The Waiting Room

We have a waiting room in our house.  It’s a room that is waiting for a little boy who will someday soon call it his own.  In this room, there’s a little bed waiting to be slept in and fuzzy friends waiting to be cuddled.  There are all kinds of books, their pages waiting to be turned, and baskets of toys waiting to be explored.  The closet and drawers are full of clothes waiting  for a little body to fill them.  There are pictures of him on the wall so he know this room has been waiting just for him.





Earlier this week, the US Embassy decided that they would also like to interview the guardian who cared for our son .  Plans are being made for him to make the eight hour trip from the Ethiopian countryside to the capital city of Addis Ababa…again.  I cannot begin to guess how he feels about all of this.  Certainly, he could not have foreseen all the travel and the interviews when he chose to take in a young boy off the streets.  He is a young man, unmarried, who works as a shoeshine for a living.  I am hoping he welcomes the opportunity for another adventure.  I wish I could thank him.