The Thing With Feathers

Originally Posted: March 5, 2013

Emily Dickinson's poem, Hope is the Thing With Feathers has always been one of my favorites because it describes the steadfastness and warmth of hope. We got a big dose of that this past week. Wednesday, we got a call telling us that we need to fast-track our plans because there has been a little girl identified who could potentially be our Cora. We can't share many details about her online. This is part of the contract we signed with our agency. However, I will let you know that she is under 2yrs old right now! We know she is in a good orphanage and that she is a happy little girl. We are over-the-moon excited right now!

There is a catch....our agency can only hold her file for 6 weeks (5 now). We have to have our home study done, turned in, and accepted within this time frame. It's my understanding that this process usually takes quite a bit longer. This part of the process is going to take a ton of prayer. We are working very hard to meet this deadline and lock our little girl's file. We've come very far in just a few days, but we've still got a long way to go.

We do have some specific needs right now that we are asking everyone in our circle to pray for (if you're reading this, you are part of that circle). We are listing specific numbers so that prayers can be bold and specific. We have almost everything we need to pay for the home study. We wrote the check and signed our agency contract. We only lack $2,720 to complete this step of the process. There will be more funds that we need to cover later in this process but we are taking this one step at a time. Our other prayer needs include home repairs, toddler furniture, and the persistence to wade through all of this paperwork.

Please continue to pray with us on this journey. We would also love to encourage everyone to check out our fundraisers. Every little bit helps.

We will keep you updated on the process as we go. More to come tomorrow!

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune--without the words,

And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,

And on the strangest sea;

Yet, never, in extremity,

It asked a crumb of me.

~Emily Dickinson~