That fine line...

I've often heard it said that there's a fine line between concern and worry. I think when it comes to the deployment of a loved one, that line is perforated.

It's normal when you're apart from your spouse for extended periods to think about them and what they're doing when you wake up in the morning, and when you're head hits the pillow at night...and about a million other times during the day. It's normal when you know they're in a dangerous part of the world, to scan the headlines first thing in the morning to see if anything happened in that part of the world.

As we prepare for my husband's deployment, it's prudent for me to consider what I should do if he doesn't come back. We have two kids, and I need to plan for our future. We've been married nearly 13 years; I met my hubby when I was 16. We were engaged when I was 17, and married when I was barely 18. We've grown up together. We've influenced one another incredibly. When I think about the possibility of him not coming home, all of these thoughts go through my head. My chest starts to hurt, and I feel like I can't breathe. Without even noticing, I've crossed over into the realm of worry from the perfectly sane place of concern.

If I cannot keep myself in the land of normal concern, what am I going to do with two kiddos who already worry incessantly that their father or I will die? These two already spend a great deal of their time in fearful worry.

Sigh. I suppose if life were too easy, I'd be bored with it.

...sometimes boring sounds nice though!

Here's a great article dealing with some of the ethical issues surrounding adoption today.

I especially loved this part:

If there’s one thing I could point to in myself and my adoption hopes that seems flawed and likely to contribute to corruption within the system, it’s this: Like most people, even evangelicals, I’d love to adopt a newborn. A healthy newborn. But the fact is, children fitting that description are a small percentage of the millions of orphans worldwide. Adopting an older child, and/or one with disabilities, seems different from adopting a “perfect” newborn. But you know what? If you read adoption literature widely and deeply, you’ll see that there is no single path to a “perfect” adoptive family. (And is there one path to any kind of “perfection” in any kind of family?) Even the healthy newborn adopted on day two can end up having serious attachment problems. The older child with a disability can become the joy of a couple’s life.

Yes, adoption is expensive (easily close to $30,000, depending on the route one takes), ethically confusing, frustrating, and occasionally heartbreaking. Our adoption by God through Christ wasn’t cheap, either, and we who would adopt shouldn’t give up because it’s hard. Rather, we should wisely discern what’s truly best for all involved—even if it means opening ourselves to the potential for greater hurt.

Because who knows? It may yet be the avenue for greater joy.