This day is not what I expected it to be, but I suppose few are. A few short months ago, I thought I would have met you by now, would have been able to tell you our story, hug you, hold you. Instead, here we are, separated by what sometimes seems like an eternal abyss. The government of your country has taken a hard stand and will most likely not change anything for quite some time. You will remain in your institution for the foreseeable future, no idea that there is an entire family here just waiting to love you and take care of you. We pray for you to feel our love, to feel God's love every day. We hope that you have not lost hope to find your forever family. We are here. We are waiting. We are fighting. We love you more than you could imagine.
And so you are having another birthday in your orphan home. Once again, I wonder if anyone is celebrating with you, if you even know it's your birthday. I want you here to give you your presents, let you pick out your birthday dinner, choose your cake, and blow out your candles. I want you here to tell you how special you are. I want you here to tell you how much I love you, to tell you about your family, to make you a part of our family, your forever family. I just want you here.
But instead, I will wait. Like many others, we just wait. We sit on conference calls with the State Department that become increasingly pessimistic. We follow press conferences in a nation on the other side of the world. We listen for talk of amendments to this bill, and feel our hearts drop every time they are not passed. We wait for this cloud to pass and pray that it will pass. We wait and we pray.
So until I can finally see you again, I will wish you a happy 6th birthday from here. Where your room sits waiting and ready, where we all pray every day for you and those around you. I love you, kiddo. Even from afar.