First Meetings

Ethiopia has my heart.

These people, this deep culture and history, this place....it came inside me and it won't ever get out.  This is the country of two of my children. 

I don't even know where to start although that famous Sound of Music song, "Let's start at the very beginning.  A very good place to start..." is on auto repeat in my brain right now.

We met the nugget.  He is just everything I expected him to be.  I know what a first encounter can look like.  That mental image of arms outstretched, running towards one another, arms around the neck while Little One weeps, "Mommy!" is just pretty much ridiculous.  Instead there more often are  tears and looking away and struggling to get out of those mama arms.  But little Judah had about five minutes of sceptism and then was a happy, drooly, bubble blowing baby and we were buddies from then on.  He puked on me three times which just confirmed our union as family.  He is our boy.  If not for the fear of arrest, I would have gladly smuggled him in a suitcase and called this adoption final.  But for now he's loved.  And he's happy.  And he's growing.  And he'll be just fine until I get back.  That difficult last visit is only difficult for me because little Judah is already home in his mind.  He has a bunch of moms and a dozen big brothers and a cozy little bed by the window.  And when I come back, I will be taking him from everything he knows to be secure and trustworthy and that thought alone makes it ok to leave him for now. 

But Judah is here because of someone and we met her and she broke my heart.

I can't imagine the feelings of riding to the orphanage where you left your baby to meet the foreign couple that will now raise him.  But she showed up and that was very brave.  And I can't imagine how intimidating it is to have these people turn on a video camera pointed directly at you while they run down a list of personal questions.  But she answered and that was very brave.  To relive the pain, the disownment from your family, the day you left him, the details of your delivery must be excruciating.  But she told it all and that was very brave.  And when I asked her, "What are your hopes and dreams for your son when he gets older?", she looked down and said,

"I hope he doesn't grow up to be like me."

I struggled to keep it together.   I think my hand may have come up to cover my mouth as I took a deep breath and paused for a moment.  That was a powerfully honest answer and it was a window into this woman's past, present, and future. "I hope he doesn't grow up to be like me."

I watched this young woman carefully page through the picture book we made for her when she thought no one was watching.  She traced the face of the baby she gave birth to with her fingertips.

 

And all too soon it was time to leave and I stood and I hugged her.  She hugged me back.  Tightly.  And as I started to pull away, she held on tighter.  In that moment, sentences and words and similar languages weren't needed because we both communicated a single message but with a very different meaning.

Thank you.

I told her that her child was a gift to our family.  He will be loved and have every opportunity that we can give him.  She smiled.  And then she walked out the door.

I will probably never see her again.  I know that she has a piece of my heart and it hurts for her loss, her past, her shame, her rotten draw of luck in this world of those with and without.  And I know that when I look at her son, I will be reminded of her and my hopes for her future.

May you think about your son and his future and smile.

May you come to forgive yourself and find forgiveness from others.

When the world has turned its back on you, may you feel how vast and how wide and how deep is the love the Father has for you.

May you know how blessed I am for meeting you.
 

Nudges and High-Fives

A few years ago, I felt something I know to be Spirit prompted.  And I'm not really one to make that claim very often.  I would much prefer a God sticky note with clear instructions written on it.  When it comes to Holy Spirit nudges,  I wish he worked with something bigger....like maybe a bat or a blow horn.

But this started in my basement as I watched a video about children leaving their homes before dark and seeking refuge in a "safe" place to sleep.   They were afraid of being stolen by an army and forced to do unspeakable things to others.   Someone was in that room documenting these children in this "safe" place.  They were sitting near the ceiling, camera angled down into the room. The camera panned from one end of the room to the other and showed hundreds of little bodies lying one after another filling every inch of the floor. 

And then the camera panned over a rafter and showed room number two with hundreds of little bodies lying one after another filling every inch of the floor.

Oh, that pissed me off.  I had a good ugly cry and after that a deep anger came rising up that had to do with me and my apathy towards needy people.   I don't know why poverty and injustice can so unmove us at times. But this day, at this time, I was moved.

The Spirit instilled a feeling, a thought, a whisper in me that sounded like this, "Do something."

And I did.

First, I brought in some unsuspecting groupies.  They sat wide-eyed at me as I told them I had planned a year of growing towards hurting people.  We studied Scripture and got educated and traveled out of the country.  The "I" had turned to "WE" and kept getting bigger.  We promised popcorn and a Bono video at the next elder's meeting and those men took it in and jumped on board.   And then came a call to action to our congregation and a Christmas offering for Haiti. Oh, I can feel the emotion rising up even as I type and think back to the Sunday we announced a grand total that EXCEEDED more than we could have imagined.  Well, not more than God could have imagined.  Our little makeshift team questioned "What do we do now?  What do we do with all this money???"  Two weeks later, the earthquake happened.  And we knew.

Now there's all this amazing stuff going on in Haiti and I just revel in what God has done after a few years of Christmas giving.  When we're reminded that Christmas is not our birthday.  It's Jesus' birthday.  I can't wait to get to heaven and high-five him.   I no longer buy into that obnoxious statement (excuse) of  "What can one person do?  The problem is just too big."

About 8 weeks ago, I was debating whether or not to blog this adoption story.  I sometimes feel like we are the squeaky adoption wheel that everyone is tired of hearing about.  Maybe we just go, I send home an email or two and we'll call it good.  And in response I heard clearly,

"Judah's adoption story is for someone else to hear."  

Like that exact statement popped into my head.  And I kind of blew it off, but it kept coming over and over throughout the day.  It was the same feeling I had years ago when I know God told me to "Do something."

Uh, I don't know what that means. It feels a little hokey pokey to even write that down, let alone hit the publish button.  I don't know what part of his story is intended for unsuspecting ears.   I find it a little vague and I'm kind of a details sort of gal.  I just know that it was clear enough for me to be sure.  In small ways, this is already being affirmed.  OK...even some big ways. But I like to dream that for whatever reason, God is using our story and it needs to be shared because someone needs to hear it.  Because someone needs to do something.

And if you're heart is starting to beat a little faster or you feel or will feel an unexpected emotion filling your chest, I'm pretty sure this has nothing to do with you.  If you feel a spirit breathed, "Do something," that is TOTALLY just your imagination.  Yeah, so sorry about that.  And if my readership suddenly starts plummeting, I have one word for you....scaredy cats.

So, here it goes.  Tomorrow, I board an airplane, cross the ocean, enter a foreign land, drive to a small orphanage, and meet this little nugget who will be my son.  It's going to be great and it's going to be hard and it's going to be everything else in between.  I can't wait to look into his big, brown eyes for the first time and know that he is here and his story is already being used for something bigger.  High-five, God.  I love how you work.













 

Pansies Welcome Here.

We’ve gotten a week full of photos of our little nugget.   For some reason that just fits him….little nugget.  I might need to feed him straight butter when he gets home just to give him some survival capacity in this house full of bigger kids.  These photos are introducing me to my son.  I’ve seen him in a Christmas velour outfit.  I’ve seen him with curls and after a fresh buzz cut.  I’ve seen his skinny lower legs.  I’ve seen that birthmark on his Ethiopian forehead.  And I think at some point, a swarm of mosquitos may have snacked on his little face….and he must have been delicious by the looks of things.  I’ve seen him held in the arms of a nanny smiling at him and pinching his little cheeks while drool runs down his chin.  And the latest one has him holding a Happy  Mother’s Day sign.  I’ve seen his expressions.  He’s been smiling.  He’s been crying.  He’s been confused and uncomfortable and then the total opposite.  I’m getting to know him one picture at a time.

Friday was another unexpected day.  This time it brought news of travel plans moving up.  I first sat down and re-read the email.  Expect to travel between June 3 and 30.  Here is a brief snapshot of what ensued.  First, I told Warner.  I wandered around the house feeling like this morning just suddenly needed to be very productive, but not exactly sure in what way.  So two munchkins and I got in the car and went to the greenhouse….because potted plants are VERY important at a time like this….and we maybe got lost on the way even though I’ve been there many times before.  And maybe I ate an entire bag of chocolate covered pretzels.

We’ve got a lot going on right now.  We’re building a house.  I spend hours deciding on light fixtures and carpet and paint chips and then running to the plumber and then to the cabinet place and then back to the plumber.  Oh, and my husband is starting another farm.  And we’ll be moving in a few months and I don’t have a bed for Eden and school is coming to a close with field trips and end of school stuff.  And then I will have three energetic children to keep busy while packing for trips to Ethiopia in between dealing with cottage rentals.  And then…..

But, I’m ready for this nugget.  Friday’s news was great news.  I am excited to meet him….the living, breathing him.  Friday’s news was like a salve to my heart that already recognizes Judah as my son and knows the sooner he’s home, the better.  I’m going to rest in God’s timing.  I’M GOING TO REST IN GOD’S TIMING. 

But, he’s totally messing with me.

I know though that some read our news with mixed emotions.  I know some have been waiting….and waiting.  And I know how hard that it is.  I have waited.  Over the last 11 years, I have spent 8 of them waiting for one of my children.  I’ve drifted between spells of great peace and surrender, hands uplifted, turning the wait over to the One in charge.  This quickly followed up by brow-beating, hands-clenched, tears flowing with covers pulled up over my head wondering, “Why?  Why? WHY??” And then my favorite….organizing cupboards and closets and boxes of toys with a label maker because it makes me feel like I have control over one little corner of my life.  Waiting isn’t for pansies, people.

Can I just say to those of you waiting on something or someone that.... MY HEART KNOWS.   I share in your longing.   I have been there.  I have watched friends birth two or three children while I waited for my first.  I have sat through baby showers with a hurting heart and smile on my face.   I have wondered why if children are a blessing from the Lord, why isn’t he blessing me?  I have tried to figure out what the “lesson” I need to learn might be.  I have hugged those who traveled to far off places to bring home little brown babies SO WANTING TO DO THAT and knowing that my husband wasn’t ready.  I have closed the door to the nursery because some days were just that hard.  I have cried out, “WHERE ARE YOU?  I THOUGHT YOU CALLED ME TO THIS! WHY AREN’T YOU MAKING THIS HAPPEN? ”

I don’t know all the reasons for the wait.   But it has strengthened my character, faith, and passion.   It has given me opportunity to come alongside others drifting in a similar boat and say, “Keep rowing.  These waves will settle.”   It turned the idea of being a mom into a longing for a child. It has focused my attention on a world in need of redemption.   It has made me rethink my values, my needs, my wants, my pride.  It has forced me to give up control.  And ultimately I give you four, solid, undeniably clear and amazingly perfect reasons for my wait:

Hannah.

Luke.

Eden.

And now Judah.

Oh the beauty of retrospect.  For whatever reason, these children ended up in my bed on a Saturday morning fighting over who can get the closest to their mom.  I cannot wait to see what enfolds.  What is it about me that God gave me these kids?  For what future purpose?  What will be accomplished through them because of this home?  And here’s the thing.  It doesn’t matter if I ever even know.  God doesn’t have to fill me in.  I just trust there is a reason.  And for that, I would wait and wait all over again.

Over the last few months, a few songs have grounded me.  They’ve changed my anxious thoughts into moments of praise.  They’ve reminded me of my Focus.  They’ve soothed the soul.  These are some of my favorite lines:

I am the Lord your God.

I go before you now.

I stand beside you.

And I’m all around you.

Though you feel I’m far away,

I’m closer than your breath.

And I am with you

More than you know.

I am the Lord your Peace.

No evil will conquer you.

So steady now your hearts and mind.

Come into my rest.

And oh let your faith arise.

And lift up your weary head.

I am with you

Wherever you go.

Come to me.

I’m all you need.

Come to me.

I’m everything.

Come to me.

I’m all you need.

Come to me.

I’m your everything.

I am your anchor

In the wind and the waves.

And I am your steadfast

So don’t be afraid.

Though your heart and flesh may fail you.

I’m your faithful strength.

And I am with you

Wherever you go.

Come to me.

I’m all you need.

(Come To Me, by Jenn Johnson)….give it a listen.  It’s way better when she sings it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sY0Vz8fvIhE

May our eyes stay fixed on Him, waiters.  I’m fist pumping my chest in solidarity.

 

 

 

And so it begins....again.

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.