Still Good

Hannah Hon

Jan 2

A minute or two after midnight last night, as Adam and I were awakened by the sounds of fireworks and guns going off, I told Adam, 'I feel nostalgic for 2023 already'.

Because it was true. In the moment, it was a true statement. I wasn't ready to move from one year to the next, from 2023 to 2024. And I suppose, in this moment of writing, I am still not ready to move on to a new year.

I realize that years are just numbers, that time is arbitrary and a calendar is a man-made invention. The seasons mark the passage of time, from one year to the next, the natural world marks the 'real' time, our calendar, like time, is simply arbitrary. There is no difference in this day versus yesterday. But the Western calendar has flipped from one year to the next and there's nothing I can do to change that.

Typically for me a new year brings a fresh perspective, a new hope, where anything is possible and life seems fresh and exciting. A whole new year, none of the days marked by worry, or stress or anxiety. I love the sense of newness and hope a new year brings and there is possibility and dreams and excitement of what's to come.

This year, I feel very little of that. I feel sad and sensitive inside and it's hard to stop the tears that spring to my eyes unbidden throughout the day.

I don't want to feel sad. I told my husband that over the breakfast table this morning. I don't want to feel sad. But I can't deny that right now, I am.

I'm not ready to move on from 2023 and I think there's several reasons for that. One reason is because a lot happened that was difficult. I lost my uncle last January and an aunt in August. Two of my mom's siblings, gone. My sister-in-law was in the hospital and very sick around this time last year.

I spent most of 2023 in the shadow of my sister-in-law's lung transplant -- the announcement that she was getting one, her asking me to be one of her caretakers, her getting on the list and the waiting, waiting, waiting until one night 'the lungs' arrived and then it was stress during the surgery and a lot of stress post-transplant as she recovered and I watched my nephew. Honest-to-goodness I don't think I've processed through it all. That could be one reason it's hard for me to move on.

Another reason is that we became approved to adopt a child last January and the whole year we have been waiting, waiting, waiting to be chosen by a birth mom to adopt her child. I spent most of 2023 waiting to adopt a baby and it didn't happen.

It. Didn't. Happen.

So we go into the new year -- 2023 -- ready, waiting, faith-filled, hoping to grow our family and it didn't happen.

'Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but when desire comes it is a tree of life'. This proverb floated through my head a couple of days ago as I was trying to fall asleep and gutted me; I started silently sobbing because my heart is so tender in this area. This is truly a 'hope deferred' situation that is starting to seem like a complete nightmare.

I know that we will adopt, that our family will grow, but we've been married for over seven years - not quite eight - and our family hasn't grown yet and hope deferred truly does make the heart sick. I feel the weight of the heart-sickness that comes with wanting to be a mom and not seeing that desire come to fruition (Yet. I have to keep saying 'yet').

My faith is weak in this area right now, oh so very, very weak.

I think one of the things that has helped me through this time of waiting to adopt is seeing other people, friends of mine, people in our church community, who also have desires that are a long time in coming. My single friends who want to be married, my married friends who want to have children, other friends who are trying to find the career that fits them, or friends who have children with special needs and are trying to figure out how best to help them and parent them. There is a lot of heart-ache in the world. There are a lot of questions. Seeing my peers wrestle through the hard, heart questions and waiting for their own breakthroughs has eased my personal pain. I am not alone.

Life is hard. Being childless has made me appreciate my husband more and I don't take him for granted. He is my family. We're in this together.

We also have our little guinea pig family and our two cute girl-piggies can be a balm to my soul. There are many days when I wind up sitting in from of their habitat, just watching them.

So, now it is, apparently the year 2024, whatever that really means. It means that Adam and I are still waiting to adopt, our piggies are still cute, Adam is still working as a travel agent and I still own my own business.

I am thankful. Even through the wondering, the questions, the heartache and pain, I am thankful. A new year means that God is still good, because He never changes, He is the Faithful One who sees the beginning from the end and He will always and forever, year end and year out, be good. I am thankful that God is still good and that He is still for me.

I don't know what this year will bring for me, for Adam or for you. It's hard for me to see beyond this moment, as I sit here typing and look at Peanut the guinea pig sleeping -- her sweet little face nestled on her paws. But I do know that God is still good and whatever comes our way, your way, this year, it will be good.