless hours of Dora the Explorer. That's when I knew, we would be okay with imperfect. Better than okay, why my perfect son, while sufficient in the sticky department, is really the odd man out! What with his non-muppet sized nose and feet that didn't need corrective shoes, things he should have inherited from both of his parents. An "imperfect" child would actually be perfect for us. It was our whole reason for adopting internationally to begin with, to bring a child into a land where he would have more opportunity, more chances. If we could have the chance to maximize that by adopting someone who isn't going to be everyone's first choice, but who could be helped here in the USA, suddenly the whole picture was in focus and I could see everything clearly. Everything but the face of baby blue eyes. That would come later.