Lord Jesus, we are living an Advent without a calendar.
In the Advent before Christmas, we know what we are waiting for. We know that Christmas morning will come. We light one candle, then another, and another. We can count the days. A mother carrying her child can count weeks and watch her body change. She has a due date toward which she can look.
But the waiting of adoption is different.
There is no due date.
There is no growing belly to tell us that today we are one day closer. There is no calendar we can mark that promises, “By this day, your child will be here.” We prepare a place for someone we cannot see. We love someone whose name we do not know. We wait for a telephone call we cannot schedule.
This is our arid Advent of adoption.
Lord, You know how long this Advent can become. At first there is excitement. The paperwork is completed. The home is prepared. The profile is made. The prayers begin. Every telephone call carries possibility. Every new day might be the day.
Then weeks become months. Months can become years.
The nursery waits. The crib waits. Tiny things purchased in hope wait in drawers. Grandparents wait. Aunts and uncles wait. Friends pray and wait. And most of all, two hearts already prepared to become mother and father wait for someone they already love without knowing who that someone is.
Jesus, enter this waiting.
When hope begins to feel dry, be our Living Water. When prayer becomes difficult because we have prayed the same prayer a thousand times, receive even our silence as prayer. When we cannot bear to ask again, hear what our hearts are still asking.
Somewhere there may be a woman whose story will become intertwined with ours. We do not know her name. We do not know her circumstances. We do not know whether she is already pregnant, whether she is frightened, whether she is surrounded by love or feels terribly alone.
But You know her.
Lord, she is not merely the person who might make our dream come true. She is Your beloved daughter. Protect her. Provide for her. Surround her with people who respect her dignity, her motherhood, and her freedom. Give her every support she needs to parent her child if that is what she chooses. If she freely discerns that adoption is best for her child, surround her with honest counsel and extraordinary tenderness. Never allow our longing for a child to make us forget the profound sacrifice and grief that may accompany another mother’s decision.
Bless the child’s father as well. Give him wisdom, courage, responsibility, and peace. Guide every decision according to truth and the good of the child.
And Lord, protect the little one at the center of all this waiting.
Perhaps that child has not yet been conceived. Perhaps a tiny heart is already beating tonight. Perhaps the child for whom we pray is already somewhere in this world.
We do not know.
But You do.
You see the face we have never seen. You know the name we have never heard. You know every tiny finger we hope someday to hold. You already know the personality, gifts, struggles, vocation, and entire story of this person whom we can presently love only through prayer.
Go where we cannot go, Jesus.
If our child is beneath another mother’s heart tonight, be there.
If our child has not yet been conceived, guard the circumstances through which that life will begin.
If our child is already born, place Your angels around that little one.
And if the child we have imagined is not the child You intend for us, loosen our grip upon our expectations so that we will be ready to recognize the real person You place before us.
Mary, you know Advent. You know what it means to carry a promise while much of the world cannot see what God is doing. Sit beside every woman and man enduring this long adoption Advent.
St. Joseph, you know something especially precious about this mystery. The Child entrusted to you did not share your flesh, yet God called you to be His father on earth. You did not love Jesus less because His path into your fatherhood was different. You received Him as gift, protected Him at great personal cost, worked for Him, taught Him, carried Him, and made a home for Him. Teach waiting adoptive fathers to love with that same generous and courageous heart.
Holy Family, enter the home that waits. Bless the room that waits. Bless the crib that waits. Bless the arms that wait.
When the telephone rings and our hearts jump, stay with us.
When it isn’t the call, stay with us.
When another family is matched while we remain waiting, stay with us.
When someone innocently asks, “Haven’t you heard anything yet?” stay with us.
When we begin wondering whether anyone will ever choose us, stay with us.
When hope becomes frightening because disappointment has happened too many times, stay with us.
And if one day the telephone finally rings and everything changes, be there too.
Lord, we ask boldly for that day.
We ask for the call.
We ask for the match.
We ask for the child.
We ask for the beautiful moment when this Advent finally gives way to arrival.
But until then, do not allow these years to become empty years. Let this long gestation of the heart enlarge our capacity to love. Make us more compassionate toward suffering, more attentive to vulnerable children, more tender toward birth families, more faithful to one another, and more dependent upon You.
We do not know how many candles this Advent will require.
We cannot circle Christmas morning on the calendar.
So tomorrow we will rise and wait again.
We will prepare again.
We will pray again.
We will love this unknown child again.
And perhaps, quietly, when morning comes, we will whisper once more:
Maybe today.
Not because You owe us the answer today, Lord, but because hope still lives here.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, remain with us throughout this arid Advent. And if it is God’s holy will, lead the child He has chosen for this family safely home.
Always remember Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
Holy Family! Help us to be a holy family and pray for us!
Amen.