Author in waiting

God has three answers to our prayers: 

       1.Yes

       2. Not yet

       3. I have something better in mind.

~ ~ ~ ~

There is a light at the end of the tunnel.

A dream is about to come true.

And I can hardly believe it.

I am about to become a published author.

In the matter of just a few weeks, "Adopting in America: The Diary of a Mom in Waiting" will be available for purchase on Amazon.com and CreateSpace.com. Maybe even in a bookstore near you.

It is the unbelievable yet absolutely true story of how my husband, Marty, and I adopted our now-10-year-old daughter. On our own. Only our closest family and friends know all that we went through to find her and to bring her home, how many promises were broken, how many hopes proved false, how deep was our despair at times.

But we persevered. We found our miracle. And we simply can't imagine our life without her. I'm not even ashamed to admit that I still cry at my own ending.

And, much like our adoption story, this publication story has been an incredible journey in itself.

Some authors might say that seeing their book delivered in print is akin to giving birth to a child. I can say it's much like how we adopted one. It has been a journey filled with trials and tribulations, promises made and broken, and long empty silences.

Almost three years ago, as I was about to become the mother of an 8-year-old, I decided to post on this very blog a snippet of a computer journal I had kept during the many, many months Marty and I waited and hoped and tried to become parents together. I needed a place to vent.

Soon after sharing a little of my angst, my dear cousin, Dr. Bob Lochte, a college professor over in Murray, Kentucky, sent me a message. "This is good," he said. "You should expand on this."

And a seed was planted. With his help and guidance, I started to work on it. Fill in the gaps, take out the mundane. Fix some of the typos.

I asked a few people to read it. Dr. Cousin Bob read it. Dr. Cousin Bob asked a few people to read it.

And, apparently, it was good.

I even had a friend who was trying to launch a big new TV and movie production studio. He read it and asked if I minded if he pitched it to Lifetime as a movie. I did not mind, I replied.

The first team of Lifetime people liked it! The second team passed. But boy that was a fun ride.

The rest of this ride, not so much. I tried the traditional path to publication.  That didn't work. We couldn't find a buyer. No one was interested in an adoption story, they said.

So, I found another way.

And just as in our adoption story, it took one woman with a vision to see it through. And a really cool designer.

I got tears in my eyes Friday afternoon when I saw the almost-final cover design. I got tears when I posted the final one on my Facebook page and watched the flood of congratulations pour in from friends and family.

But, just as I did in the days leading up to my daughter's birth, I am waiting, waiting to see the dream become a reality. Waiting for that book -- with my name on it -- on the outside.

Yes, I hope that you will buy it. I also hope that you will share it with anyone you know who is struggling with infertility, who is hoping to adopt and fearing that it will never happen for them. I know what that feels like. I know how much it hurts. I know what it's like when no one else in the entire world get it.

I get it.

And I'm here to say it can happen. Miracles do happen.

Just look at mine.

Linking up with my lovelies at LoveLinks!

It's every mother's day

Photo by Thom Scott

I hope I get to sleep late.

And if I do get breakfast in bed, I hope it's blueberry muffins. They're my favorite.

I'm sure my husband will find me the perfect card. Maybe the perfect gift. I know I will get a lovingly made construction paper card with beautiful artwork from my daughter.

And I'm sure I will have a wonderful day lounging around my pool with no housework or chores to do, and my husband will come home from his visit with his own mom to cook me a scrumptious steak for dinner.

I'm sure it will be a happy day to remember.

But I also remember the other ones.

I remember the ones filled with sorrow and tears. And heartache. There were too many ever to forget.

I remember the many Mother's Day mornings I wanted to just stay in bed with the covers over my head.

I remember going to church on many bright and sunny Mother's Day mornings. And I remember sitting there in the pew, surrounded by all the lovely mothers in their lovely dresses, holding their lovely children and their carnations.



And I remember sitting there as the priest would ask them all to stand up and be recognized. And all the mothers. All the grandmothers. Occasionally all the stepmothers -- and I did get to stand and be acknowledged for that.

But never all the wanna-be mothers.

That was me, the woman with the empty arms and the broken womb and the broken heart. Nobody ever remembers us on Mother's Day.  Those of us who are trying. Those who have lost. Those of  who are waiting and holding their breath. Some for the call, some for the day, some for the ink to dry on their paperwork.

I used to wish there was a ribbon campaign for us. Yellow for soldiers, pink for breast cancer. Maybe lavender for those of us who are waiting?  It's not like we can tell everyone we meet, "I'm trying."

Although, sometimes we wish we could.

I remember.

And I never will forget that first sunny Mother's Day morning I did walk into church with my baby in my arms. The first time I was handed a carnation -- from my own stepson, no less -- and didn't feel like I was stealing it.

And the first time I stood up as a member of the club.

I remember.

But I also remember the ones who are waiting.