I told my sweet, supportive husband a few months ago that I wanted to write a book.
There are certain moments in life when you wish you had your camera ready to snap the reaction that ensues after such a comment. If I were to sum it up there was a slight taken aback, eyebrows furrowed, shocked expression as though I had just asked to take a month off to summit Mt. Everest. "What would YOU write a book about?!?" I guess the idea is still growing on him.
Sooooo.....maybe a blog is a good entry level writing position. I mean everyone has one these days. And out of these everyones, I read exactly two on a regular basis. The rest of the world and their crafty activities, supper plans, and pre-school lessons will have to remain a mystery. There is a certain level of pretentiousness that comes when you write, expecting others to read. And maybe some pressure that this better be worth my time...and be funny, and clever, and inspiring, and not pretentious.
But I have stories to share and thoughts I like to get out and I don't know if you've heard recently but ANOTHER ETHIOPIAN LOVE on the way. Our adoption journeys have been such God journeys. Mostly Him convincing me to open my tightly clenched fists and my tightly clenched PLANS. Writing it out feels like a love gift back to Him.
This world of adoptive families (<--adoptive MAMAS) is intense. We fight paperwork with lists and highlighters and sticky notes and file folders. We stalk police departments (maybe 8 times) and doctor's offices for perfectly worded clearances. We visit and revisit and revisit notaries. We stand in lines at the Secretary of State with our brood of other wee ones. We read books, write summaries, attend workshops, make mental notes, plan, prepare, email and there may be a few who document every step of this process in a Facebook group. (These people may be driving me a little crazy.)
And then there is the adoptive mama's heart. We yearn for babies without mamas. We love them all and we want them all. We would move mountains for a child and wonder why the rest of the world doesn't want to house a dozen of their own. I've learned to bite my tongue, let my judgements slowly simmer down realizing that God's Kingdom has enough dimensions that we can all have a variety of passions. There's enough on the agenda for us all to take part in different ways.
But for me, I lose sleep over orphans.
I saw a woman on our last trip to Ethiopia. She was sitting on the sidewalk next to a traffic-filled street with horns honking, exhaust thick in the air, music blaring, night setting in, and we passed her by on our way back from dinner. Her hand was out. Her head scarf spread around her. She looks at us, eyes locked, because we're white and affluent and American and I passed her my leftover food. Which is when I saw them. Babies. I think two, maybe three sleeping next to her ON THE SIDEWALK. And my heart just aches for her. I'm a mom. She's a mom. And this is what it takes to feed her children.
My being is stirred with injustice and anger and frustration. Every time I think of her, I am also reminded of my own selfishness and addiction to comfort and shopping overindulgences and my sweet babies at home tucked into their Pottery Barn inspired rooms. I hate this world of duality. It seems so wrong...to the core of human life wrong. Like I'm pretty sure Jesus is not happy about it wrong.
This Saturday afternoon, my phone dinged. The kids and I were in the car, just about to leave the farm. And I tapped the email icon and scrolled to the reason for the ding. The subject line read, "REFERRAL!!!!"
Oh. My. Word.
My intuitive Hannah keeps asking, "What, Mom? What is it? MOM!! What??!" And all I can say is, "This is it! It's him!" (which might come out a bit vague if you are 8 and trying to get email details). "IT'S YOUR BROTHER!" I call Warner. "Where are you? Do not move. I'm coming. Do not leave. It is important." (which might come out a bit vague if you are 36 and getting a strange phone call from your wife). And on the 2 minute drive, we all wait for that little face to download onto a screen and it does as we pull in and we all jump out of the car as we hand the phone to Dad. And he looks down and then up and then, "What is...is this it?" There we all stood. In a parking lot, around a cell phone. And that is how we first met Judah.
I love that call. It is filled with adrenaline and excitement and hand shaking joy and when that all cools, I also feel such deep sadness. Adoption is hard. It starts in a hard place. A really, really hard place. It starts in brokenness. A mother couldn't keep her baby and that's why he is coming into ours. Oh the weight of that responsibility. It takes my breath away. My arms are held out wide to him. I will travel across the world to get him. I will wait as long as it takes because I know he comes from another mom's outstretched arms letting him go as she kissed his little mouth and had to walk away. What a gift. Her gift to me.
There are certain moments in life when you wish you had your camera ready to snap the reaction that ensues after such a comment. If I were to sum it up there was a slight taken aback, eyebrows furrowed, shocked expression as though I had just asked to take a month off to summit Mt. Everest. "What would YOU write a book about?!?" I guess the idea is still growing on him.
Sooooo.....maybe a blog is a good entry level writing position. I mean everyone has one these days. And out of these everyones, I read exactly two on a regular basis. The rest of the world and their crafty activities, supper plans, and pre-school lessons will have to remain a mystery. There is a certain level of pretentiousness that comes when you write, expecting others to read. And maybe some pressure that this better be worth my time...and be funny, and clever, and inspiring, and not pretentious.
But I have stories to share and thoughts I like to get out and I don't know if you've heard recently but ANOTHER ETHIOPIAN LOVE on the way. Our adoption journeys have been such God journeys. Mostly Him convincing me to open my tightly clenched fists and my tightly clenched PLANS. Writing it out feels like a love gift back to Him.
This world of adoptive families (<--adoptive MAMAS) is intense. We fight paperwork with lists and highlighters and sticky notes and file folders. We stalk police departments (maybe 8 times) and doctor's offices for perfectly worded clearances. We visit and revisit and revisit notaries. We stand in lines at the Secretary of State with our brood of other wee ones. We read books, write summaries, attend workshops, make mental notes, plan, prepare, email and there may be a few who document every step of this process in a Facebook group. (These people may be driving me a little crazy.)
And then there is the adoptive mama's heart. We yearn for babies without mamas. We love them all and we want them all. We would move mountains for a child and wonder why the rest of the world doesn't want to house a dozen of their own. I've learned to bite my tongue, let my judgements slowly simmer down realizing that God's Kingdom has enough dimensions that we can all have a variety of passions. There's enough on the agenda for us all to take part in different ways.
But for me, I lose sleep over orphans.
I saw a woman on our last trip to Ethiopia. She was sitting on the sidewalk next to a traffic-filled street with horns honking, exhaust thick in the air, music blaring, night setting in, and we passed her by on our way back from dinner. Her hand was out. Her head scarf spread around her. She looks at us, eyes locked, because we're white and affluent and American and I passed her my leftover food. Which is when I saw them. Babies. I think two, maybe three sleeping next to her ON THE SIDEWALK. And my heart just aches for her. I'm a mom. She's a mom. And this is what it takes to feed her children.
My being is stirred with injustice and anger and frustration. Every time I think of her, I am also reminded of my own selfishness and addiction to comfort and shopping overindulgences and my sweet babies at home tucked into their Pottery Barn inspired rooms. I hate this world of duality. It seems so wrong...to the core of human life wrong. Like I'm pretty sure Jesus is not happy about it wrong.
This Saturday afternoon, my phone dinged. The kids and I were in the car, just about to leave the farm. And I tapped the email icon and scrolled to the reason for the ding. The subject line read, "REFERRAL!!!!"
Oh. My. Word.
My intuitive Hannah keeps asking, "What, Mom? What is it? MOM!! What??!" And all I can say is, "This is it! It's him!" (which might come out a bit vague if you are 8 and trying to get email details). "IT'S YOUR BROTHER!" I call Warner. "Where are you? Do not move. I'm coming. Do not leave. It is important." (which might come out a bit vague if you are 36 and getting a strange phone call from your wife). And on the 2 minute drive, we all wait for that little face to download onto a screen and it does as we pull in and we all jump out of the car as we hand the phone to Dad. And he looks down and then up and then, "What is...is this it?" There we all stood. In a parking lot, around a cell phone. And that is how we first met Judah.
I love that call. It is filled with adrenaline and excitement and hand shaking joy and when that all cools, I also feel such deep sadness. Adoption is hard. It starts in a hard place. A really, really hard place. It starts in brokenness. A mother couldn't keep her baby and that's why he is coming into ours. Oh the weight of that responsibility. It takes my breath away. My arms are held out wide to him. I will travel across the world to get him. I will wait as long as it takes because I know he comes from another mom's outstretched arms letting him go as she kissed his little mouth and had to walk away. What a gift. Her gift to me.
