Out of our hands...

The application is filled out, signed, dated, sealed up, return addressed, and in the mail box.

The postman, a nice middle aged gentle man who always waves and smiles at my children and wishes me a good day, should be by within the hour.

And he'll see the little red flag and even if he doesn't have anything for us today he'll stop.

And he'll take this little envelope, so light, so small, and he'll add it to all the others.

It will go to the post office.

It will be sent to Human Services.

It will be opened, filed, and entered into their system.

And hopefully, hopefully, we'll be called or emailed or even snail mailed and told that we can start classes in January.

*****

I've mailed off so much in our quest to build our family.

Applications for homestudies, referral services, placement services.

I've sent huge checks, photo albums, home studies, profiles, updates, huge thick packets and questionaires.

But there's nothing quite like that first mailing...

That first, real, physical item, that thing you can touch, take a picture of, hold in your hand.

Nothing like the first time you sign your name, knowing that if this works you'll be signing it dozens more times on all sorts of paperwork.

I know this journey might lead nowhere, like our quest to adopt from Ethiopia again, or the DRC, or domestic through a referral service. I know it might seem right now then not seem right in the future. I know this all too well.

But it's a step in *some* direction, perhaps the right one, and that does make it momentous doesn't it?

And so, in that vein, I think I should eat the last of the birthday cake. I mean, seriously, I just did a momentous thing right? Right? So I totally deserve to party with (a tiny sliver of two day old) cake, while I'm relaxing (and the kids aren't here to steal it from me)!

Huzzah for steps!

And Godspeed little envelope. I'm praying you make it where you're supposed to...